OK, OK - it's 2 months since I posted anything to this blog and I've no doubt all my readers have deserted in their thousands - errr - hundreds?? - well - perhaps dozens?? SOB - OK then - the one or two who looked in occasionally have gone elsewhere!
It's been the same old story - I got sick - the muse went on holiday and has probably run of with a hot blooded Latin lover - in any case said muse has gone walk about and right now the writers block is so bad I can't even write a bloody grocery list.
SO - if I can force myself further than milk, bread and cheese I might finally find something lurking in the dim dark depths of "maybe I should take up golf!" PLEASE stay tuned - I haven't thrown away the pen just yet.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Ghosts!
Yep - I've finally got around to posting a new story, illness had temporarily curtailed my writing as pneumonia and sitting in front of a computer keyboard do not mix well. I'm now well down the road to recovery so the muse is biting once again. I started this story about 3 years ago but it's been one of those things I couldn't quite get right. I'm not sure this will be the final version but, for now - read on - but - be aware that you might be offended by some of the language. If that is a possibility you might want to give the story a miss.
There is something odd, even weird about this house I've just moved into. I've seen, and experienced somethings here that I've experienced no where else in my ramblings and travels and I've lived in some pretty bloody odd environments. I haven't taken up drugs, or the booze and I don't think anything has happened to make me go from slightly nutty to full bozo. My health is about normal, no sudden deterioration and I've been subjected to no sudden trauma or other event likely to cause me to start seeing things. The place is about one hundred and ten years old and if the present landlord can be believed there's been some odd characters living here from time to time. The house has an interesting, even intriguing history. It's been a Sanitarium, a Hospice, a Private Mental Institution, a home for pregnant single mothers and even a Military Hospital. Right now it's one of those old rambling and sadly deteriorated buildings that's been hacked around to provide flats for the less financially able. The Landlord of course is raking in a fortune by neglecting maintenance and milking a disadvantaged clientele of every penny he can squeeze out of them.
The first apparition I encountered was the one I immediately christened Old Jack, I walked into my bedroom and he was just sitting there, as if suspended in mid air. He was playing cards with two other misty figures, all of them dressed in what I perceived to be military uniforms from around the World War One era. Old Jack nodded to me in a friendly manner and went on playing cards. I bolted from the room as if pursued by the Devil himself. I ran into the communal sitting room and came face to face with George who has the flat next to mine. He saw the look on my face and just said "Arrrh, you've seen them have ya?" George even managed a disinterested grin. "It's the card players isn't it?"
"How did you know?" I stammered." Have you seen them too?"
"Of course I have." George said. "So has every one else in this shit hole." He laughed. "Don't worry, they won't bite ya, an' you ain't seen the others yet."
"Others?" I yelped. "There are more of them?"
"Yeah." George replied. "The place is full of 'em but don't let it worry ya."
"But...." I began to protest.
"But nothin'." George said. "You're the new kid on the block and those of us who've been here for a while know what's goes on and we don't worry about it . You better sit down an' listen though, or we're all goin' to be in trouble."
"OK." I said, somewhat subdued "I guess you better fill me in."
"We call the three card players the Diggers. The Three you just saw. They always sit around and play poker in the bedroom and sometimes you see them in Bob's kitchen cookin' up some stuff in a saucepan. They don't cause us any trouble, an' they're quite friendly, sometimes they even leave us stuff."
"Leave stuff ?" I queried. "What sort of stuff?"
"Well." George said. "They sometimes leave food in Bob's kitchen, you know, stews and sometimes a pot of tea. It ain't Bob, he swears he comes home sometimes if he's workin' late and the tuckers already on the stove. None of us do it for him an' there's usually enough for all six flats. Good bloody tucker too, they done a rabbit stew one time and it was bloody delicious."
"Oh KKKK." I said, still not quite sure if he was having me on. "You said the place is full of them, you said I hadn't seen the others yet."
"The others." George said carefully. "Well yeah, there are others but a couple of them are a bit different, not so friendly some of them."
"Oh." I said feeling the hairs on the back of my neck begin to stir. "What do you mean by not so friendly?"
"Well." George explained. "I suppose Tony the Landlord has told you the place has an interesting history, it's been a few different things in it's day."
"Yes, he did tell me. A Sanitarium, a Hospice and a few other things as well."
George looked at me with a bemused expression and repeated my words. "A few other things. Did you know that there's supposed to be at lease a hundred people who have died here over the life of the building?"
"Over a hundred?" I exploded.
"Yeah." George said. "And we think that most of them are still here. For some reason they don't seem to be able to move on. P'haps I better get the other blokes in here, we can all tell you what we've seen, and what's happened to us."
George got up and went to call the other tenants while I sat and waited. I was beginning to wonder what sort of nut house I'd moved into if they all believed in ghosts and spirits or what ever. Then I reminded myself I'd seen the apparitions of three men myself. To have seen the ghosts of three men apparently floating in mid air while they played a game of cards was not the sort of thing to admit to your Probation Officer. I'd just got out of prison but neither the Landlord nor the other tenants needed to know that. In short order George came back with the four of the six tenants. Bob was still apparently at work. George continued to do the talking after introducing me to the other men and the one woman, young Tess, from the back flat. Each contributed as the story went along. They all had their own visitors, George explained to me, and the others nodded agreement. Ray at the front has the one called Maisie, Fred has Mary, Tess has Marge, George has Old Arthur and Bob has the Diggers.
"But they sometimes use your bedroom as well as well." He said. For some reason they all started to look a little uncomfortable.
"There are others here as well." He told me. "Screaming Jenny, The Young Fella, Stinky and the Blob to name a few."
"Hold on." I said. "Just how many of these ghosts are you saying are here?"
"Errr, about two dozen....... or so." George said. Now the other tenants were all looking decidedly uncomfortable.
"Two dozen?" I yelled. "Two dozen bloody ghosts in the place. Is this a bloody nut house? Are you all nuts?"
They all began trying to talk at once, but in whispers, mostly advising me to calm down, to be quiet and not to say anything about nut houses, madhouses or the like. In fact they all looked a little worried by now. I began to feel a little worried myself.
"OK." I asked. "Whats going on here, whats the matter?"
"We don't want you to get the wrong one." Tess said in a quiet voice. "If you carry on you could get one of the bad ones, that's what happened to Barry. He had your flat before you."
"Bad ones?" I asked, not comprehending.
"Well." George said. "Some of our guests, that's what we all call them, are a little bit eccentric, an' every now and then some new tenant brings in a bad one, then we all have troubles."
"Now hold on." I objected. "I've never seen a ghost in my life before this, and I'm certainly not bringing one with me."
"No, we didn't mean that." George said. "When a new tenant moves in it usually takes a week or so before one of the guests attaches itself to them. If you are a trouble maker you could end up with the Young Fella or even Stinky. On the other hand if you're a bit rowdy you could get Screaming Jenny. If you insult them then things could get rough an' you might get one of the really bad ones, we haven't even given them names." George said cautiously. "But if you get a bad one like Barry did, then we all cop it."
"You'd better tell me about it." I said. I was getting to feel very uncomfortable and something inside me was screaming for me to pack up and leave. I knew that wasn't very logical thinking and I still had big reservations about the ghost stories I was being told. It all seemed so unlikely and although I had seen the spirits in my bedroom with my own eyes I was still trying to rationalise it away as something else. Perhaps the other tenants had slipped a drug into my drink, perhaps they had used some sort of hologram or something, perhaps they wanted me to break my lease so they could get a friend in instead of me, perhaps I was being set up. Setup for what I asked myself? No immediate answer came to mind. Perhaps the Landlord was setting us all up. Perhaps he wanted to get us all out, to break our leases, to get new higher paying tenants. That didn't make sense either, but then again ghosts were not exactly my choice of the truth, especially ghosts that might not be as benign as the Diggers. I felt paranoia beginning it's ugly advance in my thinking and suddenly realised George was speaking again.
"I'm sorry." I said to hide my inattention. "It's all a bit hard to take in. Could you start that bit again?"
"Well." George said. "I was saying how you need to be pretty careful till one of the guests decides to choose you. The longer they take to decide the more likely you are to get one of the eccentric ones. Unless of course you do something completely wrong. Then one of the really bad guests will grab you straight away."
"What do you mean by more eccentric and really bad?" I asked. That sounded like something I wanted clearly defined for me in this crazy house with crazy tenants and perhaps crazy ghosts. It was all starting to get a bit far fetched in my opinion. They seemed to be skirting around several issues and although I was supposed to hear all of their stories George was the only one who'd done any talking yet. I looked around at the other tenants sitting there but none seemed anxious or ready to take the chair from George. I resigned myself to listen.
"Each of our guests is a little on the eccentric side." George continued. "And each of them has their own very distinctive pattern of behavior. For the most part we have learnt to live with it and the reward is cheap rent and a quiet life, even if the old place is a bit run down."
George paused and looked around at the other tenants who indicated they were comfortable with him continuing on.
"For example Maisie, who's with Ray, likes to climb into bed with him. Only problem is that Maisie is dead cold." George said this with a deadpan face and no hint of irony.
