Legend has it that far out into the vast Atlantic ocean somewhere between Ireland and the
American continent is an ancient country hidden from the eyes of ordinary mortals. A land where no one ages, no one becomes ill and no one dies. A land of music, pleasure and beauty where the climate is always perfect and beautiful flowers bloom throughout the year. Pain, sorrow, famine and wars were unknown and unheard of. Life was idyllic.
Sounds really dull and boring… Doesn’t it?
How about this then? This is more like it! A tyrant moves in, takes over everything, ruins the climate, gets tags on all the population, freaks out the animals, sorts out a few people and has more tortured… and introduces… DEATH!
In this moving, funny and strangely realistic fantasy novel Eric Beemer, the only person in the world who is a product of his own future battles against momentous odds to rescue a downtrodden and subjugated society. Everything is against him including time itself. Can he succeed? Are there really just too many chips piled against him? And surely there couldn’t be a dragon… not a real dragon in a modern up to date fantasy…?
Based on Irish folklore from times before the dawn of history the novel is a clever, moving and amusing fantasy with characters as realistic as you are! Whether you’re 10 or 110 I think you’re going to enjoy this!
Preview a sample of “The Secret World of Eric Beemer”.
Chapter 1
Fifty two years ago
from the time I’m writing, close to midsummer’s day on a hot sunny afternoon, a
boy sat on a large, long rectangular slab of granite beneath the ruined walls of
an ancient castle tower.
This was the very west coast of the very west of Ireland. A
quiet remote spot at the edge of a large expanse of desolate bogland some
distance along the bay north west of the city of Galway.
The castle was built on the highest point of the area.
The old building had been there for over eight hundred years and
was in fact almost a total ruin. It was the remains of a Norman Keep, a little
garrison fort used as somewhere to keep out of the way of the native celtic
people who were most definitely not keen on Normans – the people who had
destroyed King Harold’s army under their leader William The Conqueror in
1066.
It was rumoured the Normans had built their tower on the site of
what was once the palace of an ancient Gaelic king.
According to local legend this place was close to the beginning
of a causeway to a now vanished magical land far out into the ocean and hidden
for millennia from ordinary people. A land of happiness and safety where
everything was always alright… a fabulous land where anyone who was lucky enough
to set foot on it would stayforever young – so long as they never ever left that
country again.
The two remaining walls of the ancient castle had crumbled
downwards from the top, and in no place was the height more than three to four
metres.
Long ago the other two walls had been pillaged to help in the
building of the little stone cottages nearby – themselves now sad roofless
dilapidated ruins.
The lines of granite stone walls which crisscrossed the vista in
front of him towards the sea shore had doubtless also utilised the resources of
the Keep.
This place was called “Carricaree” which means rock of the King
in Gaelic.
No one knew the name of the castle.
The boy sat on the large long slab of granite. It was about two
metres long by about the same height as a household chair and had probably
toppled from the very top of the castle hundreds of years ago. It was solidly
embedded in the ground. Rugged and lumpy, multi coloured lichens in complicated
patterns prevailed to make it look more ancient than the castle itself.
The boy’s name was Eric Beemer and he was twelve years old.
Present day.
An elderly man made slow and painfully arthritic progress over
the rough ground. Massive granite boulders were set into the terrain all around
him, some the size of small houses.
Long ago the beaten track had vanished and now between the giant
boulders was an abundant covering of heather, prickly gorse and impenetrable
brambles. Everywhere he put his feet was the forbidding possibility of a
headlong trip. Concealed roots and boggy pools lurked, quietly inviting
disaster. Knee deep in a mucky pool at his time of life? Not a pleasant
thought.
Carricaree was his goal.
For a long time he’d fancied a trip to Galway where most of his
childhood had been spent. The opportunity arose when his wife went to a reunion
of girlfriends from aeons ago. As he was not required, and feeling a calling
from the distant past he flew to Knock airport in the west of Ireland, hired a
small car, and spent a few days re-visiting half remembered haunts.
The old man’s father, a soldier back from the war, had been
offered a job there by his ex commanding officer who owned an expansive estate.
The small family of three left England during the hard times of food rationing
and austerity to make a new start in a very different country.
Walking badly with the aid of a knobbly polished briar stick,
stopping frequently to rest his painfully arthritic right hip and damaged knees
he snailed his slow progress, reflecting over his life – as men of sixty four
years old do.
An interesting life, in which he had accumulated an exceptional
knowledge and experience of how his fellow humans thought and behaved. He also
knew how to use this knowledge to his own advantage.
