Short Stories

This page will include ‘SHORT EXCERPTS’ from a selection of stories which have appeared in a recent book of mine ‘Collected Short stories Vol.1 ‘

One of two stories in the book have won awards within Australia, one of those was FISHING.

THE BOY WHO COULD TALK WITH BIRDS

Please note the wording has been spaced to make the piece easier to read on this website.

I was eight when it happened.  
This was a time I remember so well. You can’t always remember like when you are grown up, but you can put feelings into places and things, and now I am where I am I can tell you I remember that night so well. 
Seven o’clock.  

Dad always picked me up at seven every Friday evening. I would sit with my bag packed, along with a favourite toy, ready, watching, but not watching. You know when you can’t take your mind from what you want to do, but you must pretend you are doing something else. I would set the microwave for every half hour when I got home from school.  

At first mum used to get mad at me, then later she didn’t care.  
So I came in from school, got changed, and set the microwave, waiting, watching the television, not watching, listening but not listening. I sat there on the lounge, immobile, bag between my legs, staring at the screen, but taking no notice of what happened at all.  
The bell would ring on the microwave at six thirty, and I would rush into the kitchen knowing I wouldn’t get to hear the seven o’clock bell, for now I would be really listening, listening for the sound of tyres on the gravel outside, watching for the sweep of lights across the front door as he turned into the driveway.  
Sometimes I could recognise the sound of the motor as he turned into our street, but that wasn’t very often, there were always other noises trying to block this out. 
But it would be magic when I heard the car because I would be waiting by the door and be out before he stopped.  
As soon as I heard him, I would pick up my bag, and say goodbye to mum, who didn’t seem to notice if I was there or not.  
I would then give dad a hug when I got into the car, and he always smelled the same, a warm musty smell which seemed to envelope me, like it was a comfortable smell, I felt so much better when I knew that smell was around me.  

I do not remember a time when he wasn’t smiling when I got in, and he laughed a lot even when I knew deep down he didn’t feel like laughing.  
But I never knew him to get out of the car at home. Funny now to think of it, because it was only later I realised he never did get out of the car, and mum never came to the door, it was like I stepped across an invisible stream, it was cold and uninviting, but dad was waiting on the other side, so I stepped across. I always stepped across, every Friday, and it was then I felt happy.  

It was amazing, all weekend I would feel good inside, and felt free, like it was the real me, and I hated going back across that stream on Sundays. 
On that special Friday, the stream must have swollen or something, because I heard the bell ring on the microwave at seven o’clock. I moved over to the front door and sat in front of it, waiting and watching.  
There was no sound of crunching gravel, no sound of the motor as it slowed to turn, no sweep of lights across the front door, and I sat, silent, wondering why I felt so cold inside.  
I don’t know how long I sat there, my mind was stuck in an empty place, but suddenly I was being wrapped up under the harsh glare of the lounge room, anger, noise, mum, the Grogan her boyfriend, me being pushed, pulled, pummelled and finally driven off in the car. I was going to be ‘babysat’ and I knew I didn’t want to go, and wished I could stay instead by the front door, where I could be cocooned safely within my hope.  
It was possible, maybe the microwave had broken, and I was sure that soon the lights would come, the gravel would crunch. Then fear began to stare at me, and I began to feel the stream had turned into a river and was now too wide to cross.

Winter, it was very cold, I breathed the silence of the night, clutching the thin sleeping bag around me, listening for the sounds in the grass, the trees, under bushes, there was an entire world alive within the silence of the night.  

But I felt so very cold, and then I smelt the strange smell, and I knew it was burning, the burning of rubber and flesh, and before me I saw a mangled pile of metal lovingly wrapped around a tree, and out of a crumpled broken window hung an arm, a loose, limp, arm.  
It was then, in the blackness of that night, that I began to cry, because I knew he was dead, and never would I see my father, my very best friend, again.  
He had disappeared from my life like a puff of smoke on the breeze, and I felt I was in a tomb of ice, as though a part of me would be frozen like this forever, and I knew there was no real tomorrow, no heaven, no dark secret place in the future. This was now the end, and I knew my life, at eight years of age, would never be any good again.
 

