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I had been working for Sterling Pons for about three weeks when he disappeared, typing and looking up references, making tea and so on. Fucking typical, I thought. My big break… broken!
When I went to work for him I didn’t know who he was…. the fact that he’d written a novel and been a famous writer and so on. I just thought he was a paycheck. He wanted me to be his researcher. I used to go down to his creepy old flat on the edge of Brighton and it’d be raining every day (it was winter then), and I’d go and walk along by the cliffs on the road out of town and look down at the slimy stones sticking up from the sea bed through some vast process of continental drift, or whatever, and think what am I doing here? What are any of us doing? It all seemed so pointless.
I was still studying then, and I just used to go down there on my off days and help him out. He was very disorganised… he had this dismal old apartment on the ground floor, and his creepy wife would be there staring out at the garden and doing nothing. Sometimes she wasn’t there, but I never found out where she went. She was too ill to do too much. At least, that’s what he said.
Sterling – that was what I called him, he never shortened it – had me looking through all these obscure old books researching for a book he was writing about Harry Rubik, the famous film director. Supposed to be writing, anyway – I never saw any of it. Anyway, one of the things he had me researching was the Moonchild skull. Apparently, at the time he died, it had belonged to Mr Rubik.
People said the Moonchild was an alien, or something that had existed on this planet before there were human beings like there are now…. I’ll quote you from a book on the subject – by a man called Professor Fripp, if you want to look him up. I still have it here…