Author: Alexander Fawn

Perhaps, people were simply meant to suffer.

I guess, the whole problem exists because of the tenses. For starters, take the present. The present, whether anyone likes it or not, is forced upon us. There’s nothing we can do about it. By the time anybody figures out what it’s all about, it’s gone. Then there’s the past. This doesn’t exist either. How much of it is actually remembered depends on the individual. When all is said and done, it’s not around anymore. As for the future, a lot of it can be foretold. However, the fact that none of it has happened indicates strongly that this also doesn’t exist. It is all of these combined that bring about a great deal of angst and suffering for we that have to put up with it!

All this is why people, in particular, those in densely populated places such as major cities and the small but overcrowded village of Bundling-on-the-Wold, are so often found to be unhappily mumbling to themselves.

Ever since his discovery of the board and what it could do, his hobby changed.

It started at a jumble sale. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking at until the nice old gentleman smiled and explained what it was for. The old guy seemed to be quite an expert. He explained that the word Ouija came from an ancient Egyptian word, meaning ‘good luck’. He then went on to say that there was a rumour about how it was named. The story went that a well-known medium once asked the board to name itself. He had chuckled and said that he didn’t believe it himself. That morning, the conversation went on for some time. The man found it hard to believe that his customer had never heard of the board before. From his own perspective, considering his general lack of social interactions, he wasn’t surprised that the subject was completely new to him.

Anyway, that’s how it all started. After paying a pittance for it, he left, making straight for home. He couldn’t wait to spend computer time learning everything there was to know about the thing he’d purchased.

Looking back later, he realised that it was that same day that his usual pastime of playing puzzle video games solo, on his computer in the evenings, was about to change… forever.

As a bit of a loner in his mid-twenties, he’d landed a reasonably well-paid clerical position with a finance company after leaving school and was never really short of money. Because he was neither particularly interested in girls or any kind of social life, his somewhat solitary existence was spent doing whatever he wanted to do. As a result, over the following weeks, his evenings were almost exclusively directed to the business of getting to know all there was to know about the board.

Once this was done, he spent time scouring the obituary columns and noted the names of a number of recently deceased people who had held senior positions in financial institutions. Creating a short list of those he considered to be the best, he began work on what he regarded to be the master plan for his future.

Coming to the board, as he did, with no preconceived ideas about it, other than what the old man had told him, he contacted a number of spirits with relative ease. He had no doubts about the veracity of the board and what it was capable of. The planchette flew around the board and he made steady progress towards what he had planned.

Eventually, having been in touch with these over an extended period, striking up relevant conversations regarding matters of finance, enabling him to gather expert advice regarding stocks and shares, all aspects of his plan took shape. Over a few short years, you could say he became very comfortably off, and it was time for him to retire.

He left the company, packed his belongings, along with his much-loved board, flew out to the French Riviera where he had purchased a coastal villa with a panoramic view of the Mediterranean Sea.

On the subject of ‘used by dates’, as precious as his board had been, he no longer needed it.

He was not the sort of person you would look at twice.

He was fairly short and a little overweight, with hair that had never been groomed or cut properly. His clothes were nothing short of drab and his shoes never saw polish. In fact, he was pretty much nondescript. As a result of him being so incredibly unremarkable, few people actually noticed him. None of this really bothered him. It has to be said that there were downsides to this general invisibility, mainly when trying to get the attention of customer service officers or shop assistants. Again, he was not particularly worried about this. It was often the case that those who met him would be left with hardly any memory of having done so. It followed that such people would be hard pressed to describe him, if asked. It has to be said that this pleased him no end.

All this serves the man well.

Known only as The Shadow to those who work in MI6’s Special Operations Section, who’s clandestine activities have scuttled a number of terrorist plots.

However, you can’t possibly know any of this.

It had taken five years for him to see how thoughtless he’d been.

Although they were both in their fifties, they had argued like a couple of love-sick teenagers. For several weeks he’d been thinking about it. He’d turned the events of that evening over and over in his mind, remembering all of it. He had a clear recollection of the house, the party, the music and laughter coming from inside as they stood on the porch, filled with anger; anger directed at each other. Then, the point where she had said she didn’t want him to drive her home, she would catch the bus. Then, his response, something that could only make matters a whole lot worse, he laughed. On reflection, that single thing was easily the most stupid thing he had ever done in his life!

He got out of the car and stood looking at the house. The nearest street lamp was some way off, but there was enough light for him to recognise it from all those years back. The house looked as though it was in total darkness save for a faint glow coming through chinks in the upper curtains. After all his planning, had he come too late in the evening? It had only just gone nine. Regardless of such considerations, there would be no turning around now. No, he was there. He would tell her how sorry he was. He would say how foolish he’d been and how much he loved her. He pressed the doorbell.

Inside, the woman lays in her bed. Despite the number of prescribed pain-killers she had already taken, the pain was still there. She has often thought that she simply imagines that her sciatica has got increasingly worse since that night after the party. She knows that the regret that she endures after that unwarranted moment when she had turned her back on him and hurried off to the bus stop, had steadily increased with the passing years. Was it simply pride that had prevented her from apologising for running off like that? After all, he may have forgiven her if she had said how much she loved him.

