VIKING SAGA

'Twas many moons ago when Ragnar hooky-nose was still King,

A great Kraken came in fra' the sea and began to devour everything.


With skin like chain-mail and teeth like butcher's knives,

To it's snapping jaws many maidens lost their lives.


Many heroes and warriors bold came to slay the beast,

On their bones and bloody entrails the Kraken it did feast.


The first to fall was Finba the fat who tripped on a tree root,

Then the beast devoured him whole like a marten eating a fruit.


A hundred men a hundred deaths a hundred funerary shrouds,

Over the land the cruse of the kraken spread like dark, brooding clouds.


'Til finally Colin the canny appeared with purpose in his heart,

To slay the green scaly beast he would use all his craft and art.


He cut it's flickering tongue out and spilled it's guts asunder,

Then he cut it's head off and it died, no bludy wonder.


Oft-times on a stormy night the ghostly roar of the Kraken fills the night,

But 'ere the dawn sweeps over the sky the sun shines gold and bright.

The Cigarette Lighter

Archie lingered in front of Jean’s antique shop window as he delved into his inside jacket pocket for his cigarettes. He got a king size B&H to his lip, but discovered that he had no matches.

In the shop window Jean was arranging items for display. She carefully placed three lighter in the centre of the window.  One was brass and the other two looked like silver. ‘Allrighty’ thought Archie, with his ‘fag’ now tucked behind his ear. ‘This needs checking out!’
He entered the shop with high hopes but before he could get to the window display he was blocked by two rather stout ladies.

“Excuse me ladies” He began in his best polite voice. There was no response whatsoever.
“Excuse me, ladies - please!” He repeated. Still no response! He tried again:
“Excuse me” He was losing patience. “Pleeease, I just need to look in the window!”

They were either deaf or just simply ignoring him. Ignorant old biddies!
Damn It! He cursed inwardly; the lighters were so near yet tantalisingly out of reach.
Someone outside stopped to peered in at the window display. And wouldn’t you know it, it was another old biddy! She caught his eye with a knowing look. He recognised the wrinkled face - Ma Gum! That wasn’t her real name off course, Ma Gum was just what he called her. It definitely wasn’t a name of affection.
She smiled at him through the glass, her face crinkled like old leather round the eyes. Was she winking at him?  He cringed inside.
Ma Gum moved on her way and just then Archie spotted a slight gap between the ladies, a chink in the barrier! He grabbed his chance and, squeezing past the ladies, ducked forward eagerly to snatch up the brass lighter. Yes, thought Archie, clutching his ‘prize’, no doubt about it; the lighters were vintage, the real McCoy. He had struck gold!
Then Archie’s hopes were dashed as he heard a familiar voice:
“Jean, those lighters in the window . . . “
The raspy tones were unmistakable: Ma Gum! She’d come into the shop. How had he missed the ‘tinkle’ of the doorbell?
“I’ll take all three of them” She said.
Archie was seized with an insane urge to shout out. Stop! The lighters were his! She was too late! This wasn’t fair!
Ma Gum turned her head and regarded him with beady-bird eyes; it was as if she had read his mind. Then she did it; she winked at him! No doubt this time. Archie wanted to throttle the old bat!
As Jean approached the stout ladies parted for her. For her they parted! If only they had done that for him a moment earlier. . .
Jean picked up the silver lighters and regarded Archie.

“Sorry, that’s been sold” she said, putting out her hand like a school teacher confiscating contraband. Archie clenched his fist tight, stubborn as a kid holding on to precious sweets.  And then, as they exchanged glances, something strange happened; the lighter began to heat up!
“Ahh!” gasped Archie, dropping the burning-hot object and shaking his hand.
Jean calmly bent to retrieve the fallen lighter, and looked up at Archie with suspicion in her eyes. She thinks I’m a nutter, Archie thought as he watched her turn and walk back to Ma Gum.
He inspected his hand in disbelief; it appeared to be fine, no heat blisters, nothing, not even a red flush – except the one on his face!
The shop door tinkled. Ma Gum marched past the window, swinging her bulky shopping bag as if on a mission. ‘God, she doesn’t hang about!’ thought Archie.
He had decided to keep tabs on the old bird but resisted the urge to immediately take off after her.  He set off at a leisurely pace and was surprised at how far ahead Ma Gum was. He had to hurry after her.
Archie shadowed Ma Gum all that afternoon as she trailed in and out of old antique shops, plus one or two charity shops.  He was impressed with Ma Gum’s stamina; his legs weren’t up to so much walking. Tiredness made him careless but fortunately Ma Gum seemed strangely oblivious. She was in a world of her own, thought Archie. After a while he noticed her routine; she would slow down at the shop windows and linger. Archie realised that she wasn’t really looking in the window. She had a faraway expression as if lost in thought. Every so often she would get a look in her eyes - Archie thought of it as her eureka look- then she would enter the shop and come out shortly looking pleased with herself and Archie could see that her bag was filling up.
Eventually, to Archie’s great relief, Ma Gum completed her shopping spree. Thank goodness, thought Archie. Maybe now he could find out where she lived. But he still had a way to go. She continued beetling ahead. She must live miles away, thought Archie. They were virtually into the country side now. Just as Archie thought that he couldn’t go on, Ma Gum stopped at a gate with a wooden stile. As Archie rested to catch his breath, Ma Gum crossed the stile with surprising swiftness. A moment later Archie clambered after her, gasping, but determined to keep up. He wondered about her fitness; it didn’t seem natural . . . and where on earth were they going, out here, in the middle of nowhere . . .
Archie ran on, staggering and tripping over tree roots in an effort to catch up with Ma Gum, who was steadily retreating deeper into the woods. He no longer cared about being spotted. The old bat would have to be blind not to see him now – and yet she still paid him no notice.
Up ahead there was a clearing. Ma Gum moved to the middle of it and started to wave her arms and gyrate like some old performing diva. She’s finally flipped out, thought Archie. She was singing but it was awful wailing gibberish to his ears. Then he realised this was some sort of chant or invocation.  The air seemed to shimmer. She grew silent and stood still, as if waiting. And as she was reaching into her bag Ma Gum looked directly at Archie across the clearing. She held his gaze for an instant, amusement in her eyes. There was something in her hand. Then she winked and was gone! Vanished into thin air! The air shimmered brightly for an instant longer and a small object flew out and hit the ground with a soft thud! This seemed strangely loud in the silent clearing.
Archie stood staring where the object had fallen. A metallic glint of light revealed were it lay. Even though he couldn’t see the object clearly he knew exactly what it was. When he picked it up it was very warm but not burning hot.
Archie rolled his calloused thumb across the flint wheel. The flint rasped and a flame sparked into life. He drew deeply on his B&H king-size and puffed a plume of smoke into the air. Ahh, that’s better, he thought, as he sat with his back against a tree. He’d needed a smoke badly. Maybe the day wasn’t a total loss after all.

