THE FREEZER

 THE FREEZER

by Bob French

A week before Christmas, all Billy could think about was the Galaxy 500. Not just any skateboard. The Galaxy 500. It had soft rubber wheels that hardly made a sound, shiny silver trucks, and the best suspension you could imagine. Gary said you could jump kerbs without rattling your teeth loose and Jemma swore she'd seen one fly down Miller's Hill faster than a bicycle.

          Billy wanted one so badly it hurt. Every evening, after school, he would stop outside Mr. Collin’s sports shop and stare through the window at the bright blue board perched on its stand. Sometimes he imagined it was already his. He could almost feel the grip tape beneath his trainers. But dreams didn't cost anything, the skateboard did.

          His mum worked long hours, and her boyfriend, Alf, seemed to spend more time sitting in the kitchen with a can of lager than doing anything useful. When Alf had been drinking, everyone learned to keep out of his way, that included Pongo.

Pongo was Billy’s scruffy brown dog with floppy ears, muddy paws, and a tail that never stopped wagging. Billy loved him more than anything. Pongo loved Billy too. Unfortunately, Pongo also loved chasing cats, stealing socks, chewing shoes and, every now and then, knocking over the living room coffee table while racing around after an imaginary squirrel.

          "That dog's going to be the death of me," Alf would growl whenever he found another cushion ripped open.  Billy would hug Pongo tightly and whisper, "You don't mean it, do you?" Pongo would lick his face as if to apologize.

          Whenever Alf’s temper started to rise, Billy disappeared. He hid in the cellar. Not against the back wall, never there. The back wall was always in partial darkness and belonged to the enormous white chest freezer. It sat beneath the tiny window like some sleeping monster, humming quietly to itself. His mum kept all the meat inside it. Every payday she'd fill it with packets wrapped in paper and plastic before carefully locking the lid.

          The cellar only had one weak light bulb that buzzed overhead.  What made the room scary was that when people walked past his house in the evening, street lamps outside created shadows that drifted through the tiny window, stretching into long black shapes that slid silently over the walls and the cold floor.

          To Billy, they looked like ghosts. He would sit in the darkest corner with Pongo curled beside him until the shouting upstairs stopped.

          As Christmas grew closer, the house grew noisier. Money was tight and Alf drank more. His mum looked more tired every day. Billy stopped asking Father Christmas for the Galaxy 500 because he could see the worry in her face whenever she counted coins at the kitchen table; Still...Every night he whispered the same wish before falling asleep.

          “Please. Just this once.”  Three nights before Christmas everything exploded. Pongo had pulled the Christmas turkey off the kitchen table. The bird landed on the floor. At that moment, Alf came home already drunk. When he saw the ruined dinner, he exploded with rage.

           "You useless mutt!" Pongo ran behind Billy. Alf grabbed for him. "I'll kill the stupid dog!"

Billy threw himself in front of Alf. "No!" Alf shoved him aside.

His mum rushed between them, pushing Billy behind her.

          "You leave him alone!"

Alf was shaking with anger. "I'll dump the stupid dog in the freezer!"

Billy felt every word like ice inside his chest. The freezer, the place where his mum always put all the dead meats in. The humming white box in the dark cold cellar.

          His mum stood firm. "For the last time... get out!"

Alf shouted for another minute before slamming the front door so hard the windows rattled. Billy sat on the stairs holding Pongo for what felt like hours.

          Christmas morning arrived cold and silent. Billy woke before sunrise. For one magical second, he forgot everything.

          Christmas. He raced downstairs in his pyjamas. His stocking hung over the fireplace. His heart pounded. He reached inside. An orange. A pair of socks. A chocolate coin. Nothing else.

          His stomach sank. He tried not to cry. He really did. But the tears came anyway. He carried the stocking upstairs and buried his face in his pillow. Maybe Father Christmas hadn't been able to find his house. Maybe the Galaxy 500 had always been impossible. Nearly an hour later there was a gentle knock on his bedroom door.

          "Billy?" It was his Mum. "Can we talk?" He wiped his eyes and followed her downstairs. The house felt different. Quiet, too quiet. Alf’s jacket was gone. His boots had disappeared from beside the back door.

          "Where's Alf?"

          "I asked him to leave," Mum said softly. "For good." Billy stared. Then another thought struck him. "Where's Pongo?"