"And Mary, she's with Fred there." George indicated Fred with a wave of his hand. "Likes to rearrange Fred's shirt and sock drawer as well as his food cupboard. It drives Fred nuts sometimes because for some reason Mary always puts the salt in with his socks." Fred just grinned and nodded his head.
"Then we got Marge. She's appointed herself Tess's Mother figure and gives Tess a hard time if she wants to entertain a gentleman friend at home. I've seen more than one would be suitor getting out Tess's door in a hurry. Do you think she'll ever approve of one lass?" George asked the young woman who shook her head sadly. "No, I don't think she will either. She's intent on you being a spinster, that's for sure.
George looked at me intently. "I got Old Arthur, he's probably the oldest of all our guests; by the way he dresses I reckon he must have been among the first to die here. Arthur likes to argue but I can't hear him so so he pulls books out of my library, slams them on the table and opens them to an appropriate page. I gotta find the text he intends for me to read and if I can't find it he throws cups against the wall and stuff like that."
I was about to to query George on this but I saw Ray raise a warning finger to his lips in a shushing manner so kept my mouth shut. Just as well I did because I felt the temperature in the room drop suddenly by a goodly amount and Fred pointed wordlessly into a far corner of the room. I turned slowly and noticed what looked like a number of ghostly outlines lurking there. I picked Old Arthur easily because he seemed the most clearly defined of the group. An old man, probably in his late seventies or early eighties dressed in what appeared to be the style of clothing worn by gentlemen in the latter half of the nineteenth century. Arthur looked a little peeved I thought. I reckoned I could recognise most of the others too. Maisie would be the woman dressed in what looked to be clothing that was fashionable in the early twentieth century. Mary would be the woman dressed as what appeared to be a maid, or cook or something similar. Marge just had to be the rather severe woman, possibly in her early forties, who looked for all the world like a spinster school teacher or perhaps the equally spinsterish Housekeeper of a large household. The three soldiers who George called the Diggers were no where to be seen. I suddenly felt the need to sit very still and very quiet.
"Don't move." George cautioned as if reading my thoughts. The apparitions were moving towards me and the only parts of me that wanted to move were my bladder and my bowels. I don't know how but I knew I was being inspected and the thought struck me that this could be a very important inspection. Never, since the time I first faced the Regimental Sergeant Major, have I wanted to pass an inspection so desperately. I felt something brushing around me, lightly but with dreadful coldness and once, just once, I felt myself touched in a very intimate part of my anatomy. I jumped and I swear I heard a suppressed giggle when this happened. Some of the touches were light, smooth, gentle as if a from a woman and other touches more harsh and abrupt, one even seemed to straighten the tie I was not wearing and rough hands did mess with my hair. The inspection continued on and I began to sense other presences, not as clearly defined or even not defined at all. The other tenants were motionless, apparently observing me and my reactions intently. I felt I was beginning to sweat with the scrutiny but the sweat dried or didn't even appear with the now intense cold. I began to shiver instead, partly with cold, partly with fear.
Then it happened. A sudden blast of intense heat and the apparitions around me seemed to flee. I heard a deep booming laugh, more a maniacal screech, and a voice that sounded as if it originated in the depths of some deep, dark place. In a fearful daze I noticed the other tenants also reacting, Tess screaming, Ray and Ted both showing fear and George trying to draw something from an inside pocket of his of his coat. Someone, either Ted or Ray shouted something that sounded like like "... it have him." I didn't get the first bit but I'm sure that in some way it was a reference to me. Everything was descending in chaos, George was shouting something. I couldn't understand him but for some reason I thought it sounded like Latin. The booming disembodied voice seemed to be threatening everybody and everything. I vaguely remember something about a claim, penance, retribution, a sacrifice and a whole lot of words I did not understand in some language other than English. I saw Tess cowering in a corner, Fred being flung across the room to crash against a wall and Ray down on his knees blubbering and thrashing about. George was in the centre of the room and had succeeded in getting what ever it was out of his coat. I saw him hold something that flashed silver high above his head before he too was flung across the room and apparently consumed by flames. Things were right out of control.
I lost it. "What the fuck is this?" I yelled, not really caring anymore, "What the fuck is happening in this fucking mad house, you're all as mad as a fucking meat axe." You could have heard a pin drop. The noise stopped, the cold stopped, the flames disappeared. The apparitions disappeared, the thing that had attacked George disappeared in a flash of light. I looked around, every one was sitting in their seats watching me. I was standing in the middle of the room and suddenly realised i was about to start yelling again. I shut my mouth, then it opened again as if of it's own volition. "What ...?" I began to say. George smiled, they all smiled. I blinked and shook my head. I was sure that the last time I saw Fred he was flying across the room and being smashed into a wall. Ray was on his knees and blubbering and George was .... Now they were all sitting calmly as before and looking as if nothing had happened. I must have looked very confused.
"You better sit down." George said.
"Yeah." I replied "I think I'd better. What the bloody hell just happened?"
"That's what we were going to ask you." Tess said softly. "What did you see?"
"Well." I started to say, but then I wasn't sure what to say. The doubts came flooding back. Had I seen ghosts? Had they attacked the other tenants? Was I being drugged or hypnotised or something. Was this all some sort of setup? I didn't know what to to think and I didn't want to get suckered in by a bunch of weirdo's I didn't really know yet. What was their motive? Was there a motive? Had I been on the bottle and this was a bad dream? Was I hallucinating? I just didn't know and I felt an urge to get to hell out of there and clear my head. My confusion must have showed.
"Right now you're feeling pretty weird and mixed up aren't you?" George said in the understatement of the year.
"Yeah." I admitted. "I guess I am and I don't know what to think."
"Well." George said quietly "If you found out the real truth do you think you could handle it?"
"I dunno." I said truthfully. "It depends if it's any weirder than what I think I just saw."
"What do you think you just saw?" They all asked at once. Almost as if they spoke in one voice. So I told them.
"Is that how you think ghosts really are?" George asked. "All that fire and cold and scary stuff?"
"I don't know." I said. "I've never seen a ghost before. If that's what I really saw." I added doubtfully.
"Maybe ghosts are just like ordinary people, but dead." Tess suggested.
"Ordinary people?" I retorted after a moments thought. "I've met some that I have no desire to meet again, living or dead."
George grinned and the others nodded agreement. "That's the point." Tess said. "Ordinary people can be good or bad, living or dead."
"OK, I can accept that." I said. "Provided that I can accept that what I think I saw were ghosts."
"What do you think you just experienced if it wasn't ghosts?" George asked.
In for a penny, in for a pound I thought. If they wanted me to accept their "real truth" about ghosts then they will have to accept my real truth about other possibilities. They needed to accept that I could think of several other and, at least to me, logical and viable alternatives to their ghost stories. I went on the offensive, sure in my own mind that I could confront them and get to the bottom of it all. The possibility of ghosts was receding in my reasoning with every passing moment.
"There are several other possibilities." I said trying to sound positive and in control. "How do I know that you aren't all behind all this, that it's not some scheme to con me. You could have drugged me and I've been hallucinating, or you might have set this all up. I don't know any of you well."
George just looked at me and said nothing. He didn't need to and I suddenly realised I was yelling again. I guess I was quite emotional about the whole thing.
"Do you think that's what we have done?" Tess asked with infuriating calmness.
"And if you think we have, then have you thought what we would, or could gain from it?" Fred asked equally calmly.
"Errr no." I had to admit some what lamely. "But there must be a reason." I added desperately. "I just don't know what you want or hope to gain."
George continued to to look at me calmly and without comment. I realised my logic was based on a primal fear and my inbuilt prejudice. In fact, being honest with myself, I had to admit that my supposed logic and reasoning was pretty shaky right from the start. But I still couldn't admit to my fear, or that my desperate attempts to rationalise what had happened were mainly based on fear. The revelations of what I had seen, or thought I'd seen, had rocked me to my foundations and I was trying desperately to convince myself that there was a rational and logical explanation to what seemed to be an experience I could not assimilate or accept.
Ray, who tended to be a slightly aloof sort of person, finally decided to add to the conversation. In my short time at the house I'd noticed Ray didn't have a lot to say, but when he did speak it was usually worth listening to.
"Perhaps." He said. "You need to apply some of that logic of yours to to the situation and take it one step at a time."
"OK." I replied, waiting to see what he would come up with. "Lets do that." Even to my own ears my reply sounded childishly arrogant and also some what hollow.
"Point one." He said. "By your own admission you have seen apparitions in this house yourself. Can you offer any reasonable explanation for them, other than they were, or are, ghosts?"
"Point one! - Ha, that's bullshit." I exploded as my temper began to control me again, I began to shout. "They could be lots of things, they could be all sorts of technical things," I began to splutter. "They could be some sort of trick like spiritualists and magicians use, or, or, holograms or stuff like that." Even as I said it I realised how hollow and childish it sounded.
"A hologram? Really." Ray replied in his calm unruffled way. "Where's the projection equipment for a hologram, it requires some pretty sophisticated equipment, and it's bulky, and expensive."
I knew he had me there but the calm manner of his quiet, measured reply enraged me all the more and the red veil that had got me into so much trouble in the past descended yet again. I lunged at him with a raised fist as George and Fred grabbed at me. I was amazed at their speed and agility. For two older men they exhibited surprising strength, I'm a big strong bloke and they held me firmly down even though I struggled to get up.
