A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
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HALLOWE'EN - As a five year old, I had a terrible experience of psychic transportation while dunking for apples. I still retain a vivid memory of rough handed men in coarse leggings holding me underwater while their wives encouraged them from a distance, banging tambourines and singing "Green Grow the Rushes", a song I've subsequently associated with acts of cruelty. For some reason, the name Goodie Protheroe and the English county of Hampshire come to mind whenever I think of the incident. Consultation with local historical societies confirmed a spate of witch purges in the county throughout the mid 17th century. Though no record exists of the victims' names, I'm confident that Protheroe might be found among them.
Many of the playful traditions enjoyed by children at Hallowe'en are rooted in a sinister reality. All parents should exercise caution at this time. To enact certain rituals even in jest is to court catastrophe. Children of enhanced intuition are particularly vulnerable to the psychic disruptions caused by the reckless agitation of spirits. The potential damage is sufficient to seriously consider a ban on Hallowe'en. At the very least, certain types of costume and rituals should be legally proscribed with on the spot fines imposed on scofflaws.
HAMILTON COE FOUNDATION, THE - The original aims of my foundation were three-fold: to encourage research into the use of psychic ability, to encourage potential in genuine clairvoyants and and debunk fakes and scofflaws. To that end, I've delivered lectures across Britain and North America, endorsed eight young psychics, exposed seventy three frauds and introduced a laminated Hamilton Coe Certificate of Authenticity recognised by police forces around the world. At some stage in the (hopefully not too distant) future, I hope to establish a holiday retreat for young psychics where they can develop their powers in a 'fun' environment. My first experiment in this field, unfortunately, had to be abandoned when it became obvious that six of the seven children in attendence were bogus and forcing Findlay Duff, the only genuine clairvoyant, to share his psychic impressions by means of Chinese burns
It's now five years since the Foundation's inception. Sensible people, of course, pay little heed to anniversaries. Let's not attribute undue significance to a day that otherwise begins and ends like any other. When I blow my nose, I don't expect subsequent generations to commemorate the event with a public holiday. Contrary to mischievous speculation, the Foundation has had no part in any of the various demands that the local council do more to commemorate the occasion. What do I want with a Man of the Year award? The baubles of mediocrity gather dust on a million mantelpieces. While braggarts tunelessly parp songs of praise to themselves, only posterity acknowledges true achievement.
HANDWRITING, ANALYSIS OF - A rudimentary knowledge of graphology is useful but shouldn't be regarded as an exact science. In my experience, graphologists, in common with most investigators confined to solitary areas of expertise, tend to 'read' too much into their own findings, often dismissing more pertinent evidence extracted from other sources. Despite claims of its proponents, graphology is next to useless in establishing personality types, though it might determine a person's mood when he or she wrote the sample presented for analysis. My own knowledge of the art has been helpful on various occasions, most notably in the apprehension of the Station Rd vandals and laureate of the poison pen, Alexander Coull.
Handwriting samples from the Hamilton Coe archive.
HANSEN, ALAN. Football Analyst, Nudist. Over the past decade Hansen has established a New Year tradition of running naked through the centre of Alloa followed by a Goodwill truck which accepts unwanted Christmas jumpers. These, unfortunately, aren't used to clothe Alan, but distributed to local indigents. Hansen's misguided, if public spirited, gesture has, predictably, encouraged exhibitionists elsewhere. Last year, Drumfeld's Hogmanay celebrations were completely ruined when members of the local amateur football team who pledged to run naked from Drumfeld to Inverbeg, unfortunately contriving to get lost in a sudden blizzard en route.
Alan Hansen, fully clothed
HAPPINESS - In my extensive experience of aberrant behaviour, what most people refer to as ‘depression' is often an entirely logical response to circumstances. The expectation of unhappiness will, more often than not, summon the reality and a vicious cycle is created. A scientist might argue that our lives are dictated by our D.N.A., that we are condemned to eternally repeat the same pre-programmed follies. I would counter that, while we might inherit demons, our spirits are unique and in some, if not all cases, capable of resistance. I emphasised this point in the Paterson dossier I sent Spencer for his thirty-first birthday, naively hoping that he might be liberated by the knowledge that his wretchedness was almost entirely attributable to genetics. At the dossier's conclusion I listed meditative exercises and diet and lifestyle emendations which I was sure would aid him emerge from his pit of self-loathing.
