Author: Alexander Fawn

The illusionist was riding high on international bookings.

He and his partner toured the world entertaining and thrilling audiences with their well-publicised performances for a number of highly profitable years. She would appear as his beautiful assistant, wearing scanty, glittering costumes. He, The Great Eldorfo, would put himself into the most impossible situations, keeping the audience breathless, then by some unfathomable means free himself! The fact that the illusions were performed so convincingly, held the customers spellbound. So much so, that when leaving the venue, they immediately recommended the show to any of their friends who had not already bought tickets. This became so regularly the case that their shows were so often extended, therefore adding another few days before moving on. This created a schedule that had the two of them working at a blistering pace.

It was probably this aspect of their lucrative act that brought on a rift between them. Although she was making very good money for showcasing him at every event, the fifteen percent of takings she had originally agreed to, no longer seemed to be anywhere near enough. This consideration became the basis for a growing number of arguments about what she was worth. Despite her putting forward a very reasonable case concerning her fair share of the profits, he simply wouldn’t budge.

After a particularly acrimonious confrontation on this topic, the following evening’s performance ended badly. The final act, one that involved him being suspended by the ankles in a large tank of water, went horribly wrong!

Several ghastly minutes of watching him struggling in the tank, had a stage hand come forward with an axe and the stage was flooded. After being taken down, the attending medics quietly pronounced him dead. The audience was asked to leave the premises in a respectful manner, while the distraught assistant sat weeping with a blanket wrapped around her.

What followed was the inevitable press coverage and a coronial inquiry that found it to be a case of accidental death. Soon after this came the approach from a publishing house with a generous offer for her to write her own story about her time with Eldorfo.

Naturally, the memoirs made no mention of the key that Eldorfo held under his tongue, that left the venue with her on the night, and nothing about how she had laboured for almost an hour on it, using her best sapphire nailfile, the evening before their fatal final performance.

After a great deal of thought over several years, he had come up with the solution.

It was the solution to… well, everything! He couldn’t help wondering how the rest of mankind would receive his discovery. He hoped that the unravelling of the hitherto secrets of the great expanding cosmos, and what this meant to the future of mankind, would be understood by others. He hoped that they would not take the unearthed concepts metaphorically. In practical terms, he could see the reasons for the creation of religions and the desire to worship gods, once fully realised, would give way naturally to love and piece, and a newfound sense that there was absolutely no need for wars, hunger or poverty. The mathematical proof of what he had brought to light was so shockingly simple, while at the same time inexplicably wonderful!

Unhappily, these earthshattering ideas were shown to be quite incorrect, when the dog from across the street explained in great detail where he’d gone wrong.

He woke up knowing that something was different.

He was still sitting in his armchair, but he felt different. He rolled his shoulders and looked down. He was wearing shorts and they were red! Surely, he hadn’t put on shorts that morning, had he? Wriggling around, he found that he could only wriggle, he discovered that he was no longer wearing his jumper, but some sort of green top with sequins around the neck. Then there were his shoes. Well, no, they were more like slippers that curled up at the toes. To top it all off, he had a hat on. He never wore a hat indoors. He had virtually no movement in his body, so he couldn’t actually see it. He couldn’t help thinking that was probably a good thing.

Squinting, he began to make out little bits of white material floating down all around him. Then, he became aware of the globe, and realised he was actually inside a large Perspex globe.

All of this reminded him of a horror movie he had once seen, where a man had been turned into one of Santa’s little helpers and trapped in a snow globe.

As far as he could remember, it had ended rather badly…

He sat unobtrusively, watching people stroll up and down the mall.

It was a warm day with only a few clouds moving slowly across a summer sky. Those moving around him were wearing clothes that now suited the weather. Customers criss-crossed the mall, sauntering in and out of the shops that lined either side of the walkway. His seat, one of several that were centrally dotted along the length of the place, was long enough for three, but the fates had allowed him to have it all to himself. It enabled him to better concentrate. He was surrounded by the noises that formed part of what had to be accepted in such a place. The main road, at the closest end, gave off a steady stream of traffic sounds, with only the occasional honk. He made allowances for these, prepared to block them out in an instant. People chatted as they passed, of course; just a babbling cacophony that was unintelligible by its very nature. Only the occasional word would jump out of the jumble. He could deal with these as well.

Although not apparent to the crowd that swirled around him, he was not really there to watch them come and go. Neither was he tired, nor merely taking a break from his nearby office. They need not know the reason for his stopping, but he was not there to enjoy the warmth of the day or breathe in the savoury aroma of the hotdog vender, just a short way off.

He had stopped to listen. He had been going somewhere like those around him, but he had stopped to listen. From the instrument shop he faced, came the music of Vivaldi. He had recognised the opening bars of his Mandolin Concerto in C Major as he approached.

He knew the piece; knew it was around eight minutes long. His day could wait. His workday could wait. He would sit for all three movements.

The world owed him that.

Harry had a little lamb,

How well cooked, he didn’t know.

But everywhere that Harry went,

The pain was sure to grow.

–

It stayed with him all day that day,

His ache becoming cruel.

No more roadside vendors,

He’d been such a fool!

