The Darker Half Chapter 5

The Darker Half ~ Chapter 5

ANNA

By Janet Baldey

She was sitting perched on the edge of a worn armchair, munching a custard cream. A tune was running through her head and she hummed in time with it, accompanied by the rasp of a saw as her father worked on a piece of oak.  Slowly, she realised that, although she was certain it was her father’s workshop, somehow it was different.  It was the wrong shape for one thing and smart when it should have been shabby. Her father wasn’t right either. He had always been a big man, heavy featured with muscular forearms and bristles of stubbly black hair bursting out of his ears and nose, even sprinkled on the joints of his fingers. His chest and back were hairy too and, in the summer, when he took his shirt off in the garden, she thought he looked like a big black bear. But this man was thin, almost like a skeleton and a big curved nose protruded from his face making his head look too small. He didn’t look a bit like her father although somehow she knew he was, just as she knew she was nine years old and still at primary school. She didn’t even need to look down at her woollen school skirt to confirm it.  Plus, she knew she was in the right place at the right time. She always made straight for her father’s workshop when she came home from school, preferring to be with him rather than with her mother and brother. She’d long ago decided that sitting at a table with Alec was like picnicking on top of a red ant’s nest.  She particularly hated it when her mother, usually toasting her legs by the fire, deep into a ‘True Romance,’ got her to “do the honours”.

“Pour your brother some milk Anna and butter ‘im some bread.   You know ‘ow he likes it.”

At first, she’d carefully pour the milk and wait for the creamy foam to settle before topping up the mugs so they were exactly equal. She knew Alec’s beady eyes scrutinised the levels closely and if there was the slightest difference, he’d whine and grizzle until her mother was forced to heave herself from the chair, lumber over to the table and like as not, clip Anna’s ear.  She’d learned her lesson and from then on, she automatically put an extra slurp into his mug so he couldn’t complain. Foiled, Alec had obviously thought about it. The next time he quickly gulped a few mouthfuls and then complained.

“Mum, Anna’s got more than me.”

“No, I haven’t Alec. You’ve drunk some of yours.”

“I haven’t.”

“You have Alec. It’s all around your mouth.”

This was a mistake on Anna’s part. Hastily, Alec had wiped away his white moustache and, his eyes wide with innocence, appealed to his mother again.

   Then, there was the time that he had deliberately jogged her arm as she passed him his mug.

“Mum….Anna’s spilt my milk and it’s all over the tablecloth…”

After that, Anna gave up. As soon as she came in from school she said she wasn’t hungry and made straight for her father’s workshop, grabbing a biscuit or two from the kitchen as she passed through.

It was soothing being with her father and she liked the steady buzz of the saw, the sweetish smell of linseed and the ringlets of planed wood littering the floor. Here, she could be herself. Never a great talker, her dad didn’t quiz her about her day or scold because she’d got mud on her socks 

         Still, things weren’t right and that tune was still running around her head. She screwed up her eyes and tried to think of its title….something about a dog. Her friend Janet had been singing it all day at school but they rarely had the wireless on at home so she didn’t really know the words.

         “Anna….”  At the sound of her father’s voice, she looked up.

         “I could do with another cup of tea love…” He pushed his empty mug towards her.

         She nodded obediently and reached out for it. As she did, he grasped her arm.

         “What’s this then?”  He frowned at the bracelet of red marks circling her wrist.

         “Nothing,”  she tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let her.

         “Bet that nothing hurt though, didn’t it?  Was it Alec?”

         She shook her head not wanting to lie out loud but he wasn’t fooled.  His face grew stony and anger danced in his eyes. “Right”, he muttered, straightened and headed for the door. Her vague sense of disquiet deepened into a mounting terror. “No” she screamed inside her head. “You mustn’t. It’ll make things worse, much worse.” She tried to run after him, to pull him back but her legs seemed glued to the floor and she couldn’t move.  But she knew that he mustn’t go outside, he mustn’t cross the yard and go into the house and above all, he mustn’t go into the bathroom. And, it wasn’t about a dog, that song.  It was about a cat.  At the thought, her head seemed to explode and she was catapulted back from the past into her own bed where she sits bolt upright and gasping, sweat trickling down her body.

