I'm writing this on my lap top as it's about the only thing still working around here, at least whilst it's batteries last out. I don't know why I'm writing this as it's unlikely that anyone will ever read it. Then again maybe I'm doing this just to try and get my thoughts straight. God knows I've got to do something to preserve my sanity after yesterday! Hold on, if I'm really trying to get my thoughts straight it would be best if I set things out from the beginning, see if anything makes sense. If I'm rambling I hope you'll forgive me, but once you've read this you might just understand why.

My name is Peter James. I'm a software consultant for a company in Surrey, which is where I live. A week and a half ago my family and I set off for our annual holiday, my family consisting of my wife Margaret, and my two young boys Stephen, 8, and Jamie aged 4. This year we were off to Brittany, to stay at a farmhouse owned by a friend of my mother in law. We'd never been to Brittany before so weren't too sure what to expect After a relatively smooth ferry crossing during which Maggie still managed to be violently ill, we disembarked at the port of St Malo and drove the two hours to the farmhouse. To my surprise we found it quite easily {Maggie isn't the greatest navigator in the world and I was unused to driving on the 'wrong' side of the road.} But the instructions we'd received by e-mail from our hostess had been very clear and precise, so midnight found us pulling up alongside an isolated yet imposing farmhouse, our home for the next two weeks. Wearily we hauled our luggage inside and decided, wisely, that we'd leave the unpacking till the morning. We slept soundly that night.

The next day after emptying the suitcases and assorted bags we'd brought with us, we decided to explore a little. The house itself was very comfortable indeed. A restored 16th century Breton farmhouse, it boasted cool stone walls and original beams. A large lower floor housed the living room and spacious kitchen whilst the first floor had three bedrooms and the bathroom. Outside, extensive grounds provided a large safe area for the boys. Heaven...I needed to recharge my batteries, there had been too much in the way of office politics recently…board room maneuvering, talks of sell outs and management buy outs. I needed some space and isolation. The farmhouse fitted the bill precisely. No TV no phone, just a radio playing some incomprehensible French Euro Pop. Our nearest neighbours were a farmer and his family, about half a mile down the lane from us. The place was idyllic and when we woke to bright sunshine on our first morning it was just bliss. We soon fell into a comfortable routine, a morning ride to the nearest town about ten miles away for breakfast and walk through the markets and shops, afternoons spent sight seeing or at the nearest each, evenings at a small Creperie overlooking a lazy wide river. Sometimes we'd go in for a spot of exploring after our evening meal, driving through the twisty turny lanes of Brittany, passing through small towns with odd sounding names. The only thing, which jarred with me, was the fact that many of the landscapes we passed could have come straight from a Stephen King novel. Fields full of corn, interrupted from time to time by startling and forbidding Celtic crosses, hewn from cold grey rock. Even when you eventually came to a village it was still spooky, deserted streets, empty bars and houses shuttered tight.

Maybe it was just a result of my living so near London, enduring the ant like life of a worker in the overcrowded capital, but at night the almost unnatural tranquility of the area was very creepy, however it did little to mar our vacation as by day the natives were friendly enough, the food was good and prices were unexpectedly low. The end of the first week found me wishing that the holiday wouldn't end. On our second Monday there, we drove to a market being held in the medieval town of Hennebont. Apart from the market the town boasted a magnificent castle which the boys enjoyed immensely. The market itself was a joy, designed for the locals and not the tourists. My eldest son Stephen was dismayed to find that the ducks and rabbits for sale were meant as food and not as pets. At one stall, selling Celtic t-shirts and jewelry the stallholder forced a medallion into my hand; it looked like a cheap metal affair to me, threaded on to a leather loop. The medallion bore an intricate design obviously of some Celtic origin. I tried to hand it back to her not really that interested in buying it, but to my surprise not only did she refuse to accept it she actually handed me three more identical pendants, gesturing at my family, saying 'pour toi, pour toi, monsieur' I was flummoxed, unused to being handed free gifts. I nodded my acceptance and with many 'Merci's ' left the stall. My wife was as bemused as I was, convinced that I'd misunderstood and that I had been expected to pay for the medallions. However as I pointed out that the local gendarmes were hardly in hot pursuit, we both had to accept the 'jewelry' was free. Maggie said that they were ugly looking things and refused to wear hers, Steve however had apparently seen other boys wearing them and was of that age that he wanted to be accepted by his peers so he readily wore his. The medallion was too big for Jamie, so his was put away. The rest of our day was unremarkable stuff, just the usual tourist round interspersed with 'fuel' stops for the boys, comprising of copious amounts of Coca-Cola and ice cream. Back at the farmhouse that evening, the children asleep, my wife and I read until time for bed, not terribly romantic I'm afraid, particularly as the spooky locale had prompted Steve to insist that I slept in his room, whilst Jamie enjoyed the opportunity to share Mum's infinitely more comfortable bed. That peaceful evening seems so long ago now, even though it was only three days ago. I suppose it was my last night of sanity. When I awoke the next morning it was early, a glance at my watch on the bedside cabinet confirmed the time as a little after 5 am. Normally I would have rolled over and gone back to sleep but I noticed Steve sitting up in his bunk, 'What's the matter big guy?' I asked 'Can't sleep?'