A man who had learned to make his own decisions he was good at
sizing up situations, thinking sideways as they say, and generally finding the
right way to bring himself out on top.
In past times company agents sought him out to troubleshoot for
their clients and he had solved problems in many dangerous parts of the world.
Places where more mundane people would have feared to tread.
The ability to see the world as it was came naturally to him and
he could easily foresee future consequences from present day actions. He didn’t
mention these thoughts any more as when younger his friends pooh-poohed him for
being ridiculous. His ideas didn’t fit in with current opinions of the time.
Occasionally he wondered if anyone remembered his predictions –
if indeed they remembered him at all — when in years to come more or less
everything would turn out to be just as he had said.
By his late thirties he was quite a rich man and had an enviable
standard of life.
In his early forties he made a particularly bad mistake though.
The mistake of trusting a friend’s business acumen which resulted in everything
going down the pan almost instantaneously – money… house… and first
marriage!
Eventually he remarried and was happy but just couldn’t summon
up the drive to return to the big time. Burnt out, he considered himself. Burnt
out, old and past it. Now, as people always become what they believe
themselves to be – he was burnt out, old, and past it!
Retirement wasn’t practical, he couldn’t afford it, and so made
an average living from a small website in a moderately profitable niche market.
It kept the wolf from the door but he knew now there was absolutely no chance of
ever managing to visit all the places he had said, “one of these days I’ll go
there,” or being free to live a life without being troubled by convention.
“Great potential,” the old geezer muttered. “Blew it though!
Humph! Silly old duffer!”
Fifty two years ago.
Eric was an only child.
He had many friends but in nature was a solitary figure.
He had learned to enjoy his own company and live within his own
head – parents all those years ago were remote beings – and he loved the
solitude of this place, Carricaree. It stimulated his mind and he could escape
into the wonderful world of his vivid imagination.
He would sit on the long rock, green eyes blankly wide for ages
and ages and dream himself into wonderful adventures. Adventures where he would
somehow be transported to the fabled mythical island country far out into the
ocean. The land where he would meet legendary heroes from folklore and become
involved in incredible happenings and experiences.
As he sat he saw the blue sea of Galway Bay in the distance and
heard the loud cacophony of grasshoppers and crickets singing and chirruping all
around him.
It was a hot summers day.
A heat haze shimmered in front of him appearing to make the
landscape blend into the hazy blue sea, changing it’s shape with a myriad
flickering images. A host of little flying insects rose, fell and swirled smoke
like into the haze.
Tricks of the light made his eyes water and he rubbed them
briefly with the heels of his hands.
Mirages and insects merged and swirled, swirled and merged and
as Eric looked through them they seemed to blend together and form a
pattern.
This pattern in turn merged into a shape.
No… not a trick of the light! It was another boy… and this boy
was moving rapidly towards him!
The apparition strode toward Eric.
It stopped in front of him surveying the seated figure with a
concerned look. “Sheez man,” it exclaimed. “I thought you were going to topple
off your rock then. Got a touch of the sun, lad?”
“What? Me? I’m okay!” Eric answered uncertainly. “The
heat haze made you look like you were part of it, that’s all… I thought you were
a mirage!”
“Mirage? Mirage? Me? Nah! Not me lad,” said the newcomer,
sitting down beside Eric on the rock. “I’m as real as you are. No one’s ever
accused me of being a mirage!”
He looked to be about the same age as Eric but had the air of
being older, his voice having prematurely broken added to this view, possibly
how a child living with adults without company of his own kind could turn
out.
“Now then lad!” said the stranger. “Now then, I’m going to ask
you a question. Is that okay with you?”
“I don’t see why not,” answered Eric cautiously.
“Okay, lad… the name’s Jotter by the way, and I can see from the
shape of your head that you are… an Eric!” He looked directly into Eric’s eyes.
“Right aren’t I?”
Eric looked stupid, and tried not to gawp! “Yes… yes it is… how
could you know…?”
“No one’s ever accused me of not knowing, son, That’s why the
name’s Jotter, I know about these things… it’s all to do with the shape of the
head and the pitch of your ears you see. Easy when you know how. I could teach
you right now… but it would take too long!”
Neither spoke for a minute or two and they looked long into the
distance through the heat haze which was becoming denser and more shimmery.
Strangely, Eric felt like he had known Jotter for years, not
just the five minutes or so since he had marched out of the heat haze and
plonked himself down on the rock.
Jotter broke the silence. He became serious, and his expression
indicated extreme gravity.
