Author: Alexander Fawn

It could have happened to anybody.

It all took place so quickly. She was backing the car up the drive. He was crossing the driveway carrying the hedge clippers. She had been shopping. He had been pruning the hedge. When the rear bumper took out his legs it had sent him flying. When she saw what she had done she started screaming. He looked to be in particularly bad shape and only partly conscious. An ambulance was called, and with the bags of shopping forgotten, she followed. Remembering the tiff they had earlier made her feel terrible. She checked the mirror. Her cheeks were streaked with eye makeup. She did a rough job of cleaning herself up as she drove.

At the hospital he was assessed by a doctor for his injuries, who had arranged for him to be admitted. He was on painkillers and propped up in bed, while his wife was chatting with the nurses, telling them what an awful accident it had been and how upsetting it all was.

He’d always been able to tell when she was lying…

The police arrived at the house after receiving a call.

When the senior detective arrived, his subordinate officer was already there. He was shown into the lounge. The junior detective stood back. It was well known that his superior was a stickler for detail. He was known for taking detailed notes based on his observations. Notebook in hand the senior officer began walking around the room. As he approached the bookcase he noticed that one of the spines protruded, he read the title, a book on propagating seedlings, it may be significant, he wasn’t sure. He made a note, anyway. He noticed a pair of trainers under a chair, with only one sock draped across them. He made a note. He crouched down looking at what appeared to be a small fragment of wood. It was probably something that came in on somebody’s shoe, he thought. Using tweezers, he dropped it into a small evidence bag, and made a note. This went on for several minutes, with him finding several more things of interest and making the appropriate notes.

Finally, he left the room reading his notes, while the other paused to take a final look around the room, then followed. When the junior officer stepped back out into the hallway, he found the senior detective tapping the barometer.

“Didn’t you think it was unusual, the way the body was slumped across the armchair like that?” he said.

The senior man raised his eyebrows. “Body?”

She was stretched out on her living room couch reading a book.

Above all else, this was her most favourite thing. This time and place was valued beyond anything she could imagine. She was always in a state of complete relaxation and comfort when she was doing this. For all these reasons it was extremely annoying that her mobile phone should chime. When she looked down it was made worse by the fact that it was from an unknown caller. She was reluctant to stop what she was doing. She was enjoying her book and her special time out. If she didn’t answer it, they’d probably keep calling. She pressed the button and said, “Hello.”

There was a long silence before the caller whispered. “Sorry. I… I can’t believe you picked up.”

She frowned. “Who is this?”

Another few beats before the male voice said, “More to the point, who are you?”

“I’m hanging up!”

“No, please don’t. I’m the guy from the gym. We met last year. I was your personal trainer for a couple of weeks, I was filling in for someone. We had a coffee in the place across the road before you left for home. You remember, we both went to the same school?”

“Oh! Yes, I do remember. You were keen on sports cars, said you were about to buy one.”

“That’s me.”

An uncomfortable silence from her, followed by, “Well, OK. How can I help you?”

“Well, you can’t I suppose. I just got a new phone and I was deleting some of my old numbers I must have pressed ‘call’ by mistake. I’m sorry.”

She remembered him as being nice and was a little put out by the thought that she was being deleted. Of course, she couldn’t say that.

He went on. “No. This can’t be right.”

“What can’t be right?”

“You! You answering the phone.” He cleared his throat. “I’m back there you see? At the gym, I mean. One of the guys told me what happened to you.”

“What do you mean? Nothing happened to me. Is this some weird prank? If it is…”

“No! Not at all. It’s just that your old trainer told me he was pretty cut up about your accident. He… he attended your funeral.”

“OK! I’ve had enough!” she screamed, and rang off.

She felt sure that getting back into her book was going to be difficult. She picked it up and found the page. She began reading again when a low droning seemed to fill the room. She dropped the book when the ceiling light started to flicker. She was aware of a number of voices, then one of them called out, “Found her!”

His house being so close, he often took a walk in the park before getting his tea.

He was strolling through it when it happened. His first sight of the Rottweiler was when the owner was crouching down, removing the lead. It was a huge animal and he couldn’t help wondering whether this was a good idea. As he drew closer, he asked, “Should you be doing that?”

The owner looked up and smiled. “Oh! Don’t worry. People often think that. I’ve got quite used to being asked about him. It’s just his size, I think. He may look pretty menacing, but he’s just an old softy, he’s as gentle as a baby; he wouldn’t hurt a fly.” With that, the lead slipped off and the owner stood.

