Author: Alexander Fawn

The four riders each had their own appointed tasks.

As a result of these diverse activities, it tended to make the work of the four horsemen quite lonely. In fact, there were often quests from each of them to have a catch up. Whereas their unholy way of messaging each other was quite reliable, trying to arrange a time and place to get together was extremely difficult. In short, Conquest, War, Famine, and Death all did pretty much their own thing, and wherever they wanted to do it. With Conquest going around bringing about all sorts of invasions and downfalls, while War ensures that there is enough conflict and battle going on between parties, whether they like it or not and Famine doing his really nasty work of seeing that as many innocent souls as possible go hungry and eventually starve to death and of course there’s Death himself, just constantly going around simply bumping people off willy nilly!

To the casual observer, it would all seem to be carried out in a haphazard manner with little direction or planning being considered necessary. As can be deduced, this makes their congregating especially difficult.

The latest attempt to do this started with Famine suggesting they all catch up in the meadow behind the abandoned church on the following Wednesday.

In this instance the whole thing fell over because Conquest was in a protracted occupation and takeover situation. War, on the other hand was ramping up the bloodshed and hostility required elsewhere and Death had his hands full, not that he minded, with the extermination and possibly the complete extinction of one hell of a lot of people.

So, under other circumstances, mind you there really are no other circumstances, but if there were, you’d have to feel quite sorry for them!

After deciding that he was impossible to live with, she kicked him out.

She could no longer stand his deceit. He was an unashamed storyteller who quite often found himself believing his own fantasies. Now, out on the street and homeless, he managed to scrape together enough loose change to buy a one-way coach trip to another town. There, he found work as a dishwasher in a restaurant, next door to a pub. It was in there, going in for a beer afterwork, that he amazed the locals, and anyone who cared to listen, with his descriptions concerning his recent trauma along with his terrible loss.

Although he didn’t like to talk about it, he explained that his beloved wife had recently died in a fire that burnt his house to the ground. Pressed for more details, several drinkers were told about how he’d gone back into the house three times to rescue her, and how each time he had been driven back by the flames. These conversations had given him a much-admired hero status. This led to most clients regarding him as a celebrity. A good number of patrons would arrive mid-evening and wait for his shift to end so they could buy him a drink.

Meanwhile, back in the town he’d come from, the travelling salesman who purchased a new pair of shoes from the store where the rascal’s ex-girlfriend worked, was told the true story. She was only too quick to tell him how she sent the rotter on his way. He had known both her and her ex-partner for several years and had never liked him!

Shortly after this encounter, the salesman found himself eating in the very restaurant where the fantasist worked. After the meal, he was on his way to the toilet when he spotted the con artist in the kitchen.

Now, it came to pass that only moments later, despite it being seemingly farfetched, which it probably is, the traveller, found himself standing outside the pub. Despite it being only early evening, he found himself vacillating.

Knowing that he had an early start the next morning, he was weighing up whether to pop in for a quick drink before turning in for the night…

He was finally out of her life.

It would need to look like a housebreaking and armed robbery that went wrong. It had taken a good degree of careful planning to cover her tracks. No suspicion would fall on her. She wasn’t even there when the robber broke into their apartment. She came home and discovered the body. She was told that the police would need to question her again, when she wasn’t so upset. As a result, she was expecting to hear from a detective with the CID. The detective in question was well known in the force. His work was truly exemplary. His clear-up rate of cases and the number of arrests he made was nothing short of remarkable!

There was a knock on her door. Opening it, the detective walked in, and without hesitation, he identified himself by showing her his wallet badge. He began by saying, “You now see me as a senior detective from the crime squad.”

She looked confused.

“The fact is,” he said, “I am a shapeshifter.”

She stood for a moment, trying to take in what he had said.

“A shapeshifter?” she blurted.

“Yes. Let me explain.”

She stood, still confused, but said nothing.

“You needed a gun, right?”

