Storm Warning

The snow had been falling steadily all day and the weather forecaster said “there’s more on the way, guys”. The wind chill factor had dropped the air temperature by at least ten degrees. People were being warned not to venture far from their hearths and if a journey wasn’t necessary – forget about it!

The town of Pincossett always got hit badly by the snow and this year was going to be no different. Situated high up in the north of the country, the weather came directly from the steppes of Russia, dropping several degrees as it passed over the sea.

Shopkeepers were battening down their shops as yet another weather warning came over the radio. Shoppers stormed the supermarkets for food in case the town was snowed in and supplies couldn’t get through.

Rudi Hersault lived off Cedar Avenue and had a thriving business supplying the townsfolk with wood for their fires. During the summer, trade was fairly brisk as his customers bought wood to fill up their nearly empty wood storage areas. In the winter it was panic stations to keep everyone supplied and often Rudi had to go further and further a field to obtain lumber. He bought fallen trees from farmers, waste wood from builders and often collected drift wood from the beach. Transporting it back, to his saw mill, situated at the back of his house.

Pincosset was not a friendly burgh. It was populated by a lot of people eager to get out, but no one would buy their houses and so they stayed on – under duress. Lots of fights broke out due to the general feeling of frustration that everyone felt. As people became older they had accidents related to icy surfaces and general wear and tear which was never repaired. Doc. McFarlane’s surgery was always full of townsfolk with both real and imagined ailments

 Town committee meetings more than usually broke up in a vociferous argument between the attendees and the committee members. No one was happy and the prospect of being cooped up for weeks with people they disliked, despised or just down right hated was the final straw.

Rudi just kept his head down and worked away quietly, listening to his customer’s complaints about their neighbours and either agreeing or else just empathising with them. ‘Keep out of people’s arguments’ was his motto and he stuck to it.

That day Rudi had struck out to the high area behind the town. He knew that there were trees that had been blown down in the last month’s gales. As he made his way out of town on his cart led by Molly his old Clydesdale horse, he was shouted to by Pete Gisbern. “Watch when you’re out there, son. We’re in for a fair drop of snow tonight!” Rudi waved his thanks to the old man and raised his thumb to confirm his understanding.

The path to the high area was badly pitted with potholes and for short periods, Rudi had to lead the horse. Most of the damage to the road had occurred during a period of torrential rain, when large mud slides had occurred on the hillsides. Frost and ice had made the scars worse and rendered the road impassable to everyone who was not experienced. Rudi had made his way up there many times and he knew that if one put a foot wrong it could cause severe injury, if not death!

The large spruce tree had fallen sideways and ripped a chunk out of a neighbouring tree, before plunging down flat onto the forest floor. Its massive roots stuck up like a mess of cables and clay, earth and stones had been ripped out of the earth and spread about the fallen giant.

Rudi uncovered his power saw. He had topped up the reservoir that morning and knew that he had a couple of hour’s worth before having to refill the tool. Pulling the rip cord, the powerful saw roared into life and by adjusting the trigger, Rudi made it give a few throaty growls before approaching the fallen tree.

Working steadily all morning it wasn’t long before Rudi had filled his cart and decided to call it a day. Dark storm clouds were moving across the sky and the gentle breeze of a few hours ago had become a strong wind which howled through the forest. Covering his saw up under canvas, Rudi looked about him. The spruce was now partially cut into segments, which Rudi could return to and reduce in size at a later date. He knew that apart from Widow Grenstable, all the other townsfolk’s wood sheds were topped to the brim with his wood. This load would fill the Widow’s quota and have everyone set for the approaching storm.

As Rudi turned to grab Molly’s reins he spotted something lying in amongst the tree roots. It looked like a metal box measuring about five hundred centimetres long. It was badly stained by the earth and hung Christmas tree present like from the roots. Reaching over Rudi gingerly touched the box’s surface. It felt cold, colder than the surrounding air. Rudi gripped the box and pulled it out from its nest of roots. The roots gave up their prize with reluctance and Rudi realised that the box was older than the massive girthed tree that had grown over it.

Rudi polished the surface of the box with an old bit of rag. When the stains were gone, he could see that there were diagrams on the surface. Whorls and circles, triangles and other geometrical figures were inscribed deeply into the metal. Rudi could see that the box had a top that could be opened, but however hard he tried, he could not prise the lid off.

Placing it carefully in the cart under a cloth, Rudi began to lead the horse and cart down the precipitous path towards Pincossett.

“It’s about time!” shouted the Widow Grenstable as she saw Rudi and his cart approaching her house. “Where have you been, you lazy devil? I have a big gap in my wood pile and the storm is on its way!”

“Sorry ma’am,” Rudi said as he began offloading the timber into the wood shed. “It’s been a hard day up there in the high area.”

“Don’t give me your excuses…” the Widow’s expression suddenly changed. “I want you to charge me twice what you normally charge me. You are such a hard working young man.”

Rudi dropped the pile of logs he was carrying, “Excuse me! What did you say?”

The Widow was standing by the cart and her face wore a very pleasing smile. “I said that without you, this town would suffer and I for one think you should be rewarded.”

After Rudi had filled the Widow’s order and had been paid handsomely for it, he made his way down the street towards his house. Just as he was passing the bar, the ‘Star and Bull’, two men crashed out of the door and onto the street. They were punching at each other and Rudi could see that one was bleeding. The assailants rolled across towards Rudi’s cart and bumped into one of the wheels. All at once the fighting stopped and the man who was bleeding leant down and helped the other man to his feet. “I am sorry for causing all that…” began the bleeding man, but was interrupted by the other who proffered his handkerchief. “No, no, it was my fault; please accept this handkerchief to wrap round your wound and my heartfelt apologies for causing it.”

Rudi watched in amazement as the two men re entered the bar with arms round each other’s shoulders, like two best friends!

Putting Molly into her stable with some fresh fodder to eat and pushing the now empty cart into its shed, Rudy made his way into his house. The sun was setting in the west and a red sky hung like a blood soaked shirt. Normally a red sky at night would herald a good day to follow the next day, but this was not nature’s message tonight. Batten down the hatches for the creature has been released. Snow is coming!

All through the night the wind shrieked through Pincossett distributing snow wherever it touched. By midnight huge snowdrifts lay up against the houses and no one was seen on the streets. By three a.m the road into Pincossett was blocked and cars and vans sitting in the street were just humps of fallen snow. By six a.m. there was five feet of snow entombing Pincossitt and there was no sign of the weather improving in the near future.

The next morning the town of Pincossett was cut off from the rest of the country by large, deep drifts of snow. Rudi attempted to clear a path down to where he thought the road was, then slipping his snow shoes on, he made his way to the police station. It was his intention to hand in the box that he had discovered to Sergeant Muller, the town’s police authority.

As he trudged through the snow he waved to several of his neighbours who were out clearing the snow from in front of their houses. Rudi noticed many of the houses were covered with snow and it was unlikely that the occupants would manage to clear it as they were either old or infirm. Rudi made a mental note that when he returned he would begin clearing the snow for them, he knew that the able citizens of Pincossett would never consider helping any of their less fortunate neighbours. That was the nature of the town.

