Author: Alexander Fawn

The computer has been closed down and sits in the dark.

The room, like the house, is empty. Some family event sees them all elsewhere. A desk lamp flickers and comes on. The mouse moves slightly. The screen lights. Coloured pixels begin to dance. They gradually align and realign across the screen. Finally, they slow down and come to a halt. They leave a glowing shape of several spaced-out icons, maybe signs, maybe symbols or characters. No one was there to see what may well be a coded message. It may be something that people should know about. It may be important. This unexpected missive could well be a warning that the world should know about!

It sits glowing its communication out into the unlit room for a number of long minutes.

Abruptly the lamp and screen go black. There is no evidence that this had ever happened. Nothing was witnessed.

Whatever it was, it didn’t leave a message…

She walked the short distance from the bus stop alone.

She found the envelope with her name on it waiting on the kitchen table when she got home. Her mother had obviously put it there, knowing quite rightly that she alone should open it. Sitting alone in her room she thought back to the argument. Nobody heard the harsh words that passed between them; words that she alone responded to with such growing emotion. Only she knew the hand that had scrawled her name across the envelope. She knew that it was proper that she alone read the note that the young man had delivered.

No one saw her leave in the dead of night. Quite alone, she closed the door silently and left the house. Nobody saw her walk to the edge of the village where the river ran beneath the bridge. No one witnessed her clambering to the top of the bridges stone wall.  No one saw her standing there, clutching the note. Nobody saw her fall, and nobody heard the splash coming from the dark water below.

No one was privy to any of this… not even her.

She alone would know this story. Only she would know that this series of events, the entirety of which, from the moment she received his note, only played out in her mind. In truth, apart from being alarmingly overimaginative, she was a perfectly sensible person.

In fact, without hesitation, she flushed the note down the toilet.

They had been kicking the idea around for months.

Twice they’d sat discussing it into the early hours. The boys knew that they had to be very careful with respect to how they went about it. They knew it would be difficult and they couldn’t ask for help from anybody. The one thing they were absolutely agreed upon was that no one else could be told about it. Their plan was nothing short of astonishing. On the surface it looked impossible. This would have to be the most innovative idea that two schoolboys ever came up with. When the time came, they had everything they needed. They also had a detailed plan of action and with this the time and place were set.

It was once more in the early hours of the morning that they met at the abandoned airdrome at the edge of town. They entered the huge hanger and made their way to the empty, derelict office; empty save for their stowed apparatus. They quickly set to work preparing it.

On the face of it, most would regard the thing that they were attempting to do would have to be completely impossible, but… they did it!

The situation was getting worse.

The fact that it was night-time with a continual downpour of heavy rain made it just about impossible for him to make out who was shooting at him. The additional knowledge that his own gun had clattered to the ground some time back while trying to get away didn’t help. He had obviously walked into something that would be hard to escape from. He frantically looked around. The large truck parked in the middle of the yard would give him cover if only he could get to it. He took a deep breath and sprinted across and safely ducked down behind it while more bullets flew.

Now panting, he looked around from his new point of view. The rain still pelted down, but he could see that the side door of the administration building gaped open. If he could sprint once more and get inside he would have gained some decent cover with the additional possibility that he could make a call for help.

With a supreme effort he took off again as fast as he could. He had only made it half way when he heard the shot, it came from behind him. In that moment he realised there was a second shooter. Then, there was the burning sensation that came with being shot in the back. He staggered and fell. He realised the game was over for him and everything went black.

He ripped the virtual reality goggles off, and threw them down with a sigh.

Nobody knew what he did or why he did it.

It was a ritual he carried out once a week. Always the same day and time. The house he lived in was nothing special, on the outside. It was set apart in its own grounds, much like others along the lane. It had two stories and a basement. As for him, just an elderly gentleman who lived on his own. He’d been there for years; decades even. Always polite to his neighbours. He rarely went out. Just an occasional walk through the local park. He always had his food delivered. Generally speaking, his reclusive lifestyle had never bothered anybody. The truth was, nobody, absolutely nobody, knew anything about him. He was a hermit in suburbia.

When the time came, once a week, he would make his way down to the cellar, where he would carefully spin the dials on a small safe. It was mounted at eye level and when opened it contained a small socket with a display window above it. This week, similar to most weeks, it showed the number seventeen in glowing orange numbers. He pulled up his jumper and felt for the tiny plastic cover below his right armpit. Flipping it open, he pulled out the miniature plug. Stretching out the retractable spring-loaded wire, he plugged it in. He stood, patiently waiting, while the numbers flashed and changed. Finally, they came to rest at one hundred.

Then came the unplugging, the winding back of the plug and lead, snapping the lid closed, closing the door and giving the dial a final spin.

All done for another week.

Nobody knew that he did this… or why he did it.

