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"You know, Watson," Sherlock Holmes said one evening as we were sitting on either side of the fireplace, "that I do not believe in the supernatural, as a rule. I am, however, convinced that there are some beings that do not appear in any of our encyclopaediae."

I admitted to being surprised at this assertion, and asked him to elaborate.

He lit his pipe and leaned back with the air of a man who is in a mood to reminisce. "When I was a child, I ventured into our house attic one night. There was a light, the source of which I could not discern. When I approached I found what looked like a fishbowl with one fish in it. Since we did not, to my knowledge, own such a thing, and since it emitted this very, shall we say, otherworldly light, I went closer to investigate. What I found, Watson, made me doubt my sanity."

"What was it?" I asked, surprised at this aprupt departure into the past as much as at the event he was describing.

"The fishbowl contained a merman."

"My dear Holmes!"

"It's true. A being with the upper body of a man and the tail of a fish. He was much smaller than one would expect, only about the size of my hand. But that is not the most surprising thing."

"There is more?"

"Oh yes. With hindsight, it is even more surprising than it was for me then. The merman's face, Watson, was my own."

He fell silent, and I dared not interrupt.

"Of course," he went on presently, "it is possible that I only dreamed this. I never found that fishbowl again when I took brother Mycroft next morning to be my witness. But then again, that was a very strange attic. Now hand me my violin, if you would."

Description
"You know, Watson," Sherlock Holmes said one evening as we were sitting on either side of the fireplace, "that I do not believe in the supernatural, as a rule. I am, however, convinced that there are some beings that do not appear in any of our encyclopaediae."

I admitted to being surprised at this assertion, and asked him to elaborate.

He lit his pipe and leaned back with the air of a man who is in a mood to reminisce. "When I was a child, I ventured into our house attic one night. There was a light, the source of which I could not discern. When I approached I found what looked like a fishbowl with one fish in it. Since we did not, to my knowledge, own such a thing, and since it emitted this very, shall we say, otherworldly light, I went closer to investigate. What I found, Watson, made me doubt my sanity."

"What was it?" I asked, surprised at this aprupt departure into the past as much as at the event he was describing.

"The fishbowl contained a merman."

"My dear Holmes!"

"It's true. A being with the upper body of a man and the tail of a fish. He was much smaller than one would expect, only about the size of my hand. But that is not the most surprising thing."

"There is more?"

"Oh yes. With hindsight, it is even more surprising than it was for me then. The merman's face, Watson, was my own."

He fell silent, and I dared not interrupt.

"Of course," he went on presently, "it is possible that I only dreamed this. I never found that fishbowl again when I took brother Mycroft next morning to be my witness. But then again, that was a very strange attic. Now hand me my violin, if you would."