Author: Alexander Fawn

As a young schoolgirl she wasn’t what you’d call a looker.

She was tall and gangly with a pale complexion and pimples. In her final year she managed to attract the attention of one of the boys in her class. It only lasted a couple of weeks, meeting up outside the cinema a couple of times. Then it just died and within a few months they all left school to go their separate ways. It would be ten years or more before the boy in question caught up with one of his old school mates, quite by chance. The old school mate had never seen him as a friend; he’d always found him a swaggerer, maybe just a bit too full of himself. Anyway, for old times’ sake they agreed to go for a coffee and do a bit of reminiscing. They talked about their old teachers, good and bad, and eventually about some of their old class mates and what they were doing now.

When asked about his former girlfriend, he said he remembered her. He smirked and said he’d got shot of her like getting rid of a garden weed. The other, being mindful of how people can change as they grow older, was also aware of her relocation to America where she was now one of the top models for New York’s fashion industry. The woman in question, now in her mid-twenties, was a real beauty. She was, in that country at least, the talk of the town. The fact was, she had changed her name for her new profession and was now living in a world of glamour. The former boyfriend was obviously not aware of any of this. He had no idea that the garden weed had bloomed into a gorgeous lotus flower.

His old classmate, blessed with a kinder heart, decided not to tell him.

At one time he was one of the world’s most renowned psychic mediums.

His tours were legendary, drawing huge audiences as he went from venue to venue around the world. Tickets always sold out fast and his performances, which were primarily based on contacting those on the other side, on every occasion left people talking about it. It is hard to imagine today that a lot of people wouldn’t even know his name. Although they would most likely remember the event. The whole thing received massive publicity at the time. Owing to the size of the audience in question the details of what happened are well documented. The psychic was around halfway into his act, playing to an appreciative crowd of fans, when the next prompt from the other side came through.

He was holding up his hand as before, in a give-me-a-moment gesture, when he told the audience that he was getting something. “I have something coming through, yes, is there a Mastema? I think I have that right… yes, Mastema,” he declared. There was a short pause, while he waited for a response from the audience. “No?” He persisted. “Is there a Mastema here?”

A voice from the audience came. “It is best you don’t!”

The psychic cupped his ear. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Can you speak up a little, please?”

A long silence followed before the man called out again. “Best not call that name.”

“I don’t understand what you are saying, there.”

“You are calling out the name of… well, it’s the Hebrew word for Satan, sir. I felt I should tell you, that’s all.”

A general titter rippled through the audience. The medium smiled and gave a polite cough. “OK,” he said, “we’ll only try once more with this one and then move on. Is there a Mastema here?”

At that moment there was an ear-splitting crack of thunder, accompanied by a loud rumbling that shook the entire theatre. A few seconds later all the lights went out and the hall was plunged into total darkness. This was followed immediately by a great booming voice that filled the auditorium.

“Who is it that calls me to this place?”

Despite the large numbers and the total darkness, the theatre emptied in less than two minutes. Being familiar with the theatre’s back entrance the medium was the first one out on the street!

Occasionally people ask, but it has been over a decade with no word from him.

As far back as he could remember, his mother would tell people how late he was as a baby.

He was always late getting up. He was always late getting to school. He arrived late for his first interview. He so often got to work late. He was invariably late getting home. On the day of his wedding, he was late. When his son got married, he arrived late. When his daughter-in-law gave birth to his grandson, he was late.

Now, it just so happened that he had a sizable investment, but it hadn’t been going anywhere. He had intended to sell off all his shares in the company, but didn’t get around to it. The following day he logged on to do just that. That is when he found that the market had gone wild overnight. His investment had increased by more than seven hundred per cent!

Thank heavens I was late, he thought.

Nobody knew what was going on with the boy.

His powers were truly awesome. From his very early years he made a steadfast decision that he would tell no one. It seemed as though nature had decided that some weird adjustment to the natural order of genetic progression was in order. A significant alteration had taken place, causing a great splash in the gene pool. He would watch news events on the television; bad things, evil happenings, wicked people, things that he felt quite sure caused him a great deal more consternation than most viewers. There were times, growing up, when he was tempted to share what he knew of all of this, his apparent gift, his strong concerns, with his parents, but this had never happened. Further to this, he managed to constrain his abilities to a reasonable level in order to keep them hidden.

He was in his late teens when it happened. He’d always wanted to go to India, so when a number of cheap package holidays were advertised, he booked one. He went alone on what would be a short getaway trip. As his hotel was close to a national park, he took several walks through the forest during his stay. It was while on one of these pleasant morning walks that he made out a hilltop not too far away and decided that he could climb it and return in the time available. Although when he arrived at its base it turned out to be a lot higher than he had thought, but he was determined to climb it anyway. When he reached the top the view was breathtaking. He found a spot where he could sit in comfort. He found that the solitude filled him with a sense of great peace, and with it the perfect environment to do nothing but think…

So, when against all odds, world leaders all began frantically signing peace treaties, no one knew why.

