Author: Alexander Fawn

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…

He just needed to do a bit of tweaking to get it finished.

During the early development phase he was able to make some radical improvements. For starters, he had to be careful with how the maximum load on the strudel assembly was distributed. Because the mankling assembly relied on a constant flow of air through the pandal chambers, each section of the tube would require extra spratly clips. The reciprocating action would need to remain in sync with the Armitage mobiliser. Knowing that excessive rotation of the hortling spindle would cause unwanted vibration, sprooksen mounting gimbals were set at alternating angles. It was found that the fine tuning of the crackle valves allowed for greater dreanal movement. He knew he had to be careful when aligning the stekle with the hubblings to maintain an acceptable balance. The fixing and tightening of brindling nuts to the transom’s casement had to be given the correct amount of torque, because the undongulated cycling pulleys were constrained transdusently with the infrastructure support frame.

Finally, it was done. He now had to consider the issues of putting together another one, maybe a touch more stylish, of finding a company to handle the mass production of it and a really good marketing outfit to get it out there for the punters to want it. How hard can that be?

When it comes right down to it, it’s only an electric toothbrush!

They finally cut the grass in the graveyard,

With loose grass just lying around.

The residents will have less insulation,

I guess they don’t feel cold underground.

 –

They finally cut the grass in the graveyard,

With yellow stubble now showing through.

The place looks even more untidy.

It’ll give the gardeners something to do.

– 

They finally cut the grass in the graveyard.

In one stroke they’ve sliced off the crop.

Leaving the bodies below in their coffins

That little bit nearer the top.

– 

They finally cut the grass in the graveyard.

At least it leaves a nice smell.

It’s a scent that brings thoughts of heaven.

Though considering the general neighbourhood,

Most occupants will be rotting in hell!

It started with a phone call.

He answered, only to hear a squeaky, child-like voice on the other end. Despite this, the caller seemed to be talking about some kind of ‘once in a lifetime’ deal. He checked the time. It was mid-evening and not the sort of time you’d think that these kind of phone promotions normally took place. He felt it was a prank, but continued to listen. The caller was saying that he had been selected on an entirely random basis. No money payments of any kind were involved, no products were being advertised, and the offer would only be made once. Having listened to all this, curiosity bit hard. He didn’t respond for several beats. He hadn’t switched the television on yet and he had nothing else planned…

“OK, just tell me what you’re selling,” he began.

“I’m not selling anything,” came the reply.

“But, there has to be something in it for you… or you wouldn’t be calling.”

“No. My part is only to act as a middle man, if you like.”

“Middle man,” the man repeated

“It’s simple, if you’re not interested in taking up the offer of a deal, my work is done. I can assure you that you won’t be contacted again. That’s how this thing works.”

“Ah! OK. You just said ‘this thing’. How about you tell me what ‘this thing’ is?”

“As I said, it’s simple. The deal is, if you sign the contract being offered, you will go on to live a very happy and contented life until your natural end of days.” There was a pause. “I am currently available.”

Shaking his head, he looked at the phone. He kept the chuckle to himself. A silent grin would have to do for now. This kid, if indeed it was a kid, was playing this spoof for all it’s worth. Maybe he should go along with it. After all, he had nothing else to do. Just to find out…

He heard a clicking on the phone, he put it back to his ear.

He said, “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” came the short reply.

 “OK. Let’s say I’m interested. At least to find out a bit more.”

“I’m in your area, as it happens. I can be at your back door in five minutes.”

He was still musing on the whole thing when he heard the knock. It actually made him jump.

With an unaccustomed feeling of apprehension, he walked through to the back and opened the door.

What he saw was a small, bald, dark-skinned creature, wearing only a loincloth and holding a rolled up document.

It had tiny horns.

It was her habit to watch the late night news before going to bed.

She had not slept well for a long time. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she got a full night’s sleep without it happening, the hovering ball, that’s what she called it. Jeepers! Now that I come to work it out, she thought, it must have been going on for over a year! She knows how run down she is, and she’s aware of the fact that her health is gradually getting worse. She knows that she needs help. They say that’s half the battle, don’t they? Just knowing that I need to overcome any embarrassment I feel, it has to be faced. I’ll make an appointment with the doctor, she thought. He’ll probably give me a referral to a psychologist or someone. I’ll make sure it’s the nice old gentleman at the practice, I’ve always been able to talk to him. Oh! Well. It has to be done. I‘ll call the surgery tomorrow.

In the surgery the following day she was telling the old man about her ongoing malady. She explained about the frequent appearances of the great hovering ball that floats over her when she’s in bed. She explains that she finds it hard to go to sleep with it there and it often wakes her up, because she knows it’s still there. She tells him that the horrible thing floats just below her bedroom ceiling. It kind of quivers from time to time, and it rotates very slowly. She says she remembers seeing an illusionist once on TV. He had a ball that he could make float. He would put a cloth over it, then hold onto the corners of the cloth, while the ball underneath would slowly rise. It defied gravity. Her hovering ball was just like that.

After listening patiently while she talked about her constant nightmares, the elderly physician asked, “I see. Can you describe this ball in more detail for me?”

“Sure. It’s like I said, it’s an ugly ball and it has these hideous little spikes sticking out all over it.” She looked uncomfortable. “I suppose you can recommend a suitable psychologist for me?”

He sat back with a smile. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” he said. “I think I can help you there.”