fiction

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Elf and Safety

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Debby paused with the kettle in her hand. She had seen a flash of red in her smart grey and white kitchen. There it was again, she must hurry up and make that appointment at Specsavers. She took her glasses off, polished the lenses then put them on again, only to see a flash of green and red. Blinking she looked around the kitchen and that was when she saw it, sitting on the mug shelf, one of those ghastly elves that parents moved around the house in December to spy on their children. Now she had her own Elf on the Shelf, but how on earth did it get there, she had taken a bone china mug down seconds ago to make her tea and it wasn’t there then. They had baskets full of them at the garden centre, but she hadn’t bought one. Her grandsons hadn’t been here for a week and it was hardly likely the girls next door had sneaked in when they came to retrieve their netball from the back garden. Well he might as well stay up there till Fergus and Hamish came round tomorrow, she would tell them the elf was watching over to make sure they behaved. Not much hope of that working, but worth a try. She wasn’t allowed to call them naughty boys, according to her daughter they just did naughty things occasionally, especially when she dumped them round at Debby’s. Rather ironic that Debby had been delighted to have a daughter, easier than bringing up boys she assumed and not thinking that a daughter might produce boys she would have to get involved with.

As she sat and relaxed with a cup of tea in the lounge she could not believe what she saw when she looked up from her newspaper. The elf was on top of the curtain rail. Perhaps she needed a brain scan as well as an eye test. Or was she an unknowing participant in a reality television show, her reactions being filmed, but who could have sneaked in here ahead of her. She could not reach the elf to see if it was battery operated. The best thing to do was go in the other room and catch up with her emails and other stuff on the computer, maybe look up elves or practical jokes.

The only practical joke was played by the elf as he suddenly leapt onto the screen from behind. This time Debby could see him all too clearly, not a stuffed toy, or battery operated. His eyes blinked, his lips parted and his cheeks blushed pink as he chuckled in a tiny voice.

‘Hello, what’s your name?’

Now she was really going mad, talking to him, did he say Alf or Elf? Before she could say anything else to him he leapt down and used the desk lamp cable like a zip wire. She soon lost sight of him. This was worse than having a mouse in the house, far creepier with no idea where he might pop up next and who did one report infestations, elfinfestations to?

 Debby started looking up myths and history of elves, but could not believe she was seriously considering that elves were as real as any other creature on the planet, but where did any myth originate from, a kernel of truth surely. She imagined herself being on an intelligent Radio 4 programme, the first person to discover a live elf. Debby did not see him again that evening and carried on with her normal routine; perhaps she had imagined it all.

When she woke up in the morning and saw Alf Elf sitting on the pillow she stifled a scream. Too close for comfort. Debby shook herself and recalled she had once imagined being a naturalist; she should observe not frighten the poor little chap away, though he did not look scared at all. How did one get hold of a scientist, that one on her favourite radio programme perhaps. But she had a sinking feeling as reality struck. How on earth would she explain to her daughter, she would think she had early onset dementia.

Everything was ready for the grandsons’ visit, breakables put away, the least annoying toys out and she had read the instructions for the junior Christmas decoration creating kit. All that was left was to explain about the elf, would her grandsons be excited, impressed…

‘Bye Mummy’

‘Love you.’

Why did modern parents have to say that every time they went out the door, she was only leaving them for two hours thought Debby.

‘Hamish, Fergus, I have a really big surprise for you today, well not big, very small actually…’

They weren’t listening and had already disappeared to search for the Lego. It wasn’t long before she heard the familiar arguments.

‘I had that piece first.’

’Granny, he pulled my head off.’

Where was the elf, she was suddenly worried for the poor little chap’s safety. She crept along the hall, into the dining room, no sign of Alf, then into her little sun lounge, the only room where Lego was allowed. And there he was, playing Lego with the boys, who were so fascinated they had stopped arguing.

‘Granny, you’ve got a real elf, I’ve never seen a live one’ said Hamish.

‘I told you elves were real’ said Fergus.

‘Be very gentle with him, he’s so small.’

‘Can I take him for Show and Tell?’

‘Oh no, I think school would be far too scary for him, in fact I think we better keep him secret.’

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Breaking Free

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’You don’t have to walk all the way back up, we can get the Noddy Train, but I thought you liked walking?’

John’s parents and his children all looked relieved.

‘We aren’t as young as we were and what with my knee and your father’s hip…’

‘And this bitter wind coming straight off the sea’ added John’s father.

‘Can we still have hot chocolate Daddy?’

‘That’s usually the bribery to get them back up to the café’ said John.

‘I think we all need hot chocolate,’ said his mother ‘I hope that café is still open.’

‘With marshmallows and cream?’ said Johnny Junior.

‘And a cake’ added his sister.

‘We must not spoil your appetites for that delicious dinner your Mummy is cooking for us.’

