Those who have read the previous instalment of this tale (entitled ‘Scriptus Tenebrarum’), will be aware that Philomena Bucket, Rhys Cranham and Reggie Upton had descended upon Neville Moore’s mausoleum-like abode in the hope that Neville – who was wise in such matters – might know something about a worryingly sentient tome (the eponymous Scriptus Tenebrarum) that Philomena had unearthed in one of the attics of The Squid and Teapot. Not unreasonably, they assumed that the appearance of the book, which had become increasingly badly behaved, was somehow connected to the arrival on the island of the mysterious Glimmer-Man, who, much to everyone’s disquiet, had suddenly decided to loiter outside Neville’s window, inconveniently lingering there for hours, and to all intents and purposes looking for the grimoire.

Philomena quietly reflected that there are many places in which one might find oneself trapped — some more regrettable than others, such as a malfunctioning privy, a collapsing mineshaft, or an inexplicably carnivorous wardrobe. Few locations could match, however, the singular misery of being confined within Neville Moore’s house, particularly when it was well past opening time, and the custodianship of The Squid and Teapot had been left in the somewhat less-than-experienced hands of Tenzin, the young Tibetan Buddhist monk. 

“Please make sure you sit firmly on that grimoire,” said Philomena to Reggie, who was currently perched on the unruly tome like an obstinate rooster, and swiftly coming to terms with the realisation that life seemed to be becoming more undignified by the minute.

“If you get up, the book might do something far worse than flutter a few pages and wheeze occasionally,” she added. “You know what these things are like.”

Rhys, peering nervously through a gap in Neville’s purple curtains, said, 

“And if you do get up, I think we all know what might happen next.”

The glowing orbs of the Glimmer Man’s eyes hovered in the mist outside, watching. Waiting.

Neville, standing unhelpfully in the middle of the room, sighed as though his evening had been ruined by the incompetence of others. 

“Well, obviously we need to resolve this,” he said, rubbing his temples. “We can’t all just stand about like nervous goats, while that thing hangs about outside.”

Philomena was about to retort, “So what do you suggest?” but she tactfully held her tongue. Everyone was getting tetchy, and falling out between themselves would achieve nothing.

The problem, of course, was that no one quite knew what the Glimmer Man was capable of. There could be a possibility that he was completely harmless, but it was important to remember that a barely-visible body was attached to those awful, glowing eyes.

 “Maybe we should open the grimoire and ask it what it wants us to do,” suggested Rhys.

“You say that like it’s the simplest thing in the world,” Philomena replied. “Opening an enchanted book, especially one as temperamental as this, has rarely gone well for anyone, in my experience.”

A faint tapping noise at the window made them all freeze. The Glimmer Man’s eyes had not moved, but something — perhaps a long, clawed hand — had briefly brushed against the glass.

Reggie cleared his throat. “We could always…”

A loud thump interrupted him. The grimoire, perhaps irritated by the weight of a retired British army officer squatting upon its cover, gave a sudden, annoyed shudder.

“Yes, well, let’s try and be clever about this,” Neville said, stepping forward. “If the Glimmer Man wants the book, then we should throw caution to the wind and give him the damned book.” 

“And hopefully do it in a way that doesn’t immediately get us all killed,” suggested Philomena, not without sarcasm.

“Details, details,” Neville muttered.

Outside, the glowing eyes did not blink.

The minutes ticked ominously by, until Rhys, still peering through the curtains, exclaimed.

“There’s something… no, someone else lurking out there! Wait a minute… it’s Miss Calder… and she’s talking to the Glimmer-Man.”

It was, indeed, Miss Calder, the ghostly matriarch of The Pallid Rock Orphanage. Those least pleasant inhabitants of the island of Hopeless, Maine (and there are many), hold no terrors for Miss Calder, who had once peered into the depths of the abyss, and reached the conclusion that it badly needed tidying, and perhaps a lick of paint. 

“What is she saying?” demanded Reggie, who had developed shooting pains in his left buttock, and was becoming increasingly keen to abandon his seat on the grimoire. 

“I can’t hear,” said Rhys, “but she keeps doing that skull thing, which might be very good, or possibly very bad.”

Miss Calder was famous for letting her usual form slip into a much less attractive skeletal mode when she became agitated or excited. 

“He’s going,” said Rhys, at last. “I do believe that the Glimmer-Man is going away.”

Before anyone could respond, Miss Calder, now happily in non-skeletal mode, drifted in through the wall. 

“Whatever did you do to get rid of him?” asked Philomena.

“Nothing,” said Miss Calder. “He only wanted someone to talk to; the poor fellow is lonely.”

“Lonely?” queried Neville. “He’s been terrorising the island for days.”

Miss Calder frowned, giving everyone a disconcerting view of her skull.

“Really?” she said. “What exactly has he been doing?”

“He’s been… well, he’s been glimmering all over the place, for a start.”

“He can’t help that,” said Miss Calder. “Glimmering is what he does. It’s harmless enough.”

“But what about the book?” asked Reggie, shifting his position slightly. “Didn’t he want it back?”

“Book?” queried Miss Calder. “What book?”

“The one that I’m sitting on,” said Reggie, testily. “And it’s dashed uncomfortable, I can tell you; it’s worse than riding a bally camel without a saddle.”

“He didn’t mention it,” said Miss Calder.

“So he’s harmless and doesn’t want this blasted book,” fumed Reggie. “Which means that we’ve been stuck here for hours for no good reason.”

“That seems to be the measure of it,” agreed Miss Calder, with a charming smile. 

“But that still leaves the problem of what we do with the grimoire,” said Neville, keen now for his visitors to leave. After all, he was supposed to be a hermit. 

“If the Glimmer-Man doesn’t want the thing, and I definitely have no use for it, what are we supposed to do?”

Philomena looked thoughtful. 

“We could wrap it up securely, and give it away as a gift,” she said, a sly smile on her face. 

“Who the devil would want it… even as a gift?” asked Reggie. 

Philomena glanced at Miss Calder, who was becoming decidedly skeletal with excitement.

“Durosimi  O’Stoat,” they chorused. 

“You’d give an ancient magical tome to Durosimi?” asked Rhys, not a little shocked. “Is that entirely safe?”

“It’s old and crotchety, and won’t give up its secrets in a hurry,” said Philomena. “My guess is that it will keep him occupied for ages.”

Reggie eased himself gingerly off the grimoire, which seemed to be sulking. Groaning, he vigorously massaged his aching backside.

“The book’s not the only one who’s old and crotchety…” thought Philomena with a grin.