Her eyes went wide and she found herself nodding.

“I was the shifty, young man in the pub who gave you the address, and told you to knock twice, then three times.”

She gasped.

With a smile, he nodded and went on. “I was the woman in the apartment who sold you the revolver, and I was also the man in the clothing alterations shop. The person she had told you would dispose of the weapon for you, without any fuss.”

She could only stand there with her mouth open.

He grinned, saying, “You see how this works, right? Please feel free to tell people what I am. They won’t believe you; that’s for sure.”

He turned back to the door and gave it a knock.

A police constable entered, and after a nod from the detective he handcuffed the woman.

The detective said, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do say…”

He had left his laptop open; she stood, considering whether to take a quick peek at his story.

Her brother had always been very secretive about the stories he wrote. He had once told her that he didn’t want other people to read them because they may find them distressing. She had no idea what he meant by that. Sometime later, she brought the subject up again. She asked him why anyone would get upset about something as simple as just another story. He tried to explain by saying that there was a certain amount of magic involved when he wrote them. He said there was a great deal of mystic knowledge at play, whenever he typed things in. He said he wouldn’t expect anyone to understand how this power came into his life, unbidden by him. She felt he could be a bit too odd sometimes.

She could see the machine was open, peering through the crack in his bedroom door. He wouldn’t be back for some time. She was alone in the house. What harm would it do? She pushed the door open and went in.

Walking around his desk, she could see the screen was glowing white and active, with a page of typing on it. Moving forward, she read…

‘He had left his laptop open; she stood, considering whether to take a quick peek at his story…’

She turned quickly and fled the room!

He had always been fond of finding bargains in village jumble sales.

Despite being comfortably off, he could never resist them. To his way of thinking, it was amazing what could be picked up for next to nothing. On this occasion, having recently moved into a larger house, he was looking for anything he could use for the study he was setting up in their spare room. It was a large room that had previously been a bedroom. His wife had insisted that he give the walls a coat of paint, but beyond that, he could do whatever he liked. He had a chair, a desk, a bookcase and a filing cabinet already. He now needed something to make the space more personal. He didn’t want anything too modern. No, not at all.

He found something straight away. The cylindrical-shaped flower vase he was looking at would be a nice touch. It had an old-fashioned pattern in sepia, giving it an old-worldly look. It would be ideal for pens and pencils. He bought it.

Pleased with his instant find, he moved on. He now needed to concentrate on the main requirement, something for the room’s back wall. Currently, it was just a large bare area. He soon found a table with wall-hangings and a few small paintings, but nothing large enough to do the job. He was about to move on, when he noticed a large picture covered with a sheet, leaning against the wall behind. He asked the seller, an elderly gentleman, if he could take a look. What he saw when the sheet was removed, literally made his heart leap!

It was an old oil-painting that had seen better days, but had just the right feel of ‘times-gone-by’ that he was after. It was fairly large, just right for his wall. It showed a man and a woman, both dressed in black, with large, white ruffs. He guessed it was a scene from around the sixteenth or seventeenth centuries. He bought it for a song and couldn’t be happier.

When he got it home, his wife liked the pencil and pen holder, but didn’t think much of the painting, but she was happy that he was happy. On the following day he spent time putting it up in his new study, just where he wanted it. He stood back admiring it for a while, before calling his wife in. They stood and looked at it together.

What neither of them knew was that some thirty-odd years ago, two thieves, both dressed in police uniforms, entered the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston, Massachusetts and left with thirteen pieces of art valued at around half a billion dollars. To this day, none of these have ever been recovered.

One of these pieces was an oil-on-canvas painting, titled ‘A Lady and Gentleman in Black’ by Rembrandt.

In the whole scheme of things, it really is best that they know nothing of that.

The boy stood beside his mother while she made enquiries about the amount of material she needs.

