Author: Alexander Fawn

The latest pop idol just happened to have a facial tick.

Although he had suffered the embarrassment of it for most of his adult life, the fact that his mouth twitches, even when he’s singing, has only served to increase his popularity. In fact, this strange affliction has gradually encouraged his fans to emulate the condition more and more. It was around the time of his releasing his third album that the craze went viral, with his followers showing how well they could copy the singer through video clips being posted on social media. Naturally, not everybody was happy with this. When it was realised that many of those who had perfected the facial movements had themselves been stuck with them, a completely different focus came into play.

At first, it was the uproar coming from those in the medical profession that hit the newspapers. Then, lawyers became involved. Talk of a class action being brought about, mainly from the parents of children affected, loomed large in the press.

The singer in question, who had never really enjoyed the whole pop star thing, seemed to drop out of sight, with no new songs being released.

Some say he did it to avoid the potential legal action, others kept the rumour going that his twitch had disappeared and he was unable, unlike so many of his faithful fans, to properly copy his previous malady.

Not many were privy to the truth of it, knowing that with help from the criminal fraternity, he had undergone minor facial surgery, secured a fake passport with a different name, had quickly left the country and was now happily serving drinks behind the bar of a night club in Puerto Rico’s red-light district.

According to his list, there were two in the building that had to go.

The old woman in apartment fifteen and the young man down at number three. They were both due to pop off during the same evening. The nice old lady on the third floor didn’t go as planned. The Reaper had always been a bit of a sucker when it came to cards. He made his way down. He found the man in bed. He was lying on his back with his hand resting on his heart. He was obviously trying to get to sleep. Seeing the shadowy figure approach, he switched his bedside light on. He was a bright young man and wasn’t at all fazed by the sudden appearance of the visitor.

“Oh! You’ve come for me, I suppose,” he said. “I can’t imagine why. I’m too young for you to be interested in the likes of me.”

“Sorry, but you’re on the list.”

“List?”

“Yes. Two tonight, in the same building; doesn’t often happen that way.” There was a pause. “Technically, one, I should say.”

“Technically?”

“Yes. Well, the first…”

“Let me guess.” He interrupted. “You’ve come from apartment fifteen, haven’t you?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, but…

Again, the young man jumped in. “… and you played a hand of Gin rummy, didn’t you?”

After a moment of awkward silence. “Yes, but…”

“You’ve been conned, mate!”

“Conned?”

“Yep. She cheats. I should know. I played with her a number of times before realising the cards were marked.”

“Marked?”

“Absolutely! Like I said, you’ve been conned.”

Before drifting of to sleep, the young man heard, “Sleep well.”

Moments later, out in the hallway, the figure ran a bony thumb along the blade, before floating back up to number fifteen.

The night his fairy godmother appeared and granted him a single wish, he was cautious.

As ten-year-old boys went, he was pretty smart. At least, he was shrewd enough to say that he’d needed time to think about it. So, after a short session of amicable argy-bargy, he was given twenty-four hours. She would return to hear his request, in his room, the following evening. With that, she twinkled out the way she had come. Sitting dazed on the edge of his bed, he began to think. It had to be something really worthwhile and not something that would peter out after a while. Therefore, something of great value and permanent. He pulled the box out from under his bed. His parents had bought him a laptop the previous Christmas, with a number of games to go with it. He had quickly tired of the games, and despite it having internet connection, he put it away in favour of his preferred books.

That night, his machine had run hot into the early hours. He had been carrying out his research with such fervour and intensity for so long, that he was not aware of the time, until he heard the soft voices and movement of his parents turning in for the night. It was nearly one in the morning, but he had more to do.

He had taken that natural interruption to summarize what he had found. Working his way through dozens of websites, he had come full circle back to the idea it needed to be both worthwhile and permanent. The ‘worthwhile’ aspect had been relatively simple. He wished himself wellbeing; he was fully decided on that. He would continue with his quest to find a way of ensuring longevity.