“It’s typical of the bastard not to ring. I mean it’s half past seven already and not even a fucking phone call!” 
“Well Anne, he has always rung you in the past, maybe he’s broken down somewhere and can’t get to a phone, he does have a fair way to travel.” 
“That might be the case, but what the fuck can I do with that little shit Erin, we are due at the party soon, and I’m not going to drag the little runt along with us, he won’t go to sleep, and will end up being nothing more than a fucking pain in the arse.” 
“Give it a little more time then, maybe Julie will look after him if he hasn’t fronted by then, sure she will look after Erin, no risk, she’s always after an extra few bucks.” 
“Yea, it’s money I don’t fucking have do I, I’ll get the money out of that bastard of a father of his, I’m bloody sure he’s earning enough. I’ll give Julie a ring and get Erin ready, at least it will drag him away from that fucking door, come on lets fucking go, if the bastard turns up after this it’s his bad fucking luck”

It was easy to recall so much before that time, and it always seemed to me it was only ever me and dad. Yes, mum was always there, and I’m sure I loved her, yes, she was there, but sort of not there, a bit like a cardboard cutout, and when she gave me a hug I knew she didn’t know how to mean it, would rather be somewhere else, doing something she wanted. 

When I was little, it was always dad, reading to me, telling me stories, the amazing Mr. Black and his friend Fido, dad lived with us in the house then, until one day he suddenly disappeared for a while, and never said where he was going.  

There were lots of phone calls, the sudden re-appearance of the Grogan, hours spent in strange houses, and me waiting for life to start up again.  
Then it did, but only for Fridays, and sometimes, if I were lucky, it could be Thursday. 
Me and Dad did everything together, we went foraging about in the boat, fishing the lakes and the around the rocks, playing tennis, cricket, golf, walking the bush, climbing up what seemed to me to be mountains, and it appeared to me that dad knew all these wonderful things to do, and we would spend forever doing them together.  

On those weekends we spent every minute with each other. 
I did bring a friend along with me once, it didn’t work out, he only seemed to be in the way, so after that I never bothered.  

Dad was funny as well, he made me laugh when he made up these silly stories, and all this I really believed would go on forever and ever. My life would start at seven o’clock Fridays and be put on hold at seven o’clock Sundays.  
Sometimes there were school holidays, and my Fridays seemed to go on forever like I knew they always should. 
It was during one of these holidays that I got my Beak, my clever little Lorikeet. He was a little angry at first because he was only a baby, and he had been injured, but he grew up very quickly and soon became my absolute best friend, next to dad that was of course.  

Sunday evenings became not so bad then because I could go home and see my Beak, my beautiful multi coloured Beak, and we soon became close, and he taught me something that dad tried to tell me, something I didn’t really believe, until my Beak told me all about it. 

On that early morning, when I smelt the burning, and knew dad was gone forever, it was my Beak that climbed into my mind, and it was only by thinking of Beak that I could stop crying, because I knew he was at home, and soon we would be together, only there would be only him and me now.  
I knew I was crying because I was sad, I didn’t know if I would ever set the microwave again, but I wasn’t in my own house, and all I could do was watch the corners of the room appear, and then I knew it was another new day, and another different life. 
Mum came to pick me up, she gave me a hug, it must have been like I was treacle, or something she didn’t want to get on her hands.  
“Why have you been crying?” was all she could say, and I knew she would get to know soon enough. 
She pushed me out of the house and towards the car. 
“Hurry up Erin, let’s get home and out of this bloody rain.” 
“Dad didn’t call did he mum?” I asked. 
She didn’t answer, and I wondered why she smelt so sour.

When we got home, I knew the Grogan was there, somewhere in the bedroom, and I knew it would never really come near me, not ever! With the animal there I would only be in the way, like I always was when they were together, so I went into my bedroom with my Beak, and we watched the window together as the rain ran smoothly down the glass. It didn’t look like it would ever stop, and I did not care anymore, because I knew I had to wait for the phone call in case the days had somehow got all mixed up, and I could wake up and go and set the microwave again. 