The dog took two steps towards the man and growled, showing its teeth.

The owner chuckled. “Look at him, he’s just showing off.”

With that the animal took several bounds and knocked the man to the ground. It had a firm grip on his arm and was reluctant to let it go. The victim of the attack was yelling when the owner finally came to the rescue and managed to pull the dog off.

The man on the ground pulled up his sleeve to reveal a nasty bite just above his wrist that was bleeding badly.

Before continuing to walk his dog, the owner said, “I must say that surprises me. He’s normally pretty good with strangers.” He tugged at the reconnected lead and walked away.

The man slowly stood up, stemming the blood loss by tightening his hand over the wound. “That’s good to know,” he murmured.

As he watched the dog owner go, it struck him that he looked a lot like the neighbour he’d recently had words with, about playing his music so loud at night. It was dark at the time… he couldn’t be sure.

Something strange occurred during the night.

t had been a violent storm with a great deal of thunder and lightning. Nevertheless, they had both slept heavily through all of it. Several times bolts had struck the house, but without leaving visible damage. One of these seemed to light up their bedroom, as though it was filling the room with charge, but they both slept on. In the morning they found themselves up, dressed and ready for work without actually speaking to one another, although they felt that they had.

“Will you be home on time tonight?” she asked, without speaking.

“The auditors are still in, I might be asked to stay back… hope not,” he said, without speaking.

“Short day for me. Might shop this afternoon. If I have time, I can do one of those special casseroles you like,” she says with a smile, without speaking.

He watched her smile and smiled back, shaking his head. “You know we’re not actually speaking to each other, don’t you?” he said, without speaking.

“Yes,” she replied, without speaking.

“It all seems perfectly natural to me,” he says, without speaking.

“It does, doesn’t it?” she says, without speaking.

“Is this something we should be worrying about,” he asks, without speaking.

She shrugged. “Don’t see why, could come in handy.”

She said this without speaking.

He was a stranger in town, just killing time, wandering around looking in shop windows.

Off the main precinct, he came across an old bookshop that seemed to specialise in antique volumes. He’d always been fond of looking at really old books. He loved the smell and feel of them. He entered only to find no one behind the counter. Regardless, he started to stroll through the racks that went almost to the ceiling. He was amazed at the number of books the little shop held. At the end of the row, and at the very back of the shop, he came across a cabinet with a small sign that asked customers to take care when handling them as they were extremely old and quite fragile.

Naturally, he was excited to find what he regarded to be a treasure trove. He began reading the titles when he saw a leather-bound tome with an extraordinarily long title. It ran along sideways the complete length of the spine in tiny gold embossed lettering. He took it out carefully in order to read it. The title read: For the Eyes of the Few: the First Step towards a Proper Understanding of the True Reason that the Universe Exists.

What a fascinating title, he thought, as he turned it over. On the back he found that it had a blurb. This was unusual for such an old book. As he started to read it, he found it to be more of a caution than anything. It was laying down strict rules about who was permitted to read it. It stated that it was only recommended for those individuals that were fully qualified professional environmentalists who had played the cello in concerts that had been performed in at least three countries, out of work Pet Food Tasters with a working knowledge of Magnetic Resonance Imaging machines, and Professional Bridesmaids with a university degree in Dairy Herd Management. In bold print beneath, it read: These recommendations need to be strictly adhered to.

He shook his head with a chuckle and opened the book. He began to read the words: ‘In the beginning…’ at which point the book fell to the floor.

Later, when he closed up, the unsuspecting shop owner was disappointed that he had not had a single customer all day.

So many things can go wrong with just the push of a button.

He had been standing in the middle of the road, at around two-thirty in the morning, noting several coordinates. Naturally, the streets were deserted and the night sky was clear. His time transporter relied on the precise location of three specific stars to work. It was a sort of heavenly triangulation system that his spatial transposition formula used. He knew just how very close he was, using what he held comfortably in his hand, to be able to travel through time. Now, almost ninety, he had been working tirelessly for more than six decades to develop a simple, pocket-sized device that would change the world.

Of course, this is where the button pressing thing comes in. Having done just that, he was now standing in the road, in broad daylight, watching a large delivery van coming towards him at speed. The moment of impact resulted in three significant things. First, it had rendered him badly bruised and unconscious, secondly, the device had been crushed beneath one of the vehicle’s tyres, and the third was that he had been thrown back a week in time.

They were very nice to him in the hospital. The nurses were doing their best to stifle their giggles when he finally came to. They had been amused by his delusional ramblings, his frantic babblings about being lost in time and unable to get back.

