Tomorrow's Ghosts Read Online Free Page A

along with newer ones, still in relatively pristine condition. And then there are ones John is creating from scratch, carving their heads from driftwood found on the beach.
    Along with Mister Punch, Judy, the Baby, the Policeman, the Doctor, Joey the Clown and the Crocodile, John also has some of the characters no longer regularly seen in modern seaside shows. There, sitting among John’s belongings, are Jack Ketch the Hangman, the Ghost, the Skeleton, Pretty Polly, the Devil and even a rare Mister Scaramouche, a puppet who’d vanished from the repertoires of most Punch and Judy
professors
long before my old mate Freddie Mercury thought it would make a neat line in a song.
    I think I know what’s going through Ursula’s mind, so I save her the trouble and ask the question for myself. “John, can you explain to us the evangelical significance of Punch and Judy?”
    John pauses for a moment, takes a deep breath and then the floodgates open “Shortly after you rescued me from the Tempest, I had a dream. It was a Revelation as God allowed me a glimpse of what He and His Heavenly Host has in store for Mankind.”
    I see Ursula glance my way and give me a
he can’t really be serious look
. I nod my head and make myself as comfortable as I can, sharing a raggedity charity shop sofa with two Mister Punch puppets, a headless Judy and a Crocodile with a broken lower jaw as, over the next hour, John Patmos talks of how his puppets are a metaphor symbolising the approaching Apocalypse and the struggle between Good and Evil.
    Growing increasingly excited as the evening wears on, John explains each puppet’s role in turn. The Hangman, the Skeleton, the Ghost and the Doctor are the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Pretty Polly is the Great Harlot of Babylon. The Crocodile is the Beast of the Apocalypse. Judy and the Baby are
the Woman clothed with the Sun, with the Moon at her feet, and on her head a garland of twelve stars and her Child
. Scaramouche and the Policeman are the Two Witnesses, while Mister Punch, with his predilection for thwacking everybody with his stick is the Archangel Michael.
    “OK,” says Ursula interrupting John mid-flow. “I can understand the imagery and I’m guessing the Devil is Satan but who is Joey the Clown meant to represent?”
    “Why,” replies John, as if he has just been asked the most reasonable question in the world, “Joey the Clown symbolises the False Prophet, who lies and misleads all mankind.”
    “In that case,” asks Ursula, “who is the Antichrist?”
    “That,” says John, “is the one remaining Great Mystery the Good Lord did not choose to share with me. It is my task, my mission, my burden, my quest, my sacred duty to answer that question. I have dedicated my life since I was pulled from the Ocean to just one cause: to find and to destroy the Antichrist. And if it is my fate to perish in the process, then so be it for that is God’s Will and His ways are beyond our understanding.”
    It is at this point that Ursula leans over to me and whispers in my ear “I have heard enough. I think it is time for us to leave.”
    Given the pressure with which Ursula digs her finger nails into my arm as she says this, I’m left in no doubt how serious she is about wanting to go, so I make our excuses to John. For his part, John appears totally oblivious to the sudden change in Ursula’s attitude and wishes us both a fond farewell as we head off into the night in the VW.
    It is not a cool evening but there is a distinctly chilly atmosphere in the car as we drive back in silence, Ursula seemingly unwilling to say anything about her impression of John or whatever else it is that is bugging her this evening.
    Eventually we pull up outside my cottage and, just before I get out, I turn to her and say “I appreciate the need for discretion and that you wouldn’t want to be seen here at my cottage at this time of night in case the locals start gossiping but do you want to come in for a tea