Questioned by police after the disappearance of a neighbour, Mark Radcliffe is confused and frightened. He says little, except for the statement he gives to Inspector Murdoch as a short story.  Murdoch believes he murdered the old man and he is determined to prove it. What is Radcliffe's connection to Arthur Crabtree and the other enigmatic character who vanished without trace two hundred years ago? A deep scar starts to bleed profusely on Radcliffe's leg as he is put into his cell, protesting his innocence.

I could not wipe the blood from my hands. Its smell was coppery, rust coloured it dripped as it mixed with the water on the pavement.  I thought I had cut myself at first. Had I fallen and forgotten all about it? The voice murmured again, insistent, as it whispered, “You must help! You are the one who will follow me. The word of God was said by you when I stepped from the shadows.”

I am going mad, I thought, as I glanced around and could not see anyone on the street. The cold air did not clear my mind, as I must still be a little drunk after the office party.

“Show yourself!” I said.

He appeared before me, in the centre of the road, and his face was in shadow. He was wearing a grey gabardine overcoat.

“Will you help me? Murdered I was just now and those responsible have disfigured my poor face. Just touch my hand and I will take you to them. It is not far from here. One thing I ask of you, Mark.”

“What!” I stammered. “How do you know my name?”

“They cut my head off. My wife must not see what they did. You must bury the head and I will be able to leave this terrible place in peace.”

“Has your body been discovered?”

“Yes. It was found by the police over one hour ago.”

He touched my hand and I could then see three boys laughing, kicking what I believed to be a football on waste ground behind the disused factories. They ran when I shouted obscenities at them.

“They did not see you, my friend, “said the murdered man. “All they see are their fears tormenting them. Demons of the mind.”

“Why did they do this to you?” I asked in bewilderment.

“For fun,” he replied. “In my younger days, they would have stood no chance against me.”

My eyes were burning as I dug a hole with a broken spade I found. I covered his face gently with dirt.

“Thank you, Mark. Molly will be distraught when they tell her, but it is better this way with what you have done. I was a good boxer forty years ago, a street fighter they called me.”

He vanished when I next looked up. My eyes closed and then I found myself back on the road outside my house. I said little to my wife as I kissed her cheek and fell into bed, so tired. The newspaper the following morning said near the old precinct in town a man’s decapitated body, still unidentified, had been found. Three youths arrested by the police were helping with their enquiries.