In the hours and days that followed, he had considered so many things he could do to convince people that this had really happened. He could for example, being something of a soccer fan, tell them which team win’s the upcoming game, the resulting score, the injuries, the penalties, the player who was sent off, the threatening rain that held off… He could go on. He could do all of that. Was that what he wanted? No, not really. A sense of logical resignation took over. In a way, he was more than relieved when the week had finally passed.

At the end of the day, he knew that at the very worst he would only ever be regarded as some doddery old fool who’d watched too many episodes of Star Trek.

None of his classmates actually wanted to have much to do with him.

This had been the cause of a number of lectures from teachers. They wanted to see greater mixing and interaction with the boy. Most teachers didn’t try to hide the fact that the boy came across as being a little odd. However, they wanted to see a genuine effort being made by the whole class. All through the term most of them truly tried to communicate with him, without success. They found it very hard to be sociable with him when he wasn’t interested.

In the main, they found it extremely hard to get over the fact that he liked to spend his time, standing in the corner of the playground, playing rock, paper and scissors… on his own!

The two young couples were having one of their regular picnics.

The weather was nice, windy yet warm, and the women decided to leave the men talking about cricket and take a stroll along the edge of the cliff. It was just a trodden track that occasionally ran dangerously close to the edge. The slightly older of the two led the conversation; work, holiday plans, and so on. She was obviously trying to learn a little more about her friend. She had suspected something, but couldn’t be sure. He’d been acting funny lately. She knew he was hiding something, but whatever it was, it may have nothing to do with her friend, who, with a sudden gust of wind was stumbling. Suddenly, in the briefest of moments, her friend was gone!

She fell to the ground, lying flat and face down. She crawled to the edge and looked over. She could see that a tangle of roots protruding from the face of the cliff had saved her fall. She was gripping the largest of them with one hand, wide-eyed and virtually unable to speak. She was obviously frozen with fright. The woman above leant over as far as she dared and looked for a way she could get close enough to help her. Although the idea that her friend could fall to her death on the rocks below terrified her, she couldn’t help feeling that fate had provided her with the perfect opportunity to get at the truth, one way or the other.

Making herself heard over the wind, which was now driving into the face of the cliff, she called out, “Before we go further, I need to ask you something.”

The woman below, although still looking frightened, took on a different expression. She only nodded.

The other, now convinced that she was on the right track, called down, “If you can find it in yourself to tell me the truth, it may go better for you. It may, or, on the other hand, it may not. Let’s face it, you either fall, or I get closer and give you my hand, then we very carefully scramble back up together. The choice is yours!”

With tears streaming down her cheeks and fear in her eyes, she said. “OK. I’ve been seeing him twice a week. He comes round for an hour after his night class.”

“Good start. OK, how long has it been going on?”

“About three months, from the time you had us round for your birthday bash. I’m so sorry. I’m truly sorry. I promise, I won’t see him anymore. I swear to you, I won’t!”

“OK, don’t move! Stay exactly where you are. Just hold onto that root without moving. I’m coming down.”

Moving off to the side she found a way to climb down very slowly to a spot next to where the other was hanging on. “Don’t move!” she shouted again, and leant across. The woman hanging to the root looked on in terror as her fingers where prized open one by one.

She wanted to be the one that did it, not fate!

He stood in front of his bedroom mirror, expressionless.

It was the sort of look that you had to have for a passport photo. No smiling or raised eyebrows or protruding lips, just your face. Simply pokerfaced, deadpan, vacant, just blank. He was holding it steady. This was the baseline, a blank facial expression. The one that you start with before creating. Preparation was everything and deception was an art. He had to create, and once created, practice, control, and maintain. Once he’d perfected ‘the look’, he had to be able to turn it on instantly. This would need to be done without hesitation. This was where the practice came in. This would be the point where endless repetitions were required. The development of an on queue expression that comes up perfectly with no visible effort.

After twenty long minutes he had it right. It was exactly what he needed. Now came the repetition, that precise look over and over again. After a further gruelling five minutes of this, the turning of the head to face the mirror came next. Turning, each time, and in an instant wearing the precise look.

It was at this point that he heard it. The clattering at the front door. A murmuring of voices downstairs. His voice raised, hers now silent. Moments passed before the inevitable call up the stairs.

“Son, can you come down a minute?”

He braced himself, and after one final brief check in the mirror, made his way down the stairs.

As he entered the living room, his father asked, “Do you know anything about the broken window at the front?”

The boy turned and looked…