Author: Alexander Fawn

There were times when he just needed a bit of down time.

He had found that time and time again he needed to take time off. For him, this was quality time. For the time being he could chill out in his private apartment away from his lavish mansion. He had made a lot of money over time. He knew that his luck was going to run out some time. Every time he pulled a job, he risked capture. It could always go wrong in a very short time. One time he was nearly caught. He had always planned his jobs one at a time, leaving a period of time between them. Planning each one took time. So, from time to time he would take time out.

His criminal activities had hit the big time, while he gave generously to charities at the same time. He’d known good times and hard times. It wasn’t the first time he felt like this. Feeling that he could get away with it all the time was a waste of time. This time he felt he’d got away just in time. He hadn’t done this for a long time, it was about time he did. He had just pulled off a robbery, one of the biggest of all time. He was taking a short spell of time out, but this time around he had made it just in time.

In the meantime, it was high time he gave himself some free time to consider the best way to avoid doing… time.

They both heard the sound.

They were sitting quietly, each doing their own thing when it started. He was reading while she was sowing. It just happened to be one of those nights when they decided to give the television a rest. It was hard to tell whether it came from inside or outside the house. They lived in a quiet street. After whispering to each other, they got up slowly. It was coming from the kitchen. It was definitely a nibbling. He tracked it down as coming from behind the tea towel, hanging from a rail to dry. He pointed, then gradually lifted it. What they saw was a large, black rat, sitting upright and nibbling on a fragment of crisp.

She instantly ran around the kitchen in a panic. She thought about insect spray; no, that wouldn’t be enough! She opened drawers finding knives and forks, then she picked up the large wooden mallet, the meat tenderiser. That would do the job, she thought. One good blow with this should finish the thing off. Then they could simply drop it in the dustbin. She shuddered. She might have to get him to do it. As she approached, she saw him still crouched down watching the creature eat. Before she could say anything, he pointed to the small bowl of water he’d put down.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“These crisps,” he said, pointing to the remaining scraps, “they’re Salt and Vinegar. They make you really thirsty!”

All day he had sat reading.

She said she would call in before tea, and he needed to have it finished. He would be able to comment on her work, thus proving that he had actually taken the time to read it. Finally, he put the book down, covering it with his newspaper. He didn’t want her to think it had been a last-minute thing. Thinking back, it was an impressive work, way beyond anything he considered her to be capable of. It would be easy for him to sing her praises; very easy. He sat pondering.

When she arrived, he greeted her warmly and they settled down in comfy armchairs with a little chit chat and cups of coffee before he launched into his praise of her work.

He smiled. “Such admirable declension,” he said slowly.

“Declension?”

“Yes, the way it falls away to the absurd.”

She frowned. “I see.”

“It was less about the movement, the twists and turns of it, and more about the way it was written.”

With raised eyebrows, she said, “Was it?”

“Oh! Yes.” He sat back, folding his arms. “That line about her loneliness; there no longer being any male items of clothing on the washing line. Yes, that was so poignant. However did you come up with that? You clever thing!”

She sat quietly for a moment. Then, and in despite of the way she felt, surprised herself by saying, “Your very kind.”

He laughed. “Not at all. I loved your description of how the woman…, well, how she couldn’t stop what was happening, how she couldn’t do anything about what had happened, and how she had no way of stopping what was about to happen. Simply brilliant!”

Now, so thoroughly confused, she went to speak, she felt she had to, but he went on.

“Her ideals and her grip on the situation.” he said, in a softer voice. “The way she held on to it, giving it value; eradicating all thought of letting it go.”

At this point a sudden vibration was felt throughout the house as a heavy vehicle rattled its way down the street outside. He gasped and gripped the arms of his chair.

“Oh dear!” he blurted. His whole body shook for a moment, then he looked across at his visitor.

“Sorry!” he said with a shudder, “I can’t help it. They worry me, and that’s the long and the short of it. These unstable tectonic plates… grinding and sliding down below, secretly creeping about like some old drunken voyeur skulking to-and-fro, peering into windows…” His eyes had glazed over.