         It takes a while for her breathing to steady. When it does, she notices a thin grey light is slipping through the cracks in the curtains and she hears the faint twittering of birds. It’s morning, so she must have slept a bit.

         She lies back down again unable to get the dream, or nightmare or whatever it was, out of her head. Why has that terrible time surfaced after all these years?  Perhaps some things are just so awful you never forget them, the memory just lies dormant. But why now?   It was a long time ago and a lot of other bad things had happened since then.

Copyright Janet Baldey

Spark'l ~ Part 3 of 4

Spark'l  ~  Part 3 of 4

 

By Len Morgan

“Good evening viewers, this is David Thimbleday talking to you from outside the Administrative buildings, at Jodrell Bank Observatory.   The ageing radio telescope complex is due for a 2 billion pound refit but, so far it has shown little evidence of success in its main task; which was to seek out life on other worlds.   Over the last forty years, billions have been spent on the project with little or no return.   It is time to ask the question - how long should we continue to finance projects of this kind - while hospital waiting lists stretch into years?   Professor Hamnar, you have been Project Director here for six years now.   Can you tell our viewers what return they have received for all the money that has been poured into this establishment by successive governments?”

“Well David, You won't waste time coming to the point.   I suppose you have to look at the global picture…”  Archie began.

“But our viewers are interested in what is happening here and now.”

“Seeking out new life in the galaxy is a very small part of our work, its high profile, but…”

“Is it true that you are currently planning to hoodwink taxpayers into financing your program for a further five years?   Is it true that you claim to have made contact with Aliens?”

“I have no idea where you got that from.   Fact is there are a number of secure projects in progress that we are not able to discuss at this time,” said Archie.

“What about project ‘Sparkle' professor?”

“Sparkle?   I don’t believe we have a project ‘Sparkle,” he replied.

“You deny any knowledge professor?”

A young man came running out of the administration block, he whispered in Archie’s ear and hurried away.

“I’m sorry ladies and gentlemen something rather important has come up, I must attend too it immediately,” he said.

“Before you do Archie, can you give us an answer to the last question?” a newspaper reporter asked.

“You can call me professor,” he said coldly, “my friends call me Archie.”

“What about project ‘Sparkle?” he persisted.

“I can’t win can I?   You say that ‘Sparkle is a hoax if I say there is no ‘Sparkle' you say I am hiding something, what would you have me say?   I suggest you tell your readers whatever you have already decided to print regardless of what I say.   Good day!” he said and marched back into the complex.

“It’s on your desk Archie,” said Iris.

“Steve gave me your message, thank you so much,” he went into his office and picked up the steaming mug of hot sweet tea.  “Life doesn’t begin until I’ve had my first cuppa,” he said with a secret smile on his face.   He drank slowly and deeply.   ‘Thank goodness, there were no tests scheduled for today Spark’l,’  he thought ‘What are you doing?’    

‘I’m visiting the city.   There are so many people here and they're all in such a hurry to be somewhere else.’

‘Just as well,’ he thought, ‘with that crowd outside.   But, it will probably only be a matter of time before they get to know about you,’ he thought.

.-…-.

‘Spark’l I need your help!   It’s Geoffrey Partington, he’s taken my satchel and he‘s going to throw it out of the classroom window.’    “No Geoffrey!” Karen yelled.   But her satchel was already flying through the air towards the open window.   Suddenly his self-satisfied grin changed to a look of concern as the bag reversed its flight and returned to him accelerating all the while it hit him squarely in the chest and he sat on the floor, with a thump, his face turned red as he gasped for air.

“Geoffrey Partington!   What are you doing with Karen’s satchel return it to her at once!   You can stay behind after school and write an essay on why you should not take other peoples property without their permission.”

“Yes Mrs Eversham,” he gasped.  

‘Thank you Spark’l,’ Karen thought.

‘He likes you but you ignore him,’ said Spark’l ‘Give him a smile.’  Karen looked around but Spark'l had already returned to the city.

Geoffrey looked miserable so she gave him a smiled and a wink.   He smiled back at her and suddenly cheered up.