Ray stood over me as the other two pinned me. "Point three." Ray said in his quiet voice which now seemed to have a distinctive commanding ring to it. "We've all been here a lot longer than you and we've tried to explain the situation. Do you think we'd take the time to tell you all about this if we'd been trying to deceive you? Wouldn't it be easier for us to just let you drive yourself out if we wanted you to go?
"Fuck you all," I snarled. "When I get up we'll see who's who around here."
"Yes, when you get up." Tess chimed in. "How are you going to manage that?"
"You can't hold me down for ever." I threatened.
"More threats?" Ray challenged. "That has been your stock in trade all your life hasn't it? Threats, bullying, assault, you get a thrill out of hurting people don't you? That's why you went to jail."
The rage had control of me and I missed wondering how he knew that; I'd told no one, not even the Landlord. "That's none of your fucking business. I was setup." I yelled.
"Really?" Ray accused. "And if they ever find Sandra's body it was someone else who killed her and buried the body too?"
The accusation seemed to burn itself into my brain along with the lead brick that suddenly hit the pit of my stomach.
"How ..... ?" I nearly choked on the rising fear. No one knew I'd killed my girlfriend of the time and buried her body. It was impossible , I'd gotten away clear and ...."
"We've been here a long time." George said as he stepped back and released me.
"A very long time." Ted added as he also stepped back.
"And we know many things." Tess added.
I struggled to my feet and spun around, still ready to fight.
"Hullo Trevor." a soft voice greeted me, I knew that voice. "Do you still love me?" The voice continued. Fear overwhelmed me as the temperature in the room began to drop and everything around me began to gain a wispy, ghostly appearance. Ray seemed to be fading, and George, and Fred, and Tess. The last face I saw as they advanced towards me and grasped at me and dragged me down to I know not where was that of my late, lovely girlfriend.
There is something odd, even weird about this house I've just moved into. I've seen, and experienced somethings here that I've experienced no where else in my ramblings and travels and I've lived in some pretty bloody odd environments. I haven't taken up drugs, or the booze and I don't think anything has happened to make me go from slightly nutty to full bozo. My health is about normal, no sudden deterioration and I've been subjected to no sudden trauma or other event likely to cause me to start seeing things. The place is about one hundred and ten years old and if the present landlord can be believed there's been some odd characters living here from time to time. The house has an interesting, even intriguing history. It's been a Sanitarium, a Hospice, a Private Mental Institution, a home for pregnant single mothers and even a Military Hospital. Right now it's one of those old rambling and sadly deteriorated buildings that's been hacked around to provide flats for the less financially able. The Landlord of course is raking in a fortune by neglecting maintenance and milking a disadvantaged clientele of every penny he can squeeze out of them.
The first apparition I encountered was the one I immediately christened Old Jack, I walked into my bedroom and he was just sitting there, as if suspended in mid air. He was playing cards with two other misty figures, all of them dressed in what I perceived to be military uniforms from around the World War One era. Old Jack nodded to me in a friendly manner and went on playing cards. I bolted from the room as if pursued by the Devil himself. I ran into the communal sitting room and came face to face with George who has the flat next to mine. He saw the look on my face and just said "Arrrh, you've seen them have ya?" George even managed a disinterested grin. "It's the card players isn't it?"
"How did you know?" I stammered." Have you seen them too?"
"Of course I have." George said. "So has every one else in this shit hole." He laughed. "Don't worry, they won't bite ya, an' you ain't seen the others yet."
"Others?" I yelped. "There are more of them?"
"Yeah." George replied. "The place is full of 'em but don't let it worry ya."
"But...." I began to protest.
"But nothin'." George said. "You're the new kid on the block and those of us who've been here for a while know what's goes on and we don't worry about it . You better sit down an' listen though, or we're all goin' to be in trouble."
"OK." I said, somewhat subdued "I guess you better fill me in."
"We call the three card players the Diggers. The Three you just saw. They always sit around and play poker in the bedroom and sometimes you see them in Bob's kitchen cookin' up some stuff in a saucepan. They don't cause us any trouble, an' they're quite friendly, sometimes they even leave us stuff."
"Leave stuff ?" I queried. "What sort of stuff?"
"Well." George said. "They sometimes leave food in Bob's kitchen, you know, stews and sometimes a pot of tea. It ain't Bob, he swears he comes home sometimes if he's workin' late and the tuckers already on the stove. None of us do it for him an' there's usually enough for all six flats. Good bloody tucker too, they done a rabbit stew one time and it was bloody delicious."
"Oh KKKK." I said, still not quite sure if he was having me on. "You said the place is full of them, you said I hadn't seen the others yet."
"The others." George said carefully. "Well yeah, there are others but a couple of them are a bit different, not so friendly some of them."
"Oh." I said feeling the hairs on the back of my neck begin to stir. "What do you mean by not so friendly?"
"Well." George explained. "I suppose Tony the Landlord has told you the place has an interesting history, it's been a few different things in it's day."
"Yes, he did tell me. A Sanitarium, a Hospice and a few other things as well."
George looked at me with a bemused expression and repeated my words. "A few other things. Did you know that there's supposed to be at lease a hundred people who have died here over the life of the building?"
"Over a hundred?" I exploded.
"Yeah." George said. "And we think that most of them are still here. For some reason they don't seem to be able to move on. P'haps I better get the other blokes in here, we can all tell you what we've seen, and what's happened to us."
George got up and went to call the other tenants while I sat and waited. I was beginning to wonder what sort of nut house I'd moved into if they all believed in ghosts and spirits or what ever. Then I reminded myself I'd seen the apparitions of three men myself. To have seen the ghosts of three men apparently floating in mid air while they played a game of cards was not the sort of thing to admit to your Probation Officer. I'd just got out of prison but neither the Landlord nor the other tenants needed to know that. In short order George came back with the four of the six tenants. Bob was still apparently at work. George continued to do the talking after introducing me to the other men and the one woman, young Tess, from the back flat. Each contributed as the story went along. They all had their own visitors, George explained to me, and the others nodded agreement. Ray at the front has the one called Maisie, Fred has Mary, Tess has Marge, George has Old Arthur and Bob has the Diggers.
"But they sometimes use your bedroom as well as well." He said. For some reason they all started to look a little uncomfortable.
"There are others here as well." He told me. "Screaming Jenny, The Young Fella, Stinky and the Blob to name a few."
"Hold on." I said. "Just how many of these ghosts are you saying are here?"
"Errr, about two dozen....... or so." George said. Now the other tenants were all looking decidedly uncomfortable.
"Two dozen?" I yelled. "Two dozen bloody ghosts in the place. Is this a bloody nut house? Are you all nuts?"
They all began trying to talk at once, but in whispers, mostly advising me to calm down, to be quiet and not to say anything about nut houses, madhouses or the like. In fact they all looked a little worried by now. I began to feel a little worried myself.
"OK." I asked. "Whats going on here, whats the matter?"
"We don't want you to get the wrong one." Tess said in a quiet voice. "If you carry on you could get one of the bad ones, that's what happened to Barry. He had your flat before you."
"Bad ones?" I asked, not comprehending.
"Well." George said. "Some of our guests, that's what we all call them, are a little bit eccentric, an' every now and then some new tenant brings in a bad one, then we all have troubles."
"Now hold on." I objected. "I've never seen a ghost in my life before this, and I'm certainly not bringing one with me."
"No, we didn't mean that." George said. "When a new tenant moves in it usually takes a week or so before one of the guests attaches itself to them. If you are a trouble maker you could end up with the Young Fella or even Stinky. On the other hand if you're a bit rowdy you could get Screaming Jenny. If you insult them then things could get rough an' you might get one of the really bad ones, we haven't even given them names." George said cautiously. "But if you get a bad one like Barry did, then we all cop it."
"You'd better tell me about it." I said. I was getting to feel very uncomfortable and something inside me was screaming for me to pack up and leave. I knew that wasn't very logical thinking and I still had big reservations about the ghost stories I was being told. It all seemed so unlikely and although I had seen the spirits in my bedroom with my own eyes I was still trying to rationalise it away as something else. Perhaps the other tenants had slipped a drug into my drink, perhaps they had used some sort of hologram or something, perhaps they wanted me to break my lease so they could get a friend in instead of me, perhaps I was being set up. Setup for what I asked myself? No immediate answer came to mind. Perhaps the Landlord was setting us all up. Perhaps he wanted to get us all out, to break our leases, to get new higher paying tenants. That didn't make sense either, but then again ghosts were not exactly my choice of the truth, especially ghosts that might not be as benign as the Diggers. I felt paranoia beginning it's ugly advance in my thinking and suddenly realised George was speaking again.
"I'm sorry." I said to hide my inattention. "It's all a bit hard to take in. Could you start that bit again?"
"Well." George said. "I was saying how you need to be pretty careful till one of the guests decides to choose you. The longer they take to decide the more likely you are to get one of the eccentric ones. Unless of course you do something completely wrong. Then one of the really bad guests will grab you straight away."
