Author: Alexander Fawn

The one thing about him that she couldn’t stand was his obstinacy.

No matter how much common sense or reasoning she used to point something out to him, once his mind was made up there was simply no changing it. When they first met, she knew this was something that needed to change and she felt that over time she could bring that change about, but the years that followed proved her wrong; he was simply too stubborn. The current issue was a typical one. The old toaster had been playing up for a while and the warranty was still current. She said she’d take it back and get it fixed or replaced, but he insisted that it was only a matter of a wire coming loose.

She had become so infuriated with his pigheadedness she decided to leave him to it. He had the cover off the thing and was fiddling with the wiring, making a mess on her kitchen table, with tools, bits of wire and tape scattered around. Just being around him when this sort of uncompromising stupidity was going on just made her more and more exasperated. She went through to the front room and sat with her weekly magazine. She was just settling down and making herself comfortable when three things happened at once; a loud buzzing noise, a scream, and a knock at the front door.

When she opened it, at first, all she could make out was some black clad figure holding some sort of grass-cutting tool. Then the penny dropped. She turned back into the house.

“Honey, it’s for you.”

She entered the repair shop carrying a brown paper bag.

She knew she was in a dreamlike state as she approached the counter. Although quite bare, the interior of the shop was positively mystical. From the back of the room, a tall handsome man in a long white flowing robe appeared through a curtain of mist. His glide towards the counter was graceful and his smile angelic. The woman opened the bag in silence and took out her heart. She laid it down gently on the counter top. The man, also not saying anything, picked it up carefully. After examining it, he put it down and looked at the woman with a great deal of compassion.

“Is this your heart?” he said softly.

She nodded.

“Is it broken?” he asked.

“It is,” she replied, in a whisper.

Sadness came over his face and he asked, “How did it happen?”

“A man,” she said.

“I see,” said the angel.

“Can you repair it?” she pleaded.

He shook his head slowly. “In all the kingdom, this is the only thing we cannot mend.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks, as she told him, “You were my only hope.”

He said, “I am so sorry,” as he placed it back into the bag. “However,” he said, pushing it back in front of her, “I can tell you that their healing powers can be quite remarkable…”

It started out like any other evening, scribbling stories across the ruled paper of his pad.

Over the years he had written all kinds of stories, but of late his focus had turned to romantic tales. He’d been struggling with his latest piece, not sure whether his young couple would end up living happily ever after or not. In fact, he was crossing words out and putting others in, when he heard a faint tutting sound.

He wiggled a finger in both ears. Shrugging it off, he picked up his pen. He had only written a few words when he heard it again, but louder. “Tut, tut.” This was followed by the pen moving slightly in his hand. He almost dropped it. He sat quietly for a few moments. Then, out of the blue, a tiny voice said, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

He sat in shocked silence, looking around. As far as he knew, he was the only one in the house.

It came again. “Are you listening?” This time the pen vibrated between his fingers.

He managed to speak. “Yes, but…”

The tiny voice said, “I do worry about you sometimes. I mean, are you really sure this is what you want? Really, some of your lines are so lame. I think you need more romance and less mush!”

He looked at the pen. “I’m supposed to think that my pen is talking to me?”

“Why not?”

“Well, they don’t.”

“Yes, they do. When it’s necessary.”

“Necessary?”

“Look, let’s get right to it. This stuff you’ve been using me to write of late, it’s too mushy.”

“What do you mean, mushy.”

“Well, look back at your third paragraph where you have him say that he was her lifetime companion for her inner soul, Yuk! Pure mush!”

He went to speak.

“Look there,” the pen went on, “page three.”

He looked down at the page.

“You say there that their spirits are entwined, let’s face it, that sounds really messy. Then over the page you say that she always feels safe in his embrace, well, OK, maybe I’ll let that pass. But look here near the bottom of the page, where he says that her breath lets him live, I mean, you’ve got a major medical conflict there, surely. On the next page,” the pen waited while he turned the paper over, “here, were he says he remembers how her sighs of love echoed through the forest, I ask you, come on, echoing through the forest , her sighs, give me a break!”

He asked, “Is there anything you do like?”

“OK. These other bits aren’t so bad I suppose. The breeze from the forest whispering her name is alright, I guess.”

“You guess?”

Reluctantly, the pen said, “It’s OK.”

“Any more?”

“Your line about her life only having meaning when he is with her, only just passes muster, and I guess the bit about their love being timeless and endless is OK, but even that, you know, is it really necessary?”

He was saying, “Well, I must have thought so at the time,” when he heard a faint tutting sound, as his pen fell to the floor.

He woke realising that he had let time slip by. He picked his pen up and put it back in the pot. He looked at his clock. Time to pack up. He glanced it the scribbles all over his notepad. He wondered if he wasn’t having so much trouble because he was getting too mushy. No, he thought. Mush was good.

As he switched the light off, something rattled in his pen pot.

She was forever losing her glasses.