He seemed to return. “Well, now, peering into windows? Such a metaphor! Where was I?” He scratched his jaw. “Ah! That’s right; the hats. Your main character’s avoidance of hats, gloves and scarves. The things that she felt were cumbersome and unnecessary. It was a clever device that enabled the reader to get a sense of her, early in the book.”

He clapped softly and pointed to her. “…and that poor man. He was struggling, looking for some elusive thing sitting deep within himself. Whatever it was, it also occupied the world that surrounded him. Your narrative, it was overwhelming and frighteningly profound. You showed how he felt that it could all be grasped, if only it was not buried in a great jumble of conflicting ideas and incompatible concepts. These things… they all seemed to be railing against so many distorted realities.”

She coughed.

He became aware of the strange face she was pulling.

“What?”

“You read all that in a cook book?”

In a pointless gesture, he lent forward and lifted part of the newspaper and squinted at the book. His eyes began to water. He started to make some sort of reply.

She held up her hand. In the past, she had always managed to avoid the fact that he was as mad as a hatter, and not let it get in the way of their mutual enjoyment of writing, but not this time.

She stood up quickly. “I must be going,” she said, quite sharply.

At first, he could only nod, then after a moment, he said, “Yes of course.”

As she led the way to the front door she muttered, “Mad as a hatter.”

He heard it.

As she made her way out to her car he called out, “I’ll write a poem, dedicated to you… about picking up the wrong book!”

She drove away without looking back.

The man emerged from the tiny booth, noticeably unsteady on his feet.

The scientist helped him walk across the laboratory and flop down into one of the two armchairs. He gave him a glass of water and sat down opposite, waiting to hear how it had gone. Seeing that the other was still recovering, he got up and checked that the settings on the booth’s dashboard had all been adjusted to rest mode. He was satisfied that all was as it should be with the one-man time machine, it being one of the very few legally and privately owned. The time traveller began to roll his shoulders and massage his neck.

“So, tell me. Did you find what you were looking for?” asked the scientist.

The time traveller shook his head.

“Ah! Sorry to hear that.”

The other sat forward, rubbing his knees and grunting. “I’d forgotten what the world was like back in the 2020s,” he croaked. He looked at the celebrated scientist and friend with a pained expression. “I mean, we all know our history, naturally, but to see it in reality… it was a real mess.” He sagged back into the chair. “Many thanks for letting me try. I know, despite your respected standing, it was still less than legal.”

The other waved him off. “Happy to help, you know that, it was obvious that the attempt meant a lot to you.”

“Yes, it did.” He nodded and gave a weak smile. “I found the road. I even found the house. I knew it would be there. Some of those old manor houses were left standing for centuries, as you know. They were protected…” His exhaustion began to show and he fell silent.

Trying to hide his impatience and natural curiosity the scientist egged him on. In a relaxed voice, he said, “you got in then?”

The other stirred, “Yes, sorry. I did. The place was deserted, of course. It was easy to break in; I was expecting that. Access to the cellar through the camouflaged door in the library was no problem. I found the strongbox.”

“You found it?” the scientist blurted.

“Yes, I found it… but it wasn’t locked.”

The scientist held his breath, then said, “Yes?”

The time traveller slumped back into the chair again, closed his eyes and whispered, “It was empty!” His eyelids flickered as exhaustion began to set in. “It was empty,” he repeated, as he drifted off to sleep.

There are so many things about the home,

Some of them come to mind,

But only a few are considered,

Leaving most of them behind.

–

There are cords and cables,

Tables and chairs,

Combs and brushes,

Steps and stairs.

–

Pens and pencils,

Stickers and clips,

Banknotes and coins,

Buttons and zips.

–

Cups and saucers,

Heaters and fans,

Flowers and paintings,

Pots and pans.

–

Knives and forks,

Napkins and coasters,

Taps and sinks,

Ovens and toasters.

–

Bottles and boxes,

Lamps and candles,

Curtains and carpets,

Shoes and sandals.

–

Shirts and ties,

Mats and rugs,

Pillows and sheets,

Spoons and mugs.

Keys and cards,

Calendars and clocks,

Purses and lipsticks,

Slippers and socks.