Sergeant Muller was hunched over his desk when Rudi walked into the police station. He looked up and glared at Rudi.

“Well, lad? What is it I haven’t got all day…” then the gruff sergeant stopped talking and slowly a smile turned up the corners of his usual down turned mouth. “It’s great to see you, Rudi. How can I help you?” he continued.

Rudi, once again, was amazed at the sergeant’s change of attitude. First it was the Widow Grenstable and now Sergeant Muller, who was well known for his surliness.

“Yesterday, I found this box up on the high area behind town. A tree had been blown over and the box was wrapped in its roots,” Rudi said handing it over to the policeman.

“Well now, that is a real fancy box. Have you opened it?” Sergeant Muller said as he attempted to open the lid.

“No,” said Rudi. “It seemed stuck and I was afraid that if I forced it, I may damage it.”

“Well, thank you very much for handing it in son; I’ll put it in the lost property room, in case someone comes looking for it.” Sergeant Muller said as he turned and left the room.

As Rudi left the police station a wind had risen and it was whipping snow into strange shapes. It would be a long time before the snow melted and Rudi hoped that it would go gradually and not cause a flood.

As he reached the main street he was pleasantly surprised to see some of the townsfolk beginning to clear several of the old age pensioner’s paths. They all wore smiles on their faces and were chatting amiably as they worked. Often one of the elderly house owners would come to their door with hot drinks for the workers. This surely was a magic occurrence, thought Rudi, these people were normally rude and gruff with one another.

Later that day Rudi received a phone call from Sergeant Muller. “Could you come back along to the station, please?”  the policeman requested politely. “There’s something I want you to witness.”

As Rudi made his way back he noticed that now all paths had been cleared along the way and knew that this new spirit of comradeship was alive and well…wherever it had come from.

As Rudi entered the police station he heard children’s voices and children’s laughter.

“Go on,” Rudi heard a voice say. “You ask it a question!”

The main office was full of children, which was in itself strange as Sergeant Muller disliked children and had as little to do with them as he could; but there must have been about fourteen boys and girls in the room, sitting around a table upon which sat – the box.

Sergeant Muller was sitting in a chair behind his desk wearing a very friendly grin on his face. “Yes, ask it what you’re getting for Christmas,” he said loudly.

“What’s happening Sergeant?” asked Rudi looking at the sea of children’s faces.

“Listen to what happens when one of them asks a question,” the policeman said with a laugh.

“Am I a boy? Once for yes and twice for no!” a boy with ginger hair shouted out.

The room went silent and Rudi could hear the tick tock of the police station clock.

“Bang!” the noise of one knock echoed through the room. The children squealed with pleasure.

“Will I get a rise in my pay this year?” Sergeant Muller asked before anyone else said anything.

“Bang! Bang!” the box sounded. The policeman’s grin vanished for a second. “Ah well…” he said grudgingly.

“How is it doing that?” asked Rudi.

“I don’t know, but the kids have asked some questions that they know the answers to and the box is always right!” Sergeant Muller said. “They had all come in for a school visit and I showed them the box in the lost property. One of the girls asked her teacher if it was a special box and the box gave out a loud thump. Well, that was the start, for all of them started asking questions and it was chaos until we got them asking one at a time. I brought the box out here because there was more room.”

“Will I have lots of children after I grow up and get married?” a girl screamed out excitedly.

Once again there was a pause and then the box announced, “Bang!”

That night as Rudi lay in bed he tried to fathom out what was in the box to give it the power to answer questions. It was behaving like some sort of verbal crystal ball, answering questions and making predictions.

Next morning there was another fall of snow and the town committee decided to have a meeting in the town hall, to discuss contingency plans for the weeks to come. Rudi was asked to bring along the box in case any of the townsfolk recognised it. He felt hesitant about going to the meeting with the box, for each day it became more and more mysterious.

“Right, I’ll start the proceedings today,” began Nathaniel Green, the mayor, but was interrupted by Bill Dagmore, the head of the town committee. “No, you won’t. I will!” The verbal wrangling, so common to previous meeting began the proceedings of the day. Eventually each man had his say.

“Welcome to everyone who’s come on this stormy day,” said Nathaniel Green.

“Thanks to all who made the effort,” grunted Bill Dagmore. “What’s the first item for discussion?”

Nathaniel Green jumped to his feet angrily, “I’m supposed to ask that!” he retorted.

Bit by staggering bit, the meeting continued. The two ‘leaders’ desperately trying to out do the other in front of the town and failing badly. Eventually they came to the item regarding Rudi’s ‘find’.

“Can you come up on the stage and show everyone,” Nathaniel Green called and Rudi, who had been standing at the back of the hall, made his way towards the front. Scowling faces looked round at him as he moved passed the end of the rows, but soon the faces wore smiles and people were talking happily amongst themselves.

“Right, come up!” commanded Nathaniel Green to Rudi, with a glare at his rival Bill Dagmore.

As Rudi climbed the stairs towards the committee who were seated on the stage, he wondered how the men could make decisions for the town when they could not be civil to one another. Approaching the table he placed the box down on it.

“Now, Rudi, where did you say you found this?” asked Bill Dagmore.

Nathaniel Green jumped to his feet and Rudi held his breath waiting for some petty argument to start.

“Yes, lad,” said Nathaniel Green smiling at Bill Dagmore. “You answer Bill’s questions.  What he doesn’t know about Pincossett is not worth knowing. That’s right Bill isn’t it?” Then he reached over and shook Bill Dagmore’s hand.

The entire atmosphere in the hall had changed and Rudi felt it. People in the audience were happy and it showed on their faces. The committee were shaking hands with each other and patting each others backs.

Nathaniel Green stood up and holding his hands aloft asked, “Can I have some volunteers to begin to dig out some of our less fortunate citizens please?”

Instantly there were about thirty men on their feet holding their hands up.

“That’s great!” shouted Bill Dagmore then paused. “Sorry to but in there Nat.”

“No problem neighbour, glad for your help!” Nathaniel Green said with a laugh.

The hall began to empty as the volunteers followed by their relatives left. No one had been allowed to see the box but Rudi felt that the box had made its presence known, in the turn a round of emotions by the town.

Soon the town began to look itself again. Large amounts of snow were transported to nearby waste ground and the roads were treated with salt and sand. The feeling of camaraderie spread throughout Pincossett and although the bad weather continued unabated, the heart of the town was warm and welcoming.

Later that week Doctor James Harswell, the town medic asked Rudi, if he could have a look at the box. Rumours of the strange inscriptions on the box’s face had been circulating around the town and the doctor wondered if he might be able to establish their origin. Rudi had spoken to Sergeant Muller who couldn’t see any harm in letting the doctor have a look at the baffling box.

“It definitely looks like geometrical symbols,” said Doctor Harswell as he looked at the box’s lid through a magnifying glass. “They are inscribed deeply into the metal”

Rudi rubbed his hands over the marks and felt again the coldness of the metal. “But why has the box’s temperature never come up to the air temperature?” he asked. “And why can’t we open it?”