Then I heard the phone ring, and instead of mum being all angry inside, like she often got, she sort of went strange, I could feel it crawling around the house, and although mum was in the kitchen when she took the call I knew it wasn’t one of mums friends, she was only sitting and listening, then I realised she’d put the mobile down.  
Mum must have sat by the phone for quite a while, then I heard her take a bottle from the cupboard and pour herself a drink.  

After about fifteen minutes she finished her drink and went upstairs to where the Grogan was. I didn’t care then, not one little bit, I wished I were an ornament in a corner somewhere, so they would ignore me.  
Sitting with my Beak, watching the rain still tumbling down, I knew the earth, the world, my world, was feeling sad.  

The Beak was noticeably quiet on my shoulder, but he shuffled closer, and snuggled up to my ear. I felt he was also miserable, and had something he wanted to tell me, so I waited. 
Mum came into my bedroom after a while, and I could tell she had already had another one of her drinks, because she had gotten rid of the sour smell, and it was now like she had swallowed an old fire lighter.  

It all seemed so strange, because it was a weekend, I wouldn’t normally be there, and I didn’t know what to do, it was a Saturday, and I should have been with dad.

 

“What’s the time George?” 
“About eight thirty. So, how do you feel?” 
“Fucking awful, what do YOU think?” 
“It didn’t take you long to see off the bourbon, you were drinking like a woman possessed.” 
“Yeah, well I needed to loosen up a bit didn’t I.” 
“Still, we had a good night, everyone got stuck into it, and I enjoyed the fucking, must have, I can still smell it.” 
The woman sat up in the bed laughing, then coughed into the pillow. She turned towards her lover.
“How about getting me a coffee and a couple of Panadol, mind you I might need something stronger the way I feel.” 
“You can get that yourself you lazy tart. I don’t like to encourage my women to lie around doing nothing.” 

With a smile the woman rolled herself out of the dishevelled bed, coughed again, and lit herself a cigarette from the packet on the bedside table, it lay next to the remains of a joint which they had shared late the previous night.  
She could hear the rain outside, which began to add to the grey depression, which was creeping over her, helped by the ever-increasing hangover. 

It was another day on top of yet another day which seemed to roll along in this grey malaise of a coastal village in which she lived. Anne made her way slowly down the stairs towards the kitchen, then suddenly remembered, Erins father still hadn’t called last night, and the boy was at her mate’s house.

She went over to her phone and saw there were no messages, no phone calls. She flopped down and stared at nothing. It was now more than twelve hours since Erin’s father had been due to arrive, and there wasn’t even a word.  
Anne knew this was weird, he never missed, and she shivered suddenly and uncontrollably, something was about to change, of that she was convinced, and she sat quietly smoking in the still of the kitchen, watching the mobile, willing it to break the silence. 
 

They arrived back at the house after she had picked Erin up from the babysitter, and knew this wasn’t a normal weekend, or even a normal day. The woman was not used to having her son around, especially when her boyfriend was about, she spent every weekend with him, it was something she had gotten used to. 

Luckily, her son wouldn’t ever go into her bedroom, as though it was some big fucking secret that George could be in her bed, yes, she was pleased he would stay in his own room, which was downstairs, and out of the way, he spent a lot of time down there. 

She was sitting on a stool in the kitchen when the phone rang, it was right next to her and made her jump, and she began to feel scared. If she didn’t answer, did it matter, so she let it ring out, if it were anybody they would leave a message. 

The phone dinged, yes there it was. Picking up the mobile again she listened to the remote voice, hung on to the word deceased, then replayed the message, wondering vaguely how they had managed to track her down. It didn’t matter now did it. Erin’s mother listened to the message again then threw the phone across the kitchen, it hit the wall and smashed. 

‘FUCK!,FUCK!,FUCK!,FUCK!,FUCK!,FUCK!,’ she shouted to no one, and looking down at the patterned floor, wondered what the sticky shit was she going to do now, as the knowing fear crept into her stomach, as she realised she would no longer get her regular child support payments.  
‘Maybe he has an automatic withdrawal coming out of his account,’ she thought to herself, ‘I hope the fuck he has, otherwise I’m well and truly fucking screwed.’

