Author: Alexander Fawn

His grandmother was apparently religious, although he had always harboured grave doubts about it.

Apparently, it was by the merciful grace of the Lord that his grandfather had got drunk and tumbled into the village pond, and didn’t bob back up for three days. Throughout his childhood he’d been subjected to the notion that just about everything came about by the merciful grace of the Lord.

When their neighbour’s boy fell out of their tree and broke his arm, she said it was by the merciful grace of the Lord.

When his uncle’s toolbox fell on his foot and crushed his toes, so that he had to have a special boot made, it was by the merciful grace of the Lord.

It seems that it came about by the merciful grace of the Lord, when the butcher’s three your old daughter died after eating cotoneaster berries in their back yard.

When the vicar’s wife died in their house fire it was by the merciful grace of the Lord.

When the neighbour’s cleaning woman choked on a fishbone and died, it was by the merciful grace of the Lord.

Naturally, it was by the merciful grace of the Lord that his mother’s sisters’ boy suffocated to death, when he was bandaged from head to toe for the school’s production of The Mummy.

When the farmer that his Dad knew from his army days shot himself while cleaning his rifle, this too was by the merciful grace of the Lord.

When the scoutmaster’s boy got electrocuted and died after pushing the handle of a teaspoon into a wall socket, it was deemed to be by the merciful grace of the Lord.

There seemed to be no doubt that it was by the merciful grace of the Lord, when the nice lady who worked in the local library was crushed to death when her bookcase holding her home collection of health manuals came away from her living room wall.

And on the occasion of his best school friend’s whole family perishing when a gas leak caused their holiday caravan to explode, it was by the merciful grace of the Lord.

All these religious affirmations finally stopped, on the occasion of the public procession of army manoeuvres rumbling through the local town’s high street. When, on leaning forward to get a better view, his grandmother fell under the track of an oncoming tank.

On this occasion, he had no compunction at all about considering it to be an event that had truly been brought about by the merciful grace of the Lord.

The cup with the tealeaves fell from the old lady’s hand.

It hit the floor and smashed into several pieces of china, each piece dotted with wet leaves. She had been reading tealeaves since she was very young, under the guidance of her long departed mother. She had been peering at them for decades, she knew all the symbols. People often came to her for a reading. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Was it clumsiness? Was it that she’d had the briefest glimpse of the death symbol high up on the side of the cup? She couldn’t be sure. She knelt and began gathering up the fragments. She froze when she saw it again, still there and undisturbed, the symbol she understood, but had never actually seen before. She knew he needed to be told.

As she continued collecting pieces in the palm of her hand, she reflected on the fact that the visitor that stood next to her looking on, was a healthy looking twenty-something man who was not likely to pass away from natural causes. She knew that this was leading to something tragic. Something sudden and unexpected. Did she really need to tell him? She took a deep breath and slowly stood up, apologizing and tipping the bits into a bin. “I’m so sorry, dear. That was very clumsy of me.”

The young man, now looking quite anxious, went to speak, then shook his head. “No need to apologise,” he said, finally.

She glanced back at the bin. “I shall have to go looking for another one.” She winced. “You can’t read from just any cup, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know. I’m sorry too. About the cup, I mean. He put his hands together as though in prayer. “So, what does it mean then?”

Her eyebrows raised. “Mean?”

“Yes, about the reading, I mean?”

“Oh! Nothing. Just a silly accident on my part, I’m afraid.” There! She’d said it! She had told him that it meant nothing, and she couldn’t take it back. After rinsing her hands under the tap and drying them she held out the note he’d given her.

“No,” he said, looking surprised. “I think I should still pay you, after all…”

She cut him off. “No dear, you don’t understand. It would bring me bad luck if I were to take money when no reading was given.” There! There she goes again, more lies.

She saw him too the door.

He thanked her again, before making his way back to his shiny red sports car.

“Drive safely!” she called.

Not that it would do any good.

She was sitting at her laptop reading a short story.

It was her habit to sit at her screen around the same time in the evenings. Reading short stories posted on a blog was just one of her regular activities. The story was titled ‘The Key’, and began with the opening line ‘It was a bitterly cold wind that swept down the street, and stamping his feet didn’t help’. She read it to the end; first she smiled, then she frowned. After a short pause, she left the blog site and went in search of Donald’s latest tweet.

