Author: Alexander Fawn

Overhearing a conversation in his local pub started it all.

Of course, he wasn’t meant to, but the two men sounded so excited about something and he couldn’t help himself. He just happened to be sitting around the corner from them at a single table. They obviously didn’t know he was there. He turned his head slightly and found that he could hear just about everything they said, despite the fact that they were keeping their voices low. He found it rather intriguing. Whenever the word ‘molodishms’ was used, their voices would drop to nothing more than a whisper. He supposed that it was probably another bit of technobabble. They were saying that a lot of money could be made.

As a result of falling on hard times, and struggling to find the money to visit the pub for a drink or two, he was keen to follow up on it. It was obvious that these guys knew a lot about the dark web. It seemed that the particular site they were talking about was buried deep inside the darkest corner of the darkest part of the dark web. It was all very complex and he couldn’t keep up with most of the technical jargon. The only thing he was sure of was the site’s name; it was Soulpact.

That night, he sat in front of his computer and began searching. He did his best to follow some of the pointers he had picked up, but he was well into the early hours before he found it. The site opened up with the front page carrying the single word Soulpact, in dark letters on an even darker background. Despite the hour, a thrill ran through him. He clicked on it and began reading.

It was some sort of commercial site that much was clear. People weren’t able to purchase anything, only sell. There was an extremely long form that a person had to fill out and send. Although he could hardly credit what he was looking at, the purpose of it was to confirm that he would sell his soul for the princely sum of five million dollars, to be deposited into a bank account nominated by him.

He sat or a long time thinking about it. Could this be real? If it was, it would solve all his problems. He spent the next half-hour filling out the form, but he decided he would have to mull it over further, before actually sending it. He would give it a day or two, or even a week. He needed to be sure he was making the right decision, but more important still, that this was the real deal.

He was about to shut down and make his way to bed, when a thought struck him. He was having an epiphany! He suddenly realised that the site was genuine. The word he had struggled to understand was not ‘molodishms’, but politicians!

He pressed send.

The two men had always had a strange relationship.

They had always enjoyed their time together. The main feature of their friendship being that neither had ever made any other living soul aware of the fact that they actually knew each other. One would normally think that this would be extremely difficult, but in fact they had managed it for some considerable time. Although this was the case, it was very likely that the situation was about to undergo a radical change. They were both around the same age and quite similar in looks, with the only noticeable difference being their heights. The day that this singular state of affairs came to a breaking point, was when the taller man put a question to the other that brought about several, long minutes of silence. Finally the reply came.

Short: “Why would you ask such a question?”

Tall: “Probably because I have wondered for some time now whether you were actually real?”

Short: “Yes, but what do you mean?”

Tall: “It’s simple really. I’ll ask you again, are you real or imaginary?”

Short: “Asking me again doesn’t help.”

Tall: “Let me put it this way. Haven’t you ever wondered whether I was real or imaginary?”

Short: “Not really. Why should I?”

Tall: “Oh! I don’t know. You must have had doubts.”

Short: “No, like I said, why should I?”

Tall: “Surely, you must have wondered.”

Short: “No never!”

Short was becoming really angry now. He’d never known his friend to act this way before. This was all too much for short. He got up and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Standing outside now, shaking with rage, a terrible thought occurred to him. Well, more of a question, really. Could the room behind him… be empty?

He turned the door knob…

Listen to the singing,

The singing of it all.

The happy and the sad of it,

Finding both large and small.

–

Beyond the realm of day and night,

Endless crescendos play.

A light amidst the darkness,

All barriers giving way.

–

The music of nature leads the way,

With such a complex list.

The endless pulse of its beating heart,

So much of it is missed.

–

Crawling across a forest floor,

Beneath a burning sun.

Melodies forming an ancient score,

Sound and music as one.

–

A singing of birds.

A flutter of wings.

Through the hollows of trees,

A muted flute sings.

An oboe of frogs.

A snare drum of rain.

A rustle of leaves,

All whispering in vain.

–

Out of the deepest silence,

Is every sound combined,

With all the songs that the world provides,

To permeate the mind.

–

Gather the tones that sail around,

The reverberations of the throng.

Mix them all in a balanced way,

For the singing of the song.

His wife was working late, again.

This was how it had to be for the time being. This was how they were surviving. His wage was very low; something she had complained about consistently for more than three years. In fact, ever since he got the job of parking lot attendant at the council buildings, she had never stopped talking about it. He was well and truly sick of it and had seriously considered taking off once or twice, but he figured he would probably end up worse off. Anyway, it was the extra overtime she was given from time to time that enabled them to put food on the table and little else. She never stopped reminding him of that either.

