Author: Alexander Fawn

As he approached the elevator on the ground floor, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

The sign taped to the door said, ‘Closed for maintenance.’ After the day he had already suffered, this really was the last straw. As he trudged up the six flights of stairs, he felt he should be grateful to have someone waiting in the apartment that would be understanding and always happy to listen to him. His flatmate was going to have trouble believing all this, but anyway, it’ll be good to get it off his chest. He thought about his friend. As a companion he does have his drawbacks, but he’s a good listener.

Finally, gasping for breath, he went through the front door, calling out, “Home! Home early!” He heard, “Hi! In here.” He found his buddy sitting in an armchair reading the paper.

He stood for a moment, still catching his breath. Eventually, he said, “Hi! You simply wouldn’t credit the day I’ve had. It has been one disaster after another.”

His friend smiled. “Oooh! Do tell.”

As he sat down opposite, he said, “So much has happened.” He screwed up his eyes to bring it all back. “It all started in the office, just before lunch, when the Internet went down. Of course, that stopped everything and we had to take our break early. The canteen was crowded, so I decided to get some printing done while the queue thinned out a bit.

When I got to the machine there was this sign hanging on it saying ‘Out of Order’. It was really frustrating, so I thought I’d get a cup of coffee to let myself down a bit. It had a sheet of A4 paper with ‘Not Working”, scribbled on it. So I went back to my desk to make a note about doing the printing later. That’s when the air-conditioning cut out. I mean, it just stopped!”

His friend said, “Unbelievable!” and shook his head, obviously taking it all in.

“Anyway,” the other went on, “that’s when the boss turned up and sent everyone home. Well, I knew I needed to get some cash out, so I stopped at the bank on my way to the bus. I was surprised to find quite a crowd in there, then I saw the reason. A sign on the ATM, saying, ‘ATM under repair’. So, I cut across the park to get to the stop and was amazed to find a notice stuck on the door to the public toilets that read ‘Closed for Repairs’, and another sign hanging off the drink fountain saying ‘Do not use’. I couldn’t believe it. What are the chances?”

The other just sat shaking his head.

He went on again. “When I got to the bus stop, I had to stand and wait, because the seat was broken. Of course, the bus was late, and when I got here, and this will make you wonder whether I’m making all this up, what do you suppose was stuck across the elevator’s door?”

He looked across at his friend.

The hand, that moments before had been massaging the back of his neck, dropped to the side. His eyes went a dull grey and he slid sideways with a limp arm hanging over the side of the chair.

The other got up and went to his flatmate. He stood for a moment shaking his head. He opened the top buttons of his shirt, exposing a small panel in his chest. He flipped open the cover and checked the tiny screen.

Flat battery!

The party was in full swing with several dozen people.

They were all drinking, nibbling finger food, laughing and talking… all at once. It seemed hot in the room. Although nobody else seemed to notice. He wasn’t really much of a party-goer. The guy in despatch at work invited him. He wasn’t sure why. He knew some of them from the work place. Not many. He had spoken to a couple of people in the half hour he’d been there. He looked at the time. He began thinking about slipping away. He could probably do it without anybody noticing.

That’s when the woman rushed over to him extending her hand. “Fancy meeting you here. Are you with the company?”

He went to answer.

“Of course you are. Our host tells me you’re in records. Most of these,” she looks around, “most of these are in the city. I’m not of course, still out there in the country.” She laughed. “Same old, same old. Quite busy though.”

He was beginning to wonder who she was.

“What’s it been, three, four years?”

He went to open is mouth.

She said, “I was just saying to my friends over there, time just slips away doesn’t it? Don’t you find that? Time just slips away. I’m sure you do. We all do.”

She stops to look around again.

“Are you still painting? Wonderful hobby. My ex used to paint. That’s before he had his trouble.”

She flapped her hand.

“Some sort of intestinal obstruction apparently, poor dear. Of course, it went untreated for ages before we figured out what it was. Even then, we had absolutely no idea that it was going to be life-threatening. It turned out that his blood supply was being cut off… somewhere.”

She paused to sip at her wine.

“Anyway, he wasn’t very good. Even he used to say he wasn’t very good.”

He was sure he didn’t know her. He had never even thought of painting.

She started to snivel and took a tissue from her bag.

“You must think me a fool.”

He shook his head.

“He was actually a wonderful man you know. You met him didn’t you, at the gallery that time? Of course you did.”

His eyebrows raised.

“Of course you did,” she repeated, “you were discussing Jan van Eyck’s thing about painting with oils on wood.” She scrunched her face into a smile. “I remember how enthusiastic you both were.” She touched his arm. “Thank you for that. I’m sure that little chat meant a lot to him.”

