TRICK OR TREAT 

By Peter Woodgate 

“So what’s new,” Jenny thought to herself as she climbed the ladder to take down the Halloween lanterns.

“Same shit different year, here I am, still waiting, it’ll be Christmas soon.”

She moved the ladder along to the next lantern and climbed up to find a wasp’s nest. “Oh shit,” Jenny cursed, “just my bloody luck.”

Retreating down the ladder, with caution, she sighed as her foot touched the ground. “A bloody wasp’s nest,” she thought, I bet those little sods have been nibbling away at the wires.”

    Jenny had become quite handy at fixing things, she had to be, her husband had left her three years ago leaving her to bring up her two boys on her own. It was a case of, fix it or leave it, she simply couldn’t afford to pay anyone else.

    Of course, her brother had been a great help when John left, he had comforted her and assisted with all the D I Y jobs her husband used to do. Jenny had become very efficient in most things and Alan, her brother, often joked that she should have been a builder.

    Yes, Jenny was very independent, but she missed the company. Her two boys were wonderful, and she loved them dearly but missed adult companionship. She had been on dates but never seemed to attract the right sort of man. Those that were physically attractive acted like pigs and those that acted like gentlemen looked like geeks. No matter how she tried she never seem to find someone in-between.

    Anyway, here she was left with a frightening wasp’s nest to deal with and, despite able to tackle most things this was something she, certainly, would not wish to try.

    Jenny sat down in the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of wine and started to think of how to tackle the problem. Her sons George and Michael were out with her Ex for the day and he was due to return them in about an hour. Jenny thought about him for a moment, he was a two-timing bastard and she disliked him intensely, but he should, at least, be able to give her some help.

    John arrived, with the boys, on schedule. He was about to drive off when Jenny stopped him and explained the problem she had with the wasp’s nest.

“Sorry, can’t touch those things,” he answered, bluntly, “you need to get the pest control in for them. See you next week,” he shouted as he drove off. “Yep,” she thought, “he is a bastard."

    After getting the boys settled (she had decided not to mention the wasp’s nest to them) she began looking through the local service guide.

As she turned over the pages an advert on page twelve caught her eye It was headed PEST AWAY and underneath gave a description: Rats, Mice, Insects, Bugs. Guaranteed exterminated or your money back. “Doesn’t mention Ex’s” Jenny thought as she broke into a wry smile.

She noticed that it was a local number and decided to give it a try. “After all,” she thought, “can’t be too expensive for one nest."

    Underneath the number Jenny had seen the words “ask for Dave” and as the phone clicked and a voice answered she blurted out “is Dave there please.”

“That’s me,” he answered cheerfully, Jenny then gave him the details.

“Glad you called those little buggers can be very nasty this time of year.

Look , I’m busy right now but I can call around first thing in the morning,

Is that ok?” 

“Yes, that’s great,” she replied and gave Dave her telephone number and address.

    Jenny packed her boys off to school (first day back after half term) and sat down to enjoy her coffee. She was just about to bite into a slice of toast and marmalade when there was a knock on the door. Jenny answered it and found herself slightly embarrassed as she gazed into the eyes of the handsome stranger stood before her.

    “Hi I’m Dave,” he smiled cheerfully, Jenny blushed before ushering him to the kitchen. “Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?” she found herself asking nervously.

“I’m ok at the moment,” Dave replied, “but as soon as I get rid of your little problem, I will take you up on your offer.”

    They went outside and Jenny took Dave to where the nest was sited.

“It’s up there,” she pointed to the Halloween lantern still hanging from the facia board, “It’s inside the lantern.”

Jenny had left the ladder propped up against the wall, Dave gave one look at it and gasped.

“Oh my god, you didn’t use that did you?”

“Yes,” replied Jenny, “why?”

“Should never use metal ladders or steps near electricity,” Dave shook his head, “I think I will go and get mine off the van.”

Dave trotted off and returned with a wooden set, “right let’s get rid of your little problem, shall we?”

    Jenny suddenly felt mischievous, “would you like me to hold the ladder for you?” she asked, as Dave put on his protective mask and gloves.

“No, best not, health and safety and insurance issues,” Dave replied,

“but you can watch from a safe distance if you wish, shouldn’t take too long.”

She moved away from the ladder but found herself watching Dave as he climbed up, “cute bum,” she thought, feeling somewhat ashamed.