She would put them down in some strange place, usually because she was doing several things at once. Then, she’d go hunting around the house, checking every room. When that failed she would ask him. He was really good at it. It never failed to impress her when, after asking her a few questions, he would go off hunting around and he would always come back with them. She often told her friends how good he was at finding things. Today was going to be no exception. It was a warm day and she came in from the garden through the laundry as usual. She’d put them down while she splashed cold water on her face. Hearing the phone ringing, she walked through, dabbing her face dry before picking it up.

He followed her in from the garden, saw the glasses and slipped them into his pocket.

He was reading the paper when she came in.

“Sorry, dear, can you help me, I’ve done it again?”

“What, glasses?”

She nodded. “I put them down in the laundry, next to the sink, I’m sure I did. I’ve looked all over.”

“How long have they been missing?”

“Only a few minutes. I’m sorry.”

“That’s OK.” He got up and began looking around, going from room to room. He finally ended up back at the laundry, finding them on a shelf tucked in next to a packet of soap powder. He called out. “In here!”

She came in and looked at them in amazement. She went to say something.

He said, “It’s all right, dear, not to worry. These things happen.”

She took them gratefully, saying, “It’s awful when you think about it, how often I do this.” She gave him a loving look. “And it’s amazing how good you are at finding them.”

“Well, there you go,” he said, “are we talking perfect harmony here, or what?”

Of course, he knew that if he did it more than once a fortnight or so… she’d get suspicious.

You would certainly consider them a strange couple.

As young adults, both working, both living solitary lives, they had met quite by chance in a hospital waiting room. At that time, without fully understanding how it occurred or why, something magical happened. Something that neither of them would find at all easy to explain. So, they didn’t. There was no need. They were simply a match, and being such, married very soon after this and set up house. They found a great deal of enjoyment being in one another’s company and lived what they both considered to be a simple and contented life together. There were times through the years when one or other of them would question the whys and wherefores of it, but such delving always ended with the mutual agreement that it really didn’t matter.

On this Sunday morning, such a conversation had just taken place in their front living room. It was where they liked to eat breakfast on a weekend. The room’s large bay window gave a view of the street with its passing pedestrians and local traffic. A view that suited them both.

He said, “Pass the marmalade, pet,” without speaking.

She handed him the jar, without hearing.

Her girlfriend had arranged the meeting for her.

This would be her first blind date. Her friend had told her so much about him. It was as though she knew him already. She knew his hair colour and height, along with his place of work and the gym where he worked out. She’d been given a full rundown on his schooling, where he grew up, what sort of movies he liked, the type of books he’d read, She knew about his favourite sports and the type if car he drives, his favorite drinks, his taste in music and his hobbies. She was told about the pets he grew up with, where he’d been on holiday and where he banks. She knew about his preferred cologne, along with his views on politics, who he voted for, which charities he donates to, even his sleeping habits. She knew all this!

She was in the busy shopping centre sitting on a bench seat opposite the florist shop as arranged, when she caught sight of him. He looked even better than the photo her girlfriend had given her. She got up and stood at the end of the seat to allow the shoppers to go by. As he approached, he seemed to be smiling. As she stepped forward, he walked straight past her, off into the crowded mall.

Was he meeting someone else or did he not like the look of her?

She would never really know.

Do we know just what it shows,

That mirror, mirror on the wall?

Do we really need to know

Who’s the fairest of them all?

–

What is seen, when we look?

Do we ever wish to hide?

There is a feature we can use.

Turn it to the other side.

–

Do they show just what they see?

Or do they see far more than that?

Are they looking at our soul,

Or just whether we are thin or fat?

–

Do they mirror what they see?

Do they really tell us much?

Are we ever brave enough

To let a friend act as such?

–

If facing an opposing wall,

A moving image will fulfil its role,

With its face, facing back and forth,

Allowing it to meet its goal.

–

Are we at one with what we see,

Standing, standing, staring there?

A summing up of what we are,

Far more than tweaking an odd stray hair.

–

Is the obvious all we see?

And since it never makes a sound,

Is it telling where mysteries lie

Or simply where the truth is found?

–

Do we ever really doubt,

That a faithful reflection is showing there?

Or that a mirror, mirror on the wall

Could ever possess the will to care?

The old man in the purple robe looked out of place on the busy sidewalk.

He was there all day. He didn’t seem to be bothering anybody, just strolling back and forth, summing people up. It looked as though he had a question and was trying to make up his mind who to ask. Most of the time he stood in front of a doorway to a small shop that appeared to be vacant. The door behind him seemed to glimmer slightly, looking as though it was once the entrance to a night club. The rest of it was boarded up. The old man kept watch. He just randomly wandered away for a while now and then, checking people out.

The young man, dressed in an office suit and carrying a briefcase came into view and the man in the coloured robe stepped forward. He held up a hand and smiled. “Excuse me, may I have a word?” he said, his tone soft and polite to the point of being mesmerising.

The young man paused, trying not to make it too obvious that he was checking the time. He said, “How can I help you?”

The old man’s smile widened. “Well, now, that’s very nice of you to ask, but I was in fact thinking that I could help you.”

Slightly confused the other said, “Erm, I’m on my way to work right now. What’s it all about?”