At this point, he was preparing to say something, when she threw up her arm, almost spilling her drink. “Oh! Look!” she cried. “They made it. I wasn’t sure if they’d be here. I must say a quick hello. I hope you don’t mind. I’ll be right back. Promise!”

She rushed across the room into the crowd.

He slipped away.

It was mid-afternoon when the couple arrived at the holiday house.

The building had been hard to find, being located so far off the beaten track. This didn’t bother him. The idea was for the two of them to enjoy a well-deserved ‘getaway’ break. It was a large house, two stories and obviously not well looked after. The guy from the office that had offered the rental at a very reasonable rate had almost talked him out of it because of it being virtually empty and in need of repair. He was surprised that he had been so reasonable about it, as they had never really hit it off. However, he couldn’t resist the offer.

When they arrived, they found a screed of papers hanging from the front door’s knocker.

It seemed an odd thing to find way out there in the middle of nowhere. There were a couple of pages, with the front one saying ‘Read before entering’.

“Never really saw him as a joker,” he grumbled, “but we’d better read it, I suppose. There could be a safety issue.”

His wife nodded.

He opened the first page and began reading the hand-written contents aloud.

‘Take note, there have been issues with the property. Problems with things going missing. At first we thought it was break-ins, but this was soon discounted. It gradually got worse over time and we found that whatever we put in the house would disappear without a trace while we were not in it. The house came to me from a distant relative who had died, leaving it to me. So, I had no one to ask about the nature of it or whether there was any history that would shed light on what was happening.

‘When the first things went missing we reported it. The local police gave us the impression that they didn’t believe what they were being told. Anyway, it was evident that they simply weren’t interested.

‘Our losses to date are a camera, a television, two portable radios, a clothes iron, a hairdryer, kettle, four suitcases with contents, toilet kits, books, newspapers, magazines, mobile phones, my son’s pet hamster, a stamp collection, two laptops, a computer game, and several personal medication items.

‘It’s only conjecture, but we think the house took them.

‘I can only suggest that you enter at your peril.

‘PS Please leave this note where you found it.’

He laughed. She wasn’t so sure.

They carried their cases in and the house took them.

He had only recently moved into the property.

His family, his wife and two children would follow. They would move from the rented house in a couple of weeks, partly to allow the already paid up rental to run out, and partly to allow him to do a bit of fixing up. There was a fair bit to do and thankfully his boss was accommodating about shifting his holiday period. They had seen the house listed and knowing what a bargain it was they moved quickly to snap it up. The agency said that the previous owner had to go abroad in a hurry and he wanted a quick sale.

He set to with a number of noted tasks, some of which could be carried out during the evening. He very soon realised that this period of being completely alone was not to his liking, he enjoyed company. He made up for this by watching the television he’d had the presence of mind to bring. At the old place he’d become reliant on the playing back recordings made of his favourite shows. Here, it was live TV or nothing. He was following the major news story of the politician who had been gunned down as he got out of his car to attend a charity event. The papers and media channels were full of it. It was a very brazen attack. The story had gone ballistic, mainly driven by the shock factor.

At the end of the first week, he had made good progress. He had a list of things they had agreed that he should do, in order to make the place more habitable. His biggest job was in the kitchen. After ripping out the cupboards he had purchased new ones and was in the process of fitting them. However, his headway was being slowed by the doors refusing to align the way the manufacturers of the DIY flat packs said they would. The diagrams were of little help. After struggling with the problem for an hour or two, he decided to stop for a cuppa and check the mail.

That’s when he found it, in the mail box. No stamp, obviously hand-delivered, and definitely overnight. Whatever it was, it was wrapped in heavy brown paper and bound very thoroughly with clear sticky taped. Beneath the tape in one corner there was a small white slip of paper with the words ‘Make it disappear’. The thing was the size of a small loaf and very heavy.

Back in the kitchen he squeezed the package all over, trying to determine what it held. It didn’t take him very long to come to the conclusion, especially after staring again at the little label, that it contained a gun. Suddenly, he was aware that he was putting his fingerprints all over it. He sat with it for a long time.

He thought about the inevitable involvement; the police interview, the notoriety, all those things that would unavoidably disrupt his otherwise comfortable life. A life that currently was rather demanding. Whoever had posted the package, along with the person who had made a hurried exit from the country, along with others no doubt, would at this time all be striving for anonymity. Therefore, further to the scrutiny of the police, there may well be a criminal element now taking an interest in him and what he was doing. Sooner or later, this latter group of undesirables would be watching and waiting… waiting for nothing to happen. Knowing what these people are, they would not show themselves unless they had to.

