Author: Alexander Fawn

The woman had been on edge all day following the latest news announcement.
She was tired and very nervous. She’d heard it just before she left the office. The virus had gone global and was officially declared to be a pandemic. She hadn’t wanted to go to work, but had reluctantly decided to go in. There were rumours that the company was considering a complete shutdown. She looked around. The train seemed to be fuller than usual, although there were rules coming in about reducing crowds. The man sitting opposite across the carriage looked as though he was sweating a lot. His face mask wasn’t as good as her own. It looked a bit skimpy. His eyes were closed and his arms were hanging loose at his sides. The more she looked at him, the more uncomfortable she felt. Three more stops and she could get off!
The train slowed as it pulled into the station. The man’s bloodshot eyes popped open in surprise and his face mask dropped.
She screamed, “He’s got it!”

The man sitting next to her, not wearing a mask, but holding a paper handkerchief over his face, jumped up and pressed the emergency stop button. The train squealed to a halt and passengers quickly gathered around the exit doors, waiting to be let off. Meanwhile, the man at the centre of it all had been wrestled to the floor by a burly guy in a Hi Vis jacket. He had the man face down with his hands held behind his back. He was busy strapping his wrists with his belt when all the doors flew open. Within minutes everybody was out, standing around coughing, sneezing and complaining.
The sudden jolt of the train stopping was real this time.
She woke up.

The woman was obviously desperate to get in touch with her late husband.
She scraped up enough money to arrange a session with a reputable medium. When the time came she found herself sitting in a dimly lit room, at a small table, opposite the medium. After establishing who the client wished to contact, the medium slowly drifted off into a trance with her eyes closed and her head lowered. Several minutes went by before the medium began to moan softly. She could hear the voice coming from the other side, growing stronger.
The voice was saying, “My love, it’s wonderful that you’ve managed to get in touch…” This was followed by silence, but the medium felt there was more coming.
The woman across the table squirmed. “Are you getting through?” she blurted.
The medium nodded slowly. The voice went on. “I’m so sorry my love. The car crash stopped me telling you that it’s there for you, in the shed…”
“What’s he saying?” insisted the woman, in a desperate tone.
The medium lifted a finger to quiet her. The voice again. “The cash is packed into the old rusty toolbox with the broken handle.”

The medium slowly roused herself and opened her eyes. She looked at the widow and smiled.
“What’s he saying?” she repeated.
The medium stretched across and took her hand.
“He says he misses you and he sends his love.”

It all started when he gave the guy a lift.
There he was, driving across country, with a long journey in front of him, in the dark, and slowing down for a hitch-hiker. The lanky guy looked as though he would appreciate a little human kindness. He pulled up and the guy got in.
The first two things that happened should have told him it was a mistake. He got no thanks for stopping and the guy’s pong was really awful! After finding out that the guy was heading for a town about an hour ahead, and convincing him to put the seatbelt on, they took off. The conversation wasn’t the best, and the guy was overly fond of swearing. He seemed to be dressed in rags, with no visible luggage or possessions. The driver was considering asking the other to get out, when the long haired lout put his feet up on the dashboard with his legs crossed. When asked to remove them he just laughed. The driver did an emergency stop. He said, “I’d like you to get out.”
The other just laughed. “No way’ man. I’m too comfortable. Just keep driving.”
“I’m asking nicely,” he replied, “I’d like you to get out.”
At this the ruffian pulled a large knife from his boot and grinned. “I don’t think so,” he said, waving the blade around.
Shaking his head, and whispering, “Here we go again,” the driver got out, walked around the car and opened the passenger door. He shouted, “Out!”
The guy didn’t move, just sat there grinning, playing with the knife.
Moving very quickly, the driver grabbed the guy’s long hair and dragged him out in one swift movement. The man fell out onto the ground beside the car, and lay still. The driver turned him over and found that the hoodlum had stabbed himself, up to the hilt, in the heart.
He couldn’t believe it! He stood on the deserted roadside, thinking.
It was all a matter of conservation, he thought. A conservation of time and energy. Would he dig a hole and bury him or put him in the boot? He looked down at the big loser, mumbling, “What to do?”
It would be hard work digging a hole big enough, it would certainly slow him down; time and energy; his energy. He was tired. On the other hand, he could put him in the boot for now and push on, that would mean the extra weight would reduce his fuel economy; again, time and energy, fossil fuel energy. His cash flow wasn’t the best at present…
He went to the boot and took out the shovel.