‘All that lovely sea air has sharpened our appetites’ said their grandfather, wrapping his scarf tighter.

Squeezed in one of the little carriages of the road train everyone brightened up and John’s mother recalled his favourite book.

‘I bought it at a jumble sale, The Runaway Train. I had to read it over and over to your Daddy. The train was meant to take all the office workers up to London on Monday morning, but the train was fed up with the same old journey every day and decided to go to the seaside instead. The passengers didn’t notice what was happening at first, too busy reading their newspapers. That was long before mobile phones were invented and everybody read great big newspapers.  Then a few people looked at their watches, glanced out the window and wondered why they were seeing cows in the field instead of Clapham Junction! Soon all the passengers were muttering to each other as the train went faster and faster. The sky was blue, the sun was shining and they passed farms and cottages and hills. Nobody was sure what to do, one man pulled the communication cord with the notice that said emergency use only, but the train did not slow down.

‘Oh that would be fun,’ squealed the children ‘what happened in the end?’

‘Gradually the train slowed down and one of the passengers said Good Heavens, I can see the sea! Soon the train came to a halt in a lovely little station with flower tubs. Everyone got off to see what had happened and a very important and cross looking man marched along the platform to the driver’s cab, but there was no driver. They all stood on the platform scratching their heads and mumbling about getting to the office. Then someone started laughing and pointing to golden sands and the glittering sea… We will never get to work on time so let’s go to the beach instead.

Gradually they all wandered onto the beach and some took off their shoes, rolled up their trousers and started paddling, while others went to buy ice creams and fish and chips.

After a fantastic day, with everyone having fun and agreeing it was much better than going to work, they thought it must be time to go home. At the station the engine had turned itself around on the turntable and was steaming up so they got on board…’

‘Have you still got that book Daddy?’

‘No, that was a long time ago, but maybe that’s why I always wanted to live at the seaside and not work in an office.’

As the road train trundled up towards the café Johnny Junior said ‘Maybe this train is fed up with never going anywhere except back and forth to the beach, maybe it wants to go to London.’

They all laughed as the train drew up by the café and the driver climbed out of his cab to see if anyone needed help getting out. But before John had even opened the door of their carriage, the train started moving again, faster and faster. The last thing the family saw was a surprised look on the driver’s face as he tried to run after the train, but it was going much too fast.

‘Hurrah said,’ Johnny Junior ‘I told you the train was fed up, we’re going on an adventure.’

‘Can’t you do something John.’

‘Don’t worry mother, just a technical hitch, the battery will run down soon and the driver will have called for a mechanic.’

‘When can I have my hot chocolate Daddy?’

They drove down a pleasant avenue with pretty gardens and a few people waved to them. The children waved back. Then the Noddy Train turned right onto a busy road on a steep hill. As the train headed downhill they went faster and faster. Horns were tooting and they heard a siren in the distance. Even little Johnny was beginning to feel scared.

‘And finally tonight police are still searching for a seaside road train, known locally as the Noddy Train and apparently hijacked from a local beauty spot. Our reporter spoke to the shocked driver.’

‘I had just alighted from the train to help a disabled passenger disembark when it started moving. I had left the brakes on, it was on level ground and nobody had got into my cab. I tried to get back to my cab, but it was going much faster than it is capable of. None of this makes sense. Not a single passenger had managed to alight.’

‘Can you reassure family and friends that the passengers will be safe?’

‘No.’

‘Hmm, back to the newsroom to see if there is any update.’

‘The last sighting was junction 67 of the motorway an hour ago. Police are sure there will be drivers who have captured images on their dash cams. In the meantime there is a helpline if you are worried about relatives who may be on board.’

Tuesday Tale – A New Helper

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Read the previous story about Elizabeth here.

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Chairs

At the Cosy Toastie café Elizabeth’s friends had gathered for their regular coffee morning and eagerly listened as she shared her latest mishaps with the reclining chair her son had bought her. Nobody, including Elizabeth, was sure of the circumstances that had led to John moving in with his mother and there were mixed feelings about the benefits.

‘At least he managed to rescue my old armchairs from the tip and he’s having them professionally reupholstered; unfortunately that will take a while.’

‘But I’m envious you have someone to reach high shelves.’

‘And reach the smoke alarm to pull it off the wall when it’s beeping…’

‘Yes true, though it’s usually John that sets it off. Anyway, I’ve got my handy steps, I’ve had them for years, though I haven’t used them since John moved in. He got those boxes down from the top of the wardrobe that I’ve been meaning to sort out for years; though I had rather they stayed up there; his ideas of what to keep and what to throw!

When the taxi dropped Elizabeth home she was relieved to find a note from John saying he had been called in to work. She was grateful that whatever his job was exactly, it could not all be done from home on the computer. A nice simple cheese omelette for lunch she decided, but where had the cheese grater gone? A search of the cupboards under the countertop was to no avail so she decided to look in the top cupboards; there on the highest shelf was her cheese grater, why on earth had John put it up there? When she went to fetch her trusty steps from their usual corner they had disappeared. As she turned she stepped back into somebody and gasped in fright.