A few days later, the reader was visiting the writer. After being there a while, she said, “I read your latest story.”

“Oh! Yes, did you like it?”

“Well, I did, but…”

The writer smiled. “Go on.”

“OK. This woman, the wife, she knew about the key, I get that, but how would she know that they were planning to elope? And how could she know where and when they planned to meet?”

He grimaced, “I have to leave some things for the reader to work out for themselves. I can’t be expected to do all the work.”

“You can’t?”

“No. Not really. For instance, in this case there are a number of ways the wife could have found out.”

“A number of ways, you say.”

“Well, to be honest, several dozen, but you’d need to have the persona of a fiction writer to dream that many up.”

“So, she found out by accident?”

“Not necessarily. She already knew basically what was going on, so she would have found a way; maybe email, messages, phone or basic eavesdropping. Maybe all of these. She was obviously resourceful, she would have found a way to monitor him. Remember, she could have got a lot more detailed information from the girlfriend when she visited.”

“Yes, the girlfriend, of course we only assume that she didn’t survive; absolutely no information about that.”

The writer frowned heavily, “Naturally, I do know what happened the day the wife visited the girlfriend, but I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh! Why not?”

“It… it was horrible!”

If you’re searching for the best,

Better than all the rest,

Presumably this is said in jest,

For there really is no test.

–

You can do the best,

Or try the best,

Or look your best,

Or own the best.

–

You can be best dressed

In your Sunday best,

With others impressed,

But there is no test.

–

You may guess what’s best,

When seeking the best,

With no reliable test,

You’ll find yourself stressed.

–

You’ll be very hard pressed,

When judging the best,

You can ignore the rest,

It can only be guessed.

–

So, having addressed

The quest for the best.

One can only suggest,

You only guess at what’s best.

As a very young child he was always picking up stones.

He would show them to his mother before putting them in a box he kept under his bed. That’s how it started. For him, the activity of collecting was as natural as any other hobby. The impulse to gather, to accumulate, had grown stronger, and far more powerful as the years passed. Now, having never married, living alone in a dilapidated cottage far away from the nearest neighbours. He had never questioned his growing passion; had never wondered whether his actions were based on enthusiasm or addiction, or even madness! No, no such self-reflection had ever entered his mind. The old building was exactly what he wanted. In fact, the basement was absolutely ideal.

The sturdy brick walls had taken the chains and cuffs without any trouble at all.

It was a bitterly cold wind that swept down the street, and stamping his feet didn’t help.

He checked the time again. He was sure she said two. It was gone two-thirty. He struggled to tighten his scarf with slippery leather gloves, but he wasn’t going to take them off. He thrust his hands back down deep into his overcoat pockets. Was he in the right place? He read the post office sign across the street. No, this had to be right. This wasn’t like her, she was always so punctual. He slid his suitcase forward and moved even closer to the curb. He checked the street both ways again.

Suddenly, from behind him, a familiar voice said, “You should have taken the key!”

He spun around. “What?”

“Hello darling,” she said, with a look that gave nothing away. “Gosh! It’s freezing isn’t it? Especially when you’re standing still, waiting.” Her face took on a sneer. “Makes it harder when you’re waiting, don’t you think?”

He was both confused and speechless for a few beats. He glanced up and down the street in desperation. “I wasn’t waiting,” he said, unconvincingly.

“Oh! That’s good then.”

He frowned at her. “It is?”

“Yes, because she won’t be coming.”

“She?”

His wife gave a throaty laugh. “Don’t bother, the games up, as they say.”

He tried to show surprise. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“OK. Of course you don’t, dear. Either way, as I say, she won’t be coming.” She gave a casual shrug. “It was two o’clock wasn’t it? I’ve been watching you since then. Watching you get colder and colder. I thought I would let you suffer for an extra thirty minutes.” She giggled in a way he had never heard before. “It was fun, sitting in the car with the heater going, watching you stamping your feet, you poor dear.”

He went to say something.