    Dave began squirting his special wasp repellent, cum subduer, all around the nest. “Look,” he shouted down to Jenny, “I don’t want to disturb the nest too much at this stage, is it ok if I take it down with the lantern? I will let you have it back once the nest is destroyed.”

    “OK” replied Jenny and in no time at all Dave was back down the ladder nest and lantern safely enclosed in a sealed bag.

    “Shouldn’t have any more trouble now,” Dave smiled, “time for a cuppa then.”

    Jenny and Dave sat in the kitchen and she found herself opening up to him. Dave listened intently as Jenny blurted out all her problems, he appeared genuinely sympathetic. When Jenny had finished the “War and Peace” of her life Dave smiled and casually replied, “well you won’t catch me getting hitched, restrict my bachelor lifestyle too much.”

 “Oh you’re single then,” Jenny replied excitedly. 

“Sure am” Dave smiled as he stroked the back of her hand.

    Jenny’s hormones erupted and she found herself gazing into his big blue eyes as he leaned forward to kiss her.

    Dave slid out of bed and started to get dressed, “cute bum,” Jenny smiled as she gazed at him admiringly. He came round and sat next to her on the bed and gave her a kiss. ”Look,” Dave hesitated for a moment, “better take my mobile number you can reach me anytime on that, I am rarely in the office you were lucky to catch me last time. Just think at your service day and night.” They both laughed, Dave kissed Jenny, then let himself out.

    Dave had refused to accept any money for the work on the wasp’s nest and as she relaxed back onto her pillow, she couldn’t help thinking that she had scored on two fronts.

    It was a couple of days later and Jenny found herself thinking constantly of Dave, she didn’t want to appear too eager but on the other hand, she just couldn’t wait any longer. She picked up the phone and dialled Dave’s mobile, a female voice answered. ”Hello, Dave’s phone, can I help you?” Jenny was stunned and for a moment didn’t know what to say. 

She gathered her thoughts and in a soft voice replied, “is Dave there please?”  “No, sorry but he’s left his flippin phone behind again, I’m Val, his wife, can I take a message?”

“Eh, no thanks ok,” Jenny hung up abruptly, “bloody bastard,” she swore under her breath. “So what’s new, same old shit, still waiting and it’s nearly Christmas.”

Jenny took a bottle of wine out of the fridge slamming the door shut with her foot, “time to get pissed,” she thought.    

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate

   

Lens Diary Excerpt (5) 1999

 

Lens Diary ~ Hope I ~ (05) 05/10/99 

Hope I

By Len Morgan 

He could see the steam rising from the horse.  Hear its protests and uneven footfalls as rider and mount picked their way up the narrow mountain pass.

“Just a few more steps,” he mouthed.  Avarel licked his dry cracked lips nervously.  His breath hung like mist in the crisp spring mountain air.

.-...-. 

He’d been a farmer like his father his family had always been farmers back into antiquity, until the Thaal invaded’ and his livestock and crops were taken to feed the defending army.  What little remained had been taken by the Thaal, together with his wife and two sons.  He’d been out hunting to supplement their meagre supplies when he’d seen the farm buildings ablaze.  His eyes clouded with the pain of the memory.  Now he robbed unwary travellers.  He wasn’t proud of what he did but how else could he stay alive?  How else could he feed the growing community of mouths he’d attracted from the stripped countryside. 

They’d arrived alone and in small groups, survivors of the Thaal invasion.  Little ones barely able to walk, others in their teens.  All with the same dull lifeless eyes, gaunt faces and defeated expressions.

He couldn’t say no so the raggedy band of lost souls grew daily, like feral cats, so travellers in these mountains beware!  A sixth sense warned him of impending danger…

.-...-.

“Don’t even twitch Squire,” said a deep calm voice about a foot from his ear.  “I do believe you’re about to attack my horse?”  He felt the touch of cold steel on his jugular, his jaw slackened, and his mouth went dry. “Why?” The stranger asked as he knelt motionless beside him.

“I’m nobodies Squire, I seek only a contribution to keep my family from starvation.”

“Family?  Turn around slowly!”

Avarel turned…  “Why do you travel our mountains alone?” He asked.

“I currently have a shortage of friends Squire, we angered the Thaal once too often.  We were betrayed.  A few like me escaped but, they are hunting us as we speak…”

“You’ve brought them here?”

