Author: Alexander Fawn

She knew it was there, just below the surface.

It had been troubling her for more than a week as she went about her domestic chores. Every now and again she almost saw it, almost grabbed hold of it, but not quite. If only I had a clue, she thought, just an inkling, that’s all I would need. It’s just out of reach. I know there’s something there. It’s like some tune or a song that you hear, she thought, and you know it was used in a movie you’ve seen, but you can’t remember the name of the music or what film it was in. She tried not to think about it, put it completely out of her mind, that way it would probably pop back all on its own, but that hadn’t worked.

The only thing that she could be really sure of was it must be something… it was something just below the surface.

Once again he set up the player and settled back with the remote control.

He knew what to do; he could do it wearing a blindfold. For him, it was a regular trip back into the past. He started the machine. The whole holiday video went for over an hour and he was happy to watch the first forty-odd minutes before the part he was looking for came up. It was a wonderful honeymoon. The weather was perfect and the staff at the hotel made such a fuss about them being newlyweds that they couldn’t have ask for more. Scenes in the restaurant came up, followed by views of the street markets with their colourful lights and loud music, indicating that the section he needed came next. He sat further back in his chair and waited…

She was climbing out of the hotel’s pool when she looked up, wiping water away from her face. She gave a happy smile as she said, “How good is this? How long can it last, eh?” He hit the pause button. Her question and her face were frozen. He pressed the play button and watched as she stood towelling herself down. He dabbed at his eyes, then rewound. There she was, coming up the ladder, smiling and asking again. “How long can it last, eh?” He backed it up and played it again. Of course, he knew the answer to her question was ‘less than two weeks’. Only a couple of days after coming home. The man with the heart attack, his car running out of control and mounting the pavement. He knew all that, but it didn’t stop him wanting to hear her ask.

He wiped more tears away as he picked up the remote control.

Just once more, maybe…

The manager sat looking through the applications.

He knew he had to get it right. One badly placed employee could bring the business down big time. Especially when the team was made up of such a small group of people. He knows that each one of them needs to be good at what they do. He slowly read through the seven applications he’d received, now that the submission cut-off date had passed. It was always difficult finding someone that was ideal, when it was only based on the submitted paperwork. However, of these, three looked promising. He read them through again, placing the favoured applicant on top. He would let his subordinate take a look at them, after all, the man had been in the business a lot longer than he had. He caught sight of him and called him in.

“Just going over the applications we’ve received. Thought you might give me your thoughts.”

“Sure”. He sat down and dragged the pile across the desk. He tapped the top paper. “Your pick?”

“Yes. Well-presented and seems to fit our requirements.”

The other began to read. He spent more time on the one that had been put on the bottom. Occasionally looking up, the manager noticed this. “I had a job reading that one myself. Dreadful writing!”

The other was smiling.

The manager asked, “I don’t think we should waste our time with him.”

Still smiling, the other replied, “It just so happens that I know him.”

“You do?”

“Oh! Yes, indeed; quite well actually”

“What can you tell me about the man?”

“Ah! About the man… well, he’s the sort of chap that never seems to know what day it is, is never on time, is always losing things, never has a pen when he needs one, is late paying bills, never plans ahead, is late for appointments, is always running behind, forgets to return things he’s borrowed, loses his must-do lists, double-books appointments all the time, misses deadlines, never knows where his money goes, never prioritizes anything, never puts things back where they belong, often wears the wrong clothes for the weather, forgets to call people back, lets his inbox get overcrowded, usually arrives late for meetings, leaves most things until the last minute, regularly gets his signals crossed, and continually loses his phone.”

“Goodness gracious! We can discount him then.”

The other grinned. “I don’t think so.”

“Why ever not?”

“He’s one of the best pizza-makers I’ve ever come across.”

A completely different form of music was poised to take the world by storm.

Music lover, Kreshnik, commonly known as the mad pig-farmer from Prush, Albania, was the inventor of the boogentrosslehorn. This remarkable instrument was based on the more common booglinghorn, this itself being a timeworn folk instrument, traditionally used by goatherds. This formidable instrument consisted of a hollowed out tube, measuring a little over a meter, and made of wood. A series of seemingly random-placed holes were set either side of the mouthpiece. These allowed the player to vary the pitch of the notes being produced. As wind instruments go, it was found that the boogentrosslehorn was difficult to play, owing to the need to cover several holes at once while altering the way the lips are formed at the mouthpiece, in order to create the most interesting sounds.

