Author: Alexander Fawn

He sat in the shed at the end of the garden, not wanting to go into the house.

The test results were not good. Three months at the most, or maybe weeks, the doctor had said it was hard to say. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her, or his son. He would have to at some stage, but not yet. They knew he was sick; knew he was taking pills. He just needed a couple of days to think it through. He sat, thumbing through the sketches he’d made for the rabbit hutch his son needed for his new pet. It had been decided that they would all go to the pet shop together when it was built. He put his plans down and stared at the lengths of timber he’d purchased for the job. He’d been in there a long while. It was getting dark.

Meanwhile, in the house, his son comes home from school, collects the mail on the way in and goes to his room. His wife sits reading a cookbook, not sure what to get for dinner. She finally decides she would try a new recipe, although it would be a challenge. Looking down at the list of ingredients, she knew her husband would appreciate it.

Later, she is putting her latest creation on the table. Her son sits down for dinner, while his father discovers a letter marked ‘Urgent’ sitting on the hall table. He recognises the hospital’s logo stamped in the corner. He tears it open. He reads, sincere apologies… test results incorrect… new appointment… terrible mix up… more apologies…

He runs to the shed, turns on the light, marks and cuts a piece of wood to length. Looking at the plans, he picks up several more pieces and lays them on the bench.

She would be angry.

He would explain later.

The man on the phone said he had information he’d like to give to the police.

He had asked specifically for the detective. He sounded nervous and wanted to meet somewhere quiet, he didn’t want to be seen. He said he knew things. He said his life would be in danger if word got out that he was talking to the police. The detective understood this. He had several informers on his books. More than most, he thought. They arranged a meeting for the following evening in the old warehouse on the edge of town.

The detective found the man waiting when he arrived.

The man tapped his temple. “The first thing you need to know is that I can see into the future. Your future; or your two possible futures.” He smiled. “Your two equally possible futures.”

The detective felt uneasy. “Go on.”

“You recently had a person convicted and sent to prison for the bank robbery in the high street, and the money was recovered. Correct?”

“That’s right.”

The man went on. “You had an informer that enabled you to accomplish this, I believe.”

The detective was becoming wary. “Well, that might be the case, but…”

“Oh! My employers assure me that it is the case,” the man cut in, “and they wish to know who that person was. We know how important it is to maintain the anonymity of valuable informers, but my employers lost a sizeable investment when that took place and they now wish to put the matter right.”

The detective went to speak, but he fell silent when he saw the gun come out.

“Like I said,” the man’s tone became hard, “I can see into the future, and you have two equally possible futures.”

He quickly screwed the silencer on and raised the gun.

He whispered, “Decision time.”

Ring, ring the toll,

The dog is in the hole.

Who pushed it down?

Naughty Johnny Brown.

Who got it back?

Kindly Tommy Black.

What is it we think lies below?

Do we imagine such things as a dark abyss?

Or the great inferno that is the underworld of Hades?

Or other fiery places such as this?

–

Is it a kingdom where Lucifer rules?

A realm with fiery demons?

And what waits for those debauched spirits that enter?

No piety there, no loving grace, and all that is good, cast aside,

Leaving only the whim of the great tormenter.

Is it where wretched souls spend their time,

Beyond the brink of eternal damnation?

All spirits overtaken by terror.

All senses beyond pain and anguish, gone.

With no hope of reprieve, no chance of salvation.

–

What if all this was built within.

With sin-filled hearts fully broken,

And the constant pain of a self-lit fire,

And a world that’s gone awry.

–

Remedies abound to put things right.

They can be used with an inbuilt will.

Perdition awaits for those who don’t,

While never knowing why.

–

What if simple traits are brought about?

Like being honest in one’s affairs,

Or showing politeness to strangers,

Or using stimulants in moderation,

Or being generally kind,

Or caring about others…

Could this be how the gates of Hell remain closed?

With such laughably modest behavioural modification.

–

If one can be all of these things for most of each living day,

If this can be the natural case,

Knowing this requires more strength to build than to deny,

Then, how many really understand that it’s a state of mind,

And know that it’s not a place?

He was at the bedside of his soon to be late business partner.

The dying man barely recognised his visitor and was continually drifting in and out of consciousness. They had been in business for a number of years and had built it up from nothing. They had known one another a long time. Outside of the company their two families had often socialised. The visitor sat listening to the monotonous beeping of the heart rate monitor. He laid his hand on his partner’s arm. There was a slight movement.

“By the way,” he began, “I found out what you were up to last year.”

He wanted him to take the message with him.

“I know about your gambling habit and I know about the embezzlement. I covered for you to keep the business going. It nearly ruined me and I stopped respecting you or considering you as a friend eight months ago.”

He got up quietly and left.

It was by the grace of God that he was already in the elevator and spared the sound of the monitor’s beeping change to a flatline monotone.

His personal feelings about what he was doing were coming to a head.

He was beginning to realise that being a superhero had its drawbacks. Although he enjoyed bringing about order from chaos, saving lives, beating off villains and generally wowing people, too often his efforts were not fully acknowledged. In fact, there were times when he received pretty negative attitudes following his courageous activities. Sometimes he had to put up with receiving a certain amount of blame for what he did. It had even been suggested that it would have been better if he hadn’t interfered. This attitude, showing no appreciation for his efforts, was often deeply hurtful. More and more, he considered the citizens he was protecting were just plain ungrateful.