"What do you mean by more eccentric and really bad?" I asked. That sounded like something I wanted clearly defined for me in this crazy house with crazy tenants and perhaps crazy ghosts. It was all starting to get a bit far fetched in my opinion. They seemed to be skirting around several issues and although I was supposed to hear all of their stories George was the only one who'd done any talking yet. I looked around at the other tenants sitting there but none seemed anxious or ready to take the chair from George. I resigned myself to listen.
"Each of our guests is a little on the eccentric side." George continued. "And each of them has their own very distinctive pattern of behavior. For the most part we have learnt to live with it and the reward is cheap rent and a quiet life, even if the old place is a bit run down."
George paused and looked around at the other tenants who indicated they were comfortable with him continuing on.
"For example Maisie, who's with Ray, likes to climb into bed with him. Only problem is that Maisie is dead cold." George said this with a deadpan face and no hint of irony.
"And Mary, she's with Fred there." George indicated Fred with a wave of his hand. "Likes to rearrange Fred's shirt and sock drawer as well as his food cupboard. It drives Fred nuts sometimes because for some reason Mary always puts the salt in with his socks." Fred just grinned and nodded his head.
"Then we got Marge. She's appointed herself Tess's Mother figure and gives Tess a hard time if she wants to entertain a gentleman friend at home. I've seen more than one would be suitor getting out Tess's door in a hurry. Do you think she'll ever approve of one lass?" George asked the young woman who shook her head sadly. "No, I don't think she will either. She's intent on you being a spinster, that's for sure.
George looked at me intently. "I got Old Arthur, he's probably the oldest of all our guests; by the way he dresses I reckon he must have been among the first to die here. Arthur likes to argue but I can't hear him so so he pulls books out of my library, slams them on the table and opens them to an appropriate page. I gotta find the text he intends for me to read and if I can't find it he throws cups against the wall and stuff like that."
I was about to to query George on this but I saw Ray raise a warning finger to his lips in a shushing manner so kept my mouth shut. Just as well I did because I felt the temperature in the room drop suddenly by a goodly amount and Fred pointed wordlessly into a far corner of the room. I turned slowly and noticed what looked like a number of ghostly outlines lurking there. I picked Old Arthur easily because he seemed the most clearly defined of the group. An old man, probably in his late seventies or early eighties dressed in what appeared to be the style of clothing worn by gentlemen in the latter half of the nineteenth century. Arthur looked a little peeved I thought. I reckoned I could recognise most of the others too. Maisie would be the woman dressed in what looked to be clothing that was fashionable in the early twentieth century. Mary would be the woman dressed as what appeared to be a maid, or cook or something similar. Marge just had to be the rather severe woman, possibly in her early forties, who looked for all the world like a spinster school teacher or perhaps the equally spinsterish Housekeeper of a large household. The three soldiers who George called the Diggers were no where to be seen. I suddenly felt the need to sit very still and very quiet.
"Don't move." George cautioned as if reading my thoughts. The apparitions were moving towards me and the only parts of me that wanted to move were my bladder and my bowels. I don't know how but I knew I was being inspected and the thought struck me that this could be a very important inspection. Never, since the time I first faced the Regimental Sergeant Major, have I wanted to pass an inspection so desperately. I felt something brushing around me, lightly but with dreadful coldness and once, just once, I felt myself touched in a very intimate part of my anatomy. I jumped and I swear I heard a suppressed giggle when this happened. Some of the touches were light, smooth, gentle as if a from a woman and other touches more harsh and abrupt, one even seemed to straighten the tie I was not wearing and rough hands did mess with my hair. The inspection continued on and I began to sense other presences, not as clearly defined or even not defined at all. The other tenants were motionless, apparently observing me and my reactions intently. I felt I was beginning to sweat with the scrutiny but the sweat dried or didn't even appear with the now intense cold. I began to shiver instead, partly with cold, partly with fear.
Then it happened. A sudden blast of intense heat and the apparitions around me seemed to flee. I heard a deep booming laugh, more a maniacal screech, and a voice that sounded as if it originated in the depths of some deep, dark place. In a fearful daze I noticed the other tenants also reacting, Tess screaming, Ray and Ted both showing fear and George trying to draw something from an inside pocket of his of his coat. Someone, either Ted or Ray shouted something that sounded like like "... it have him." I didn't get the first bit but I'm sure that in some way it was a reference to me. Everything was descending in chaos, George was shouting something. I couldn't understand him but for some reason I thought it sounded like Latin. The booming disembodied voice seemed to be threatening everybody and everything. I vaguely remember something about a claim, penance, retribution, a sacrifice and a whole lot of words I did not understand in some language other than English. I saw Tess cowering in a corner, Fred being flung across the room to crash against a wall and Ray down on his knees blubbering and thrashing about. George was in the centre of the room and had succeeded in getting what ever it was out of his coat. I saw him hold something that flashed silver high above his head before he too was flung across the room and apparently consumed by flames. Things were right out of control.
I lost it. "What the fuck is this?" I yelled, not really caring anymore, "What the fuck is happening in this fucking mad house, you're all as mad as a fucking meat axe." You could have heard a pin drop. The noise stopped, the cold stopped, the flames disappeared. The apparitions disappeared, the thing that had attacked George disappeared in a flash of light. I looked around, every one was sitting in their seats watching me. I was standing in the middle of the room and suddenly realised i was about to start yelling again. I shut my mouth, then it opened again as if of it's own volition. "What ...?" I began to say. George smiled, they all smiled. I blinked and shook my head. I was sure that the last time I saw Fred he was flying across the room and being smashed into a wall. Ray was on his knees and blubbering and George was .... Now they were all sitting calmly as before and looking as if nothing had happened. I must have looked very confused.
"You better sit down." George said.
"Yeah." I replied "I think I'd better. What the bloody hell just happened?"
"That's what we were going to ask you." Tess said softly. "What did you see?"
"Well." I started to say, but then I wasn't sure what to say. The doubts came flooding back. Had I seen ghosts? Had they attacked the other tenants? Was I being drugged or hypnotised or something. Was this all some sort of setup? I didn't know what to to think and I didn't want to get suckered in by a bunch of weirdo's I didn't really know yet. What was their motive? Was there a motive? Had I been on the bottle and this was a bad dream? Was I hallucinating? I just didn't know and I felt an urge to get to hell out of there and clear my head. My confusion must have showed.
"Right now you're feeling pretty weird and mixed up aren't you?" George said in the understatement of the year.
"Yeah." I admitted. "I guess I am and I don't know what to think."
"Well." George said quietly "If you found out the real truth do you think you could handle it?"
"I dunno." I said truthfully. "It depends if it's any weirder than what I think I just saw."
"What do you think you just saw?" They all asked at once. Almost as if they spoke in one voice. So I told them.
"Is that how you think ghosts really are?" George asked. "All that fire and cold and scary stuff?"
"I don't know." I said. "I've never seen a ghost before. If that's what I really saw." I added doubtfully.
"Maybe ghosts are just like ordinary people, but dead." Tess suggested.
"Ordinary people?" I retorted after a moments thought. "I've met some that I have no desire to meet again, living or dead."
George grinned and the others nodded agreement. "That's the point." Tess said. "Ordinary people can be good or bad, living or dead."
"OK, I can accept that." I said. "Provided that I can accept that what I think I saw were ghosts."
"What do you think you just experienced if it wasn't ghosts?" George asked.
In for a penny, in for a pound I thought. If they wanted me to accept their "real truth" about ghosts then they will have to accept my real truth about other possibilities. They needed to accept that I could think of several other and, at least to me, logical and viable alternatives to their ghost stories. I went on the offensive, sure in my own mind that I could confront them and get to the bottom of it all. The possibility of ghosts was receding in my reasoning with every passing moment.
"There are several other possibilities." I said trying to sound positive and in control. "How do I know that you aren't all behind all this, that it's not some scheme to con me. You could have drugged me and I've been hallucinating, or you might have set this all up. I don't know any of you well."
George just looked at me and said nothing. He didn't need to and I suddenly realised I was yelling again. I guess I was quite emotional about the whole thing.
"Do you think that's what we have done?" Tess asked with infuriating calmness.
"And if you think we have, then have you thought what we would, or could gain from it?" Fred asked equally calmly.
"Errr no." I had to admit some what lamely. "But there must be a reason." I added desperately. "I just don't know what you want or hope to gain."
George continued to to look at me calmly and without comment. I realised my logic was based on a primal fear and my inbuilt prejudice. In fact, being honest with myself, I had to admit that my supposed logic and reasoning was pretty shaky right from the start. But I still couldn't admit to my fear, or that my desperate attempts to rationalise what had happened were mainly based on fear. The revelations of what I had seen, or thought I'd seen, had rocked me to my foundations and I was trying desperately to convince myself that there was a rational and logical explanation to what seemed to be an experience I could not assimilate or accept.
Ray, who tended to be a slightly aloof sort of person, finally decided to add to the conversation. In my short time at the house I'd noticed Ray didn't have a lot to say, but when he did speak it was usually worth listening to.
"Perhaps." He said. "You need to apply some of that logic of yours to to the situation and take it one step at a time."