Getting up she slowly made her way up the stairs to her bedroom where her lover lay dozing on top of the bed. She wished she could climb back into bed herself but knew she couldn’t.  
“George, George, wake up.” she shook his shoulder gently. 
“Oh shit, what the fuck is it?” 
“The cunts gone and killed himself in a car accident.” 
“You sure?’ 
“Of course I’m fucking sure you dumbo.” 
“Oh shit! How did it happen, did they tell you?” 
“No, they didn’t, still investigating, but they said it happened on the Jamberoo Road, which is fucking weird because it’s miles out of his way. I suppose it doesn’t matter now does it. I mean he’s fucking dead, that’s all there fucking is.” 
“Well, you’re going to have to go down and tell Erin.” 
“Yes, I know, that’s going to be the fucking hard part. I will go down there now and get it over and done with.” 

She went back into the kitchen where she lit another cigarette, and after taking a couple of deep drags she put it down on the ashtray, this was going to be the tough bit, she knew that. 
Slowly making her way through the lounge room she walked downstairs towards her son’s bedroom, she found him sitting on the floor staring out of the window, his pet bird sitting on his shoulder.

 

Mum gingerly put her arm around my shoulders, and my Beak jumped down onto my bed. She felt a little warm because it was always cold in my bedroom. 
“Erin, I have to talk to you” 
“It’s okay mum. I know what it is, dads been killed hasn’t he?” 
“Yes Erin, he died yesterday.” She spoke softly. 
“Okay mum, thanks.”   
Then she told me dad had gone to Heaven, and he wouldn’t be around anymore. She sounded a little sad, but why she was that way I didn’t know, because she often said dreadful things about dad, in reality she said a lot of bad things about him all the time. 

Of course, he wasn’t my dad anymore, because he was dead wasn’t he, and was now nothing more than that old arm hanging out of that window, upside down in his smashed up car. 

I knew there was no magical waiting room, a place where you met everybody again, no, he was gone forever, and I would miss him, miss him so very very much, and I wondered why he had to die, and to think I would never ever see him again, it really wasn’t fair. 
Erin turned again to face out of the window, his mother had never felt so useless, she didn’t know what else she could say, what she should do. 

“I’ll make you some breakfast and bring it in to you Erin,” she then turned and walked back to the kitchen, not understanding, realising her son must have somehow known all along, which was impossible, because she had taken the call only ten minutes ago, and there was no way he could have heard anything.  

She pushed the slightly disturbing thought from her mind and putting another cigarette in her mouth and walked back towards the kitchen to prepare some breakfast, of a sorts.

   Laying back down on my bed the crying started again, because right then I realised my life had finished, it had been good, but now it was a nothing. Mum had left the room, I was pleased, because I had to get out of that house, it was all too strangely weird for a Saturday, and I hated it. 
I forced myself to get up and went to get my coat from the cupboard.  

My Beak went with me everywhere, and he settled down in my pocket, all cosy and nice. There were those noises from upstairs again now, where the Grogan and mum were, it was good, because they would never know, and she obviously had forgotten about me again, there would be no breakfast now.  
I opened the bottom window and slipped out, not really sure where I was going.  

Knowing dad loved the sea, me and my Beak made our way slowly along the edge of the lake towards the ocean. It was still raining a little, but didn’t seem cold now, and it was good to have no one around at all, it was only me and my friend the Beak. 

Looking up I watched as a Sea Eagle flew across the water, it had lost its friend last year, someone said they had found it dead on the on the shore, and now this poor thing was all alone, and was often chased by smaller birds, only because they didn’t like him. So now he was a lonely old Sea Eagle, without a friend at all to talk to. Seeing him fly further down the lake it was then I saw a strange thing. He came down to land amongst a group of old Cormorants who just sat there and watched as he flew down amongst them on their rocks, they even seemed to make room for him.  

My Beak stirred inside my hand which was holding him in my pocket, so as it had now stopped raining, I let him out and put him back onto my shoulder. He didn’t mind at all sitting there, even though we were getting closer now to the larger birds, and I knew my Beak was happy to be out by the lake, and with me.  

