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It was surely the remnants of a dream - an opium dream or phenomenal hangover. Half the size of his bed, a red Ford Fiesta was driving around his ceiling. It parked above his head and a family got out: a rotund man with a Monk-style balding palate, a skinny woman with curly blonde hair and a little girl of perhaps six who skipped along the pavement, singing. He saw this from an aerial view as if hanging out of the window but he was lying in bed, in the dark, wide awake and fearful of insanity. How much had he drank last night?

Walking out of the picture, the family left the Fiesta with bright sunlight glinting off its windscreen. Assailed by rush of vertigo, he felt sucked in as if an aeroplane�s hatch had opened beneath him. He wasn�t safe in his own bed and could drop out of it - into the ceiling. This scene, above yet below, wasn�t quite Heaven and wasn�t quite Hell but more like a rundown street in Spain. On its far side, beyond its blurred edges was some kind of desert where Lowry-type figures milled around like insects not yet human.

He sat up in bed and craned his neck. Mundane, fantastic - perhaps it was a vision of the grand finale, The End? Someone else was drawing near: an elderly lady with snow-white hair and a wicker shopping basket: enough to convince him he was looking into another era , twenty years ago or more � especially as it was in Technicolor where every day was a summer�s evening. Near the Fiesta, this woman paused, hitched her basket into the crook of her arm and pushed up her sleeve to check the time. There was about her, a dim flicker of d�j� vu. His grandmother back from the dead so soon? Dizzy, he shook his head, trying to blink it all away as they do in old comedies. But still the car remained and the elderly woman looked right up at him - as if to dare his doubts. Squinting at the sun, she looked up towards the sky while looking down at him in the dark. I'm dead then, he thought, dead and buried. It had all happened too quickly for him to realize it but he recognized one thing for sure now: this was the street he had lived on.

A red double-decker bus nosed around the corner and headed straight for his bed. Huge, it jutted out of the ceiling and he dived out of its path, onto the floor. Fully awake now, he sprang up and opened the shutters. Outside, through spangling green after images, he saw the bus pull away. He got dressed - full more of excitement now than dread - if this was only a projection of the street it was still extraordinary. He might even make some money out of it: his debts were mounting so God had taken his ceiling off just at the right time. The first thing to do was get someone else to look at it.

He climbed the stairs and rang his neighbour�s doorbell. Eventually, Maggie, who rented out rooms, came to the door in her pink-quilted dressing gown; she looked almost as dishevelled as he was.

�I seek the verification of your eye,� he said.

�Oh God,� she yawned. �Having one of your Edwardian turns are you?�

�There�s something you need to see. It won�t disappoint - once your eyes get used to the dark.�

�Oh? I hope you�re not trying to get me into bed Mr Michaels.�

�Last thing on my mind.�

�Well! Thanks a bloody bunch! Hang on, I�ll get my coat.�

�I think you�ve been spending too long on your own,� said Maggie as they sat on the floor, their backs against the wall, staring up into the dark.

�It sort of comes like a vision� You have to wait until the light�s right.�

�I don�t think it�s just you. Everyone should get out of the house a bit more�I was watching a documentary last night about a chap who toured the world on his motorbike. Maybe you should do something like that?�

�Once the clouds subside, we�re in business � �

She sighed. �And I�ve left me ciggies upstairs. Have you thought about getting back to your painting then?�

�There! Someone coming down the street.�

�Um. I see a wee spindly shadow, hardly a person��

�It gets better. It�s only a section of the street but the sun needs to break out again. It�s a natural phenomenon.�

�Oh, aye, right enough!� Maggie struggled to her fluffy-slippered feet. �Listen, how would you like to come to dinner tonight? I thought of getting some lovely fish from the market. Good for the brain.�

�Well thanks - but can�t you stay a bit longer?�

�Oooh Mr Michaels, I bet you say that to all the girls. I�ve got to get dressed. Some of us have to work you know.�

Once he got out of the house he appreciated her needling him. Spring was in the air and he hadn�t left his flat for days. His hangover was courtesy of drinking alone and labouring under its last bruising effects, he shambled around town, thinking about his ceiling and composing a poster for it:

Fringe Festival Event

COME SEE THE MIRACLE ON BREWER STREET!

An amazing phenomenon in an ordinary room! Has to be seen to be believed! Available on sunny days only, 11 a.m. � 3 p.m. Admission �3.00.