Writer sat thinking.
It all began with the two men sharing a plate of party pies. It happened to be their favourite food, something that they had in common. The plate of five pies was a leftover from the company’s weekly mid-morning office meeting. Although they shared this gastronomic preference, they worked in very different roles within the workplace. One worked in the Finance Department, dealing with money, while the other worked in the factory, machining small metal parts. As a result of there being an odd number of these tasty morsels, it transpired that there came a point where both men sat looking down at the plate with a single item on it. The moment of indecision didn’t last long.
Money said, “Go ahead, you can have it.”
Without hesitation, Parts thanked his friend and polished it off.
Quite overcome with his friend’s unhesitating generosity, Parts had it in mind to purchase a box of six pies from the bakery at lunchtime and give it as a thankyou-gift when they left work.

Sometime later, still quite overwhelmed with his friend’s sacrifice, he became aware of a great opportunity to pass on an act of kindness when he saw a fellow worker in trouble. The man in question was the factory cleaner, his main occupation consisted of him sweeping the floors and gangways throughout the workshop.
Sweep had been stacking boxes to one side of the passageway when they had all toppled over. Parts didn’t hesitate. He quickly left his machine and gave Sweep a hand restacking them.
Because Parts had used his lunch break to buy the pastries, he had not had time to eat…
Writer paused.
He couldn’t help wondering why he had brought Sweep into it.
More importantly… where was he going with all this?

The boy had never liked his uncle.

He was never particularly nice to him when he visited and it was made worse because he often smelt of whisky. He had a feeling that his mum and dad didn’t really think highly of him either. He was a rude man and sometimes quite vulgar. He knew that this behaviour, together with his bad language, would often offend his mother. His dislike of the man came to a head the day he had got him alone in the garden while his parents were busy getting tea and laying the table. It started with him saying that it was about time they had a man-to-man talk about the birds and the bees. His uncle’s lurid and detailed descriptions, along with his unpleasant sniggering at the boy’s reactions had been a truly dreadful experience.
It was just a few months later, when coming home from school, his father said that he would talk to him later because he needed to have a man-to-man talk with him. Needless to say, the boy didn’t enjoy the prospect of going through all that business again. When the time came, his father sat him down with a serious look on his face. His father said, “Son, I have to tell you that your uncle passed away this morning.”
The boy found it extremely hard to hide his mixed feelings of surprise and relief.

Nobody really knows what became of Medusa.
One version tells of an incident that occurred only a few years back. It is said to have happened one sunny morning in a cave just a short distance from a small village in south-eastern Europe. They say it was there that old blind Boris, from that same village, encountered her. She was squirming around, the way that particular Gorgon was prone to do, when she heard Boris stumble into her hidey-hole. He was drunk again. He was a man of peculiar habits. He always wore dark sun glasses to let the occasional tourist know he was blind. Sometimes this brought about a parting of loose change for drink. One such visitor had recently dropped a pair of mirrored sunglasses that a kind lad had passed on to Boris.

Anyway, becoming aware of his presence, the mythical creature reared up in front of Boris with a loud hiss. This was something he took to be the wind coming down off the mountains. It was when she hissed again, even louder, that the old man realised that the sound was coming from inside the cave. The ugly creature’s eyes were blazing and ready to strike when he turned. The horrifying beam that emitted from beneath the wreath of wriggling snakes struck the mirrored surface of the lenses and bounced back. The cave fell silent. Boris stood listening.
Still wondering where all the noise had come from, he moved forward. By doing so, he bumped into something hard that clattered to the floor and was heard to shatter into tiny pieces before the cave became silent once more.
Anyway, that is only one version.
It seems that Boris found these events strange and disturbing. So, becoming uncomfortable with his present surroundings he concentrated on finding his way out of the cave and into the warmth of the sun.
Besides, he needed a drink.

The woman from number nine could set her clock by the old man across the street.
She saw him come out of his house at seven every morning, almost to the minute. He’d walk slowly down to his front gate and turn out along the street in the same direction, every weekday. It was his daily constitutional. He’d be gone for about fifteen minutes. She couldn’t help admiring his almost religious devotion to keeping himself as fit and healthy as possible. All this was true until that particular Tuesday morning. Being an early riser, she’d been sitting by her front window since soon after six, working on her needlepoint tapestry. At around seven-thirty, having seen nothing of the elderly gentleman from number eight, she began to wonder, and by a quarter to nine, she was definitely concerned.

