Author: Alexander Fawn

They live in the best of all places.

The climate is just right, the whole year round. Their street is truly beautiful, with its row of blossoming trees and verges that are regularly trimmed. The house is grand with extensive grounds. One would think they want for nothing. In one of its many rooms, he sits in their cosy theatre watching one of his favourite movies. She floats idly on an air-filled pool lounge, sipping her favourite cocktail. Luxury cars sit in their roomy garage. She is in her thirties and positively beautiful, while he is in his thirties and positively handsome. He has several successful companies that virtually run themselves, needing only occasional trips to the city for board meetings, while she is popular among the local charity set and serves on a number of committees.

What a pity they don’t like each other.

He was standing on the platform waiting for a train.

He couldn’t help noticing the three maintenance workers in their orange, Hi-Viz jackets, on the other side of the tracks. They had erected a tall tripod over a hole in the ground. One of them stood to one side, he appeared to be the supervisor. The other two were working at the hole. One was winding a crank that lowered a cable over a pulley at the top of the tripod. The other was guiding the hook at the end of the cable into the hole. When he was sure that the correct depth was reached, he signalled the other to stop winding. He then extended his arm down and made some kind of attachment. He then signalled the other to wind the cable back up. The man, not knowing what he was watching, was fascinated nevertheless. Waiting for a train was boring at the best of times!

Once the thing attached to the cable was well clear of the hole, the winch was locked in position. The man watching could see that the object they raised was cylindrical, tapering to a smaller diameter at the top with some kind of gadgetry mounted on it. It was metal and painted black and about the size of a small LPG gas bottle. One of the men picked up a large piece of heavy board and slid it over the hole. The winch was used again to lower the object so that it came down to rest on the board. The cable was detached and the men, crouching either side of it, began doing something at its base. It seemed that they were having trouble with it.

It was at this point that one of them got up and went to a large tool bag and took something out.

The man observing all this was surprised when he saw that it was a large mallet. The worker went back to the object and knelt down next to it.

At the very moment he raised the mallet, the train pulled in, blocking the observer’s view…

Go figure!

The writer absent-mindedly fingered his whiskey glass.

Lifting it up before the window he admired the richness of its deep brown colour. He was temporarily lost in thought about the twelve years that it sat in the barrel, slowly picking up the pigmentation of the wood, darkening as it aged. He looked back at the screen, remembering that he was about to create a new story. He adjusted his keyboard and settled back in his chair. His fingertips rested lightly on the keys. He blinked a couple of times and took a deep breath. He froze, aware of the fact that his little grey cells were becoming muddled.

With the jumbling of brain cells came the loss of clarity, with the loss of clarity came the vanishing of the notion, with the loss of the notion came the fading of the idea, with the loss of the idea came the waning of the place, with the loss of place came the going of the event, with the loss of the event came the departure of the characters, with the loss of characters came the dying of the activities, with the loss of activities came the declining of the dilemma, with the loss of the dilemma came the exodus of the crisis, with the loss of the crisis came the failing of the plot, with the loss of the plot came the evaporation of the story.

With the evaporation of the story…

Well, he thought, as he tipped the remainder of the bottle into his glass, if it could slip away that easily… it probably wasn’t worth writing. Besides, the whiskey was absolutely first class!

The boy sat outside the headmaster’s office, waiting for the sign to say ‘Enter’.

He knew that it was a bold move, taking his complaint to the highest authority, but even at the age of ten he felt that the matter had to be put to rest. The sign lit up and he went in. The headmaster pointed to a chair.

“I understand you have a complaint.”

“Yes sir, Snodgrass made a completely unprovoked and violent attack on me, sir.”

“I see, and what did he do, exactly?”

“He struck me with a cudgel, sir.”

“A cudgel, you say. Well… a most unusual weapon! And where pray did this attack take place?”

“In the tap room of the Queen’s Head, sir.”

“A public house do you mean?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re saying that this boy Snodgrass attacked you with a cudgel in the tap room of a public house, is that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What were you doing in such a place?”

“Drinking, sir.”

“Drinking?”

“Yes, and minding my own business, when he suddenly appeared. He struck me twice on my right shoulder, for no reason at all, sir.”

“I see, and when did this alleged assault take place?”

“On the twelfth of October 1827, sir.”

The headmaster held up a finger. “Ah! Let’s pause there for a moment, shall we? I have your records here, I believe. Yes, here we are.” He opened a folder and sat reading for a few moments.

The boy wriggled in his chair, mumbling, “It was a Friday, sir. Just a quiet drink at the end of the working week, sir.”

The headmaster’s finger was raised again. “Yes, I’m sure. That’s not what I’m looking for. Ah! Here it is.” He looked up with a smile. “Jainism… that’s it isn’t it, your religion, Jainism?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So, what we are discussing here is an unprovoked attack on your person by Snodgrass…”

The boy interrupted. “Not exactly Snodgrass, of course. He was Higgins then.”

“Yes, yes, all right. We are talking about an earlier unprovoked attack on your person by this assailant; in fact, some two hundred years ago, and in a past life. In an earlier reincarnation, as it were.”

“Yes, sir.”