With each inhalation and exhalation of smoke he ruminated on the weird events of the day. It was his Zen breathing meditation. His mind was filled with questions. Deep breath, Question: what the hell was going on with Ma Gum? Breath out, question: who was Ma Gum? Question: what had happened to Ma Gum? Where had she disappeared to? Deep breath, question: what was Ma Gum? Not what she appeared to be, that was for sure. His mind boggled at the possibilities. The questions buzzed around his head like bees being fumigated. And what about the business with the antiques?  He examined the brass lighter again. It was a beauty and definitely vintage, although he couldn’t quite place it. There was a design engraved in the brass, badly faded, which suggested it was pretty ancient. And why had Ma Gum ‘given’ him the lighter? It made no sense and yet everything seemed to point to the lighter.

When Archie arrived home, he got out his magnifying glass and examined the surface of the lighter.

He could just about make out ‘Sic transit gloria mundi – 1917’…whatever that meant! He pulled down some encyclopaedias and after searching through most of the pages found that the phrase meant ‘Thus passes the glory of the world – 1917’.

Archie reckoned it had been a World War 1 soldier’s cigarette lighter, judging by the date. But what a strange thing to have inscribed and why would Ma Gum be interested in it?

Next morning Archie got up early and set out to find the elusive Ma Gum. Surely somebody would know where she stayed.

All at once, as if by magic, a postman appeared pedalling a bicycle furiously  up the street.

“Hey mate!” shouted Archie. “Stop for a mo’. I need some information.”

The red faced postie pulled up alongside Archie. He seemed glad to stop and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his brow.

“What can I help you with me old pal?” he grunted amongst wheezes.

“You know the old girl, Ma Gum?” Archie asked.

“Should do,” replied the postman. “Just delivered a couple parcels to the old trout.”

“So where’s her place? Is it far away?”

“Nah, just along that road,” he said pointing behind him. “And second on the right. You can’t miss it; it looks like a spook house in the funfair!”

Archie could see what the mailman was talking about as he approached Ma Gum’s abode. It would have done the Adam’s family proud. Mock turrets graced the roof and the windows looked as if they hadn’t been washed since Adam was a boy. Walking up to the heavily studded front door Archie pulled down on a chain that hung to the right of the door.

“Clang! Clang! Clang!” went a bell deep inside the house. It had been loud enough to waken the dead, but as the echoes died away a strange eerie silence engulfed the building again and Archie wondered whether he should pull the chain again.

All at once the huge doors gave a loud screech and opened. Archie found himself looking down a long dark hall. The floor was covered with leaves that had blown in and what with the large cobwebs that hung from the ceiling, the overall impression that Archie got was one of total neglect and he shivered as he made his way down the passageway.

Archie stopped at the first door he came to. He had tried calling out but the echoes went on for so long after, it exacerbated the feeling of being alone and created a very creepy atmosphere.

With a push from Archie the door swung open to reveal a large, very empty room that looked as if it had entertained a large bonfire in the not too distant past. A large black stain covered the floor and Archie could smell the stench of burning.

Walking into the room, Archie looked all about him. It had been a very handsome room before the fire, but now soot hung from the cornices and blackened the windows.

Archie was just about to leave the room and look elsewhere for Ma Gum, when he noticed that the air above the blackened area had stared to shimmer. He remembered when he had seen this phenomenon before and realised something untoward was about to happen!

With an almighty crash a large touring caravan materialised in the room, on the blackened spot. It looked as dirty and soot covered as the room and Archie could see steam coming off the surfaces. What the hell was this, he thought. He had seen some strange things in his life, but this took the biscuit. Where had it come from….the Astral Plain?

“Oh my bones!” came a groan as the caravan door opened. Out of it emerged a very bedraggled looking Ma Gum. “That last trip really took it out of me; I need a good cup of tea.”

The lady had been chatting happily to herself when she suddenly realised that she wasn’t alone.

“What are you doing here? She demanded. “You’re trespassing!”

Archie smiled bravely and holding out the cigarette lighter said, “It’s your fault, you dropped this and I thought that I would try and return it to you.”

The old dame suddenly realised who Archie was and she collapsed onto the floor, laughing like a drain.

“I remember you, I saw you in Ander’s Antiques yesterday. I stopped you getting that brass lighter..ha!ha!ha!”

Archie felt his feathers had been ruffled. “You didn’t need to burn my hand!” he said petulantly.

“Ach, well, it was just a bit of mischief, but it proved to me that you are just the person I need. You proved that you had a true affinity for that item.”

