Author: Alexander Fawn

From a very early age he knew that his family was a strange one.

His home life was extremely cloistered. He lived with his family in a large mansion, set back from the road. He imagined it was because of the remoteness of it that his parents had decided on a strict course of home schooling. There were few visitors to the house. One of the occasional guests was a favourite uncle, who travelled abroad a great deal. He was regarded by most as an adequate, yet amateur, violin player. He would entertain the family with his playing in the great hall after dinner. The boy was always allowed to stay up for those occasions. It was a bright spot in the boy’s sheltered world. The old man was known to be a heavy drinker, and one that would entertain others with his instrument at the drop of a hat.

His only other really meaningful happy moments were both more regular and necessarily clandestine. At the top of the house, on the third floor, at the end of a dimly lit hall, was a large featureless door. It was made of metal, with the sides and top being visibly welded to the metal door frame. From early childhood he had been told, rather pointlessly he felt, that he was never to go into it. Most nights, when he considered it was safe to do so, he would furtively visit the ominous door. Despite it being an extremely robust structure, there were noises from beyond. More than just noises; voices. It was as though the space beyond was a large room, full of people. Not that this was at all possible, but that’s what it sounded like. The voices, whether real or imagined, where muffled, never allowing him to make out any of the actual words. Naturally, because of his being subjected to such a closeted existence, each of these nightly forays was a real adventure.

One day, the boy was deeply saddened to hear that his favourite uncle had passed away and would no longer be around to make visits. It transpired that the elderly gentleman had been giving a rendition of Paganini’s Caprice number one, an energetic little piece, in a gentlemen’s club in Madagascar. Apparently, he had just managed to finish the lively number when he toppled off the table he was standing on, instantly succumbing to a massive heart attack.

As sad as it was, this unhappy event was instrumental in the boy gaining his first inkling regarding the many mysteries that surrounded him, not least of these being the true nature of the forbidden door. It was very soon after the tragic news that he was on yet another nocturnal adventure. He was almost at the end of the hallway when he heard the violin.

Nobody knew that this humble Spanish goatherd was in fact a remarkably unique individual.

It would have been open to conjecture as to why this one man should have been the only recipient of such exclusivity, but only if such a thing ever became public knowledge. As it was, the world simply didn’t know about it, and he wasn’t about to tell anybody. The man himself often pondered similar questions about his exceptional circumstances. His neighbours found him to be a quiet and generally sullen man, although quite content with his life. They had no inkling of the secret he held, but they did see that he was a very successful goatherd. In that, he was held in high esteem.

The small, almost empty room at the back of his house had a solid door that was padlocked. Neither his wife nor his children were permitted to enter there, or to disturb him when he was in it. The room had only one cheap stick of furniture in the form of a small table. On it, sat an ancient black telephone with numbered holes in a rotatable dial. This dial was never used. In fact, the phone itself was not connected in any way. It had a short, visible stub of cable hanging out the back. It never rang. It was always available.

The goatherd stood outside for a while, staring up into an empty sky. He turned and went into the house. At the back room he set the code, removed the padlock, entered and closed the door, latching it on the inside. He moved to the table and picked up the bulky receiver. There was an instant click, and he said, “Hello.”

“Well, hello to you,” came the voice, “I haven’t heard from you for some time.”

“No. Sorry, I’ve been busy with my animals.”

“Of course you have, no need to apologise. How are the wife and kids?

“All doing well, thank you.”

“So, what can I do for you?”

“Well, as you know, my goats forage on the shrubs around this area.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, of late there has been little rain in this area and even the hardiest shrubs are beginning to wither.”

At the other end God chuckled. “Not a problem… I’ll look into it.”

Standing on a sandy beach,

And looking out to sea;

Watching seagulls fill the sky,

Is a wonder for all to see.

–

They come sailing in on a salty breeze,

In great swirling patterns they swoop and glide.

Responding to the caresses of nature,

In some mystical unison, lest they collide.