He had imagined that it would need to be some sort of machine. Something that only he had access to, using some method of personal identification, much like an ATM; a withdrawal system. Unlike that machine, it had to be smaller, much smaller. In fact, the size of a mobile phone would be ideal.

That morning, he had finally slept for not much more than an hour before his mother had come in to wake him. Feigning sick, he had spent the day in bed, with cold tablets and hot drinks. It was during these hours that the final details of his wish were made crystal clear in his mind.

That evening, she appeared again. He proceeded to describe in great detail what he had decided. He explained that the small device had to have a permanent battery that didn’t need recharging. He said, it had to be opened by his thumbprint alone, pointing out that this wouldn’t change, unlike facial recognition, with the passing of time. He said it needed to emit a close-vicinity glow of wellness that would last for at least seven days, that he could use on a weekly basis.

After dwelling on all this for a while and showing no kind of emotional response, she waved her wand and disappeared in a shower of sparks. That is how and when, on that special evening, he was left with what looked like a cell phone on his bedside table.

During those early years, it had been kept in a small, lockable savings tin in his bedroom cupboard. As the years went on, and before he married and started a family, the device was placed in a similarly protected strong-box in a lockable drawer of his desk.

All that was a long time ago, well over sixty years. Back then he had decided and known that what he was granted would remain a closely kept secret between him and his fairy godmother.

Now, in the final years of his life, having derived so much constant benefit from what he was given, he wondered what its fate should be?

Repeating the sentiment that had started the whole thing, he decided that he needed time to think about it…

Had he not stopped in that exact spot, it would never have happened.

On the day of the incident, he had been on one of his many forest walks. Over the years, these sojourns, took him away from his busy life as the owner of several new-car sales yards, to places of peace and tranquillity. He had visited many such densely wooded places in countries around the world, always returning to his office completely refreshed and invigorated. On this occasion, wandering deeply into a large forest far from his home country, he had settled down for a break. His knapsack always contained a bottle of water, a container of peanuts, another with small cubes of cheese, a chocolate bar and a compass, as an absolute minimum. He sat on an open, leafy patch of dead leaves, eating, drinking and checking his compass when he felt something beneath the heel of his boot. It seemed to be something flat and solid. Brushing the leaves away and scratching deeper with his fingertips, he unearthed a stone plaque. It was a round, flat rock that had strange markings etched into it.

To discover a thing of this sort in such an isolated place was strange enough, but to find it engraved in that manner was even more perplexing. The characters that looked like letters, seven in all, were crudely formed with straight lines, with none of them repeated. There seemed to be a break between the first four and the following three.

After spending several minutes, he was sure he had correctly interpreted the two sets of markings. It made no sense whatsoever that the words were ‘blue car’. Naturally, the fact that he made his living from the world of selling automobiles didn’t escape his attention. He stood for a while trying to take it all in. He would never be able to explain what had motivated him to step on to it at that moment. Nevertheless, that’s what he did.

With an instant flash of light, blinding sunlight, the forest was gone…

He was now standing in a large graveyard. It was a bright day with the sound of traffic nearby. Shaken badly by the experience, he made his way along the outer fencing until he found his way out.

He was outside the gated entrance to the cemetery, reading its name when the vehicle mounted the pavement and ran him down.

It was not at all surprising that the car that caused the fatality was blue.

It seems to be the case that the sudden impact of it had caused him to fall out of bed.

He knew he had a problem with spiders.

For a number of weeks, it had been getting worse. Every evening, when he got home, he’d find them. There were lots of them! They seemed to infest every room in his small apartment. It was as though he had been singled out to receive a plague of them. He couldn’t help feeling it was some kind of vendetta. Sure, he’d stamped on the odd one, who didn’t! Maybe he’d squished a particular one, a special one. One that held some sort of superior status. One that was held in high esteem by the others. He couldn’t help smiling at himself. The idea was pretty fanciful. Gettig real, he would get a pest-controller in and have the whole place fumigated.

