Shalom

I know we all may feel a little sentimenal about Shalom. We have had some good times there. I only feel a little sorry for the neighbours. When they saw the place being fixed up and learned the name it was to have (Shalom - 'Peace') they must have imagined it was to be the quiet retirement nest of some sweet old Jewish couple seeking to live out their days in tranquility and calm; sitting holding hands on their own little bench down by the river; watching the swallows swoop over golden fields of corn; feeling the breeze on their face and the warmth of the sun as they sat and reminisced about the many wonderful years they had spent together.

They could tell things were not as they had envisaged from the way the approaching car dodged and weaved it's way down the road, narrowly missing a parked car, accelerating at some small animal caught in wide-eyed confusion, only to gather it's senses and effect it's escape moments before the screaming tyres came hurtling right over the spot the poor creature had just vacated, driven as if the very ground beneath was about to open and swallow it up never to be seen again. As the vehicle skidded to a halt and it's occupants emerged, and emerged and kept emerging the locals glanced at each other with a look of fear and bewilderment, and wondered what was come upon them. They knew in their hearts that this was the start of something different. But what?

It caused no great concern the day the recovery truck turned up with a pile of metal that somehow reminded them of something they had seen earlier in the week. What was it, remember...oh yes, a vehicle. Yes, a motor vehicle, a car with the same badge as was almost recognisable on this object. A hint of the same paintwork, it was definitely the same thing. But what had happened to it to turn it into the heap of wreckage now before them? Had it been launched off a cliff; driven at speed into something solid; had it been the subject of some government experiment, perhaps a cutting edge development in defense; or maybe NASA had something to do with it, a test to see at what speed an average family car has to be driven for it to de-materialise and reappear in another, perhaps as yet undiscovered, dimension? It caused no great concern that day, but when another appeared a week later, then another and another, all displaying symptoms of the same fate, they knew something was afoot. As the wrecked machines continued to accumulate, obviously kept to gather evidence when NASA or the government or whichever body was running the initiative had discovered what it was they were looking for, speculation began to mount.

The gentleman in charge seemed innocuous enough, although you could tell he was involved in something by the fact he was always well turned out, dressed in a suit and tie. It was a feeble attempt to blend in with the locals. The gossip held that he did not even own a pair of trainers, and his image was so out of sorts that some said he was a foreign agent, perhaps a Russian spy, working on a plot to take over the West, looking for, in the first place, a way to immobilise Western vehicles rendering them powerless to resist the ensuing invasion. Those who had managed to engage him in conversation only found their suspicions deepened by his talk of other worlds, a better way, a coming kingdom and even the destruction of civilisation as we know it. There was something weird going on and it was happening right here in their sleepy mining town. And what about all those kids?!

As time wore on their curiosity increased. There were strange and frequent comings and goings at the sardonically named Shalom. Lace curtains would twitch as neighbours pressed their nose to the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the people turning up a dozen at a time, or keep track of just how many kids could be in one household, certain that some of those emerging from the front door must be returning through a hidden door at the back. Some altered the route of their exercise walks and increased their frequency, all to try and get an insight into it's goings on, stopping occasionally and straining to hear. Was that a musical instrument being played or the sound of a tortured soul crying out to be released from it's torment? Hard to tell.

The time that one of these defunct car's roof was ripped from it's body and used to punt down the river did nothing to allay fears - another weird experiment? - and the stream of noisy motorbikes being tinkered with and raced around the adjacent fields by helmetless, bare-chested teenagers performing stunts to entertain their friends, before being dumped or crashed, was, well, more annoyance than suspicious but the greatest confirmatiom of something deeply disturbing came one bright August morning. Something was definitely going on.