Turning his head he looked directly into Eric’s eyes. “Now then
Eric… a fetamorical question. No… Meh – Ta – Forical,” he repeated slowly,
correcting himself and paused for a moment. “Look Eric, if I were to ask you a
favour, would you do it for me?”
Eric mused, thoughtfully, and looked at Jotter closely!
Deep green eyes just like his own, twinkled humorously, a good
straight nose and a mouth with an honest set to it. A strong face – an open,
pleasant face. The face of a person it would be difficult to dislike. The face
of a person that could be trusted.
Indecisively he came to a decision – uncertainly.
“It depends on the favour,” he answered cautiously… “I think I
maybe would.”
Jotter breathed out!
“I knew I could rely on you Eric, I knew I could.”
Jotter eased himself off the stone, squared himself up and again
looked directly at Eric.
He asked a strange question. A question which did not make any
sense at all to Eric!
“The favour is…” He took a long deep breath. “The favour is
Eric. Will you come back here, meet me again in this exact place in
exactly fifty two years time from now and do that favour for me?”
Eric didn’t understand the question. It was what could be termed
an ‘Irish question’ and Irish questions could be sticky! Apart from being a
totally weird thing to ask, fifty two years was an unimaginably long time away
for a person of only twelve years old! His father had been thirty eight last
birthday which to Eric was almost at death’s door!
“I’d be an old, old man then,” he replied, “An old, old, old,
old man…I don’t know if I’ll even live that long! I’d be older than my
Grandfather… and he’s dead!”
Jotter looked deeply into Eric’s eyes. “But if you were
still alive would you do it. Eh? Eh? Would you do it Eric? Would you come back
and meet me?”
Eric was silent for a time as he puzzled it over… He was
puzzleder than puzzled, but moments later his thoughts blended together in a
sideways sort of way.
“Why not? It’s a long, long time in the future and we’ll
probably both be dead so no harm done,” he thought. “Yes” he answered. “Yes, I
would!”
“Okay me-lad! Shake on it, and may we both have sharp wooden
stakes hammered through our hearts in a foreign land while we’re still alive if
we break our bond.”
Jotter made a hawking noise and spat on his right hand which he
proffered. Eric stood up and did the same, repeating the oath. They shook on
it!
Jotter wiped his hand carefully on Eric’s blazer and Eric did
the same on Jotter’s jacket.
“I’ll see you here in fifty two years then, yeah? Yeah?”
confirmed Jotter.
With that, he strode away back into the summer haze, blending
into the hovering insects and soon faded gently away.
Chapter 2
Eric sat down again.
He felt suddenly uneasy, he needed to know more. Jumping off the long stone he
ran through the shimmering haze down the slope following the direction Jotter
had taken.
This was his last day in the part of Ireland which had become
home. Tomorrow they were moving. Leaving home. Leaving the area!
“Jotter, Jotter. Wait Jotter!” he called. “I’ve got to ask you
something!”
A sudden sea fret now mingled with the heat haze and it was
becoming quite difficult to see anything distant at all.
The sea seemed much closer than he thought it should be and he
assumed that he had been running farther and faster than he thought.
Eric stopped and took stock.
In front of him was the sea shore quite close – a wild exposed
part of Galway Bay. The sea gently lapping up and down the long rock strewn
strand. The tide was almost full.
Climbing to the top of a huge tall granite boulder he looked
back up to Carricaree. He could just make out what looked to be the hazy figure
of a young lad about his own age, clad in a dark summer blazer and long grey
short trousers similar to his own clothing.
This person was walking away from the rock seat in the direction
of the road a couple of miles away. Eric assumed it was probably his best friend
Neil who occasionally accompanied him to this mystical place where they
privately acted out fantasies of crossing over to Eric’s hidden land and have
amazing adventures forever and ever and a day… or more.
Well, it was too late now to go back with Neil and he still
desperately wanted to catch Jotter up, although there was no sign of him in any
direction.
Looking all around he could in fact see very little. Sea fret,
heat haze and shimmering insects had all blended to reduce visibility to little
more than a blurred image.
Eric sighed, disappointed. Jotter was nowhere to be seen or
heard. His friend Neil had been and gone. He was hot and puzzled. Slowly, he
made his way back to Carricaree.
Reaching the summit of the hill again Eric was strangely
relieved to see all was almost as he had left it.
There was a difference though, apart from the increasing haze,
now an old balding man with a stick, glasses and hearing aids was sitting in a
slumped heap, panting, sweating and gasping audibly and deeply, on the long rock
seat.
