Author: Alexander Fawn

He was certainly a nasty piece of work, but an absolute whizz on the banjo.

He was always happy to play for any visitors who came through his front door, this being the primary reason he had so many come and go, but there was always the strict rule that nobody touched his precious banjo! This had always been respected on account of the fact that it was quite evident that in all other respects he was not a nice person. Many felt truly saddened when these jolly musical events came to an abrupt end. It wasn’t made clear just how he’d come to meet his maker, but newspaper reports had indicated that it involved a shootout in a nightclub. It had always been suspected that he was a major player in the local drug trade.

Despite the bad publicity, and in memory of so many delightful evenings spent listening to him play, the wake that was held for him attracted a great many followers.

On the day, several eulogies were given and a number of people had brought drink, along with several plates of nicely prepared finger food. For a while, the party atmosphere filled the room with noisy chatter, fond memories and laughter.

This changed unexpectedly, when one of the man’s greatest admirers took the instrument down from the peg on the wall and began to strum a slow tribute to the dead musician.

The first thing they noticed was the heat building up in the room, accompanied by a sulphurous odour. That was when the flames started to appear. These quickly grew and leapt up, skirting the room. That’s when the screaming started. Luckily, somebody managed to get the back door open and amid the chaos of shouting and shrieking, they all managed to get out into the back garden.

This was followed by a great deal of pointless complaining.

After all, it wasn’t as though any of them hadn’t been told…

He was standing at the kitchen counter reading the instructions on seed packets.

The forecast said that Sunday was going to be sunny and dry; perfect weather for gardening. According to the descriptions, there were several colours. He wasn’t sure whether he’d sow them in a random fashion or create some sort of colour design. Maybe he could do a little of both, a mix of colours with an emphasis on one. It was quite a large patch of soil. He’d know when the time came. He was squinting at the annoyingly small print on the back of one of them when he felt the tremor.

A figure appeared, just like that!

“I must say, you’ve been busy,” the stranger said, nodding with approval.

Visibly shaken, the man looked at the figure, whoever he was. “What?”

“You know, tomorrow in the garden,” said the other, pointing at the seed packets and smiling.

His fear turning to anger, the man said, “Yes, but I haven’t done it yet! Who the hell are you, anyway? How did you get in here?”

“I know, this is where I have to explain.” He moved closer to the counter and leant on it. “I come from a different world and sometimes these worlds, yours and mine, kind of overlap. I’m sure that must sound pretty weird to you, but time runs backwards in our world. Of course, this seems quite natural from our point of view. Our world… well, it’s very interesting, most of the time, that is. There are other major differences, apart from time running in different directions. One of them is the fact that we know about you, but you don’t know about us. That just happens to be the case, and we don’t know why. Not your problem… ours.

Amazed at his own calmness, the man said, “OK, but what are you doing here?”

“Eh? Nothing really. This thing, this crossover, it just happens. Like I said, we don’t know why.” He moved a couple of packets around. “When it does,” he went on, “we only seem to be able to talk to someone who’s, how can I put it… vulnerable.”

“Vulnerable?”

“Ah! Maybe not vulnerable, more like being open to suggestion. For instance, you seem calm enough, have you been smoking at all?

“I don’t smoke very often, only socially, but I have the feeling you don’t mean that.”

“No, I don’t, most of our contacts are smoking pot or taking illicit drugs or something. If you haven’t, it means you’re a natural.”

“Is that good?”

“Definitely! It means that for the time we have, we can hold a relatively normal conversation. This is good, I’ll be talking about this for weeks; in reverse of course.”

“In reverse?”

“Yes, your future is our past. It’s actually very simple, but I wouldn’t try to work it out, if you know what I mean; considering your situation, you wouldn’t stand a chance!”

The man sighed. “Look, I’m getting really lost here, but I can’t help wondering if any of us visit you during one of these… these crossover things.”

“Oh! Yes, quite often, more often than we are able to visit your world.” The visitor frowned. “That’s another thing we don’t understand.”

At that moment, the room began to vibrate softly and the visitor pulled a sad face as his form started to quiver. His voice began to trail off, as he said, “By the way, I shouldn’t really say this, but the patch of blue in the middle looked really nice.”

With that, he was gone.

She knew it was always a critical event.

Preparing for that very significant moment for mum and dad was uppermost in her mind. She knew that looks were everything. When it came to makeup, she was really talented. She warmed her hands under the hot tap and dried them off. Just a small blob of face lotion was enough. She carefully applied an even coating, then with a soft tissue she removed any excess. This was followed by the flesh-coloured foundation cream. Again, this was applied with practiced care and skill. Finally, a last-minute touch up with the hairbrush and she was finished. She would be happy with the viewing now.

She stood back from the coffin.

Voilà! The bullet hole in the centre of the corpse’s forehead was barely noticeable.

It paused, for a moment, the briefest of all possible moments…

It had all been done, yet again. All squared away. Taking a global view, financial institutions across the planet running smoothly, accounts adjusted, salaries paid, commissions calculated, foreign exchanges updated. Internet humming happily; sites, blogs, weather updates, and all manner of multimedia going gang-busters, air traffic controls all in hand, and traffic lights across the continents flashing away.