He made the call the following morning. The exterminator said he could call in at around lunchtime to have a look. It was agreed, and the owner was there when he arrived.

After a careful examination around the flat, he said, “You described it as a plague when you rang, I don’t think you’re far wrong! Anyway, I’m not carrying the chemical I need for this insect in the van. I can only use a spray to have them temporarily run for cover, until I come back, if you like?”

“OK. Let’s do that. At least I won’t have to see them everywhere.”

“I can do that quite quickly. Right now, if you like?”

“Sounds good.”

The pest man looked around and nodded. “I’ll just get what I need from my van, and then I’ll come back tomorrow to give the place the full treatment.”

This was done, so when the flat owner returned home that evening, he noticed that there were far less spiders around.

He watched a couple of television shows until quite late, while lying on his couch, and fell fast asleep. This was something that he was inclined to do from time to time. He would find himself comfortable enough, that he felt no need to get up and go to bed.

When he woke up to the sound of his alarm going off in the other room, he found that he couldn’t move!

He seemed to be tightly wrapped up in something. As far as he could make out, it was some kind of sticky silk thread. Masses of the stuff was tightly bound around the entire length of his body.

Fanciful, be damned, he thought.

Her husband walked out on her.

That was several months ago, with no sign of him since. He was a brute and she was pleased that he was gone and out of her life. That was how things stood up until last week, that is, when he showed up. He just came in and made himself at home, as though he had never left. He settled in very quickly and made no reference as to where he had been. At first, she found it all rather disturbing. However, she had to ask… Who was he? Is he someone local? What did he witness? Is he just somebody who somehow sees the opportunity to move into a better life?

Was that the simple truth of it; was he just an opportunist? She had to admit; he was very nice. He is certainly not my husband, she thought. He was in the back garden with his decomposing body helping her petunias to grow.

Anyway, she thought about it, he certainly plays the part well. He does all the washing up and brings her a cup of tea in bed every morning.

She decided to keep quiet.

Over a number of months, they spoke frequently on the phone.

He worked in an office at one end of the country and she in an office at the other. From the word go they had hit it off. He always looked forward to contacting her, with her happy, sing-song voice. For her part, she looked forward to his calls, with his calm voice and friendly manner. In no time at all, their communications became quite chummy. For two people that had never actually met, they seemed to just naturally get along. This situation would have remained this way, if his manager hadn’t suggested he attend a one-day seminar in the town where she worked. He readily agreed to this and at the first opportunity, during a regular business call, gave her the news and suggested that during his lunch break they take the opportunity to meet up in a nearby café. Although he detected a slight hesitation on her part, it was arranged that they meet up at a given time and place.

On the day, it is hard to say which of them was more surprised when they met, but regardless, they found a table and settled down with a bit of small talk. After he had ordered their drinks and when the waitress had brought them to their table and when they had each overcome their mutual embarrassment, she was the first to smile.

She asked, “So, how long have you been with the company.”

“About a year now, I started straight from school,” he said.

She nodded and said, “I got the impression over the phone that you enjoy your work.”

“I do. It’s interesting and the company is good to work for.” His eyebrows went up, as he tried to keep his voice normal, he said, “And you; have you been there long?”

She giggled. “Most of my working life, actually. I retire next year.”

It was all about mood, really.

If he hadn’t been thoroughly fed up with life when it happened, things may well have turned out differently. As it was, he’d been living alone since she walked out, been made redundant and been out of work for months, was having trouble paying the bills and feeding himself, had to sell the car to make ends meet and had been seriously wondering whether it was really worth going on for quite some time. None of this was his fault. It was the world he lived in that allowed all these bad things to happen to him, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it!

He was wandering through the high street, when the event took place. Right out of the blue, the stupid woman pushing a stroller with a kid in it, stopped dead. He banged into the back of her, cursing. It took a beat or two before he realised that she had more than just stopped… she was frozen! He looked around. They were all frozen; shoppers, pedestrians, traffic, everything! The few trees that dotted the median strip through town were stark still. Not a single leave was moving. No wind. No air movement. Looking up, he watched for a while to see that the clouds were not moving. Was he having some kind of episode?