It came as a great surprise to those who had enjoyed his extraordinary services over the years when it was discovered that he had shot through, leaving his cape and mask hanging over the back of a chair in his rented room. The huge shock this had delivered to the general population was made worse by the fact that all attempts made to discover his whereabouts turned out to be fruitless.

Meanwhile, his work as an orderly in an aged care facility was so much more rewarding.

He sat on the old sawn-off tree trunk in the back corner of the garden.

He sat upright with pride, eyes shining bright, tail dangling to the grass. He shook his great head, fluffing up his main, and with his head thrown back, he roared. The boy’s bellow brought his mother out into the garden. He was scolded, as he had been so often, for embarrassing her and their neighbours. This time, with him being seriously threatened with a number of privileges coming to an abrupt end, his mother’s angry words had put a stop to it. However, this incident, carrying with it such power in the young boy’s mind, stayed with him through the long decades that followed.

Now, after a life that had a marriage, children, and a working life followed by several lonely years of retirement, he walked again through his family’s decaying garden. The property had never been sold. Despite his aging body, and with obvious discomfort, together with no thought of what his late parents would think or any considerations from now unknown neighbours, he clambered up onto the old tree stump. And regardless of the old man’s passion overcoming any sense of reason, and with any physical distress being surpassed by the exhilaration of the moment, he straightened his back.

His eyes burnt, his tail flicked, and with his great raised head… he roared.

He figured he knew that there was so much more to scrying than most people knew about.

He believed that after so many hours of practice, he had found its full potential. He was convinced that it went far beyond the standard definition of it being just the use of a crystal ball or other reflective object or surface to detect significant messages or visions. His preferred medium was a mirror. He would often sit in front of it in the evenings. His particular method of scrying had given him hours of pleasure. He would sit for a time, staring into the mirror. On occasions, this could be quite a while before it started, sometimes it would be quick. Either way, he had to concentrate hard so that he didn’t miss the beginning of it. It would start off with something really subtle, like a flicker of his eyebrow or the twitch of his eyelid. From that point on it would escalate.

He could flare his nostrils and at the same time, his image in the mirror would do the same. It would be exactly the same and at precisely the same moment. He could raise both eyebrows, lift the corner of his mouth, open his eyes really wide, bare his teeth, twitch his nose, poke his tongue out, go cross-eyed, bite his lip, frown, wink, smile; it was endless, it could go on for hours and it often did.

This was the case until the night it was all brought to an abrupt end. Looking into the mirror, he was doing one of his extra big pouting faces when there was a sudden power cut. Everything went black.

He sat back with a heavy sigh.

In the darkness, this was followed by a second sigh.

He didn’t like it…

Her heart leapt when her son asked the question.

He was obviously moving into the age of spiritual awakening. There were never any signs before. Not until now. Not until this morning. He had come into the room yawning. It was a school day, so she had to make sure he was ready when the time came for them to leave. She knew that his question could easily lead to a very lengthy and highly significant conversation. It would make him late for school, to say the very least. Besides, she needed time to think about it all. She would discuss it with him when he came home. Meanwhile, she would make absolutely sure that she heard him right.

“Sorry dear, what did you say?”

“I said, did you hear the messages last night?”

She took a chance with a gentle probe. “What, on the phone you mean?”

“No, mum. The tapping, like some sort of message in Morse code.”

She smiled. “I may have done. I’m rather busy this morning honey, can we talk about it when you get home from school?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

During the day she wondered who it was, trying to get in touch, from beyond. The most obvious candidate would be her late husband. They had spent a lifetime enjoying their common interest in the hereafter, often attending séances and spiritual meetings. She tried to understand why he would make contact with his son, rather than her. Regardless, it was a miracle that it was happening. When he got home she would sit with him and explain the phenomena of the spiritual world. The excitement and the anticipation of it built during the day. Yet again, she wondered, could it be that her late husband was trying to communicate? He said he would try.

Others, who live in a different world, may well wonder how long it will be before she realises that Blue Tits quite like pecking at paintwork.

 

It started around Christmas time, although she didn’t know it.

She and her partner were visiting her family. They announced their intention to marry in the New Year. Her parents were delighted and they all talked about their futures during dinner. For some reason, the subject came up about how many children they planned to have. The numbers kept going up and humour inevitably crept into their conversation. At one point she was eating and laughing at the same time, bringing on a choking fit. It didn’t last long and it was thought that something had gone down the wrong way. It was several days before the coughing fits returned. From that time on, they got worse. The condition continued with far more regular fits of painful coughing.

Over a number of months she was bounced around. The first concern was emphysema, followed by the frightening prospect of it being cancer of the lung. It was a traumatic time for the couple, with their hopes of growing a family and living to a ripe old age together, slowly fading.

Finally, with the wonders of modern science, the truth became known. A small fuzzy patch on her lung was discovered when x-rays were taken. An exploratory operation discovered the reason for the problem. Incredibly, a pea plant was found sprouting inside her lung!

The surgeon explained, “This sort of thing has happened before, it is a known condition,” he said, with a reassuring smile. “There have been a number of recorded cases, believe it or not. In your case, the pea that went down the wrong way as you quite correctly put it, was able to sprout. The warm, moist conditions inside your lung were ideal for the pea plant to grow.”

For the couple, it was wonderful news and so good to know. After all, it was all about what is and what isn’t known.

Only God knew that it was the only thing that would ever grow inside her…