Author: Alexander Fawn

They were both sitting reading, which was often the way they passed their evenings.

In the main, you could say they were an elderly couple, well passed their working lives and perfectly content with retirement. They sometimes watched a television programme, but not often. Most nights it was switched off after the news. It was their quiet time at the end of the day. A chance for him to catch up with the newspaper and to look back over the many lecture notes he had prepared for a time when he held a post at the university. For her it was a much appreciated opportunity to peruse her monthly magazine on gardening and to catch up with the regularly received holiday brochures. This was their special time.

The silence was broken by him saying, “Listen to this, dear. I remember delivering this lecture.”

She lowered her magazine and smiled. “Yes, dear?”

“It’s just a short piece, do you mind?”

“No, dear. Go ahead.”

He lifted the Manila folder and read aloud for a couple of minutes from one of the loosely filed pages. He put the folder back on his lap.

She smiled. “That was very good, dear.”

He smiled and nodded his appreciation.

She thought about the nature of what he had read. She remembered the words. She knew them well. She could repeat them verbatim. Not that she ever would. They were his and they were precious to him. She remembered how he had read them to her only yesterday evening, and a few days before that. It had been a few weeks before that. It would seem that it was happening more often. She sighed softly to herself as she recalled the first time, all those years ago, when he first wrote them. She smiled again when she reminisced about how he had come to her, paper in hand saying, “Listen to this, dear…”

The room was quiet, some of the residents were sleeping.

Dinner time was over. The flickering television in the corner was now set on mute. Two elderly men were playing chess, while those still awake were mostly reading. Several nurses were coming and going, gradually seeing the home’s patients off to their rooms for the night.

After tidying magazines on the table, she said, “Are you sure there’s nothing I can get you?”

The old man looked up from his newspaper with greying eyes. He stared at her before saying, “Oh! Well…” After a wheezing cough, his expression began to change. A smile was trying to form across his wrinkled features and the smallest glint came into his eyes. “Would you like to play a game?”

She straightened and looked around the room. Her eyes settled on the corner shelf, loaded with jig-saw puzzles and several board games.

She said, “I think it’s too late to start anything now.”

“No!” He shook his head. “Not that sort of game…” he whispered.

“What do you mean?”

He rolled his shoulders and managed a small wink. “I’ve got three guesses to get you name right.” He touched his cheek. “If I get it right, I get a kiss on the cheek.”

At first she looked confused, then said, “All right.”

“Barbara?”

“No.”

“Sally?”

“No.”

“Carol?”

The woman shook her head, and said, “No,” she stiffened, took a deep breath, bent and kissed him on the cheek. She said, “You get that for effort. Goodnight.”

She turned and made for the front door with tears streaming down her face.

A visitor watched the woman leave, and pointing to the old man who had gone back to his paper, asked one of the nurses, “What did he do?”

“Oh! Him? He’s been flirting with his wife again.”

His project was something that drove him with a fierce intensity.

His rooms were at the top of the house; none of his lodgers ever went up there. If they ever did, it was always locked when he was out. He was a private person and very few people would have any idea about what he was working on. That evening, while eating a late supper, then washing up, he’d constantly had the issue running through his head. He had to get it right. He knew that. He considered he was on the final stretch, but still had an issue with the software programming he’d written for the controlling of duration synchronicity. If only he could get this time advancement issue adjusted properly.

He kept imagining the thrill of making the announcement at the next inventers club meeting. This momentous event was scheduled for tomorrow evening. Beyond that, of course, the entire scientific community. In fact, the whole world! When he stopped and weighed it all up, his time machine development project had been consuming him for more than a decade, and now… now he was so close. He was well aware of the fact that for him there was a great deal of ego involved. This had been fuelled by the general attitude of disbelief he had encountered from just about anybody who knew what he was working on. After a general tidy up, he asked himself whether he should keep at it or work on it tomorrow.

He looked at the clock; 12:15.

He’d have another go at it before turning in. He went back to the screen. He’d been battling with the synchronicity counter. He lit a cigarette and sat staring at his lines of code once more. He tweaked a couple of characters and hit enter. He felt something shudder. He looked at the clock; 12:15. He’d have another go at it before turning in. He went back to the screen. He was surprised to find a cigarette burning in the ashtray, this was something he never did! Annoyed with himself, he took a puff and sat staring at his lines of code once more. He tweaked a couple of characters and hit enter. He felt something shudder. He looked at the clock; 12:15. He’d have another go at it before turning in. He went back to the screen…

She would have laughed in the face of anyone telling her they had seen a ghost.

It was for this reason that she was totally unprepared for the events that took place that evening. She had not long arrived home from work and had scarcely got the kettle on when she became aware of a column of mist hovering in the corner of the lounge. Being the fairly stoic woman that she was, she just stood and watched while the apparition solidified. The only agitation she felt came with the slow recognition of the form that the thing was taking. It was her husband; there could be no doubt about that. Although a bit fuzzy, together with the unnerving fact the she could see right through him, it was definitely him. The thing settled down in his favourite armchair and grinned at her.

Looking around, it said, “I must say you’ve kept the place looking nice,”

The agitation was building to rage, but she said nothing.

“Well then,” it asked, trying to sound cheerful, “what’s been happening?”

Inwardly proud of the way she was handling it, she moved to a chair opposite the ghostly figure and sat thinking about what she would say. “Good question,” she began, “well, where to begin… I think the whole thing began when you had an affair with the lady from the factory, where you worked. Of course, this was followed by her husband finding out and luring you to his home on a false pretext, while she was out. God! You were dumb!”

The thing went to say something.

She held up a finger. “It’s best if you don’t interrupt!” she said, firmly. ‘Let’s see; Oh! Yes, that’s right. He was showing you something in his shed when he pulled a gun and shot you between the eyes.” She sighed heavily. “Of course, all this happened some time ago now, but as you would know, he is serving time and she has left the district. I think that’s a fair summing up, don’t you.”

The ghostly thing stiffened. “Yes dear, very fair. That’s why I’m paying you a visit.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. I have a problem, you see.”

“That is?”

“Well, basically, I can’t move on.”

“You can’t?”

“No.”

“Why ever not?”

“It’s because of the guilt, you see?”

“Hah! There’s not much I can do about that. You made your bed, so you…” she suddenly looked embarrassed and fell silent.

“But there is, you see. You can do something. You can free me from this torment. I could move on.”

Suspicious now, she asked, “What could I do?”

“You could forgive me. That’s all that’s needed. Just your forgiveness and I would be released. Free to go to the other side.” The thing put wispy hands together, as if in prayer. “Please. I’m only allowed to ask once.”

She slowly got up and left the room. She returned with her laptop. She opened it up and began tapping.

Tentatively, the ghostly figure asked. “What are you doing?”

Without lifting her head, she said, “Just looking something up. Yes, that looks promising, I have some of that.”

“What?”

“Eh? Nutmeg, ground nutmeg. I’m sure I have.”

“You always were a good cook,” it said, looking glum.

“Thank you,” she said, getting up. She went into the kitchen and hunted through a cupboard. She came back with a small glass jar. She sat down and looked at the screen again, nodding. “OK.” she said, standing up and tipping a pile of it onto the open palm of her hand.

It said, “I don’t understand.”

She walked towards it, saying, “No. I don’t suppose you do.”

She crouched a little, and with a large breath blew the spice into the thing’s face, while shouting, “Be gone!”

She stood back, looking down into the empty chair.

Looking lovingly at her laptop, she whispered, “Isn’t Google just wonderful!”

Their son had never been good at keeping his bedroom tidy.

Usually, it was only his mother that had to confront the mess when she walked in. On the other hand, his father rarely had to confront it. This whole state of affairs came to a head the day the wife asked the husband to do something about it. She said it was a good time because he had just got home from school and he’d be up there now. So, it came to pass, that with a good deal of trepidation, putting down his crossword, the man went up to the room, knocked gently and went in. For several moments he stood, stunned, looking around. His son, lying on his bed, pulled off his headphones, but said nothing.

His father finally said. “What a snafu!”

His sun looked perplexed. “What?”

“SNAFU… It’s an acronym for Situation Normal: All Fowled Up.” He took the scene in again and said, “That’s the polite version.”

The boy looked around the room.

“Unkempt wouldn’t do it justice,” his father went on, “it’s positively tatterdemalion!”

The boy jumped off the bed and stood.

“Enough Dad, please!” he cried. “I’ll tidy up…”

The boys had heard stories about the gigantic creature that lived in the woods.

The stories tell about the creature’s preference food-wise; it was for little boys. Naturally, nobody believed it. The old deserted cottage at the edge of the wood had been the home of a nice old lady for many years and she never had any trouble. Since she’d passed away the building had fallen into disrepair and was often visited by local children who thought it was spooky and great to play in. On this particular night, the two young boys were out late, playing in the woods. Suddenly, they heard a great rustling sound and the ground shook from very heavy footfalls. To their astonishment, they could just make out in the failing light, the huge creature that nobody believed in. It was as tall as the tallest trees and was having to push trees over because of its size.

The two boys were petrified and ran as fast as they could to take cover in the old cottage. Once inside they pushed the bolt home hard and stood listening. When the creature arrived at the building it began to roar very loud with anger because it couldn’t get at its supper. A great scratching noise on the wooden door along with the dreadful howling went on for some time, but eventually it all became silent. Despite how late it was getting, they waited a long time before deciding to check whether the great beast was gone.