He was in the car coming back from somewhere, when he felt it.

It was a tingling feeling up his arms. The boy just scratched himself at first, but when it got worse he pulled his sleeves up. There seemed to be lots of pimples on both arms. He’d probably rubbed up against some plant. He knew that they could do that. He’d tell his mum about it when they got home. He didn’t want to talk about it now, after they had such a nice day out. It was funny that he couldn’t remember where they’d been. There were almost home when the itching grew worse. When he checked again he could see tiny bits of fluff growing along each arm. It must be some kind of medical condition that he’d never heard of, he thought. He would sit down and show them both when they got in.

As they went in doors, he remembered that they’d been to the botanical gardens. He remembers watching the ducks take off and fly to the other side of the pond, where they skimmed to a stop when they landed. It was all coming back to him, how he’d been given a coin to toss into the wishing well and told to make a wish. In the living room he sat on the settee and pulled off his top. As he did, two great wings fanned out! His mother just stood and screamed.

It was the scream that woke him.

Frantic now, in the pitch black of his bedroom, he clicked his nightlight on and checked his arms…

She lay on the couch, not moving.

The room was quiet at this point and she was alone. Her period dress was not hers. She only wore it in order to play her part. The surrounding furnishings were in keeping with the time. A time long past. She would need to tell her story. Later, when the others arrive, she could help enact a series of events that explain her circumstance. In fact, the others would tell their own stories.

Meanwhile, with her head propped sideways on a cushion, her eyes where set looking upward. She saw nothing; neither did she breathe.

Somewhere up there in the black void, above the shimmering strands, something would foretell her every move.

The two young men used their torches to make their way through the wood.

The younger of the two lead the way. He was obviously excited about what he was about to show his friend. They came to a halt in a low lying clearing. He showed his friend what he had done by shining his light onto a freshly dug grave. His best friend and fellow player on the school rugby team was both amazed and impressed.

He scratched his head and said, “Wow!”

“It’s for the ratbag,” said the other.

“I don’t understand.”

“You know, for him.” He waved his torch across the opening. “We can put him down there. Nobody’s going to find him out here.”

“But he’s not dead!”

“He isn’t?”

“No.”

“But, your text. You said that you did the right thing and he’s no longer with us.”

“So?”

“Well, you know, no longer with us, dead!”

“Ah! Got you.” His friend smiled. “You thought I’d actually bumped him off.”

“Well, yes. You’re always saying you’d like to kill him. I thought you’d done it!”

The other snorted. “Nah! I reported him to the coach for selling drugs and he’s cut him from the team. That’s what I meant by no longer with us.” He sniffed. “Didn’t get much in the way of thanks from the coach. He all but called me a snitch. Said he was forced to report it to the authorities. Never did like him. Anyway, I’m thinking of leaving the team.”

He looked down into the hole. “Wow! I must say you went to a lot of trouble. I really appreciate it, you know.” He walked around it, sizing it up. “You look as though you even have the dimensions right. He’s a tall bugger.” He shrugged. “It seems a waste.”

He turned back to his friend. “How tall’s the coach?”

He was sitting in one of the best restaurants in the city.

The duck à l’orange was cooked to perfection and the oaked chardonnay was an excellent year. He was waiting for the man who would bring him the news in person; his accountant. The money he had made by taking an outside chance on the stock exchange would set him up for life. It had been a risky investment, but the results were truly staggering. He started writing figures on his napkin. He could well afford to be generous, a million here and a million there. For himself, quite apart from the new house, he had always wanted a Lamborghini Gallardo. Now, nothing could be simpler…

As the ideas for his latest story faded, he came out of his reverie chilled. Yes, this was good, he thought; I’ll type it up now before it goes. He pushed the skimpy bedding to one side and sat on the edge of his bed. He looked around at his tiny attic room. It was a hovel. He sat shivering. Then, he thought about the small electric fan heater he’d seen on sale. If I saved up for a couple of weeks, he thought, I could buy one!

It’s a great panacea, we call it the Net,

But it has to be said with a note of regret

That it really isn’t a flawless asset.

–

It seems that it is with dangers beset,

Like children playing with a chemistry set,

Or the unseen underworld-crimes onset,

With some of it being too hard to reset.

–

As for the developers, we are in their debt,

Sadly it’s something we tend to forget,

But an issue-free system is thus far unmet.

–

Was it something not seen at the Web’s outset?

The chance of corruption, always a sure bet,

And although a great many dreams have been met,

With users taking on a different mindset.

–

Some of it’s like a game of roulette,

With parts of it seen as a positive threat,

And so many sites being so hard to vet,

It’s used to stir up trouble, no sweat,

With scandals and lies causing upset,

No remedy for this has been found, as yet.

All this, since we were connected to the Internet.

But… despite these flaws, we worry and fret

When the bloody thing is hard to get!