The Dark Web

Today I have a guest who has just started blogging on the dark web. Because of his situation he prefers to remain annonymous, but is looking forward to posting about the problems faced by minority groups. As an appropriate introduction he describes a typical experience on his favourite night of the year.

Treat or Trick

Time for my annual visit home; weather’s taken a cold turn, that’s good, everyone’s wrapped up so I don’t look out of place. Busy down my road. Couple of new families moved in, children whizzing around on wheels of various sorts, new people at number 53 and here we are. Oh, new front door, hmm, doesn’t really suit the lovely old house. No car parked out the front, hope they are not all out. Big poster by the front door… NO TRICK OR TREATERS   That’s a bit mean, too stingy to buy a few sweets. I’ll take it down.

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There’s nobody at home anyway; everything locked up as if they had gone on holiday. Still, after the reception I got last year perhaps they have decided to avoid me.

Getting dark, shouldn’t be long till the Trick and Treaters come round, five groups last year. The final group were hardly children, all ghastly teenagers, reckon they were dared to come by their younger siblings. Hang on, I can hear the front door being unlocked, it’s Rory, must have decided not to go away with his parents and sisters.

‘Hi Rory, you’ve grown since last year.’

That’s strange, he’s rushed back out again. All on my own, well I’m used to that. At least I can watch what I like on television. All these channels they have now, you’d think there would be something on worth watching.

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There goes the doorbell, visitors at last, I’ll have a peek out the window. Little kids, rubbish costumes, anxious parent hovering on the pavement. Right, time to open the front door, slowly, keep them in suspense. They are very sweet, I’ll lower my hood gently.

‘Hello children, treat or TRICK… no don’t run away.’

That was fun, pity they didn’t stay, but hopefully the new families will be out and about. I can see a few strangely attired short people across the road. Here we go, they’re coming up the driveway. No need for them to ring the doorbell…

‘Good Evening, you gave me quite a fright, are you ghosts or ghouls… hey, come back, you’ve dropped your bucket with all the money.’

This is boring, no callers for half an hour … oh at last. Peep out of the window, let them see the curtain moving, their costumes are brilliant… they’re ringing the door bell again.

‘Hello Vampires, I’ve got some nice fresh blood for you… don’t go next door yet, you haven’t shown me your trick…’

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Blue lights flashing and sirens, must be something going on outside, might as well have a look. Police officer coming up the path, close the door pronto. Ringing and knocking.

Can you open the door please Sir?

Me a Sir, that’s a laugh.

‘I don’t open the door to strangers, especially at night.’

I’m a police officer, can I just have a word?

‘About what, haven’t you any criminals to arrest?’

We had a suspected on going burglary call from neighbours, concerned because the owners of the house are away. If you could open the door so we can confirm your identity.

Better open the door, perhaps he is a Trick or Treater.

Can I have your name and date of birth Sir… umm perhaps it would be easier to talk if you uncovered your face.

‘I have a medical condition, I need to keep covered up.’

We’ll need a doctor to confirm that at the station, we’ll need proper ID.

He’s whispering into his radio now, calling for back up, possible terrorist situation!

Now, if I could have your name, address and date of birth.

‘Certainly, Anthony John Worsley, 29th February, 1873. Now constable, it really is time I was leaving, I need to go and get a good year’s sleep.’

 

Tuesday Tiny Tale 500 – The Unkindest Cut

‘Have you self harmed before Mr. Andrews?’

‘What? … ow!’

‘Local anaesthetic, please keep still while I do the sutures. Would you like to talk to someone?’

‘Talk to who? I just need to be sewn up and get home’ I pleaded.

Shock was beginning to set in and I couldn’t take in what the young woman doctor was saying. I looked at the clock on the wall.

‘I think I left the gas on.’

She frowned. ‘Gas as well and yet at the last moment you didn’t go through with it, that’s good, but you need to speak with one of our counsellors.’

‘Look, embarrassing as it is, I’m a doctor too…’

‘No need to be ashamed, statistically doctors are more likely to attempt suicide and more likely to succeed.’

I sat up straight, knocking the tray of equipment.

‘No, no, this was an accident. I’ve done that course, Thinking About Mental Health… I work in this department, you must be new?’

‘Four weeks.’

‘In four months time the only mental health you’ll be thinking about is your own, thanks you for your concern but…’

‘I am concerned there could be nerve damage Doctor Andrews, we need to refer you for further treatment.’