.-...-.

Later that evening, Spark’l was about to return to Archies house, when she saw a group of young people in a dark alley.   She moved closer.

.-…-.

  When Vicky first arrived in the big city she felt stifled, there were so many people.   She’d run away from home because of a stupid argument with her mother.   She’d only meant to punish her, for the hurtful things she’d said; she hadn’t intended to stay away so long.   But days became weeks.   She hated living on the streets, but she was afraid to go back and face her mother, she was ashamed of the things she’d done – she’d felt dirty.   Then she met Rob, he was also living rough.

 Rob was sixteen, a year older than Vicky.   He was kind, he understood what she was going through, and he looked out for her.   Rob ran away from home when he was fourteen when his stepfather beat his mother unconscious.  But while he slept, in an alcohol stupor, Rob hit him with a vase.   He lay unmoving, as still as death, and Rob panicked.   He grabbed his possessions and ran and had been living rough on the streets ever since.

Vicky was cold, she couldn’t sleep.   She was sat in a doorway, her threadbare blanket pulled up to her chin.   She gazed up at the stars, dreaming of what might have been.   Suddenly one-star moved closer, growing brighter as she watched.   She closed her eyes against the glare; beside her, Rob slept without stirring.   Suddenly the brightness was inside her mind, she felt a calming peaceful sensation, and all the hurt seemed to melt away.

‘Mum must really be worried,’ she thought.   ‘I should ring her and let her know that I’m ok.’   She decided she would do it, and felt much better; ‘maybe we could become friends again?’   She opened her eyes and gazed up to see the star, just above the rooftops, bathing the alley in a pale light.   Gazing around she saw others were also looking up at the strange star.   Rob awoke beside her, there were tears in his eyes, and he hugged her tightly.

“Phone your mum,” he said, “this is no life for a girl; it’s no life for anybody.”

“Do you have a phone card or coins,” she asked hopefully.   He shook his head.

.-…-.

Emma Bunting was roused from a dream, she'd been sharing with George Clooney, it was Scruff’s continual barking and other strange noises in the house.

“George,” she whispered urgently, shaking her husband, “George!” she shook him violently.

“Ugh?”

“There’s a burglar in the house.   Call the police.”

“Whee – uh - ooh?”   His body jerked, his eyes opened, but his brain was still asleep.

“He’s going through our things.  Listen,” she wailed.

“Who’s making all that racket?”  He sat up, shook his head, and bound out of bed.  “Call the police Emm,” he handed her the phone and stepped into his slippers; heading for the bedroom door.   He threw on his dressing gown and in one smooth movement picked up the walking cane he’d purchased, when he broke his leg skiing, five years earlier.  Hefting it he opened the door and almost fell over Scruffy who was dashing up and down the corridor in great excitement.   Following his ears, he headed for Karen’s room.   Karen was on the floor frantically shaking her piggy bank.   There before her was a small pile of ten and twenty pence pieces.

“Don’t bother Emm,” he shouted over his shoulder, “what on earth are you doing,” he asked.  “It’s…” he looked down at his bare wrist, realising his watch was still on the bathroom shelf, “…late,” he said lamely.   “You’ve woken everybody in the house and probably the whole street.   Couldn’t this wait until morning?” he asked.   “If you want an advance on your pocket money…”

“Whatever is the matter dear?” Mum asked rushing into the room and throwing her arms about her daughter.  “You should be ashamed, raising your voice to her like that, tell me what’s wrong baby.”  

“I’m sorry mum, I didn’t mean to wake you, Spark’l needs money urgently.   Phone cards, ten and twenty pence coins,” she explained.

“Is it that urgent?” asked Mum looking around, “where is she?”

‘Spark’l’  Karen thought.

Spark’l appeared instantly; her voice was in their heads, agitated and upset.

So terrible, so many sad stories and damaged young people, we must help them…

“Where are they; who are they?”  asked Mum.

Young children without parents, without homes, just like me, but they are living in the streets, she said flickering and flashing with emotion.   She told them of her visit to the big city and of how she discovered the children living rough.