At around two in the morning he drove into town and parked in the empty carpark behind the butcher’s shop. He took the short walk to the middle of the bridge and paused. Gazing down as if he were admiring the sheer breadth and depth of the glistening river, made barely visible by the few street lamps still glowing. The small parcel came out from beneath his jacket and leaning forward, he let it go. Hearing the finality of the distant splash, he relaxed and strolled back to his car.

On the way home he considered the fact that he would have to come to terms with notion that he was most probably complicit in a news-breaking crime that currently featured in every newspaper around the country.

He was doing the very thing that that the criminals were doing; going for anonymity. At least, in his case, and unlike the villains, he had a clear way forward.

He would go home and make those final, important adjustments to the hinges on his cupboard doors.

It was a hot day and the teenager had to drive around for several minutes before finding a parking spot.

Entering the building she pulled off a ticket. It read 163. She wasn’t sure whether this was a good sign or not. The place seemed crowded with every counter occupied. She found a seat. The large digital number, suspended from the ceiling, read 137. With only four counters being manned, she could be in for a long wait. That being the case, it wasn’t a good sign. She picked up a magazine and started flipping through, looking for a crossword. She could always pass the time with a crossword.

She was busy counting the number of letters in the word ‘Morpheus’ on her fingers for seven down, when somebody shouted, “Is number 163 still here?”

She raised her arm and stood up so quickly that she almost fell over. At the counter she apologised.

The middle-aged woman behind the counter smiled sweetly and said, “That’s perfectly alright madam. It is a hot day. We’ve had several customers doze off in here today. Think nothing of it.” At this point she chuckled to herself and said, “Can I trouble you for your ticket?”

“Ticket?”

“The ticket with your number, if you’d be so kind.”

The girl was truly amazed at how polite and understanding this person was. She put it down to some new job centre policy. She was all for it. As for the ticket… she searched her pockets and finally came up with it. She handed it over and watched as the woman tore it into very small pieces, then throw them into a litter bin hidden somewhere under the counter, out of sight.

“And the form we sent you? I presume you brought that with you?”

“Yes.” She handed it over.

The woman leant across to a small shredding machine and fed the form in.

The girl said, “Wow! Why would you shred that, isn’t it a record or something?”

“Security,” came the reply.

“Security?”

“Yes, we are allowed to tear up a client’s number ticket, but for anything official, we have to use the shredder.”

The girl frowned. “You know, I really don’t understand that.”

The woman’s face became hard. She sniffed and said, “Well, you don’t have to, do you? I mean, why should you?”

The girl felt awkward, she said, “I suppose not, but I was just saying…”

“Yes, you were, weren’t you? That’s the problem I think. Too much conjecture about things you don’t understand.” She sniffed again and said, “That’s typical of your sort.”

The girl went red and raising her voice said, “My sort?”

She was about to go on when a man in a suit and tie approached, saying, “OK. We’ll stop it there, I think.”

The woman behind the counter giggled and said, “How’d I do? This one’s very good.” She smiled warmly at the girl. “Very convincing, I must say.”

The man was looking over his notes. He shook his head and said to the woman, “That didn’t go the way I had hoped.”

The woman said, “Oh! Really?”

“Yes, really. The object here is to have the customer be rude and demanding, so that we can train you, as the service provider, up to a point where you know how to respond to you, the role-playing customer, in an appropriate manner.”

The girl looked perplexed. “But I’m not role-playing!”

“No, that’s the problem, you’re not, and you should be. You are being far too polite. The whole intention of setting up this staff training program is to…”

“Wait!” said the girl, “did you just say training program?”

The man’s face began to move out of focus and she became aware of an irritating nudging at her arm. She turned to see the man next to her was pointing at her lap. “That’s you.” He nodded at the ticket held limply in her hand.

She blinked a few times. “Pardon?”

“Your number. I think you ought to go, they’ve called you twice. Your number up there has turned red… and it’s flashing!”

She thanked him and made her way to the counter.

The woman smiled and said, “Do you have the form?”

The girl said, “Yes, of course,” and handed it over.

The woman behind the counter didn’t shred it.

It took a while for him to come to terms with what he saw.

He was amazed to find that with just a little research, he had discovered that the definition in the dictionary was wrong! He supposed it could be partly explained by the fact that it dates back to the early seventeen hundreds, and a hell of a lot can happen over a few centuries, what with the ever-present existence of typos. The confusion had no doubt been quite understandably brought about by dint of the additional fact that it was derived from four separate Latin roots, and obscure ones at that!

