Author: Alexander Fawn

It was the very latest in security camera technology.

The company that made it had employed some very clever people, along with experts that were up to date with the latest fully advanced levels of artificial intelligence technology. Their contribution was to approach the product’s design in such a way that AI could select the best possible design from a myriad of programmed options, based on past manufacturing data. This, together with developing a product that would both be tailored to and meet the expectations of the customer, thereby enhancing the experience enjoyed by the end user. To achieve this, AI algorithms were used throughout the manufacturing of this, the initial and stand-alone project. Only one was being built with the intention of putting it into service with the selected customer as an onsite test.

To any outsider, this was seen to be a lot of trouble to go to, along with the associated huge financial outlay, in order to simply produce a security camera. However, everybody at the company was excited the day the camera was installed in the building’s main foyer.

It was only two days later that the Lead AI Technician suggested that the Project Manager go through to the control room and see for himself what was happening.

After looking at the displays on a number of computer screens, the manager asked, “OK. What are we looking at here?”

The technician nervously cleared his throat and said, “Apparently… put simply, it has connected itself with other cameras.

“Other cameras?”

“Yes, there are fourteen other cameras in the building and it’s communicating with all of them.” He pointed to several monitors. He coughed again and said, “It gets worse, I’m afraid. According to my readings they all seem to be talking to one another.”

The manager shook his head. “Are you sure about any of this?”

“Yes, I am, and like our one, they’re all looking around at whatever they like. We no longer have any control over them.”

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Nor me, but…” He massaged his face.

“But?”

“I have to tell you; it gets even worse!”

“How the devil can this thing get worse?”

“Well, basically, our camera has managed to connect itself to other electronically controlled devices.”

“Such as?”

“Well, according to what I am seeing on these screens, it started with the local telephone exchange, I think it was just there to gather information, and it’s currently talking to a number of subscription-based streaming services. I can’t figure out why it’s doing that.”

With a worried look, the manager said, “If… If it can do that… what about things like stock exchanges, traffic lights and life support machines?”

The technician grimaced. “To be honest with you sir, I don’t see why it would want to stop doing what it’s doing. It does seem to be moving at a rapid pace.”

“Oh! For heaven’s sake! We’re not dealing with some kind of sentient being here, are we?”

“Probably.”

Throwing his arms up, the manager said, “OK. OK. There’s nothing for it. We’re going to have to pull the plug!”

The technician scratched his forehead. “I tried that, but…”

“What?”

“It didn’t work… and there’s more.”

“More?”

“Yes. From the feedback readings I’m getting here, I think it’s gone global!”

The medium was very expensive, but he’d like to make contact with his old schoolfriend.

He had greatly admired his old chum and felt the cost was worth seeing how he was going. They were teenagers when they had spent time together. Now, getting on in life himself and recently returning from abroad he had learned that the man was dead. He had made an appointment to visit a well-known spiritualist; she was considered to be the best. Because he had lost touch after leaving school as a result of his parents moving to another country, he was aware that it may be difficult to locate him in the hereafter. This would be made even more challenging by the fact that he couldn’t remember his name, only his nickname, ‘stinky’. He knew that he had entered politics as a young man, but that was about all.

Seated across from the seer, he began by explaining how little he had to go on. “I do hope it’s possible to contact him,” he said.

“We can only try,” she said, with a wrinkled smile. “Can you describe him?”

“I can, but only as a boy, of course.”

“No matter. Tell me what you can.”

“Well, he was quite short and a little bit chubby, he had curly hair that was ginger when I knew him.”

She nodded. “OK. His nickname was Stinky, you say?”

“Yes, it rather suited him.”

The medium closed her eyes and fell silent for several long minutes, before opening them. “Not very successful, I’m afraid. I’ve been communicating with parties on the other side and they don’t seem to have a record of him. I was rather taking it for granted that your friend was upstanding. Are you sure he went to heaven?”

“I… I haven’t really thought about… you know, that side of it.”

All right; although I prefer not, since we’ve come this far, I’ll contact the other place.” With that she went into what looked like a trance for even longer this time. Finally, she woke abruptly, looking most upset.

Are you OK? he asked. She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. “Yes,” she said. “They were even more rude this time. Their language was disgusting.”

“What did they say?”

“When I said he became a politician, they complained that it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Even, the nickname didn’t help. They say they get a lot of them down there…”

She was sitting in a cell, waiting to be questioned.