She raised an eyebrow and went on quickly. “Do you happen to know what the most common cause of fatal domestic home accidents is?”

Fear crossed his face. He just managed to say, “No.”

Well most statistical surveys say that it’s trips. Silly, isn’t it? A simple thing like a trip, and a fall, then the head coming into contact with a hard surface. Yes, if hard enough, a thing like that can be fatal.”

He couldn’t hide the anguish and realisation that was welling up inside him. Tears were forming as he asked, “What have you done?”

She laughed. “No, dear. It’s not what I have done; it’s what you didn’t do that counts. It’s what made it all so easy.”

He stood shaking his head foolishly.

“She looked down at his large suitcase. “There would have been plenty of room in there for a small key. It’s like I said, you should have taken the key.”

He was still standing with his mouth open. He seemed to be having trouble breathing.

“The spare key she gave you to her flat,” taking it from her pocket, she continued, “I’ve known for weeks now; where you hide it. It made it all so easy, as I said.” She moved to the curb, found a grate and dropped it down. She returned and took him by the arm.

“Now, come on you poor thing or you’ll catch pneumonia! You’ve been standing out here far too long. Don’t forget your suitcase. I’ve had the car heater running for so long, I’m sure there’ll be some warmth still in it.”

As he picked the case up, she said. “Now, there you go. What a good boy. There’ll be some changes, of course. Don’t worry honey, I’ll explain all the new rules on the way home.”

The insurance agent was sitting in his office telling his friend about the industry.

“I have to tell you, there are some real sharks out there. There was this one guy I heard about. This life insurance seller told this guy that he recommended that a policy should be taken out as soon as possible. The guy wasn’t too sure, so he says if he has any doubts his cousin does Astro Tarot Readings. He goes on a bit about what powerful stuff it is. The guy says he’d never heard of it. The salesman says no you wouldn’t have, it’s quite unique. He says he’ll make an appointment for him and he agrees. He says it’s a bit expensive, but worth it to be really sure.”

“Does he go for it?”

“You bet. He rocks up at the fortune teller’s house. First they do all the date stuff, you know, date of birth and so on. Then he has him lay out the cards in a certain order. Then he starts reading all this spooky stuff out.”

“Spooky?”

“Yeh, interpreting the cards. Anyway, in this particular case, all this ended up on the Internet.”

He fossicks around in one of his desk drawers and finds a piece of paper. He lays it on the desk and starts reading.

“It goes like this. The Chariot; that’s not moving, it’s just sitting there. The Empress; no signs of fertility or life found there. The Moon; a total mystery. The Hermit; there’s no meditation possible. The Lovers; definitely no passion or choice there. The Hanged Man; there’s no enlightenment in sight. The Magician; that’s in a complete state of inaction. Judgment; no new phases to come. Justice; a total lack of balance. The Emperor; shows as totally unstable. The World; total lack of attainment. Strength; that’s powerless and without courage. The High Priestess; the subconscious has been nullified. The Fool; no new beginnings found and a total abstinence of rules or regulations. The Tower; that has collapsed. Wheel of Fortune; no ups, only downs. The Star; only bad omens. The Devil; lot of destruction happening there. The Sun; no happiness on the horizon, in fact, there is no horizon. Death; something is definitely on its way, there.”

He sits back shaking his head.

“Of course, all the time he’s doing this he’s looking more and more worried. At the end, he says, ‘I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you it’s not looking at all good. OK. I’ll give it to you straight. In short, you haven’t got a future. Both the stars and the cards say that you will die suddenly within the next two or three days; four, if you’re lucky… but don’t bet on it. That’s what the guy tells him, or words to that effect.”

‘It’s that bad?’ the guy asks.

‘It is, I’m afraid. Let’s face it, you need to protect your family. Goodness! They could be left destitute!’ the guy says.

‘What do you recommend?’ he asks.

‘Insurance,’ says the guy.

“And did he?”

“Yep. Poor bugger took out a top end policy with heavy payments. Became a nervous wreck. Kicked out of the house. Lost his job. Lived until he was ninety seven, and died in his sleep… penniless.”

From the window he could see her crossing the square.