His mum turned away, avoiding eye contact. His heart began racing. "Where is he?"

His Mum reached for his hand. "Come with me." She led him slowly down the stairs toward the cellar.

          Billy tried to resist.  "No..." The stairs creaked beneath their feet. The weak bulb buzzed overhead. The familiar humming filled the cold room. The freezer waited in the shadows.

          Billy couldn't breathe. His fingers tightened around his Mum's hand. She stopped beside the huge white lid.

          "I need you to be brave," she whispered. His eyes filled with tears.

“Pongo. My Poor Pongo.”

He buried his face against her skirt. "I don't want to see him Mum..."

          She stroked his hair gently, then She lifted the lid. Tommy looked.

For one terrible heartbeat he felt his legs give way as he screamed.

The sound echoed around the cellar. He stumbled backwards and landed hard on the concrete floor and began to sob. His Mum hurried to him.

          "It's all right love. It's all right."

          She helped him to his feet and gently eased him towards the open freezer. "Look again."

          Slowly...Very slowly, Billy peered into the freezer. There was no dog. No horrible secret.

Only a huge cardboard box wrapped in bright Christmas paper. Across the top was a silver label. GALAXY 500, Complete with soft rubber tyres. Super suspension. Exactly like the one from Mr. Collins' shop.

          Billy stared. He couldn't speak. He looked around wildly. Suddenly Pongo came charging from behind a stack of old boxes, barking happily before jumping up and licking his face.

Billy laughed through his tears. He hugged Pongo, then he hugged his mum even tighter.

Copyright Bob French

 

Dreamscape ~ (1 of 3)

 Dreamscape ~ (1 of 3)

By Len Morgan 

In the 2050s the ‘Dreamscape Company’ began producing their mind recording headsets. Created as a medical tool for diagnosing brain dysfunction’s but, was quickly purloined by youngsters for the purposes of entertainment. They began recording their dreams and sharing them with friends. At 81 I had little interest, I’d seen fads come and go. Dreamscape was yet another new fangled fad but, my grandkids insisted that I try it!  The headset itself was similar to the swimming hats used by women back in the 1960~80s.  It was a snug fit with holes for ears. To be honest It felt claustrophobic. But, they plied me with my favourite tipple, Whiskey Mac’s, and suddenly I became more amenable. 

The headset was a little uncomfortable but like all aches and pains, at my age, I got used to it and slept soundly. Apparently the recorder picked up my dreams and sent them to the ‘cloud’.  I wasn’t even aware that I had been dreaming.  The kids’ reactions were disappointing, whatever the headset recorded was ‘boring’ to them; and they said as much. So, I returned to my TV and forgot about the event, knowing the kids wouldn’t be asking for a repeat performance. 

A few days went by and I’d almost wiped it from my mind, getting on with life. I lay on the bed with Linda, my wife, watching reruns of oldies on her ‘wall screen’ TV.  I thought I heard the phone or the door bell.

My old ‘Alexa box’ informed me “There somebody at the front door.”  The dogs were barking, I must have been dozing, because they woke Linda up. “Are you going to answer that Kev?” she said.

I peeped through the spy hole. It was a young woman and an older man in a suit and tie; ‘Jehova’s Witnesses’ I thought, and opened the door… “We’re Muslims,” I said.

“Isn’t everybody?” The young woman replied.

“Whatever you’re selling we’re not buying,” I said.

“We are not sales persons Kevin,” the man said.

 “So what do you want?  I’m in the middle of preparing lunch for my wife and the Rotweillers…”

The young woman smiled, “you appear to be under a misapprehension…”

“Thank goodness, It thought it was a roof…”

“I gather you are both retired,” she continued unfazed, “can we come in and speak?  It’s a little cold out here…”

“At your own risk, the dogs are mighty hungry, as you can hear.”

“I’ll open the side gate and let you through into the back yard, but keep your eyes peeled for messages; I’ll just close the door.”

 I opened the gate and led them down to the summer house. “Now how can I help you?”

“We are a consortium of planetologists, astrophysicists, and cosmologists.  We are all Astronomers, keen to find a planet that could in the future provide a second home for humanity…” she said.

“So, what is wrong with Earth?”

“We are trying to find a second home if needed.”