“I’d say they invited themselves Squire, either way, they’ll be here in minutes.  Now is not the time for talk, it’s time for action!  If you have family close, you have a choice – Fight or flee.  Either way, I’m with you.”

Avarel looked angrily at the young warrior with the cold grey eyes and sharp tongue.  He noted the worn leathers and determined set to his jaw.  “Why should we want you?”

“Our aims are the same.”

“Which are?”

“Survival and revenge!”

“Well, my enemies enemy is my friend?”  Well put stranger, but let’s just settle for survival.”

The sword withdrew from his throat and they shook hands, as a ragtag troop of some thirty youngsters rose from the undergrowth, bows levelled at the stranger.

“Jazen at your service.” He bowed theatrically.  His infectious smile lit the glade, “Just call me Jaz.”

“My name is Avarel, and these are my family.”  He stared past Jaz in amazement at the bright-eyed eager band he saw.  What had changed in just a few moments?  “Hope!” he whispered.

 

Copyright Len Morgan

 

 

Autumn in all its Glory

By Sis Unsworth

How clear and bright the Autumn night before the winds descend,

cascading leaves drift from the trees, now signal Summers end.

Birds tired of waiting, start migrating so eager now to fly,

a harvest moon, appears quite soon, to complete the Autumn sky.

Bulbs go in that show in Spring, but that’s another story,

so live for today, in that special way, and enjoy the Autumn’s glory.

 

Copyright Sis Unsworth

 

Body Sharing

By Len Morgan

  Karl Drake, 51% shareholder and CEO of Drake Industries, reclined on the executive couch at his City of London apartment.  The remains of a double malt whiskey sat on a nearby glass coffee table.  He'd raised the glass, taking an appreciative sip; leaving a damp ring on the table as he set the glass down.  It was his last taste of fine malt, and he would savour it in the afterlife.

  Carly, his personal assistant, a tall slender blonde in her late 20's, took the glass and washed it out thoroughly.  Carly was hired when her predecessor was let go.  Surprisingly, his wife Shelly had selected Carly from a shortlist of applicants.  What he didn’t know was, Carly and his wife were lovers.

 

 Shelly was a shrewd, but a self-serving woman.  Her two-year dalliance with Carly, had been long enough for them to hatch a plan to get rid of Karl and take over his companies.  Shelly would drop in from time to time ostensibly to check things were running smoothly, actually, it was to spend quality time with Carly.

   Carly entered the room and gave Karl a shake.  When he didn't stir she checked his pulse and held a hand mirror to his face to check for signs of breathing.  She smiled, replacing his glass with another, wiped his lips with a napkin, dried the old glass and placed it in the cabinet. 

Then, she lifted the phone and pressed redial, "It's done!" she said. 

.-…-. 

   Andy Blackwell was at the end of his tether.  His sins were many his virtues few.  A suspended alcoholic police sergeant with a gambling addiction, he'd driven away all those who loved and cared for him.  Booze and gambling had taken over his life to the exclusion of all else.  Now alone, homeless and penniless, he leaned over London Bridge wondering if his past life would flash before his eyes at the moment of his death.  He drained his cheap bottle of vodka, steeling himself for the jump.

"Here goes nothing!" He said.

"Heh hem, bit theatrical don't you think?"

Andy turned in surprise. "What the..."

"Thinking of jumping?  You'll die from hypothermia long before you hit the water."

"What do you care?  What do you know anyway?" he hurled the empty bottle down into the dark swift river far below.

"Well actually, we are on opposite sides of the same predicament Andy.  You're on the outside looking in, while I'm on the inside looking out..."

"How do you know my name, and who are you anyway?"

"I know a little about you but, what do you care?  Your hell bent on checking out." he paused.  Andy turned to look more closely at his unwanted irritant; a pale lean ethereal figure.

"I was Karl Drake five minutes ago, now I'm simply his shade.  I'm pressed for time, In five more minutes I will fade away forever leaving an injustice unanswered.

"Whadya want from ME!"

"I need to borrow your body for 24 hours, I will pay you £100K..."

"Huh?  If you're a shade, how can you pay me!"

"If I am allowed to share your body I will be able to write a cheque using my own signature."

"How do I know you have the money anyway?"

"Drake Industries, I am/was its CEO, time is short, what have you got to lose, it's a gamble…"

"GO!"  The shade closed rapidly; Andy experienced vertigo and dropped to his knees.