Dad had often spoken to the birds, in fact he used to speak to most things, and even when I thought none of it was true, it still felt very right somehow, as though we always belonged here together, beaks, animals, rocks, trees and even the old fins dad would catch. He would have a quick word with them, before putting them back into the water, my dad never liked killing things.  

I shivered then to think that would no longer happen, and suddenly the world seemed an incredibly sad and lonely place.

 

When I got to the beach there were thousands of gulls and terns working their way off from the shore. The gulls were making a great noise as they flew about and the terns were heading high, then free-falling with their wings tight against their bodies, hitting the water at speed. Then with a flutter they would stretch up and take off again into the sky.  
My Beak was now safely back inside my pocket, but he was awake as I could feel him moving around.  

Further out to sea I could see hundreds more birds heading my way, and above me the sky was becoming very crowded.  
Out towards the horizon I could see a beautiful rainbow hanging from a rain squall, with dark scudding clouds chasing each other around the world. 

It was then that I saw him. At first, I wasn’t sure at all what it was, it seemed to have come straight out of the rainbow, but then I saw it was this huge Eagle, and he was heading at speed straight towards me.  
He wasn’t the one I normally saw, and I stood and watched as he got nearer and nearer. 
“You can see him now Erin, can’t you,” and I listened to my Beak talking, and I knew it was time for me to bring him out again.  

Putting him carefully back onto my shoulder he shuffled up to my ear and whispered,  
“Isn’t he big Erin, must be the biggest bird we have ever seen. But look up now, look above you.”  
So, I looked up and saw high in the sky, above the gulls and terns, what I was sure was the same old Sea Eagle who used to live in this area.  

This made me feel so very happy. I then turned and looked behind me to see an enormous flock of Black Swans coming down the lake, to land in unison gently upon the water which lay behind the beach. 

I walked back across the beach and climbed a sand dune, this was where dad had shown me that you could get a full view of the lake as it stretched back into the distance.  
It was simply amazing, I saw thousands more birds heading my way down the lake. There were a big mixture, all different kinds, Ibis, Cormorants, Curlew’s, Cockatoos, and even Galahs.  

The wind had started to blow quite hard and I watched in awe as all these birds started to gather together and fly around above me,  I was in the middle of a typhoon of my feathered friends. 
“What does it all mean, please tell me beak.” 
“They have all come to greet the new Sea Eagle, he is almost here, just look at the speed he is moving.” 
“Yes Beak, I can see him, isn’t he the most magnificent bird?” 
“Well Erin, you will get another surprise soon, just watch,” and as all the Gulls, the Terns, and all the other birds, began to settle down on the beach and the surrounding dunes, this beautiful bird flew low across the tide line, he was simply enormous, even for an Eagle, and then he began to circle above my head. I craned my neck, his shadow was huge as well, and I called out to him loudly, 
“Mr Eagle welcome.” He turned slowly, gliding through the air, and slowly, gracefully, descended down onto the beach, a few metres away from where I stood. 
“Hello Erin, come over here, I want a closer look at you,” spoke the Eagle, and it was then I felt an enormous warmth surround my heart, I was uplifted, surely this wasn’t happening to me, but it was.

   “Come on Erin, over here, I want to give you a kiss.” 
It was the voice of my father, I knew it was him, he had come back to me, and I had never in my life felt so happy, and as I made my way towards this beautiful enormous bird my Beak whispered in my ear.  
I laughed and cried as I fell onto my knees to talk again with my wonderful dad.

 

It was Sunday afternoon, the old lady was taking her dog for a run on the sand.  
She hadn’t been able to get out for a couple of days because of the rain, and it felt good again to walk the beach.  
Her dog was a young dog, and the woman was used to it being excited, but she felt she had to go over to see what he had found when his continuous barking was obviously trying to tell her he had found something important.  
She walked around the back of the dunes, and was almost alongside her dog Smokey when she saw the small boy. He was lying in a shallow depression in the sand, and was on his back with his eyes closed, with a beautiful smile on his face.  
It was obvious he was dead.  