–

In unfettered freedom against the blue,

They drift and soar with elegant motion.

These masters of the open sky,

That drop and wheel above the ocean.

–

With feathers caressing frothy peaks,

They skim to seek what lies below,

Dancing above the rolling swells,

Rising and dipping to and fro.

–

They screech and chirp and caw their songs,

In the airborne parlance of their call.

They drift and soar with a circling grace.

They flutter then glide with each rise and fall.

–

Between drifting sand dunes and the sea,

Watching the endless, resounding flow,

Hearing the whispering of the sands,

Feeling soft zephyrs come and go.

–

Standing quiet on a sandy beach,

Seeing nature dancing in the sky.

A wonder, and in such easy reach.

An exquisite marvel… for the common eye!

It was a large company and it often provided speakers to improve the quality of work.

The large function room was packed. There was an excited buzz in the room as this speaker had received a lot of hype, pinned up on dozens of noticeboards around the building. The room fell silent and there was a ripple of applause as he entered. The first thing he did was to put up a large poster, saying ‘There is no “I” in team.’ The audience, comprised of staff members from a number of projects around the company figured this was going to be about how individual team members should put aside their own personal needs and preferences and all work as part of a team.

He stood smiling into his audience for a moment before pointing at, and reading the slogan aloud. The first thing anyone noticed was his pronunciation of the word time, as ‘tim’, like the name. Naturally, this led many in the audience to speculate about the fact that the word ‘tim’ does in fact contain the letter ‘i’. These thoughts would have remained far more focused on that single, somewhat humorous issue, had the man not jumbled several of the poster’s other words as well.

There seemed to be some psychological scrambling of letters. Could it be that it was simply an inability to grasp the fundamentals of the English language? It was apparent that most listeners were left speechless by the man’s mangled words. Although, in truth, there were a number of those in the room that by their facial expressions and subtle lip movements could be seen earnestly attempting to figure out what he was actually saying.

At first they figured it was just his accent. Where was he from anyway? However, the wiser members of the audience came to the age-old conclusion. This was the problem with these big companies, they have so much money they’re really not sure what to do with it. They throw it around with one hand, while the other hand has no idea what’s going on. It was a safe bet that this guy wasn’t interviewed; just breezed in on his credentials. If someone had actually talked to him, his impediment would have been picked up.

More and more visibly, staff members were squirming as he went on in this completely unintelligible fashion for several minutes, before one brave soul, who obviously just couldn’t take it any longer, raised his hand.

“Excuse me. When you say, he read from his notes, ‘Or tim mimfers shad mawl pogester ib un hairmoongoose cripe,’ do you mean, all team members should pull together in one harmonious group?”

A number of women giggled.

The guest speaker looked annoyed, and glared at the women. He replied, “Ib corsh… wab alst worn e murf?” At that point the questioner shut up, and sat in silence with the rest of them.

At the presentation’s conclusion the small, silent crowd hurried to the exit. The one who had raised his hand with the only question had contrived to be the last one out.

“Tink yub!” he shouted from the door, then slammed it behind him.

 From a very early age, he wanted to be a dog.

He would scurry around the house, barking and rubbing his head against his parent’s ankles. It was obvious that he got a great deal of satisfaction out of being a dog. So much so, that his parent’s let it go on. On reflection, there came a point when they mutually agreed that it had gone on too long. It was decided that his father would speak to him. One evening, just before his bedtime, his father sat him down.

“Now then,” he began, “your mother and I wondered what you would like to be, when you grow up?”

“Can I be a dog?” he said, and grinned.

“No. Not really, but there are so many interesting things you could be.”

He sat thinking for a while. “I’m not sure, I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Well, your best subject seems to be maths. So, maybe something where you work with numbers a lot.”

“I like reading too.”