“What are you going on about, you old twit,” grunted Archie. “Just take this lighter back and I’ll be on my way!”

“Now then, Archie,” said the old woman. “Is that any way to talk to a lady?”

By this time Archie had reached the door and was about to leave.

“I don’t know what that gizmo is,” he said pointing at the cooling caravan. “But whatever it is I don’t want to know, so just leave me to get on with my life!”

Ma Gum smiled to herself and turned away from Archie.

“Well Archie, I never took you for a coward. I’m offering you a chance that many men would sell their souls for.”

Archie stopped half in and half out of the door. Being called a coward was the ultimate insult and he had to know what the old harridan was on about, so he came back in to the room.

Archie took a closer look at the caravan while Ma Gum put on the kettle for a cup of tea. The caravan was huge and all about its walls it had pieces of silverware embedded. A candelabrum here, a dish there. They seemed to be moulded into the structure of the caravan. Several silver coins glinted as Archie passed and a large punch bowl protruded from the caravan’s surface. What the hell has the old biddy been up to, thought Archie? And why had it suddenly appeared looking hot and steamy? Where had it come from?”

“Ah, “said Ma Gum, re-entering the room carrying two mugs of tea. “I can see you’re intrigued with my new ‘toy’.”

“What is it?” asked Archie, taking a mug from Ma Gum. “It looks like you’ve melted various items into the walls. What is the reason for that?”

“First,” said the old woman. “I must ask you a question. Do you believe that time travel is possible?”

Archie looked into Ma Gum’s eyes. Was she mad? Had she finally decided to let go of reality and embrace fantasy. Archie knew that the local populace knew her as a witch and treated her with a degree of suspicion, but time travel? That was straight out of science fiction rather than gothic horror.

“I suppose it is possible…” said Archie unsure of where the conversation was going. “You’re telling me that this,” he said pointing at the ‘caravan’ “Is a time machine?”

“Exactly!” screamed the old woman, dropping her tea cup and running across to the caravan. “That is exactly what it is!”

Ma Gum began to explain to Archie, why she had constructed the time machine. She had used her crucible to extract silver from a piece ore and after it had cooled had held it in her hand. At the same moment, she had inadvertently been thinking of a spell that she had been practising endlessly, without success. How the spell related to moving from one place to another, unseen. Annoyed with her inability to get the spell to work, she had spoken the spell out loud and had found herself several miles away. Afraid of being stuck there she had instantly visualised her house, uttered the spell again and been transported---home!

“The common factor was the piece of new silver that I had been holding,” she said.

“So that was why you vanished from my sight after dropping the brass lighter,” said Archie. “You were using the spell.”

After experimenting with the silver and the spell, Ma Gum found that she could only move within a few hours of time, but thought that if she obtained pieces of silver from other ages it would allow her to travel to and from these periods of time. When Archie had followed her she had been collecting these pieces of silver from various antique shops.

“I used a spell for dowsing that allowed me to instantly know when a shop contained a piece I required. I mistakenly thought the cigarette lighters were all silver and that is why I bought them, from right under your nose,” she laughed. “The dowsing spell must have influenced the brass lighter and gave you the impression of burning your hand.”

“So?” asked Archie. “Did it work?”

Ma Gum’s eyes lit up. “Yes it did, but I was still limited by the amount of time I could spend in that past time. I could only hold so many items of silver and it only gave me a few hours. Then I thought of embedding silverware from the specific time that I wished to visit, in the walls of a receptacle that I could travel within.”

“So you picked a touring caravan,” said Archie ruefully.

“Yes, I could then travel to the time period and remain there for the duration of the visit, in relative comfort.”

“Ok,” said Archie. “And what had you decided was my part in your master plan?”

The old lady smiled to herself and turned away. She walked over to the time machine and opening the door entered. Two minutes later she returned holding a photograph which she handed to Archie.

“I want you to return to the year of 1914, to right a terrible wrong, Archie. “But wont that create a, what do you call it…... a paradox which will change the future, my present?”

Ma Gumm looked into his face and Archie could see that she was crying.

“Yes, it could, but it has to be done.”

 

The Sweet Factory

 

There once lived a 12-year-old boy called Jim. He wasn’t a normal boy in school but neither were his parents; well his dad wasn’t. His mum died when he was only young. His dad was a dentist and a very strict one too.

 

It was Halloween, so Jim designed a costume. He was dressed as a doctor. He was a few hours out before he came home with his bag full of sweets. His dad immediately leapt from his seat and swiftly ran over to Jim and said “what do you have there boy?” Jim replied “a few sweets dad”. His dad snatched the bag off Jim and threw it in the fire. Jim cried a little and stormed up stairs.

 

He started to invent something new. He had a good mind but his inventions never worked. But this time he had a feeling about this one. He was going to design a secret sweet machine so he could……… have all the sweets in the world.

 

Little Jim started to collect the parts and pieces for his magical sweet machine. He was clanking and hammering all night then early the next morning he was finished. It was fantastic but he still didn’t know if it worked. He slowly bent down and grabbed the plug then with a worried face he ever so slowly trotted over to the socket and pushed the plug inside. He flicked the switch and heard the sweet machine fire up. As quick as a bullet he sprinted over to the machine and was so hypnotised in amazement that he fainted.

 

He was quickly woken up by the sound of the ice cream man outside but why would he need him, he had a sweet machine. He designed the machine to be voice activated. Jim asked for a packet of Walker crisps but the sweet machine replied, “Need fuel”. Then Jim remembered that he had to put a sweet into the machine to start it off. He slowly hopped downstairs and got a gobstopper from the ice cream man for two pence and inserted it into the machine.

 

The machine was brighter than before so he knew something had worked. He asked again “can I have some Walker crisps please”.