Glad you saw sense Andy.  Are you still here?

'What next.'

We head for my office suite for credit cards cash and a cheque book.

'I don't have a bank account anymore...'

That can soon be remedied.  From now on you're Karl Drake.  So sit back and enjoy the ride.

'What if I need a drink or get the urge to gamble?'

Trust me, you won’t...

The alarm was set at his apartment, which meant Carly was out.  So he entered the code and slipped in, taking care not to touch anything.  There he was, lying on the sofa as if asleep.  He went over to retrieve his wallet.

It's gone, it's not here.  He went to the bedroom, but all he could find was loose change. He changed his clothes and scraped up enough cash for the cab fare to his office. 

 Without a pass, they would have to find another way in.  He dumped Andy's clothes and waited for a cleaner to open the rear doors to fill the rubbish bins.  He sneaked in and took the back stairs to the 12th floor, went to his office, to retrieve a cheque book and a spare pass from his desk drawer. With his spare key he opened the petty cash box, wrote and signed a chit for £100.  He wrote a cheque for £100k payable to Andy Blackwell and placed it in his top pocket. 

That's you sorted Andy.

'That's more scary than Dying.'

Where do you living?

'I'm sleeping on a couch at my sisters until her partner loses his patience, and shows me the door.'

Then we'll go there next.  I know I was murdered, probably by my personal assistance I know she took my wallet, credit cards & security pass. So, we'll have to wait for the banks to open until we can get more cash.   

  As he walked up the garden path, two figures detached themselves from the shadows.

'O-oh!  It's Harry my bookie.'

"Ah Andy my friend, we were hoping to meet up with you.  A small matter of an outstanding debt," the smaller guy removed a book from his pocket, took a pencil from behind his ear and thumbed through the pages...  "That will be £10,172 plus interest, let's call it eleven big ones. 

"No problem, I'll write you a cheque."

"Cash only!"

"Then you'll have to wait till tomorrow, I'll bring it round to your gaff first thing Harry."

"Knuckles has been looking forward to this.  Knuckles do your stuff."  Harry smiled.  "I value your custom so this will hurt me more than it hurts you..."

.-…-.

  He crawled to the front door, unable to stand, he banged with his fists.

Sister Irene opened the door.  "I see your pal Harry caught up with you then.  Come in and let me clean you up.  No broken bones I take it; Knuckles is always very considerate like that, if you can't work you can't pay."

"Thanks' Sis, I've learned my lesson I'll pay him off tomorrow and pay you your back rent, from then on I'm a reformed character."

"Yea right!  Simon wants you out by the end of the week so you've got 48 hours."

"I'm working on it Sis."

"Good!"

Early next morning, they visited the bank, and Karl opened three bank accounts, and transferred funds to each, making Andy signatory for each.

Now you have three bank accounts, pay in your cheque from Drake Industries and draw out £12K, we're going round to Harry's gaff.

"Harry, I just popped in to settle up my account."

"Knuckles will be disappointed.  For some unknown reason he has a very low opinion of you."  He counted the stack of £50 notes twice.  "Where did you steal this...  No, it's better that I don't know. Okay you’re clear.  For the next month you are persona-non-grata, piss-off!"

"Thanks Harry, see you around."

"Sadly true."

Now for your sister Irene.  How much do we owe her?

'About £320...’

Let's make that £500 no £750 for her trouble that will endear her incase you need a bolt hole in the future.

'Okay.'

Why so glum?  You still have more money than you could wish for in your wildest dreams.

'Yea but, Sis has this low opinion of me, she expects nothing of me, I'd hate to confuse her when I know I am the rat she thinks I am.'

People change.

'Where to next?'

Solicitors.  I put a stop on my personal account at the bank, now I'll need to make a new Will. Problem is it needs to be backdated a month.

‘No problem I know a dodgy brief that will do it in return for a sweetener. There are some advantages to being “in the job”.’ 

It makes me feel better knowing my low opinion of the police is justified.

.-…-.

Four hours later the deed was done.

'So who did you make your beneficiary?'

Don’t worry it's not you.  I wouldn't put that on your shoulders.

'I might have liked being a billionaire.  But how come I don't remember anything about that?'