“Yes, well, you’ll always need to read when you study. Let me think; you could do something in computing, such as a computer programmer, or an accountant, or you could become a mathematics teacher, or maybe something in air traffic control, or a transport analyst, or an economist, some sort of statistician or a researcher, or a librarian, even librarians are dealing with numbers a lot of the time, to keep track of their books.”

The boy nodded at this. So it was agreed that he would study to become a librarian. Everybody was happy with the idea, and as time went on the idea became a reality. He became a librarian.

It was satisfying work, but somehow, all through the years there seemed to be something missing. As the years went on he married and had a family of his own. For the whole of his working life he was a librarian, gaining higher and higher positions, until the day he retired from his position of Head Librarian at one of the most prestigious libraries in the city.

After his wife passed away, age came upon him savagely. With his children gone and leading their own lives, he was left alone. Eventually, he began acting strangely. People said it might be Alzheimer’s disease or dementia, or something.

Nevertheless, for him, fulfilment came the day he realised that although he was alone, he was now truly in his own world.

He went out into the garden; he dropped to all fours and sniffed. There had been other dogs in the garden.

He growled.

This time, it all started when they caught the wrong bus.

They knew this the moment it went left at the traffic lights. He said nothing. Once again she had absolutely insisted on organising their evening. He knew she had problems with low self-esteem. She had always been a poor planner. She was so easily distracted, finds it hard to maintain her concentration on anything, has permanently scattered thoughts and is forgetful… along with a couple of other things. Beyond all this, on the surface, she’s always brimming with confidence. He had been so patient with her. He suggested he pick up the tickets for the show when he was in town, but as usual she told him to leave it with her. Despite all this they had been together for a couple of years and in all other respects their relationship was just fine.

So, they got off the bus at the next stop and read the timetable. They walked back the way they came and crossed the road to another stop. They caught the next bus and ended up in town, right outside the cinema. When they went in they looked for a poster, but there was nothing for their movie. He went to the ticket box and was told the film was showing at the other cinema across town. He was really annoyed, but didn’t show it. They thought about catching a bus, but decided it would only be a fifteen minute walk and the film wouldn’t start for another half-an-hour. When they arrived it seemed that the movie showing was one with a similar sounding title to the one they had chosen, besides which, it had started nearly an hour ago, as shown on their website.

He asked if they could sit down in the foyer for just a few minutes before making their way home.

When they were sitting, he took her hand gently in his and smiled lovingly at her.

He said, “You know honey, we really need to talk.”

He sat reading in a quiet corner of his local library.

He was a regular customer. He loved reading. There was always a book in his briefcase. He had been taking time out on the way home from work to return and collect books for several years. He could never get the hang of reading on the bus. Most of the time it was just to exchange books, but occasionally, like tonight, he would find his favourite quiet corner and read. It was early closing night, so he only had an hour, if that. It was quiet, with very few customers. He’d already collected new reading, but aimed to finish this book off and return it before leaving. It was a fascinating read, particularly if you’re into conspiracy theories.

He had been engrossed in considering the summary in the final chapter, and jumped physically when the voice came.

“Excuse me.”

He turned to see a man standing next to him.

“Excuse me, do you know what time they close here?”

Shaken out of his reverie, he said “Not long now.” He checked his phone. “About fifteen minutes, I’d say.”

“Thank you.” He looked down. “Oh! I see you’re reading that one.”

The reader smiled. “Yes, just finished it.”

“Read that one myself. Fascinating stuff don’t you think?”

“I do, but I’m not sure…”

“Hah! Not sure whether you go along with it. Right?”

“Right.”

“Know what you mean.” He pulled up a chair. “Don’t mind, do you?”

The reader shrugged and shook his head.

The man sat down, and said, “I mean, a secret network out to change the world.”

The reader went to speak.

The man raised his eyebrows to the book. “These people are purported to be part of a cabal that operates through a great number of front organizations, all working to manipulate major political and financial events… aren’t they?”

“Yes, I suppose they are; supposed to be, that is.”

“Some think,” the other went on, “they are pushing through controversial policies in a plot to achieve world domination.”

