NIGHT DREAMS  (Part 1 of 2)

by Richard Banks                 

                   

         Theo asks if I'm okay. The question is as repetitive as the dream and should be irritating; it is irritating. Of course I'm not okay but angry words will only make things worse. He switches on the bedside lamp and, with a towel, wipes the perspiration from my face.

     “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

     Each time I do he listens patiently, hoping, like me, that this time I will remember something new, something that will jog my memory, for the nightmare concerns the past, my past, of that I am certain. So here we go again: it is night, I am awake, looking out through a window into the red eyes of the gorgon that's come to destroy me. The creature is shrieking, screaming. It has opened the window and is climbing in.  There's no time to lose. If I am to survive I must get away through a closed door but there are bars that separate me from the door. I try to squeeze through them but they are too narrow, too high. The creature moves slowly across the floor, its black silhouette becoming larger until it looms over me. It brings a heavy blackness that falls down on me, choking me, snuffing out all semblance of light. I have only seconds to live. I start counting, knowing that by seven I will be dead. I reach six, scream, scream again, keep screaming. I'm awake.

     “And all this happens in the old house?” says Theo.

     I tell him, yes, but he knows I'm not sure. How can I be sure? I was only four when we moved to London.

     “And it's the old house that's on your birth certificate?”

     “Yes.”

     Theo has a plan but not one I am going to like. As I thought, it involves going back to Milsea. “Confront your demons,” he says.

     Prat! Who needs demons when you have a gorgon? But he's right of course. It makes sense to go back to the house, see what memories it brings back. Perhaps by just going there, the nightmare will stop. One thing I'm sure of is that if I don't get sorted, Theo will leave. It's only a matter of time; he wouldn't be the first.

    

                                                       **********

 

      We set off after breakfast. If nothing else it will be a day out by the sea. When we arrive the sun is shining which is just as well because Milsea is a mess. It's inner-city deprivation by the sea. The only good thing about the town is the sky above it. Thirty years ago it had a working port, now there are shut down places on every street. We park outside a boarded-up house.

     Theo has a map of the town he's downloaded from the net. We set off to find Linklater Street where the old house is, or was; who knows if it still exists. I'm half hoping it doesn't; then we find it, a grey brick Edwardian villa that's doing its level best to fit into the neighbourhood. It's dirty, the paint's peeling and there's fungus on the wall. Oh, joy! I look long and hard at the five steps leading up to the front door. Do I remember them? I think I do. The rest of the building I don't. It doesn't help that the house is now a boarding house, Panchos. The name's on the fanlight above the door.

     “Well​?” says Theo, “Any memories?”

     I remind him that I left here when I was four, that the house was different then. It must have been. Dad was a chartered surveyor; he would never have lived in a slum like this.

     “So, that was twenty years ago?”

     I say yes, except that it was twenty-three years ago; that's one secret I'm keeping to myself!

     Theo looks thoughtful. “That's not long after the port closed. Guess your Dad saw the way things were going and sold up while he could still get a decent offer.”

     “I guess so. Lord knows why he bought it in the first place. It's far too big for three people.”

     “And then there was one.”

     I say nothing, there's no need. We've been through all this before. Theo's a good listener. There's not much I haven't told him about the car crash in which Mum and Dad died and the twelve years I spent in foster homes. He knows I'm tensing up but keeps digging. “And no-one's ever said anything that explains what your dream is all about; the red eyes, the bars in the room, the gorgon. I mean, why a gorgon? That's something out of Greek mythology. How weird is that, but it must mean something.”

     “No doubt it does, but the something, whatever it is, goes back to when I was a small child. I don't remember what it is. How can I! Mum and Dad never said, and there's no one left who can tell me.”

     Theo says sorry, he didn't mean to upset me but I'm the one who should be sorry. I shouldn't have got uptight; he's only trying to help. He gives me a hug. We kiss. It doesn't matter that there's this man in a string vest leering at us from a first floor window; this is a moment I don't want to pass. Theo has similar thoughts. “Let's get a room,” he whispers.