“There is a danger in continuing as a one planet race. If a catastrophic event, should happen we would all be wipe out,” the man said.

“But what about the cities in space, the moon colony, they would survive,” I said.

“Maybe not!  They all need resources that can only come from Earth.”

“Mars?”

“We just don’t know if it could be ‘self sufficient’ in the long term, without support from Earth,” she said.

“Well, I’m no scientist, what can I do about it?” I asked.

“That remains to be seen Kevin, My name is Clive and my associate is Alesia.  We have AI programs constantly trawling the ‘cloud’ for likely leads, and our attention has been drawn to a recording of your dreamscape. It may prove to be nothing but, we have to investigate all avenues you understand…?”

“To be honest, No!”

“Then let me explain, our research AI’s are looking for dreamscapes with certain parameters.  They are bookmarked for follow-ups,” Clive explained.

 “So how am I involved?  Whatever I dream is my own affair. As far as I know there is no such thing as ‘the mind police’, so I can’t be charged for my thoughts; YET!”

“It’s not like that Kevin, we’ve told you what we do. It isn’t just a job to us, it’s our vocation,” Alesia explained.

“So, I’m at a loss; what do you want from me Alesia?”

“Tell us what you were thinking about before you fell asleep?”

I looked at her, then up at the ceiling. “Mmm.”  My eyes lit up and I smiled. “Yes, I laid back on my left side because that way the headset was more confortable.  I was looking out of the window, at the sky.  The clouds cleared and I could see the stars, a red star was twinkling, as I drifted off I thought it could be Mars…”

She nodded encouragingly.

“Then nothing until I woke up.  Oh, the kids brought me tea and toast but they were disappointed, they said it was just blurry grey mist nothing exciting.”

Clive and Alesia were now looking excited. Clive said “our equipment is a little more sophisticated, we were able to bring those blurry pictures into focus…”

Alesia interrupted him in her excitement, “we were able to see Mars station 1 with familiar rocky cliffs in the background.”

“Ah!  But I’ve seen Mars base 1 on TV…”

“That would not have been a live-stream, what we saw in your dreamscape included a recently arrive rocket from Earth. It was no memory you conjured up from your subconscious, it was the real thing, we weren’t even aware the rocket had reached Base 1 until the morning after your dream was recorded.”

“But, there has to be an explanation!  It must have been a coincidence what can I do to prove it?” 

“There is a simple answer Kevin, we want you to come to our lab for one week, we can try to recreate the same circumstances.  As a test we can start by repeating your Mars dreamscape, then we’ll know if it is or isn’t a coincidence.  If it works we can proceed with Dreamscapes of the moon, Venus & Saturn, all will be in the sky over the next week,” Clive explained.”

“To be honest, I think you’re wasting your time and mine, but I must ask, what’s in it for me?”

“Well, we could pay £500?” said Alisia.

“Make it £1,000 and I’ll do it!”

“Okay it’s £1,000 a day for as long as you stay…”

‘A day?’ I recovered my senses, “That sounds acceptable.”

“If we can repeat the experiment, we will need a month of your time…” she said.

“But there is one problem, my wife Linda is bed ridden, and I’m her carer.  She needs regular attention and the dogs…” as if prearranged a bell rang… “She needs me, I won’t be a moment.” I saw to her needs. I explained to Linda that I had visitors. 

“What’s her name Kevin!”

“Alesia and Clive…”

“Which one is she!” Linda yelled.

“I’ll explain later love, right now I just need to get rid of them.”

I returned to the summer house.  “Sorry about that,” I smiled.

“We can arrange for a 24 hour care nurse while you’re with us, and a handler to care for your dogs?” 

The nurse arrived within two hours, and the dog handler soon after.

I packed a bag with clothing for a week’s stay, plus a week’s supply of meds, just in case.  To my surprise they had arrived in a chauffer driven hire car.

“I’m not impressed by flash cars,” I said.

Clive smiled, “We are heading to Stansted airport.  Our unit is in Scotland. The flight will take about an hour.”

It wasn’t business class either, a private jet with seating for seven passengers.  We were accompanied by two teenagers, a boy and a girl; they ignored us.

“We will be stopping off briefly at Ringway to pick up another gamer,” he explained. 

The pickup was a man in his mid 30s.  We had lunch & drinks; I alone had Pepsi.

“So, what games do you play?” Jason asked conversationally.