Eric’s mother had scrupulously drummed into him never to talk to
any adult if they approached him, but he was tired and disappointed – and this
old geezer had not approached him… and also looked completely incapable
of damaging anyone or anything, let alone even being able to stand up again. The
poor old buffer appeared virtually to be on his last legs apart from the fact he
was sitting down!
Eric felt not to be his usual self. Somehow he had a strange
confidence which he hadn’t been aware of before… he felt to be definitely not
quite himself… somehow older and more experienced, a strangely dreamy
feeling.
And so, parking himself beside the elderly man on the long stone
seat he surveyed the old fellow.
This man was without doubt not in good shape. Still sweating
profusely he gasped, puffed and breathed deeply. Clasping his stick tightly with
gnarled arthritic fingers gradually his breathing became easier and more
controlled.
Addressing the old man directly Eric asked. “Are you okay now
old lad?” His approach surprised, and rather shocked himself. He had never
volunteered speaking to any adult first for any reason in
all his life before, let alone call them… ‘old lad’. Weird!
The old man stayed in the same saggy heap but gasped, “Not too
bad now thanks young man, not too bad… that’s the hardest walk I’ve had in the
last twenty years or more I don’t mind saying.”
The elderly person painfully turned his wrist and looked at his
watch. “Do you know,” he mused, “It’s taken me two and a half hours to walk here
from the road. Strewth! Last time I came here it took about fifteen
minutes – I must have been about your age then young man! Terrible, terrible
what wear and tear and not taking care of your body through life does!”
“How come you haven’t been here for all that time then mister?”
asked Eric.
The elderly gent’s answer was not at all what he had been
expecting. Eric felt a goose pimply cold crawling with multiple legs all over
his body.
“Well, last time I was here reckon I would have been somewhere
about the same age as you. Actually it was my last day in Galway. The old man
had a new job near Cork City and the very next day we were moving.”
Pausing, he straightened himself up a little. “I was to go to
boarding school which I didn’t right fancy so I came here. Sat on this very same
rock for two or three hours I did. Wished and wished myself somewhere a long,
long way out there.”
“I never got there though, they obviously didn’t want the likes
of me in their perfect land, so off to boarding school I went.”
Listening intently Eric began to feel weirder and weirder as the
old man related his story. Déjà vu was an understatement. The incredible
coincidence was almost supernatural.
His home in a suburb of Galway had been sold. Tomorrow,
his parents moved house to a village a long, long way away on the other side of
the country.
Schools in Ireland those days were church orientated. They only
accepted their own followers. Eric’s family, although members of the majority
religion of England, found themselves a small minority in their new country.
The few secondary schools of the necessary sect were so thinly
scattered and far from home that pupils actually had to live in them during term
time. Eric, just like the old man was to be sent to one of these boarding
schools when the next term started.
“That’s exactly,” he said lamely. “What’s happening to me
tomorrow. We’re moving house and I’m being sent to Stonybirch College.”
“Fine school, young man, so they like you to think. I’m an old
Stonybirchian myself y’know.”
The man spoke with conviction. “Really it’s a bloody awful
place. Run like a prison camp… least it used to be.” Then in contrition he added . “I’m sure it’s all changed for the better now though.”
Whimsically as an aside he mentioned. “I half thought I may have
met someone else here as well today. He’s probably dead by now though… most
people are.”
No sooner had the old man said these words than Eric heard a
distant voice calling his name from the direction of the sea.
“Eric, Eric,” echoed the voice. “Where are you Eric, I’ve been
waiting for you down here for ages. Hurry up man, I’ve something to tell
you.”
Jotter, it was Jotter… he had waited after all!
Eric jumped off the long stone saying to the old man. “I’ve got
to go now, someone’s waiting for me, hope it won’t take you so long to get back
to the road. Bye.”
“So long young man,” replied that gent raising a hand with his
index and middle fingers opened. “Live long and prosper!”
With that unusual phrase ringing in his ears Eric ran off down
the slope again through the gathering mist towards the sea. Soon he could make
out a shape. The shape became clearer as he got nearer and slowly, slowly, it
turned into Jotter.
“There you are then at last Eric,” said Jotter. “Thanks for
coming back! It’s great to see you again!”
Chapter 3
“Thanks for coming
back?” Eric was surprised, “I haven’t been anywhere yet.”
“Haven’t been anywhere?… Indeed you have my friend,” corrected
Jotter.
“Remember? I asked you if you’d come back here in fifty two
years, and so help me here you are! To the dot!”
