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The Uninvited

The Uninvited

The Uninvited

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was beaded with sweat. He pulled off hismask and wiped it with his hand, leaving asmear of wood powder. ‘Messy place.’Still no smile. ‘Come with me.’I followed him round the base of themachine to the side nearest the wall,where he pointed to what appeared to be asmall, blurred hand-print low down onone side of its steel flank. You had to benddown to see it properly. ‘Evidence.’‘Of what?’ I asked. But he just shookhis head and fiddled with his piece ofwood. Perhaps I had misheard him. ‘MrChen, Mr Chen, Mr Chen! What are yousaying?’ I shouted.‘It means they come here to wreckthings. <strong>The</strong>y hate us! <strong>The</strong>y hate everythingwe do!’ He seemed agitated.‘Who do you mean?’ My throat was

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