Author: Alexander Fawn

The old woman entered the sweet shop and began looking around.

She went up and down the aisles, nodding and muttering to herself every time she took something from a shelf. She seemed to be enjoying what she was doing, giving occasional giggles. The shop owner looked on, surprised at how much she was gathering up. She finally went to the counter with her arms full of confectionaries; chocolates, candies, liquorices, caramels and several large lollipops.

The man smiled and said, “Wow! Really stocking up I see.”

She managed to spread it all out on the counter.

“Oh! Yes, I need to,” she said, “I’m expecting visitors and I know how much kids like sweets.”

He smiled saying, “Well, it keeps me in business.”

“Yes, I also use them as decorations, the children love that.”

“You do? Well now, that’s really good of you to go to so much trouble. I hope the kids appreciate it.”

She smiled with what teeth she had.

He worked out how much it all came to and she paid him.

“OK, I’ll put these in a bag for you,” he said, looking for a large bag.

“That would be nice, thank you.”

That was done and it was handed over.

On her way to the door he called out, “hope the kids enjoy their treats.”

On her way out she chuckled, “Oh! I’m sure little Hansel and Gretel will love them!

It was a warm summer’s day, and they were having fun.

After a lot of chasing around the back garden, he had her cornered up against the fence. They tussled with each other for a while. Finally, they just laid there, exhausted. He rolled over and looked intently into her eyes. She looked away. He sighed.

“Let’s get married,” he whispered.

She squirmed, and said, “We can’t do that.”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

“We just can’t, that’s all,” she replied.

“I don’t see why not. Cat’s often get married.”

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“Ha! That just shows how much you know!”

She shook her head. “No. Not to mice they don’t!”

He saw the old man waving at him as he approached the bed.

The ward was busy with visitors preparing to leave within moments of the allotted hours ending. The visitor was running late. The patient hailing him was extremely old and frail. He could see how much effort he had to make, just to raise his arm. He knew he could only stop briefly if he wanted to catch the bus. He pulled up a chair. The old man took his hand with a surprisingly firm grip.

His eyes filled with tears, and in little more than a whisper, he said, “There you are, I knew you’d come. Well done, my boy. I know it’s a long journey from where you live.”

The visitor looked around, before saying, “I’m afraid I’m a bit short of time at the moment… but I’m glad that I could be here.”

“Yes, my son, it has been so long…”

His grip relaxed and his head rolled back, as tears filled his eyes again. “Thank you, for giving me such a peaceful end,” he gasped. With that, his eyes slowly closed for what would be the last time.

The visitor looked around at the almost empty ward as the young nurse approached. She stood at the end of the bed for a few moments before saying, “Excuse me, but I don’t think you’re his son, are you?”

Without looking up, in a soft voice, he said, “Briefly, yes, I was. For just a few precious moments, I was.”

He looked up, smiling and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. As he stood to leave, he said, “Precious for both of us, I think”.

There was a nostalgia section in the old man’s record store.

It had vinyls going back decades; recordings by long gone artists. The man perusing the racks selected an old original by Elvis Presley. He stood reading it for a while. He’d always been fascinated by the conspiracies about Elvis’s death.

Making polite conversation, the man said, “Nobody really knows how he died, do they?”

The old misery said, “Don’t they? I wouldn’t know about that.”

“Well,” he went on, “one of the most popular theories I heard was that Elvis actually faked his own death, in order to escape from the Mafia. What do you think?”

The old man sighed. “I have no idea.” He rang the sale up and handed over the change.

“I just thought you’d be interested, that’s all,” mumbled the customer.

Getting even more irritated, the old man said, “Look. Would it surprise you if I told you I couldn’t care less how he died?”

The man said, “Oh! I was just interested, that’s all. I mean, you are in here selling these old records, I’d have thought you might have a theory about it.”

The old man sneered. “Well, I haven’t, OK?”