–

Toothpaste and towels,

Bowls and vases,

Puzzles and games,

Mirrors and glasses.

–

Needles and scissors,

Pockets and pouches,

Brochures and books,

Cushions and couches.

–

These homely things are all very well,

But it takes so much time;

To find them, then sort them,

Then make the rotten things rhyme!

Out there in the world he was just another soul making ends meet.

On the face of it, nothing about him indicated anything other than him being a very ordinary person. His natural demeanour had him pegged as a quiet, yet friendly person who never seemed to have much to say for himself. He was certainly polite. Very few members of the warehouse staff actually had reason to have any personal contact with him. Generally, he was ignored. That was simply all in the nature of things. His small room at the back of the premises that contained little more than a desk, chair, computer and filing cabinet, was rarely visited. This suited him well. His work consisted mainly of transferring information from paper to screen. His time was spent capturing data concerning the business’s supplies, stock returns, orders, receipts, and so on.

All of that was out there… in the world.

In here, he was something else! In here, he managed all this with ease by virtue of the power that drove him. People had no idea about the unchallenged power he possessed and the ability to determine the fate of others. They would know nothing of his ability to bring about rivers and mountains and beautiful palaces. They would never guess that this great power that he possessed meant that he could conjure up previously unknown planets and strange new species of life. He could give birth to entire galaxies.

If he wanted to, he was capable of bringing about new diseases, crashed economies and global disasters. He was able to manipulate time by creating and shuffling past, present and future events. He could both give life and bring death. In all things, his word was final. The unlimited power that he wielded was awesome. In this, his capabilities were limitless.

In his room at night, with his fingers flying over the keys, anything was possible.

He was a writer!

She was weeding out the back when she became fully aware of its presence.

She had heard an annoying whine around the garden for several days before she actually spotted it. It was a drone, no bigger than a teacup, with a tiny camera mounted at the front. It was obviously a top of the range, extremely expensive piece of technology. She had seen these things advertised on the internet. She knew that their price tags could run into thousands. The moment she saw it she knew that it had been spying on her for the last week. She couldn’t help wondering about the mentality of a sick voyeur that wanted to spy on her while she was hanging out clothes or pottering around the garden. She also wondered whether it was a neighbour or somebody even further away.

Wherever they were, they would either have a screen on their control device so they could watch her live or the thing was recording stuff to be viewed later. Either way, she realised that she must not let the pervert know that she is aware of the intrusion. She made a great effort to avoid looking at it.

At the time, she had only intended to pull out a few more weeds and to do a bit of watering, but her plans were changing as she continued to put on a show for the camera. She was aware of its location. It hovered in one spot. To be that far away and see her, she thought, it must be equipped with some sort of zoom or something. It was amazing just how sophisticated these expensive models could be. She stood for a while, staring down at the area she’d just cleaned up. She looked as though she was admiring her work… she wasn’t. Although it had been a few years since she played tennis regularly, she had always had a really good backhand.

She strolled across to the shed where she found the shovel. She was aware of the tiny machine moving in for a closer look. She returned to an open patch of soil and began to dig. As she worked on the hole, she was keeping both her anger and her building excitement in check. When it was nice and deep she suddenly stood back, feigning surprise. As predicted, the thing drew closer.

With one swift movement, now looking directly at the drone for the first time, she used her backhand stroke. Sweeping the spade across her body she made contact with it, sending it flying across the garden where it hit the side of the shed with a loud bang. It fell to the ground, not moving.

She walked over and picked the crumpled remains of the filthy thing up. She didn’t like touching it, despite the fact that she was still wearing her garden gloves. She took it to the hole, dropped it in, filled it in, and with a well-deserved smile on her face she patted the soil down. She put the shovel back, removed her gloves, and took one last look at where she’d been weeding.

She then went back in and put the kettle on.

There could be no doubt that he was highly respected in the community.

He was widely regarded as a moderate and considerate man. Most saw him as a community leader. He received a tacit deference wherever he went and it was known that the city elders held him in the highest esteem. He was damn near worshiped by so many. To use the term ‘celebrity status’, would not be very wide of the mark. All of this is true. However, such things can be maddeningly transitory. They can disappear in a moment. They can all go in the twinkling of an eye. Sadly, this is how it went with our illustrious community member.