He was having a great deal of trouble finishing his story.

He had been at it for weeks. He had lost track of how many hours he’d spent going back over it, time and time again. Now, he had got to the point where he asked himself whether it was really worth going on with it. Finally, he decided to take a complete break from it. He would go and pick up a book. A book about something else. Something entirely different.

He had quite forgotten that he had the one he took down from the bookshelf. He began to read. It was fascinating. It dealt with the ‘many worlds theory’. Scientists were saying that based on quantum mechanics, all of these other worlds are as real as this one, and they all exist on the same timeline.

He thought about it. This being the case, there would be another him, out there somewhere. He’s no doubt writing the same story. In fact, he’s probably finished it!

What a relief!

Now, where did he put that other story draft?

It was the sort of thing that only happened in movies.

He came out of the book shop where he’d purchased the latest crime novel by his favourite author. He’d made a special trip into town to get it. Something he hardly ever had a need to do. He was not a city person. He glanced at the cover again. He couldn’t wait to open it. As he read the blurb on the back again, he could feel the tension rising. It sounded awesome. At the bus stop he began to work it out. He’d catch the bus to the quay and the city ferry across to the residential area, followed by a three minute walk to his apartment building. The bus ride was too short, but the ferry took twelve minutes; time enough to get into the first chapter. Well… that was the plan.

The man that was already there when he arrived kept glancing across at him. He was wondering whether they had ever met before, when the man moved closer.

In a low voice, he asked, “Excuse me, but have we met before?”

He looked at the stranger. “I don’t think so, I was asking myself the same question.”

“That’s good then,” said the stranger. “I’m about to ask you to do something very simple, for which you’d be well rewarded.” At this point he looked around and took out his wallet. He plucked out a fifty.

The man looked at the note. He only ever read about this sort of thing. As a crime novel lover, he was both excited and nervous at the same time. This was a different kind of tension. “I’m sorry, what do you want?”

“Very simple, as I said. Just one quick phone call, a brief message, using the number I give you, at exactly ten-thirty, will earn you this.” He waved the money.

“Well, who am I phoning, and what would I say?”

The stranger handed him a piece of folded paper with a number on it. “It doesn’t matter who, and it’s only an eight word message. Simple, right?”

He stood thinking about it for a bit. “All right,” he said with a nod, “I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I guess so, what’s the message?”

“OK. You have to get it right; exactly as I tell you.”

“I understand.”

“Just ring that number at ten-thirty, on the dot, and when the person picks up you say, ‘the same street, but at number eleven, Wednesday.’ OK, now you say it back to me.”

He cleared his throat. “The same street, but at number eleven, Wednesday.”

The stranger smiled and said, “Good, you’ve got it.” As he handed over the money, he checked the time. “That’s just a few minutes away. Like I said, on the dot.” With that, he turned and quickly walked away. Within moments he was out of sight.

The crime story fan was left thinking about the encounter and how intriguing the whole thing was. He was actually playing some part in a real life plot. He pocketed the money. Regardless of what kind of people he was dealing with, he knew that it would be wise to do exactly what he’d been paid to do. Feeling the tension again, he checked the time. He estimated at the appointed time he’d be on the ferry. He would have to make sure he found somewhere to make the call unseen and unheard.

The bus he was waiting for had to be running late. He read the stop’s timetable. It was two minutes late already. More than another three minutes and he would miss the ferry. It didn’t matter; he was being paranoid. Wherever he was, he would make the call as required.

He needn’t have worried, the bus arrived moments later and he found very few ferry passengers to avoid when he got on. To be absolutely sure, he found a seat on the rear deck where he could be alone. With just three minutes to go, he repeated the phrase over and over to himself several times. He looked at the number. It was long enough to be a mobile he was ringing. He didn’t want to think about that now, he would let his imagination run wild, later.

Pulling his phone out, he fumbled and nearly dropped it. At that same moment a gust of wind took the slip of paper from his hand and sent it sailing over the side. He jumped up just in time to see it bobbing up and down on the rippling water of the river, before it disappeared.

He sat back down.

He saw that the time had passed.

He opened his book.

It was just as well he wasn’t a city person.

He wouldn’t be going back there anytime soon.

He got on the bus snapping the band on his wrist.

He’d read this article on the web about people, like him, who suffered from having a bad memory. It had been quite successful so far, especially for things around the house or in the warehouse where he worked. This one would be a major test. In this case it was there to remind him to call in at the newsagents when he got off the bus. Snapping it from time to time helped to keep the thing in his mind. So far, so good. As he got off the bus he headed straight across the road to the shop. He was feeling rather pleased with himself until he was walking between the aisles, wondering what he was doing there. It was the newsagents, wasn’t it? He was sure it was, but what did he want from here? He couldn’t imagine. He snapped the band a couple of times, hoping it would jog his memory. It didn’t help.

