The trouble with Demons

(or What really happened at Silverstone, and why no-one found that tyre at Hockenheim ....)

by Jacquie Groom

Somewhere, not far from Sherwood, he sat.

Bald, lonely and miserable.  Bereft of followers, not even a wolf for company.

Gulnar.

He knew that behind him, amongst the green trees, the Hooded Man lurked.  Played and plotted, fought and laughed with his men.  And still Gulnar sat and thought.  And pondered...

"A demon," he said to himself. "I need a demon.  A new one.  Better than Cromm Cruac.  Better than Fenris.  Something special.  Something evil, and greedy, and mean.  Something ugly ..."

He shut his eyes, and cast the spell.

A creature appeared before him.  Short and wrinkled, with large ears and funny eyes.  It wrinkled it's nose, and peered around, as if sniffing out it's new environment.  Suddenly it sees Gulnar.  "Where am I ? " he said.  "What happened ? What is this trick ? I was close to completing the deal with the Romulan .."

Gulnar looked at him.  "You are not a demon !" he hisses.

The creature pulled itself up to it's full height.  "I am Daemon Bol, I will have you know," he said, reaching out to run his fingers over  Gulnar's bowl.  "I could get you a good price for that !"

Eyeing his pewter bowl with new respect, Gulnar snapped his fingers, and the apparition disappeared.  "Daemon, Demon ..." he mutters to himself.  "What's in a name?"

He looked into the water, and thought.  "Something fast," he muttered.  "And brave.  And able to take on anyone ..."

The blue and yellow car sped round the race track, faster and faster.  The driver could hardly bear to consider the very real possiblity that he was actually going to win his first Grand Prix.  Everything was set.  He only had to hang on ...

Then a sudden lurch, and he felt himself being lifted up, up and away.  "Did I crash ?" he wondered to himself, as he suddenly landed with a bump on the ground.

A bald man, dressed in strange robes, was staring at him.  "What are you ?" he hisses.

The driver, confused, removed his helmet.  "The name's Damon ..." he began, but before he had time to work out where he was, he found himself back in the cockpit, the strange man's angry scream of "Not again !' still echoing in his ears.  Unfortunately the car had not fared so well.  The engine had blown.  As if there had been a surge of power ...

He tried to put it out of his mind.

Until the next time.  Only two laps to go ... when once more he felt the strange lurch.  He held on, but something was wrenching at him.  Pulling the machine - something would have to give.  With a sigh, he felt his tyre give way beneath him.

And Gulnar, far away cross time and space, was knocked over by a two-hundred mile an hour formula one tyre.  B compound.  Slightly worn. 

And he realised there was only one thing for it.  He would have to learn to spell.

Adelaide 1994 ...