The headmaster sat back and laced his fingers. “Well, I am pleased to inform you that one of this school’s rules dealing with this type of complaint clearly states that no disciplinary action can be taken in cases such as this.”

“It can’t, sir?”

“No, it can’t. I say pleased, because I find the thought of wading into such deep waters as these, well, positively nightmarish.” He smiled. “Yes. It’s a sort of statute of limitations, do you see?”

“Not really, sir. I was hoping for justice.”

“Ah! Justice.” He lowered his voice. “However, I should add here, that I expressly forbid you to follow this boy after school, and in a place well away from the school’s premises, to deliver two very hard thumps to his shoulder.” He raised his eyebrows. “Do you understand?”

The youngster gave a grateful smile and said, “I do, sir. Thank you, sir.”

The boy left the room with a clenched fist.

It seemed like a very good deal at the time.

It all started when he bumped into an old school mate in the bar. When he’d known him at school he came across as being a bit of a clever-clogs, but apparently he’d done well for himself. He was a techie in a company that uses the latest technology to produce 3D modelling for the development and design of intercontinental ballistic missiles. After a few drinks, the techie came up with a plan to make some quick, easy money. He explained that from time to time, when things got really busy, the main server at the company gets clogged and he has to go in and fix it. For those short periods he has time to download copies of the latest IBM schematics.

Then, it got really interesting. He said he knew a guy that worked in the Russian Embassy that would pay twenty grand for them. Thing is, he explains, I can’t risk being seen with him. I need someone to hand the flash drive over. He said he’d been on the lookout for a random outsider that could act as a go-between for the exchange. He said that the problem was that the go-between would be in possession of schematics that could be worth millions if they found the right fence. Not only that, at one point, they would be holding a great deal of cash. For this reason the techie would need to come up with a bond of a thousand, cash in hand, to be returned when the deal was done. When the transaction was complete, the go-between would get the one thousand back plus five of the twenty grand.

After listening to all this with great interest, he agree to play his part. They would meet at the bar the following evening. The USB stick, sealed in a plain envelope, would be handed over for the agreed bond. On the following week, on a specified day and time, he would call at the embassy, ask for Alexei, who would hand over a sealed envelope containing the twenty grand. They would meet back at the bar that evening to divvy up.

On the following evening they met again in the bar, were the bond and schematics changed hands. When he got home he simply had to take a peak. He loaded it up to see what was being paid for, knowing full well that he probably wouldn’t understand what he was looking at. After viewing the contents, he was really glad that he had opened it. This way he loses a grand, instead of the likely outcomes of either becoming involved in an international incident, or being put on trial as a traitor, or being robbed of his ability to breathe.

When he had opened it, he had been gob-smacked to find himself watching a ten minute video clip of Dutch clog dancing.

He managed to hold the plastic beaker against the wall, with great difficulty.

Then, with a much greater degree of effort, he snuggled his ear up to the base of it, and listened. None of these complex manoeuvres were easy for a rat. His wife looked on. She knew that he did stuff in this part of the wall cavity with the Greek yogurt container he dragged in one day, but had never fully realised why. This time she had watched the strange performance carefully. She looked on in silence.

“They’re at it again,” he whispered.

She went to speak, but he squinted disapproval.

“I just need to be sure,” he murmured, readjusting the position of his ear and closing his eyes.

“Wow! Here they go! They’re hard at it now, going hammer and tong they are. I’ve often wondered where these humans get all this anger from. I mean, they’ve got it made, haven’t they? Life’s a doddle for these folk, yet they carry on like this.” He turned his head and let the cup fall. “Just had to be sure, sometimes it’s the telly.”

She shrugged. “Telly?”

“Yep. These guys have TV programs where the humans watch other humans shout at each other… on the telly. It’s part of what they call entertainment.”

She bristled. “How do you know all this stuff?”

He grinned. “I get around.”

She looked suspicious. “OK. You get around, but this… this pantomime with the yogurt pot; what’s that all about?”

“Quite simple, my dear. When these guys get into a blazing row like this, it only means one thing.”

Her nose twitched. “And that is?”

“Food!”

“Food?”

“Yes, and plenty of it.”

Her cute little shiny eyes grew wider.

“It has been my observation,” he went on, “that she does the cooking and he washes up afterwards.” He grinned again, adding, “Usually.”

“Usually?”

“Yes, but not on these occasions. When they have a right old ding dong like this he does a bit of washing up, but not much. He likes to leave a real mess for her in the morning.”

She was shaking her head and frowning.

He went on. “Of course, in amongst all this mess… food scraps. Last time they carried on like this I brought back all that grated cheese and tomato pips. Remember?”

“Of course I do. It was a real feast. I seem to remember that it lasted us several days.”

“Yes, well, from what I’ve heard here tonight, we’re in for a giant haul.”

Tiny pink fists wiped at her teary eyes. Her tail flipped back and forth a couple of times. Her head fell to one side and she whispered, “What a guy!”

The idea of being in more than one place at the same time had always appealed to him.