     I think he's joking but he isn't.

       “What in this doss-house? You must be crazy!”

     He looks embarrassed and pretends that he only wants us to go inside so I can see where I used to live. “Isn't that what we came for?”

     It is, so in we go. There's a man in the office at the end of the hallway. If his name isn't Pancho it should be. He looks like a Mexican villain in a spaghetti western; greasy, swarthy and unshaven – all he's lacking is a sombrero. He seems surprised to see us. We don't fit in here. He knows it, so do we. 

     Theo asks if he has any vacant rooms. Pancho says he does. It will cost us £10 for the night. Even if we only want it for the afternoon it will still cost £10. If we want fresh sheets they will cost another £10. He recommends room twelve, it has a sea view and a door that locks. Theo gives the man a £20 note. I think he's expecting £10 back, instead, he's handed two sheets and a key.

     The room's on the second floor. When we get there we find a narrow corridor with four doors on either side. We're just in time for the cabaret. A couple are arguing, then it all kicks-off and they're shouting unsweet nothings at each other. A door at the far end bursts open and a girl, minus the clothes she arrived in, is pushed out into the corridor. The door slams shut behind her. My Sir Galahad is all for going to her aid but this girl don't need no saving. She pushes hard against the door and when that doesn't work she leans back and kicks it for all she's worth with the flat of her foot. The door jerks open and back in she goes.

     Theo is thoroughly turned on by this. He's in the mood big time. We might have new sheets but there's no time to spread them. No time for me to say no, but by now I'm not sure what I'm wanting to say. The bed we're on must be the noisiest in the hotel, if not the world, resting on the world's creakiest floor. Theo sounds like he's having an asthma attack and though I'm trying not to add to the racket I might just as well join in. Well, what the heck, we're only here for the day! Theo eventually brings proceedings to a conclusion, rolls across the narrow bed, teeters on the edge and disappears over the side with a resounding crash. The window rattles and a guy in the room below cheers and shouts out something I have no intention of repeating. Theo crawls back into bed. When he recovers his breath he asks me what I think about the room.

     I tell him that, “it goes up and down quite a lot.”

     “No, seriously,” he says, “do you recognise anything about it?”

     This is rather detracting from the afterglow I should be feeling, but I sit up and take careful note of all four walls. As walls go they seem very much of a muchness; covered in yellowing wood-chip, they are as unremarkable as the emulsioned ceiling. My attention shifts to the sash cord window with its view of the harbour. There's a balcony outside with a cast iron balustrade that goes from one end of the building to the other. Do I remember any of this? I'm not sure.

     Theo raps the wall on my side of the bed with his knuckles and declares it to be a stud wall, whatever that is. He thinks our room and the next one were once a much larger room that was divided into two when the house became a hotel. What else has changed, I wonder. Is there anything that's still the way it was?        

     Theo, however, is trying to stay positive. “Look,” he says, “we don't have to be out of the room until morning, so why don't we spend the night here.”

     “Why?” I ask. “Haven't you had enough excitement for one day?” 

     Theo's logical brain is working overtime. “Look,” he says, “all we know for certain is that your dream takes place in this building during the hours of darkness. If you dream what you do, here, tonight, what better chance is there of you remembering?”

     “And if I don't remember?”

     “Then at least we've tried.”

     So apparently there's nothing to lose unless we're murdered in our sleep. I agree, on two conditions: one, that he buys me dinner, and two, we don't come back here until at least 11pm.

     Theo retrieves his boxer shorts from the floor but is in no hurry to put them on. “It's only 3pm,” he says. “What are we going to do until dinner?” Two hours later we finally leave the hotel, under the watchful eye of Pancho, who gives Theo an approving nod; he knows a satisfied customer when he sees one.

[To be continued]

Copyright Richard Banks

 Banishing the Blues

By Len Morgan 

When I’m feeling down and low

I strum my guitar and sing

all the saddest songs I know

well, ain't that a funny thing?