“You persuaded them to phone home but they have no money?   We’ll soon see what we can do,” said Dad.  They dressed quickly and bundled into Dad’s Fiat Punto.   They stopped at every Off-licence, every corner shop that was open, and visited every petrol station on the way.   When they arrived dad’s tool bag was bulging, with coins and phone cards, his tools were carelessly discarded in the boot of his car.

This way, Spark’l urged.   When they arrived at the bus terminus they saw an orderly queue of young people by the phone boxes.

“There are hundreds of them,” said Karen in amazement.

A smiling white-haired man came hurrying towards them, “Emma, how good of you to come.”

“Hello Archie, this is Karen and my husband George, I see Spark’l has involved you as well but we thought a few dozen; where on earth did they all come from?”

Before Archie could answer a police car pulled into the curb and many young people started to move away.

“Stay where you are,” Archie called out to them, “there’s nothing to fear, you’re with me, and we are engaged in a lawful activity.”

The police constable approached.   “Good evening sir, are you responsible for this demonstration?”

“It’s a gathering, not a demonstration.  A friend persuaded these young people to contact their families and let them know they are safe and well,” said Archie.

“You do realise that any gathering that obstructs the public footpath is unlawful sir?”

“Well as it happens no!   But at three in the morning, you could hardly say that queuing to use the phone is antisocial.”

“Well, that is true sir.   You people are also with this gentleman?”

“Yes,” said Mum and Karen.  “No,” said Dad.

“We ran out of phone cards and coins,” Archie explained, Dad opened his bag to show that this was their errand.  

The policeman smiled putting his hand in his pocket, he handed Archie a handful of change.  “Sorry that’s all I have, but I’ll ask the others,” he returned to his car as two others pulled up behind it.   He was bareheaded when he returned his hat was filled with loose change which he emptied into Dad’s bag.

“Thank you so much,” said Archie.

“Keep up the good work sir,” he said with a smile.  Then he returned to his car and it drove off.

“Steve see that this gets distributed,” Archie said handing Dad’s bag to a young man nearby.

 Next to arrive was the media; first the local news then T.V.

“It’s really quite simple,” Archie explained.

“Aren’t you the director of the Observatory at Jodrell Bank?” they asked.  “What are you doing with all these children?”

“I’m doing nothing with them!   They’re living rough and a friend persuaded them to contact their families to let them know they are well,” said Archie.

In the morning newspapers, he was hailed as a hero, a champion of youth, the story went national and no amount of protesting could play down his role.

“All I did was help a friend by providing ten and twenty pence coins, and surplus phone cards,” but he protested in vain.

“Ok professor, who is this mysterious friend who did all the footwork,” asked David Thimbleday.  

Archie was silent, what could he say, a star fell from the sky?   A star appeared in the east?  

“Then there’s a story about two teenage girls who stole your car?”

“They brought it back!” he protested.

“You rewarded them with a guided tour of the establishment and an adventure holiday!”

“They were just bored; all the Youth Centres in the area have been turned into homework clubs and centres for further education.   Did you never have a sense of adventure, when you were a child, didn’t you yearn to have fun?”

.-…-.

   Thousands of young people all over the country suddenly developed the desire, to phone home; suddenly the lists of missing persons began to disappear like candy floss.   Many young people were reconciled with loving families.   Many more were offered lodgings and jobs.  

To be continued/...

Copyright Len Morgan

Flute

 Flute    

By Rob Kingston

Purged, the lips that rest upon the tanned wood, Breath transversing the depths of reed beds that travel drenching nasal hair with scents of mother earth.
Fingers poised ready relaxed release reverberations revealing melancholic sounds that reach the heavens as white doves in flocks flap feverishly rising from trees above a babbling brook to dance in skies of clear blue opulence, nothingness being gathered below and released from tips with each fold of a hundred outstretched wings, air rotating and spinning like ballerinas pirouetting into infinity with each flap.

Slowly and precisely fingertips lift and drop, squeezing shared oxygen to notes on a chosen scale. Drifting, my mind is drifting, floating, moving with sea lions dolphins and whales, treading the ocean depths as disturbed water oscillates and swirls with each horizontal wave goodbye.

Time ticks motionlessly, I sigh!