‘Oh it’s you John, I didn’t hear you come in, why do you have to creep around?’

‘I thought you didn’t like me being noisy?’

‘Never mind, now you’re back you can tell me what you’ve done with my steps.’

‘Those dreadful old things, I’ve got rid of them, health and safety.’

‘I couldn’t reach the cheese grater, I need those steps when you’re out.’

‘Remember what happened to Aunt Dorris.’

‘She was ninety nine and had dementia and those legs of hers.’

‘Well it’s best to be prepared, you’re lucky I work for such an innovative company. I’ve got you something very handy, or rather someone who can reach everything and do all those jobs you find difficult.’

‘I can manage fine.’

‘Just come and look in the dining room for the surprise.’

In the corner of the dining room stood a skeletal metal figure.

‘What on earth is that?’

‘Our new prototype, Rufus, you are very privileged to be the first to try it out.’

Elizabeth had never been quite sure what John’s work involved.

‘I thought your company made production lines for factories?’

‘That was when I was an apprentice, we’re in the Twenty First Century now. In Japan they have robots as carers in old people’s homes.’

Elizabeth shuddered. ‘Like those waiters on wheels I suppose. Couldn’t you have given this one a smiley face?’

‘It’s built for action and should transform the lives of the eld… all sorts of people. Do you want a demo?’

Elizabeth’s revulsion at the stranger in her home changed to nervous delight at the news she would have for her friends.

‘Where are his buttons?’

‘He doesn’t have any, you just talk to him like Alexa.’

‘Who on earth is Alexa?’

‘He won’t move unless you say his, um.. its name, otherwise it would be havoc.  Rufus, go into the kitchen.’

The figure stretched its arms and legs and wobbled past the table, knocking the paint off the door frame as he went into the hall. Mitsy barked at it then retreated rapidly into the garden. Elizabeth was impressed when Rufus did indeed go into the kitchen.

‘How could he know where to go?’

‘In layman’s terms I downloaded a 3D map of the house.’

Elizabeth was nervous of Rufus and avoided speaking or going near him when John was out, telling herself the dog needed time to quietly get used to its presence. She gave evasive answers when her son returned and asked her how she and Rufus were getting on. John had him pushing the vacuum cleaner and loading the new dishwasher. Elizabeth was slightly miffed that the robot was better than her at learning new gadgets.

When John went away overnight to an important conference, Elizabeth was reluctantly forced to try out Rufus so she could make dinner. John and the robot between them had put away the new weekly Sainsbury delivery and she had no idea what John had ordered or where Rufus had put it. Feeling slightly ridiculous she said to herself, now let’s see how clever you are Rufus Robot and out loud

‘Rufus, get out a tin of tomatoes.’

As he headed for the kitchen Mitsy crouched and growled, then went and hid in her bed.

The robot reached up, opened the cupboard door and clasped a tin, lowering it carefully onto the counter top.

‘Oh clever boy’ Elizabeth found herself saying until she looked at the can and saw it was raspberries.

Well he was probably just a toddler in robot terms, cleverer than John at that age.

‘Rufus, find a tin of Italian whole tomatoes.’

This time the long fingers were rifling through the tins on another shelf and he brought down a tin in each hand, placing them next to Mitsy’s water bowl. Peaches and soup. She would have one more try, with all the shuffling around she had spotted the tomatoes.  If he didn’t get it right this time she might call Fran down the road and ask if she wanted to try out that new pizza place.

She pointed up to the highest shelf.

‘Rufus get the tinned tomatoes.’

The robot headed to another cupboard and put his hinged fingers round the old flower vase, but as he lifted it down he lost his grip and it shattered on the tiled floor. Elizabeth sighed and imagined herself trying to get down and sweep up. Then she had an idea and handed Rufus the brush and dustpan.

Before she could utter an instruction he cranked into action and started sweeping. Elizabeth smiled as she imagined this story for her friends. Seeing Mitsy’s nose appear round the door she ushered her away from dangerous splinters. She turned back into the kitchen in time to see Rufus emptying the dustpan into the dishwasher.

Unhallowed Ground – part three

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THIS IS THE FINAL PART OF THE STORY AND FOLLOWS ON FROM YESTERDAY’S

Unhallowed Ground – part two

That evening the vicar left his dreary sixties vicarage, switched on his torch, made his way in the dark across the churchyard and slipped in a side door. In the vestry he looked around at the various cupboards. He had sorted through a few shelves of books and paperwork, without finding anything of historical interest. Now he had a good reason to search everywhere for any records that had survived from previous centuries. He felt like a character from an M R James horror story, though the electric light bulb dangling from the ceiling was not quite as atmospheric as candles or a lantern. In a story the vicar would have opened a book that he should never have touched… with horrific consequences. John Dee did not believe in such things, though  even as he chuckled  to himself he imagined being the one who discovers the victim, not the hapless vicar who has suffered the unspeakable death.