Although she felt that it was not her place to interfere, there were good grounds for thinking that something was wrong. She considered the embarrassment that could result if she notified someone and it turned out that the old man had simply decided to have a lay in. To avoid this possibility, she thought it best if she made an anonymous call to the local police station to have someone check on him. Surely, this would be the neighbourly thing to do. By nine o’clock she could no longer ignore her anxiety and used her cell phone to look up the relevant number. She dialled and heard a friendly voice ask how he may help.
At this very moment, she saw the front door of number eight open slowly and the elderly woman from up the road at number seventeen come out.
She gently pressed the ‘end call’ button.

Some evenings she just wanted to stretch out on the couch and read a book.
This was one of those nights and she was opening her latest mystery novel at the bookmark when her boyfriend asked her if she wanted a cup of tea. She said she would and soon settled down to reading. As engrossed as she was in the story, she hardly noticed him putting it down, but managed to mumble a belated thanks as he walked away. She fluffed up her cushion and took a sip, quite unaware that he’d returned and sat in the armchair opposite, pretending to read a magazine. He was actually observing her. The book she had was a good read and she found herself getting involved in the plot and the characters without hesitation.
This was certainly one of her favourite things; stretched out, sipping tea, reading a book and getting caught up in a story. She had been reading for half-an-hour, when she looked up from the page with a sudden realisation. One of the main characters in the story had disappeared. He was no longer being mentioned, in fact… he was missing. She kept turning back pages in an attempt to establish when he had dropped out, but he simply wasn’t there. He was no longer in the book!

She took another sip of tea. He must have escaped, she thought, but characters don’t just fall out of a book… do they? She fanned the pages, lifted the book up and began shaking it. Her movements became more and more violent and she began bouncing up and down.
Eventually, she fell off the couch onto the floor, muttering, “I meant to do that. Now, let me see… yes there he is, the swine, he’s hiding under here!”
She lay on her side with her arm stretched out under the couch grasping at something. Gradually, the exhaustion of this made her contorted body movements grow slower and slower until eventually she became still. She slept for a few minutes while he sat watching.
When she came to, she was obviously confused about being on the floor. She struggled up saying, “How did that happen?”
“Not sure,” he said, “I think you fell asleep and rolled off. Are you OK?”
“I think so,” she said, as she made herself comfortable back on the couch. She took a small sip of tea.
“This tea tastes funny,” she said, picking up her book.
He suppressed a giggle. He considered the whole thing to be purely recreational.

A place there be,
A league beyond yonder tower,
Where most secretly,
Nestled in a bower,
Amid a patch of ugly weeds,
Where timid creatures hide and cower,
For the intrepid who would seek it out,
There, find a tiny, brightly coloured flower,
Which, being awakened,
With any late day shower,
Takes on some mystic attribute,
While earth’s nutriments it doth devour.
–
Refreshed, it grows ever stronger,
Towards the witching hour,
And at that time,
Takes on a special power.
–
For those who cautions do not heed,
Be warned, its effects are swift and dour.
–
It is best not to wander,
Beyond yonder tower.

She was a quiet girl with red hair, and naturally had the freckles to go with it.

As unremarkable as she was, freckles notwithstanding, in general appearance, she had recently discovered something truly remarkable about herself that would irrevocably change the rest of her life. It had come to her in a vivid dream, after falling asleep still holding the notes for her school essay on reincarnation. It was during this apparent slumber that it was given to her to know that centuries ago, and in a past life, she had been a powerful sorceress. At some length, she found herself engrossed in a discussion about spells and enchantments and how they can be used, with some unseen second party. More surprisingly, she learnt that these awesome powers were still with her!
On waking, she had real doubts about the validity of these revelations, especially the latter one. It was for this reason, and because she had woken extremely early, that she proceeded to test her powers with a number of demonstrations performed in her room, proving conclusively that all that she had been told was undeniably true. Somewhat shaken by the entire affair, she nevertheless realised that her life, going forward, would take on a completely different direction.
Although it was not at all clear how any of this would pan out, the one thing she did know was that the nasty boy that sat behind her at school, who continually called her spotty and poked her in the back with his ruler, will have a hard job explaining why his few facial pimples had so rapidly multiplied in number and had developed into large, yellow pus-filled blisters.