All social media sites sending and receiving, countless pieces of music, songs, poems, plays, scripts, programmes, movies, emails, news reports and weather warnings. Everything just ticking away; with networks networking, processors processing, repeaters repeating, inputs inputting, output outputting, printers printing, scanners scanning, connecters connecting, collectors collecting, providers providing, savers saving, selectors selecting, assigners assigning, filters filtering, firewalls firewalling, cables cabling, signals signalling and waves waving. A great multitude of digital activities.

A billion of this and a trillion of that.

It really was time for a break…

It switched itself off!

He was trawling the dark web one evening when he found the site.

After the divorce, his evenings had dragged. Coming out of an unhappy childless marriage, spending this time at the screen seemed to bring him some small measure of joy. This particular site was intriguing. It seemed to be some sort of multiple choice survey of twenty questions, all about happiness. It said those who got nineteen out of twenty correct, could go on to the next stage. He sat thinking for a while, then took the survey. When he’d answered the final question, his screen went black for several seconds, then a large message box appeared on the screen. It read: The Crystal of Happiness. Underneath this, in much smaller text was a footnote, this said: This is only available to a true seeker of happiness. This was followed by a small ‘Enter’ button. He hit it.

The next screen carried an explanation that the location of the crystal is revealed on the following screen and went on to describe the power of the crystal by saying that if it is held in the hand for one full minute, happiness is bestowed on the bearer for the rest of their days. This was followed by another small ‘Enter’ button. So, he hit that one too.

The instructions that followed were strange to say the least. He read through them several times. He read that to fulfil the requirements of the quest, he had to make his way to a Greek island situated in the Aegean Sea named Chios. He would need to visit the Maritime Museum where, beneath a curved staircase, he would find a village map. In the upper right corner of it he would see a village square, and this would be his destination.

The instructions went on to say that the square sits in the centre of a crossroad of alleys. It stated that this must be approached from the east, saying that care must be taken to approach the square, not only from the east, but to progress along it no further than half way; no further than the line of blue, flat, rectangular stones that run across the alleyway from one side to the other. It was stated emphatically that this must not be crossed, until the time was right. Although not visible from there, a distant bell would toll at exactly two in the afternoon. It was indicated that there would be no need for haste, as time itself would stop while still in the alley. This mysterious piece of information was how it ended.

When he’d finished reading through the instructions once more, he considered the overall nature of what he had read. Despite the strange nature of it, he realised just how extremely detailed and precise the whole thing had been laid out. It all seemed to be too exact to be anything other than a clear set of directions. He sat thinking for a while. On reflection, he had the resources, he had the will, and he certainly regarded himself as being a true seeker of happiness. So, within a few short days, having made the necessary arrangements, he was on a plane to Athens. From there he took the ferry from the port of Piraeus to the island of Chios.

Once there, he visited the museum as instructed and found the map. Looking for landmarks, he saw the best way to enter the alley. At the entrance of it, he made doubly sure of his orientation and direction by using the compass on his phone. He proceeded to enter the alley from the east. He gaged it to be some one hundred metres long and about three metres wide, with buildings on either side. He walked slowly forward until he came to the blue line, as described. He used his phone again to check the time; it was comfortable. He stood waiting, for what seemed an age, for the distant bell to sound. Remarkably, he was looking down at the World Clock site on his phone when at exactly two o’clock the ancient bell rang out. He slowly raised his foot and stepped across.

In that instant, the alley he was standing in had changed completely. His vision seemed to be temporarily blurred, but he could see that he was no longer alone. There were thirty, or even forty people, all wandering up and down the alley. His eyesight gradually improved as he made out men and women who were obviously in a variety of ethnic dress. They had on clothing that seemed to represent a cross-section of cultures from around the world. Some seemed to be meandering about aimlessly while others were stooping or crouched. It was then, after squeezing his eyes shut really hard a couple of times, that he became aware of the fact that the floor of the entire alley was covered with crystals, each one being no larger than a thumbnail.

He crouched down and picked one up.

He’s still there!

To analyse the state of peace,

For some, quite out of reach.

Others need to seek it out,

A different thing for each.

–

It may be found in a church,

Where people pray and sing.

For some it can only be

What the king of kings can bring.

For others, with dreams unfulfilled,

Do their searching at a cost.

Bare the labour of seeking serenity,

And retrieving something lost.

–

Looking into nature’s green,

Or the rolling of a tranquil sea,

Are things that stir a wonder,

That untroubled eyes might see.

–

The trickle of a tumbling stream.

The crackle of a burning log.

The brightening of a rainbow,

Or a slowly fading fog.

–

Is it fear that brings about discord?

Is it wounds that need caressing?

These things that stay and block the way.

Do they require some kind of blessing?

–

How far should it be from normal,

To leave behind all stress?

To seek and find,

Peace, and nothing less.

She was sitting in the café, treating herself to a large pot of chocolate mousse.