He pulled aside a dusty old velvet curtain that hid a door with a childish thrill, anticipating a secret room. He tugged at the door, falling backwards as it opened easily. But all it revealed were a few books that looked as if they had suffered fire and flood. Too damaged to be of any worth and yet someone had been reluctant to throw them out. John carefully picked up one at random and took it to the table in the vestry where an ancient table lamp gave only a poor light, but John was not going to wait till morning.

It proved far too damaged to read properly, all he could hope for was snippets that might give clues. If it had originally been a journal or parish records no dates had survived.

…and on this day did the villagers bring him to… claiming… performed evil deeds.. demanding     … be tried …all witnessed against him…   I feared he may be innocent, a rogue and trickster mayhap, but not…    black arts    to be hanged…   some affirmed he was of the undead 

John felt a trembling of excitement or dread as some of the words became clearer.

  as …to the gallows he cursed the villagers and all their descendants, saying he would return to take revenge. Thus it was that Jacob the carpenter fashioned a wooden stake while six strong men dug a grave thrice six feet deep.

John shuddered, the story was slotting into place, unless deep graves were commonplace in this Godforsaken place.

I entreated the villagers to behave as Christians, not heathens and allow the man to be buried with dignity until that terrible day of judgement.

The vicar was quite relieved that the day of judgement had been dispensed with in the 21st Century, or at least he hoped it had.

But they heeded me not..

John felt empathy with the poor vicar

  was stand within consecrated ground and pray for his soul…

thus Jonas Warlock lies in an unmarked grave in unhallowed land where no man now dare walk.

A name, the poor man had a name. Tomorrow night at the service they would know who they were remembering. The next pages were missing and John could just make out a faded signature, Rev A Crowley. More research could be done later, if any other records existed of an unimportant little village. In the meantime, Warlock’s skeleton was safe from interference. The unsafe dig would need to be shored up properly before removal could be considered. John Dee would not let the small matter of lack of proof spoil his service. As far as he knew, the Book of Common Prayer did not contain such a service so he would make one up, with a bit of imagination and a good deal of Duolingo Latin. Fortunately the Reverend Dee’s main attribute for his calling was a rich, sonorous baritone voice.

With a new moon and only the graveyard and nature reserve surrounding the church, a thick darkness seemed to lie between the church and the bland vicarage building that was not yet a home. He was glad of his torch and he told himself there was a proper autumn chill in the air, not that he was bothered by what he had just read.

The church was full on All Hallow’s Eve, some of the children, dressed in skeleton onesies and witches’ outfits, looked more like they had come for a party, but they were here. John began his introduction by holding up the crumbling book.

‘Within these withered pages lies the testimony of the reverend A. Crowley. We do not yet know much about him, except that he was compassionate in a time of ignorance and myth. Jonas Warlock was unfairly tried and lies just the other side of the church wall, forever excluded from God’s kingdom, or so our ancestors believed. The Christian faith is all about forgiveness, that is not ours to give, but we can pray for the soul of Jonas and welcome him back.’

The congregation was impressed with the vicar’s Latin prayers and a musician had come forward to volunteer to blast out the dusty pipes of the organ. His playing owed more to ‘Phantom of The Opera’ than ‘Hymns Ancient and Modern’ but that didn’t seem to matter. Everyone surged out into the night, some to shine their phone torches over the wall, though all they could see was the tarpaulin over the rigging. Others steered clear and made their way briskly past the regular graves.

At last John Dee was alone, glad now of the old cloak he had found in the vestry and worn for dramatic effect. Closing the doors behind him, he felt the darkness close in. The last flickers from people’s phones had faded into the night and though he had intentionally left his phone at home, he realised he had forgotten his heavy duty torch.

As he quickened his pace, trying not to stumble, he felt a hand grab his shoulder. He turned and for a moment thought the dark shape was a shadow until it spoke. It was a stranger dressed in a black cloak and cowl, for one moment John tried to be rational. Perhaps there was a monastery hereabouts and the monk had come to pay his respects… He attempted to ask the figure if he had been at the service, but his mouth was dry.

The voice was rasping as if it had not been used for a long time.

‘No I am not a monk. Reverend John Dee, I have you to thank for releasing me at last from my grave, I knew this night would somehow come so I could keep my vow and I have all eternity to act.’

When he pulled back the cowl from his face, the vicar knew this was not a vampire, or a ghost. Even in the utter darkness John Dee was drawn to the eyes of this creature and what he saw there was beyond anything humans could imagine. Pure evil did exist and he was facing it. Could the God John Dee did not believe in protect him?