The machine replied “please hold” and the machine started clanking away. A minute later came Jim’s Walker crisps.

Jim was so amazed by his invention he forgot he had school and…. homework. He sprang up from his hands and knees like a tensioned Slinky. He got dressed and sprinted to school, as he was already 10 minutes late. His first class was science and his teacher was miss Trunchbull who was the strictest teacher of all time. When he arrived at class finally, his fellow classmates and miss Trunchbull turned to face Jim. His face turned like a tomato as the teacher bellowed, “Where have you been Jim”?

Jim replied, “school bus was late miss”.

Miss Trunchbull then said” was it now? Well how did everyone else make it to class?” Jim said nothing then sat down.

 

 It was time to go home. Jim trotted down the road with no expression on his face. He was home finally and exhausted from his journey from school. He laboured upstairs too see his sweet machine. Jim watched TV for a bit and fell asleep. As he was sleeping he had the most brilliant dream. He dreamt about owning and managing his very own sweet factory. He soon woke up and thought about his dream. He was going to design his very own sweet factory. He worked on the design for weeks and began collecting different parts and pieces to duplicate his old sweet machine. He had built sweet machine NO.2 and made six more so all together he had 8 .His dad was asleep so he ran to the abandoned house across the street and he transported his machines in a wheelbarrow. He started to rebuild what was once a house. It took weeks for him to rebuild his new found factory. His dad wasn’t worried since he snuck back in his house every day and every night for school. He invited over two of his very few friends to experience his work on the factory. The two friends were astounded at his factory. They were ages with Jim one was called Jake and the other Sam. They were also smarty pants Jake was interested in the same things as Jim but not Sam he took a interest in fictional things. Jim’s factory was taking shape now. Two months on and the factory was complete. Each machine had two dispensers attached to it Jim was now 13

 

..............to be continued 

The Ghost Post

The Ghost Post

Ray White was a parcel delivery man with a lonely route.

In his little blue van he traversed some of the loneliest and most desolate corners of Scotland. Rannoch Moor, Glencoe and Glen Etive were usual routes.

This was his last job before retiring, a way to top up his retirement income as Ray, after forty years of hard graft could not yet afford to ride off into the sunset.

Today was a particularly dreich February day. The cloudy morning had turned into wind and sleet in the afternoon and freezing cold mist by evening.

After stopping at a little hotel frequented by skiers for a late lunch Ray found himself in the mist, far onto Rannoch moor.

With darkness falling no place on earth could seem so desolate as this barren, treeless emptiness of heather and bog.

The mist hugged the ground in ghostlike whirls, the signposts and heathery clumps of moorland assuming whatever eerie shape Ray's mind gave them.

He wished he had remained at the hotel, or left the last parcel for tomorrow. The address on it meant nothing to him, was there even a cottage that far out? Some lonely but and ben hidden in the middle of nowhere? Would anyone even be there at such a miserable time of year? In the height of some some adventurous souls might appreciate the moorland, but a cold and misty February night made Rannoch moor seem like hell!

Ray rounded another bend in the road and slammed on the brakes as fast as he could!!

The van screeched to a halt, balancing on the edge of the road and the drainage ditch at the side.

Ray was sure something had darted across the road just in front of him. Not a mist shrouded figment of his imagination, something real. He had only glimpsed it for a moment but he had the distinct impression that it, whatever it was, had walked on two legs.

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Gathering himself, he cracked on, knowing he had a trek to reach this forbidden outpost. Braes and dips, rain and fog, straights and bends.......... was the harrowing road ahead. A rough, tarmacadam assault course, testing the wee blue chariot to it's limit, not to mention Ray White.

After some time, he was well on his way, trundling along the B66. He'd never been that far along it before and the road was so rugged, Ray felt it should be awarded an extra 6 on the end!!

Time was wearing on and daylight had gone as he climbed another brow and gazed at what could only be described as......... a black hole. Could it have been the old railroad tunnel he'd heard the old ones talk of?

"Old stories blethered by old folk" he'd thought!!

The entrance was fast approaching and he held his breath as it swallowed him up. Headlights blazing, he could only see as far as the next turn would allow. Foliage hanging all around, from every crack in the ancient brickwork, ......"was this tunnel still in use?" Ray wondered.

A minute or two later he was deep in it's belly. All he could do was motor on, bend after bend and hope the exit would appear.....and it did.

He slowed as he escaped, fearful of what was on the other side, what was waiting.......

It was darker, a different hue, the night sky was strange, almost alien.......... The road was dark and straight, straighter than it had ever been..........The surroundings were still, very still but alive.....almost watching.

A different world, an alternative existence, a ghostly plain..........

Ray motored on...........

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The road was pitted with water filled pot holes and the little blue van bumped up and down as it bravely battled down the mist covered carriageway.

Ray struggled on bravely, seeing strange clumps of broken brickwork and rusty, wrecked cars lying at the side of the road, he wondered where the tunnel had led him.

Casting a glance into his mirror Ray saw, to his horror, that whatever had almost caused him to crash was just visible to his rear, following him along this road from Hell! It was fading in and out of the mist, but Ray knew instinctively that it was after him and shivered at the thought of it catching up!

No matter how fast he drove, Ray could see the follower keeping pace with the van.

What the hell was it? What could run at that speed? Nothing natural anyway!

As the mist thinned and thickened, Ray could often see far ahead of him and he was sure that every so often a light gleamed out.

Could it be a house thought Ray? Perhaps somewhere he could stop and get help. He had to come upon habitation soon, surely? But what would the thing behind him do if it caught up?

Suddenly the mist lifted and Ray could make out a figure holding a lamp standing in the road a short distance ahead. Now he could get help, thought Ray. Surely two people could scare away whatever was following him.