Doctor Harswell walked over to where his surgical equipment lay. “I’ve got an ultrasonic drill here,” he said holding up a silver instrument. “What say we attempt to drill it open?”

Instantly there were two loud knocks from the box.

“I had forgotten about its ability to communicate,” laughed Rudi.

The story of the children’s inquisition of the box was another tale circulating the town.

“We have to know…” the doctor began to say, but was once again interrupted by two loud bangs from the box.

Rudi stepped forward and addressed the box,” We need to see inside. We won’t harm you and the lid will be closed as soon as we have seen what is inside…please!”

There was a long pause then with a slight click, the lid swung open. For a moment neither man could see the contents as a white cloud emerged from within the box.

“The interior temperature must be very low,” said the doctor. “That’s condensation.”

Then the cloud dispersed and Rudi and Doctor Harswell could see the interior of the box. It contained a long glass like tube within which swirled a bluey-green coloured gas. Within the gas there were bursts of star like flashes which lit the inside of the tube. After a few minutes, the lid began to lower and then shut with a loud snap. A gentle hissing could be heard within.

“The box is re-establishing its low temperature.” The doctor confirmed.

There was a knock at the doctor’s surgery door and a nurse came in. “I’m sorry to bother you, doctor, but Mr Simes is here and is desperate to see you,” she said.

Doctor Harswell turned to Rudi and said, “Would you mind waiting in the office outside for a few minutes?  This won’t take long.”

Rudi knew of Bertram Simes, the man had been in a car accident three months before and through some neural disorder, had lost the use of his legs.

Psychological treatment had not helped and the man travelled everywhere in a wheel chair pushed by his faithful and long suffering wife, Stephanie.

Rudi stood aside as Stephanie pushed her husband into Doctor Harswell’s surgery. “Sorry to interrupt you, Stephanie whispered to Rudi as she passed.

The door of the surgery closed and Rudi could detect the rumble of voices from within the room and moved over to the window to allow them some privacy. Outside, the gritters were busy spreading fresh sand on the road. That night it was forecast for the temperature to drop to well below freezing and the town council were taking no chances.

Suddenly, from within the doctor’s surgery, Rudi heard a loud whoop of joy and the door was thrown open by a beaming Bertram Simes. He jumped and skipped around the office before returning to the surgery. Rudi quietly walked over and looked into the room. Bertram was shaking the doctor’s hand and hugging his wife with the other arm. “I’m cured! I’m cured!” he shouted.

After Mr and Mrs. Simes had walked out of Doctor Harswell’s office, Rudi went back into the surgery and found the doctor looking closely at the box.

“It cured him,” he said loudly. “I am sure of it, Rudi.”

“What happened after they came in?” Rudi asked quizzically.

“Oh, Bertram said he was filled with pain and he had to have some more pills. I said that he couldn’t have any more as the increased quantity would kill him. Then he thumped his fist on to the top of the box and wailed that he wanted to be cured. Well, there was a loud knock from the box and before Stephanie or I could stop him, Bertram was on his feet and out the door into my office, well, you know the rest!”

Rudi looked at the box and said, “It cures peoples’ illnesses as well as their dispositions. Doctor, can you get a few of your medical cases over here to test its efficacy?”

For the next few hours a queue of patients waited outside Doctor Harswell’s office. One by one they entered and after touching the box and asking to be cured, they were healed. Mrs. Herron’s skin cancer, Mr. Garren’s tuberculosis, Mrs. Felsham’s bronchitis and even little Lucy Garnet’s broken leg healed in double quick time after they had been in contact with the box.

Truly a miracle, but what was it? thought Rudi as the last of the patients emerged from inside the doctor’s surgery.

The answer came two nights later and it was to open every one’s eyes – wide!

The weather had deteriorated again, but due to the increase of volunteering (unheard of before in Pincossett), the roads were kept clear and although no one could get into the town from the outside country, food was still available and no one was suffering.

As the sky darkened at the end of the day some folk rang Sergeant Muller reporting large lights in the sky off to the east. He had a check and told the callers that it was probably the planet Venus which was particularly bright at that time of the year. The callers had the last laugh when the strangers came into town.

Old Josiah Verqun spotted the first of them and immediately went inside to get his shotgun. He went out onto the road and pointed his firearm at the seven foot high creature. “It looked like one of those dragons that you see in kid’s story books,” he had said when questioned. “But walking on two legs!”

The next one to meet up with the visitors was Sergeant Muller. Deciding to close up his station early he had just locked the door when upon turning round he found himself facing one of old Josiah’s ‘dragons’.

“Man,” said the sergeant. “You’re not from around here!”

The ‘dragon’ had gazed into the sergeant’s eyes and words began flooding his brain.

“We are the Quai,” the creature transmitted. “You have a travel chamber that one of our race lost several hundred of your years ago. We must have it back.”

Sergeant Muller felt lost in the ‘dragon’s’ eyes. They were yellow with flecks of orange and black running through them. The pupils were shaped like a cat’s and gleamed a shiny black.

“What does your travel chamber look like?” replied Sergeant Muller bravely for inside he was quaking.

“It is like a box. It is made of Rrhydium metal and has engravings on its surface,” replied the Quai within the sergeant’s brain. “We use it for the transport of …items. We are a trader race and cover large areas of the Cghu or as you know it, the Universe.”

The sergeant led the visitor to Doctor Harswell’s office where they met up with five other Quai. The one, who had been confronted by Josiah, had left the old man unharmed but when he awoke he would feel as if he had a massive hangover. The doctor carried the box outside, Rudi went with him.

Rudi gazed up at the Quai. He was trembling, but knew that he had to know the secret of the box before it was reclaimed by their visitors.

“Can you tell us what the box is?” asked Rudi. “Its effect on the town has been one of sheer goodness.”

The six Quai looked at one another and then the one that seemed to be the senior answered. “Normally we offer client confidentiality, but as you are a primitive race, I see no reason to keep the truth from you.”

It transpired that thousands of light years from Earth there was a planet called Myrrax. On this planet lived beings called the Kert, that consisted mainly of vapour although they possessed highly sophisticated brains. Through evolution, they had attained a peaceful co-existence and offered the other planets of the area counselling and advice as well as being able to cure their maladies. Myrrax was a gem of a planet and the Kert were truly superlative.

Sadly, the substance of their planet began to break down and it looked as if Myrrax would explode and destroy a highly benevolent and important race of beings.

We, the Quai, were asked if it would be feasible to transport the Kert to another planet that resembled Myrrax’s atmosphere and land mass.

We agreed, for a fee, to move them to a planet several light years from Myrrax, which they called Yrmm. Yrmm’s size, climate and atmosphere were comparable to Myrrax’s, but Yrmm was a much younger planet.

The Kert were collected into a travel chamber and were prepared for travel to Yrmm

On the way to Yrmm, the space vessel crashed here on Earth and all the contents of the hold were ejected onto the planet’s surface. After many of your months, repairs were made and after the ejected units had been collected, the vessel set off again for Yrmm. It was not until they arrived that the absence of the travel chamber containing the Kurt, was discovered.