“Yes.”

“There are those who believe that this is a secretive society, founded in the eighteenth century, with the sole purpose of controlling world events.”

“They do. I know.”

“A carefully hidden power elite,” he mumbled, “having a globalist agenda to rule the world through world government. Yes, a new world order.”

The reader looked at the time and closed the book.

“On the plus side,” said the man, not taking the hint, “some people think that these hidden forces have helped to create a better world; in fact, a safer world.”

“Well, perhaps.”

The man looked around the library. “Did you know that some people believe that it’s extra-terrestrials that influence the way the world operates? They’re supposed to do this by sending people down here, people that look like people that is. They come here to gather information about what people think. You know, some kind of survey.”

“Really? No, I didn’t know that,” said the reader, picking up his case and putting it on his lap. “It doesn’t surprise me. There are all kinds of theories on this topic.”

The man leant forward and tapped the book. “Do you believe that power corrupts and that absolute power corrupts absolutely?”

The reader was stunned by the question. “Well, yes, yes I do.”

“There you are then,” said the man and stood up. “Nice talking to you.” He offered his hand and they shook. He said, “Must be off,” and with a smile and a wave, he made his way to the exit.

Being right on closing time, the reader packed up quickly and moved to the counter. The lady looked up at the clock. After so many visits, they knew each other. With a kindly smile, she said, “Perfect timing.” She was returning his book when he asked, “That gentleman, not a regular I take it.”

“Which one was that, dear? We see so many.”

“No, the gentleman I was just talking to. The man who just left.”

She frowned. “Talking to? On your phone do you mean? You’re having me on. How could I possibly know that?”

“You must have seen me talking to him.” He turned around. “You can see directly into the corner, where I was sitting.”

She was looking slightly confused. “Yes. I saw you talking; could almost hear what you were saying. I thought you must have been on the phone.”

He stood quietly for a moment.

“So, you didn’t see the man who walked past the counter here, a minute ago.”

A look of pity crossed her face. “No, dear. It has been a very quiet end of day today. For the last hour you have been the only one in here. It’s only you now, dear.”

He nodded. “Sorry. Long day. I must be tired. Thanks again.”

“Goodnight, dear.”

Out in the street he found the cold night air refreshing. He stood thinking for a while. What had he said? Some kind of survey?

His shiver was not from the wind alone.

The wants of them;

Maybe to share

So many things,

Things simply based on care.

–

Maybe for someone

To merely find them,

To hear their song,

To listen to their secrets,

To compare right and wrong.

–

To share their joy,

Their jokes, their fears.

To share hopes and friends

Throughout the years.

–

Seeking self-fulfilment,

Finding some kind of passion,

Balancing life’s ever-changing needs,

Judging others with compassion.

–

What drives the want?

What drives the need?

The wants to choose;

Such wants are at liberty.

And once chosen,

Such freedom is already freed!

He sat watching the clock, quietly waiting for his visitor, a new replacement.

It was nearly time. He got up and he went to the door. He stood close to it. He heard footsteps approaching and a gentle single knock, followed by three more, followed by two. He slid the bolt and cracked it open, restrained by a safety chain. He peered out at the caller, and whispered, “Yes?”

The man outside said, “I’m Alistair Brown from the office, and you?”

The man inside said, “I’m Montgomery Green, I was expecting you. Please come in.”

With that, the door was unlatched and the man entered the room. He was carrying an attaché case. Green waved him to an armchair as he pushed the bolt back in place. He then took a matching chair opposite with a low table between them. Brown put his case down on the table and looked around the room. They sat in silence for a moment, then Brown said, “The vampire squirrel has a long tail.” Green nodded and said, “Unlike the short-tailed weasel.”

They sat for another brief moment, while the two men visibly relaxed.

“Ah! Fine,” said Green. “You’re our new man I understand.”

“Yes,” replied Brown, “only started this week.”

“All well and good then. What do you have for me?”