This was becoming ridiculous. Confusing. Eric’s heartbeat
doubled and butterflies tripped over each other in his tummy. What on earth was
going on? A strange type of Jotter game? He hadn’t even been home for his tea
yet so he couldn’t possibly have lived for another fifty two years without
realising. He looked at his hands turning them over a few times… they still
looked twelve years old! Was Jotter …?
“Eric mate,” said Jotter. “I know what you’re about to ask … no…
no, I’m not a loony! No one’s ever accused me of being a loony!”
As they talked they had also walked.
The shore was no longer visible. They were on some sort of
narrow pathway. The sea gently ebbed and flowed either side.
Sea fret still enveloping them he could see nothing in front or
behind – except sea and mist, and a bit of pathway.
The butterflies began dancing a rumba. Eric stopped. “Jotter,”
he said. “I don’t like this. I don’t understand. What’s going on? Where are we
going? Where are we?”
Jotter surveyed Eric closely and stopped also.
“I’m sorry Eric,” he apologised. “I’m all in a rush. Fifty two
years is a long, long time to wait for a favour and I’m wanting to move too
quickly! Let’s break our journey for a minute. Sit down. I’ll explain what I
can.”
They sat down on weathered seaweed covered boulders to the right
side of the wet pathway.
“Eric, we’re going to the place where you wanted to go fifty two
years ago, before you were banished to that school.”
“But that was all imagination,” admitted Eric. “It wasn’t real…
although I really, really wanted it to be.”
“Well, it is real. It’s where I live and we’ve a major problem
we can’t sort by ourselves. Someone from your country has tricked his way in and
destroyed our way of life!
“He doesn’t make sense to us. We need someone from his land to
show us how he thinks so we can boot him out. Have our way of life back
again.”
Poor Eric. Feeling out of his depth would have been an
understatement and he hadn’t really understood what Jotter had said.
“What’s this… fifty two years ago business? And what are we
doing out here on a path in the middle of the sea? What’s going on Jotter? Is it
a dream…?”
“Okay lad. Listen here… you to me. Remember what you were
thinking about and wishing for all those days you spent sitting on that long
rock before we met?”
Eric looked blank, he wasn’t happy and he felt a bit sick.
“Think, Eric, what was the only thing you wanted to happen
before we spoke last? The thing you most wanted in the world to stop you having
to leave home and be sent to live in a dark school?”
Slowly Eric’s mind returned and the panic which had totally
taken him over receded a little.
“I went to Carricaree and wished myself to the special island. I
don’t want my life to change. I don’t want to lose my friends. I don’t want to
leave my home… and I might never see Carricaree again.” He paused and thought.
“This is home, I’ve had to fight for it, I’m accepted now and I don’t want to
go.”
Eric had never mentioned these very private feelings to
anyone before, most definitely not his parents.
During his first years at school he had been bullied and
eventually overcame the problem all by himself. Somehow he found himself telling
Jotter the story.
They’d called him a Black and Tan. They taunted derisively. All
English people were Black and Tans!
He hadn’t a clue what a Black and Tan was. He thought it may
have been some kind of dirty dog. Really It was just a term of derision which
was making his life a misery.
Some people, Eric in his young life had found, seemed born to be
victims and accepted it. Others thrived on these people’s lack of self esteem
and subjugated them for personal power. He decided it was time to change the
order of things!
The sea gently ebbed and flowed against the pathway and in the
distance seagulls cried plaintively.
A breeze struck up and the gentle sea began to move and become a
little more businesslike.
“Tell me more later.” Jotter broke the spell. “The tide’s
changing. We have to move now, time’s running out. Come on Eric, now, we
have to move on, now!”
“What’s the hurry,” he heard himself saying as if in a daze. “Is
it tea time?”
“We’ve a journey to finish before the tide starts going out,”
Jotter was saying urgently. “The causeway vanishes soon after the tide turns. We
could be lost if we don’t hurry! Come on Eric, hurry. Come on man, move a
bit!”
Eric, brain still reeling with confusion had no idea what was
happening, but rallying to Jotter’s call progress was resumed, striding fast,
strongly and without further conversation.
Smash!!
Roaring thunderous cascading seas crashed over the low causeway
and Eric was completely engulfed in a solid wall of water. A massive weight of
surging soaking green totally overwhelmed everything.
Carried and tossed along with the enormous force of foaming
powerful water he was catapulted headlong and spinning, over the causeway’s edge
into cold, deep salty ocean…
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