The evening was warm and he was sitting on the veranda reading his book.

This latest story was particularly gripping. His penchant for the supernatural, especially ghost stories had always been his main literary interest. As he read, he became more and more engrossed. After a while he caught sight of a shadow out of the corner of his eye. He looked around, but of course, there was no one there. The ghostly descriptions in the pages of his book were truly compelling. Moments later, he jumped. It was as though someone had tapped him on the shoulder. Again, looking around, he saw nothing. Just as he was settling down again… well, it was as though something tried to get his attention by lightly stroking his ear!

He’d had enough.

Annoyed, he closed his book and went in.

This time of the year, moths could be a damned nuisance!

From the get-go, he had everything going for him.

He was brought up in a wealthy family. Both of his parents played professional roles in society. He received the best education. He was good at sport and literally cruised through university. The longtime girlfriend he’d been dating since his first year at Uni would have to be described as a real looker. Leaving academia with a doctoral degree in the field of literary studies, he soon found a well-paid position in the corporate sector. His glamourous girlfriend became his trophy wife soon after. From that point on, life went swimmingly, with the purchase of a large house that they planned to fill with children when they considered the time was right. This, together with a car each and the installation of a swimming pool.

His problems began when it was found that for medical reasons the time would never be right for them to have children. As time went on with the ongoing research into other ways of starting a family, their relationship soured. Following several months of unpleasant bickering, they divorced. She found solace by marrying a merchant banker and moved abroad, while he found comfort in a twelve-year-old single malt scotch whisky. As a result, he became a severe alcoholic in less than a year.

Now, with his employment terminated, his unpaid domestic bills steadily mounting, and the business of feeding himself and maintaining his oversized dwelling becoming an increasing financial problem, he sits in a bleak and lonely room contemplating his demise.

He ruminates on how often he has been haunted by the thought that during that first year in Uni, he really should have paid more attention to the tubby girl with acne who was always particularly nice to him…

He was confident that the world would see him as a good man.

Moral rectitude had been his byword ever since he was old enough to understand the concept. Anyone who knew him would say that he always treated others with kindness, was always quick to give a helping hand to those in need, and forever doing things for other people. He cared about others and was considerate about their needs. In fact, building new relationships came easily to him and was never given to complaining or being negative. He was genuinely thoughtful, had strong values and a friendly disposition. He was a good listener, taking note of what others were feeling. He was well mannered, kind-hearted, gave regularly to charities, quick to praise others and not one to hold grudges. He’d always been understanding when others made mistakes. He was honest with himself as well as he was to others and naturally generous without expecting anything in return.

In fact, he had lived an exemplary life… with barely a slip, but there was one; just one.

He looked around his cell, and thought about it. The slip that has him serving a life sentence for first degree murder.

It had probably all started with him getting a puncture.

He sat, trying to remember. Although, before that came the phone call from his neighbour, telling him about the tool shop selling screwdriver sets at half price. That might have been after the sink in the laundry blocked. There again, this was preceded by his daughter calling in and asking about the best way to get rid of the mildew on her Zinnia. Afterwards, he’d been on the internet trying to find out which of the streaming services had the old black and white, nostalgic movie, his wife said she would like to watch again. Ahead of this came the man at the front door, asking for a donation for the wild life charity. The way he remembered it, this was followed by the sound of an ambulance’s siren passing down the street. Previous to any of this, he’d been in the local shopping centre buying a newspaper.

Then, he’d driven home…

He wasn’t at all sure where the puncture came in!

After the unexpected greeting she was never the same.

It happened one Thursday morning on one of her days off. She was a part-timer at the local sugarcane factory. She entered the kitchen, still feeling drowsy after an extra-long lay in. This late start to the day probably gave the insects extra time to get themselves organised. She didn’t notice the writing on the fridge at first. The kettle was switched on and the coffee and sugar spooned into a mug before going to the fridge for milk. It stopped her dead in her tracks. It looked as though someone had used a black, felt-tip pen to scribble on her fridge door. It said, GOOD MORNING in block capitals. She immediately thought that she’d had a break in and rushed off to check whether the house’s two outer doors were locked. They were.

Returning to the kitchen she was frozen to the spot a second time. The message now read, WE’RE HUNGRY. After a lengthy time spent blinking and pinching herself, she moved forward. It was then that she could make out that they were actually tiny creatures, most of them only making minute movements, but at the same time maintaining enough order for the message to remain legible. There were over a hundred of them; teeny black ants.

Without any hesitation, from the cupboard, she took down a can of insect spray. She then approached the fridge, saying, “OK. Try some of this!” and stood back. She watched them begin to drop off one at a time, until they were all gone from the door. Now she had a scattering of the filthy dead things on the floor. She grabbed the dustpan and brush and swept them up. She was about to tip the bodies into the waste bin, but changed her mind. She turned the water tap on and emptied the pan into the swirling water. When they were all gone, she put the plug in, just to make sure.

Although she would never talk about it, it had been at this point that she had stopped to realise just how calm she’d been throughout the entire ordeal. Furthermore, she was certainly proud of the way she had disposed of the problem in such a composed yet assertive manner.

However, after that, she was never the same…