SEEING IS BELIEVING! YOU�LL BE AMAZED!

Was it, he wondered, a natural camera obscura? These usually required a gigantic lens. He�d have to contact someone qualified to comment on it. Meanwhile, wine was the last thing he wanted to think about but he�d need some for tonight. Unsure whether Maggie was white or red, he got both. No doubt her lodgers would be there so it would still be too little rather than too much. Gauzy and exotic by night, Maggie smoked like a chimney and drank gin. By morning she was a pale apparition in a dressing gown, dragging her feet and slopping her coffee. He suspected she had a complicated love life but had never broached the subject. Quick-witted and earthy, he really wished she�d seen what he�d seen, up there blazing away: something unique enough to chase away the everyday. Apparently she was not keen to verify his insanity and now, out in a world of non-stop shopping and alarming newspapers � who cared about the projection on his ceiling? Stranger things happened at sea and he�d be surprised if any of the dead faces in town would be interested. Maggie was right; he was too taken by fanciful ideas and spent too long with them, alone.

Busy in the kitchen, Maggie gestured for him to go into the lounge where a table was set for two. She�d gone one stop short of candles but had invested in a colossal bottle of red to add to his two. He listened carefully: the lodgers were obviously out and if this was what he thought it was, it was a long time since he�d been exposed to romantic atmosphere. He envisaged them talking about politics, favourite flicks and wine.

�Have you heard? It�s just awful,� she said, bringing in a corkscrew.

�Obviously not. What?�

�The murder. Number 21. Look, the flat - right across there.�

�Who?�

�An old lady called Mrs Butler. You must have seen her. Usually went shopping with a wicker basket.�

�That can�t be. I saw her today - on my � from my window.�

�It only happened this afternoon. The place has been swarming with police. A woman from the launderette found her � she�d been throttled with a pair of her own tights. Her attacker didn�t break in either. She let him in so they reckon it was somebody she knew� someone local. And, there�s worse � it was a sex attack.�

�God, she was eighty odd.�

�Poor soul. There�s some sick bastards out there. Anyway, sit down. Pour yourself a stiff drink. I�ve got to get the dinner out.�

�I don�t understand how all this could have happened this afternoon,� he called after her, �I was only gone a couple of hours.�

�That�s all it takes,� she called back.

Maggie returned with two rainbow trouts served on platters with salad and new potatoes.

�Gosh,� he said and seeing the cloudy poached eye and rusty grim lips of the trout, he didn�t feel hungry at all.

�Tuck in. Don�t let a little thing like murder put you off,� she laughed uneasily.

�Uh, I feel a bit peculiar. Would you mind - taking the head off for me?�

�Silly me! And on top of everything else�� She took the plates back into the kitchen as he forced down a large glug of wine.

�Thanks.� Gingerly, he tried the fish. �It�s just - I don�t like food that�s watching me.�

'Right enough,' she tittered. �Anyway, they know quite a bit already. And they�re going to be doing door-to-door enquiries. All the men in the area will have to give a DNA sample.�

�Bloody Hell!� He nearly choked on his fish.

�Silly man! It won�t be that: saliva and thumbprints most like.�

�How-do-you-know-all-this?�

�The launderette of course. The old lady lived directly above it. Poor devil used to complain about the spin cycles keeping her awake. The cops started with all the customers there. They think it�s someone young.�

�Someone we know?' he said and thought: someone I might have seen on my ceiling.

�Let�s not get carried away. I'm quite sure it wasn�t anyone I know.�

�Where are your lodgers this evening?�

�What are you inferring? I happen to be a very good judge of character.'

'So was Rosemary Sudcliffe I'm sure.'

'Cut it out! You're giving me the creeps!'

'Sorry, but don't you suspect me just a little? I was away for a couple of hours.'

'As for the lodgers, they moved out last week. I�m surprised you didn�t see them on your ceiling!�

�I only discovered it this morning,� he said coldly.

�Look, it�s not that I don�t believe you. But people see things differently. It�s like religion. Where you saw a person, I saw a shadow. How come I haven�t got the same anyway? This room�s above yours. The shutters are identical.�

�I think it�s something to do with the angle of the light or the glass. You�ve got double glazing. Mine are the original window panes and the glass is wavery. Perhaps it makes a lens � hence Camera Obscura or, at least pinhole camera effect.�

�I�m sure Herr Professor,� she said, topping up their glasses.