“Space Invaders, and Chess” I said, which ended our conversation.

.-…-. 

Their Lab was like a Hospital ward.  White walls and floors, a glass ceiling looking out into the open sky. A clear, dark, cloudless sky, with no reflected light. White gowned nurses, quiet and efficient, knew exactly what had to be done. Each bed was encased in a cube of non reflective smokey glass.  The Headsets were so lightweight, when worn, they could barely be felt; so different from those the kids had.

I lay on my bed aligned so that Mars was clearly visible.  I drifted off to sleep after half an hour, remembering nothing until I woke up.  We were served breakfast, a great variety was available, but I’ve always preferred two soft boiled eggs with toast soldiers, followed by porridge with freshly squeezed orange juice. As I tucked in, Alesia sat down beside me. 

“Was there anything that you did prior to sleeping when you did your first dreamscape?”

“Yes, the kids oiled me with ‘whiskey mac’s.”

“Thank you,” she said.

That night she plied me with several whiskey mac’s.  Once again Mars was prominent in the sky.  Next morning Clive and Alesia joined me at breakfast. 

“We’ve viewed the dreamscape recording from last night, and the whiskey mac’s worked Kevin!” She smiled, “We got detail we would never have dreamed of (excuse the pun).” 

“You are an incredible resource Kevin,” Clive enthused. 

“We need your bank details for your salary, we will also pay your Tax,” Alesia assured me.

That evening I was to look at Venus, but clouds intervened so instead I turned my attention to the moon. Both were delighted with the results.

On the fourth day Saturn was in my sky view. Again I remembered nothing, but Clive and Alisia were delighted with the results.

On the fifth day I again looked at Venus, on the sixth my target was to be the ‘asteroid belt’.  I couldn’t imagine what use that would be but hey, at £1,000 a day, why would I complain?

“We need to establish the limits of your talent,” Alesia said, “can you imagine what an asteroid is made of?”

“To be honest, no…”

“Thank you, good.  So, when you cast your mind out there you will have no preconceptions.” 

.-…-. 

Day seven, at breakfast, I thought I might sample kidneys and coddled eggs for a change.

“Very clear records of several asteroids and some smaller rocks, interesting colours.  How did you manage to light them up in your dream?”

“To be honest I don’t have a clue.”

“Mmm, maybe we could get you to view the other side of the moon. If we aim you at it, you could survey the visible side then skirt round to the reverse.”

“That’s not a bad plan, planting the suggestion in my mind might jog my subconscious. We shall see; or rather you will see, In the morning.”

Day 8, “Alesia how did it go?”

“Quite good. But, you didn’t illuminate the dark side, I think your mind is beginning to deviate.”

“Meaning?”

“It’s not unusual for a subject to wander into other area’s, when divorced from their normal everyday routine, It isn’t uncommon, for their thoughts to wander away from the astral plane. In short, you’re outside life is encroaching.”

“What can I do to correct it?”

“You need to take a couple of days off.  Go home, take Linda out for a meal, take her to a show or the cinema, catch up on local news and family life in general.”

“What should I tell my friends and family about this place; and where is Clive haven’t seen him since we arrived?”

“Clive is on another project, we are building a new Dreamscape viewing dome for stage 2 of our project.  So, go home, spend some time with Linda & the family.  Return refreshed for stage 2.

.-…-.

I returned a week later, refreshed an ready for anything they might throw at me.  I headed to my dorm unpacked and fifteen minutes passed before a new young woman knocked and entered, “are you decent?”

“Well, as you can see I’m totally naked!  Just kidding.  I was expecting Alesia,” I said.

“She’s on another project, I’m Marigold, I’ll be your handler until she returns,” she offered her hand and I shook it.

“Well me flower, I’m sure we’ll get on just fine.”

“Well I’ve never heard that one before; but Marigold is a little formal, most people call me Mari…”

“Okay Mari, so why the change?”

“Horses for courses, we all have our own specialities.” She smiled, “I have a questionnaire for you…”

“Fire away,” I said.

“How is your accommodation?”

“No complaints, the food is excellent, but I do miss a few regulars…”

“If you list them I’ll ensure they are added to your menu Kevin.”

“How do you find the facilities, gym, pool, & games rooms?”