"OK." I replied, waiting to see what he would come up with. "Lets do that." Even to my own ears my reply sounded childishly arrogant and also some what hollow.
"Point one." He said. "By your own admission you have seen apparitions in this house yourself. Can you offer any reasonable explanation for them, other than they were, or are, ghosts?"
"Point one! - Ha, that's bullshit." I exploded as my temper began to control me again, I began to shout. "They could be lots of things, they could be all sorts of technical things," I began to splutter. "They could be some sort of trick like spiritualists and magicians use, or, or, holograms or stuff like that." Even as I said it I realised how hollow and childish it sounded.
"A hologram? Really." Ray replied in his calm unruffled way. "Where's the projection equipment for a hologram, it requires some pretty sophisticated equipment, and it's bulky, and expensive."
I knew he had me there but the calm manner of his quiet, measured reply enraged me all the more and the red veil that had got me into so much trouble in the past descended yet again. I lunged at him with a raised fist as George and Fred grabbed at me. I was amazed at their speed and agility. For two older men they exhibited surprising strength, I'm a big strong bloke and they held me firmly down even though I struggled to get up.
Ray stood over me as the other two pinned me. "Point three." Ray said in his quiet voice which now seemed to have a distinctive commanding ring to it. "We've all been here a lot longer than you and we've tried to explain the situation. Do you think we'd take the time to tell you all about this if we'd been trying to deceive you? Wouldn't it be easier for us to just let you drive yourself out if we wanted you to go?
"Fuck you all," I snarled. "When I get up we'll see who's who around here."
"Yes, when you get up." Tess chimed in. "How are you going to manage that?"
"You can't hold me down for ever." I threatened.
"More threats?" Ray challenged. "That has been your stock in trade all your life hasn't it? Threats, bullying, assault, you get a thrill out of hurting people don't you? That's why you went to jail."
The rage had control of me and I missed wondering how he knew that; I'd told no one, not even the Landlord. "That's none of your fucking business. I was setup." I yelled.
"Really?" Ray accused. "And if they ever find Sandra's body it was someone else who killed her and buried the body too?"
The accusation seemed to burn itself into my brain along with the lead brick that suddenly hit the pit of my stomach.
"How ..... ?" I nearly choked on the rising fear. No one knew I'd killed my girlfriend of the time and buried her body. It was impossible , I'd gotten away clear and ...."
"We've been here a long time." George said as he stepped back and released me.
"A very long time." Ted added as he also stepped back.
"And we know many things." Tess added.
I struggled to my feet and spun around, still ready to fight.
"Hullo Trevor." a soft voice greeted me, I knew that voice. "Do you still love me?" The voice continued. Fear overwhelmed me as the temperature in the room began to drop and everything around me began to gain a wispy, ghostly appearance. Ray seemed to be fading, and George, and Fred, and Tess. The last face I saw as they advanced towards me and grasped at me and dragged me down to I know not where was that of my late, lovely girlfriend.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
A Few Words of Warning - and other bitter Lessons
A first time Author, after perhaps years of toiling, finally gets accepted by a publisher, a big Mainstream Publisher and promptly turns cartwheels, screams and shouts and probably even brags about it to colleagues, friends and family - "I have a contract!" the Author proclaims to the world What that Author is feeling is a mixture of elation, relief and, a deep sense of vindication. That is - until Murphy's Law and the fine print of that precious contract jumps up and bites!
A case in point. Mature aged Author who has had modest success finally cracks it for the big one after more than twenty years. Not one book but a whole damn trilogy. Massive he thinks, I'm on the way - I've finally proved that I can write a commercially acceptable novel. Then - in the midst of all that elation he goes and gets sick - very sick. Six months the Doctor says - six months before you will be fit enough to travel - and then you will have to be exceedingly careful of long flights overseas - Deep Vein Thrombosis! - Deep what? The Doctor explains - Oh! -
"But I have to go to the U.S. for a book release and signing - the Publisher insists - it's in my contract!"
"Don't go !" The Doctor replies. "It could kill you!"
Urgent message to Publisher via Agent - silence - for more than a week. Then the bomb arrives - the contract allows for something called marketing contingencies - I'm a first time author - no track record - no appearance - sales will be compromised blah, blah, blah. So? I ask? They are delaying publishing till you can appear the Agent tells me, it's a bad break - the book is on the back burner - they move on and it might never see the light of day!
A word of advice - yelling, threatening to go to another publisher and stamping of feet, holding of breath and other tantrums do not work. All you get is a pitiful look from Agent - who - incidentally - is suddenly very hard to reach.
The bitter lessons:
Your Agent, no matter how professional and accommodating, is not your friend
If you use a local Solicitor make doubly sure that Solicitor not only understands publishing law but is familiar with contractual litigation in The PUBLISHER'S COUNTRY OF ORIGIN
Don't take your Solicitors word that "the fine print is OK" . Read it yourself because while it might be LEGALLY OK there might be some clauses which could effect you personally if things go wrong or you can't perform for some reason.
Make sure the contract makes sense in PLAIN ENGLISH
If the contract contains "Marketing Contingency" clauses make sure you understand the implications if you get sick, get injured, can't deliver on time, or a thousand other reasons that might apply to only you.
If the contract provides for an advance against royalties insist that such advance be non returnable. You might get less of an advance but at least you'll have something to show for all your effort if things go south
A case in point. Mature aged Author who has had modest success finally cracks it for the big one after more than twenty years. Not one book but a whole damn trilogy. Massive he thinks, I'm on the way - I've finally proved that I can write a commercially acceptable novel. Then - in the midst of all that elation he goes and gets sick - very sick. Six months the Doctor says - six months before you will be fit enough to travel - and then you will have to be exceedingly careful of long flights overseas - Deep Vein Thrombosis! - Deep what? The Doctor explains - Oh! -
"But I have to go to the U.S. for a book release and signing - the Publisher insists - it's in my contract!"
"Don't go !" The Doctor replies. "It could kill you!"
Urgent message to Publisher via Agent - silence - for more than a week. Then the bomb arrives - the contract allows for something called marketing contingencies - I'm a first time author - no track record - no appearance - sales will be compromised blah, blah, blah. So? I ask? They are delaying publishing till you can appear the Agent tells me, it's a bad break - the book is on the back burner - they move on and it might never see the light of day!
A word of advice - yelling, threatening to go to another publisher and stamping of feet, holding of breath and other tantrums do not work. All you get is a pitiful look from Agent - who - incidentally - is suddenly very hard to reach.
The bitter lessons:
Your Agent, no matter how professional and accommodating, is not your friend
If you use a local Solicitor make doubly sure that Solicitor not only understands publishing law but is familiar with contractual litigation in The PUBLISHER'S COUNTRY OF ORIGIN
Don't take your Solicitors word that "the fine print is OK" . Read it yourself because while it might be LEGALLY OK there might be some clauses which could effect you personally if things go wrong or you can't perform for some reason.
Make sure the contract makes sense in PLAIN ENGLISH
If the contract contains "Marketing Contingency" clauses make sure you understand the implications if you get sick, get injured, can't deliver on time, or a thousand other reasons that might apply to only you.
If the contract provides for an advance against royalties insist that such advance be non returnable. You might get less of an advance but at least you'll have something to show for all your effort if things go south
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Where Have I Been??
I have to apologise to those few curious followers of this blog who have remained interested and have (perhaps) checked back from time to time to see if I've made any new posts. As they will know - I have not. The reason for this neglect has been an unfortunate encounter with ill health. However I am now on the way to recover and although that recovery will be slow I will be updating this blog in the near future. Please call back in a few days to see what progress I've made. - Thank you
Friday, March 18, 2011
O'Flaretty's Curse - The Whole Story
I'm not so sure I'm happy with this story, perhaps because I was distracted half way through writing it and the original concept got lost in the fog. Never the less - here it is.
Shamus O'Flaretty looked like a typical immigrant from rural Ireland. Big, red headed and apparently as thick as three wooden planks. Unfortunately Shamus's appearance hid a razor sharp mind and an insight into human nature denied most ordinary mere mortals. That was O'Flaretty's curse.
Although he did not recognise it at the time the curse first manifested itself when Shamus had barely attained the tender age of six. Shamus had a friend, another young lad who was, because of his small size, a constant target for the bigger lads at school. Shamus was a handy lad and took his small friend aside and taught him some of the finer points of fisticuffs. The result was that one of the bigger boys got a bloodied nose from his smaller opponent. The bigger boy, severely embarrassed, got a few of his colleagues and caught Shamus behind the school toilet block. He was given a sound beating by the mob for having the effrontery to teach the smaller boy how to defend himself.
Shamus first began to suspect the terrible power of the curse when he took his first job. He took a job on a factory assembly line and with his fine tuned insight soon discovered deficiencies in the assembly process. He went to his boss and explained how, with a few low cost improvements, production could be increased by a factor of ten. His boss was a mean mannered individual and stole all the ideas and presented them as his own, Shamus got fired.