'd d d dad, it's c c c cold' he stuttered out, wisps of vapour issuing from between his lips…it was then I realised why I had awoke, I was shivering!

The weather to date had been pleasantly warm, so I was puzzled by this sudden change… I told Steve to get under the blankets then groggily, went to the window, expecting, I suppose, to see a ground frost, instead I gazed out upon a milky blanket of fog, swirling and eddying an utterly impenetrable!

The vestiges of sleep and the unlikeliness of the scene before me confused me. So, I ignored it. I made my way to my wife's room, shivering as I did so. She wasn't there, neither was my youngest boy Jamie..the bed sheets were rumpled but the bed was empty. Still not panicking, I made my way downstairs to the spacious Kitchen, fully expecting my wife to be preparing breakfast with a hot cup of tea already awaiting me. I was wrong, the kitchen was deserted and cold…it was then I started panicking…I ran to the front door pulled it wide and started hollering her name…my cries seemed flat in the fog, as if the chill mist were smothering my words, robbing them of their strength…my calls elicited no response. I noticed that our car was missing from where it was normally parked on the gravel drive directly in front of our front door, my panic, if not my puzzlement, subsided momentarily, she had taken Jamie and driven off somewhere with him. But I knew, even in my confusion, that this was an implausible explanation. Maggie just wouldn't do that sort of thing without telling me. Besides she didn't have the confidence to drive on the French roads. I rushed back inside, to discover a tearful Stevie standing there, saying 'Dad, where's Mum and Jamie?

'They've gone to get us some breakfast' I said, hoping he wouldn't notice the lie. 'Go and get some clothes on' I ordered brusquely, trying to cover my own fear. Dutifully, but slowly, he did as he was told, ambling up the pine stairway to his room. I checked the top of the fridge by the door, the place we always kept the car keys. They were still there. Without trying to worry Steve, I checked the whole of the house and the immediate surroundings, not easy in the chilly milky mist but I was thorough. No sign of them. Returning to the cottage, really worried now, I made a cup of tea and lit my umpteenth cigarette of the day as I sat and drank it. The missing car, the UN-missing keys, the disappearance of my wife and youngest boy, coupled with the eerie mist made me think of stories such as the Marie Celeste and Flannan Isle. I admit, I was at a loss as to what to do. The cottage didn't possess a telephone. I couldn't call for help, that left me with only one logical course of action. I'd have to walk to our nearest neighbours, the farmhouse at the bottom of the lane running to our cottage. Just as I reached that conclusion, Stevie appeared again, wanting to know if his mum and me had had a 'fight'. I told him not to be so silly, that Mummy had probably taken Jamie for a walk down to the farers for some milk or something. It sounded weak even to me but Stevie trusted me as implicitly as only a child can and accepted it. 'Won't they get lost in the fog Dad?' he asked with some perception. 'They might Steve, that's why you and I are going to take a walk down to the farm to see if we can find them.' He immediately looked frightened; 'You can't Dad, what about Mad Mutt?' I had to smile, the farmer owned 2 dogs, one was a small yappy thing, which was permanently tethered with a chain, presumably to prevent it from biting people. The other was a lean, border collie type dog, which had the disconcerting habit of stalking our car as we drove up the lane to our cottage, and then suddenly rushing us, running full tilt at the car, at the last minute veering away and dashing off into the roadside foliage, this was Mad Mutt, a crazy canine. but not one to worry about unduly. 'Don't worry about Mad Mutt, Stevie' I reassured my son 'I'm sure he's pretty harmless, come on.' Eager to be doing something I took my boys hand and we ventured out into the thickening fog. Our walk to the neighbouring farmhouse was surreal, the white tendrils of fog showed dark along the lane, in daylight this darkness would have been translated into tall dense stalks of corn, when we first arrived here I had been amazed at how much of the land in the area had been given over to cornfields, in some places their ranks seemed endless. Stevie and I were now walking in a valley of corn, the fog unable to totally obscure the dark vegetation. I suddenly realized how quiet it was, the cornfields were backed by a motorway, not a particularly busy motorway, but normally you could here the distant growls of engines driving by. Now there was complete and utter silence!