He had been picked up from school and they were on their way home. He was staring at a nearby hanging of bright red curtain material. There was something mesmerizing about the colour. There seemed to be something strangely familiar about it, but he didn’t know what it was. His mother was busy getting advice from the assistant, giving him time to work on it. He took a few steps towards it and ran his finger down the material, but it didn’t help. The material his mum required was being wrapped and soon after they were going through the checkout. He was occasionally looking back, still trying to make out some kind of connection.

It was on the drive home when it came to him. He smothered a snigger as he finally figured it out. It had happened during the morning’s science class. It was the colour of his teacher’s cheeks when he had knocked over a large bottle of flammable liquid that covered the benchtop, then, reaching for the cloth to start mopping it up, had toppled the Bunsen burner on to its side, setting light to everything…

Yes, he thought, it was the exact same colour!

He stood for a long moment with his eyes closed and took a deep breath.

Was he falling off a horse or caught in an avalanche? Was he running for his life? Was he trapped under ice or being mauled by a lion? Was he being held in a cage or struck by lightning? Was he being shot at or trapped in a house fire? Was he being hit by a truck or buried alive? Was he being swallowed in quicksand or drowning out at sea? Was he falling off a cliff or being attacked by rabid dogs? Was he being bitten by a venomous snake or chased by cannibals?

No, not at all.

None of these things were happening…

He was grateful for that.

He decided not to dwell on these things.

Instead, he made himself a fried egg sandwich and listened to Handel’s Zadok the Priest.

His annual leave was confirmed and he had set his mind on going somewhere warm.

The year had been a particularly cold one. He’d spent a number of evenings on the Net, checking out the available flights and accommodation packages. Asia looked good. In fact, he had already decided to spend a week at a particular beach resort. He made notes about the chosen package. The timing was good because he had a work-free day coming up and he could go into town and get it booked. He could probably pick up a brochure at the same time. There were any number of travel agencies in town, but a few weeks back he’d found a glossy leaflet in his junk mail and held on to it. The Ersatz Travel Agency sounded very professional and they had a fifteen-percent-off deal for anyone producing the flyer.

On the day, he got into town early. It was very cold. On his way to the address given, he was thinking about being somewhere warm. As it happened, when he got there, he found the agency literally opening up as he peered through the window. A very nice lady let him in. She looked very smart in her professional uniform. She pointed to a chair in the reception area. “Please take a seat,” she said, before going behind the counter. “I won’t be a moment,” she said, and spent a minute or two setting up her computer before looking up.

She said, “Thank you, sir, for your patience. How can we help you today?”

Getting up, he said, “No problem. I’m here to make a booking…” He took out the leaflet. “I have one of these.”

She took it. “Ah! Very good. A young man will be with you shortly. Please wait there a moment.” She opened a side door and disappeared.

He was dreaming about being somewhere warm again, when he heard the front door open and watched as a number of customers trickled in. They all queued up along the counter.

A couple more, uncomfortable minutes passed, before a young man, rather scruffily dressed, took his place behind the counter.

“What did you want? he began.

Taken aback by the man’s attitude, he said, “Well, as I told the lady, I’d like to make a booking.”

“What sort of booking?”

Frowning, he said, “Em, a travel booking, of course.”

“Of course,” the man repeated. “You’ve probably got something in mind, I suppose.”

“I have, yes.” He started to think about being somewhere warm yet again, as he handed over his notes.”

Reading through it, the young man sniggered. Looking up, he said, “We can’t book this.”

Feeling the anger rising, he said, “Whyever not?”

“Just don’t like the look of it.”

At this, the other looked around, trying to ignore the queue. “There must be someone else I can talk to.”

“No mate. I’m it… and you don’t have to be rude!”

“Me? Rude? I think your behaviour is disgusting. I’ve a good mind to report you!”

The other scoffed, then, raising his voice, he said, “Look here. I’m trying to help you. You’ve been nothing but trouble since you got here!”

“Listen! How dare you talk to me like that?”