Brown went to his case. It had a series of five catches, each with a separate combination lock. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, while the numbers came back to him. After a minute he had them clicking open, one by one. He looked up, smiling with relief as he opened it up. He removed a small brown envelope. It had several small characters printed on its face, they read C-15-L. He placed it on the table and pushed it across.

Green stood and went to the wall clock. With a series of up-down-left-right movements, it came away to reveal a small safe. He stood for a long time turning the wheel back and forth, before the door came open. He removed a similar envelope and returning to the table, carefully placed it down and picked up the other. This was placed in the safe and the safe was relocked. He replaced the clock and returned to his seat. This whole procedure was carried out in silence, with Brown bearing witness to it.

Green smiled. “That concludes the exchange I believe.”

“Yes, thank you.” Brown leant forward and took the envelope. He paused, reading the front. He was frowning.

“Something wrong?” said Green.

“It’s the code!”

“Code?”

“Yes, the item code. That’s what it’s called, the item code.”

Green said, “What about it?”

Brown said, “It’s wrong, or at least I think it’s wrong.”

“Show me,” said Green and took the envelope.

Brown said, “It’s the last single digit. It’s an N!”

“Yes, I see that.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be. I’m not sure about the rest of it, but that last letter is the sequence. I’m positive about that. It should follow L, it should be an M.

“Good lord, you’re right!” Green agreed.

“I’m afraid the exchange has been compromised,” said Brown.

They both fell silent.

Green said, “Damn! You know what that means, don’t you?”

“Yes. I have to take mine back. We have to invoke the Retrieval Protocol.”

“We certainly do. OK. You know the drill?”

“It’s very strict, I understand.”

Green said, “It most certainly is.”

Brown said, “OK. He put the envelope in his case and locked it.”

Green went to the door, unbolted it, released the safety chain and opened it.

Brown nodded and went out.

Green bolted the door, replaced the chain and stood close to it.

After a few moments, he heard footsteps and a gentle single knock, followed by three more, followed by two…

She was eighteen and not going anywhere when she landed the job.

She was not a particularly bright girl, although a lot of her friends would say she was fun to be with. That probably carried more weight in her world than an elevated intellect. She had worked mainly in departmental stores since school, with nothing coming of it. Boyfriends just came and went and she was content to live at home with her mum and dad. In some respects, she supposed, it may have been her ordinariness that had made her right for the job. And what a job it was! There were rules to it, pretty strange ones at that, but the pay? The pay was great!

On reflection, there was no real accounting for how she got the job. It was just a call to her mobile phone coming up as a blocked number. She always answered those. She saw the call as being an interview, albeit a peculiar one. The man’s voice was very kind and the office rules were simple. No food or drink. No smoking. No phone or other personal electronic devices. She was to wear plain office attire. Carry no bag or purse of any kind. These instructions, along with a number of others, including her office hours, the address and a key, came through the post the day after the call. It was stated that the letter and the key were the only items she was allowed to have with her when she entered the office each day.

In short, all she had to do was answer the phone, and having no problem with the idea of having to do that, went along with the whole thing. The office was located through a door at the end of a hall. It was not really an office, more of a room. It had no windows and only contained three things, a chair, quite comfortable, a desk, quite small, and what she regarded as an old-fashioned telephone, the type with a rotating dial on the front.

At first, she regarded the entire thing as rather exciting. She caught a bus to the city centre each day. She entered the building. It contained a variety of companies, all providing different services. She took the elevator to the fourteenth floor. She walked the entire length of the hallway. At the unmarked door at the end, she would turn the key in the lock and enter. Just doing that, day after day for several weeks was quite exhilarating in itself.

However, human nature being what it is, the ugly spectre of boredom slowly raised its head. She sat thinking about that, about the ugly spectre of boredom slowly raising its head. She had read the phrase in a book once and it had stuck. She whispered to herself, “The ugly spectre of boredom slowly raised its head.”

She was musing like this to herself, when the phone rang…