Relaxed, I close my eyes as soft soulful sounds tease drums with hollowed out tunes resonating in my mind as Turtles in shoals of millions breaststroke on thermals creating bubbles that rise and pop, newborn and little ones flipping and tumbling in a giants wake to the musicians chosen melodic pitch.

I am at one with the creator and the created, Moving, I am moving with the music into pastures green as hummingbirds tease flower blooms whilst butterflies join bees hopping and dipping tongues drinking from life’s Holy Grail.

An eagle soaring scouting above giant reds in a mountains shadow floats effortlessly turning and twisting, its head moving side to side as tail and wing feathers adjust the direction of its black and white image, occasional bursts of its squawk echoes bouncing upon white topped grey faced Crag’s, circling, circling, circling its motion resonating in tune to the flute.

© R. Kingston 28.7.2015 (All rights reserved ) 

Spark'l ~ Part 2 of 4

Spark'l  ~  Part 2 of 4 

By Len Morgan 

 The very next morning Mum dropped Karen off at school and drove thirty miles to Jodrell Bank Observatory.   She entered the main building and asked to see the Director.

“I’m sorry, but you must have an appointment to see the Director, he is a very busy man. If you wish I could book you an appointment?” the middle-aged secretary suggested.   “But, first I will need to know why you wish to see him.”

“I really wouldn’t be happy if too many people knew why I’m here,” said Mum.

“Your name is?”  The secretary asked in a friendly manner.

“I - I really don’t think that will be necessary…” said Mum, removing the box from her pocket and placing it on the counter.   “Would you just see that he gets this please?” she said.

“What is it?” asked the secretary glancing at it suspiciously.

Something in her tone worried Mum, “don’t bother, I’ll take it elsewhere,” she said and headed for the exit.   An alarm began to sound.   When Mum looked back the secretary was gone.   Suddenly the busy foyer was empty.   Guards wearing helmets with visors and body armour appeared at the far end of the room.   Mum put the little box in her pocket and kept walking.  

“Stand Still!   Stay where you are, and raise your hands above your head,” a man yelled through a megaphone. 

 Mum glanced around to see who he was yelling at.   She was alone.  

“Slide the box across the floor towards me and lay face down on the ground with your hands in plain view!” he commanded.   That was when she noticed their guns.

“But…” she began.

 “Do it!   Now!”   He ordered.   Mum did as he said and a small tracked vehicle, with a robotic arm, picked up the box and trundled off towards a side door where an armoured car was waiting.   As it trundled up the ramp, into the rear of the vehicle, shutters came down covering the exit doors.   Men rushed forward grabbing her roughly by the arms.

“I hope you have a good explanation for this,” she said, with indignation, “if not there will be letters of complaint sent to the appropriate authorities, and to my Member of Parliament!”

“OK!   Search her and take her to the detention suite,” said the man giving the orders; ignoring her protests.

“This will not go well for you,” she warned the young man and woman who were sitting on the opposite side of the desk in the small interview room.  “I have a full schedule of patients to see today at St Bernadine’s Hospital.   I am due to start work in thirty minutes and if you do not release me there will be hell to pay!”   She warned.

 “What group are you working for,” the young man demanded, with an aggressive edge to his voice.

“I work for St Bernadine’s Hospital Trust Group,” as I have already told you.

“And what are your demands,” asked the young woman in a more sympathetic voice.

“Let me go at once or you will definitely regret it,” she warned.

“We know who you are, Mrs Emma Bunting, we know where you live, 184 Spring Grove Witchell…”  The young man did not get a chance to finish.

A voice interrupted him from the desk intercom, “That will do inspector, the box has been analysed it’s a common silver amalgam, completely empty, and my secretary admits that she may have overreacted; because of the bomb threat, we received this morning.   Mr’s Bunting please accepts my personal apology for our shabby hospitality.”

“There!” she said, scolding her young interrogators with a withering stare.

A door opened and a middle-aged, grey-haired man, with a jolly face, came forward offering his hand.   “Archie Hamnar,” he said warmly, “would you like tea, coffee, or a soft drink while we discuss your visit?”