At this point, the side door suddenly swung open and the lady came out. She said, “OK. That’ll do,” in a remarkably calm voice. With a grin, the young man went through and closed it behind him.

Completely confused by all that was happening, the man who had simply wanted to make a booking, looked with a pleading expression as she took her place behind the counter.

“I just wanted to make a booking,” he murmured.

She nodded slowly. “Yes, well, you need to go to a travel agency for that.”

He stepped back and looked around. “This is a travel agency!” he said.

“No, it isn’t,” she said.

“Yes, it is,” he said. “I saw you switch your computer on. You can book anything you want.”

“Oh! That? No that’s just me logging in to my latest word game.” She put her head to one side. “No, sir,” she said, politely. “This is a Customer Support Training facility.”

“A what?”

“A training facility. It’s the very latest idea. It’s a government funded program designed to train customer support workers when handling rude customers.”

Gobsmacked by the notion, he just stood for a moment, trying hard to take it all in. He felt lost for words. He realised that the idea of being somewhere warm was the only thing that kept him going.

Smiling at the people queuing, she waved her hand and they all trouped out.

“That was stage one,” she said.

“But…” he began, “the Ersatz Travel Agency?”

“Yes. Clever that, really,” she said with a smile. “Ersatz; a German word for something fake or substituted.”

He looked around again. “But… you can’t possibly get away with this! I mean, it has to be illegal to con people into coming here.”

“No. I assure you; the legal people gave the program the green light. There’s no chance of anyone suing.”

“But, your customers… your fake customers, they’re going to get very angry when they find out they’ve been hoodwinked by you people.”

She nodded in agreement. “This is stage two.” She put her palms up.

“Angry, yes, and rude; very rude some of them. That’s the whole point, d’you see? That’s what it’s all about. It’s what we do here. It has to be as realistic as possible. It’s all in the very nature of it; for the training, I mean.”

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “I suppose so, but I’m extremely annoyed about the whole thing.”

She smiled at him, knowingly. “I know you are, but not very rude.”

“I’m not?”

“No. In fact, I think you qualify for one of these.” She reached under the counter and handed him a slip of paper.

“What’s this?”

“A free lunch voucher, valid in the food hall at the local shopping centre.”

He took it with a nod.

She said, “The Minister for Training is normally here to hand these out, but he’s away on holiday this week; somewhere in Asia, I think.”

On his way out into the street, he felt a blast of cold air. Once more, he began thinking about being somewhere warm.

You would have to say, the woman was a constant visitor.

Every day, at the same time, she would come into the cemetery carrying a large bag and take from it her little fold-up stool. At this same grave, with its marble headstone, she would settle down for anything up to an hour. She would talk to him constantly, only taking the occasional breather to pause and look around at what she saw was a lovely and fitting environment for him. Then, there was the sadness. The self-recrimination, the crying and the ongoing guilt. It is not clear what brings this on so regularly during her times there. Perhaps she was in some way responsible for his passing. Maybe, she had seen him off and had managed to get away with it; or there again, maybe she hadn’t.

Meanwhile, there are times when she, the one that constantly listens to these communications, tires of them. She tires of the repetition. Although, she thinks it’s all quite understandable, she knows that the man that the woman comes to visit has fully passed over long ago.

Whereas, she, his old neighbour, on the other hand…hasn’t!

Only he really knows how this could advance his ongoing plan.

There’s been a lot going on up there of late. Weeks, no months of excitement and expectancy, with rallies and marches. There have been campaigns, posters, slogans, speeches and debates. Of cause, there are the polls, so evenly balanced. Which way will it swing? The whole nation up there has been going nuts. He, like millions of others, holds his fiery breath. Preparations are in place should it all go his way. The giant celebratory bell that sits atop the great gateway is made ready to sound…

The outcome of all this frenzy, all this madness could bring him one step closer to furthering his plan. A great boost to his steady progress in converting the world above into a second domain for him to rule.

The results are in…

Let the great bell ring out with the sound of victory!