Author: Alexander Fawn

Dating agencies bring all sorts of people together.

The well-established website said that it has long been helping people find the right relationship. She had posted her particulars and had been told that a match had been found. For the occasion, she had her hair done and wore her best dress. He had posted his particulars and had been told that a match had been found. For the occasion, he had his hair cut and wore his best jacket and trousers. The agreed meeting place turned out to be a very popular night club. There was a large noisy crowd there when they both arrived. The seats along the bar, the appointed point of contact, were almost full. She was there. He was there.

She was ‘Female, late 30s, seeks tall, dark, handsome male, for a bit of wickedness’. She sat nursing her drink, wondering whether she should have told anybody what she was doing. She had thought it would make her sound friendly and fun to be with if she used the word ‘wickedness’. That was really stupid, she thought. What sort of man would that bring out of the woodwork?

He was ‘Male, mid-twenties, seeks older, experienced woman for mutually rewarding relationship’. He sat nursing his drink, hoping that none of his friends would recognise that it was him using the dating service. That word, ‘experienced’ bothered him. He shouldn’t have said that; it makes him sound as naive and completely unexperienced as he actually is. What sort of woman is it that’s going to respond to that?

They both had photographs, but the low lighting didn’t help with the recognition. They never found out why they had both leaned forward over the bar at the same moment. Wordlessly, they managed to find a spare table in a quiet corner. They just sat smiling at one another until she spoke.

“You’re not what I was expecting,” she said, “considering the silly description I gave.”

His smile was radiant. He leant forward and whispered, “Likewise.”

She sat in the attic.

Her parents didn’t like her being up there. However, when their elderly neighbour from up the street came in to babysit, she had become aware of the opportunity to go up there as soon as the old woman fell asleep in the armchair, which normally occurred shortly after her parents went out for the evening. This was such an evening. She sat, cross-legged in front of the Ouija board. She had been given the opportunity to follow her passion for playing with the thing on several occasions. There was no doubt in her mind that it worked. She was convinced that on two previous occasions she had made contact with her great, great grandmother.

Both times she had struggled to understand what she was reading on the board. It seemed to her that her ancestor was trying to explain how some curse had been placed on her, preventing her to move on into the hereafter. There had been many references to a doll that the dead woman had owned when she was a child. The girl knew what she was alluding to, as the ancient toy, although now rather worse for wear, sat on a shelf in an old bookcase, right there in the attic. Her parents had said that it was probably worth a great deal as an antique, but they wouldn’t sell it as it was part of the family’s history.

Once more she sat trying to unravel the mystery and again was being told of the curse. Eventually the girl was told to be aware of the doll and concentrate on it with all her might. She was doing just that when it happened. The first thing she noticed was a slight rustling of the old crinoline dress it wore.

As she watched, the tiny arm raised itself and the little porcelain hand waved…

He just needed to do a bit of tweaking to get it finished.

During the early development phase he was able to make some radical improvements. For starters, he had to be careful with how the maximum load on the strudel assembly was distributed. Because the mankling assembly relied on a constant flow of air through the pandal chambers, each section of the tube would require extra spratly clips. The reciprocating action would need to remain in sync with the Armitage mobiliser. Knowing that excessive rotation of the hortling spindle would cause unwanted vibration, sprooksen mounting gimbals were set at alternating angles. It was found that the fine tuning of the crackle valves allowed for greater dreanal movement. He knew he had to be careful when aligning the stekle with the hubblings to maintain an acceptable balance. The fixing and tightening of brindling nuts to the transom’s casement had to be given the correct amount of torque, because the undongulated cycling pulleys were constrained transdusently with the infrastructure support frame.

Finally, it was done. He now had to consider the issues of putting together another one, maybe a touch more stylish, of finding a company to handle the mass production of it and a really good marketing outfit to get it out there for the punters to want it. How hard can that be?

When it comes right down to it, it’s only an electric toothbrush!

They finally cut the grass in the graveyard,

With loose grass just lying around.

The residents will have less insulation,

I guess they don’t feel cold underground.

 –

They finally cut the grass in the graveyard,

With yellow stubble now showing through.

The place looks even more untidy.

It’ll give the gardeners something to do.

– 

They finally cut the grass in the graveyard.

In one stroke they’ve sliced off the crop.

Leaving the bodies below in their coffins

That little bit nearer the top.

– 

They finally cut the grass in the graveyard.

At least it leaves a nice smell.

It’s a scent that brings thoughts of heaven.

Though considering the general neighbourhood,

Most occupants will be rotting in hell!

It started with a phone call.