“Medium tea, with two sugars, please,” she replied.    “Can I have my box back,” she asked as they walked the short distance to his office.   He opened a drawer and removed the box, sliding it across the desk towards her.   His secretary entered sheepishly with a tray of tea and biscuits.

“I really wanted to talk to the director,” she explained.

“Well, you’re in luck, that’s me,” he said.

“Tell me Mr Hamnar…” 

“Archie please, everybody call me Archie.”

“Very well, Archie, what is the purpose of this establishment?”

“It was created to investigate and analyse radio sources, from outer space, to locate and make first contact with any extraterrestrial life out there.”

“What form would you expect that life to take; would they be like us?” she asked.

“Not necessarily Emma, do you mind if I use your first name?” he asked.   

“Of course not,” she shook her head.

“Consider the biodiversity of life on earth, from amoeba to man, we are all made of similar materials; air, water, and organic carbon compounds.   Does that give you some idea of the infinite possibilities?”

“Are you saying the possibilities are limitless?”  She asked.

“Just consider, all life on earth is made up of genes.  But, even the genes of lower life forms are very similar to our own.   The stuff of a common virus is 65% compatible with human genes.   It shows that all life on earth is part of the same family.  We are cousins to the common cold.” he said with obvious amusement.

“Is this room secure,” she asked.

“Completely,” he said with confidence.   “It’s swept weekly for anti-surveillance devices.   But, most of our discoveries are routinely published on the internet anyway, for scientists, astronomers, astrophysicists, and other interested parties.   Is there a problem?”

“I think you should judge for yourself,” she said opening the box.

Archie leaned forward catching sight of the pea-sized spark of twinkling white light.

“But, it was empty…”

“My daughter has named her Spark’l,” said Emma, “close your eyes a moment.”

‘You are a respected man in your field, with knowledge of many things, but even you will find my story hard to believe,’ Spark’l then told him about her journey and her life…   Tears started from his eyes.

   “Beautiful,” said Archie as he sat watching Spark’l move around the room, alighting on things like a butterfly; inquisitive, displaying the curiosity of a young child.

‘What is this?’  She asked stopping in front of a 24x18inch full-colour print of an astronomical event.  

“That was taken close to your birth,” said Archie. ‘I can’t see you in the picture,’ he thought.  “How could we have known what we were witnessing?” he said shaking his head and hiding his face.

‘Why are your eyes leaking Archie?’

‘A being of pure energy, an elemental, I’ve always thought it an impossibility, but here you are,’ he dabbed his eyes with a tissue.   “Seeing is believing.”

Emma smiled, “there’s something reassuring about seeing a grown man cry.”

“Karen and Scruffy didn’t come with you?” he asked regaining his composure.

‘Karen is at school and Scruffy is hunting for a lost bone,’ said Spark’l.

“Did you hear that Emma?” said Archie.

“Yes, she keeps in contact with every mind she touches.”

 “Fascinating!” said Archie.   “You will bring her to visit me again won’t you?”

“Well that is the problem,” said Emma, "when people learn about her and get to know where she is staying, our lives will become intolerable; photographers, reporters, and the media…”

“Yes, I do see your point.”

‘I would like to stay with you, for a while, and learn more about your work.   I would learn more about myself also, I still do not know the purpose of my existence.’

‘It will be a mutual journey of exploration!’ Archie thought.

“You’ll not forget to visit us,” said Mum hopefully.

Spark’l moved to a large scale map of the United Kingdom.

‘I will contact you every day,’ she promised.

“That may not be possible,” said Archie,” we will have to devise an extensive test program…”

They looked around but Spark’l was gone.   Then the phone rang.

“Galloping Gremlins!” said Archie.   “That’s the hotline - only the Prime Minister has that number.” - Shakily he raised the phone to his ear.   “It’s for you,” he said in amazement, switching over to the intercom. 

“Hi Mum, it’s Karen.  Spark’l is here and she wants me to say hello, to you and Archie.   I’m late for double French, so I’ll have to go now, love you, bye.”

Spark’l reappeared above the phone just as Karen hung up; ‘Click’.

“That was impossible!   Nobody has that number it’s a dedicated line,” said Archie.  