He was hardly aware of the front door opening. He’d been dozing in front of the television for over an hour and had obviously nodded off. On the screen, several numbered balls were running down tubes and lining up at the bottom. He instinctively went to his pocket and brought out his ticket. He did this quickly because he had never told her about his long time habit of buying them. Without her knowing, he had never stopped. He could hear her in the kitchen putting the kettle on; something she always did when she got in.

She was in there just long enough for him to match the numbers on his ticket with those that appeared on the screen. He put the ticket back in his pocket and tried some heavy breathing to get his nerves under control. Before she came in with her tea and her usual cold greeting, although he’d never regarded himself as any kind of actor, he would have to act naturally. He realised that until the matter was settled and the two point three million was fully confirmed, he would have to give the performance of his lifetime!

Despite their rigorous training, occasionally time agents screwed up.

It was usually such a small indiscretion that it didn’t really matter, but from time to time a senior officer had to be sent back for a retrieval. Of course, none of this would be necessary if both the government and the military hadn’t decided long ago that any knowledge regarding the existence of the portal should remain subject to the Official Secrets Act. A report had landed on the desk of one such officer. It was late in the year with public holidays and he was on a skeleton staff. It concerned a particularly problematic failure to follow the strict protocols about travel preparation. On this recent jump, the agent had gone back several decades to gather what was relatively minor intelligence without properly checking his pockets.

The time element was critical and the officer was soon sent back several decades to the beginning of the twentieth century, where he reappeared in a toilet cubicle on board a train. Checking the report, he made his way to the designated carriage where the item had most probably either dropped to the floor or slid down between seat cushions. He was pleased to find the carriage empty, enabling him to carry out a thorough search without interruption. It was troubling that after a painstaking effort he found nothing.

Moving through the train, he located the guard and made enquiries. These were based on the ruse that it was him that had lost the item. His concern grew even more when he found out that something had been found and handed in at the main city station’s lost and found office. This could well mean that the item had been seen and handled by several people!

Changing trains he made his way to the city where he made similar enquiries. Describing the dimensions and the approximate weight of the item, the clerk was happy with his story. He smiled, saying that it had been handed in that day and he went to the back to retrieve it. As he stood waiting he wondered what people would make of finding a latest model iPhone. However, he was greatly relieved when he saw it.

Thank goodness it had been wrapped in Christmas paper!

Nobody likes to admit that they’ve made a mistake.

But if you do, it’s better to be part of a bureaucracy. When a person stuffs up big time, it isn’t always possible to stay under the radar. Sometimes mitigation can be achieved by having the error moved through several in-baskets in a kind of watering down manoeuvre. This may also be achieved by using the musical chairs effect, where the problem you created just keeps going around and around. This only works if you make sure that you’re not in the room when the music stops. There are other times when simply hiding beneath a large pile of paperwork does the trick, as long as you don’t crawl out too soon. If you’re really clever, you can have the cockup completely disappear from your department and have it reappear several floors away in the same building. This technique requires a lot of practice.

So, if you are the IT guy that didn’t bother to check the software code for bugs properly, allowing a few thousand pensioners to go without their payments for a week or two, it’s best if you just become invisible.

…or the manager who has cleverly syphoned off enough money between accounts to have that nice new swimming pool put in, you need to concentrate heavily on the methodology used to discombobulate the paper trail.

…or if you happened to be the secretary who failed to forward the ministerial report that allowed a public catastrophe to unfold, causing a major disruption to the community, a forfeiture of government revenue and the loss of the odd life or two… just keep all your heads down until it all blows over. It often does.

Naturally, in all cases, if you can manage simply to pass the buck, even better.

The couple were hard to make out.

The woman working in the shop wasn’t blond and her husband didn’t work in the construction industry. They didn’t live in Stockholm and had never been to Spain. They were not going to Belgium for a holiday this year. He didn’t have blue eyes and her nickname was never Tinkerbell. His father never called him Champ. She had never learnt how to knit and couldn’t speak Portuguese. He had never collected stamps or played cricket. She wasn’t a catholic. He wasn’t a member of any fan club. She had never had mumps. He didn’t smoke a pipe. She had never had a tooth implant. He had never been disqualified from driving. She had never owned a sewing machine. He had never ridden a Segway. She wasn’t going to be the May Queen. He didn’t take flying lessons. She had never had her legs waxed. He didn’t own a chainsaw. She had never broken her ankle, and he had never owned a dog. She didn’t have a sister. He didn’t play golf. They weren’t married in a registry office and didn’t own motorbikes. Neither of them qualified for a pension.

They didn’t refuse the cheque from the lotteries commission, and they certainly didn’t tell anyone where they were going.

It was truly weird how the boy with the jar knew where to look for her.

