The thing in the lake

Roger Gramston was dreaming of cricket. As usual, he was batting for England against India at Lords. As usual, he was on the edge of his century, and, as usual, Yvonne his personal assistant was cheering him on from the stands. The thing abruptly interrupted Roger's reverie. The cricket ground faded away, and Roger found himself floating in space. Strangely his cat was also present in the void, as the thing had not been able to isolate Keats from this vision, due to his proximity to his sleeping owner. 

'Roger Gramston,' called the thing's cold voice, 'I summon you.' 

'Um, hello,' said Roger. 'Can I help you?' He was puzzled and somewhat put out at having his fantasy disrupted, but he felt he should remain polite none the less. 

'You will do more than help me, slave. You will obey me. And, in return, I offer you power beyond your imagination.' 

The thing proceeded to put forward its case: Either Roger would agree to become its agent on earth, in which case he would be rewarded with all he desired, once the thing had become accepted as a god by mankind, or he would face a terrible death. 

'I see,' said Roger's unconscious mind. 'I need to think about this. Can I get back to you? It's all come as rather a surprise.' 

The thing indicated that Roger had until midnight on Friday night to decide. He must come down to the lake at the appointed hour, and give his decision. If he accepted, the thing would take over his mind and guide him, using its superior cosmic intelligence. He would swiftly find himself immensely powerful and rich. Then, when he was firmly established on the world stage, he would be required to betray humanity into the hands of the thing (or whatever passed for its hands). If he refused, he faced death. 

'Right,' said Roger. 'See you tomorrow night then.'  

He found himself back at Lord's, the bat firmly in his grasp. As a ball came flying towards him, he noticed that Keats was still in his dream, watching him carefully from mid-off. The ball sailed past his bat before he could recover his concentration, and bowled him out. 

'Bugger,' he said.  

In the stand, Yvonne's face fell. Then the scene faded away, and Roger drifted back into a deep sleep.  

At six am, Roger Gramston was awoken by his alarm clock and walked in a daze to the bathroom. He showered and put on his robe, and then went downstairs. He had a vague memory of a strange nightmare, in which a demon from beyond the stars had offered him something or other. It was all a load of nonsense, he thought, as dreams usually were. 

When he'd eaten breakfast and fed Keats, Roger got dressed and left for the station. Although he'd inherited a great deal of money, he worked Monday to Friday as a manager in his uncle's shipping company in central London. He found the job pleasant, and he had little else to occupy his time.  

The train left promptly, and he was fortunate enough to get a seat. As the suburbs moved slowly past the window of his carriage, Roger thought again about the dream he'd had last night. He became aware, with a sudden chilling certainty, that the voice that had spoken to him in his sleep had been real. He frowned, as the realisation swept through him that he would have to decide whether or not to accept the thing's offer. He didn't like having to make decisions, especially on Fridays. Why the hell did the bloody creature have to live in his lake? There were plenty of other sodding lakes it could inhabit.  

Roger had been at his desk for an hour before Yvonne appeared. 

'Want a cup of tea Mr Gramston?' she asked. 

'That would be lovely, Yvonne,' he said. He glanced up at the clock on the office wall, and noted that it was 10.30am. Yvonne was late again. He must speak to her about her timekeeping. She swept out of the room without a backward glance. Sadly, Roger reflected, Yvonne gazed adoringly at him only in his dreams.