It played on his mind.

The thing that bothered him most was not knowing who he should tell. Despite this, he began digging deeper, spending more time in the evenings after his daytime job sorting returned books in the local library. In a way, it was this daytime activity that first got him started. He would often see a book title that appealed, and of course he would end up reading it. For almost a decade he had been there, sorting, returning, finding, borrowing, reading, sorting, returning, and so on. It was all about words really. Millions of them. However, finding one that had been defined incorrectly was a real worry.

That’s when he started looking for more.

Over a period of several weeks, he discovered four more. A total of five words, all being attributed with erroneous meanings.

It was at this point his thoughts returned to the vexed question of who he should approach with what he had discovered. If he managed to find some high authority that oversees such things, would they just fob him off with the notion that the definition was written by an editor, and not a specialist in the discipline of whatever the word was trying to deal with? Moreover, could he find himself getting into a lot more trouble than he wanted?

He considered going back to basics. He could start by going to the Chief Librarian. A pompous man, who had never really liked the way he had borrowed more books from the library that any of the other members in the library’s database. What would the man say, being confronted with something that had such extensive ramifications?

He began to think about how truly extensive all this really was.

When he considered how English speaking, writing and using people, had managed quite well with what was, after all, one of the most difficult and complex languages in the world, he had to ask himself, if these minor issues he had uncovered had not caused even a ripple over the centuries, was it worth risking his present situation? Did he want to risk his heart’s contentment, and place his nice little niche in jeopardy?

At the end of the day, he had to ask himself, was it better for him to maintain his regular, paid employment of sorting returns and reading as many books as he liked?

After careful thought, he was pleased when he answered with a resounding ‘yes’.

He put himself at peace with the concept that the world would never know.

He woke well before his alarm, in a cold sweat.

He was having trouble getting out of the dream that seemed to have gone on all night, but at the same time feeling compelled to bring the details of it back for him to look at. After laying quite still with his eyes closed for some time, he remembered how it had started with a dreadful argument. To be precise, it began with an unexpected visitor showing up during the evening. He couldn’t remember who it was, someone from the past or a complete stranger? He just couldn’t tell. Somehow they knew he’d be on his own, knew that she was visiting her sister’s family for a couple of days.

The visitor had brought a full bottle of twelve-year-old Scotch whisky. In the dream they had slowly got drunk together. The way it was coming back to him made it all seem so reasonable, but that’s the way dreams are. They had just about finished the bottle when the visitor explained that several years back he had poisoned his dog. He said it was waking people up in the middle of the night and it got to the point where he just couldn’t take it anymore. In his dream, everything came across as perfectly reasonable, but somehow it all went downhill fast.

In fact, a fight broke out.

Bringing it all back was becoming more difficult to think about, but the brawl had ended up in the kitchen where he had grabbed a carving knife and stabbed the man! He was there, on the kitchen floor, bleeding. After a long state of panic, he checked for a pulse. There wasn’t one. Then, he opened the kitchen door and dragged the body down the side of the house, leaving it beside the dustbins. There it ended. The dream ended. Shuddering and still bathed in sweat he opened his eyes. He looked at the clock. He still had more than an hour before his wake up alarm.

He got up and went into the bathroom. A splash of cold water was what was needed.

The first thing he noticed was the blood on his hands. Then, in the mirror, bruising around his face, together with blood smears. Panic took hold and he ran to the kitchen, where he found blood, lots of it! The kitchen, yes, it all came flooding back so vividly now. He went out to the bins, where he found the body, just where he had left it. He was bending over the body when he was startled by a voice, right near his ear. He spun around, peering into the dark. He couldn’t see anything. It came again, this time louder.

“What is it?” she repeated.

He slowly turned to face her.

“What is it, dear?” she went on, “You’ve been grunting a lot. Are you alright?”

He sighed with a great sense of relief, and looked at the clock. Still nowhere near time to get up.

“Who was grunting?” he said.

“You, of course,” she said.

“No. Go back to sleep. You were probably dreaming,” he said, smiling.

There was only one left on the plate.

“Go on, you can have it,” said the man in the tweed jacket.

Obviously taken by surprise, the curly-haired youth turned. “No. That’s fine. I’ve probably gobbled down three or four. I just love ’em, I suppose.”

Tweed smiled. “Me too. Anyway, go ahead, it’s all yours.”

The morning tea put on by the local golf club was all but over with people making their way back out to the car park.

Curly shook his head. “No, really, I shouldn’t eat any more.”