‘The only damage to my nerves will be my wife’s reaction when I get home, how can I explain this was all the pumpkin’s fault?’

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It all started last week when the children were pestering us. They ‘needed’ Halloween costumes and rubber spiders etc. The advantage of being older parents? We have enough sense not to be sucked into blatant commercialism. No trick or treat, no ghost masks. My wife suggested the All Hallows’ Eve Festival of Light at the local church, being held to counter commercial exploitation of children, or was it to pray for deliverance from evil? Either way I did not want to spend my precious day off going to church, so I promised a surprise and tasty supper on their return.

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Late this afternoon pumpkins were being sold off cheap at the greengrocers and I had it all planned. A circle of happy pumpkin faces dangling from the trees in the front garden, pumpkin soup recipe off the internet.

The first two orange heads were impressive, the third a bit tough, but the soup smelt nice. The fourth pumpkin was impenetrable, sharper knife and more force needed.

Purlicue… thena web… that piece of loose skin betwixt thumb and forefinger. I didn’t feel any pain as the knife sliced straight through… my energetic attack on the pumpkin meant the force carried the blade straight on down my palm and left wrist before my right hand thought to drop the knife. Blood spurted everywhere as I tried to tie a makeshift bandage with one hand and my teeth.

Now I looked again at the clock in the cubicle. My family were about to arrive home to a burnt out saucepan, a vivid trail of blood and no sign of me.

Friday Flash Fiction 666 words – The Off White Witch

I thought the whole point of the Halloween Party was to scare the children, but when Becky the librarian introduced me I realised her head was filled with half baked ‘New Age’ rubbish. It was five pm, hardly the witching hour, but the clocks had gone back, my favourite time of year and it was dark.

‘Now children,’ twittered Becky ‘I’d like to introduce you to Amelia the Witch.’

‘She’s not a witch,’ interrupted the largest child, who was taking up too much space at the front of the carpet ‘she’s not wearing black.’

Becky touched my flowing white sleeve with over familiarity.

‘That’s because she’s a white witch, a good witch.’

I suppressed a snigger.

‘Amelia loves nature, trees and flowers, she is in tune with Gaia.’

The children looked up at Becky with incomprehension.

‘Would you like to ask Amelia any questions?’

A mealy mouthed little girl shot her hand up. ‘What are you favourite flowers Miss?’

‘Oh… Belladonna, a pretty little purple flower and Foxglove, a flower of the woods.’

‘Yes, but do you do magic?’ sneered the large boy.

‘Of course, but I’m not allowed to do it on library premises because of health and safety.’

‘People used to think it was magic in the olden days,’ simpered Becky ‘but the wise women just made cures with herbs and woodland plants.’

‘Are you a fairy godmother?’ asked a child of indeterminate sex dressed as a fluffy pumpkin.

‘I think you’re getting confused,’ interrupted Becky ‘that’s a fairy tale.’

The child was undeterred ‘But Miss, can you turn mice into horses and men?’

‘I can do better than that,’ I smiled ‘I can turn naughty boys into mice.’

The children giggled nervously, but the large boy just pulled on a rubber ghost mask and booed in the face of the girl next to him, who asked when her Mummy was coming to fetch her.

‘Do you mean wild mice or pet white mice?’ asked a solemn boy child.

‘Depends how naughty the boy is; a pet mouse would be pampered and kept in a nice, safe warm cage, but a wild mouse might get gobbled up by a cat.’

‘How could you do that if you haven’t got a wand?’ said the large boy, his voice muffled by the mask. ‘I bet your magic isn’t as strong as Harry Potter’s.’

A sprig of yew will do,

to make my spell come true.

‘Amelia’s a poet as well,’ said Becky ‘shall we all go to the writing corner and make up some magic poems?’

‘No, we want to see some magic.’ A tall girl at the back of the carpet stood up.

I couldn’t resist whipping out a piece of evergreen from my gown pocket, I only intended to show them; usually I need complete quiet and concentration to perform a spell. I must have focussed for too long on the large boy.

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The green smoke was very impressive, strong enough to set the fire alarms off and in the confusion that followed nobody noticed that the boy had disappeared. Further panic ensued when a girl screamed.

‘A big mouse ran over my foot!’

Becky and her assistants handled the evacuation very efficiently and we were soon gathered in the car park. The initial head count revealed one child was missing and it was the other children who were first to notice the absence of the large boy.

‘Did you really turn that horrid boy into a mouse?’ The solemn boy’s face lit up.