I can block you out if necessary; you could do it too if you put your mind to it. Trust me, you wouldn't want my responsibility.  There are thousands of people with jobs relying on the decisions I make/used to make, you couldn't take the pressure.  You'd wind up on that bridge again, but I wouldn't be there to bring you back.  I've cut my wife out completely. The stewardship of my companies will be in the hands of the board of directors and my shares go to an employee's cooperative. So all we’ve got to do now is prove I was murdered, by my wife and her lover, and then you'll be free to spend your money anywhichway...

.-…-. 

‘Mmm,  We need to find a working phone box.’

Don’t you have a mobile?

‘My police issue phone was confiscated when I was suspended.’

Okay, we’ll visit ‘Phones are Us’ and pick one up. What next?

‘Constable Crossly (my partner) is on the fast track. He’s a bloody good detective; I’ll get him to check it out.’

“Hi Simon, It’s Andy.  Listen, I’ve overheard two women discussing a murder, it may be nothing but if I wasn’t on garden leave I’d definitely check it out.  Would you look into it as a favour to me?  It could be a feather in your cap.

Good lad!  The address is 17, Hoburn Close. 

Yes, I’d say check it as a matter of urgency, it sounds as if they poisoned this guy Drake. 

No, I’m not drunk & it isn’t a windup.  Do it man!  W
hat have you got to lose?”

‘He’s a good lad, he’ll do the necessary.’

Let’s hope he does, you seem more cheerful now Andy.

‘Well, I know I’m dreaming!  So, I may as well enjoy it. I can be miserable after I hit the water…’

 

Copyright Len Morgan

 

THE UNINVITED                     

 

By Sis Unsworth

 

They had all set out for a picnic, to spend the day on the beach,

She spread out the cakes and the biscuits, and placed food in everyone's reach.

But the sea did then seem to beckon, so some took a walk to the shore,

Leaving her there with the picnic, as the youngsters were keen to explore. 

When all the food was quite ready she waved then sat down on the ground,

The sun was shining so brightly, it was just the fine day they had planned.

She was quite content to lay down there, the children were happy to play,

The breeze seemed to enhance the moment, she thought it was such a good day. But what happened next so did spoil it, as something did just catch her eye, 

A rat which had not been invited was eating a homemade pork pie.

How dare he should gate crash our picnic, and think he could eat what he like 

She shouted in quite a loud fashion, 'you're not wanted here, on your bike!’

The family came running back over, to see what the fuss was about,

 And why she was getting so angry, and spoiling the day with her shouts.

'Look what is eating our picnic,' she pointed her hand to the rat,

'I'm not eating my food with a rodent,' so one of you get rid of that'.

The rat then did seem to panic, and grabbing a sandwich he fled,

And scurried back home to his off spring, as a bottle did just miss he's head.

He said to his family there waiting, how dare they throw something at me,

As they’ve all come down for a picnic, and invaded our home by the sea.'

If we go in their homes they all panic and try to exterminate us,

But when they come here uninvited, we never can make a great fuss.

So when you go out for a picnic, where ever you do choose to roam,

Remember you've not been invited, it just maybe somebodies home.

 

Copyright Sis Unsworth

 

Len's Diary Excerpt (4) 1999

 

Len’s Diary ~ Balance III & IV ~ (04) 22/08/1999

By Len Morgan

A babbling cacophony of sound accompanied her litany of spells.

She stopped, but the noises continued.

“Quiet!” she hissed.  Only the rustling of autumn leaves broke the unnatural silence that enveloped that gloomy dank forbidding glade.

“Too late, we are too late!” she wailed in a voice tinged with anguish. “The boy has become a man, he will replace his mentor Anthrax.  The vacuum has been filled.  Aargh! My Lacyndra is with child?  It must not, cannot be.  I Kaladreel will not permit it!”

“Corbane, Pexey, come to me my pets,” she called in a solicitous singsong voice. 

She turned at a scampering in the bushes to her left.

“Come to me!” she commanded.

The two cat-like creatures scamper in vain to escape from her firm mind grip.  But, wild-eyed with terror the moth-eaten creatures, their fur standing on end, were inexorably drawn to her presence by the power of her will.

“You have work to do, the fruit shall wither on the vine.”

Reaching into her pouch she drew forth a shining black ring, placing it in a small porcelain bowl.  She dripped three steaming drops of a vile green fluid onto it.  The liquid bubbled and hissed as it was imbibed by the ring, turning it to silver.  Carefully, she attached the ring to Corbane’s collar, then drew them closer, hissing into their ears.