He really stuffed everything up big time the morning he ran over and killed the mayor’s dog.

It was late in the evening when the first phone call came.

He was in the ensuite bathroom brushing his teeth before going to bed, when he heard it ringing downstairs. He knew it was late. He pushed open the door and looked at the bedside clock; nearly midnight. He never received calls at this time of night and could only think it was bad news of some kind. No matter how urgent, there was no way he could get to it before it went to voicemail. He had the voicemail set to come on after thirty seconds; that was the devices maximum delay. This had been done on account of his recent fall and broken ankle. He would have to struggle back down and listen to the message, no matter how inconvenient. It really could be something serious.

He stood, biting down on his toothbrush, listening. It stopped, but no message followed. At least, he hadn’t heard one. Could he hear it from up here? He didn’t know. It had never happened before. He’d have to go down and check. He scowled at the thought. His ankle was certainly getting better, but it was still uncomfortable and slow, going up and down stairs. The doctor had suggested he take extra care on account of the fact that he lived alone. He took his time. At the machine he saw that, as he had guessed, no message had been left. He was laboriously making his way back up when it rang again. He moved back down as quickly as he could, quite convinced now that it was something that needed his attention. He picked up.

“Hello?” he said, in a whisper. Then stood wondering why he had dropped his voice. Maybe because it was now gone twelve. “Hello” he repeated, louder this time.

The voice on the other end said, “Are you there? I can hardly hear you.”

He cleared his throat, saying, “Yes I’m here, it’s just that it’s rather late and I wasn’t expecting…”

He was cut off. “Rather late? Look here, you’d better get your act together and quick smart. I’ve had to call you twice as it is. Have you got a pen and paper handy? You’d better write this down.”

“No. but…”

“Look! I’m only going to say this once. Get something to write this down and but me no buts… and be quick about it!”

“Yes. OK. I won’t be a moment.” He hobbled away and found what he needed. He came back, saying, “OK. I’m ready.”

“Good! I’ll read this out and I’ll speak slowly. Fifty thousand in used notes, all in fifties. Wrapped in newspaper and put in a black plastic rubbish bag, tied off with a double knot. Place it behind the rubbish skip at the rear of the furniture store in the high street between eleven-thirty and midnight tomorrow.” There came a slight pause. “And before you complain about the short notice, don’t bother, we know all about you. We know you can do it. Get this, don’t contact the police and come alone. We’ll be watching. Any mistakes and she dies!”

Having no idea what the caller was talking about, he said, “She dies? Did you say, she dies?”

There was a deep sigh and the phone went dead.

The one thing that should be said about her was that she was an extremely private person.

There can be no doubt that anonymity was her primary goal, along with maintaining a low profile, thus flying under the radar. She’d always gone to great lengths to keep her private life, private. In short, inconspicuousness was her middle name. Although this personal attribute was partly responsible for the path she trod, it’s hard to believe that the entire affair began with the woman simply waiting for a bus. As it turned out, the bus never came. A second look at the posted timetable told her that she had another hour to wait. Since she was in a town that she wasn’t familiar with, she decided to go for a stroll to kill time.

None of this really mattered, she had no other commitments that day, besides, nobody knew she was there, or why. In fact, she had gone there that day because the internet had told her that this town’s branch of her favourite bookshop had a copy of the travel-guide she wanted. Having this in the bag she was carrying meant that her trip was successful. Wandering through the town for a while suited her fine, after all, visiting new places was very much the thing she liked to do.

She had been meandering through a number of the town’s minor streets when she came across the small, second-hand shop. She decided to enter and look around at the curiosities that these businesses often had on offer.

As she walked in, her attention was immediately caught by a small, round, shiny, bright blue object. She had barely picked up the stone when the strange creature appeared at her elbow, giving it a gentle nudge.

“I’ve been trying to get rid of that for an age,” she said, in a thin, croaky voice.

She turned to see that the apparent owner was a small individual dressed in black, very thin and extremely old.

The old crone cackled and said, “Yes. This is unlucky for some and lucky for others. I think this might suit you, my dear. It is very cheap; for you it is very cheap”

Shrugging off her sense of repulsion, she asked, “What is it, exactly?”

At this, the owner replied, “Let’s call it a talisman. Yes, a talisman. That sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose so. What does it do, this talisman?”

The shop owner grinned. “Ah! There you have it, you see, there you have it.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Held in the fist, this will take you anywhere you want to go!”

She stood, turning the thing over in her hands, when the owner went on.

“You could go to any of the places in your book.”

Startled, the other said, “Book?”

“Yes, dear. The one you just bought, dear. The one in your bag. But don’t let any of this distract you. There are things I need to tell you, before you leave.”

It was at this point that the owner turned the sign over in the window and locked the door. She explained fully how the stone could be used. How, wherever in the world she wished to travel to, this had to be done without being seen. She recommended choosing isolated locations, such as a desert or a forest, but arriving in a busy crowd was best. When she wished to return, this too needed to be a private thing, such as a room in her house.

Considering the woman’s personal temperament, keeping things private came naturally. Her constant desire for remaining inconspicuous meant that the rules being imposed would not be difficult to follow. Agreement was struck and money changed hands.

A couple of hours later, back at home, she realised something… although the thought of such future travel adventures excited her, it wasn’t until she considered the practical nature of it that she realised that the book she had bought would be a wonderful source for choosing places to go, with lots of pretty, coloured pictures, but in itself, it wasn’t enough. To be able to arrive somewhere else, a precise somewhere else, would require something more than a simple travel-guide. She needed something with coordinates.

That evening she paid a visit to the library. After an extensive search on one of the provided laptops, she noted three such books. The best of them was The Book of World Geography, boasting precise information about time and climate zones, with latitudes and longitudes. She was told that it was a reference work only, to be read in the library and not taken out. Only under special circumstances could it be removed from the library. In such cases, a relevant form had to be filled out on the understanding that late fees where set at a much higher rate than for other books.

After pleading her case, based on how important it was for her research, the librarian produced the form. Although reluctant to fill it out, giving her personal details, something she normally avoided at all costs, she knew that it was going to be needed. When it was handed back, she was told that she could borrow it for the maximum period of two weeks, but no longer.

That night she used the guide, along with further information found on the internet, to create a list of all of the places she could visit. It would be just one day at a time, maybe taking the odd day off, with each visit being enough to take in the sights. That’s what it would be, an incredibly comprehensive sightseeing tour of the world!

By the early hours the list was complete. For the time being, she no longer needed the borrowed book. Her detailed notes contained more than sixty destinations, everything from Rome, Italy to Perth, Australia. She had earmarked the first seven or eight trips during the following twelve days. Absolutely dizzy with excitement, despite a short sleep, she was determined to start the following day. So, that is what she did. Over the eight days that followed, she managed to take in six countries, enjoying the wonders and sights that each had to offer.

Sadly, it was on that eighth day that things went awry.

It just so happened that she was in North-eastern China, on a cable car, gazing out at the beautiful landscape and the river that ran below, when she rather impetuously felt that she’d had enough and decided to return unobtrusively to her room at home. She retrieved the amulet from its reinforced pocket and held it tightly in her fist. It was at this very moment that the cable car lurched violently to a shuddering halt. As a result, like many others, she was thrown forward causing her to make a grab for the safety rail. Unhappily, this sudden movement, together with a tiny nudge of her elbow from a fellow occupant, had her unclench her hand and release the stone.

She peered down and watched in horror as the precious thing fell silently the great distance to the mighty river below, where it could be barely seen making a tiny splash.

It was this single incident that brought her wonderful travel adventures to an abrupt end. However, this calamity, being pretty bad, had other repercussions.

Despite her passion for complete anonymity, any inconspicuousness that drove her became a pipedream when it transpires that the weekly accrual of fines for not returning the book by its due date will, in time, accumulate to such a huge amount that both this figure, together with her name will inevitably take its rightful place in the Guinness Book of Records.