As Ray neared the person he was dismayed to see that the figure was clad in a long flowing robe, which swirled this way and that in the wind. A lamp was being held aloft and its beams fell on the head of the carrier displaying that the person was wearing a mask…or something.

Screeching to a halt Ray jumped out of the van and ran up to the robed figure.

“I’m being followed!” shouted Ray. “I am sure it is an animal or something, but it is running on two legs!”

The figure lowered the lamp and shone it in Ray’s face.

“You have met my little pet,” hissed the person. “He leads the dead to me, to allow for their easy passage to the other side.”

“Who are you?” demanded Ray, stepping back a bit in horror. Surely this person was a madman. What was he on about? Death? More like someone in a Halloween costume.

Then the thing that had been following Ray arrived. It stood panting as it opened its large jaws and displayed sharp pointed teeth. To describe it as an animal was to do it an injustice. It was a monstrosity. A chimera of many animals and humans thrown together into a semblance of a humanoid.

“Ah Xoi, you have brought another hapless soul to me,”purred the one who called himself Death as he stroked the creature. “We will send him on his way as we have done with the rest.”

Ray looked from the animal to the master and pointing at both the denizens of Hades.

“First and foremost I am an employee of the Royal Mail and I demand that you at least allow me to complete my final delivery before dispatching me to wherever I am destined for. I have a single parcel to deliver and I must carry out my duty to the last!”

Death laughed evilly. “Of course you can complete your delivery. Far be it from me to stop a man completing his duty. Where is the parcel? Let me see it.”

Ray went back to the van and collected the parcel. Obviously, he thought, he had died in the crash due to almost hitting the creature and the tunnel was the entrance to the Afterlife. But he always understood that the transition from life to death was an easy trip, certainly nothing like he had endured in the past… half an hour? Had it been longer? Ray had sort of lost touch with time. It could have been hours…or days…or maybe he had been travelling for eternity since emerging from the tunnel.

Ray held the parcel up for Death to read the address. The master of the Dead reached out to take it from Ray, but the postman held on to it.

“I can not allow anyone to hold this piece of mail other than the person who it is addressed to!” Ray shouted, pulling the package back.

Death leant forward and holding the lamp high read the scrawled address on the surface of the parcel. Suddenly he began to laugh.

“Oh this is great…!” he spluttered. “Do you know where this piece of mail is going?” he said to Xoi. The creature rolled its bloodshot eyes and shook its scaly head.

“It for the…” Death then spoke in a foreign language. To Ray it sounded ancient and he felt a shiver go down his spine.

Now master and creature were sharing a joke and as Xoi rolled on its back growling and gnashing its teeth, Death held his sides as he roared with laughter.

“I’ll tell you what Mr Mailman, if you mange to deliver this package and survive, I will return you to your previous life and guarantee you at least ten years before I come looking for you again. But, if what happens as I expect to happen, well… then you arrive right back here! What do you say to that? Eh? Is it a deal?”

As Ray drove off he watched Death and the creature Xoi in his rear mirror. They knew that he would be back and they found the prospect of his proposed delivery highly amusing. He could hear Death’s booming laughter and Xoi’s guttural growls echoing behind him.

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Ray drove on in a state of inner turmoil. Everything seemed unreal; He felt like he was in a nightmare. He doubted his senses and even his mind . . . ‘this can’t be happening’, he thought and yet he knew that it was.

Driving calmed him; he loved to drive; that was the best part of being a posty. As the reflexes of driving took over he consider his situation. It was an understatement to say that it looked bad. However he looked at it he was damned – and that was putting it politely – though ‘damned’ might be exactly the right word.

He pulled over to the side of the road and managed to get the van door open before he was violently sick.

‘What the hell am I going to do?’ he thought. The word ‘Hell’ seemed to echo in his mind and for some reason it reminded him of his special delivery. It was the parcel that provoked laughter from the ‘master’ and his hellish ‘pet’ beast. What was the joke? Somehow Ray knew that he wouldn’t find it very funny even if he did get it.

The parcel looked normal; a square box wrapped in brown paper. It could have contained a football. It was light enough. He gave it a shake. It seemed empty. The address was hand written in an elegant copperplate:

Mr Louis Cypher

6 Over gate Cottage

HD 66

What was so funny about that? He couldn’t see the joke. Then he remembered his thoughts about the B66 . . . it should be awarded another 6! And here was HD 66 with another 6 there to make it 666, the number of the – no! This was nonsense, madness!

Ray got back into his van. It occurred to him that he could just ditch this last delivery and head for home. To hell with the ‘master’ and his monstrous beast. And to hell with the deal he had made; he had no choice at the time.

As he drove back onto the road his headlights caught something lurking in the darkness, something glowing like cats eyes – only these were the eyes of a monstrosity, the beast! He still had no choice; the beast was going to make sure he kept to the deal and made his special delivery.

‘It can’t be much further’ thought Ray. ‘The cottage must be near’. Ray had stopped looking in his mirror to see the Beast following. He was resigned; he knew that he couldn’t out run it.

Up a head his headlights had flashed on something; it became more distinct as the van charged up the road – he glimpsed a gate post and then the white wash of a building appeared; the cottage.

Ray pulled up, trying to pretend that this was business as usual, though his instinct was to toss the parcel up the path like some lazy paper boy – and to make a run for it!

But no, his professional pride kicked in. He opened the gate calmly, parcel in hand. The cottage appeared to be deserted but as Ray approached the wooden door he saw a note pinned there. The writing was the same as the hand written elegant copperplate on the parcel.

‘Postman, please come in’. It was signed Louis with a flourish.