Unhallowed Ground – part two

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Tonight’s tale follows on from yesterday’s.

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Unhallowed Ground – part one

The next morning the team arrived early and the vicar and the robin watched with interest as slabs of rough grass were carefully removed to expose the soil, but then progress slowed as the team painstakingly marked out squares with string and appeared to be brushing soil away with toothbrushes. John Dee had to leave for his appointment at the local primary school. The head had been delighted when the vicar offered to visit the school. She welcomed fresh input to their school project ‘Layers of Time’ aligning with the interest in the dig. But if she was expecting him to talk about Romans she was soon disappointed. John didn’t like children much, however they were part of his calling and he found he soon had their interest when he started describing the more gruesome aspects of history. He ignored the expression on the teacher’s face as he moved onto public hangings and burials in unconsecrated ground. Before she could interrupt him he rounded off his talk with the politically correct plan to understand the wrongly accused of the past.

The vicar returned to the dig just in time to hear a cry of surprise and fear from a young woman and see other team members grab her before she was sucked into the sink hole that had suddenly appeared. It was not large, but wide enough that she could have slipped in. With great presence of mind the vicar had his camera out and leaned over the wall to take a picture before the leader of the dig ordered everyone to move right back. They joined the vicar on the safe side of the wall.

‘I saw a ladder’ gasped the girl.

 John brought the pictures up on his phone screen, a bit blurred, but they did seem to show a wooden ladder. There was excited chatter. Some were pragmatic and thought it must be an old sewer, while others suggested a secret tunnel to the church. Romans were forgotten about for the moment.

‘It is not safe for us to proceed at all, we need the council to send in their engineers’ said the dig’s leader.

John was disappointed, hoping a mystery tunnel would be of nearly as much interest as skeletons and they only had a short time to produce historical drama for the locals.

‘I’ve got an idea,’ piped up another young woman ‘my boyfriend’s a potholer and even better, he is on the potholing recue team. They could check this hole more safely than council workers.’

‘Yes let’s get this underway before the council gets involved,’ said John ‘after all, you have permission to dig, does it matter how it’s done?’

The emergency potholers treated the operation as a good training exercise. Within an hour all sorts of rigs and pulleys were set up so the volunteer could be lowered without stepping on the ladder. Initial shining of torches showed the ladder went down a long way. The ropes were played out and he disappeared out of sight to report back on his radio that the narrow passage down widened into some sort of cavern. His boss ordered him not to go any further, lest the whole lot came down on top of him.

They all heard his reports from down below ‘I’ll try and take photos, it’s a small space, oh my god, bring me up…’

He was helped off with his helmet and he looked pale and shocked.

‘Skeleton…’

‘A catacomb?

‘Just a small space and a skeleton laid on a slab of stone.’

‘A burial in unconsecrated ground, just as we expected,’ said the vicar ‘but why so deep and why the ladder?’

‘Whoever buried him would need a way to get back up, whatever the reason.’

‘Or he could have requested in his will that a ladder be installed in case he wasn’t really dead and then he could get out. People used to be scared of being buried alive.’

‘Still are’ said someone else.

‘He was definitely dead,’ said the potholer ‘he had a large wooden stake through his ribs.’

‘A vampire?’

‘Poor chap’ said the vicar ‘he probably had a disease which makes your mouth bleed and could have had mental health issues as well. We don’t have vampires in England.’

‘Yes we do’ piped up someone else ‘Count Dracula landed in Whitby.’

‘That is fiction’ sighed the vicar. ‘We will certainly pray for him at the All Hallows’ Eve Service tomorrow night, I trust you will all be there.’

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Unhallowed Ground – part one

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The Reverend John Dee had always dreamt of Salisbury Cathedral, striding across the green gazing up at the tall spire, pointing to a heaven he didn’t believe in. It was the beautiful setting that appealed to the vicar; he pictured himself as a new deacon cycling by the water meadows, smiling at other cyclists and walkers, enjoying a drink in the pub by the mill. Dining in the evening with fellow clergy interested in history and nature.

Instead, John Dee found himself in a bleak town in sole charge of Saint Justin’s parish church, a church under threat of being deconsecrated, its few remaining parishioners left to the ministrations of visiting lay clergy. But St. Justin’s was also an historic Saxon church which experts, who didn’t actually attend church themselves, felt should remain dedicated to Christian worship. No other clergy wanted to take it on and no other parish wanted John Dee. He only agreed because of his love of history and nature. The church was surrounded by a large graveyard, accidentally rewilded. Next to the grounds of the church was a nature reserve of a few acres, fields and a copse protected for eternity from the encroaching ugly town by a trust endowed by a local of great standing centuries ago.