If I hadn't had Stevie with me I think I would have been more spooked than I was, I had to maintain a certain amount of confidence for his sake, so I made small talk with him as we walked. 'Not far now son, and still no sign of Mad Mutt.' 'He could be in the corn Dad' he pointed out, I laughed and told him I wasn't scared of some old dog, no matter how 'mad' it was. 'We'll soon be seeing Mum and Jamie, Steve, don't worry.' He smiled up at me, wanting to be convinced…. so was I. We continued along in the eerie silence, my ears straining for some sound, then I heard something. It started of as a susurration, as if a huge gust of wind was sweeping through the corn, only there was no wind. As the phantom wind passed over us, the dark edges of the fog, which denoted the cornfields on either side of us, wavered slightly. Then silence filled our ears once more. For a moment or two anyway, then, from somewhere ahead of us came the rattle of metal, obtrusive and distinct in the absence of any other sounds. I tried to place where it cam from, as far as I could judge in the whiteout of the fog, it was roughly coming from where the yappy farm dog was normally tethered. I started to breathe a sigh of relief, and then the sound came again, a heaving clanking of chains accompanied this time by an almost sub-sonic growl! I immediately stopped, gripping Stevies hand tightly, I cannot describe the sense of primal fear which came upon me, I can only supposed that the circumstances had left my nerves raw and the growl had grated across them. 'What was that Dad?' Stevie almost whimpered.'I don't know' I replied, all attempts at reassurance gone. 'Just be quiet' Together we inched forward trying to peer through the twisting milky white vapour. A darkness lunged at us! I got an impression of fur and teeth and claws before leaping back in sheer terror! The sound of a heavy chain snapping tight and a frustrated growl followed me as I stumbled backwards. I dragged Stevie with me and he screamed as he fell over. Quickly I scooped him up and comforted him as we made our way back to our cottage.' Run Dad!' He howled. 'Quiet Stevie, it's Ok, whatever it is it's chained up.' 'But Dad, if that's Yappy, then Mad Mutt is out here and what has he turned into?' I realised his logic was spot on, if the thing that had lunged at us had indeed once been the yappy little brown black terrier chained near the farmhouse, what had become of Mad Mutt? I ran faster, as I neared the entrance to our drive I heard a noise behind us, I knew we'd never make it to the cottage, but maybe we didn't need to. Mad Mutt had never followed our car to the cottage, though there had been nothing to prevent him from doing so. I lunged between the gateposts of our property just as something plucked at my shirt, tearing it. I fell heavily on the gravel, bloodying my hands as I tried to break my fall, Stevie yelped as I lost my grip on him but landed far more elegantly than me. We both stared at our pursuer, a creature that would have tested Hollywood's Special Fx boys creativity! It was huge, 7 or 8 feet tall at least, covered in a long sliver coat of fur. Its eyes were huge and insectile, multifaceted and as black as tar. Grotesque talons sprouted from its hands and its mouth was a nest of needle sharp teeth, of the kind usually only seen on deep-sea nightmares. Fortunately for us it appeared to be held back by an invisible barrier which despite it's obvious anger and frustration it could not pass.. 'That's Mad Mutt' Stevie stated. 'Let's get in the cottage' I told him. Ten minutes later I was seated at the Kitchen table, my cut hands stinging from the TCP I had applied to them as soon as we'd returned. I was trying to console a very frightened little boy, who had convinced himself that the creature, which had attacked us, had killed his Mother and Brother. I wasn't so sure about that, there would have been no reason for Maggie to have taken Jamie and gone wandering off somewhere, certainly not without her telling me. Stevie, however had lost a lot of confidence in my judgement calls and wasn't ready to believe me when I told him that his Mum and Jamie were probably safe somewhere else. Like most 8 yr olds, at the best of times he was full of questions, now he was driving me mad, mainly because I had no answers. 'But where are they Dad?' 'Where are we Dad?' 'What happened to Yappy and Mad Mutt', the questions just kept coming and I finally snapped 'Oh or God's sake Stevie, just SHUT up!' He looked stricken and ran from the table heading for his room, I almost followed him, the guilt I felt was immense, the poor kid must have been terrified, and the last thing he needed was me shouting at him. But, I stayed where I was; I needed time to think.