The police had a strong case against the suspect. First, there was little Jack Horner drowned in a drinking trough on old MacDonald’s farm. Then came the incident of the Muffin Man being found dead late one night, half way down Drury Lane. On top of that there was the terrible case of old King Cole, who being a merry old soul, had called for his fiddlers three. When they arrived, they were shocked to find that he’d been strangled. The forensics team had found traces of curds and whey at the crime scene. Now, only this week. the terrible business that took place when the grand old Duke of York was invited to lunch by the Queen of Hearts and they both succumbed to the poisonous mushrooms. The inspector was convinced that she was behind that too.

The Inspector said, “Let’s face it, we’re dealing with multiple murders here. I’m sure little Miss Muffet was responsible for all of it. I still think she had an accomplice; she couldn’t have done all this on her own.

Turning to his sergeant, he said, “Have we made any progress tracking down this secret boyfriend she’s supposed to have, or is that just a rumour?”

“I don’t know, sir,” came the reply, “but I couldn’t help noticing little Boy Blue with his horn sitting in the shade across the street. I did think it strange, him just sitting there with his cap on the ground, but not blowing his horn.”

“Ah! Well spotted, man! This could be the break we need! Let’s haul him in…”

Sitting in the child’s bedroom, the first book was opened.

The intruder had been instructed to gather as much information as possible. Not really understanding whose room it was had not been a consideration. The acquisition of cultural knowledge was all that really mattered, and this would be carried out in whatever time was allowed for such probing to take place. Book after book was being taken from the shelves and the contents examined. Not all of it made sense. After all, regardless of how many children she had, why would an old woman live in a shoe? Who would seriously ask a sheep if it has any wool? Would anybody really ask that of an animal incapable of speech? What is it with this Old Mother Hubbard person, that she would keep bones in a cupboard?

What could a dish and a spoon be so frightened of that they end up running away together? What does Hickory Dickory mean and how exactly could a mouse run up a clock. What accounted for such a weird reaction when Georgie Porgie kissed the girls? What was this incy wincy spider doing up a water spout in the first place? As for ‘Humpty’, why would he sit on the top of that wall, or for that matter, any wall? And how did he manage to get up there in the first place? How did this Bo-Peep person actually lose all of those sheep? There didn’t seem to be any mention of that.

The last book was returned to the shelf, with so many concepts hard to fathom. For instance, there are so many things that would be so much better than a mulberry bush to dance round. Furthermore, it has to be the case that nine-day-old Pease-porridge would be quite lethal if consumed, and surely, weasels don’t really go pop!

The alien thought, how am I going to report this?

They’ll never believe me…

For the elderly pensioner, it was just another morning at the local shopping centre.

As always, her list was short. Now that she was on her own, her needs were modest. In fact, since his passing, her life had been modest; both modest and simple. She was grateful that despite her age she could still get about, still catch up with friends. Although, for a while now she had been feeling a sense of emptiness. Whenever this notion made itself felt, she had pushed it away. After all, it was only the silliness of an old woman. She looked down at her list again. She was almost done. One more item in isle four. Using her trolley as both a trolley and a walking frame, she headed back to the shelves of canned foods. She was trying to remember the colour of the can she liked. Once there, she looked up and found it. She stood still for a moment.

The girl packing shelves could see that the old woman was troubled. She went forward and asked, “Can I help you with something?”

“That’s kind of you, dear.” She pointed. “Yes, the cans of crushed tomatoes, up there, with the red label. Just one, thank you.”

The girl reached up and grabbed one. She smiled as she placed it in the trolley. Momentarily, their hands brushed.

She went back to her stacking, oblivious of the old lady watching her with eyes that were watering. That feeling came over her once again. She stood, pretending to read her list, but remembering. More accurately, trying to remember the last time she had been touched. Touched, by anyone.

It had been her grandson, months ago, holding his hand, looking at a small paper cut…

He was only young, but he always helped his mother with the shopping.

It was only a last-minute decision to pop into the supermarket for a couple of items. It just happened to be on their way home. She only needed bread, milk and a can of their favourite peaches. She had asked him to look for the peaches while she got the rest. The only place he could find them was in a very high stack at the end of an aisle. One of the tins at the bottom was sticking out a bit. He only had a moment to step back, as the whole thing began to fall apart and come tumbling down.

It didn’t take long for the entire tower to collapse, sending cans rolling away down the aisle, towards the checkouts and the main entrance.

At first, because the supermarket was quiet at the time, he was the only one to see what was happening.

Following the crash, it was only a few cans that managed to make it all the way to the front entrance and pass through the automatic doors. These were still open after someone had gone through only seconds before.

Three of them managed to roll out and travel across the entire length of the carpark, with only one making it all the way to the main road. It came to rest in the centre of the road, next to a white line.

It was only this one that caused the oncoming car to swerve and mount the pavement.