One of them pushed the door out very gradually, a bit at a time. Seeing nothing through the gap, he kept pushing slowly until it was opened enough for him to squeeze through. He gingerly stepped outside to look around. Still seeing nothing he moved further forward, only to have the monstrous thing rush at him from out of the darkness, pushing him against the door and slamming it shut behind him. He began hammering on the door and shouting to the boy inside to let him in. Much to his amazement, he heard the boy inside slide the bolt home with a clank.

After a while the hammering and the howling stopped and all went quiet. Then, all that he could hear was a munching sound.

It just so happened that the boys weren’t particularly good friends, they weren’t that close, more like casual chums, really.

The girls rested for a while looking at the garden.

They were quite exhausted after doing the rounds, checking the flowers, the plants and generally seeing that everything was growing nicely, that everything was as it should be. It was a routine that they often did together. It also gave them a chance to catch up and take a break from their many other tasks. One of them, the one with the extremely old grandmother, was talking about how the old lady said that those really strange creatures that they all so often talked about really do exist. She said that she had explained that we don’t see them as we see each other. She said that they existed in a different mode of time. For them time passes so slowly that they cannot see us. She said that it was very rare that they see us and vice versa.

Her friend was only half listening. She was watching bees coming and going. She turned and asked, “Well, do you think she’s right…, that they do exist?”

“Humans? Not really.”

They both giggled.

They spread and flapped their wings a little before taking off, back to their homes in the forest.

He said he would follow her to the ends of the world.

That was the kind of guy he was; totally besotted. He followed her everywhere. Even when she went shopping, he would tag along. He’d follow her to evening classes and sit at the back. If she went out to visit her friends, he would trail behind in his car, sit outside and wait. She couldn’t call in on her Mum, go bowling with her girlfriends, go to the dentist, catch a bus into town, jog around the block, walk in the park, or even pull up weeds in the garden, without him being right there. Despite reporting this to the police, it didn’t stop. Like some persistent and malignant shadow, he would continually hover.

When the inevitable breaking point came, she left him for someone else. Her new partner did none of these things and she was happy. That was, until she discovered that he’d found out where they lived and moved in next door. It began all over again. It was soon after this that she made her final, fatal move. For her, it had gone way beyond any common or garden breaking point. So, in the dead of night she broke in next door, found him asleep in bed and strangled him.

Of course, it took no time at all for the police to come calling. This was followed by her being taken into custardy, charged, tried and found guilty of murder. As a result of all this happening in a place where the death penalty was in force, she was put to death and went to meet her Maker. Well, not exactly her Maker, considering her offence, she went to the other place.

Meanwhile, the act of stalking carrying a far greater penalty than he had ever imagined, for once he hadn’t followed her.

As she entered through the gates of Hell… she found him waiting for her.

She went to the fair with no thought other than to have a reading with the fortune teller.

The young girl had planned it for weeks and felt the anticipation growing day by day. She would tell the famous woman about her plans for herself when she left school. As she entered the tent, she was taken aback by how old and disagreeable the old fortune teller looked. As she sat down across from her, the reports she’d received about how remarkably accurate she was with her fortune telling strengthened her resolve to stay. She dropped the money into a bowl the old woman pointed to and proceeded to tell the woman the sort of things she needed to know. She was quite specific about knowing how certain aspects of her life were going to unfold.

The old seer sniffed and began laying out columns of cards until the entire pack was laid out. This was followed by a complex sequence of choosing cards, turning them over, and then creating new rows of exposed cards ready to be read. After carefully considering the final layout of the cards, occasionally tapping them with a bony finger and nodding to herself, the old crone began to speak. “Your plans to go on after school and study interior design will be cut short when you lose your parents in a motor vehicle accident. From that point your life will change radically. As for meeting a young man and marrying, that won’t happen. You’ll have several affairs, none of them particularly happy ones, but you’ll never settle down with a regular partner.”

When the reading was finished the old woman looked up to find the girl sobbing uncontrollably into a handkerchief.

With a sneer, the hag said, “Well, you did ask…”

What wasting time cannot do,

Dithering does.

Allotted time loses value.

There really is no buzz.

–

While on the precipice of something,

Ruminating takes its toll.

All normal rhythm lost,

Hesitation takes control.

–

Circling thoughts in a maze,

Logic put on hold.

With no script to follow,

With wavering untold.

–

Thought processes saunter.

They meander through the mind,

Slowly drifting back and forth,

Answers hard to find.

–

No rhythm or regularity.

Endless moments in a drought.

Just a cycle of uncertainty,

Lots of room for doubt.

–

Momentarily parched and barren,

Grey cells lifeless fall.

It may come from nowhere.

It can come to all!