He felt foolish when the guy behind the counter called out, asking if he could help. He lied, telling him he’d forgotten his shopping list and hurried out. On the five minute walk to his house he continually snapped the band and asked himself what he needed from the shop. Again, it didn’t help. When he got home he went around from room to room, hoping something would jog his mind. He was becoming so frustrated that he was snapping the band harder and harder, until finally, it broke. His first thought was to throw it in the bin and forget the idea entirely. After all, it hadn’t worked! Then he had second thoughts; he should persevere. It had worked on smaller things. He’d keep a band on until it came back to him. He would sleep with it on if he had to. He went to the drawer to get another one.

That’s when he remembered.

He approached the room with trepidation.

He knew that the man working here would have made the most of his time, without people seeing what he was doing. He was a strange one; that was for sure. He wasn’t happy when the boss took him on. He opened the door. He stood for a moment just inside the doorway, reluctant to turn the light on. He flipped the switch. Bodies and parts of bodies were scattered around the room!

He knew it. This new guy was so untidy. He’d probably been in here looking for something. He didn’t tidy up after himself, obviously.

He let out a long sigh. He could be sure of one thing.

The new window display of manikins wasn’t going to be easy.

If he’d known, he would have hired somebody else as Payroll Clerk.

In the end he had to let him go. He felt really bad about it. But, he should have questioned it when, on only the second day of his employment, he passed him three times in the corridor, during the day, each time being greeted with a “Good morning.” He was an exceptionally nice guy, got on with the rest of the staff, always polite. Such a pity about his narcolepsy. So many things were being repeated. Administration activities being performed twice. Then there was the week that he dozed off and when he woke up he paid everybody again.

Sleeping on the job was bad enough, but asking the employees for the money back was embarrassing to say the least.

The call that the student received was from his elderly uncle, a man he hardly knew.

He knew that he was extremely old, that he had been a university professor for most of his life, that he had lived like a hermit for a number of years after retirement and that he was now terminally ill. The call was made from the old man’s hospital sickbed, asking him to come as soon as possible.

No sooner had he arrived, after a nod and a brief handshake, the dying man came straight to the point.

“They tell me I have days, but it could be hours. That is why my summons was urgent. I have never been too fond of pleasantries, today, even more so. I know that you are about to gain your degree in medicine. Of course, I knew your father. We were quite close at one time. The fact is, you are not my only living relative. For reasons of my own you are my free choice, in the matter of what I have to say. When my will is read you’ll find that you are the sole beneficiary of my estate, such that it is.”

He wheezed and squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again before going on.

“A modest sum of money, the house, of course, and some small investments. There will be no mention of what you take away from here today.” He smiled. “I ask you to be patient. What I am about to tell you, as well as I am able, is a brief summary of my many years of research.”

He took a sip of water. “Yes. I need to tell you about my research, the fantastic nature of which will soon become apparent.” He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “As far as anyone knows it all started back in 1753 in a shop in London, owned by an apothecary. Nobody knows his name. It’s all lost in time now. This man of medicine had a friend who was a sailor, and returning from a voyage, he brought back several, small jellyfish in a jar. These came from Mediterranean waters; as a result of the ship taking in water to fill the ballast tanks. Anyway, what he brought with him was the legend that these little sea creatures lived forever!”

At this point he shook his head and grinned. “What we now know, of course, hundreds of years later is that these tiny creatures, were in fact Turritopsis dohrnii; tiny sea creatures that are often referred to as the immortal jellyfish. These amazing life forms manage to turn back the clock by reverting to an earlier stage of their otherwise quite natural life cycle. You could think of it along the lines of a butterfly nearing the end of its life, then changing back to a caterpillar, repeatedly, as I’ve said, forever!”

The old man seemed to wince with pain for a moment or two before going on. “The apothecary quite naturally began to experiment with what he’d been given. It seems that he was able to extract something from these jellyfish that allowed him to produce a potion. From reports at the time, it became apparent that after some twenty years the man’s physical appearance had not changed. At this point he left the city and took up residence in a small village in the country.”

He wriggled in his bed for a while, making himself more comfortable, before continuing.

“My extensive research has allowed me to follow this man, from country to country, around the world, over a great many years. All of this lengthy research shows me that today we have an immortal, living among us!” His eyes watered. “The truth is, I believe that my old age has made me weak both physically and mentally, and for this reason I have not acted on my findings.”

He reached for a paper tissue and dried his cheeks. He said, “All of this research… my papers, maps, recordings, and so on, are to be found in a large, steel trunk in the basement of my house. The clasp is secured by a robust padlock, the six digital combination of this is written on a piece of paper that I give to you now.”

He took a small slip of folded paper from under his pillow. He handed it to his visitor, saying, “My research has now become my legacy to you.”

With that, he leant across and pressed a button. He slowly laid back and closed his eyes. He began to breathe heavily as he drifted off to sleep.

A nurse appeared. She told him that visiting hours were over…