Well now, the story goes that she could have been anywhere. Wandering off in a daze and mumbling to herself was the main reason her elderly guardian had agreed to have her admitted to the institution in the first place. However, in the dead of night, he found her in the woods, just like that. Hardly surprising, really, they were best friends. He’d only known her for a year, but when you’re young that seems like a long time. Taking a narrow path off the main track, he found her staring up at the top of a grassy mound were a large bush sat glistening in the moonlight. Her mumbling slowly changed to a soft chant. She became aware of his presence and turned to him with wild eyes that creased to a smile when she saw the glass container. She pointed up and beckoned as she began to climb.

He wasn’t sure whether he should be encouraging her in whatever she was doing. Should he try talking her into getting back to the institution, where he felt she would be safe? As he watched her climb, he could see that she was driven by some unknown resolve. Although he had come here looking for glow worms, he decided to follow her.

As he reached the top, panting from the steep climb, he found her walking around the bush chanting again. A recent rain had left the tiny leaves beaded with raindrops. By the light of the moon, she took the jar, removed the lid and held it below branches that she tapped gently. He looked on in fascination as the droplets were gathered. He watched as she screwed the lid back on and held it up to the light. She looked so happy. Taking the jar to look for himself, his foot slipped on the dewy grass and he tumbled backwards, cracking the back of his skull on a piece of rock. In a daze, he carefully made his way down the slope holding his head.

At the bottom he found a tree stump and sat down. Luckily the jar had not broken. As he sat there, the wound was becoming more and more painful. He was rubbing the bump that he could feel swelling up at the back of his head when he heard laughter. In the gloom he could just make out what she was doing. She was laughing madly as she rolled all the way down. It was then that he began to have fears for both of them. He knew she was not in a fit state to be out here acting like this, even if she was enjoying herself, and he also knew that he needed medical attention. His eyes began to water from the pain.

It was at this point that, as though all of this wasn’t already weird enough, something really strange happened. She got up and went to where he sat and examined his head.

She had him lean forward while she felt the bump. Then she told him to sit still while she wandered along the path, where she found a scrap of paper. It was brown with dirt, but she picked it up and shook it. When she returned, she removed the lid from the jar and poured the liquid over the bump, then she placed the paper over the area and pressed down on it firmly. Jack complained that the paper was dirty, but she explained that it was all part of a mystical healing process. As she continued to maintain the pressure she also explained that she intended to gather dewdrops and use them in a potion she was going to brew. She said she was happy to sacrifice them because he had always been a good friend. Moments later, he was amazed to find that the swelling had gone down and the pain had completely stopped.

He stood up and took her hand. He thanked her for what she had done and convinced her that it was best if they returned to the institute to let them know they were all right. When they arrived, they found the girl’s guardian and the doctor, both anxiously waiting for them. While her guardian sat in the waiting area, the doctor led the girl and boy to the sick room. After checking them out he had them both climb onto sick beds, saying that after they had rested she could return to her room and her friend could go home.

The doctor went back to the guardian and assured him that no harm had come to either one of them. He said he didn’t understand how the boy had found his patient. The guardian shook his head, agreeing. He said that he felt that Jack and Jill had always had a rather peculiar relationship.

He was celebrating his promotion and salary increase like there was no tomorrow.

That day, just before going out for lunch, the boss called him in and gave him the good news. During the afternoon he spent a lot of time thinking about what this would mean. He would no longer have to struggle to keep up with the payments on his apartment. In fact, this would give him the chance to make some improvements. During the late afternoon he scribbled down a few names. He wanted to share his good fortune. So, just before leaving, he sent out a number of texts to his friends to meet in the local bar.

He paid for the drinks all evening. He could well afford it. When time was called, he didn’t look for a late bus, but took a cab home instead. His bachelor flat, as he liked to call it, was small and fairly comfortable, but a little sparse. When he got in, he stood looking around the living room. He was thinking about the possibility of new furnishings, and maybe he could have a small bar put in. With his new found wealth he could have down lights fitted to give the room a more luxurious feel. He could do so much. Because he had been knocking back expensive cocktails like there was no tomorrow, he would look into it tomorrow.

During the night, at a minute or two before midnight, he suffered from a massive cardiac arrest, and his heart suddenly stopped beating.

The moral being, you should never celebrate like there was no tomorrow.

Times had never been harder for her.

Her boyfriend had taken off, leaving her to scrape up enough money to pay the rent. She had been looking for work for more than a year. No job and no benefits. Her savings were all but gone. There was only one way left open to her. She didn’t want to do it. She hated the idea almost as much as the griping in her stomach. She asked herself, how important was it that she maintain her dignity. It had been pride that stopped her taking the next inevitable step. But now, she was standing looking at the building on the other side of the street. When all was said and done, she knew she was about to do what was necessary.

Inside the food bank, the young man, a volunteer, smiled as he handed her a box of food …