HARDY, FRANK AND JOE – Fictional Detectives. The ability to look into men's hearts is often dispiriting. What people like Nina blithely refer to as a ‘gift' is, actually, a terrible thing to bear. Before we continue, please think about this. The depiction of young detectives in popular fiction tends to be misleading. They're popular and constantly surrounded by admirers. Did either Hardy boy resort to going to the prom with Aunt Gertrude? Of course not! This is a popular misconception. In reality, the young person who exposes wrong doing is shunned, ridiculed and dangled naked from the flagpole with the word “spy” daubed on his torso. And this human aversion to the truth-teller doesn't take into account the fear inspired by the supernatural elements of clairvoyance. The average child is intolerant and cruel. He detests anyone who's different. If another, more sensitive, child intuits that his father beats his mother or stays out late with other women, he doesn't acknowledge the truth in the revelation or even accept it as a possibility. Instead he points his finger and shouts “freak!” encouraging his friends to surround the truth-teller and pummel him. I'm not looking for pity, merely understanding. A considerable percentage of clairvoyants are susceptible to the bleakest of depressions. Seven out of ten, apparently, contemplate suicide before reaching their teens. This shouldn't come as any surprise. Who wants to be privy, for example, to his parents' darkest desires? Should a child have his thoughts corrupted by the intrusive fantasies of taxi drivers or supermarket assistants? How is he to communicate with these people? Every genuine clairvoyant will, at some stage experience violent rejection. A child can't determine between regular thoughts and those sparked by enhanced intuition. Tact isn't inherent. A five year old can't be expected to remain silent when unexpectedly offered secret knowledge. Clairvoyant children tend to be considered socially inept. It's inevitable. Nobody wants thoughts he's reluctant to acknowledge even to himself parroted by a five year old. The potential for embarrassment is overwhelming. As my powers became apparent, my parents' circle of friends rapidly dwindled. My Uncle Gregor refused to visit for over three years after I received a vivid impression of him prancing in front of a mirror, his great red face framed by a wig, his thighs sheathed in silk. His red face and spluttered denials betrayed the accuracy of my intuition. I was immediately overwhelmed by an second image, this time of Gregor dashing my head off our fireplace and passed out, a frequent occurrence throughout my childhood and adolescence that Nina mischievously dismisses as a punishment evasion technique. (Throughout his life, incidentally, Gregor projected a constant stream of repressed urges. His company, even when I was older, was an ordeal. No talent was required on my part to discern his hatred. He conveyed it with every word and glance. Troubled and angry people often conceal their true feelings behind a mask of apparent jollity. Nina implicates me in my uncle's death, referring to a “campaign of harassment.” This was, in fact, a perfectly legitimate investigation fully detailed in my Casebook as the Mystery of the Hidden Diary.)
The Hardy Boys from the 1970's t.v. series
HARRIS, JANE (1975 - ) Pest, Scaremonger, ‘Activist'. Persistent visitor to Drumfeld where she pesters locals and visitors on the subject of animal testing in the Woollen Mill. A misconception of obscure origin. Monkeys liberated from research facilities, incidentally, have been known to attack and should be approached with caution.
HAWTHORNE, RONALD (1957 - ) Celebrity Psychic. In 1993 Nina Kelly, considering herself an expert in the realm of supernatural detection techniques, released a completely risible book called Written in Blood in which the careers of various clairvoyants were assessed with the total lack of clarity or perspective which has become her trademark. Any genuine authority on the field failing to be repelled by the book's garish cover and actually examining its contents might be surprised to discover that our most prominent and sought after clairvoyants are Ronald Hawthorne and Phyllis Yuill. Until recently, Hawthorne's entire existence was devoted to predicting the death or disgrace of minor celebrities. His clientele, according to his own biography, included Michael Barrymore, Elton John and Cherie Blair. Since various indiscretions caused him to be banished from the salons of Mayfair, he was reduced to trawling crime scenes in his crushed velvet suit. His technique has never varied. On arrival, having attracted sufficient attention, he sinks to his knees, never missing his strategically placed towel, clutches his temples and gibbers while members of his entourage take notes. On the occasions I've personally witnessed this performance, he's been led away by his ‘personal physician', screaming and gnawing his trademark beret. On at least two occasions that I know of, he's been so traumatised that he's required hospital treatment. Quite simply, he has neither the sight nor the stomach for the role.