“Yes, I can see that. I wanted to make you an offer.”

With eyebrows raised, the other said, “As I say, I am on my way into the office.”

“It really is something quite special,” the old man said.

“I’m sure it is, but…”

The old man, quickly said, “This offer only comes once in a person’s lifetime!”

Checking the time again, the young office-worker said, “Look, will you be here after five?”

“Yes, I’ll be here.”

“OK. I’ll look for you when I leave the office, I promise.”

The old man saw the younger man’s good nature and honesty. He bowed gracefully, saying, “That will be perfectly fine.” He stepped back, gracefully waving him on.

The man’s day moved slowly at first. He was continually thinking about the morning’s incident. However, these thoughts were dismissed abruptly when he was called into the boss’s office. He was told yet again that his calculations on one of the estimates he’d prepared was wrong. He was further told that if it happened once more he’d find himself out of a job. Needless to say, the rest of the day was miserable. He couldn’t wait to get out of the place.

He was making his way back to the train station. He hadn’t forgotten his commitment to the strange old man, but it nevertheless took him by surprise when the robed figure stepped out of the shimmering cavern of the doorway to greet him. With a kindly smile, he said, “Do you have time now?”

Feeling awkward, he replied. “Yes, of course I have. Thank you for your patience. Can we start again?”

“Most certainly,” came the reply, “as I said earlier, I would like to make you an offer.”

The man nodded. “Go on.”

He turned and pointed at the mysteriously flickering curtain that was obviously an entrance of some kind. “Would you like to enter paradise?”

The young man brought his case up to his chest and hugged it. He just stood still for a while, before realising the old man had placed his hand on his arm. “It is entirely up to you.” He stepped to one side. “Your choice alone,” he said.

The young man said nothing, but walked slowly into the portal.

Throughout the year there had been several killings.

All of the victims were young women. A nervous public was being asked to stay alert and feed any information, using a dedicated number, to a squad of detectives working round the clock. The stabbings had all been carried out in the same way. There was no doubt that they were up against a serial killer.

One of the officers working on the case was concerned about his girlfriend. She didn’t seem to understand the risk involved working nights and walking home from the hotel during the late evening. He had provided her with mace spray and a small personal alarm; both items were easy to carry in her bag or pocket. She reluctantly accepted these, but mainly to keep him happy. They also had an agreement that she would text him the minute she was home. The time she arrived home was regular and consistent, and he would be waiting for her message.

This worked well for several months, putting his mind at rest. The night she failed to text for several minutes beyond her normal time, he went into panic mode and eventually called her mobile. After several rings she answered. “Honey!” he blurted, “are you OK? You’re late.”

He heard her giggle. “Oh! You old worry guts. I’m fine. I just spent nearly twenty minutes trying to find my phone. I really thought I’d lost it for a while. Found it under the bed! I must have dropped it getting changed then kicked it without noticing. Sorry, I know how uptight you get about it. I promise, I’m perfectly OK.”

He blew out air with relief. “OK. Just make sure you keep your phone handy. You just never know when you might… well, you know.”

“Need it? Yes, alright Sweetie, I promise.”

“Is your door locked?”

“Yes, of course it is. Now do stop fussing honey. OK?”

After a moment he said, “Sure. OK. Sleep tight, honey.”

She whispered, “Goodnight, my knight in shining armour” and blew him a kiss down the phone.

She removed her latex gloves, dropped them into a plastic bag along with the switchblade, emerged from the alley, and with smug contentment, made her way home.

It was the rumour that the B&B was haunted that made it so popular

The couple, who were avid ghost hunters, were staying overnight with their young daughter. When they came through for breakfast in the morning, the elderly landlady went through her regular spiel about disembodied spirits wandering around during the night. She rambled on about the child that had often been seen wandering around with her teddy bear held tight against her chest who never stops crying or the lady with the lantern who goes through the house from window to window waiting for her lover to return. She smiled with pride when she said her most popular ghost was the black knight who clanks around in full armour with his head tucked under his arm.

“Did any of these visit during the night?” She asked, obviously enjoying her regular morning performance.

The couple looked disappointed. “No, nothing,” said the man. He looked at his wife. She shook her head and said, “Me neither.”

As she served food to the table, the old woman said, “Oh! Well, never mind. They don’t come every night.”

A small voice said, “I did.”

The mother turned. “You did what, darling.”

The precocious child spoke up. “Have a visit,” she said, matter-of-factly.

Both parents stared at her.

“Yes,” she went on, “A man came into my room last night. He had red hair and a big moustache. He was very dirty and there was blood on the side of his face. I think he was lost. He looked very angry.”

Excited, the mother said, “Wow! Honey, aren’t you the lucky one? Did he say anything?”

“Yes. He said he would never forgive her for what she had done.”

With this, their host turned very pale, looked across at her late husband’s photo on the shelf, then slowly walked across to the window and looked out at the flower bed. Her guests looked on as she moved to the kitchen sink and leaned over it, obviously feeling faint and sick.

As she hung there, she considered her options…