Ray hesitated. He looked back over his shoulder for his beastly companion. He was gone now, as if keeping his distance. Ray felt oddly deserted.

The door swung open at his touch. It didn’t creak in hammer horror style. It was silent as the grave. He stepped over the thresh hold with his senses alert – and was immediately plunged into darkness with a plummeting sense of vertigo -  and just as suddenly he was in a well lit room, a huge room lit with thousands of flickering candles.

‘Hello, Ray. I’ve been expecting you. . .’ The voice was mellifluous, but somehow disturbing.

Ray looked around into the most evil hypnotic eyes he had ever seen. This was Louis?

‘I should say I’ve been expecting this very special delivery’ Louis reached for the parcel. Ray handed it over with lifeless fingers.

‘I have been after this one for a long, long time’ said Louis. He held the box up and seemed to be inhaling its fragrance. ‘Ahh . . . a good vintage . . . ’

Louis stepped back and the box spun in the air and began to scream like a lobster being boiled. Black smoke streamed from the box. Then it burst into flame and vanished with a final scream.

Ray stood speechless, powerless, awaiting his fate.

Louis regarded him. Ray wanted to look away but couldn’t; he was held by those malevolent eyes.

‘Don’t worry Ray, it’s not your time – yet’ Louis smiled and made a noise which Ray didn’t recognise as laughter.

‘I require your services. I have a return delivery for you’ as he spoke he reached up and caught a parcel which seemed to materialise in the air. A box just like the last one.

‘Give this to your friend with the ghastly pet’

Ray experience the plunging sensation again and found himself back at the thresh hold of the cottage door. He stumbled and lay gasping for breath. He literally crawled back into his van. It was like sanctuary. He sat there breathing deeply for some time before he saw his old friend lurking in the darkness. He observed the beast as it approached. It appeared hesitant, nervous even. On impulse he blasted the van horn and was rewarded with the sight of the beast diving for cover. In his elation he realised that he felt no fear. It was odd; he literally felt fearless.

‘Right! - Let’s get this job done!’ thought Ray as he gunned the van into life and charged back down the narrow country road.

It didn’t take long to find the master. He appeared with his lamp and a look of dismay on his face.

‘You’re back!’ he exclaimed.

‘I have something for you’ said Ray as he produced the parcel.

‘Ah, you didn’t deliver it then’ said the master, now smiling.

‘Oh I delivered alright, but this one is for you’

The master’s smile collapsed. He looked doubtful.

‘For me?’ he said. Fear lurked in his eyes.

‘Yes!’ said Ray ‘it’s for you’

The master took a step back but it was too late; the parcel flew up above him and began to spin. Ray thought the box was screaming that weird lobster scream – but it was the master who was contorting and screaming now. And he seemed to be dematerialising into black vapour. In an instant he was sucked up into the box like smoke in an extractor fan. The box didn’t burst into flames; the spinning slowed and it dropped softly to the ground.

Ray picked up the parcel. There was an address on it, written in an elegant copperplate:

Mr Louis Cypher

6 Over gate Cottage

HD 66

Ray saw that the lamp on the ground were it had fallen. It was still shining brightly. In the distance he heard the call of the beast. Ray picked up his lamp and held it high like a beacon.

Out Damned Spot

Geoff Black rubbed at his paint covered hands as he waited for his pint in the Red Lion public house. Tina had wanted the boy’s room finished today, but lack of wallpaper paste and enthusiasm on his part meant it would have to be completed tomorrow. Tina was on her way to B and Q to buy the paste and he was taking a well earned rest from DIY home decorating.

The pint arrived on his table with condensation running down the outside of the glass. It was delivered by Sal, who waited on the tables in the Red Lion.

“Eerr Sal,” Geoff grunted as he lifted the welcoming glass up to eye level.. “This is a bit of alright. A’int it?”

“Yes Geoff, you can’t beat a good pint on a day like this,” she replied collecting a few empty glasses of the table.

As he sipped his beer Geoff began to daydream and as usual his thoughts returned to the streets of Bagdad where he had soldiered two years before.

He was immediately engulfed in the heat, the dust and the terrible stress of being under fire. The day dream gathered momentum and he imagined that he could hear the men, his army colleagues talking in hushed tones.

“We’re pinned down skipper,” hissed Ken James to the group’s leader, Tommy Danton.

“Yes, I know James, but we have to get passed this street,” Danton growled. “The rest of the boys are on the west side!”

Geoff sighted down his rifle sights and checked the empty street. Debris and burnt out cars lay all about and any of these piles of rubble or rusting metal could harbour a sniper.

“Looks clear to me, skipper,” whispered Geoff. “I think we should make a break for it.”

Gathering up their rifles and packs the soldiers crept out from where they had been sheltering. The silence was almost as bad as the sound of bullets. No one knew if and when the enemy would begin firing again.

Geoff was leading the small group of men towards a neighbouring street; Geoff kept watch on the approaching corner and then turned to check on the progress of the rest of the men.

“Black!” shouted Danton suddenly. “The corner……incoming!”

Geoff swung his rifle around and loosed off a shot at the figure that had appeared from round the corner. His aim was good and the bullet obliterated the head of the person, a small boy who fell to the ground with a sickening thud. Geoff dropped his rifle and ran to the small bleeding body.

A woman who had been standing at a doorway in the street began to wail and cry out. She ran to where the boy lay and picking him up began to cradle his headless torso to her breast. Very soon she was coated with his blood and presented a macabre spectacle.

“Black! Black!” shouted Captain Danton. “Get the medic! Quickly…!

“I don’t think the doc will help, skipper,” said Ken James. “Black’s totally done for him!”

A crash woke Geoff from his reverie and looking down he realised that he had dropped his glass, smashing it and spraying beer all around.