He answered, only to hear a squeaky, child-like voice on the other end. Despite this, the caller seemed to be talking about some kind of ‘once in a lifetime’ deal. He checked the time. It was mid-evening and not the sort of time you’d think that these kind of phone promotions normally took place. He felt it was a prank, but continued to listen. The caller was saying that he had been selected on an entirely random basis. No money payments of any kind were involved, no products were being advertised, and the offer would only be made once. Having listened to all this, curiosity bit hard. He didn’t respond for several beats. He hadn’t switched the television on yet and he had nothing else planned…

“OK, just tell me what you’re selling,” he began.

“I’m not selling anything,” came the reply.

“But, there has to be something in it for you… or you wouldn’t be calling.”

“No. My part is only to act as a middle man, if you like.”

“Middle man,” the man repeated

“It’s simple, if you’re not interested in taking up the offer of a deal, my work is done. I can assure you that you won’t be contacted again. That’s how this thing works.”

“Ah! OK. You just said ‘this thing’. How about you tell me what ‘this thing’ is?”

“As I said, it’s simple. The deal is, if you sign the contract being offered, you will go on to live a very happy and contented life until your natural end of days.” There was a pause. “I am currently available.”

Shaking his head, he looked at the phone. He kept the chuckle to himself. A silent grin would have to do for now. This kid, if indeed it was a kid, was playing this spoof for all it’s worth. Maybe he should go along with it. After all, he had nothing else to do. Just to find out…

He heard a clicking on the phone, he put it back to his ear.

He said, “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” came the short reply.

 “OK. Let’s say I’m interested. At least to find out a bit more.”

“I’m in your area, as it happens. I can be at your back door in five minutes.”

He was still musing on the whole thing when he heard the knock. It actually made him jump.

With an unaccustomed feeling of apprehension, he walked through to the back and opened the door.

What he saw was a small, bald, dark-skinned creature, wearing only a loincloth and holding a rolled up document.

It had tiny horns.

It was her habit to watch the late night news before going to bed.

She had not slept well for a long time. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she got a full night’s sleep without it happening, the hovering ball, that’s what she called it. Jeepers! Now that I come to work it out, she thought, it must have been going on for over a year! She knows how run down she is, and she’s aware of the fact that her health is gradually getting worse. She knows that she needs help. They say that’s half the battle, don’t they? Just knowing that I need to overcome any embarrassment I feel, it has to be faced. I’ll make an appointment with the doctor, she thought. He’ll probably give me a referral to a psychologist or someone. I’ll make sure it’s the nice old gentleman at the practice, I’ve always been able to talk to him. Oh! Well. It has to be done. I‘ll call the surgery tomorrow.

In the surgery the following day she was telling the old man about her ongoing malady. She explained about the frequent appearances of the great hovering ball that floats over her when she’s in bed. She explains that she finds it hard to go to sleep with it there and it often wakes her up, because she knows it’s still there. She tells him that the horrible thing floats just below her bedroom ceiling. It kind of quivers from time to time, and it rotates very slowly. She says she remembers seeing an illusionist once on TV. He had a ball that he could make float. He would put a cloth over it, then hold onto the corners of the cloth, while the ball underneath would slowly rise. It defied gravity. Her hovering ball was just like that.

After listening patiently while she talked about her constant nightmares, the elderly physician asked, “I see. Can you describe this ball in more detail for me?”

“Sure. It’s like I said, it’s an ugly ball and it has these hideous little spikes sticking out all over it.” She looked uncomfortable. “I suppose you can recommend a suitable psychologist for me?”

He sat back with a smile. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” he said. “I think I can help you there.”

She lived in a flat, just a short bus ride from work and close to the shops.

Under normal circumstances, you would say it was pretty much ideal. It would be, if it weren’t for the really nasty guy who was one story up and directly above her. He spent every evening until late practicing on his French horn. Very often his notes were flat and that really grated on the ears. She bought earplugs, but that didn’t work, the vibrations were always there. In the end, it got too much for her. She called on him one evening and being as polite as she could possibly be, she asked if he could drop the volume a bit, as she was having trouble getting off to sleep. He stood smirking for a bit, then was extremely rude, using filthy language and laughed as he slammed the door in her face. After that, he played louder!

Quite naturally, this made her very angry. Despite the fact that she was just about flat broke, she bought a lottery ticket in the hope that it could make her life a little easier. Remarkably, it was drawn the next day and she won an amount just short of a million!

On the following day she handed in her notice at work and advised the landlord she was leaving at the end of the week and settled up. She went out and bought a new suitcase and an airline ticket. She also worked out her plan. There were three stages to it; the break in, the junk yard and the drop off. She would have to go flat out to get it all done in the short time she had before her flight.

The first part was easy. When the troublemaker was out, she broke in and took his wind instrument. The second part involved taking a taxi out of town to an auto wrecker’s yard where she arranged to have the instrument placed under the crusher. The guy wasn’t keen at first, but when she told him it was for an art project she was working on, he became quite enthusiastic. There was a flat fee, cash of course, for jobs that didn’t go through the books. She was happy to pay it. When it came out it was still recognisable as a French horn, despite it being no thicker than her smallest finger at any point. She was delighted with the result.