‘Of course not’ said Becky, looking worried ‘but if she did, I’m sure Amelia could turn him back into a boy.’

‘But the mouse ran away’ piped up another child.

‘Oh dear,’ I smiled at the children ‘I can’t perform the reversal spell if I can’t see the mouse.’

My words were drowned out by the sound of sirens. If the mouse was still in the library, he would soon be scared off by firemen’s boots.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Silly Saturday – Snakes and Stairs

Play the Gaia Game; how are you scoring at saving the planet, will you climb up or slither down?

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Round One: Life

1.Have you been born?

Slide down the Adder for adding another carbon footprint.

2. Have you given birth to more than two children?

Slip down the Viper

3. You have assisted in the conception of four children, but they have become doctors and environmental scientists.

Climb the stairs, you have contributed to humanity.

4. Have you lived more than three score years and ten?

Descend the Python.

5. You have lived four score years, but ride your bicycle to the allotment where you teach the local school children to grow vegetables?

Take your nimble legs up two flights of stairs.

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Round Two: Home

1.Do you live in a city penthouse forty floors up?

Take the lift down to the basement – wait, you don’t own a car because you can cycle and walk everywhere in the city? Take the lift back up again.

2.Has your remote jungle village been discovered yet?

No? You are not contributing to world pollution. Take the escalator to the top floor. Oh, you haven’t got an escalator…

3.Have you installed solar panels on the roof of your house?

Take a flight of stairs.

4.You have concreted over your garden to park three vehicles and a caravan.

Go down the Cobra.

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Round Three: Food

1.Would you describe yourself as a subsistence farmer?

Ascend the marble staircase… but you chop all the trees down for firewood?

Sorry, slide down the Anaconda.

2.Are you vegan?

Climb up to the moral high ground.

3.Are you vegetarian?

Stay where you are.

4.Do you eat meat?

Slip down the throat of the Boa Constrictor. No wait, there has been an appeal. You farm hill sheep and preserve the countryside and use some of your land for a wind farm.

5.Do you grow your own vegetables and keep chickens in your suburban garden?

Yes, but you’re so busy you use disposable nappies. Miss a go.

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Photo by Stephen Joel on Pexels.com

Round Four: Transport

1.Do you own a car?

No, climb two flights of stairs, easy for you as you are fit from walking everywhere…. but your partner has a car and chauffeurs you around? Topple down a flight.

2.You cycle everywhere and wear one of those vests that says one less car on the road.

Excellent, you earn enough points to eat meat.

3.You flew on holiday to Disneyland, return to Go.

4.You took your private jet to the other side of the world to help refugees?

Gaia says return to Go.

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Round Five: Power

1.Do you write about the environment in your blog and sign petitions? Does your computer work on solar power? No – miss a go.

2.You got arrested for protesting about fracking. Climb the ladder.

3.You live as a hermit on a remote island.

Excellent, but before taking your next go describe your contribution to society.

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Winner

The winner, Mr. Everly Green, has a small house just the right size for his wife and two children. His roof has solar panels, he has eight rain water butts, grows fruit, vegetables and bee friendly flowers among which roam chickens to fertilise the garden and provide eggs and roast dinners. He walks to work and does not go on holiday as he can’t leave the garden.

But hold on, his win is being contested; that bouquet of flowers he ordered from the florist for his mother’s birthday was composed of cut flowers flown in from Kenya and his prize winning front garden display used plants that came in plastic pots and trays on a pantechnicon from Holland.

Mr. Green must take the serpentine descent of shame.

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Photo by Ajayvir Pal on Pexels.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Friday Flash Fiction 500 – Biodegradable

Cauldrons bubbled, paddles stirred, pumps rose and fell. The dye selector scurried along seeking indigo and sunflower to make that special shade of green for Familyfresh.

Malcolm Rust loved machinery and money, in that order. Childhood visits to industrial museums had given him a love of pistons and presses. The only history he was interested in at school was of Victorian valleys filled with furnaces and engineering entrepreneurs making a mint, so they could build great houses on top of hills looking down on their wealth. His weekends as a teenager had been spent scouring the country for redundant factory equipment and thinking of money making projects to fund his hobby.

He had no interest in the environment, except as the provider of water courses to power mills, until he met Melissa. She worked with his mother at the new Veganarium that had replaced the cheese and bacon shop. His mother needed a job, but for Melisa it was her whole way of life.

