Notes from the Potting Shed

 (Timestamp: 17:42, 18 April -length: 1 minute, 13 seconds)

[Sound of heavy breathing, rustling, and a distant kettle boiling]

"Ah… Gertie? Is this… is this the phone machine? I can’t see the numbers, it’s gone all smudgy… right - if you can hear this, it’s Virgil. Twobyfour. Not the other Virgil, he moved to Lower Bindle.

Now listen - have you noticed the brambles? They’ve shifted again. All leanin’ west now. I measured it. Well… I eyeballed it. Same as last time, when the Travelling Fayre came in under that fog. You remember, all the jam went off and old Mrs Pewbit started speaking backwards.

Also- there’s a humming noise. Sort of like a fridge, but holier. If you stand near the compost heap, you can feel it in your gums.

And I swear I saw The Tatterman by the phone box- or a scarecrow… or Neville. Hard to tell, what with the mist.

Anyway, if you hear anything- fiddles, or see any unlabelled pies -don’t eat 'em. Or do. I can’t actually advise either way legally.

Right. Well. See you at the Flagon later. If I don’t turn up, assume the worst. Or that I’ve nodded off.

Virgil out.”

[Distant clattering, sound of phone being put down, but not hung up, followed by 18 seconds of muffled humming]