“Leave the ring by the pool of Eternity where Lacyndra can find it!  Guard it with your lives until it is in her hands.  Fail me and you will live forever in agony and damnation!”

She began to chant, and they felt themselves changing and being transported…

They became two small black kittens in timeless Paroddiz Vale.  The dawn chorus was in full voice.  They played with a large black feather, stalking & attacking it, edging slowly towards the small cottage garden hedged with honeysuckle, mimosa and roses.  Their sickly sweet perfume wafted towards them on a gentle breeze.  It carries their meowing and the sounds of their play to the cottage.

“Whose there?” came a soft feminine voice, followed by light footsteps.

“She’s coming…”  Pexey loosed the ring from Corbane’s collar, at the edge of the pool, and they scampered into the undergrowth to witness; meowing to lead her on…

There was a flutter of wings, the sky darkened, and a large black jackdaw landed and grasped the ring in its beak and spread its wings.  In desperation, Corban jumped on its back and Pexey grabbed its tail feathers with his teeth.  Jackdaw dragged Pexey into the water and with a loud caw dropped the ring into the pool.  Pexey dived after the ring.  It sank deeper and deeper.  As he grabbed it he was unceremoniously dragged from the water half-drowned.

“What have we here?” said the young woman.  Pexey gazed into her big dark eyes and shook the water from his fur.  Her bell-like laughter filled him with delight.

“Protect it with your life until it is in her hands,” a voice at the back of his mind warned, as he nuzzled up to her soft warm cheek, purring contentedly.

.-…-.

 Balance IV ~ 18/09/1999 

Water thundered down the mountainside.

The large blackbird faltered as it struggled to reach the thermals on the crest of the cliff.  It was dying from the effects of Kaladreels poison.

Corbane knew his survival depended on getting off its back as fast as possible, while it was still over water.  The bird started to spiral falling, falling, down towards the deep black pool at the base of the falls. Corbanes mount shuddered and cartwheeled; he dug his claws in but when the splash came he was thrown clear.  He sank deeper and deeper, the bone-chilling cold seeping into his bones the deeper he went into the pool filled with glacial melt. He saw the bottom coming up to meet him, but it slowed and stopped, then started to recede.  He rolled onto his back and watched the pale patch of light from above come closer and brighter…

He broke surface.  The thundering sound from the falls forcing him back to consciousness.  His limbs thrashed feebly, in a valiant attempt to reach solid ground.  Something solid and heavy rose beneath him, lifting him above the surface.  The suns rays warmed him, his dark fur absorbing the heat, he lay spread-eagled on the branch that had lifted him from certain death.

A young man stretched out with his crooked staff pulling the branch to the bank.  He picked up the bedraggled bundle of fur, noting it was trembling, and with satisfaction, he realised it was alive!  He carefully placed it in his green canvas pack and continued his journey.  Within minutes, the kitten was contentedly worrying a strip of dried beef jerky, that just happened to be sharing the pack…

 

 

FOOTPRINTS IN THE SAND 2

Peter Woodgate 

It was early in the morning as I walked along the beach

and saw two sets of footprints side by side,

a closer look showed one set slightly larger

and both would soon be covered by the tide.

Each footprint made was clear, precise, distinct,

for no other, than my own, was seen,

the sand was flat, swept smoothly by the sea

and all around the bay, the air serene.

I glanced again, each footprint seemed to glow,

definitive within the soft damp sands,

this image had me thinking wistfully,

had they been made by lovers holding hands?

The romance in me chose to think they had

and in that moment had me feeling gay,

but further on, one set of prints turned left toward the sea

and one toward the cliffs, the other way.

The smaller of the two disappeared beneath the waves

swallowed by the motion of the tide,

the other set of prints, that led up to the cliffs

stopped suddenly, it was only then I spied

a notice, it was a plea for information,

there had been an accident two days before,

it appeared a couple on the cliffs had argued,

the boy had fallen off, it said no more.

The girl, it seemed, had then just disappeared,

the police would want a statement before long

could I have told them what I thought had happened?

And would I have felt a fool if I’d been wrong?

 

They found her body washed up two days later,

the tragic loss drove her to suicide,

how then, could I have seen, their footprints when I did?

She’d walked into the sea the night he’d died.

Of course, I could not prove it was their footprints,

the sea just washes evidence away,

I have a feeling though, their tortured souls live on

to walk the sands and leave their prints each day.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate