The Tape

When we looked through Alfred Dawkins’ things, trying to find out more about him, trying to establish whether there was a suicide note, a motive, we found a tape. It was tucked away in the drawer of the table that held the audio equipment in his studio. And it would have gone unnoticed, perhaps, had it not been for the fact that it had written on it, very definitely, in black marker pen, a date.

21.10.10

And when someone writes a date on a tape it means two things: first, that it’s been used, it’s unlikely to be blank; second, that it contains, or at least may contain, something significant.

It wasn’t an ordinary cassette tape. It was one of those small ones that are used in personal recording equipment, dictaphones and the like. Or rather, were used. These days everyone uses MP3 devices and records things on their mobiles, of course. But Alfred? He was a traditionalist.

This is what was on the tape when we played it back.


Muffled hiss, the sound of footsteps, feet on a gravel path –

A doorbell chimes –

A buzz – indistinct – ‘Hello?’

‘Hello, this is Alfie Dawkins. We spoke yesterday? I have an appointment.’

‘Come on up. Second floor.’

A buzzer – a door opens, then closes – footsteps –

‘Hello, you must be Alfie. I’m Wendy.’

‘Yes, hello.’

‘Well come in, come in. Can I take your jacket? Go straight through. Can I get you a drink?’

‘Um, thank you, thank you. Yes, um, just some water, please.’

Indistinct sounds, rustling, movement –

The female voice again –

‘There we are. So what can I do for you, Alfie? You mentioned your wife?’

‘Yes, she – she passed away, a couple of months ago. And – well, I just don’t know what to believe. I feel her, you know? Really feel her. Like she’s in the room with me. It’s like she’s reaching out to me and I can’t find a way to get to her. I’ve never believed in God. Never believed in ghosts. But there’s something, isn’t there? There’s something. And I just wanted to talk to someone about it who didn’t think I was crazy.’

A sigh, a sympathetic sigh –

‘Well, Alfie, you’ve come to the right place. Have you spoken to anyone else about this?’

‘One or two. People think I’m just overcome with grief, that I’m clutching at straws. It’s not that. I haven’t even really grieved for her, you know? Because I don’t feel that she’s gone. There’s one guy, a clergyman. Comes to my studio – I’m a tattoo artist – and I’ve spoken with him. But he listens and – well, it’s strange, I think he understands, but it’s like he’s always trying to persuade me against my concept of whatever an afterlife is. We come from very different perspectives, I guess.’

‘I’m afraid what’s out there doesn’t always sit very comfortably with religion.’

‘No, no, I suppose it doesn’t. You said “what’s out there”?’

‘There are many things that are out there, Alfie, many things. And we can’t possibly begin to understand most of them. But you see, I am able to see things, hear things, feel things, that can at least allow me to have some semblance of understanding.’

‘Go on.’

‘You said you don’t believe in ghosts.’

‘No, I – ’

‘What do you mean by ghosts, Alfie?’

‘Well, I – spirits, I suppose. Rising out of graveyards, floating. Dickensian things.’

‘And yet would you call your wife a ghost? You can sense her, after all.’

‘No, not a ghost. Well, not as I think of them. More of a – an – an other. Whatever that is.’

‘Because to me, you see Alfie, ghosts, or spirits, or phantoms, or poltergeists even, well, they’re as real as you and me. But we’ve mythologised them, we’ve created a story for them which means that we can’t see them for what they are.’

‘Which is?’

‘Spirits are love, Alfie, love. And yes, they can be hatred too. But all that emotion, all that feeling; if it’s real then it can’t just die, it can’t just stop.’

‘But how can they be real if they’re just a feeling?’

‘It’s not just a feeling. Feeling is what makes us human, Alfie. Feelings made up of electricity, feelings from the heart, the soul.’

‘So how come everyone can’t see and feel these spirits? Everybody loves somebody.’

‘Do they? Do they really? I’m not so sure. I think that many people have lost the ability to love, to truly love, unconditionally. We live in a society that walks round in blinkers, Alfie. We don’t see. We don’t feel. We kid ourselves that we do. But we feel in a way that’s dictated to us. We react to things in ways that feel appropriate, rather than natural. And I think this has taken away most people’s ability to connect with true love.’

‘And that’s why most people don’t believe in ghosts?’

‘It’s part of it, Alfie. Now. Are you sure you wouldn’t like some tea?’

‘Um, yes, that would be nice. Thank you.’

Click –


And that’s it. Either he turned the thing off, accidentally or deliberately, or he ran out of batteries, or – well, whatever, it stopped recording. And I don’t know why, but I think that there’s something significant on that tape. Don’t know what. Yet. Bloody ghosts, and whatnot.

A guy who has recently lost his wife, goes to see someone. This Wendy. What is she? A councillor? A spiritualist? I think we need to start with her. She might be able to shed some light on what happened next, some light on Alfie Dawkins. Because we’ve had the lab reports back. And it’s inconclusive. But I’ll give you ten to one that this was not a suicide. No way, José.