Emotions can play tricks and it was eerie, because she didn’t feel any shock or sadness, because the boy appeared to her to be so happy, and, well…serene. Then she saw, clasped in his hand which lay across his chest, a small multi coloured bird, it also had died.  

After firmly quietening her dog, she knelt alongside the boy, then putting her hand on his soft blonde hair she began to stroke it lovingly, wondering what he was doing there, hidden behind the dunes 

She hadn’t heard of anyone going missing, and was certain she would have known. 
It was then she looked skywards and saw two large birds circling high above her, and behind them flew a much smaller bird, and knew then they were a family, and she felt pleased and happy for them.  

Looking back down at the boy she wondered fleetingly why he appeared to be totally dry, as the incessant rain had stopped only an hour ago.  

The old lady stood up slowly, feeling her years, and decided, for no logical reason, to keep this her own secret, she knew now it didn’t make any difference, there was nothing could be done for this lost life, and standing silently she thought about her own imminent death, which she knew crept ever closer. Very soon there would be no beach, no sky, no little Smokey her dog, it would all be taken from her, and her life would cease to exist.  
Sadly she realised that none of it ever made any sense. 
  
 
  

FISHING

Please note the wording has been spaced to make the piece easier to read on this website.

Sunday morning, five am. It was damn cold.

“Come on dad, lets get going, we’ll get that five thirty train easy.”
“I’ve got the rods, tackle, bait, all ready, so lets get going, they’re out there waiting for us dad. But it’s really freezing, so good ‘rugging-up’ weather eh!”

I wanted to get to the river early, Sundays, the blokes get out there no matter what the weather.

It was only a two carriage train, single line, taking us away from the city, and deep into the countryside.

There had been a flurry or two of snow, but the day promised to warm up, and looking out of the carriage window the light was beginning to etch the trees against the skyline, under which stood cows stood all huddled together, frigid, steam coming from their inflated nostrils, getting ready to die no doubt.

The train was quiet this time of the morning, we’d never had a car, but I was happy with that, I could concentrate on what was out there, waiting for us.

This was all about the planning, the understanding, reading the signs. Dad had taught me all this when I was a nipper, I was defiantly ‘small fry’ then.

We always went on a Sunday, it was a darn sight better than going to some bloody church to be threatened with hell if you didn’t comply.

Dad told me the only time he ever went to to church was when he got married, mum had insisted, dad always did what mum wanted. 
You know, I never heard them argue, not even once, and mum was a truly great person, always smiling, happy, until the Alzheimers that was.

No, I won’t go there, if that’s the way God looks after his flock he can stick it!

The train ride only took an hour, but what a difference it made, hardly any houses, no stinking high rise, the air would be fresh, clean. I knew that.
“Come on dad, we’re here now.”

The platform was tiny, there was no station master, it was far too early, so I picked up the rods, and carrying the fishing creel over my shoulder we were off.

With the sun coming up we had timed it right, still cold, but once you stepped out it didn’t take long to get warm, the goosebumps would disappear to who knows where.

It was quiet, but the birds were up and talking, they always seemed happy to me, living in their own world, just above ours. I know, when I come back, I want to be  bird, a Wandering Albatross would suit me, spend all my time cruising over the ocean waves, that’s the shot!

Although I’ve never seen the sea, but one day me and dad will get there I bet, after all, we do just about everything together, always have done.

He really is the best ever dad, and my best friend.

We walked away from the station, it was a narrow country lane with hedges on either side, no one was about. It felt good to get moving, and I knew we were going to catch some fish, and if only we could get a pike, well that would be marvellous.

The full story will be appearing in my next book of short stories

PLATFORM 1

Pulling back the starched white sheets I suddenly felt the cold in the room. I clambered out, disengaged, and when I placed my feet upon the lino floor it was then I noticed the new black suit folded across the chair.
Hanging on the back was a white shirt, and over it draped a black silk tie.

Rubbing my eyes I looked again, and tried to remember. I know I hadn’t owned a white shirt for years, and certainly didn’t have a black suit. But there, on the chair, lay these scrupulously clean garments.

Bending down I smelt the newness, saw the sharp creases which were a legacy from a steam iron, then looking around I noticed the room was lit with an eerie green glow, as though a storm cloud had crept into the room overnight, and had become trapped.