It was obvious to me that we couldn't go back down the lane, Shwarzenegger would have thought twice before trying to tackle the new improved Mutt. That only left me with one option, Behind our Cottage through yet more cornfields, the motorway could be reached maybe a ten-minute trek. I had serious doubts concerning what I'd find if I made it there, but at least it was a plan. I'd discovered neither the radio or the electric lights were working, curiously however the gas cooker still functioned, my only explanation for that was that it was supplied by calor gas bottles at the rear of the house. We had no water coming from the taps, but fortunately the place boasted a working well. I had a cup of hot sweet tea in front of me as I savoured one of my few remaining cigarettes. As I sat there I decided that, in theory, we could just sit in the cottage and await developments, with the gas and water and the abundant supply of corn we were well placed for a siege.. So I decided to shelve my plans for a trip to the motorway. It was way too dangerous, I didn't welcome the idea of making my way through the ranks of corn in this fog whilst creatures like the Mutt and Yappy were out there, especially not with Stevie in tow. I opted for a plan of inaction, foolishly hoping that this whole nightmare would simply go away. I spent the rest of that day, making up with Stevie, trying to bring him round to my way of thinking. Eventually he settled, but he made me promise that if things didn't change soon, that we'd try for the Motorway. I agreed. We both had an early night that night, but I doubt if Stevie actually got to sleep any sooner than I did. I lay in my bed as worried as Hell, the release of sleep a long way away. I didn't believe we were in Kansas any more, we were definitely in a sick twisted land of Oz, with no way back that I could see. Eventually, my head filled with visions of Dorothy, Toto and Ruby Slippers I eventually drifted off. If I'd been expecting to wake up the next morning to discover it had been all a bad dream, I was sorely disappointed. The fog was still out there, along with God knows what else.. As I sat smoking the first of my now carefully rationed cigarettes, I considered the options…they seemed to come down to two, stay put or make a break for it, neither seemed particularly attractive. However I knew I could only expose Stevie to the potential dangers as a last resort. So staying put, however unsatisfactory, was my only choice. That decided I started to try and work out how all of this could have occurred. I wasn't getting very far until I remembered the free charms I had been given. Could they be involved? Maggie and Jamie hadn't been wearing theirs and they had vanished, perhaps the charms had protected us, then a new thought struck me, one that invoked a fresh burst of hope…what if the charms weren't charms at all? What if instead of protecting Stevie and me, they had transported us to this hellish world…Maybe Maggie and Jamie had never disappeared, maybe WE had?

So the day passed slowly, I put Stevie in his bed an hour ago, where he cried his self to sleep. Shortly I'm going to go to him and remove the 'charm' then I will remove mine and try to sleep in the hope of waking up in the sane world! I will pray to God that wherever my family is we will be reunited soon. I leave this account for any that may follow.

Notes

The above was found as a file on a strange device not unlike our own logic processors. Scientists have managed to download it and translate the document. To many it will seem a work of fiction, but there are some amongst us who simply can't dismiss the unusual machine on which it was found. A small black box, inscribed with the word DELL on it's top. It is far more compact than any of our logic processors, yet seems to serve the same functions. There is a strong case to be made for it being described as an 'other worldly' artifact. No one can explain how it came to be found in the ruins of Atlantis.