Upon its return to our planet the space vessel was attacked and destroyed by pirates and we lost the location of the crash site on your planet.

We have been searching for the unit ever since and it was not until one of you opened the container that a message was relayed to the Quai of its location.

“What did you see when you opened the travel chamber?” transmitted the senior Quai.

“A tube containing a sparkling gas!” said Rudi timidly.

“And you have been experiencing the effect of being in close proximity with the Kurt?”

“Yes, our sick have been healed, our injured have been mended and the town of Pincossett has become a thriving, happy community again,” interjected Doctor Harswell.

“Well, I am afraid that we Quai have a responsibility to our clients and must fulfil our agreed contract. We must take the Kurt to Yrmm.”

The senior Quai picked up the box and looked at its surface. “This chamber is empty!” the senior Quai transmitted and threw open the lid of the travel chamber. Sure enough, Rudi could see that the tube was empty.

“The box opened only once during the time we had it, I can assure you,” spluttered Doctor Harswell. “We saw the tube with the gas for a few minutes before the box closed and resealed itself.”

Raising its dragon like head into the air, the senior Quai closed its reptilian eyes and stood silently. After five minutes it opened its eyes and turned to the other five Quai and spoke. None of the humans understood what was said and waited patiently to find out what was to happen.

Silently the five Quai turned and walked off down the road. The senior Quai turned and transmitted. “I have spoken to the Kurt and we have agreed that the contract has been successfully completed. The Kurt have found their new home – with you.”

Rudi, Sergeant Muller and Doctor Harswell watched the night sky and after half an hour saw a large light rising above the hills before it vanished into the starry heavens.

“Well, Pincossett is going to be a totally different place now,” said Rudi to the doctor and the sergeant. “You may be out of jobs.”

They all laughed and after shaking hands went home.

After the snow had melted and the transport lorries bearing food and provisions rumbled into Pincossett, the drivers noticed a much improved community. People smiled and laughed. The stores they visited offered them coffee and food before they left and all bills were paid on time, if not early.

Visitors to Pincossett began returning and found a thriving, friendly community. It was not long before Pincossett was named as the ‘Friendliest Town in the Country’.

MISTAKEN IDENTITY

Clay Vernon swung from the bar before pulling himself up and down fifty times. The facilities in this gymnasium were second to none and he enjoyed the feeling of fresh blood pulsating around his body as he exercised. Next he moved onto the weights. Lifting a meaty looking barbell weighing several kilograms above his head, Clay knelt down and rose forty times before laying the implement down. Standing erect he stretched his tensed muscles as the sweat ran freely down his sculptured body. A six pack graced his abdomen and well oiled muscles, his shoulders, arms and legs. Clay was a powerhouse and exercised every morning before work. In his line of work definitely worked to his advantage.

Clay Vernon worked for Clydesdale Fire Department as a fully fledged fireman. He had been with the service for ten years and enjoyed the life. The long, often interminable pauses between fires and other accidents, and then the adrenalin, pulsing rush to the scene and the ensuing incident. Clay had held injured people in his strong arms, helped rip metalwork apart and climbed wobbling ladders to reach people trapped inside burning buildings. It was all part of the job.

After he had showered and dressed in his uniform, Clay made his way down to the fire station. He was on duty from o nine hundred to seventeen hundred, unless some tragedy intervened; then he would stay on and aid the evening crew until the situation had been remedied.

Walking in through the main door he punched his time card; as he made to place it in the slot on the board, he noticed a piece of paper sticking out. It had his name on it. Opening it, he read that he had to report to the Fire Chief as soon as he arrived. Putting the letter into his pocket he wondered to himself the reason for the summons. There hadn’t been any problems in his shifts and with the close proximity of the gymnasium to the fire station he was very rarely late getting to work.

“Ah, Clay. Come in and sit down,” said Fire Chief Glen Hadley, as Clay knocked on the office door. “Thanks for coming to see me so promptly.”

Clay sat down opposite Glen’s desk. “Your note sounded sort of serious, Glen,” said Clay glancing down at the chief’s desk, as if a clue to his summons was there.

“Oh, relax. It’s not a reprimand,” Glen growled good naturedly. “You are to be honoured, you big lunk!”

“Honoured! For what?” gasped Clay.

“You remember that kiddie you pulled from the burning house in Malt Street, last month?”

“Yes, I remember. How is the wee soul? Did she make it?” Clay asked. He had visited the hospital a couple of times with sweets for little nine year old Alice Stormont, but each time, the child had been in an artificially induced coma due to the second degree burns that had been inflicted on her body.

“Alice came out of the coma two days ago and her parents want to reward you!” Glen blurted out.

“But, Chief, it was all of the team, not just me!” Clay said, defensively. “The station should be rewarded, not just me!”

“Your modesty becomes you, Clay, but the rest of the guys and I want you to receive the accolade, for the good of the station.”

Two weeks later Clay in full uniform stood on a platform next to Clydesdale’s dignitaries that included John Pearson, the mayor and received the Medal of Honour, the highest award granted to a fireman. A large audience, that included Clay’s mother, father and other relations filled the hall and as the medal was pinned on by the mayor, rose to their feet clapping. It was a wonderful moment for Clay and one that he would never forget.

Afterwards at the civic reception that had been put on by the town, Clay was the centre of attention. He stood next to Alice Stormont’s parents and chatted with them.

“Alice is getting better now, Mr Stormont?” Clay enquired.

“Yes and its Bill, Clay. If it is ok for me use your name?” Mr Stormont replied.

“Thanks to you,” said Mrs Stormont gratefully.

The mayor suddenly appeared with two cigar smoking gentlemen. “Clay!” he said loudly. “I want you to meet a couple of the town’s old worthies.”

Turning to the Stormonts, Clay shook both their hands and said, “Will you excuse me please?”

As Mr Stormont turned away, he reached over and shoved an envelope into Clay’s pocket. “Something for you, Clay,” he whispered enigmatically and moved away.

After that the day just vanished into conversations with various people, drinking toasts and eating the beautifully cut sandwiches that had been provided by the catering staff.

It was not until he had returned to his flat, tired but very happy, that he remembered the envelope that Mr Stormont had given him. Ripping open the envelope he found a blue coloured ticket inside. It was notification of a two week fully paid holiday for one at the Hotel Riga on the shores of the Krasian Sea. The holiday included full board and several organised trips around the area.

The Krasian Sea was situated in Fezekyzan, a country deep inside Russia, but offering a safe haven from the political intrigues of the surrounding land. Clay knew that Fezekyzan was a virtual playground for the idle rich and privileged. It would be a holiday of a lifetime for him, but – he could not accept it.

The next day he went to see Glen and showed him what the Stormonts had given him. Glen’s eyes widened as he read all the material Clay had got off the Internet regarding Fezekyzan. “It’s a virtual paradise, Clay” said Glen looking up at the fireman.

“I think that the holiday should be raffled,” Clay said decisively. “I wouldn’t feel right taking it.”

“Well, personally, I think you should, because I already knew, Bill Stormont told me. And I have spoken to the crews and they all think that you should take it. Go on Clay, cut yourself some slack. Accept the holiday, you deserve it.” Glen said.

The flight to Fezekyzan was very involved. Clay left from Heathrow and four hours later, arrived in Norway’s airport, Bodo. From there he flew by a two engined aircraft to Surgut and then onto Yemelyanovo, both airports in Russia, landing at Yemelyanovo in a blizzard. Welcome to Russia, thought Clay, as he made his way down the steps from his aircraft. I hope Fezekyzan is warmer than this!

As Clay waited for his final ‘hop’ to Fezekyzan, he looked about at some of his travelling companions. Most of them looked like Russians, their strong features and distinctive clothes made them stand out. Several had suitcases and others, cardboard boxes tied with string. They all chatted with each other as the aircraft destined for Fezekyzan was fuelled. Clay felt quite out of the groups of people due to his almost negligible knowledge of the language. He had bought a tourist’s phrase book for Russia, but knew that different dialects existed within Russia and they tended to speak their own version of the Russian language.

Closing his eyes, Clay relaxed, but for some unknown reason was suddenly conscious of being under scrutiny. Partially opening his eyelids he scanned those about him without moving his head. He could see two women on their mobile phones. They were standing next to a man who had a very long beard, who was engrossed in his newspaper. A couple were handing out sandwiches to two of their children, who were wailing and waving their arms. Once they had received their food, peace reigned again. Then, Clay caught sight of his observers. Two men both dressed in dusty looking clothes stood by a stand selling tea and coffee. They were pretending to look elsewhere, but their eyes always came back to Clay. They looked a wild pair and Clay hoped that he wasn’t going to be the victim of a mugging.

“Flight 567 to Fezekyzan!” came over the tannoy and Clay and his fellow travellers got wearily to their feet and began shuffling towards the departure gate, where they produced their tickets and passports. Clay turned round to see if his observers were following, but he could see no sign of them.

As the aeroplane touched down in Fezekyzan’s airport, Clay could see the blue sky and white clouds through the aircraft’s windows. When the stewardess opened the door for the passengers to deplane, Clay could feel the intense heat wafting up the aisle. As he stepped from the plane it was like stepping into an oven.

The travellers headed for the passport control building, where they formed long lines as they waited to be seen. Clay looked about to see if he had anyone watching him, but everyone seemed to be only interested in themselves or their families and friends.

“What is the purpose of your trip to Fezekyzan, sir?” asked a dark haired, swarthy looking uniformed official, looking at Clay’s passport suspiciously.

“I’m here for a holiday,” replied Clay good naturedly. “Your country looks beautiful.”

“Thank you sir,” replied the man automatically. As he returned Clay’s passport to him he looked across the hall and gave a slight nod of his head. “Have a lovely holiday,” he said, returning his gaze to Clay.

Collecting his two suitcases from the luggage area, Clay made his way to the way out of the airport. He had decided to pay for a taxi to Hotel Riga. It would be a grand way to start his holiday. He couldn’t wait to get to the hotel, unpack and then chill out.

“Sir! Sir!” came a cry from behind him and Clay turned to see two men rushing towards him. Although they were dressed totally differently from the two at Yemelyanovo, he instinctively knew that all four were in league with one another. Turning quickly, Clay broke into a run towards the exit from the airport, eager to be in a taxi and away from these possible muggers.

All went well as Clay totally outdistanced his pursuers due to his stamina and well exercised muscles; that was until a lady’s little dog ran in front of Clay and tripped him up. With an almighty bang, Clay crashed into a large floral display and cracked his head. His last thought before lapsing into unconsciousness was; I hope that I took out enough travel insurance – I may need it!

When Clay came to he found that his hands and feet were tied and he lay in a darkened room. His luggage lay next to him. He could hear two voices arguing and slowly he began to recall all what happened to him. Although the first two men he noticed watching him hadn’t come on the aircraft, they had obviously contacted the other pair to await his arrival. But, what could they want? thought Clay. It can’t be a simple mugging, it was too involved.

The door of the room opened to admit one of the men who had chased Clay in the airport. The man looked down at Clay and uttered something in Russian. He stood waiting expecting an answer, but Clay hadn’t a clue what he had said.

“I am a British citizen and I wish you to release me right away!” shouted Clay angrily.

“Ahh, you are talking in English,” hissed the man. “Well, so be it. We know why you have come to Fezekyzan and we are here to stop you.”

“Look, I don’t know what you are on about. I am on holiday. All I want to do is lie on the beach and get a tan!” Clay pleaded.

“Very good Rachmael. You are very convincing, but we know you are here under an assumed name and passport. Admit it!” the man grunted.

“Honestly, my name is Clay Vernon and I am here on holiday!” Clay blurted out, suddenly afraid.

There was a shout and the other man entered the room. He shouted something in Russian and the man standing over Clay, stepped back in shock. Both men began jabbering away, every so often pointing at Clay. All at once they were silent and both turned towards him. “We seem to have made a mistake,” began the man who had originally been speaking to Clay. “You are not who we thought you were.”

“I told you so,” said Clay. “Now untie me and return me to my hotel and we’ll say no more about this.”

Both men looked at each other sheepishly and began to walk towards the door.

“Don’t go!” shouted Clay. “Let me go and I won’t tell a soul about this, I promise!”

The door of the room shut leaving Clay in the dark once again.

Left alone, Clay began to work on his bonds. Although his hands were tied behind his back, he was able to pull his tied hands over his feet and bring the bonds to his front. Now he began to worry the knots with his teeth and very soon the restraints began to loosen. All at once Clay’s hands were free and instantly he began to untie the ropes around his ankles. Eventually, Clay was able to stand up and massage the blood back into his hands and feet. Now to attempt to escape from wherever he was being held. Clay suddenly heard a noise in the next room. It sounded like the men had returned. Looking about him he saw that apart from a chair and his two cases, the room was empty. Heaving the chair above his head Clay went and stood behind the door and waited. Soon, the door swung open and someone entered. Quick as a flash, Clay brought the chair down on the figure, knocking him to the floor. The first person was followed by the second man who Clay punched hard on the chin and felled him to the ground. Now Clay had ‘the whip hand’ and was totally in charge of the situation.

Finding a light switch, Clay switched it on, flooding the darkened room with light. Before the men regained consciousness, Clay tied them both up. Both men were dressed in dark clothes and wore western type trainers on their feet. They looked like real hard cases and Clay was glad that he had managed to immobilise them.

As the men awoke, they both looked at Clay with respect. They knew that the big man was strong and although they had been the captors originally, now they were the captured.

“Right,” said Clay. “Which one of you is going to explain?”

The first man who had originally questioned Clay spoke up: “My name is Achmed, I only speak English. We were alerted to your arrival, but you were mistaken for another.”

“Who was I mistaken for?” Clay demanded.

“Rachmael Glych,” grunted the man.

“And who is he?” Clay asked.

The man went silent for a few minutes and then said: “He is an assassin.”

Clay looked down at the man. “And who is he here to kill?”

“Our beloved King Dmitri,” replied the man and then hung his head.

What Clay learned from Achmed was that Fezekyzan was ruled by King Ivan and his queen, Natasha. The royal couple had a little boy called Dmitri, who they both loved dearly. Sadly both parents were killed in a skiing accident leaving the little prince to be made king. Due to his tender age of eleven, Dimitri’s uncle Arkady was made regent, to rule until Dimitri came of age and took over the kingdom. Uncle Arkady was a proud and very status conscious individual and rumours began to circulate about Arkady’s desire to be a permanent monarch, which he could only achieve if something untoward happened to Dimitri.

So, a league of supporters was forged to protect the young king. They were infiltrated into the palace and royal buildings to be on hand should there be an assassination attempt. Many of Dimitri’s followers were to be found haunting railway stations, local streets and airports. Information was sent to them regarding the descriptions of would be assassins and ‘hired guns’. They had received news that Rachmael Glych had been approached by factions loyal to Arkady to assassinate young Dimitri and the league had been on standby. This was why Clay had been mistaken for Rachmael as both were very well built and tall.

Once the explanation had been given Clay released both the men. After shaking both men’s hands, he went over and picked up his suitcases. “Could you organise a trip to the Hotel Riga for me, guys?” he asked as he made his way to the door.

After a taxi had been called, Clay stood by Achmed and reaching into his pocket pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. “Here’s where I’m staying Achmed. If I can do anything to help over the next two weeks, contact me.”

Achmed laughed:” I think you would want to see the back of us and settle down to enjoy your holiday. Sorry, once again, for delaying you.”

Clay looked out the back of the taxi as it pulled away. Both Achmed and the other man stood silently, both had a serious look on their faces. Rachmael could already be here in Fezekyzan, thought Clay bitterly. I hope they recognise him next time.

The Hotel Riga was beautiful. No expense had been spared with the building. Marble, lapis lazuli and jet decorated its front; and inside, it was palatial. Clay signed the register and was escorted to his room, which overlooked the Triumphant Square, a large open area where parades were held. It was a lovely room and Clay knew that he would be happy there.

For the first couple of days, Clay sat at the side of the hotel’s pool and drank soft drinks. He had bought a couple of paperbacks at Heathrow and intended to read as he soaked up the sunshine before exploring the neighbourhood.

The following day he went on an organised bus tour, visiting churches, monasteries and other religious centres. It was very educational and it gave him a chance to meet up with other ‘Brits’ who were holidaying there.

Towards the end of the first week, Clay went scuba diving in the Krasian Sea. The underwater life teemed in the warm climate and by environmental constraints; the sea had been kept virtually pollution free. The beach had white sand and Clay spread his towel out and sunbathed on the shore.

The next day he decided to tour the royal palace. Joining a bus tour organised by the hotel, Clay was soon winding his way, with other tourists, through high ceilinged halls and exotically furnished rooms within the palace. As ever a fireman, he checked for escape routes from the building and was pleased to see a wrought iron fire escape attached to the outside wall. In one of the antechamber he saw pictures of the late king and queen. Their pictures were bedecked with black crepe. Next to them there hung a picture of the current king, Dimitri. Clay thought that he was a fine looking boy with an eager friendly smile on his face. Alongside the young king’s portrait, hung a picture of the regent, Uncle Arkady. Clay saw nothing except jealousy and avarice on his face and gave a shudder as he turned away.

On Saturday the weather changed and Clay was unable to go sight seeing for several hours due to an electrical storm. He watched the forked lightning dancing on the surface of the sea and listened to the loud roars as the thunder growled.

Soon, it was over and the land dried up as the temperature rose. Grabbing his towel and paperback, Clay went down to the hotel’s pool and lay and read till the sky began to darken into evening.

Returning to his room to take a shower and dress for dinner, Clay was surprised to see his hotel room door ajar. He was sure he had locked it before leaving, but now it was open. Pushing the door he entered the room and found someone covered with blood sprawled face down on his bed. Upon Clay turning him over, he realised it was Achmed and he had been badly injured.

“Aaah!” groaned Achmed. “You must help us. Rachmael is here in Fezekyzan and we have information that he will attempt to assassinate the young king tonight.” The man’s eyes closed and he lapsed into unconsciousness. Clay rushed over to his bathroom to get a wet cloth to bathe his injuries.

Gently, he bathed the man’s head and as he did Achmed’s eyes flickered open.

“Have you managed to get a message to the rest of your followers?” asked Clay urgently.

“No, there was no time. Rachmael was waiting for Ali and me when we left our dwelling house. Ali is dead and I just managed to escape,” blurted out Achmed.

“Where is the king at present?” asked Clay.

“He is in the palace tonight. Tomorrow he is intending to go on a tour of the country,” replied Achmed. “You must get to him and warn him.”

Clay crept through the darkened streets towards the palace. There was no one about at that time of the night and he hoped that he would not be challenged as he approached the royal building. Dashing from one shadowy area to the next, he managed to approach the palace wall unnoticed.

Looking up he saw the ladder that hung from the bottom of the fire escape was still ten feet up in the air. He realised that he would have to jump for it, so checking up and down the road, he stepped back about six feet and then suddenly ran and jumped as high as he could. His first attempt failed with his finger tips just brushing the bottom of the ladder, but his second jump allowed him to grab the bottom rung of the ladder and then pull himself up. Quickly he ascended the fire escape, ever mindful of making as little noise as he could.

Eventually he reached the top floor area and carefully looked through one of the windows. He was looking into a very sumptuous bedroom, which was decorated in gold and jet. Someone was lying in the bed and Clay reckoned it was the young king based on his slight form beneath the blankets. Now Clay didn’t know what to do! Did he knock on the window, possibly scaring the young man who would immediately call for his bodyguards and have him arrested? How did he, Clay, know that what Achmed had said was true?

Suddenly the door of the room was thrown open and someone entered. Clay could not make out a lot, but, he saw what light there was, glint off what looked like a knife!

The person approached the sleeping form in the bed and raised the knife above their head.

Instantly Clay started banging on the window in an attempt to warn the sleeper. The figure turned and Clay saw that the person was dressed in black and had an evil scowl on his face. This had to be Rachmael, thought Clay. I must stop him!

Turning round, Clay swung his elbow at the glass, smashing it, before he jumped through and into the room. Rolling on the floor, brought Clay to the foot of the bed and without a thought, he flung himself at, who he thought, was Rachmael. Grabbing the would-be assassin’s arms, Clay swung him away from the bed and onto the floor of the room. The knife fell from the man’s hand and slid under the bed. Clay leapt on the man and began to pummel him with his fists. At first the man lay dazed under the onslaught, but he seemed to regain his strength and began to fight back, crying out as he did so: “Nydal! Sascan! Get in here!”

Two more people entered the room and turning round, Clay saw Dimitri sitting up in the bed with a look of fear on his face.

“Quick, your highness!” shouted Clay.” Get out of the window and down the fire escape. These men are here to kill you!” But the young man seemed frozen with terror and unable to make a move.

Turning back, Clay swung his fist at one of the approaching men, catching him in the face. He fell back into the path of the other men and they both joined Rachmael on the floor.

Taking the opportunity of surprise, Clay reached over and gripping Dimitri by the wrist pulled him from the bed and forced him out of the bedroom onto a landing. Pulling the bedroom door behind him, Clay managed to hold the door shut. There was no key, so he couldn’t lock it. Behind him, he heard Dimitri speaking to someone and swinging round saw another man approaching the young king, holding a knife.

“Uncle! Some men have tried to kill me!” shouted Dimitri and Clay realised that the man was Arkady.

“Yes, I know, for it was upon my orders that they did so!” hissed Arkady.

“But, why Uncle? You are supposed to be protecting me!” Dimitri pleaded.

Just at that moment Clay released the door and Rachmael burst out of the bedroom. Holding his knife by the tip, he swung it back over his shoulder and prepared to throw it. Clay leapt towards Dimitri and threw him to the floor, just as Rachmael’s knife flew through the air and buried itself in- Uncle Arkady’s chest. The man instantly collapsed and his knife landed close to where Dimitri and Clay lay. Picking it up Clay stood in front of Dimitri facing an aghast Rachmael. He had inadvertently killed the wrong person and now he would be hunted as a murderer. Turning about, all three men raced back into the royal bed chamber, out of the window onto the fire escape and made their escape into the night.

The noise of the struggle had brought the guards from the lower floors. Clay was seized and held as the young king was helped to his feet by two of his servants.

“Release that man,” said Dimitri to the guards who held Clay.”He saved my life!”

Later that night Clay was escorted to the young king’s drawing room. He had been treated with kindness and had had his superficial wounds seen to by a doctor.

Entering the room Clay saw Dimitri sitting behind a large oak table.

“Now, sir,” said the young king. “Would you like to join me for a cup of tea and explain how you managed to be outside of my bedroom window at precisely the right time to rescue me?”

Several guards stood around the room in case there should be any more assassination attempts.

Uncle Arkady’s body had been removed and troops sent out to scour the town for Rachmael and his men.

After Clay had explained the situation that had occurred, bringing the plans for the assassination to his ears, Dimitri dispatched soldiers and a doctor to the Hotel Riga to attend to Achmed’s injuries.

The next day, Clay and a heavily bandaged Achmed attended a private celebration organised by King Dimitri, to honour his saviours. Both men were awarded medals and a large sum of money for their bravery.

After the ceremony Dimitri took Clay aside. “I have a personal request to make of you,” and the king inclined his head and whispered something in Clay’s ear. Clay thought about it and then nodded his head: “It would be a great honour, your highness.”

Now, when visitors arrive at the Royal Palace in Fezekyzan, they are greeted by a tall, well built gentleman. Although they are treated with politeness and civility, they are always watched with scrutiny by Clay Vernon, the King’s Chief Security Guard.

THE DARKNESS OF THE HEART

Claire Bowman finished off filing her nails before painting them a glorious deep red colour. Working here at ‘Liasons A L’amor’, a dating, no, Claire corrected herself, an introduction agency was a dawdle. The boss Ffiona Tudor was never there and always, contacted Claire by phone to check ‘how things were going’. Usually the day consisted of handing client’s details to other clients to allow them to meet and possibly allow Cupid to do his work. Claire stretched herself like a cat. Mmmm, she thought, out partying with Tommy this weekend. Booze and his body, what a combination. The bell above the door gave a tinkle as someone came in, Claire looked up lazily and was instantly shaken out of her somnolence. It was that bloody woman again!

Mrs. Jennifer Holmes approached Claire’s desk. “No, that one you set me up with last night was the end!” she said belligerently. “He was a bloody railway enthusiast! If I had wanted to know the stations on every main line in Great Britain, I could have bought a train timetable! What else have you got?”

Claire sighed and looking Jennifer directly in the eyes said, “You have worked your way through all our clientele Mrs. Holmes. There is nobody else.”

“Well,” said Jennifer screwing her face up, “if you call footballers, golfers, lawyers and now, train spotters, you’re entire collection, then I’d better just try some other agency!”

Yes please, thought Claire, possibly in some other country or even planet perhaps?

“I will have another look Mrs. Holmes, but I am sure you have exhausted Ffiona’s list…” then Claire paused. There was another list but it only had one name on it and was kept separate from the other one. Claire knew that the single name was Craig Bireham and he was a very special case! “Give me a moment Mrs. Holmes, I’ll check in this drawer.” As Claire pulled open the drawer that had a large red cross on the outside, she paused unsure as to whether to release the genie from the bottle. For it was a very evil genie.

Craig Bireham had come onto their books a year ago when another ‘introduction’ agency had gone bankrupt. Ffiona, always after a good deal, had bought their client’s names and addresses and after contacting everyone concerned, had made a large number of successful matches, apart from one – Craig Bireham. On his first meeting Mr Bireham had been overbearing, bullying and the lady in question, had under pretence, left him in the restaurant that they had met in, half way through the meal. “He scared me.” the woman had said when questioned. Another client had been given Mr Bireham’s address and after setting up a meeting had failed to turn up, for the lady had said “He gave off an atmosphere of threat to my well being.” She had watched from cover and had slipped unnoticed away. This was why Mr. Bireham’s details were kept separate. He was no asset, but Ffiona, for some unknown reason would not erase him from her records.

“There is this one, Mrs. Holmes,” Claire said as she pulled Craig’s details from the drawer. “A Mr. Craig Bireham. He lives at No. 67, Pallance Road in Wotley. Telephone number 23898.”

Jennifer took the card and looked at it. “Seem’s ok. Can you give him a call for me, please?”

“Now Mrs. Holmes, you know that it is your responsibility to contact Mr Bireham, to allow him the chance of refusal, should he decide?” Claire said testily.

“Yes, I know, but it’s just that my telephone is out of order at present. Won’t you do this for me, please?” Jennifer lied nicely.

Claire reached for the telephone. Anything to get this woman out of the office, she thought.

The phone rang and rang at the other end and just when Claire thought that no one was in, a grumpy sleep filled voice said, “Who is this?”

“Is that Mr. Craig Bireham?”  asked Claire putting on her professional voice>

“Who did you expect, Santa Claus?” replied the voice angrily. “You woke me! What is this PPI or are you offering me a new kitchen? Listen… I’m not interested. Don’t ring again!”

Just before the receiver had left his ear, Claire expertly replied, “This is the ‘Liasons A L’amor’ agency, Mr Bireham. Are you still interested in meeting a lady?” As she said lady, Claire felt her eyebrows going up. Some lady, she thought, it seemed that they maybe made for each other.

“Well, yes…I have had to wait so long; I thought that I had been dropped from your records!”

“Just looking for the right person for you Mr. Bireham,” Claire purred.

“Ok then. When do we meet?” Craig Bireham suddenly sounded awake and interested.