“Oh Sal….I’m sorry,” he said as he bent to pick up the bits of shattered glass. “I was being careless.”

“Just leave it Geoff, I’ll clear it up. I’ll get you another pint,” Sal said turning to the bar. “Don’t try to pick up the glass you’ll cut yourself and we’ll have blood everywhere!”

At the mention of blood, Geoff saw again in his mind’s eye, the little body clasped in the blood soaked woman’s arms. The little train, which the boy had been pulling behind him, was lying on its side in the dust, splashed crimson with the lad’s blood.

Geoff shook his head to clear the vision and then rushed out of the pub into the street.

People were about and some stopped in their tracks as Geoff rushed by, unsure as to the reason for his hasty retreat.

 By the time he got home Geoff was out of breath and feeling nauseous. The day dream had been so real. He thought that the time spent with the Army psychiatrists would have alleviated these hallucinations, these bloody loss of reality episodes. That was the reason that he had been shipped off back to Britain after the incident. The public outcry that had followed the shooting had threatened the stability of the country and the ‘top brass’ had decided he should be quietly ‘removed’.

His demob from the Army had happened six months later after a military court martial. Geoff was deemed to have overstepped his duty by firing on a civilian and after a suitable period of time with the Army Psychiatry team, he was drummed out of the Army.

“Geoff. Geoff!” came a cry from behind him. It was Tina. “Have you forgotten your keys again?” she said laughing, as she unlocked their front door. “I’ve got superfast paste so you may be able to finish Billy’s room tonight. Pretty please?”

Geoff and Tina looked round their son’s newly painted and papered bedroom.

It was well past midnight, but both parents felt the pleasurable tiredness that came with a job well done.

“Right Geoff,” said Tina. “We’ll get some posters for him and stick them on the walls. It will give Billy a real sense of his own room.”

“Yes,” said Geoff ruefully. “It may encourage him to keep it tidy!”

As Tina went through to the toilet to wash her hands Geoff took a last look round. Yes, he thought, they had made a really good job. They worked well together and over the years had become quite adept at the do-it-yourself projects.

Noticing something on the wall at about eye level, Geoff crossed the room and touched the small dark spot with his finger. As he touched it something like a small electric shock went through his finger and he stepped back. He touched it again but got no similar effect.

“The boy’s posters will cover it up and no one will ever see it.” He said to himself as he snapped the light off and closed the bedroom door.

By the time Mr and Mrs. Black got to bed that night it was 2 am and they quietly crept around the bedroom trying not to disturb Billy who lay on a camp bed at the foot of their bed.

“It’ll be nice to have Billy back in his own room,” Geoff grunted pulling the bed clothes over him. “We might manage to rekindle some of our animal passions.”

“Aye,” said his wife. “That’ll be right.”

Putting the light out, Geoff plunged the room into darkness. All he could hear was the steady susurration of Billy’s breathing. Soon it was joined by his wife’s and Geoff rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes.

It seemed to Geoff that he had just fallen asleep when he woke aware of something moving in the darkness of the bedroom. He leant over to the bedside light and switched it on.

The sudden burst of light caused Geoff to momentarily shut his eyes. Gradually he opened them and was shocked by what was before him.

He was back at the shooting incident in Bagdad. The woman covered with blood was holding out the boy’s decapitated body and screaming at him.

“Yo English devil! Yo will pay dearly for this murder! Katar will avenge my son! He will come for you!”

Suddenly Geoff felt himself being shaken and the scene in front of him vanished and was replaced by two very concerned looking faces, that of Tina and Billy.

“Geoff, what’s wrong? You were screaming and pointing across the room!” said Tina hugging Billy to herself. “You must have had a nightmare. What was it? All those paint fumes?”

The next morning Tina let Geoff lie sleeping as she got Billy ready for school. She had looked in on the boy’s bedroom and it seemed as if everything had dried out satisfactorily. Billy had looked in too and had admired his parent’s handiwork.

After seeing Billy off to school, Tina made Geoff a cup of coffee and took it up to him.

“Come on sleepyhead,” she said as she pulled the bedroom curtains open. “Time to get up.”

Geoff and Tina went down to one of the shops selling posters and bought a few for Billy’s bedroom walls. The boy was into “Star Wars” and the “Lord of the Rings”, so Darth Vader, Luke Skywalker, Bilbo Baggins and the Golum soon graced Billy’s walls. Geoff had noticed the mark on the wall was slightly larger today, but hastily covered it up with a map of Middle Earth in case Tina wanted the paper stripped off again.

Billy had been ‘over the moon’ with his newly decorated bedroom and as he snuggled under his duvet with Yoda printed on it, he gazed up at his new posters.

“They are so cool. Thank you Mum and Dad and I promise to keep my bedroom tidy.”

As Geoff closed his son’s bedroom door he leant over and kissed Tina. “Well, it looks like we did something right.”

The following week passed as weeks do with Geoff looking for work. When he had ‘left’ the Army he didn’t have a trade to fall back on and after registering at the Jobs Centre was put forward for various jobs. Although he carried them all out with equal alacrity and verve, Geoff always seemed to be the ‘last one in, first one out’ and was often in receipt of unemployment benefit. Tina insisted that he have a couple of pints a week down at the Red Lion. Often he picked up odd jobs and ended up digging a piece of ground or painting someone’s front door. It gave him pocket money and filled his time gainfully.

One evening he arrived home dirty and tired from helping to empty a house after the death of the occupant. One of his mates, Jackie Fuller had hired a van and for him and Geoff it was ‘cash in hand’ supplied by grateful relatives.

As he opened the kitchen door he heard Billy’s voice coming from inside.

“It scares me Mum. The poster is moving. I promise you, I’m not lying!”

