Author: Alexander Fawn

He’d only been awake a few minutes.

It started when he was shaving. Those images from last night’s TV news report! The war, the devastation, collapsed buildings, people starving, families, children. Then, that one horrific scene that somehow got seared into his brain. He began slapping cold water onto his face to shake himself out of it. Then, later, on the ride into town, the thought of all those poor souls without food or water. Again, all through the morning, in the office, thoughts of what those people were going through. It all came flooding back, again and again. He found himself wondering what he could do. There was very little, of course. Nothing he did could possibly have any effect on a war that was raging in a different part of the world.

Seeing that it was close to lunchtime, he thought he could show some kind of solidarity with those who were suffering, by keeping today’s lunch simple. When he entered the nearby café, the one he usually went to, basically a burger joint, he didn’t order food straight away, the way he usually did. He only ordered a cappuccino and sat at a table where he could easily read the large menu board, up above the counter.

He normally had a burger with extras. He was looking at these; namely the extra cost of adding, Bacon, Cheese, Mushrooms, Tomatoes, Pickles, Lettuce, Jalapenos, Chilli, Mayo, Onion, avocado… It was at this point that he noticed the new special offer on a board sitting on the counter. It announced the half-price Mega Burger, with THE LOT! Tuesdays Only.

It was Tuesday.

He was a leader in the boy scouts and he played the pipe in the marching band.

On his way home from band practice, he called in at the supermarket. Somehow, he’d mislaid the short shopping list, but was sure he’d remember once he was in there. He parked and went in with his bags. Walking down the aisles, he had found the first few easy items. It has to be said that Peter simply loved peppers, particularly the pickled variety. His supply at home was very low, so he needed to build his stocks up again. He reckoned that he needed a quarter of a bushel, which was about two imperial gallons, that’s why he had brought an extremely large and very strong bag with him.

This extra-large bag was also really heavy so; after paying at the checkout, he wheeled the trolly out to his car and opened the boot. Getting back in the car, he found the shopping list. It had slipped down the side of his seat. He sat checking the items. He’d got everything on the list. Happy with that, he returned to the boot.

Back at the trolly, he immediately saw that his large bag was missing!

This begs the question, that if Peter the piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, where’s the peck of pickled peppers that Peter the piper picked?

Although he’d been using his computer for years, he didn’t know about eggs.

Easter eggs, that is. Those sneaky bits of programming snuck in by software programmers, just for a lark. Hidden bits of code that make things happen when some weird set of key strokes, or more precisely, a command, is typed in at the keyboard. It’s just some bizarre activity that these people get up to. Go figure! Anyway, this guy simply hadn’t heard of them, until quite out of the blue the topic came up one weekend at his tennis club. One of his regular partners, a player that regularly lost when they played, told him about it in the changing room. This followed a game that saw him thoroughly beaten once more. Despite this, he was most informative on the subject, giving examples of where you could find them, hiding in places like Word, Excel and even Google Search.

He was so fascinated with the idea, that when he got home that day, he went straight to his computer and tried a couple. His friend had told him where he could find them.

Over the following days, with a bit of research on the Net, he found more and more hidden gems. At this point you could say that the whole thing had become an obsession. So much so, that when he caught up with this particular tennis partner again on the following weekend, he felt that he had to tell him all about it, after thrashing him yet again.

It was during this follow-up conversation that he was told that there were a number of truly spectacular easter eggs that were concealed on the dark web. In fact, he knew of one that he’d been given some time back, but had never tried himself. He was quick to point out that the dark web wasn’t really a good place to spend time in. He had never wanted to take the risk.

Despite this warning, the new easter egg enthusiast pressured the other to provide him with details for both entering that part of the web and the phrase he needed to type in to generate what sounded like a very special egg.

That same day, he planned to spend time delving into this latest adventure during the evening. He would need to follow the very specific instructions received in order to enter that veiled part of the internet. Then, he would have to have his wits about him once he was in there. It had been explained to him that it wasn’t a place where you wanted to make mistakes!

He felt the unrestrained excitement building during the afternoon. So much so, that when the time came to sit down at his computer, his fingers were trembling. Trying hard to steady himself against the growing sense of anticipation, he carefully followed the instructions that had been written down for him.

As he entered that part of the dark web he’d been directed to, his screen went dark. He supposed that made sense. Then, he meticulously entered the phrase he’d been given and waited. After a few seconds the screen went from dark to black. This was black, black. It was pitch-black, the sort of black you get when the computer is switched off. He sat wondering for a while whether this was the case, when a great heavy, red circle slowly formed. It filled the screen. Again, he sat staring at it. After several more, long moments passed, a group of extremely faint numbers began to appear inside the ring. They gradually became larger and sharper until clearly visible. Now, in large, bright red characters, it read ‘120’.

It was just a number: for the best part of a minute the image remained on his screen, giving him time to consider what it meant. He hadn’t made any progress on that score, when the number changed to ‘119’, then a moment later, to ‘118’…

It was at this point that he realised that these were seconds and they were counting down. He had a bad feeling about it. At the same time, he became aware of a smell. It was as though something was burning. Then, he looked on in horror as smoke began to rise from the machine. It was at this point that he felt that something pretty awful was about to take place! Seeing the counter now read ‘58’, he jumped up and ran out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

He was in the lounge room when he heard the explosion.

Poverty comes in many forms.

Mother and daughter sit quietly in the kitchen when the doorbell sounds again. The woman puts her finger to her lips. For her child, she pretends it’s a game. After a spell of silence comes a loud knock. Moments later, another, even louder. The man’s voice announces that he is sorry, but no money means no groceries. Today, she will prepare a meal for them both, with what little she has.

She knows that their meagre food supply needs to be rationed carefully.

Elsewhere…

Mother and daughter sit among the rubble of where their house once stood. The rumble of distant explosions is ever present. They seem to be getting louder. The woman prepares a meal for them both, with what little she has.

She knows that their meagre food supply needs to be rationed carefully.

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!