On the final day, she was on her way to the airport when she had the taxi driver stop at her old building, just long enough for her to leave a parcel on the front door step. It was the reshaped horn, wrapped in brown paper with its owner’s flat number written on it. It goes without saying, that the instrument inside the parcel was no longer playable.

It was truly flat.

He was turning his head, nestling into the soft cushion when he heard the voice.

At first it was barely audible, like words floating around in a dream state. This murmuring went on for some time before the voice took on a new clarity and a sense of recognition.

“Ah! Yes. There you are!”

Startled by this, he tried to open his eyes, but without success.

“Good morning,” the voice went on. “You imagine that you are laying on a sun lounge besides a swimming pool. You think you are on holiday, staying at a hotel on the Spanish Costa Brava. You are totally convinced that you are there for a week, enjoying the warm weather. This is an illusion.” A brief silence. “We can now explain that this scenario is false and put in place to enable us to keep you completely relaxed while we carry out our Earth Species Testing Regime. You were, in fact, transported to our ship several weeks ago; your time. All tests have now been completed.”

He gripped the sides of the sun lounge and waited.

“Normally…” the voice went on, “well, normally we would return you to your bed and make adjustments to your time period. This would allow you to wake up with the certain knowledge that you had experienced a particularly strange dream. Normally, that is.”

A long silenced ensued while the man, as warm and comfortable as he was, considered snapping himself out of it and looking for the waiter. He could do with another rum and coke. His eyes still refused to open.

The voice started up again. “Resistance, yes, understandable in these circumstances. The situation is not normal. As I have said, you could wake up in bed with all memory of what has really happened to you being completely erased. However, there is a choice here. It is one for you. Our testing protocols do not allow us to take you without… without your permission. We would like to take you back for further testing. This is very rare. We would need you for approximately three of your Earth years. After this, the same return and time adjustment would be made. This would all be carried out, but it would be followed by one major difference. On waking, you would find yourself in possession of a lottery ticket that would bring you a substantial fortune. One that would provide comfort for your remaining years.”

He wished he could open his eyes.

“You can open your eyes and give us your answer.”

He looked around. It was dark. It was a huge space. He lay on a hard table. He felt sure that he was naked under the sheet.

“Your answer?” The voice boomed now, filling the cavernous void.

His lips parted. “Yes.”

Moments later, he was fluffing up his pillow and nestling his head when he became aware of the ticket.

He sat up, switched the bedside light on and stared at it. He only had a vague memory of buying it. He would check the paper tomorrow.

Meanwhile, with the pillow comfortable, he dozed off back to sleep.

She was just one of those people who always managed to land on her feet.

She‘d had her doubts about the marriage from the beginning. Most of these misgivings were centred on his obstinate streak. He always insisted on doing things his way, whether he knew what he was doing or not. Despite this, she was willing to give it a go, on the grounds that it might improve as time went on. It didn’t. In fact, it got worse. The original idea was to get a place out of town, in a quiet rural setting, but this got shelved when the house they moved into came onto the market at a very attractive price. It was no dream home. It needed a lot of fixing up. Naturally, he considered that he’d watched enough DIY shows on TV that he didn’t need to get tradesmen in for anything.

In the first few months he spent most evenings and weekends stripping old paint and repainting, fixing broken sections in their garden fence, replacing several roof tiles and so on. As time went on it became obvious that the work he was doing was pretty shoddy and wasn’t improving the place at all. She was getting really fed up with this state of affairs when he said he thought some of the house’s wiring needed to be replaced. She had her doubts about this and said so. She suggested that he at least hire an electrician for this part of the renovation, but, of course, he insisted that he could manage it. He was up in the loft poking around in the wiring when she heard a loud bang. She went to the bottom of the stairs and looked up to see sparks were still drifting down from the ceiling hatch.

With the unexpectedly high life insurance policy’s payout, she bought a nice little cottage in the country.

No animal sounds break the stillness.

All creatures were taken, along with humankind, by the same radiation poison that eventually blanketed the globe. Mother Nature is slowly repossessing, with global warming cooling, with coral reefs and forests thriving.

But it is a silent world. A silent planet. Only the sounds of nature persist. Winds whistle and waves crash around and beside empty roads and buildings. Cities crumble with decay. No development, no expansion, no maintenance of what remains. No machines buzz or conveyor belts rattle, no pumps surge, no clocks tick. No servers humming. All digital technology dead. All forms of energy generation long gone. All stored energy depleted. Power stations and processing plants, silent. A dead and decaying world. A barren planet.

Hard to imagine; and not one single living soul remains for the telling of it.

This must be fiction.