As John Dee stood leaning on the churchyard wall in the autumn sunshine, listening to the robin’s sweet song, he took some pleasure in his new little kingdom. But there was a difficult side to his new calling, the bishop expected him to revive the congregation and inspire locals to attend services and put money in the collection. He could rustle up a few stirring sermons on the internet, but how to get locals there in the first place, especially as he didn’t particularly like people.

He decided to turn his attention to the letter that had arrived that day. A team from the university in a neighbouring more interesting town, had been given permission to do a small test archaeological dig just the other side of the wall. They were hoping to find traces of a Roman Villa. The robin would be happy with a supply of juicy worms, but John did not want his peaceful sanctuary disturbed. Then he recalled a bizarre conversation with his oldest parishioner.

She told him this very field was the resting place of evil, where the wicked were buried in unconsecrated ground after being executed or struck down with nasty illnesses they deserved. John had been amused and tried to suggest modern thinking would no doubt consider they had been harshly treated for stealing a loaf of bread or having mental health issues. But the old lady had no truck with modern thinking and warned him that field must not be disturbed for fear of releasing evil.

John Dee was struck with a new idea. Halloween would soon be upon them and he would somehow spread rumours that the dig might come upon skeletons not Roman tiled floors. After all, it was traditional for those not worthy to enter the Kingdom of God to be buried on the other side of the wall. Before interest could wane he would hold a service on All Hallows’ Eve to pardon those poor souls and welcome them back into the family of the church; an excellent alternative to all the commercial rubbish and greed at Halloween. The bishop should approve.

Halloween Hijinks

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‘Have you found it yet?’

‘No, a box of paperbacks, destined to be Christmas presents I expect, at least we have avoided yet another new novel.’

‘So, what’s in that drawer?’

‘More folders full of writing.’

‘Oh goodness, she told me she was going to leave her intellectual property to me… and all her manuscripts!’

‘Ha ha Sis, have you seen what’s in the loft?’

‘Lucky you Sis, most authors are only successful after they have died, so maybe you’ll make some money.’

‘At least she went the way she would have liked, freak accident trying to take pictures for her blog.’

‘How do you know it was an accident, she could have been pushed.’

‘Ha ha, by another jealous blogger?’

‘However it happened at least it was dramatic, she did say to me one day ‘If I’m found dead I do not want headlines in the local news saying ‘Pensioner found dead’ make sure it’s ‘Mystery Death of Author.’

‘She was certainly intending to be home soon, her computer’s still logged in to WordPress, looks like she was in the middle of writing a blog… hmmm Halloween story. We could publish it and no one would be any the wiser that she was dead, that’s if anyone actually reads her blog.’

‘It would be a sort of tribute if her Halloween story still went out.’

‘Yup, the word document is open as well so it would be her genuine writing.’

‘And in the unlikely event that any reader had heard she had died, they would think her ghost had written it!’

‘Okay, you do the blog then and I’ll go on searching for her will.’

Tuesday Teeny Tale

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‘Another one’s appeared, on the oak tree, pathetic and disrespectful, cultural appropriation or is it misappropriation?’

‘Just ignore them Oberon.’

‘I’m going to take my axe to it this time.’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous, they aren’t causing any harm to us, not compared with all the other stuff they do.’

‘What if one of our folk thought it was a real door!’

‘Daddy, why have you got an axe?’

‘Your father’s getting overwrought over the giants again. If you’re not careful Oberon they’re going to see you and then where will we be, doesn’t bear thinking.’

‘Mummy, you said the giants wouldn’t hurt us.’

‘They won’t as long as they don’t believe we exist. Anyway, it’s time you were getting ready for school, have you brushed your wings?’

Saturday Short Story – Gardener’s World

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This is the final part of Lottie’s latest tale and follows on from…

Thursday Tiny Tale – Family Secrets

The home of Cousin Ruth stood out in the row of large Victorian terraced houses. The front garden was packed with raised beds of vegetables and wigwams of runner beans. Lottie had never had much success with vegetables so she was impressed. Before she could peer closer as Tilly and Wesley ushered her up the garden path, the front door flew open and dogs and children hurtled out.

‘Just stand still’ said Tilly, doing the same.

Wesley obviously knew the routine and swept up an escaping toddler, kicked the front gate shut and herded dogs and children through the front door.

‘Wait for the dust to settle’ added Tilly.

 As the sound of barking receded Cousin Ruth emerged. She enveloped Lottie in layers of crocheted poncho and guided her inside, warning her to mind the toys. Lottie stepped over a huge dinosaur and dodged a strange lurid pink wheeled contraption. More dogs appeared and she would have been happy to pet them if she had been wearing casual clothes instead of one of her smart book launch outfits.

‘Come through, come through, Kizzy made you some cakes at Brownies.’

Lottie hoped the baking facilities at Brownies were cleaner than the kitchen she glimpsed through a half open door. She was led into a large sitting room where adults were gathered. Tilly appeared at her side.