“They are excellent, I use the gym & pool daily, helps me unwind after a hard nights sleep.  I’m not much of a gamer, but the bar is excellent.”

(To be Continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

As through a child’s eyes

 As through a child’s eyes

 

If cows are sewn from a patchwork hide,

and sheep they knit from wool,

and ducks are stuffed with eiderdown, then what about the moon?

The moon is made from rich cream cheese,

it hangs from a silken thread,

but it rocks the earth and drives the seas deep down into its bed.

 

Where sleeps the silent hermit crab in his stolen cell,

dining on the bones of men who never ever tell,          

what lies beyond this vail of tears where none but one returned, who gave his life for worthless men, the ransom of their souls.

                

How many salty tears he shed to fill such a brackish sea,

though oceans roar with those bitter tears, he shed them all for thee.

 

  

They say the gates of heaven are carved from a single pearl. So pure, so bright they shine with light from his celestial throne.

 

He beckons us to enter in, the gates are open wide, but few are those who pass that way, the rest too full of pride.

 

 

  

Have you read the stories from the octopus’s ink, of the violence of the crayfish twins who terrorise the briny brink.

 

Beware the gangs of loan sharks, who smile with hungry eyes

But all the while are watching you and whispering their lies.

Or the solitary lives of monkfish whose days are spent in prayer.

“Come share my light of comfort” in the depths of deep despair

 

Come ride the spiny seahorse among the wild seagrass, or see the sea cows grazing, as they slowly amble past.

 

 

  

 

Barnacles wink by moonlight as the tide retreats, and dash across the craggy rocks when the seabirds sleep

 

The eyes of a child are open and see such other worlds, but to us they are hidden, like a flag tightly furled.

I long to see through childlike eyes, as once I could clearly see, but time has made us weary like flotsam on the sea.

No use talking to me.

 

2 min 8 sec

Copyright Peter/Christopher Mathews 2011

BEST LAID PLANS

 BEST LAID PLANS 

Richard Banks

 

It should not have happened in this way

He never meant to go astray

 

The map he had that showed the trail

to village near, down hill to vale,

 

did not! at least that’s what he thought,

or could it be he was at fault.

 

Its lines and signs he misconceived

and after dusk could not be see’d

 

He wandered lost from field through wood,

to marshy heath but to no good.

 

His walking tour had gone all wrong,

a journey short had stretched to long.

 

Caught in brambles, fell into burn,

from bad to worse at every turn.

 

Then dawn did break and with the light

he found himself within plain sight

 

of village he had set-out from.

The people there who thought him gone,

 

did wonder at his sorry state.

Whatever could have been his fate,

 

his muddied boots, his coat all torn

and on his face a look, careworn.

 

What doeth here they now did think

as he on bench did weary sink

 

and not to rise ’til bus came by

to take him where his feet had tried.

Copyright Richard Banks

The Road Not Taken

 The Road Not Taken
- (Cast your mind back to 1975?)

John Abbott

A simple long-held dream, what could it mean?

To be an ardent military man,

Surely, I could, if anybody can?

 

I was strong, fit and hopelessly optimistic,

Maybe I was just autistic or sadistic?

I could jump, run, leap, climb and fight.

And I sort of knew, I was born bright!

 

I spent my time doing only three or four things,

I met lots of girls, which gave me wings,

I read a lot of books, and met a few crooks,

I played a lot of football, kicking against brick walls,

And I studied hard and read lots of history,

Which offered up both victory & mystery.


I applied and quickly passed all the basic stuff,

And I knew it was tough.

However, maybe I was too clever to follow this Endeavour?

After all, I had wanted it forever!


I had to follow a final medical procedure,

And of course, I was a believer!

However, I was told I had a heart with issues,

Very soon, I was using tissues!


You see, I had a faint murmur, 

Which made my dream a burner,

Doing this is never going to be an earner.

 

Didn’t believe it, still don’t believe it, I’ll never believe it,

it didn’t fit the remit!

With this, I must admit, 

There has to be a God, albeit one with wit! 

 

I wasn’t laughing, I was crying, 

All my planning, my guarantee of staffing, and they weren’t buying!

This military boy at almost eighteen, took a mental beating,

Surely this was cheating?




I suddenly lost hope, didn’t want to mope, but it was outside the scope! 

I only had one plan, it was all that mattered,

As for dreams of military glory,

They were forever shattered! 