Outside, he waited in silence. He would give her time.

Inside, she lifted the glass of sherry. It would be the last; she had finished the bottle. She tipped the last of the tablets into the palm of her hand and through her head back. Sipping at the sherry, she swallowed them a few at a time. Soon, the regret and the pain would stop and never return.

Outside, he had rung twice more with no response. He stood back and peered up at the window. Could she know he was there, that it was him; a person, never to be forgiven? He pressed one last time and waited…

Finally, he turned to walk back to his car, not noticing the small card on the front step.

Had he seen it and picked it up… better yet, had he turned it over, even in the poor light, he would have seen the words, ‘Bell broken, please knock’.

Ye olde café tucked away,

Nowhere near the main highway,

Been there forever, so they say.

Would open daily, come what may,

With food and drink served every day,

Local memorabilia on display,

The lawn out back saw children play.

Good service, the order of the day.

With dry mud walls and roof of hay,

All that, a long-gone yesterday.

Old and crumbling now they say,

It fell to ruin along the way.

That café was the best, they say.

It would all become history in just a few seconds.

All of her memories, including the bad ones, would be expunged. A brand-new life lay ahead. No more arguments with professionals who think they know better. No more justifying her choice of destiny. All that time away from those she loves. All those dietary restrictions. All that training. All that running. All those physical aches and strains. There was no going back. She was about to become a different person. She was about to make it all worthwhile.

She steadied her breathing and cleared her head, leaving only one single thought.

The crowd went quiet.

The starter’s gun is raised…

It was probably a good time to consider his past.

When looking back at the big picture, there were things that he probably should regret. He felt that things in the past should stay there. After all, what is done, is done. When all was said and done, he did have a police record, there’s no denying that. Nothing really serious. Over the years he’d been charged with common assault and aggravated assault, damaging property, being drunk and disorderly, drink driving and dangerous driving, driving without a license, driving while disqualified, using a vehicle without the owner’s consent, breaking and entering, handling stolen goods, resisting arrest, illegal possession of a firearm, drug possession and the supplying of drugs, disorderly conduct and tax evasion. Of course, there was always the family violence intervention order.

He was not a person used to much in the way of soul-searching.

However, now, laying in this hospital bed with the incurable disease of multiple sclerosis, he had time to reflect a little. He was feeling sorry for himself.

What had he done to deserve this?

He had never been sure about him.

Put it this way, he was not sure when he was fully aware of what sort of person his brother actually was. It could have been when they were young and he’d laughed like crazy when he watched their neighbour’s cat frantically running around after tying a bit of broken roof tile to its tail. Maybe it was the time, as a teenager, he shoved a potato up dad’s exhaust pipe. Or was it the time soon after that he set light to our uncle’s shed. Or later, when he was working at the factory, that time he stabbed a worker with a chisel. It may have been the time, in his twenties, when he got drunk and crashed his car, killing his passenger. Perhaps it was when that drug deal went wrong and he shot his supplier and did jail time.

Or, is it now?

Sitting here, watching him through a window, strapped there in that chair.

Now that he’s been found guilty of shooting a police officer and a security guard during a bank raid… in Kentucky of all places; one of only a few states that still do this sort of thing.

He knows now.

Perhaps he’s always known… what a despicable rotter his brother really is!

It was a strange place, only the locals seemed to understand how things worked there.

Everything was certainly comfy. There wasn’t a home in the village that wasn’t comfy. They all had comfy beds, comfy chairs, comfy toilets; even the garden seats were comfy. The church, the schools, the library and the hospital were all comfy. The shops, the restaurants, the pubs, the cinema and the theatre were also comfy. The Local buses were comfy with comfy seats. All the people had comfy jobs in comfy offices. Even those with outside jobs had things made comfy for them.

When visitors returned from spending their holiday there and were asked if it was a happy place, most said no; comfy, yes.

It’s hard to pin down exactly when the whole, horrible thing started.

It may have been last August, but even if it was, it has become completely irrelevant. It began with the elderly pensioner watching the late news bulletin on television. The newsreader was saying something about changes to the tax system, when his evening newspaper slipped off his lap and he began to doze… A bell was ringing somewhere. He opened his eyes, realising that it was his own front door bell. Feeling that it was late to be getting visitors of any kind, he got up and went through to answer it.

He didn’t recognise the man that stood on his front step. With an apologetic smile, the stranger explained that he needed to show him something. At this point, he produced a small object and held it up. Without warning, he pressed something and a cloud of spray hit the old man in the face.

Within seconds, he became groggy. If it weren’t for the stranger holding him up, he would have collapsed to the floor. He was supported while they both made their way back to the lounge. The stranger settled him back into his chair and crouched down in front of him.

He began by apologising for what was obviously a huge intrusion, but said that it was necessary. Barely able to understand what he was being told because of the stupor he was in, the other explained that all this was necessary because on the following day the pensioner was going to do something that would have dire results for the future of mankind. He said that this could not be allowed to happen. He went on to say that it had been agreed that perpetual stasis was the only solution available.

With that, the old man was alone.

He was looking at an artist’s impression of what the new stadium would look like. He realised that he’d just been listening to an item about a proposal to build a new football stadium. The newsreader then droned on; he was saying something about changes to the tax system…