 ‘I am light and energy, I obey the laws of Einstein ~ relatively,’ she giggled.   A phone rang twice in the adjoining office.

“Most interesting, obviously we will have to cooperate, there is no way we could ever contain you,” Archie smiled.

‘Iris is concerned about the time.   You have a meeting at 09:15hrs.   I told her she could clear the tea things.’

Iris entered and did just that.   “Mr Richards is here, shall I send him in when your guest leaves?”   She smiled sheepishly at Mum.

As the door closed Mum looked quizzically at Spark’l.   “Why didn’t she see you?”

‘Oh, I wasn’t here.  I went for a tour of the establishment,’ She explained ‘Did you know that dish number five is only working at 50% efficiency?   A family of mice is living in the power distribution box, and the little ones have gnawed through the insulators.’

“Interesting, I’ll have them removed, and have the damage repaired,” said Archie.

‘No need, I’ve already found a new home for them, but the repairs are quite urgent.’

“Hello maintenance, would you shut down five please, and check the power distribution box I believe you will find the solution to your power problems there,” said Archie.

“Thanks, Archie, five has been off and online all week.   We have been unable to discover what is causing the problem.   How did you know about it?”

“It came to me in a flash,” he said with a mischievous grin on his face.   He winked at Emma as he replaced the receiver.  “Is there anything else I should know Spark’l,” he asked.

’Is that your vintage Rover in the car park?’

“Yes.” He said.

‘Well, unless I’m mistaken, somebody is trying to steal it!’ she said.

“Security!” He yelled down the phone…

“Well, I guess I’ll be going,” said Emma “I’m already late for work, and Mr Richards is waiting outside, I’m sure we will be talking again very soon.” 

“Goodbye and thank you, Mrs… Emma,” he said gazing out through his window, watching two youngsters who were easily evading the security guards.   

.-…-.

  That evening, Karen was lying on her bed gazing at Orion’s midriff, and the fading Supernova.   ‘I wonder where you are and what you are doing.   I really miss you Spark’l’ she thought.

‘I miss you too but even when we are apart we can still talk,’ Spark’l replied.

“Rruruff”

‘If you need me just call and I will be there,’ she answered.

‘Can you talk like this to everybody?’  Karen asked.

 ‘Only those I have touched,’ said Spark’l.

‘Could you talk to us all at once?’

‘I will have to try it sometime, but not tonight, it’s too late.   How was school?’

‘Oh you know,’ said Karen.

‘Geoffrey Partington?’

Karen nodded, ‘He stole my homework and flushed it down the boy’s loo.’

‘Call me next time’ said Spark’l.

‘What happened at Jodrell Bank today?’

‘Heh, heh, Archie’s car got boosted again.’

‘Boosted?’

‘Stolen by the same two who attempted it on the first day.’

‘Pretty stupid,’ Karen thought.

‘They did it because they were bored, they wanted some excitement, Archie is going to get them into an adventure program.’

‘Boys,’ said Karen, ‘they have all the fun.’

‘No these two were girls,’ said Spark’l.

‘Did Archie call the police?’

‘No, after they returned his car undamaged, I explained why they did it, and he felt sorry for them; their parents were at work.’

‘’So then what happened?’

‘He gave them a guided tour of the establishment.’

“Wasn’t that like rewarding them for doing something wrong?’  Karen asked.

‘Later, when he spoke to their parents, it was decided they should wash and polish his car for an hour every week for a month.’

‘He seems alright Archie.   What about the mice?’ asked Karen.

‘Oh, the mice are making themselves at home in the kennels at the security entrance.’

‘Don't the dogs object to that?’  Karen asked sleepily.

‘No, Lady ‘P’ does the night rounds whilst Nelson works the day shift.  Trouble was Nelson didn’t like being alone because it keeps him awake.   Now, the mice keep him company.   They help by singing him to sleep.   Then, if anybody comes, they wake him up.  He calls them his guard mice, he doesn’t mind sharing his food with them, because they eat so little,’ said Spark’l.