She walked with the graceful glide that he knew so well, the way she walked into his life all those years ago. She had literally swept him off his feet. He thought back to those early times; dates in restaurants and theatres, admiring glances from men wherever they went. She had always been a beautiful woman, had always dressed well. A gentle smile crossed his face as he considered the fact that from the first time he set eyes on her he was smitten. It had been infatuation; as simple as that. It had taken an embarrassingly long time before he realised just how besotted he had become with her.

As he watched, she walked out of a building’s shadow into the bright sunshine.

He checked the shooting rest and the silencer. He breathed out slowly. His finger tightened gradually as the crosshairs came to rest…

The boy’s uncle had a farm that bordered a great forest.

When visiting his uncle, they would often go for walks together around the farm, but when the weather was particularly good and the ground was dry they would hike together through the woodlands. These occasions were always a real treat for the boy because his home was in the city.

On this occasion the day was hot. They had been walking for some time and gone deep into the forest when they came across a clearing. It was a large, flat grassy area where nothing seemed to be growing.

They stood for a while gazing at the great empty space.

Before moving on, the man said, “There used to be a village here.”

“Really?”

“Yes, but a long time ago.”

“What happened to it?”

“The story goes that an old seer lived here, when it was a village I mean. She was often consulted about things that the normal folk didn’t understand, and they always listened to her. Well, not quite always it would seem. It was a hot summer that year and several villagers had spotted fire dragons roaming nearby. Fire dragons love the heat, you see. One day a young boy, no older than you, ran into the village holding a baby dragon by its tail. He was very proud of himself, saying he had clubbed it to death. Well, the people sang his praises then set about building a fire. They threw the carcass into the flames and celebrated.”

They came to the centre of it and once again looked around.

They walked on and he continued. “When the old oracle returned from visiting another village, she reprimanded them all, saying that you should never kill a fire dragon with fire. There were many that simply didn’t believe her. In fact, later that day, one of the elders decided to put the ashes to good use by spreading them across his small patch of garden, where he was growing vegetables. It was the middle of the night when somebody noticed an orange sparkling coming from the patch. There were more and more shouts as the whole thing grew brighter. Everybody came out to see what it was all about. When the old seer was told how this had come about with the casting of the ashes, she was very angry.”

Finding themselves at the far side of it, they both turned.

He went on. “She was so angry. She told them that nothing would stop the inferno and gave orders that all should flee the village. They gathered up what belongings they were able to carry and began making tracks to other nearby villages. By the time the last of them were ushered out by the old woman, the fire had taken hold, with several buildings being quickly consumed by the leaping flames. The fire raged for what remained of the night, leaving not a stick untouched. Those that returned the following morning found there was simply nothing left. In fact, it was so black and flattened that it was hard to imagine there had ever been a village there at all.”

The boy stood staring. “Wow! Is all that true?”

The man laughed. “No, of course not, it’s just a clearing.”

 

 

After a fairly quiet morning in the police station a commotion was heard at the front entrance.

The boy, still struggling, was taken to the front counter.

The duty sergeant looked up. “What’s the little rascal been up to this time?”

“Shoplifting again, sarge.”

The sergeant shook his head. “Tut, tut. Still out there pinching stuff. Eh?”

The boy said nothing.

The constable continued. “When he was challenged, he started shouting obscenities. I would say that’s a case of disorderly conduct, sarge.”

The sergeant nodded and made a note.

“Before he could be evicted, he knocked over several stacks of products, then grabbed a can of paint and sprayed several packets of detergent. So, I think we should add vandalism.”

The sergeant made another note.

“It seems that when the manager tried to get him out of the store, the boy bit him. So, an assault, causing bodily harm needs to be added.”

The sergeant sighed and scribbled some more.

“Anyway, when I arrived I made him turn out his pockets and found several packets of marijuana. So, I think we need to add possession.”

“Alright, leave him with me, constable. I think a stern warning should do it.”

At that point a voice came from the Senior Sergeant’s office. “Just step in for a moment, will you?”

The senior man waved him to a chair. He stood thinking for a moment, then said, “Look, I can certainly see the point of view that you are approaching this from. However, I really feel that we need to take into account the fact that he’s your son!”