Shamus's next brush with his destiny occurred shorty before his twenty first birthday. He fell in love with a fiery, Auburn haired Colleen with eyes as green and sparkling as Emeralds. She completely took his breath, and his common sense, away like the whispered song of the Siren winds. He was smitten, he was hooked, never before had a young man's heart beaten with the intensity that Shamus felt. He got down on one knee and begged the girl to marry him with promises of undying love and devotion. Unfortunately in the fog of madness that is young love Shamus's remarkable insight had deserted him and the girl laughed in his face. He never saw her, or the money he had lent her and her alleged "brother" again. Shamus emigrated to Australia and arrived in Sydney with a suit case, twenty pounds, and his slowly returning insight.
Shamus fell immediately in love with the wide brown land that so contrasted with the land of his birth. He went bush, into the great Australian Outback and soon encountered the mining industry. His strong build and willingness to tolerate hard work and harsh conditions made him immediately attractive to prospective employers and Shamus prospered. Unlike some of his colleagues in the mining camps he refrained from wild access with the money he earned and saved and planned. Soon Shamus became a leading hand and then a foreman on the job.
Shamus was highly regarded and doing well for himself, until the dreaded curse struck once again, this time with devastating force.
Shamus found true love and in the process of that giddy condition proposed Marriage to his beloved. In view of his previous experience Shamus was somewhat surprised when the young Lady accepted, and agreed to meet him at the alter. The Wedding was a grand affair and in due course the happy couple escaped to enjoy their idyllic Honeymoon. They returned from that holiday and set about the pleasurable business of producing a family. In the meantime they made the financial commitment to purchasing their first family home and Shamus enjoyed the financial gain and status that comes from a promotion to a Managerial position. In the second year of their marriage a Son arrived to expand the household and they set about diligently producing a sibling for the first born. It was in the sixth month of his bride's second pregnancy that the dreaded curse struck. Shamus's new managerial role brought with it an office in the company's head office and a secretary. The secretary was young, attractive and very much aware of how to use her beauty to manipulate the male gender. Shamus was a lamb to her slaughter. The result was predictable, sudden, and life changing in it's impact.
Shamus lost his job, his reputation, his self respect, and his wife. She left him and, of course, took the light of Shamus's life - his Son. Shamus turned to his insight and it soon became apparent to him that his life was a parody, he had only one course of action - he would depart this world and the shame it brought upon him. He found a suitable high cliff face and launched himself into the void. The O'Flaretty curse was waiting in ambush. Six feet into his plunge to meet the grim reaper a gnarled old tree branch snared him by the ankle as he passed by. Shamus was left hanging by one ankle over the one hundred foot drop to his doom. It was night and despite his frantic efforts to release himself Shamus was left to dangle, upside down and by one leg, until the early morning brought recognition of his plight and rescuers arrived.
His wife responded to his careful approaches and finally agreed to see him. He cautioned himself to be careful and turned every facet of his being to using his insight. No more mistakes, he was aware, he was ready to confront the curse if it tried to strike. He bought a new suit, and a large and impressive bouquet of red roses. His heart sang, he felt on top of the world and stepped onto the footpath to hail a taxi. His wife - and his family - his Son and the Daughter he had never seen was only fifteen minutes away. The taxi pulled up and he opened the rear door to step in. That is when he heard the Banshee's wail and the hidden heart defect finally burst his aorta and sent him crashing to the ground.
My apologies for the delay in posting
Although he did not recognise it at the time the curse first manifested itself when Shamus had barely attained the tender age of six. Shamus had a friend, another young lad who was, because of his small size, a constant target for the bigger lads at school. Shamus was a handy lad and took his small friend aside and taught him some of the finer points of fisticuffs. The result was that one of the bigger boys got a bloodied nose from his smaller opponent. The bigger boy, severely embarrassed, got a few of his colleagues and caught Shamus behind the school toilet block. He was given a sound beating by the mob for having the effrontery to teach the smaller boy how to defend himself.
Shamus first began to suspect the terrible power of the curse when he took his first job. He took a job on a factory assembly line and with his fine tuned insight soon discovered deficiencies in the assembly process. He went to his boss and explained how, with a few low cost improvements, production could be increased by a factor of ten. His boss was a mean mannered individual and stole all the ideas and presented them as his own, Shamus got fired.
Shamus's next brush with his destiny occurred shorty before his twenty first birthday. He fell in love with a fiery, Auburn haired Colleen with eyes as green and sparkling as Emeralds. She completely took his breath, and his common sense, away like the whispered song of the Siren winds. He was smitten, he was hooked, never before had a young man's heart beaten with the intensity that Shamus felt. He got down on one knee and begged the girl to marry him with promises of undying love and devotion. Unfortunately in the fog of madness that is young love Shamus's remarkable insight had deserted him and the girl laughed in his face. He never saw her, or the money he had lent her and her alleged "brother" again. Shamus emigrated to Australia and arrived in Sydney with a suit case, twenty pounds, and his slowly returning insight.
Shamus fell immediately in love with the wide brown land that so contrasted with the land of his birth. He went bush, into the great Australian Outback and soon encountered the mining industry. His strong build and willingness to tolerate hard work and harsh conditions made him immediately attractive to prospective employers and Shamus prospered. Unlike some of his colleagues in the mining camps he refrained from wild access with the money he earned and saved and planned. Soon Shamus became a leading hand and then a foreman on the job.
Shamus was highly regarded and doing well for himself, until the dreaded curse struck once again, this time with devastating force.
Shamus found true love and in the process of that giddy condition proposed Marriage to his beloved. In view of his previous experience Shamus was somewhat surprised when the young Lady accepted, and agreed to meet him at the alter. The Wedding was a grand affair and in due course the happy couple escaped to enjoy their idyllic Honeymoon. They returned from that holiday and set about the pleasurable business of producing a family. In the meantime they made the financial commitment to purchasing their first family home and Shamus enjoyed the financial gain and status that comes from a promotion to a Managerial position. In the second year of their marriage a Son arrived to expand the household and they set about diligently producing a sibling for the first born. It was in the sixth month of his bride's second pregnancy that the dreaded curse struck. Shamus's new managerial role brought with it an office in the company's head office and a secretary. The secretary was young, attractive and very much aware of how to use her beauty to manipulate the male gender. Shamus was a lamb to her slaughter. The result was predictable, sudden, and life changing in it's impact.
Shamus lost his job, his reputation, his self respect, and his wife. She left him and, of course, took the light of Shamus's life - his Son. Shamus turned to his insight and it soon became apparent to him that his life was a parody, he had only one course of action - he would depart this world and the shame it brought upon him. He found a suitable high cliff face and launched himself into the void. The O'Flaretty curse was waiting in ambush. Six feet into his plunge to meet the grim reaper a gnarled old tree branch snared him by the ankle as he passed by. Shamus was left hanging by one ankle over the one hundred foot drop to his doom. It was night and despite his frantic efforts to release himself Shamus was left to dangle, upside down and by one leg, until the early morning brought recognition of his plight and rescuers arrived.
His wife responded to his careful approaches and finally agreed to see him. He cautioned himself to be careful and turned every facet of his being to using his insight. No more mistakes, he was aware, he was ready to confront the curse if it tried to strike. He bought a new suit, and a large and impressive bouquet of red roses. His heart sang, he felt on top of the world and stepped onto the footpath to hail a taxi. His wife - and his family - his Son and the Daughter he had never seen was only fifteen minutes away. The taxi pulled up and he opened the rear door to step in. That is when he heard the Banshee's wail and the hidden heart defect finally burst his aorta and sent him crashing to the ground.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
So, if you're upset - GET A LIFE!!!
I know, I know, I said seven days to the next post and it's now eleven days you've been waiting. TOUGH! I should have things up to date and will post part two AND three by the end of this week. In the meantime - Stop complaining - I have a life too.
Friday, February 25, 2011
O'Flaretty's Curse
This is part one of a story in three parts - Part 2 will be posted in seven days time
O'Flaretty's Curse - Part One
Shamus O'Flaretty looked like a typical immigrant from rural Ireland. Big, red headed and apparently as thick as three wooden planks. Unfortunately Shamus's appearance hid a razor sharp mind and an insight into human nature denied most ordinary mere mortals. That was O'Flaretty's curse.
Although he did not recognise it at the time the curse first manifested itself when Shamus had barely attained the tender age of six. Shamus had a friend, another young lad who was, because of his small size, a constant target for the bigger lads at school. Shamus was a handy lad and took his small friend aside and taught him some of the finer points of fisticuffs. The result was that one of the bigger boys got a bloodied nose from his smaller opponent. The bigger boy, severely embarrassed, got a few of his colleagues and caught Shamus behind the school toilet block. He was given a sound beating by the mob for having the effrontery to teach the smaller boy how to defend himself.
Shamus first began to suspect the terrible power of the curse when he took his first job. He took a job on a factory assembly line and with his fine tuned insight soon discovered deficiencies in the assembly process. He went to his boss and explained how, with a few low cost improvements, production could be increased by a factor of ten. His boss was a mean mannered individual and stole all the ideas and presented them as his own, Shamus got fired.