  When she heard gentle breathing, she realised that Karen was fast asleep.   So Spark’l decided to visit Archie at home.  But, both he and his wife were also sleeping.   There was a new moon in the sky so Spark’l settled on the wick of an artificial candle.   To all the world it would seem that Archie had not completely dimmed the bedroom lights.

.-…-.

 Ever since she was a child, Archie’s wife, Estelle, had suffered from a recurring dream - where she was trapped in a sinking ship and the air was running out.   Spark’l observed that she was having difficulty breathing so she went closer to see if there was anything she could do to help.   Archie was snoring, but Spark’l knew exactly how to deal with that.   So, with no nightmares and no snoring Estelle was able to enjoy the first good night’s sleep she’d had in years.  
Spark’l liked to help others.  She was discovering new powers daily and loved using them to improve the lives of those around her.

To be continued/...

Copyright Len Morgan 

I shall look for you

 I shall look for you

 By Rob Kingston

I shall look for you on the other side,
in the rose garden is where I'll reside.
For I'll have done all I can do
in bringing peace to this difficult world.

I shall look for you in the garden of Eden, where the fruits are so juicy and taste of sweet heaven,
where the women are fine, with their soft sweet smiles, their delicate skin bathed in the essence of subtle perfume. 

I shall look for you in their palaces of dreams wherein their pretty dresses they'll dance like queens and sit whispering sweet nothing's for all eternity.

Then I shall look for you in your beliefs prism and see you from afar, when your devilish deeds are done, where the air will be filled with odours of rotting flesh, singeing skin and hair, the place littered with decapitated limbs and heads, removed by the devil's sons, who show no understanding of what this world demands to exist in harmony.
Your envy pointed at those that rise not knowing that greed within their homeland is why they are fighting, not! Nations of peace seeking beings who understand freedom.

I shall see your scarred body and witness the white light that you desire hiding as if they feel the pain you have left behind, not wishing to associate with it.
And I shall see you when the devil is done with you, but! a charred image, in a lonely arid place wondering what instead you could have done.
Pray lord you see reason before these evil deeds have won.

(c) Robert Kingston 30.11.15

FUN PAGE (5)

FUN PAGE (5)

By Peter Woodgate

BAD HAIR DAY

When old Homer first put pen to papers

and thrilled us all with those exciting capers,

who gave him inspiration for those creatures

The Odyssey and other stories teach us?

And when young Perseus slew the evil being

using his shield as a weapon and for seeing,

holding the ugly head, in safety, at arm’s length

not looking at the eyes lest he should lose his strength.

Did he use the power of the matted writhing hair,

to defeat his enemies by foul means or by fair?

And when they quaked with fear, what was it that they saw?

What could turn men to stone? Was it the Mother In Law?

 LITTLE WEED

One two three, who do we see?

Count from one to ten, you’ll see Bill and Ben.

Down behind the shed, they are being fed,

Wrapped in paper sheets, don’t look much like sweets.

Four five six, smoking them for kicks.

Seven eight nine, eyes begin to shine.

Tell me Bill and Ben, from whom and where and when?

Is it right the lead points to Little Weed?

Oh slob o lob o lob o lob.

CHLOE

I have a cat called Chloe

She’s always eating food

It seems she’s always hungry

Always in the mood.

I feed her in the morning

And feed her in the night

Even when it’s dark and dim

And feed her when it’s light.

No matter when I feed her

She’s always there for more

She gives a sort of hiccup

Then vomits on the floor.

PREACHING TO THE CONVERTED

They’d been sitting for days and discussing

the argument, whether or not

a priest should be married, the motion was carried

by a majority vote of a lot.

The reason, it seems they agreed

and to all of their flock, they would tell

Is that “The Blessed Union” would help with their sermon

For they would have experienced Hell.

NAKEDNESS (PERCEIVED)

(My thoughts on Boris)

The crowds they clapped and cheered

As the King strode down the street

They saw in all its splendour

His gown and shoes upon his feet.

He waved, acknowledging, the loyalty they showed

His face, normally so glum, positively glowed.

A stranger, in the town, was moved by the commotion

And sought to have a look, at what he had no notion.

He pushed his way up front to reach the barrier markers

“My God”, he cries out loud, “That man is bloody starkers”.

Copyright Peter Woodgate