Although originally invented by Kreshnik to entertain and sometimes pacify his pigs, a number of neighbouring music lovers attempted to fashion similar horns. This activity being more of a passing hobby as opposed to any serious attempt to promote the instrument to the rest of the world. Branching out beyond the rural duties of a pig farmer, Kreshnik spent a great deal of time reaching out to professional instrument makers. This was done in an attempt to have them reproduce, in a more marketable form, such as the addition of colourful motifs being displayed along the length of the instrument, in sufficient numbers to penetrate the market. These attempts to break into the world of selling his invention was made particularly challenging by having to negotiate his web research times with a fellow farmer who had an internet connection.

Looking further into the future, it was his hope that this ground-breaking instrument would eventually encourage avant-garde composers to write new music for it.

It never caught on.

The local policeman stood staring down at the body when the inspector arrived.

As he entered, he stood looking around. After a few words with the policeman, he wandered around. When the call came into the station, it was noted that the property where the death had occurred, on the outskirts of the village, was run down. The elderly owner was poor and hadn’t been able to maintain the cottage or the garden. He was seeing that for himself now, as he walked from room to room. There was very little furniture and a quick inspection of the pantry showed that there was hardly any food on the shelves. The constable, still patiently standing by the body, cleared his throat. The other seemed to become aware of his presence. He nodded and approached.

“Do we know the whereabouts of the house owner?”

“Up stairs, having a lie down, sir.” He looked happy to be asked something.

“Upset, I dare say.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, with enthusiasm, “she is rather old and I don’t think she is quite all there, if you get my meaning. I’ve had a look around myself,” at this point he looked down at the body, “and there’s nothing here for him to eat. You only have to look at him to see that he starved to death.”

The inspector shook his head and sighed. “I’m inclined to agree with you.” He knelt down. “No marks on the body, but I can see his ribs.”

The policeman added. “I’m just saying, sir, but I’m sure it wasn’t deliberate.”

“Who reported it?”

“The guy who has the bakery in the village reported it, apparently, the old girl went up there earlier to buy a loaf.”

“Did she now?”

“Yes, sir, although it was his wife who actually discovered the body. She just called in to visit the old girl this morning. She came in and this is what she found. Of course, she went back and told her husband and he phoned it in.”

The inspector stood up. “Do these creatures actually eat bread?”

“I believe they do, sir, but they prefer a bone.”

“I’m sure they do. Do we have the woman’s name?

The policeman opened his notebook. “Couldn’t get her first name… it seems she was only known as old Mother Hubbard.”

He got up early knowing that it was going to be a very busy day.

He had taken a lot of time off from work recently and his boss wasn’t happy about it. In fact, with the recent downturn in business he could very easily get laid off. Lateness and time off were frowned upon by the factory manager. It wasn’t uncommon for a worker to get the sack for persistent lateness. That’s why he was careful to make the second booking so close to the first in the morning. He felt that just asking for a morning off looked better than two separate work days. First up was a one hour consultation with the specialist. Then, thirty minutes later across town, his dental check-up. His appointment with the specialist had been made the year before, he couldn’t be late for that!

The first thing he found was in the mail, a card saying an urgent parcel could not be delivered as no one was in and it had to be picked up from the depot. Well, that can wait, he thought, the specialist comes first. The second thing that happened was discovering that his pet hamster had escaped when he went to feed it. He spent half an hour looking for it, then gave up. He’d find it later, the specialist comes first. The third thing that threatened to disrupt his plans was when the toilet blocked. He’d call the plumber later, the specialist comes first. He kept looking at the clock.

When he finally came to leave, he found his car wouldn’t start. He’d have to call for assistance, but he didn’t have time for that. Knowing that the bus drivers were on strike he knew the only way was to cycle into town. He went out to the shed and found his old bike. He got it out, but found that both tyres were flat. Back in the shed he searched, but found that the pump was missing. Back in the house, and growing more desperate, he stood looking at the clock. He estimated that it would take him around forty minutes to walk to town and still make it in time for his first appointment.

He locked the house and began walking. Working the timing out again in his head he realised that it would be cutting it fine. He decided to phone ahead to indicate that he had car trouble, but was on his way and would do his best to arrive on time. Taking out his cell phone, he discovered it had a flat battery. He had plugged it in to charge it the night before, but the cable had not connected properly…

What happened next can safely be taken as read. The fact is, it had never before occurred to him just how much he relied on his phone. He had missed three important text messages that morning.

The first, from the specialist’s rooms, to cancel the appointment as the surgeon had been taken ill. The second, from the dental practice’s receptionist, postponing the day’s appointments because the dentist was away dealing with his sick child. The third, to all staff, advising that the factory was temporarily closed, owing to a fire in the building…

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.