I visited the small town of Cromarty a few weeks ago, when my wife
and I were guests of an old friend, Mr Brown, a resident, of Nairn.

It was a fine summer's day as we approached the Black Isle by
way of the new bridge, from Inverness. The landscapes and the
beautiful views over the Cromarty Firth were an inviting challenge
for the day and soon we found ourselves in the pleasant little town
of Cromarty.

For its size Cromarty houses its fair share of quaint little streets and
buildings. There are the aptly named Big Vennel and Small Vennel
(which you somehow feel should be 'Wee Vennel'), a churchyard,
a Courthouse and The Hugh Miller memorial.

I spent some time in the Old parish Church, built in the 16th
century, admiring the very old 'improvements' and further renovations
that had been carried out over the years. The church, owned
now by the Scottish Redundant Churches Association is an interesting
chronicle of the development of the Presbyterian Church in Scotland.

Interestingly, the church has a centrally positioned 'fire and brimstone'
type of pulpit. I know it isn't really allowed, but I decided to give it a
try, and cleared my throat for some invocations of some sobriety.
I was pleased with the booming result, and did it a few times more
before being 'telt tae wheesh' by the Missus.

There was a strange eeriness about this church, and I became
conscious of what felt like a finger being drawn down my cheek, and a
certain coldness. I turned round to see a shaft of light pass through the
window and illuminate a very ordinary looking leather bound Bible that
someone had been left, perhaps for use of visitors. Just as I was about
to pick it up, there was a thumping as of a staff being heavily banged
on the floor of upper gallery; my eyes caught a glimpse of the
following text.


>I looked, and behold, an Ashen Horse; and he who sat on
>it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him.


I was stunned into silence and found my way to the front door,
gasping for breath. Irene asked me if I was well, and I could not speak.
We stepped outside to the sunlight and made our way round, past the
graveyard towards the shore. My heart was still beating like a drum.
A young half-cast girl, in a strange dress, at an entrance gestured to
me to come in. I heard no words but immediately found myself in
the towns PhotographicClub premises. An English lady, who said that
this was their annual display, began to describe some of the pictures.
As she was doing so my eyes wandered to a sepia photograph of the
pulpit I had just seen in the church. There was a strange light and the
picture began to take on an animated form and move slowly from
side to side and man in a clerical collar, by some process of
metamorphosis, was in the picture, which soon became
not a picture but a transposition.

I stood before him; perhaps six feet from the pulpit elevated
bout three feet in the air. The walls of the church had disappeared.
All this time the Bible which had been mysteriously closed, opened
again, and the pages, of their own volition leafed over slowly and
stopped.

The tall cleric said nothing and with his skeletal hand he
pointed at the Bible and gave the merest nod

Again I saw.


>I looked, and behold, an Ashen Horse; and he who sat on
>it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him.


In the distance I could plainly hear the whineying of a horse
in the distance, and the strange coolness returned. I could not
move a muscle, and the sense of sound appeared to have
been removed from me

All at once, we were out in the street again, and I
could hear my friend call loudly, and laughingly from the car

"Mr Black, Mr Black, you are Mr Black aren't you?"
"Where have you been? We thought we'd lost you.?"

When we returned to Nairn, we went to the Newton Hotel's
bar. I quickly had a large glass of Talisker

The tall bartender looked over his glasses and with
the merest nod, motioned to me with his skeletal hand.

I looked and saw......


> Two glasses of Talisker, Seven pounds sixty pence.


I was stunned into silence again.