The ‘Horn and Whistle’ public house was not somewhere Jennifer would be seen dead, going into. A typical man’s drinking den,bound to be sawdust on the floor and spittoons full of unmentionable liquids. The choice of beers would be limited, but for the clientele, as long as it gave the drinker some inner peace for a short time – it was heaven.

Jennifer had worn her black dress and had pulled her bra tight giving her bosom a prominence. Craig was late as Jennifer had expected, but well, some things never changed.

A taxi pulled up and a large man got out. He stuffed some banknotes through the taxi driver’s window and grunted, “Keep the change!” Rising to his full height, Jennifer saw that he was at least six feet tall and sported a ‘beer belly’.

“You, Jennifer Holmes?” Craig asked, his eyes mentally stripping her and finding her interesting.

“Yes, you must be Craig Bireham. How do you do?” replied Jennifer sticking her diminutive hand out to be engulfed by his meaty paw. “Thank you for the offer of an evening out with you.”

Craig gave a short gruff laugh and dropped her hand, “Let’s see how it goes, eh?”

The interior of the pub came up, or rather down to Jennifer’s expectations. Although smoking was now forbidden in the pub by law, a cloud of smoke managed to enter the pub each time the door was opened. Men looked up from their drinks and watched Jennifer, but averted their eyes when they saw the gigantic presence of her partner.

“We’ll sit here,” grunted Craig, pulling a chair out and plonking himself down. Jennifer stood for a moment and then pulled a chair out for herself, first brushing some crumbs from the seat before sitting down.

“Mine’s a pint of beer,” growled Craig watching a nubile female customer moving to the door. “Grrr! She’s a looker!”

“You would like me to get you a drink?” Jennifer asked quietly.

“Yes! I’ll get the next one,” he said returning to surveying the interior of the pub.

As the night progressed, Craig had Jennifer get the drinks in for them. He would occasionally dip into his pocket and produce some greasy looking banknotes intermittently to pay for the odd round, but apart from trips to the Gents to relieve himself, Craig sat slumped in his chair the whole evening, served by Jennifer.

By closing time Craig was very happy. He obviously could hold his drink, but his mood had changed from one of a master to his underling to one of a master to his dog.

“Go and get us a taxi,” Craig ordered, pointing out a telephone by the bar, to Jennifer. “You’ll be coming back to mine for a nightcap. Wont you?”

“Well it’s late…” Jennifer began to say, but Craig interrupted her.

“That wasn’t an invitation. You’re coming back to my place for a nightcap. Ok?”

The taxi drive to Wotley was a nightmare for Jennifer. Craig was all over her, trying to kiss her, putting his hand up her skirt and generally behaving like an animal.

“Look, it’s not very private here. Wait till we get back to your place, then I’ll show you a thing or two,” Jennifer pleaded in an attempt to pacify him. It did have the required effect and Craig sunk into a alcoholic sleep and began snoring.

“Listen, Miss,” said the kindly taxi driver. “Just say the word and I’ll stop off at the police station and get this guy locked up. You’re too good for the likes of him!”

Jennifer assured the driver that she would be alright, but thanked him for his concern. As they arrived at Wotley and Craig struggled out of the taxi and went off up the path to his house leaving Jennifer to pay the fare, the driver reiterated his concern.

“Watch out for him, Miss. I think he is one of those people who get nasty when they drink!”

Jennifer thanked him again and added a little extra to the fare. “Something for yourself,” she whispered and watched as the driver got into his cab and drove off down the road.

As Jennifer stepped through the front door she looked about her. The inside of the house mirrored Craig, untidy, dusty and dark.

“Get in here. I’m waiting for you!” a voice from down a long passage, commanded.

Jennifer gave a deep sigh and made her way to the room. It was as she expected – the bedroom. She could see wallpaper peeling off the wall and above the bed the predictable nude painting of a woman.

“Now!” grunted Craig, pulling his trousers down. “Show us a bit of what you promised in the taxi!”

The following half an hour began with Craig literally stripping Jennifer of her clothes and after throwing her on the bed commenced what could only be described as rape.

After Craig had attained his pleasure he got up and began to dress.

“Alright, slag. Now get out!” he spat at her.

Jennifer lay naked and used on the bed. She felt as if she had done battle with a large gorilla. “What about planning a future date?” she asked facetiously.

“Nah, love. The fact is, I don’t really fancy you,” he said with a evil grin on his face.

The proboscis that suddenly shot from Jennifer’s lower body caught Craig totally unawares. It plunged into his gut and began pumping poison into his body.

“What…the…!” he shrieked as he saw Jennifer’s body begin to change.

The white skin of her body became dark chitin and sprouted black hairs. Her eyes disappeared to be replaced by two multi faceted bulges in her head. Then her legs and arms expanded and joined another two pairs that sprouted from her body. Gradually the eight appendages darkened and became hirsute.

“We have been watching Earth for many years,” the thing that had been Jennifer sibilantly whispered. “Our planet is dying and we need to move to somewhere nearer to our natural habitat, that is why we looked towards your world”

Craig’s vision was fading and he felt the venom circulating through his body. “But…why...?”

“I am the Queen of our dying race and it is my duty to restore hope and order to my world. Our race sadly is a peaceful, non warring civilisation and we had long ago put aside all things that were harmful to others. We exist in a utopia, where any dispute is solved by discussion and no creature wishes to own more than its share.

I have been trawling through as many males on this planet, to find those of you who live by inciting fear, who enjoy disharmony, who revel in bullying those weaker than yourself. This is the aggression that my race has lost the path to, but if we are to conquer your world we must attack and subjugate. We understand that we could not peacefully co-exist with you. We know of your natural revulsion to insects, especially our look a like brethren, the spiders.”

Craig fell to the floor and his legs began to twitch. He knew that he was dying, but still could not fathom out his part in this pantomime.

“I have been with many men of your type and being the queen of my species, can carry many samples of your seed within me. Soon I will return home and our scientists will isolate the factor that makes your type as it is, then we will return!” the creature shrieked as it scuttled from the bedroom, leaving a fast disappearing Craig. His flesh was drying and beginning to flake off. He somehow knew that his brain would be the last to disintegrate, thus allowing him the full horror of his dissemination.

Jennifer paused before she opened the front door. The arachnid look had transformed back to human form and she looked about her before turning the handle. As the door swung open, a cold breeze rushed in and down the hall, before entering the bedroom where it playfully lifted the remains of Craig Bireham into the air and completed his dissolution.

………………………………………..+………………………………………………

The House

I went again to the house last night,

and gazed upon the ruined site.

With windows cracked and paper torn,

peeling paintwork tired, forlorn.

The years have bared it's very soul,

And left but dust to fill the hole.

Where happiness and childhood screams,

once filled a home of summer's dreams.

 The walls of crumbling sun bleached stone,

stand as sentinels alone,

defending echoes of joy long passed,

built with hope, which could never last.

The swinging wire without the light,

that kept away the scary night.

Curtains torn and ripped with age,

flap in winds that turned my page.

The dirty dusty heap of rags.

A house, a home, a sad visage.

No longer will I visit here,

I refuse to spare another tear.

But ever in my memory’s eye,

I’ll carry home with you and I.