Shamus's next brush with his destiny occurred shorty before his twenty first birthday. He fell in love with a fiery, Auburn haired Colleen with eyes as green and sparkling as Emeralds. She completely took his breath, and his common sense, away like the whispered song of the Siren winds. He was smitten, he was hooked, never before had a young man's heart beaten with the intensity that Shamus felt. He got down on one knee and begged the girl to marry him with promises of undying love and devotion. Unfortunately in the fog of madness that is young love Shamus's remarkable insight had deserted him and the girl laughed in his face. He never saw her, or the money he had lent her and her alleged "brother" again. Shamus emigrated to Australia and arrived in Sydney with a suit case, twenty British pounds, and his slowly returning insight.
Shamus fell immediately in love with the wide brown land that so contrasted with the land of his birth. He went bush, into the great Australian Outback and soon encountered the mining industry. His strong build and willingness to tolerate hard work and harsh conditions made him immediately attractive to prospective employers and Shamus prospered. Unlike some of his colleagues in the mining camps he refrained from wild access with the money he earned and saved and planned. Soon Shamus became a leading hand and then a foreman on the job.
Shamus was highly regarded and doing well for himself, until the dreaded curse struck once again with devastating force.
Monday, February 21, 2011
I'm still here
Yes, I know, I've been slack and posted nothing here since the 26th of January. I plead the terrible pressures of retirement and the tremendous work load that imposes. To my legions of readers (Ha, ha, ha.) I offer my apologies and suggest that if you are that dependent on reading an up to date Blog you better get a life.
Several things have diverted my attention away from writing posts for this Blog, the first being that I am getting my first novel published and the demands of the Publisher, their media and promotion people and other assorted hangers on have taken up a large portion of my time.
The other diversion has been the discover of a dating site that is not only free but appears to have some quality in the people there on. (Yes dumb head, I have rediscovered the opposite gender.) To the Ladies who have graciously accepted my requests for conversation I offer my heart felt thanks.
Finally if you are really desperate for some thing to read revisit this site in two days for an insight into O'Flaretty's Curse.
Cheers
Several things have diverted my attention away from writing posts for this Blog, the first being that I am getting my first novel published and the demands of the Publisher, their media and promotion people and other assorted hangers on have taken up a large portion of my time.
The other diversion has been the discover of a dating site that is not only free but appears to have some quality in the people there on. (Yes dumb head, I have rediscovered the opposite gender.) To the Ladies who have graciously accepted my requests for conversation I offer my heart felt thanks.
Finally if you are really desperate for some thing to read revisit this site in two days for an insight into O'Flaretty's Curse.
Cheers
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
SNAKE!
Please note: The snake bite treatment described in this story is accurate for the treatment of snake bite IN AUSTRALIA. People from other countries should consult their local authority.
I was working the mining and exploration camps at the time, security, bullion transfer and assay collection. So the Company insisted I carry a side arm. I was an ex serviceman so didn't have any real trouble with that. Either carrying it or getting a licence from the Cops. I'd never had to pull the bloody thing out though, except to clean it and for the mandatory Company shoots. Except once, for the poor bloody 'Roo I'd clipped on the Development Road. After that I bought a rifle, a two four three, and carried that, you have to get close with a hand gun, messy, I didn't like that. So, I was out the back of Mount Isa, returning from a bullion run, which was lucky, with the bullion on board I wouldn't stop for God himself. She was standing in the middle of the road, well track really, we don't have real roads out here. Miles from bloody anywhere. There was a four wheel drive, one of those toy things for the City types, parked back off the road, and nothing else, not even a Goanna, for miles.
She stood fair in the middle of the track waving her arms above her head like windmills. I figured she had a problem but pulled up a bit short of where she stood. You can't be to careful and it's strange to see a young woman out here on her own. They do it, silly bloody women. But sometimes they've got a man or two back in the bush. If a bloke gets hit over the head it could be weeks, if ever, before they found what was left of you out here. This country doesn't forgive. A few people knew I carried bullion from time to time and some of these mad buggers would try anything.
It was late in the afternoon, nearly six, and it had been hot, forty five degrees Celsius in the shade wasn't unheard of. She looked hot, and I don't mean sexy, just hot. She was covered in sweat, and looking a bit bedraggled, she'd been out in the sun for a bit. She ran towards me shouting about something and pointing over her shoulder towards the four wheel drive. I wound down the window and made sure the rifle was handy, like I said, you can't be too careful out here. The heat rushed in the open window, she damn near did too. She was frantic. Whatever had happened she was in the shit.
"Can you help me? It's my Brother, I think he's been bitten." She gasped out. American accent. Bloody tourists.
"By what? I said. I wasn't getting out yet.
"A snake. Please, hurry."
"How long ago?" I asked.
"Um, I'm not sure, about half an hour."
"Hmm." I said. "So he's not dead yet?" Wrong thing to say I s'pose. The wail was enough to wake the dead.
"Please hurry." She managed to get out through a huge sob. Shit, my Sister wouldn't cry if I got bit.
"What bit him?" I asked. Silly bloody question.
"A snake."
"Yeah, I know. you said that. But what sort?" She probably wouldn't have a clue.
"I don't know, it..., it was a big one. It was brown, sort of." She was nearly off her head, I figured it was no trick, or she was a bloody good actress.
"Better have a look." I said, I handed her the first aid kit. "Here, take this."
I brought the rifle, just in case. She bolted up the road and ran up through the bush a bit. I saw her squat down in the knee high scrub, away from the four wheel drive, I couldn't see clearly but there seemed to be some one on the ground. I walked up and looked about me as I went. I had a good look around, didn't seem to be anyone else about but I was still on my guard. Buggers could jump up out of nowhere if they were waiting.
I got up to where she was squatting and there was a bloke down alright, young bloke, about twenty or so. He looked like shit. There was a pile of rocks just nearby, some had been disturbed, must have stirred the old Joe Blake up.
"G'day." I said. "Where'd you get bit?"
The young fella tried to get up and he said something, didn't make sense. I figured he might be in deep shit.
"Don't try to get up mate, lie still, don't help the venom move around."
There was no bandage on him, they didn't know how to treat snake bite. Oh shit.
"Here." I said to her, "Get a couple of of three inch restrictive bandages out of the kit." She looked blank. "The elastic ones." I said.
She ripped open the kit and threw stuff all over, but she came up with the bandages and handed them across.
"Where?" I said.
"On the leg." She said. "The left one, on his calf."
"My head aches." He moaned.
"Can you drive my truck?" I asked the girl and she nodded. "Get it up here." I said. "Quick."
She bolted as I tossed her the keys. I had to keep her busy and I needed the radio in the truck. This bloke needed the Royal Flying Doctor real bad. There was a rough field about ten miles off, the docs could get down there to pick him up, if I could get him there and keep him alive for an hour or so, and if they could fly in before dark, otherwise he was stuffed.
I got on the blower and called the RFD up, the girl was dancing from one foot to the other, the kid was looking pretty crook.
"Right ." I said. "We got to move him, and quick. Lets get him on the truck." She looked confused. "We got to get him in my truck and to the airfield." I explained. "It's about ten miles off." At least that seemed to click. We picked him up together and got him in the truck. Good old Troop Carrier.
"Does that thing of yours go?" I asked. She nodded. "Follow me." I said and took straight off.
I didn't really want to move him, when a snake bite victim is that sick it's best to bring the help to the victim but I had no choice. If he didn't get help soon, no matter what I did, he'd be dead. The road to the airfield is pretty rough. When I say airfield don't imagine some nice smooth bitumen strip with hangers and stuff. This was an old mining landing strip, rough as guts, and as far as I knew it hadn't been used for about six months, I'd probably have to check it to make sure it was clear before the Doc could land. If he could. Other problem? It was after seven and the sun was going down, there is no twilight out here. The sun goes down and suddenly it's night. I figured we had about forty five minutes of light.
I had my boot well into it, going as fast as I could on the track. I looked in the mirrors and luckily she was keeping up in the little buzz box, when suddenly the young bloke started to choke. Shit! I pulled up quick and jumped into the back. She damn near rammed me but managed to pull up. She came running, I hoped she wasn't going to fly into a panic again as I needed her to keep her head together now more than ever.
"Get in and drive." I yelled at her before she could get wound up. "Just follow the track till you get there and pull over to the left. There should be a windsock."
The young bloke had stopped breathing and I started CPR. I didn't have time for explanation or discussion if he was to have a chance. She drove, and handled my big old four wheel drive pretty well, she pulled up in a cloud of dust and I heard the flying doctor overhead. It was just on dusk.
"Drive to the end of the strip, up wind, face down the strip and put all the bloody lights on." I yelled between breaths, the young bloke was not good.
I felt the vehicle lurch as she took off again. The aircraft circled and overflew the strip, it turned again and began it's final approach. I continued CPR. The bloke was still in big trouble. Before he'd stopped breathing I'd heard him say some thing about two of everything and that he couldn't keep his eyes open. Typical reactions to the venom, drooping eye lids and double vision I reckoned, but I wasn't sure. I was very busy driving, until I heard him start to choke, that worried me. It was only two hours since he'd been bitten and paralysis didn't usually start till about three hours after the bite. Unless it was a big snake, and a very big, possibly multiple strike, bite.