As far as Malcolm was concerned food was fuel, the same as coal, wood and diesel for his beloved machines. But as Melissa chattered on about recipes for allergen free biscuits and biodegradable wrappers, he thought he might find a way to her heart. Why not make the biscuits and packets with the same recipe? It was time to investigate corn starch and fructose.

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Now he was no longer Mr Rust, but Mr Green, inventor of the edible carrier bag and three days ago Melissa had become Mrs. Green. Channel Four was making a documentary about their plans for a perfect Ecohouse with living walls.

But no sooner had the carrier bags become familiar in every supermarket than the first criticisms began to appear on social media. Members of the public no longer had to feel guilty about plastic or litter; discarded sweet wrappers, takeaway boxes and shopping bags would all be eaten by wildlife, from snails to deer. In fact the carrier bags were so delicious, passing dogs were liable to take a bite out of your shopping.

Then came the first news story from the Familyfresh Fairtrade supermarket. Overnight, all the bundles of new carrier bags had disappeared from the store room. The first clue to the mystery came when three large rats scampered across the feet of the store manager. He ran out into the main store, only to see several more rats slip away from the checkouts. The second clue was the remnant of a carrier bag hanging limply, serrated with huge teeth marks.

A meeting of COBRA * was called after pest exterminators made urgent reports of supersized rats, gardeners posted pictures on Facebook of giant snails and a photograph appeared on breakfast television of a fox the size of a deer hound. Malcolm was summoned to reveal the ingredients of his carrier bags…

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*Cobra stands for Cabinet Office briefing room A. Cobra meetings are held in Downing Street to plan government responses in times of emergency.

Sunday Salon – Floating in the Ether

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It’s Sunday, a good time to go visiting, a good time to float through the ether and see who or what you might meet.

As it is the end of the month I have been dusting and vacuuming my website. My website has been floating in the ether for a good while longer than Tidalscribe Blog. It was one of our first ventures On Line and as with all my ventures into the unknown I had no idea what I was doing. First of all we couldn’t find it again and ended up with two domains. Then I realised I had a scrap book with pages that needed filling and I started using my camera again, so long neglected while I was busy writing. I also discovered you could change the colour of the background. As lots of writers have blogs that are black or pink I decided to go for sunshine yellow. The website took on a life of its own.

Another trip into the ether was to go on Goodreads, as writers are told to do. Not sure what one was actually supposed to do there I started a blog. I still post my book reviews there, but somehow seem to have lost the bit where you post new blogs, but never mind because in the meantime…

It slowly dawned on me that every other writer was on WordPress and I was feeling left out. So I joined the party.

But if you have nothing better to do on a Sunday please come and visit the website where the sun always shines. Stories, photo journals and you can even read about my books…

https://www.ccsidewriter.co.uk/

Silly Saturday – Digital Dithers

 

Typing at school is not for me,

A secretary I’ll never be.

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A home computer, whatever for?

A Commodore 64?

For that we are too poor.

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Who has the patience to dial,

Peering at screens is such a trial.

Internet we do not need,

Goodness knows where that would lead.

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You don’t have e-mail..

How will we keep in touch?

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Amazon, that is a river,

Blue hieroglyphics in your e-mail,

Links are what you get in chains.

I only wanted to know

What you’d like for Christmas.

 

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Join Facebook? No thanks,

What, you’ve put me on already

And my date of birth…

Hey come and look at this picture,

You’re not on Facebook, how come?

How do you keep in touch?

 

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Kindle, what’s that?

Self publish, what a dream,

But I don’t DO technology.

You’ve got your book on Kindle,

Tell us how…

Yes, it’s live now.

Artists and Writers’ Year book thrown out,

I’m an Indie Author now.

How many novels have I sold?

Two or is it three,

One for my sister and one for me…

 

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Websites, domains, Goodreads, Twitter,

Google, Pinterest, Linked In, Tumbler

Too much trouble

Just a muddle,

Two domains by error.

My picture’s gone sideways on Goodreads,

I’m only Linked In to three people,

I’ve lost my Twitter account.

Only four friends have Liked

My Facebook Author  Page.

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Blogs, no time to read or write,

My novel I must complete.

 

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On WordPress there’s a pattern,

Where my photograph should be,

I don’t know how to schedule

Or understand the Stats.

 

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My website is sunshine yellow,

My blog is sea green,

But neither flash or move

And I wish I could be seen

As a jolly cartoon

For my Author Persona.

I have an identity crisis

How do I become an Avatar?

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