Maybe I’d left a window open, and one of those early morning fogs had slithered into the room. Weird though!

Everything was so still, hushed, silent. This was unusual for this household, and the road outside, it was always busy, yet this morning, there wasn’t a sound.

Staring at the new clothes, well they certainly smelt new, I began to dress, somehow it seemed right I should put them on, I don’t know why.
Strangely I felt my whole body aching, every movement was an effort.

The crisp white shirt felt good though, and slipping on the trousers everything appeared to fit.

I stood up straight, stretched, it was an effort. Shoes, yes there, under the bed, was a pair of my own shoes. They had been cleaned and polished, yet I never clean my shoes, and low and behold, tucked inside, was a pair of new socks, with the sticky label still attached.

This shocked me even more. Plain black socks. I had many pairs of socks. Christmas and birthdays I got at least 4 pairs, red white, blue, yellow (yes yellow), patterned, stripes, plain, you name it, I got it. Yet never to my knowledge had I ever owned a plain black pair.

Life was becoming stranger, was I dreaming, surely not.

The tie could create problems, seldom had I worn a tie, but as I dressed I didn’t have to worry what I was doing, I was on automation, going with the flow.

Yet, the total silence was deafening, and walking over to the mirrored wardrobe the vague hazy reflection of my face started to churn my stomach.

I looked so white, so very pale, and on the rise of my cheeks there was, what appeared to be, bright red powder, or maybe even rouge.

Me, with make up, that never happened, and my eyes, felt out of focus, like looking into a pond that was being ruffled by a breeze, rubbing them they still wouldn’t work, what on earth was going on!

Ok I thought. Could my eyes have gone bad, too much reading, or lying on my back staring at the sun!

Fully dressed I walked out of the room and gently closed the door.

Making my way slowly down the stairs the threadbare carpet looked even more worn to me, you could see the brown strings holding the thing together, so I was being careful, the shoes felt slippery, I didn’t want to slide down on my backside.

How many thousands of times had I walked down these stairs, it had been many years, almost a lifetime.

Unusually, for this house, there was a lack of aromas, they usually crept about the house, but there was no bacon, no toast, no sausages, not even the lingering smell of a recent shower. Shower I thought, maybe I should have had a shower, I just didn’t think about it.

Maybe everyone had gone out, or unusually were still in bed, the place was always so busy, and having no idea of the time I couldn’t even recall what time I had gone to bed.

I never get up early, and liked my mornings between the sheets, lazy, yes possibly, but I hated early mornings, that was for the bloody birds.

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, and sensing something, I looked around, there was my dog Stryder, my old mate, loping towards me, but everything appeared in slow motion, like a film being run at half speed.

He stopped and looked up at me, then barked a couple of times, I saw him yap, but couldn’t hear a thing, and he never barked at me, so why now, what had changed with the mutt?

It was then I worried about my sanity, was this real?

Habits. Seldom changed habits. Walking along the hallway I gently pushed open the door to the kitchen, and got a shock.

My whole family were there, sitting around the old wooden table, looking, staring in my direction, and not a word being spoken.
They were all dressed, as though they were going on a trip.

Little Margaret, my darling daughter, well not so little now, had obviously been crying. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her eyes glazed over and red.

They all still remained completely silent, not a mummer, like showroom dummies, fixed in one position amidst an eerie sense of depressed tranquility.

Opening my mouth to speak I saw my wife looking straight at me, she put two fingers up to her lips, and slowly shook her head.

The full story will be appearing in my next book of short stories.

STEEPLE

The people of Marly Gomont were very proud of their little community, and in particular their fortified church, but more so they were proud of their steeple, at ninety eight metres it stood majestically pointing up towards the skies of France, whilst staring across the superb valley of the Oise, a wonderful green land made famous by Paul Cezanne in 1880.

There is little of the village, which is situated in the Prefecture of Laon, as is often said, blink and you may miss it.

In nineteen forty one the population was down to one hundred and thirteen souls, many of the men, and some of the women, had left to fight for their country, Germany had invaded in May 1940 and had plans to annex this part of France for German settlement, with the French Government surrendering to the invading army on the 22nd June 1940.