Copyright John Abbott

 Number 95 Hawthorn Drive

By Bob French

At the far end of Hawthorn Drive sat an old stone cottage; number 95.  The cottages around it had all been purchased by YUPYs and torn down and replaced with smart town houses.  The land upon which the old stone cottage sat was surrounded by idyllic ancient oak trees and wrapped in climbing ivy. For more than sixty years it had been the home of Mary Duval, a gentle widow whose only wealth was the cottage she loved and the memories it held. After her husband had not come home from the war, she was left with bringing up her son who was now the manager of a city bank.

        One autumn afternoon, a young couple arrived claiming to be sent by the council. With convincing smiles and forged documents, they told Mary that the cottage was dangerously unstable and would soon be condemned. Frightened and confused, the elderly woman believed every word. They offered to buy the property immediately, promising enough money to help her live comfortably for the rest of her days. They even allowed her to remain in her cottage until the deeds were signed.  This kindness clinched the deal. 

        Desperate and trusting, Mary accepted a small deposit, while the couple assured her that once the bank had confirmed the deal, the balance would be paid to her within a month. Feeling unsure, she wrote to her son and explained what had happened, but heard nothing.

        The payment never came.

        By the time Mary realised she had been deceived, the couple had legally changed the deeds into their own names and disappeared behind expensive solicitors. She remained in her beloved cottage until early winter had set in.  Then on the 10^th of November, storms and high winds hit the region causing much structural damage.  Mary knew from past experience that her little cottage would easily survive the storms, so she remained in her comfortable parlour; refusing to leave.  As the howling of the storm raged outside, Mary sat and took stock of her situation.  She knew she was frail and was about to become homeless.  Heartbroken, and too frail to fight, the establishment, she wrapped her shawl around herself and quietly passed away.

        The young couple celebrated their good fortune in secret, not wishing to let on how they had tricked Mary.  Within a few weeks, they had arranged a loan from the bank, increased their mortgage and quickly moved to have their newly acquired property torn down and a new town house built on the same lines as those around them.

        Within a week things started to change, much to their surprise. The bank were questioning the legality of the paperwork regarding the sale and the manager of the mortgage lender firm wanted to speak to them urgently.  The couple realised that any plans to demolish the old cottage would have to wait until all the paperwork had been sorted, so they moved into the old stone cottage. 

        On the first night the couple were woken by the sound of footsteps in the kitchen. The second night, the kitchen window was opened, causing a cold draft to rush throughout the cottage.  The couple decided to tough it out claiming that these old cottages moved with the heat and cold.  Then on the weekend, a door slammed and when the couple went to investigate, they heard the ghostly sound of Mary’s voice whaling throughout the cottage.

        “You will never live in my cottage.” 

        This appeared to be the last straw for the couple.  In the morning after a sleepless night, someone rang their front door bell.  When they opened the door, they were met by a tall gentleman in a smart suit.

        “Good morning. I have an order from the Bailiff’s Court.” and held out the envelope. “Consider yourselves to have been served. Good day.” He left without another word.

        By mid-day the bank had called and informed the couple that their loan had been refused on the grounds that there were some inaccuracies in their application.  They were now completely penniless. The manager took pity on them and agreed to allow them to stay in the cottage until they got their affairs in order. In the late afternoon they discovered that their electricity had been cut off.  As they sat in the darkness, the haunting sound of Mary’s voice crept through the cottage again causing the couple to break into screams and tears of fright. 

        They managed to stay in the cottage for another two days, then they cracked. The people who lived next door to them called the police after hearing screams and thought that a domestic disturbance was taking place.  The police didn’t waste their time and called the local doctor, who after listening to their gibbering account about the cottage being haunted, approached the NHS regarding temporary custody in the nearest mental institute.

         James, the son of Mary, was a senior bank manager in the city.  He was also a member of the Territorial Army and held the appointment of Commanding Officer of the Special Signals Detachment. After he had heard that the couple who had caused the death of his mother had been removed from the scene, he called his son.

        William, it’s Dad.  Are you still interested in living in Grandma’s little cottage?”

        “Yes please Dad.”

        “Good. Can you contact Sergeant Phillips and ask if he can pop down to the cottage and remove the hidden cameras and bugs, including the piped voices.

Copyright Bob French