HEGARTY, ALEXANDER (1938 – 2003) A plausible rascal, though not, I would contend, a particularly likeable one, Alex Hegarty was a frequent visitor to the Coe house throughout my childhood. For years, the Hegartys' arrival preceded the Hogmanay bells, causing Christine and I to flee his slightly metallic, cigarette breath. We'd watch from the stairs as the Hegartys encouraged our parents to remove their shoes and dance to Gary Glitter and Bay City Rollers songs on the radio. When I was seven years old, this ritual was disrupted by the most significant vision I had, up to that time experienced. Watching Alex Hegarty, face fixed in an expression of belligerence, clap his hands and stamp one foot in time to the music, the familiar features of our lounge dissolved around him, rearranging themselves as a woodland clearing. My parents and Myra Hegarty were no longer visible, though I was aware of their presence. Only Hegarty danced, his flared tartan trousers causing dead leaves to stir around his feet. Suddenly a young woman stepped from the undergrowth and walked slowly toward him. As she looked up, we made eye contact, causing me to be overwhelmed by a sensation of terrible sadness. Pointing at the prancing Hegarty with one hand, she held up the other, palm toward me, to reveal the number 4 written vividly in red. At that moment, Hegarty himself turned to face me. His eyes burned with such animal intensity that I recoiled, banging the back of my head against the wall. By the time I recovered my equilibrium, the scene had returned to normal.
For the next ten years, I tried to establish the meaning of the vision, a quest for truth that resulted in a rift between my parents and the Hegartys. Matters were complicated when I recognised the girl from the clearing performing one of Spencer's Saturday morning 'pop' shows. It was the rock singer Suzi Quatro. For years I had imagined she had been a victim of violence, perhaps murder. Now it occurred to me that I had tapped into Mr Hegarty's inner world. Unfortunately, my parents, completely estranged from the Hegartys after a distressing incident in which I was dragged from my hiding place in their tumble drier and cuffed about the kitchen, refused to telephone and ascertain whether Ms Quatro had played a prominent role in his sexual fantasies of the time.
My assault in the Hegarty kitchen, incidentally, was the catalyst in Mrs Hegarty's decision to leave her husband. While I failed to establish his role in a murder, my investigations did uncover various affairs with clients that must have put their marriage under considerable strain. Evidence of a propensity for violence was, I think, the last straw.
HONESTY - Most people consider themselves to be honest. If pressed, they'll make frank observations about their friends and neighbours. Not in a judgemental sense, of course. They merely wish to be helpful. On occasion, they might even confess to shortcomings of their own. This usually happens when the consequences of these shortcomings threaten either reputation or liberty. “I'm disgusted with myself,” someone might candidly squawk before embarking on some course of self-improvement. Drunks, wife-beaters and gossip mongers are all prone to such moments of self-revelation in the immediate aftermath of exposure.
HOUDINI, HARRY (1874 – 1926) – Stage magician killed, according to various theories, by a blow to abdomen, poison or black magic (all methods, co-incidentally, used in attempting to despatch Hamilton Coe.) After the Dillon Forrest investigation, Christine, Muriel and I went for the celebratory meal customary to a case's conclusion since I used to go to JURASSIC BURGERS with WILLIAM URE. It was, at the outset, a pleasant enough evening, albeit one tinged by its association with shattered lives. I remember attempting to lighten the mood by explaining to Muriel how, if necessary, I could simulate Houdini's Chinese Water Torture stunt by escaping from Marcocilli's ornamental fish tank. This conversation was overheard by members of the party at the next table who, with escalating belligerence, encouraged me to put theory into practise. They were drunk, of course. While they weren't deliberately offensive, their intemperate hilarity in summoning inappropriate images of me confined within the tank, chained and naked, soured the evening, as did the repeated offer of financial incentives to make good my boast: grubbily crumpled dollar bills pelted in my direction. My niece, who was twelve at the time, has always seen me in a heroic light which others might consider incongruous with reality: Muriel is fifteen years old, prone to moodiness and burdened by the occasional presence of a father who is fat-headed and vain. Nobody enjoys seeing his or her hero debunked and, while I'm accustomed to derision, she was obviously distressed by my treatment at the hands of our fellow diners.