‘Lottie is a famous author, I’ve read all her best selling novels.’

Nobody looked very impressed.

‘I don’t have time to read’ said Ruth.

‘Hey Lottie, did you hear the joke about the dumb blonde who was asked if she would like a book for her birthday… No thanks, I’ve already got one.’

‘Dad, you can’t say that, politically incorrect.’

‘But I like dumb blondes, I married one didn’t I?’

‘Down Flossie, sorry Lottie, she gets over excited, Bernie put the kettle on. Bernie is Geoff’s son, Geoff is husband number three, he has a large family too, but when he moved in here we weren’t expecting to both have adult children moving back in or to have grandchildren dumped on us. This is Oliver, husband number one, still good friends and Elspeth his wife, they both wanted to meet you and of course some of these grand brats are his as well. Sally did you order the pizzas, is that Dominoes you’re talking to?’

‘No, just booking my flight, I’ll do the pizzas next.’

In the midst of the confusion a child thrust a puppy into Lottie’s arms. It was undeniably cute and fluffy. Her handbag dropped to the floor, but at least she hadn’t dropped the puppy. She felt quite protective, how could this tiny being survive the tumult around it.

‘Sit down, sit down.’

Lottie was thankful to sink into a spot at the end of the sofa, a cosy corner of cushions and puppies as another tiny dog was placed in her lap. For a moment she thought longingly of her little cottage waiting for her return on Sunday evening, but as she looked around she realised she was experiencing life with a capital L. Life went on, it had not ceased when Callum died. Although her head was spinning she felt new ideas tumbling into her brain. Her next novel with the renegade vicar would feature love for real people; families tossed up into the air like a broken jigsaw and tumbling down into a different picture of blended families and romance for each generation. This family certainly seemed very happy.

As Lottie imagined her first chapter her thoughts were interrupted by a piercing scream and a child sobbing.

‘Granny, Tommy pushed her down the stairs, not me.’

Lottie clasped the puppies, she felt a maternal need to protect them from Tommy.

Ruth darted out into the hall and yelled up the stairs, hauled back a child from entering the adults only zone, then shortly returned with two mugs in each hand.

‘Is tea okay, Bernie forgot to ask what you like.’

‘Fine, fine’ said Lottie, wondering where she would put a mug or how she would hold it with her hands buried in warm puppies.

‘I’ll put it on the mantlepiece, we keep all hot drinks up there. Now, I hear that the fairies were a complete surprise, Callum never told you, he must have been in complete denial, which is a shame, because we would have believed him now we have seen them at the bottom of our garden.’

Lottie wondered if this was a joke, had the whole thing been an elaborate joke, but Ruth’s expression looked genuine so she couldn’t resist asking if she could see them.

‘It doesn’t really work like that, we have never told the children.’

‘That’s a relief… I mean I guess you need to protect them.’

‘That’s why we grow the veg in the front garden. When we bought this place we loved the long garden, even though it had run wild. I jokingly said I was going to look for fairies down the bottom of the garden and imagine my surprise when I saw them. We didn’t want to harm them, make the same mistake as Callum’s parents, so we built a wall across and never kept cats. Occasionally I see one on top of the wall watching when the children are playing in their part of the garden, I’m sure they wink and wave. In recent times we have put cctv up and observed them properly and secretly. We never told anyone and we tell new neighbours we are rewilding.  Can you imagine scientists wanting to examine them or worse, fairieknappers…’

Charlotte paused, she was even beginning to believe in fairies herself. Was this for real? Her novel about Lottie was meant to be light hearted and fun and if people believed in angels and people used to believe in fairies…

Tilly was guarding the door as Ruth tapped her mobile phone then showed Lottie a picture. Little people, very tiny when you saw them under dandelions. Not like children’s Victorian books, actual miniature people, but with wings, genuine wings, they were flying. Lottie gasped and glanced at Tilly and Wesley, the only adults who were probably sensible.

‘Wesley, have you seen them, is this all for real?’

‘Well the Church of England doesn’t do Fairies but…’

‘They do angels’ said Tilly ‘so why not believe in fairies.’

‘Yes, all God’s creatures are entitled to their own lives so we have a sacred duty to protect them Lottie.’

‘Their secret is safe with me and I certainly won’t write them in my novels, I don’t think my readers’ credibility would stretch that far.’

Thursday Tiny Tale – Family Secrets

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Today’s tale continues Lottie’s story from last week.

Thursday Tiny Tale – Lottie’s Weekend

‘There are fairies at the bottom of the garden.’

Lottie thought she must have misheard. She was sitting in the strange but cosy flat that was home to Tilly and her new husband, Wesley the young vicar.