He was doing this when, out of the corner of his eye, he detected movement. The thing that approached him from across the street, weaving its way through stationary vehicles, was around his own height, extremely thin and completely grey. Straight off, he knew that it wasn’t human. The thing seemed to be wearing a neck-to-toe, matt-grey wetsuit. Its head was oddly round, with eyes that were much too big, a silly looking button of a nose and a lipless mouth that sagged a lot. In short, it was downright ugly.

Coming to a halt in front of him, the alien, it had to be an alien, seemed to be saying, “I come to you, unsolicited…”

He looked around. Everything was still frozen. “What?”

“I have studied your communication, and I come to you unsolicited. Do you understand this?”

“Well, I know about unsolicited mail, I get a load of the stuff; it drives me crazy.”

“That is good. I come to you as representative of the Galactic Council.”

He sighed. “Look mate, or whatever you are, like unsolicited mail, I’m not interested.”

The alien flapped its spindly arms slightly, before going on. “We are here to carry out the Millennial Clearing Program and it is protocol…”

“Protocol?”

More arm flapping. “It is my duty to communicate with a representative of a targeted planet…”

His hand went up, “Hang on, targeted? What the hell do you mean by that? Some nerve; you’ve got. I mean, first, everything gets stopped…”

The skinny arms being raised stopped his reprimand. With what appeared to be a slight shrug, the figure turned and made its way back through the unmoving traffic, and disappeared into the crowd across the road.

After a few short seconds, everything began to move again.

That’s how it happened… before the clearing started.

It was only meant to be a quiet walk in the countryside at the time.

The student liked to take these breaks to wander around unfamiliar parts of the tiny island he lived on. Most of the island’s inhabitants regarded it as a paradise. It was a twenty-minute journey by power boat to the mainland. The people who lived there had always regarded themselves as self-sufficient. With a population of just over a thousand, they grew all their own food.

Meanwhile, the student, not knowing he’d picked up somebody else’s water bottle during chemistry class the day before, had taken it, along with sandwiches he’d made to take on the ramble. After a couple of hours of hiking, he began to look out for a convenient lunch and rest area. Passing a farming property, he found a suitable spot to sit. Having ate most of his food, he took a swig from the bottle. However, the bitter taste made him jump, causing him to drop the bottle. The fact that it fell into the drinking trough would have no significance until later.

The trough was on land owned by a farmer. He was the only dairy farmer on the island. His farm provided all of the milk for the entire community. It was noted at a later date, that the strange behaviour of his heard of cows the following morning drew little attention at the time.

The contents of the afore said bottle turned out to be the synthetic chemical, lysergic acid diethylamide, commonly known as LSD. It happens to be a substance that is both colourless and odorless, but with a bitter taste.

What followed during the next few days cannot be detailed here, owing to there being several court cases currently in progress.

It all began as soon as Marley was old enough to see the funny side of it.

Mr and Mrs Marley, Eric and Gertrude, probably thought it clever at the time, to name their son Marley. Quite naturally, Marley himself had no opinion about having Marley Marley as a name during his very early years. It was certainly of no concern to him back then that, in fact, his full name was Marley M Marley, but this was destined to change with the progress of time. Moving into young boyhood, he saw how confused people became when informed of the fact. He soon found that he could derive much pleasure by deliberately annoying people with it. He would get a kick out of seeing that look of frustration on their faces.

This form of ongoing amusement was good as far as it went. Unfortunately, there would be those occasions when somebody would ask him what his middle name was. This would all seem to fall flat when he had to explain that his middle name was Madison.

However, he knew how to fix this.

He just couldn’t wait for his next birthday to come around, at which time it would be legal for him to change his name by deed poll, without needing anybody’s consent.

Neither can he wait to be Marley Marley Marley and drive everybody nuts!