Tweed said, “It seems a shame to let it go to waste.”

Neither of them looked at the solitary party-pie on the paper plate.

“I’m full, but thanks,” said curly, starting to feel awkward.

Tweed looked around at the place, almost empty, with just a few people tidying up. “Someone needs to eat it. If not us, it looks like nobody will.”

They both stood, not saying anything for a long moment. A clattering of chairs being gathered echoed through the hall.

Tweed broke the silence. “Do you play?”

“Play?”

Tweed raised an eyebrow. “You know, golf. Do you play golf?”

“Oh! No. I just help out in the kitchen sometimes with my mother.” He looks down at the plate and smiles. “She makes ‘em.”

“Well, now,” says tweed, clapping his hands, “that’s why they taste so good! Homemade pies, baked by your mother.” He chuckled.

Curly grinned and nodded.

“Now then,” said Tweed, taking on an air of authority, “your mother would be really upset if she knew that one of her pies was thrown out… because you didn’t eat it.”

Curly shrugged and picked it up.

As Tweed made his way across the car park to his car, he mumbled, “I don’t know, the kids of today, they’re so bloody selfish!”

She checked herself over in the bedroom mirror for the last time.

As she opened the front door, she looked back and called out, “We need milk. Won’t be long…” She giggled at the silliness of it. There was no ‘we’, and no milk was needed, and she certainly would be gone for the longest time. The rest of her life in fact. It was all part of her radical plan.

Had there been anyone around they wouldn’t have noticed that she didn’t use the car. Instead, wheeling her case, she walked idly for a few minutes then caught a bus into town.

Who would really miss her? Her few remaining relations that she hardly ever saw; her boss and her workmates, her nearby neighbours, the man who serviced her car, her hairdresser, the checkout ladies in the supermarket…? No. Nobody really. She would just disappear. The rent was paid up for a month. She would become just another woman in her late twenties slipping through the cracks; just one more missing person. She had never been bothered about romantic attachments; a quiet, private life had always suited her.

In the high street she walked straight past the supermarket. No milk required. She grinned again. She entered the railway station and went directly to the ladies toilet and found an empty cubicle. There, she opened the case, and with the aid of a small mirror went about changing her appearance. Clothes, wig and makeup. She had decided to do this to lessen the chance of recognition, although she knew it wasn’t necessary, just something to spice up the drama of it all. This done she went to the departure board and checked the times.

First the train to the city, then a cab to the airport. Everything pre-booked, prepaid, pre-everything. There was no real need for her to pay for a very expensive false passport, but she did it anyway. Money was not an issue. Even the apartment on Paradise Island in the Bahamas had been purchased more than a year ago.

Splayed out comfortably in her first class seat, watching cloud formations move gradually below, she thought back to where it all began. An auntie she hardly knew. She had passed away leaving her money. Not a lot. It was nice to receive it, but she didn’t need it at the time. So, she invested it. Wow! Did she ever invest it! All of that was a mere dozen years ago. From the third year of watching her account shoot skywards, she started planning. Her deliberations were as private as her investment was anonymous.

As she finished her Pina Colada she whispered into her empty glass, “Ah! Cryptocurrency!”

He is completely unaware of what is about to happen.

He’d never been a fan of DIY. His Aunty had ordered the new piece of furniture without a moment’s thought given to how it would be assembled. It had been delivered in an enormous flat pack of innocent looking cardboard. It was inevitable that she would give him a call. Hey! Blood is thicker than water, right?

Little does he know that it would happen with the last blow of the hammer!

At least she had agreed to keep out of his way. He couldn’t give a lot of time to it. His cousin was picking him up from his place in a couple of hours and taking him to the big game. His cousin had acquired really good seats.

Little does he know that his scream would bring his Aunty rushing wide-eyed into the room.

He had read through the instructions provided on the tiny piece of folded paper, typed in some miniature font he had not come across, hiding at the bottom of the box. It really didn’t tell him much, other than the fact that whoever wrote it did not enjoy English as their first language.

Little does he know that the ambulance would take so long to arrive because of the massive pile up on the freeway.

Why was it taking so long to put this thing together? He was becoming more and more aware of how late it was getting. He was becoming more and more frustrated. The hammer was pounding harder with each strike.

Little does he know that he would be looking up at the smug expression of a smartarse doctor, twiddling his stethoscope and mumbling something about how some things are best left to a qualified tradesman.

He was fixing the last section of the bookcase when it happened.

It wasn’t quite there.

Little does he know that no one in the known universe had ever figured out how to avoid the inevitable.

One good hammer blow should do it.