Despite his extensive research, continual trial and error testing of his computer code and relentless hours devoted to the subject of teleportation, he’d never attained that particular goal. He had come along way, but being in several places in the same moment seemed to allude him. His fascination with the idea of experiencing an omnipresence first came to him while studying Hinduism. Ubiquity seemed to be all the go. He pondered over text containing theories about the existence of a fundamental substance that according to some scholars is the source of everything that physically exists. However, the transfer of this into practical and repeatable computer code was proving to be a showstopper.

His cleverly designed pocket version of his gizmo that allowed him to instantly leave one location and in the very same moment appear at another, wasn’t quite cutting the mustard.

All this came to a head one morning while loitering in the shadows near his bus stop.

Pressing the button in his trouser pocket to have himself instantly teleported to the back of his favourite coffee house a couple of towns away, thus saving him a whole lot of boring travelling time, went horribly wrong. In truth, the precise cause of the event beyond a bug in the code, the device’s battery dying or a sudden change in humidity, will never be known. Only one thing was for sure.

Unhappily, this unlikely coming together of a number of highly improbable circumstances resulted in him being absolutely nowhere at once!

It was with a great deal of reluctance that he moved away from the small seaside town.

Prendlington was a pretty little town known for its magnificent ocean views seen from the high cliffs along its coastline. It was for this reason and the fact that he and his intended bride were nothing short of made for each other that he found it hard to leave. Nevertheless, following their engagement, he left and took up residence in the distant city, close to the university. This rental accommodation, would allow him to study for a degree in Mine Engineering, with an emphasis on deep mine blasting and explosives. However, apart from having to leave his beloved town and community, in doing so, as stated, he left behind his childhood sweetheart. She was a young woman employed in the town council’s planning department who devoted much of her time outside of working hours to carrying out research for the Prendlington Historical Society. Like her fiancé, her family had lived in the town for several generations.

Their plan was that with his qualifications behind him, he would return to his home community, where they would marry and settle down in the town that they both grew up in. He felt confident that he could find well paid employment at the nearby mining company.

However, as so often happens in the ever-changing affairs of mortals, none of this was destined to come about. It was later considered that the news that she had broken their engagement and taken up with the eldest son of the town’s mayor that pushed him, along with the town, over the edge.

It was in the early hours of the morning, after the warning had been broadcast, that a complete evacuation of the town’s citizens took place. Shortly after, and following a series of blasts, the entire town shook momentarily, then fell into the sea.

This event only served to reinforce the notion that some people simply take things much too seriously.

Dating agencies bring all sorts of people together.

The well-established website said that it has long been helping people find the right relationship. She had posted her particulars and had been told that a match had been found. For the occasion, she had her hair done and wore her best dress. He had posted his particulars and had been told that a match had been found. For the occasion, he had his hair cut and wore his best jacket and trousers. The agreed meeting place turned out to be a very popular night club. There was a large noisy crowd there when they both arrived. The seats along the bar, the appointed point of contact, were almost full. She was there. He was there.

She was ‘Female, late 30s, seeks tall, dark, handsome male, for a bit of wickedness’. She sat nursing her drink, wondering whether she should have told anybody what she was doing. She had thought it would make her sound friendly and fun to be with if she used the word ‘wickedness’. That was really stupid, she thought. What sort of man would that bring out of the woodwork?

He was ‘Male, mid-twenties, seeks older, experienced woman for mutually rewarding relationship’. He sat nursing his drink, hoping that none of his friends would recognise that it was him using the dating service. That word, ‘experienced’ bothered him. He shouldn’t have said that; it makes him sound as naive and completely unexperienced as he actually is. What sort of woman is it that’s going to respond to that?

They both had photographs, but the low lighting didn’t help with the recognition. They never found out why they had both leaned forward over the bar at the same moment. Wordlessly, they managed to find a spare table in a quiet corner. They just sat smiling at one another until she spoke.

“You’re not what I was expecting,” she said, “considering the silly description I gave.”

His smile was radiant. He leant forward and whispered, “Likewise.”

She sat in the attic.

Her parents didn’t like her being up there. However, when their elderly neighbour from up the street came in to babysit, she had become aware of the opportunity to go up there as soon as the old woman fell asleep in the armchair, which normally occurred shortly after her parents went out for the evening. This was such an evening. She sat, cross-legged in front of the Ouija board. She had been given the opportunity to follow her passion for playing with the thing on several occasions. There was no doubt in her mind that it worked. She was convinced that on two previous occasions she had made contact with her great, great grandmother.

Both times she had struggled to understand what she was reading on the board. It seemed to her that her ancestor was trying to explain how some curse had been placed on her, preventing her to move on into the hereafter. There had been many references to a doll that the dead woman had owned when she was a child. The girl knew what she was alluding to, as the ancient toy, although now rather worse for wear, sat on a shelf in an old bookcase, right there in the attic. Her parents had said that it was probably worth a great deal as an antique, but they wouldn’t sell it as it was part of the family’s history.

Once more she sat trying to unravel the mystery and again was being told of the curse. Eventually the girl was told to be aware of the doll and concentrate on it with all her might. She was doing just that when it happened. The first thing she noticed was a slight rustling of the old crinoline dress it wore.

As she watched, the tiny arm raised itself and the little porcelain hand waved…