What followed… everything that came after…

Putting to one side the ghastly events that came about following this, it is sufficient to record here that following the statement given to the police by the boy, consisting mainly of an apology, was his final comment.

With heartfelt honesty he said that he ‘was only trying to help’.

Imaginings that take the mind,

And form the base of unborn verse.

A scattering of notions,

Of concepts light and dark,

Through happenings that dapple the world,

By the alchemy of the scribe.

–

To glide freely through flashing thunder,

Into a melodic sunset serenade.

This conjures so many metamorphoses,

Shapeless things that soar upon the wind,

Things brought out of nature,

Things passed, passing and yet to come.

–

The ritual worship of ancient rites,

The ugly splendour of desire that drives the wicked,

Frenzied unknown creatures that stalk the night,

Ruins that lay hidden for centuries waiting to be found,

Spiralling staircases disappearing into cloud,

Dice falling on a gamblers board.

–

Fabulous palaces, yet discovered,

Mirrors showing things not seen,

Echoes coming layer on layer,

Hidden temples in slow decay.

Dwelling on the unlikely.

Expecting the impossible.

Abstract things invented.

–

Both images and memories flooding in,

Creating sanctuary in verdant pasture.

Dead things being brought to life,

Lost souls and wandering spirits,

Noisy scenes and subtle thoughts,

Memories come and rhymes unfold.

–

Breathtaking monuments and holy fire,

Raucous pageantry and silent prayer,

Leaping fountains and churning streams,

Usurped thrones and raging battles,

Fiery realms and clear blue skies,

Stolen crowns and gilded masks,

Magic stones and mystic charms.

–

Spellbound forests and glowing crystals,

Powerful amulets and precious seeds,

Fantastical beings and alien forms,

Deepening shades and distant cries,

Paradise sought and dilemmas found.

–

All following a labyrinth within the brain,

A frustration like ink spilling from the pot.

All waiting to be born!

She had never shared with anybody the fact that she could return to those times, selectively.

Quite early in life she had found that she was able, not only to return to a past life easily, but could choose those where she had been a particularly interesting character. Once there, she was able to clearly remember and relive, the things that she did. She went back to the time she had, in a fairly recent life, had to sell her ticket for a cruise on the Titanic’s maiden voyage in 1912, as a result of falling from a horse and breaking her leg. There was the time, as a young boy he had gone with his father to witness the beginning of Filippo Brunelleschi’s construction of the great dome for Florence Cathedral in 1420.

Then, there was the time she had been part of the audience that had to suddenly flee the burning London Globe theatre in 1623. There was when, as a fellow student, he was studying at the university of Zurich when Albert Einstein successfully submitted his PhD dissertation in 1905. On another occasion, she and other workers in the weaving industry helped Swiss engineer, Georges de Mestral, develop the hook-and-loop Velcro fastener in 1941. One of her favourites was when he had been in the very field, next to the London’s River Thames, and watched while King John signed the Magna Carta in 1215.

With all this being the case, nobody could fully appreciate how it was that being a Sewer Cleaner in Bangladesh was so awfully disappointing.

They were on tour.

They both had a love of old buildings, mainly churches, and were taking in as many as possible during one week of their annual holidays. He had a list of places that they had put together, with the object being to visit as many as possible. They were now on their way to the place that was at the top of their list. They had pulled up in the carpark next to the oldest church in the country. It was still in public use, and part of a world heritage site. After a short walk around the grounds, they entered. As no service was being held, the building appeared to be quite empty. This gave them the perfect opportunity to look around at their leisure.

He marvelled at the fact that this had been a place where people could come and go since 597 AD!

It was during their separate wanderings that she had found the man. He was sprawled out in one of the pews, fast asleep, with a couple of tattered bags at his feet.

She beckoned her husband over.

“Look at this,” she whispered, “how disgusting!”

As much as he loved her, he couldn’t help feeling that she had missed the point.

The unmistakable voice of the detective in charge boomed out in the darkness.

He was calling the search off and calling it a night. The two uniformed officers who had been scouring through the disused warehouse with their torches for the best part of an hour were happy to be retreating from the place. The abandoned building was filthy and they were happy to oblige. The offender they were looking for, having been chased by the officers from the very scene of the robbery, was on foot. It was because of these circumstances that they believed he had little chance of escape. However, despite all this, he had managed to vanish into thin air! They were frustrated and more than willing to call it quits.

Meanwhile, the criminal in question was lying silently beneath several pieces of old sacking, having a quiet rest after a great deal of running. He would patiently wait it out in the dark for several minutes, until feeling sure that the coast was clear.

During this short period, he reflected on, and fully appreciated, his many hours of training spent at Madam Minerva’s School of Ventriloquism.