Wesley continued ‘Yes, that’s the family story. Callum came home from university for the holidays, or at least it wasn’t his home as his parents had moved, upsized to a cottage with a long garden. Gardening was going to be their retirement project. Various relatives had gathered to see the new home, but it was Callum who was first to venture into the impenetrable overgrowth. It wasn’t called rewilding back then. Aunty Ruth, Callum’s cousin, was there, well she wasn’t an aunty then, a bit of a wild child, called in to say farewell before going off on her travels. She thought Callum a very studious serious chap, that’s why she was so surprised when he returned to the house with lots of scratches and an angry cat in his arms exclaiming ‘There are fairies at the bottom of the garden.’

He claimed he had caught the cat just in time, but the fairies could be in danger and must be protected in the interests of science.

‘Well’ said Lottie ‘he did have a science degree, but he never mentioned fairies. But then he never mentioned his family either.’

Charlotte paused with her fingers above the keyboard, then scrolled back to see if she had given Callum any family. Hmm not many family was different from not any family. Were his parents dead when Lottie met him? When did she meet him? He was the love of her life so they were probably young…. Perhaps this vicar chap could fill in some gaps for Lottie.

‘Wesley, do fill in a few gaps for me’ said Lottie ‘Callum was an only child?’

‘Yes, unusual for our family, they made sure he had a good education and had high hopes for him.’

‘And he is, was very successful in his career, but not arrogant, happy to support my career.’

‘But his parents did not get to share that success?’ mused Tilly ‘or have gran…’ she blushed and stuttered.

‘It’s okay,’ said Lottie ‘neither of us wanted children, we were happy as we were with each other and as his parents were supposedly dead there was no pressure.’

‘Were they dead?’ said Tilly, obviously enjoying this new family mystery.

‘Well they are now’ laughed Wesley ‘think they had him late in life, but I have no idea when they died.’

‘So when do we get to the part of the story that explains why Callum was estranged from his family. Is estranged too strong a word, lots of cousins don’t keep in touch.’

‘He was upset that nobody believed him, I mean if you really saw fairies it would be amazing. Alas no smart phones then, imagine if he had taken photos, put them on Facebook… anyway the first problem was that the cat was his parents’ new rescue cat, a spiteful creature apparently, but they adored him and Callum took it straight back to the rescue centre.’

‘But surely a cat couldn’t cause a family rift?’

‘Worse was to come. Callum found plenty of wood, wire netting etc in an old shed and erected a fence, creating a fairy sanctuary. He pleaded with his parents not to touch the bottom of the garden while he worked out how to set up observation, David Attenborough style and what experts he could find who would believe him.’

‘I can’t imagine that would be easy’ said Tilly. ‘I never thought about fairies seriously before, but how would they survive with all the dangers from foxes and human boots, it doesn’t bear thinking of.’

‘I agree’ said Lottie. ‘Callum did like butterflies and insects, would never kill a spider and it was bees that became his main work before it was fashionable to worry about bees.’

‘Oh how lovely,’ said Tilly ‘perhaps he was always hoping he would see fairies again.’

‘That is a nice thought, but why didn’t he tell me, I would not have laughed.’

‘I’m not sure I should tell you two ladies the rest of the story, you may find it disturbing as they say on the news.’

‘You have to tell us now’ said Tilly.

‘Callum was due to go off on a uni. expedition to Scotland or wherever, and he left with nobody believing a word he said, thought he was having them on, trying to be clever just because he had made it to university. When he returned a week later his parents had rotovated the whole garden ready for their vegetable beds and fruit trees.’

‘Oh no’ cried Tilly.

‘But then what happened?’ said Lottie.

‘I think he went back to carry on with his studies and no one heard from him again.’

‘He had Cousin Ruth’s address, so surely he had some notion he would get in touch one day.’

‘I’m sure he did’ said Tilly ‘and don’t you worry about what the rest of the family say this afternoon.’

Lottie’s heart sank, she just wanted to stay with Tilly and Wesley in their cosy nook.

‘Oh dear, what’s happening this afternoon?’

‘Round to Aunty Ruth’s to meet the rest of the family.’

‘But I thought I met them at dinner.’

‘Some of them.’

Lottie hoped to delay venturing out.

‘Tell me about this place, why is it called The Transept’.

‘De-consecrated church that was going to be sub divided into flats, but they only got ours in the east transept finished before lockdown and the builders going into liquidation. So we did some reclaiming and hold relaxed services in the nave, unofficially; the bishop is not quite sure what to do with us. You can come to messy church tomorrow, the rest of the family will be there.’

Lottie was feeling a bit overwhelmed, but after having writer’s block when Callum died she began to feel a romantic novel coming on, a novel about a renegade vicar…

‘I should tell you I don’t go to church Wesley.’

‘That’s okay, I don’t read your novels, romance not really my thing. But anyone can come to our services.’

Charlotte paused, that was enough writing for today. How on earth had fairies got into the story, oh yes, she was going to the offbeat writers group down by the river and their topic was fairies at the bottom of the garden.