Marcocilli's superb coffee is normally my favourite part of the meal. On this occasion, with consideration to Muriel, I chose to forego the pleasure. While I was waiting for the bill, however, one of my tormentors turned sideways and sneezed, propelling a viral spray into the side of my face. While I don't dispute that this was unintentional, the consequence was a virus that incapacitated me for weeks and depleted my psychic abilities.
HULL, ROD - A tragic illustration of the dangers of psychic possession. Hull arrived in Britain from his native New Zealand with the reputation of being a brilliant young stage actor. Rehearsing for the role of Richard the Third, he immersed himself so thoroughly in the mindset of the character that he was possessed its vengeful spirit. After committing a succession of compulsive assaults of escalating severity, Hull took to strapping his less controllable right hand and padding it with socks. When this proved ineffective against the strength of the hunchback's rage, he improvised Emu, the violent puppet with whom he became inextricably linked for the rest of his career. Watching Hull as a child, I was stricken by the terror in his eyes as he struggled to control the hate filled monarch, still bleeding from the wounds of Bosworth, writhing ferociously at the end of his arm. Hull eventually died after a dispute with ‘Emu' over whether they should watch the F.A. Cup Final or an afternoon screening of Laurence Olivier's interpretation of Richard. In the course of the ensuing struggle, Hull somehow ended up on the roof of his isolated cottage, from where he was thrown to his death.
HUMOUR, SENSE OF - Today a good sense of humour is considered a cardinal virtue, perhaps the cardinal virtue. People who seek company through the sort of free magazine normally found trampled on the soggy floors of streetcars eschew genuine humour for what they refer to as g.s.o.h. All the world's lonely hearts, it seems, really desire is someone with whom to laugh in the face of whatever adversity has isolated them to the extent that they have to advertise their personalities in columns also used to sell sex, used cars and unwanted Christmas presents. The most unprepossessing dullard will stubbornly proclaim his g.s.o.h. even as the object of his repartee prepares to fling herself from the nearest window rather than endure another of his witless anecdotes. The absence of humour is as serious a failing as the absence of compassion or mercy. Nobody likes to be told he lacks a sense of humour. The asset is claimed by bullies as justification for what, viewed objectively, amounts to anti-social behaviour. What they claim as humour is, in reality, a total absence of self-restraint, the abandonment of reason to the darkest human urges. Every day, people endure the grossest indignities rather than leave themselves vulnerable to the accusation that they can't take a joke. They tolerate having their chairs whipped from under them as they sit down, insects introduced to their lunchboxes, their personal details plastered over the walls of communal toilets. It's only a matter of time before ‘it was only a joke' becomes a legitimate criminal defence. We must see things for what they are. A man whose handshake transmits electric shocks harbours a pathological yearning to inflict more serious pain. In appropriate circumstances, the whoopee cushion is a harmless source of fun (I've owned several myself), the packet of gum that conceals a steel snapper, however, is a weapon of attrition. Spencer owned various such devices. This is indicative of what he refers to as ‘humour'. It is actually belligerence.
HYSLOP, JOHN (1950 - ) Child Psychologist. Ostracised in some quarters on account of his unsentimental approach, Hyslop has declared it his mission to ‘liberate society from the tyranny of its children and children from the expectations of their parents.' Arguing that many parents, lacking maturity and intelligence, use their children almost entirely to fulfil needs of their own, he advocates stringent assessment of child-rearing ability and, where necessary, separation.
A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z