The man shook his head in dismay. “I guess, to be sure, I’ll have to wait until I get to heaven, then I’ll ask him.”

The old man sighed and said, “What if he went to hell, have you thought about that?”

As he left the shop, the customer called out, “If that’s the case, you can ask him.”

There were days when he just didn’t feel like talking.

When he got in to work he knew it was one of them. He had his tray full of invoices that had to be checked and he had the relevant computer screen open. He had only just begun when the girl across the room called out and smiled. He gave her a quick wave and smiled back, then quickly went back to his screen.

It was definitely one of those days that he wasn’t in the mood for talking. She said something else, but he pretended that he didn’t hear. He thought about how hard it was at times letting others know that you don’t really feel like talking, without talking. If you do say something… it can easily be the start of something, like talking. An hour later the co-worker got up and left. When she returned she paused at his desk.

“You’re quiet today,” she said.

He just looked up and shrugged.

She stood for a moment before returning to her work station.

He kept working, knowing that she was looking at him. She was a nice girl, he thought, it wasn’t his intention to upset her. Anyway, that was how the day passed. When it was time to leave, he felt a small concession was required. He considered a brief word before leaving was appropriate.

Before leaving he said, “Good night. Didn’t feel much like talking today. Hope you understand.”

“Of course I do,” she said.

But she didn’t…

The man sat in silence at the small desk.

He mused. It had all seemed to be the right thing to do at the time. Yes, he knew he’d upset a lot of people. His wife, only recently married, had always been very supportive in his endeavours. He was looking sadly at a number of maps strewn across his desk. He idly turned some of them over. He had always believed that it was important to plan ahead carefully, for the future. It hadn’t gone the way he had planned it, that was for sure. The future; what was the future? All said and done, he had climbed the ladder successfully from what others would see were clearly humble beginnings. In that respect, he considered he had done very well for himself. He looked around again. A strange smile crossed his face as he thought about how the one thing he had missed more than anything else, was windows. He slowly opened his desk drawer and took out the gun. He thought of his wife, in another room.

It was his Berlin bunker.

It was April 30, 1945.

It being summer, the ground in the back garden was baked really hard.

She felt a terrible loss when her poodle died. It was getting old and had a number of issues, so she could see it coming. She had done everything the vet had suggested, but finding it absolutely still in its basket that morning was inevitable. She already felt the loneliness creeping in; the awful loss of her much loved companion. He’d always maintained that there would be no replacement. A grave needed to be dug regardless of how hard it was to dig. Now, he was out there pounding at the ground, complaining. You’d have to say that she was a calm and placid woman, and that he was an angry complainer. She had loved her dog. He hadn’t.

She watched from the kitchen window as he struck with the spade over and over, cursing with every blow. Regardless of her knowing what sort of reception she’d get, she thought it only right, despite the day’s heat, to go out and offer support. When she came close, she could see he’d made some progress; the hole was half dug. He stopped and straightened his back. His face was bright red and covered with sweat.

He bellowed, “Don’t just stand there, get me a glass of water!”

She hurried indoors. With an empty glass in her hand, she sat sobbing gently. She could no longer hold down her grief. His shouting at her didn’t help. After a few minutes, she stood, feeling more composed. She filled the glass and went back out.

He was just lying there, one arm in the grave, eyes and mouth wide open.

She stood for a moment, sipping the water. She had only one thought going through her head.

Before too long, she’d be visiting the pet shop!

They were a strange couple.

Neither of their parents had ever been tracked down. If they had been, they wouldn’t want to meet them. They were not a sociable couple. They never really mixed. She had never collected stamps, too much interaction with others. He wouldn’t know how to hang glide; it meant meeting people. Neither of them had ever seen the Sagano Bamboo Forests in Japan, although they often talked about it, they both wanted to, but they would have had to spend time with other tourists. She had never gone shopping during busy periods, in case she met someone. Pubs were out for him; much too crowded. If truth be told, although a twosome, they had as little to do with each other as possible. In fact, they rarely spoke to one another.

