I sent letters to the police and local press outlets describing what happened.
I heard nothing back in writing and didn’t notice anything in the papers, but I didn’t regoriously check. I was too busy cultivating and maintaining an extensive cacti collection. Something may have gone into print in a small column somewhere. I wrote the letters under a pseudonym - Mr Magoo. I left a contact address but I never got any replies.
But I was receiving strange phone calls at ungodly hours. As soon as I answered they mostly hung up. Sometimes it sounded like a modem starting up and I’d try to admonish the culprits - “look this really isn't funny, i’ll write to the local council”.
Also there was a large bird hanging around when I would go for walks. Everywhere I went this huge black bird flying directly overhead for about two weeks. I couldn't identify it or accurately judge how high it was, even with binoculars, but I'm sure it was an albatross or a pterodactyl. At this stage i didn't see the connection.
Then sometime in the first quarter of 98 (I’ve lost some of my journals) I was watching TV when an almighty knock boomed from the front door. I remember the weather being disgustingly bad. Outside, in the dark, were two men both dressed in black suits, hats, overcoats, ties and white shirts. They looked legit but oddly Mexican, maybe Polynesian? Before I could greet or scold them for knocking so damn hard on the door one of them blurted out “Do you like writing to newspapers about strange things Mr Magoo?”.
“No. What? Who are you and what do you want?” I responded. I didn't bother telling them that I wasn't called Mr Magoo.
“We are from the local station.” Said one. “A police station.” said the other. “We heard your funny story".
“Funny?” I said indignantly. It wasn't very funny to me.
“About what happened at Porton Down.” they said.
“Is everything alright?” I said. I was pleased the police were getting involved, but as I looked at them I couldn't quite make out their faces in the dim light, and their features seemed to shift constantly as if a flickering flame was nearby. They were also remarkably shinny.
“Everything is fine now but we think it would be a good idea if you don't say anything else about the military base Mr Lagoon.” I almost corrected him by saying “it’s Magoo” but thought it really didn't matter if they got my fake name wrong.
One of them started talking with a strange smile on his face. “We think it's quite enough of blah blah blah…..”
I fazed out as I looked closer; I couldn't be sure, but it looked as though they were wearing a suit or cloth over their heads which was projecting a face onto a fabric screen. Also the whole experience didn't seem real, like I'd been drugged.
“Is everything alright Mr Magoo?” I’d obviously been staring a bit to long.
“Yes ... you'll have to excuse me ...” I started to feel like a distressed damsel who had just realised that the creepy old man in the castle she was in didn’t have a reflection. But before I could retreat they continued...
“We won't be much longer. No good can come of it you see. They work very hard at Portland Down and you’re just being rude”
I didn't want to argue, I was unsettled by my observations. I explained to them I wasn't on a crusade to reveal state secrets and that I wasn't trying to offend anyone either. I was contacting the press and the police because i was worried about an individual's well being, the manakin man. My aim was not trying to expose or embarrass the ministry of defense.
“Good Mr Magoo. Let me assure you that no one has ever been harmed at Portland Down and that writing to people is only going to upset someone.”
“Well...I don't mean to upset upset anyone” I said perplexed. “I was just worried about the…” I said.
“Look. No more writing to people now. Understand?” Snapped the agent belligerently.
“I won't. I don't have anything to say anyway and I don't even like writing. I won't be doing it again. At all.” I replied. I didn't have the constitution for this sort of thing, I get easily spooked and intimidated.
He smiled and breathed in, took off his hat and combed his black hair back. He looked me up and down like I'd satisfied him in someway and then extended his hand for a shake “hmm, you're not so bad after all”. He said it like a quote from some 1940’s movie. But when I went to shake it he withdrew in a kind of disgusted horror as if me actually shaking his hand was never his intention.
“None of the touching!” Said the other in a high pitched squeal as he withdrew his partner to apparent safety a few steps back.
“We must go now … that is if you don't mind?”.
I stood at the door wondering what was going on as I watched them walk into the night. “And no more funny stories Magoo!” I heard one yelp from the dark.
But unfortunately there were more funny stories that weren't very funny at all.