It was a black day for the proud French people.

Luckily Marly-Gomont had avoided the conflict, mostly because of it’s size and position, no one much knew it was there, except for the locals, they knew, and were prepared as best they could be.

The bombing over England began soon after the declaration of the war, they were ruthless, cruel, and indiscriminate.

At times, mostly during darkness, the people of Marly Gomont could hear the German aircraft as they made their way towards, or from, their targets. They were dark evil shadows crossing the moon, a premonition of doom for many innocent people, did the crew know or care, that was something no one knew.

On the night of October 25th 1941 many residents were woken by the sound of an aircraft coming their way, it still had altitude but was a lot lower that usual, and by the sounds it was making it was in trouble.

For those that managed to get out of bed quickly enough they could see, high above them, a dark shape highlighted by what appeared to be flames, it was a moonless sky and without the fire it would have passed over them unseen.

They watched as it passed over the top of their little village, which wouldn’t have been seen by those in the bomber, the French inhabitants were very careful about lights at night as the Germans, on occasions, would drop a bomb or two if they had any left, they didn’t care where they landed.

On this night a few of the villagers stood together, the plane disappeared over them but it was obviously losing height, luckily it was soon well clear of their homes, but a few minutes later they heard an explosion quite some distance away, the plane had crashed and most likely burst into flames.

Looking at each other they decided the search could start in the morning, it was cold and drizzling with rain, it was unlikely there would be survivors, but if any of the German crew had survived they would have to look after themselves, for this small group of French all hated them as they spread their evil across the land. 

War was something that was much more than a crime for these peaceful people.

The day broke grey, the rain had stopped, but the clouds had grown heavy in the sky, they were heading for winter, and in this area of France it could get vey cold.

Monsieur Hugo Dubois left his fermette at first light, every day he and his small dog would walk the village, past the church, and down to the river. It didn’t matter what the weather held, snow, rain, or sunshine, it meant little.

Hugo had spent most of his seventy years in the village, and was a contented man, why travel when you believe you already have the best.

Apart from the birds it was quiet that time of the morning, and was good country, the little dog called Lily knew that, the place was a haven for wonderful smells, especially those left by foxes.

Lily hated foxes, had never seen one, but hated them none the less, well hate such as a little dog might have, which lasted only a second.

Passing the church Lilly stop dead, it was unlike her. She barked, a little snappy, this was also unusual for the dog, it took some effort to bark for her. Hugo looked down, she had obviously smelt, or seen, something, but what?

An animal of some sort he guessed. The moment was soon over and they went on their way, little did they realise they were being watched from on high.

The day began to grow lighter, although the clouds stayed low and threatening.

Mia Simon was going to her small vegetable patch which sat alongside others just outside the village, she had a basket, and this for her was the normal morning ritual, it was something she enjoyed, harvesting her own food, lovingly grown and cared for.

Passing the Church she thought she heard something, an unusual sound, it sounded human.

Looking around her she started to walk away.
There was a small cemetery, she wondered if someone was there, but why would there be, could be a drunk, no that wouldn’t happen, not in her village. 

By instinct she stopped again and listened, there it was again, that sound, definitely human, but where did it some from.

She looked about her, there was nobody, it was still far too early for the majority of the village, the more they climbed into winter the later the people started moving, it got mighty cold there, and usually snowed in the new year.

The sound came again, a little louder this time, it was a mystery, but she had to go and look  around. There was a gate that led into the church grounds, with her basket on her arm she walked through and into the cemetery, all was quiet, until the sound came again.

It was the shock, she couldn’t make it out at first, looking up there was a shape on top of the steeple, what on earth was it. 

Unbelievable, it looked something like a man, then she saw something move, hell it was human all right. She crossed herself and said a quiet prayer to Mary, who looked after her and the family. What could she do, it was so high up, the steeple that was.

Then she wondered, was this a apparition, a sign from God, could it be she is the only one that could see it, but what on earth did it mean? 

The full story will be appearing in my next book of short stories.

………………………………………………