‘Hello,’ I said, sounding agitated but there was no response at the other end.

‘Hello,’ and still no response.

Switching on the lamp I squinted at the clock and saw that it was four in the morning. Feeling extremely annoyed at this point I was about to hang up when I heard a voice coming through the phone: ‘Hello, Anna Marie, it’s been a long time.’

‘Who is this?’ I said indignantly.

‘It’s Frank.’

I let out a loud gasp, ‘Look is this some kind of a sick joke?’

‘I know it’s hard to believe and I’m so sorry for calling at this late hour,’ said the man in a deliberate yet urgent tone, ‘But this is an emergency. I can’t go into any explanations right now — there isn’t enough time for that. Please listen carefully, little bug, use the formula, F-A-P SIX, F-A-P SIX.’

A chill shot up my spine whilst listening to the man enunciate every letter clearly with special emphasis on the number “six”. I took in a deep breath, ‘Frank . . . is that really you?’ I could barely breathe from the shockwave. Then an automated voice chimed in informing the caller that there was one minute remaining.

‘Anna Marie, we’re running out of time. I know I don’t have any right to ask you to trust me, but I’m begging you to trust me just one more time — use the formula–F-A-P SIX! Please do it, little bug.’

I could hear traffic noise in the background. He must be calling from a phone box but from where? Saliva slipped through the corners of my mouth. A voice inside my head was telling me not to believe what I was hearing.

‘No way, my father is dead. Who the bloody hell is this?’

‘Little bug, it is me…you’ve got to believe me, this is a matter of life and death, please use the formula…F-A-P Six!’ Then the phone line went dead.

‘HELLO…HELLO!’

My hands were shaking. I felt like vomiting. For a second this seemed like one of those surreal experiences when you think you are dreaming that you’re awake. But this was no dream – I was awake. Sitting up with my back against the wall and the phone still in my hand I gazed at the pattern of Egyptian hieroglyphics stenciled around the borders of the bedroom ceiling. Being woken up at four in the morning was disturbing enough, but hearing the voice of my long, lost father was outright shocking. After all these years of not knowing whether he was dead or alive, I get a phone call from a man claiming to be Frank and who sounded barking mad. To make matters worse the only thing he had to say was “F-A-P Six” – not something like, “Hello Anna Marie, I know this might come as a shock, but I’m not dead. I’ve just been too preoccupied for the past two decades so I decided to give you a bell. And by the way, could you use the formula?” Then “puff” like a cloud of smoke he was gone again.

My mind was riddled with confusing thoughts and painful memories all at once. That man had to be Frank. No one else knew about the formula. And no one has ever called me “Little Bug” except for dad — of this I was certain. It was his silly pet name for me when I was a young girl.

‘Frank is alive,’ I whispered.

We had all presumed that my father, Franklin Patakis, died long ago, rotting away in some desolate, hostile land stricken down by some dreadful disease. Or perhaps even murdered by thugs. It all began in the early 1970’s when Dad had purchased a derelict warehouse in Whitechapel on the east side of London. Mum was the only one to have known about the purchase at the time. Several years later, he tendered his resignation as a Professor of Philosophy at Oxford University. After leaving his successful career at one of the world’s oldest educational institutions he then devoted all his free time in converting the warehouse into an antiquarian bookstore he called “Words of Yore”.

The store slowly flourished and Words of Yore had generated enough business (mostly through mail-order and word-of-mouth) to halfway support a wife and two growing adolescents. Most of our relatives and friends of the family had thought Dad’s quixotic behavior was due to a mid-life crisis. They had urged him to seek psychological help. Even his own parents were upset with him, especially after Mum had taken a position as a secretary in a law firm to help sustain our middle-class lifestyle. Then a few years later everything for the Patakis family started to go awry when Frank had become interested in collecting rare artifacts and ancient Egyptian texts. His avid enthusiasm for these antiquities would soon develop into an obsession. He would act strangely keeping odd hours at the warehouse, making impromptu trips to God knows where, and he had often changed the combinations to the vault room. And there were times when he was talking on the phone and would hang up quickly whenever I entered his office.

Then on March 18th, 1984 (a day that had been branded in my memory forever) when Mum, Christopher and I were sitting at the dinner table Frank announced to us that he was going away and he would be gone for no more than a year. He had a lead on something big in Egypt and needed to investigate it — he wanted our blessing to pursue this endeavour. Of course this news had knocked the breath out of me. I had asked him what it was that he was going in search of, and at the same time had tried like hell to mask my shock. The only reply he had given was, “it’s top secret — but suffice it to say we will become millionaires”.

‘Millionaires’ I had said, practically spitting out my food thinking that he was joking. I pleaded with him for more details. Even begged him to take me with him and used every wile a person of my age knew in order to persuade him to do so. But all he had said was that where he was going was not a place for young girls. But not to worry, he’d be back before Christmas.

I had thought for sure Dad had lost it big time, and that any day we would have to commit him. But eventually I would figure out that his sudden trip had to do with all the secretive phone conversations and clandestine meetings he had been involved with for those past several months. I had refused to believe that he would actually go ahead with this absurd idea of finding something “big” as he had deemed it. But when he did leave, I actually thought he would walk back through the front door and tell us that it was all just a big joke. But he didn’t. I can still remember counting the days marking them on the calendar till Christmas. And, when Christmas had come and gone he didn’t show up as promised. Nor did he come home the following Christmases.

(to be continued)

copyright by Adele L Nieto
April 2010

Some say that God will finish a great deliverance or judgment with three major elements: An earthquake, dark sun or blood moon and falling stars. At the end He comes to execute judgment and deliver righteousness.

According to Gustavus Hindman Miller who has written Dream Dictionary Moon, to see a blood red moon, indicates war and strife ” . . . and she will see her lover march away in defence of his country”.

Astronomers and scientists say that the moon appears red because light scattering through the Earth’s atmosphere is reduced to predominantly-red wavelengths, which reflect off the lunar surface.

But on thie morning of August 28th, 2007, a blood moon eclipse has taken place. So what happens when the blood moon is seen? Will the revelation of Luke 21: 11, 25-26 come true? Is this another prophetic sign that the end of the age is near? Or is this blood moon eclipse another cosmic phenomenon?

Whatever the case, don’t waste time brooding about “the end” or waiting for the Second Coming, instead, spend time probing within yourself for a better understanding of your own nature.

Relish the moon’s energy!