�I saw Mrs Butler on it this morning. She stopped below my window to check her wristwatch.�

�Did she?� Maggie looked a little stricken. �Tell me what she was wearing.�

�I couldn�t see properly because it was an aerial view. But her hair was very white, and tied back - with a ribbon I think. Her wristwatch seemed to be large��

�Could you see what time it said?�

�Don�t be daft!�

�You said the old glass was wavery, it could magnify � �

�I think it does. But not that much!�

�Anything else?�

�Her basket was empty so she was on her way to the shops. She was wearing a white blouse maybe, a light-coloured cardigan and sensible shoes � light-coloured as well.�

�You�re freaking me out!�

�How? Did you see her today?�

�No, but that�s very detailed and correct. I was in a bus stop with her once and I remember now � her wristwatch. It was a man�s wristwatch � her husband�s I suppose.�

�What should I do? Tell the police?�

�Darling� seeing things on the ceiling must be one of the later stages of psychosis. You�d go straight to the top of their prime suspects.�

�You think I�m raving?�

�No, of course I don�t. I�m thinking of other people. And of all days, why did the ceiling happen today?�

�It�s the first sunny day since I excavated the shutters from those panels of crappy plywood.�

�Good. That�s completely rational. You�ve convinced me that you�re quite sane.�

�Thank fuck for that then.�

'Yes, thank fuck!'

They ate in silence for some time.

�But d'you think I should tell the police?�

�No. Don�t incriminate yourself. They�ll have found lots of people that saw her today. You�re an artist, mostly home all day. Your paintings are a little strange. Portraits of older people aren�t they? So do yourself a favour.�

�But the other thing is, she looked up at me. Or down at me. She looked up at the sky. It�s as if I was meant to see her. But she was checking the weather I suppose. The clouds. And by the time you came down of course, it was gone � clouded over.�

�Weird� So, just as a matter of interest where were you this afternoon?� Maggie cocked an eyebrow.

�Just downtown. I went to Tescos. Then to an ironmongers��

�Sounds innocent enough to me. Listen, you will stay here tonight won�t you? With all this I don�t want to be left alone.�

�I bet you say that to all the boys.'

'No I don't actually. We�ll finish that bottle and talk about something else. There�s fruit cocktail and Bailey�s ice cream for dessert.�

�Sounds decadent.�

�It is.�

He needed Maggie to see the ceiling, working, and finally, managed to persuade her to stay at his. She brought with her plumes of smoke and wafts of gin which he couldn�t be persuaded to. He prayed the sun would be out in the morning. She only believed in what she saw and who was he to tell her there is more? She lived in the world as it presented itself and did not question its veracity. The same with the murder � she never asked Why? because Who? was the more practical and pressing question. But he overslept and she wasn�t there when he woke up and in the later light he saw more of the desert with faint stick-insect figures staggering around it. Otherwise, it was cloudy so there was little to be seen.

He saw policemen going door to door in teams of two and debated whether he should tell them about the ceiling. The sun was fleeting and he was tempted, especially as he�d seen the old lady yesterday, probably only a couple of hours before it happened. But as Maggie said, say nothing. His paintings were incriminating enough. Couldn�t he turn them around to face the wall, she suggested? He thought that was even more suspicious.

He sat on his the bed and while the one copper took a swab from the inside of his left cheek and a thumb print from his right hand, the other copper looked at his paintings, twelve Gothic portraits of his family from the turn of the 20th century to the present: a grim uncle playing a pipe organ, a demented-looking aunt pointing to a sign which read: Don�t even THINK of parking here.

�I see you�re into a bit of the old portraiture,� said the standing policeman.

�I try,� he said.

The sitting copper asked who else lived in the building and he told them the flats downstairs were empty and Maggie upstairs was living alone.

�Did you ever see Mrs Butler?�

�In the street, once or twice. I didn�t know her name until this.�

�Well� thank you Mr Michaels.�

He let them out of his flat, closed the door and opened it a chink because he knew one of them was going to comment.

�Strange character,� he heard one say to the other and closed his door with some satisfaction.

He fastened the shutters and lay on the floor in the sooty dark. He took some deep breaths and once his eyes adjusted, he saw the one side of his street and the pavement. Like birds with broken wings, some pages of a newspaper were swooping across the paving slabs . The two coppers emerged and with the stateliness of pallbearers on either side of a coffin, they walked up the street.

� Paul Houghton
Reproduced with permission

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