To facilitate this lack of togetherness, they each had their own cars. That was until her vehicle broke down and he had to drive her out to her special, lonely spot out of town, where she would go to knit. It was while travelling there that it happened that completely out of the blue and without any warning, she went to say something. This event had such a profound effect on him that he lost control of the vehicle, sending it through a hedge, across a field into a farmer’s hay barn, where it smashed into a metal support and the engine exploded. Within moments of the flames taking hold, bales of hay dislodged by the impact began tumbling down. In no time at all, the whole thing became a blazing inferno.

Later, by some queer dint in the fabric of what might be called the rich tapestry of life, their ashes, for that’s all there was now, were not labelled correctly. This brought about a situation where there was doubt about who was who.

Two urns; half in each.

They mixed.

It was his last night.

It was on this final night that the power plant operator went on shift, that the events occurred. It’s safe to say that from the beginning he had feelings that he was definitely not used to. The only certainty being that it was destined to be the last nightshift he did for the power company. Whether this in itself was a planned departure from the job or something else is not known. However, it was the last time he’d be parking behind the main station building. Minutes later, he was swiping his ID card through the reader. That’s when it began. At first, it was only a vague feeling that something was not quite right. Then, minutes later, at the locker and getting ready to change into his coveralls, the sensation that something unexpected was about to happen swept over him. He had never had this sort of presentiment before and had no idea where it came from.

He’d had an auntie who used to go on about this sort of thing. She was always talking about getting warnings about stuff that was foreboding or evil. Of course, he’d never taken it seriously. Why should he? You really can take this nonsense too far, he thought, as he climbed to the upper gallery where the bank of controls waited for him. It was there that he would check, record, and occasionally make adjustments. With clipboard in hand, he began running through the standard check sheet when he noticed a digital display giving a strange readout.

Looking down, he saw that the main lever was in the upright, neutral position. It could be moved to either the left or the right. Looking back at the digital reading, he knew that some corrective action should be taken. He thought hard about his initial training regarding the lever. In all his time on the job, he had never had reason to touch it. Shaking his head, he realised that to his knowledge, it had never been moved. Because of this, his memory concerning its use had faded away. He rested his index finger on its rounded top and stood, quite complexed by the situation.

It was then that he heard it. More correctly, he felt it; a waft of cold air coming from behind him. Instinctively he turned. What he saw, although very hard to make out, was the faint outline of a figure, who seemed to be leaning back on the upper deck’s safety rail shaking its head.

The operator stood frozen for a minute or to, unable to speak or think. Finally, taking in a huge breath, he managed to close his mouth and swallow. He was about to speak, when he was interrupted.

Whatever it was, it suddenly stepped forward and began whispering to him. “Have you ever considered how often throughout the course of human history a major disaster has come about as a result of a person misunderstanding the instructions they were given?”

The man shut his eyes, slowly shaking his head. Was he being lectured to, by some ethereal phantom? He couldn’t believe his own stupidity. Annoyed with himself for these wild imaginings and for being taken in, although only briefly, by such ludicrous claptrap, he turned back to the control panels with renewed resolve.

He took hold of the lever and gave it a good yank…

She was a deeply religious woman who took loving care of her garden.

All was as it should be in her little slice of heaven. It was that time of year when flowers were being pollinated and the birds and the bees were preparing to start families. Whereas she had no objection to the many creatures in her paradise responding appropriately during the mating season, it did trouble her when she learnt the common name for a particular spider.

It has to be said that her strict pedanticism, almost as strong as her religious beliefs, had her thoroughly familiar with the binomial names of the species of living things that dwelt by the grace of God, in her sacred garden. It was only when she discovered the common name for the Pholcus phalangioides that she began carrying a small spray bottle with her while walking in the garden.

Whenever she came across a pair of them doing what came naturally, she could be heard to mutter, “tut, tut”, and sprayed them with poison.