There was a pregnant silence as Geoff stepped into the kitchen. Tina was standing at the cooker stirring soup in a pot and Billy was looking decidedly scared.

“What’s up Billy?” asked Geoff. “Someone bullying you at school?”

“Oh Geoff, he says that one of his posters is moving on the wall of his bedroom. It must be a draught,” said Tina with a small laugh.

“Come on,” said Geoff to his son. “Let’s go and see.”

Father and son climbed the stair and entered Billy’s bedroom.

“Now, which one is moving?” asked Geoff.

Billy pointed at the map of Middle Earth. “I noticed it a couple of nights ago, but thought that it was my imagination.”

Geoff looked closely at the poster but could see no movement. He opened and shut the bedroom door and window without any effect.

“I think you are imagining things, son,” said Geoff. “Now go downstairs and have your tea.”

When the boy had left Geoff carefully pulled the poster off the wall. It had been attached with Blutack and came away quite cleanly revealing a much increased mark on the wall. Geoff looked at the enlarged black mark and tried to imagine what it reminded him of. Oh well, he thought eventually, I suppose I will have to strip it back tomorrow. It must be damp or something.

That night Geoff returned to war torn Bagdad and to the corner of the street where the little boy had been killed. The woman stood as she had in all his previous visions of her, with the little corpse in her arms. Once again she screamed at him and he felt horrified at what he had done. It seemed as if his feet were in glue which stopped him moving away from the verbal barrage. His eyes fell to the little blood stained engine and he felt tears running down his cheeks.

The screaming continued unabated and Geoff felt bombarded by it. All of a sudden he realised he was back in his bedroom, but still hearing the screaming.

“It’s Billy!” shouted Tina. “Whatever is wrong….?”

Geoff threw open Billy’s bedroom door and was aghast at what confronted him.

The entire wall that had displayed the mark was gone and through it Geoff could see a dark sky with jewel like stars. A howling gale was sucking everything out of the room and Billy was clinging to his cupboard door as his bed and toys vanished out of the dark maw of the hole. Geoff could hear the voice of the Iraqi woman as she cursed him.

“Yo English devil! Yo will pay dearly for this murder! Katar will avenge my son! He will come for you!”

Geoff could see that his son was about to be swallowed by this avenging entity and knew that the boy was innocent of any crime. Quickly snatching up a carpet knife which had been left after the decorating, Geoff slashed at his wrists releasing gouts of blood into the hurricane.

“No Katar!” he screamed, as the blood flowed freely from him. “My son is not who you want. Take me, I am the guilty one!”

The tempest picked Geoff up and carried him out into the dark night where the stars shone down like menacing eyes. He was carried this way and that and pummelled as the storm took its revenge.

“Forgive me,” he whimpered. “Forgive me.”

He was back leading his Army buddies towards that fateful corner in that benighted place in Iraq. Why was life making him go through this again, he thought to himself.

Had he not suffered enough? Was it never to end?

Then he was back, this was purgatory and his punishment, to repeat this for eternity.

“Black!” shouted Danton suddenly. “The corner……incoming!”

Feeling like a puppet Geoff swung his rifle around, but unlike the previous times, did not fire a shot, but watched as a little boy appeared from round the corner and toddled off across the street towing a little engine. Halfway across the street the boy stopped and looking in Geoff’s direction, smiled and gave him a wave before hurrying off up the street.

The scene dissolved about Geoff and darkness descended on him like a cloak.

“When will he wake up?” a voice asked in Geoff’s night.

“He will wake when he wants to,” said another voice.

Geoff opened his eyes and saw that he was lying in a hospital bed. Tina and Billy stood by looking very worried.

“What happened?” Geoff croaked.

“Oh Geoff, you collapsed in Billy’s room,” said Tina. “We thought you were dead. I called an ambulance and on the trip over to the hospital, the paramedics had to shock your heart to get it beating again. Is everything OK?”

Geoff stretched out his hands to his wife and son and they held them tightly.

“Yes,” he said feeling a tear run down his cheek. “Everything is OK…now.”

The great outdoors

It was Friday noon-ish, me, my dad, my little brother Arran and my two friends Ben and Declan were heading out for a camping trip. We were all packed and raring to go, so we jumped  into the car and the trip began to........... Tentsmuir.

It wasn't far, and it wasn't long so all we did was talk. The chat was about mostly video games but somehow it got onto girls when someone mentioned Rachel two words jaw dropping every time you saw her you drooled a little she was flawless but anyway back to the story. We arrived at Tentsmuir it was a beautiful sight, birds chirping, sea waves as tranquil as the water can be but loudest of all my dad chatting away about his experiences in the wilderness and how he always went out with his friends and whatever so we were searching for a place to set up camp.

We were searching for about ten minutes but finally we found the perfect place to set up camp so we pitched our 6 man tent and began to collect wood for the fire. We found alot since we were in the woodland but the only problem was we had forgotten the fire lighters but we remembered you can light it with dead grass which seemed to work. We were set, a tent, a fire, so we got a couple of logs to sit on and began to roast our marshmallows on sticks we found. I burnt mine but no biggie there was more marshmallows. The dark crept in quick so the stories began. Here was mine.......... "as the night flooded in, the demon spawn came to take over " but that's just my imagination. We were sleepy so we went to bed. I was woken up by the sound of "zzzzzz" as the tent door zipped down and the sun light shone in. It was our time up in tentsmuir so we gathered our stuff together and returned to the car.

We were on the journey home from our great outdoor adventure. It wasn't as much fun heading home than it was leaving it, none the less at least I will have a nice, big, cosy bed tonight. We dropped off my friends at their homes. On the way back I got hungry so we got breakfast and enjoyed the rest of the day together.

THE END..............................