The Doc was down, the aircraft taxied right up to us and the medical staff bundled out. They took over the CPR and connected him up to everything, the poor bastard looked like a telephone exchange he had so many wires attached. I tried to make myself useful and took the girl aside, she was frantic. Her name was Hayley, not bad looking either. Typical Yank though, you could pick a Yank a mile off. Nice body, Jeans, Levis of course, half a size to small for the bush and a bloody big white hat. They'd call it a western look. Yeah, right, west of bloody what?
The nurse came over and got particulars off Hayley, name, address, next of kin, that shook her, ages, allergies and all the rest. She turned to me. "My car." She started to say.
"Don't worry." I said. "I'll see it's brought in, they're ready to go. You better hop in."
She was no sooner aboard than than the aircraft turned and taxied out, I got sprayed with dust and pebbles and the usual crap. I'd live.
****************
I was three hundred miles out in the bush, with a car to recover and at least two hours behind time getting where I had to go. I sighed and got on the company radio frequency. The Boss was not impressed, but he understood you don't leave anyone in the shit out here in the bush. They'd send a chopper out with a driver from one of the exploration camps. I'd have to wait. An hour or so he said. so I got in the truck and drove back to Hayley's four wheel drive. Her car was slewed sideways and pretty well bogged where she'd locked every thing up to avoid hitting me. I used the GPS to give the chopper pilot an exact location. I muttered to myself and got out the jack. By this time it was almost pitch black and I hunted around for a light. Damn, it must have been shattered when we humped the young bloke into the back of my truck.
I got down on my hands and knees beside her vehicle and moved a heap of sand aside with a shovel. As I went to get up to get the jack I heard it, a grunt and a rushing charge through the bush, headed straight for me. Bloody Razorback! Three hundred pounds of bad tempered, short sighted meat with attitude was charging me. Now I was in trouble. My rifle was back in my truck, fifteen feet away, it might as well have been fifteen miles. I had no dog, no knife and only a silly bloody thirty eight calibre hand gun, in a holster on my belt. The handgun would be more use if I threw it at the pig. They reckon pigs can do twenty five miles an hour, I swear this thing was doing a hundred as it charged me. Somehow I lunged to my feet and and grabbed hold of the little plastic roof rack with one hand. I swung myself up as the pig arrived. It hit me, and the side of the girl's little truck. I clung on desperately and tried to pull myself all the way up onto the roof. I felt a searing pain in my leg and nearly lost my grip. If I fell back onto the ground I was history. Somehow I dragged myself up on the roof. The pig charged the truck again and hit it fully side on. I nearly lost my grip again.
I sat on the roof of the truck and looked at my leg, he'd got me, blood and torn muscle every where. The tusk had gone into my right calf and torn a great ragged gash about six inches long. The leg felt useless and I tore off my shirt to make a bandage and stem the flow of blood. I felt sick and light headed. The pain in my leg was a teeth grinding agony and I wondered if I was going to pass out. The bloody pig was down there somewhere I imagined and waiting for me to fall off. I wondered why it charged me and suddenly the penny dropped. I'd been shoveling sand and he must have heard me and thought it was another pig on his territory, bloody stupid pig. I 'd managed to stop some of the bleeding and figured I had about half an hour to wait for the chopper. They could deal with the pig, I was going to sit up here till they came and rescued me.
The chopper turned up right on cue, it's Mars light lighting up the ground like the sun. I saw the pig, a big old boar with tusks like railway spikes, my blood on one of them. Bastard I thought. The chopper crew saw him too, lurking close to the truck and waiting to ambush me if I climbed down. A single rifle shot flashed through the night and the pig went down. I was going to have roast pork. The pilot put down as close as he could and the crew ran over to me, they could see I was in the shit.
Anyhow here I am, in the bloody Hospital, in the bed next to the bloke I rescued. He's recovering, but they tell me it was a close call. He'll be in hospital for another week or so yet, and after that it will still take some time for him to get over the bite. It's not to bad though, his sister is pretty cute, and she's very grateful to me for saving her brother's life.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Cliff
WARNING: This story contains bad language and Adult themes. Please Do NOT read on if you might be offended.
But Cliff was a nice bloke. He always stood up when a Lady arrived, and he even took off that silly bloody hat he wore. In fact we reckoned Cliff was a bit of a Ladies man. A wolf in sheep's clothing. The women certainly liked him. He came round one Sunday for a barbecue, didn't bring a woman. But that didn't seem to matter. The bloody women were around him like bees to a honey pot, even mine.
"He's such a nice bloke." She said, "And so polite and gentlemanly. How come he hasn't got a partner?"
"Dunno." I said. "Never asked him."
"Oh." She said. What ever that was supposed to mean. A bloke don't go round asking another fella about his love life. Geez, might get a clip under the ear for it.
"He should have a nice Lady." She said.
"Here." I said. "Don't you go on with any of that match makin' stuff. You lot buggered Tony up good and bloody proper with that stuff."
"He's happily married now." She said.
"Yeah, with seven bloody kids and a mortgage." I said. "He even had to sell his Mustang. Poor bugger."
"That was early on and they wanted to get the house." She sounded a bit miffed, dunno why though.
"Pity you didn't sell that thing of yours." She said. "We could have had our own place by now. Instead of renting."
"Don't start." I Said. She was always on about that. Why didn't I sell the car and buy in the same estate as Tony. Sell the Falcon? Not Bloody likely. Besides they built all those flash places and you couldn't even get a look in over there at under five hundred K. Fat lot of good it would do selling the Falcon. Wouldn't even make a bloody deposit. I know, I know, if I'd done it then we'd be on easy street. As she brings up every now and then. Bloody woman.
"Anyway." She said. "I think Cliff should find himself a nice girl."
I ignored her, it's none of my business what Cliff does. Gawd, for all I know he might be one of them closet poofs. Why anyone would want to root in a cupboard has got me stuffed. Anyway, Cliff went home on his own and I didn't think nothin' more about it. Poof or not that was his business as long as he didn't try to feel my bum. The next week Cliff was away on the Monday and came in Tuesday lookin' like a Pox Doctors Clerk. Smelled like one too. Some of the blokes even gave him a whistle. They're not poofs mind you. Just havin' a go because Cliff had had a hair cut, and a shave, both in the same week, and he was wearin' aftershave. To work! Bloody hell, maybe he is a poof. He had a grin from ear to ear, fit to bust he was.
"Arrh Cliff." Macca said. "What's goin' on? Get yer end in mate. Been doin' a bit of horizontal bopping?"
Cliff just beamed. At lunch time we pinned him down a bit. It seems Cliff had got himself a woman.
"Gawd." someone said. "Is she a looker Cliff?"
Cliff proceeded to tell us how beautiful she was. Tall he said, and blond, lovely figure was the way he put it.
"You mean she's got big tits?' Shagger asked. Shagger hasn't got much style.
"I mean she is physically attractive." Cliff said with dignity. It's surprising how much dignity ol' Cliff can muster when he wants to.
"What's her name Cliff?" Some one asked. "Where'd you meet her."
"At the dogs." Cliff said. "We met at the Greyhounds on Friday Night." Every one roared. "Not on the track I hope." Macca said through tears of laughter. "Didya roll her in the hay?" Cliff ignored the question.
"We spent a very pleasant weekend together." He said. "We became quite close."
"I'll bet yer did." Someone said amidst more laughter. "Anyway Cliff, you still haven't told us her name."
"Terri." Cliff said. You could have cut the silence with a knife. We all knew a tall blond Terri with big tits. Terri the Trike we called her. One of the Barmaids from the Crown. We also knew she liked the Greyhounds, her last Old Man had two. We called her Terri the Trike because she screwed that much she needed three wheels to stand up.
"Errrrr." Someone finally said. "Do you know what she does for a crust Cliff?"
"She's in hospitality." Cliff said. Only Shagger giggled.
"Doin' what?" Someone asked.
"She's a Drink Waitress." Cliff replied. He'd picked up our awkwardness.
"Oh." I said. "That's nice." I wanted to knock the shit out of Shagger when he giggled again.
"Yeah, well." Macca said. "It's time to get back to work again." You've never seen so many blokes anxious to get back to work. We worked like demons, and the rest of the day was pretty quiet. MaccaShagger's head off and shit down his neck if he said anything and we all left in a hurry when the day was over.
"Cliff's got himself a woman." I told the missus when I got home.
"Oh, I'm so pleased for him." She said. "He deserves a nice Lady friend."
"It's Terri." I said. The Missus knew who she was.
"That slut?" She said in a voice that made the dog creep under the table. "Didn't you tell him?"
"How the bloody hell do you tell a mate something like that?" I asked.
"Didn't ANYONE tell him?" She asked in a voice so high the dog started to whine.
"No." I said. "No one could."
"Pack of bloody Dingoes." She said. She was so bloody mad at me I slept on the couch the next two nights.
That was three and a half years ago now. Cliff married Terri and they have two kids. By God she turned out a goodun'. Never looked at another bloke again, except for Cliff, and he seemed to come real good. She had a mind for money and they got their own place. The Missus never lets me forget that, and I still got the Falcon, it's lookin' a bit sad now. Anyhow I got to go. The Boss and his wife are comin' round for tea, and the Missus is cookin' up a storm. Who's me Boss these days? Didn't I tell ya? It's Cliff. Him and his Missus bought Macca out.
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