He was sitting several tables away. She couldn’t help feeling that he was occasionally watching her. He was certainly nice looking and his dress sense had him pinned as some sort of professional. She was doing her best not to blush. After a while, summoning up her nerve, she took a deep breath and looked straight at him with a smile on her face. She was rewarded with a grin and a slight nod of his head. At this point he began searching through his pockets and came up with a small notepad. He took out his pen and wrote something on one of the pages. He ripped it out and carefully folded it in half. He got up slowly, holding the paper.

Her heart was now beating wildly. Was he coming over? Yes, he was!

He approached smiling. As he passed, he slowly slid the note across the table towards her, before making his way to the escalator. Was this his name, or his phone number? She watched him leave, with her pulse still pounding in her ears. She waited until he was completely out of sight before opening it.

It said that she had a large blob of mousse sliding down the lapel of her blouse.

It was early in the evening when he sat down to check his emails.

It wasn’t a task that he was fond of, because of the amount of junk email that managed to bypass his spam filter. Looking down the list that sat in his inbox, he was surprised to see one that didn’t make sense. It had nothing under From, Date or Size and the subject matter comprised of the single word; Augury. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t open an email that had no sender, or address. There was a lot of malware around and the golden rule is to not open it. With all this in mind, for some unaccountable reason, he did anyway.

A single paragraph came up on the screen.

‘I am your distant ancestor. I have been here for a long time and was made up to angel status recently. I have followed you and admire your charitable work. I am not permitted to interfere. I am allowed to hint. Beneath the stairs, a frayed wire above paper. You have no more than twenty four hours to remedy this. Keep up the good work. This message will delete after thirty seconds. No response possible.’

He sat in a state of shock for a few seconds before scribbling down a quick note referring to the stairs, the wire and the paper. The remaining allotted moments were spent looking at the screen until the item disappeared.

After a few more minutes of sitting in a frozen state of inactivity, he got up slowly and in a daze he wandered through the house. He opened the cupboard door below the stairs and switched the light on. After taking a good look around, he found it. Not easy to see, but it was there nonetheless. He dragged the box containing old magazines out of the way and pulled the plug out of the socket. He had no idea what it was connected to, but disconnecting it was the only thing that mattered. An electrician would no doubt sort it out. He would get one in tomorrow.

Back at the computer, he sat for a long time going over all that had happened.

At the end of the day it’s the same old story… who’s he going to tell?

The girls behind the supermarket’s service desk were chatting.

One of them was telling the other two about how she had dumped her boyfriend. She was saying how she had put up with him for far too long. She knows it’s one of the best things she has ever done. She described how hopeless he was and how she realised that she was continually solving all of his problems for him. She was ranting so much that none of them noticed a woman standing a short way off. She looked teary and was blowing her nose. She had obviously overheard the conversation, but was uncomfortable about interrupting. Finally, she came forward slowly and timidly raised her hand.

“Sorry,” she said, wiping off tears, “perhaps you can help me…”

“Yes, love, of course I can,” said the talkative girl, “my advice to you is to get tough. Don’t put up with anything you don’t have to. You should probably change your phone number…”

The woman waved her hand. “No, you don’t understand.” She wiped her eyes. “Sorry, I have a dreadful cold. Can you tell me where to look for Mulligatawny soup?”

 

He was sure it had been there this morning, when he dressed.

It was an old British coin, a George the sixth penny, dated 1945. His birth date. His grandfather gave it to him when he was twelve, telling him that it was magic, and it had been with him ever since. That’s why he considered it to be lucky, more than actually magic. The old man had been a strange sort, spending a lifetime researching the mystic arts. He knew such a notion was silly, really, but he always had it in his pocket. He thought it should always be with him. Obviously, otherwise, what’s the point?

He sat down at the kitchen table looking at his notes. One was a diagram of the house and its rooms. The other, a detailed description of the events, along with his movements, over the past two days. He had spent a lot of time clawing all these details back. Not that he felt going back that far was actually necessary, since he felt sure he had it yesterday. In fact, it would have been placed on the bedside table when he went to bed last night. Wouldn’t he have noticed, had it not been there this morning? Convinced of this, he got up and started going through the house again.

After yet another thorough search he returned to the table, exhausted. He sat for a while contemplating the situation. He considered that it might be lost, and at the same time not lost. Not lost because it had to be somewhere. Since it still exists, it is not lost, it’s absent. His grandfather had warned him that it may move away from our physical world, but it would always come back. That’s what he said, away from our physical world, and it would always come back.

Perhaps, as the old man had told him, all those years ago, this was just something that he needn’t concern himself with.

Did this thing simply need to be somewhere else for a while, was it merely absent?

After asking himself this question out loud, the penny not only appeared in front of him, but seemed to move slightly.

He looked on in a state of fascination as the coin slowly raised itself to stand upright on its edge. Then it began to spin, gently at first, then building up speed. After watching it for a couple of mesmerising minutes, he was brought out of his reverie by the rattle of the coin coming to a flat halt on the table.

“Ah!” He nodded. “Confirmation. There’s the answer… merely absent.”