I sing of those in trouble

or falling apart inside,

seem happy on the outside

because they still have their pride

Magic happens, all things change

The darkness will turn lighter

Heavy weights lift from my soul

The future looks much brighter

sadness changes into joy,

it needs the touch of a switch

then sloughs away like rainfall 

drains into a muddy ditch.

Changing all my lows to highs

setting all those wrongs to right

Just singing, all that sadness?

will banish it all from sight

Need a lift, inspiration?

Just you take this tip from me

leave the drugs and alcohol

Singalonga me, it's free!

 

Excellent guitar for sale £25 ono?

  The Watcher

By Janet Baldey

The moon lighting her way, she walked down the path towards him, her breath solid in the frosty air.  He’d been watching her for weeks. He knew where she came from, she came from the village every night and always at the same time – just after the sun had set. As she drew nearer to the thicket where he was hiding, his body stiffened and he held his breath. Concentrating on the track, she passed without glancing in his direction and he followed her progress as her figure dwindled. His eyes gleamed under his bushy eyebrows and he licked his lips in anticipation.

         Jane shivered and pulled her crimson scarf closer as the icy wind sliced into her cheeks. She looked up at the sky, there was a ring around the moon and at this time of the year, that meant snow. Alec had told her as much in his nightly telephone call.

         “Will you be going out tonight? I wish you wouldn’t. I don’t think it’s safe for you to be out in the dark without me. And, it’s bitterly cold. They’re forecasting snow.”

         “That’s why I have to go. I have to feed my animals; they depend on me. On a night like this, I could make all the difference to their survival.”

         “Your animals! They’re more likely to be some rich lawyer’s fat Labradors. Anyway, take great care and don’t forget your mobile.”

         Jane knew he was wrong. She was always very careful to scatter the food inside the wire fencing next to the beaten down patch of grass that signalled an animal run. No dog could get through there. All the same, she wished she could catch a glimpse of whatever was taking the food, it was always gone next morning, every scrap of it.

         She’d gone to the lobby and wound a thick woollen scarf around her head. As she buttoned her heavy coat, she realised she had left her ‘phone upstairs, with a shrug she’d turned towards the door.

         Her feet scrunched over the iron-hard ground. At the top of a rise, she paused and looked at the silver ribbon of path winding down the hill and towards the woods. Although it was hard to leave the warmth of her house, once out she enjoyed her nightly treks. The woods were dark and mysterious, anything could happen in their hidden depths. This feeling didn’t frighten her, on the contrary, she felt a pleasurable trickle of excitement crawl down her spine.

         As she started down the hill, still gazing into the distance, her feet slipped on a patch of loose scree, her ankle turned sharply and she screamed in agony as a bolt of pain flashed up her leg. Her arms pinwheeling, she crashed to the ground and rolled over and over, down the hill. As she reached the bottom, she smashed her head against a rock, her vision exploded in a shower of sparks and she tipped into unconsciousness.

         A few seconds later, it started to snow. Feathering down at first, it gradually increased in ferocity until the sky was white with whirling flakes. Very soon, the familiar fields were turned into an alien landscape, carved into strange geometrical shapes by the drifting snow. In the early hours of the morning, the storm passed, the clouds parted and diamond hard stars peeped out. Before long, the sheeted fields were covered with a thin crust of ice.

         Bo and Peep, two black Labradors, ran around in a circle, their barks splintering the silence. They buried their muzzles deep in the snow, taking great mouthfuls before lifting their heads and sending a cloud of frozen ice particles sparkling into the air.

         Their owners followed, more slowly.

         “Winter, at last,” said Maureen. Squinting against the orange rim of the rising sun she peered ahead. The Labradors had stopped and were sniffing at a mound of snow.

         “What have the dogs found?”

         They plodded on through the deep snow, the outline of their following footsteps showing up sharp and clear behind them. As they drew nearer, Maureen drew in her breath and grasped her husband’s arm, she had seen a flash of red and the shape seemed familiar.

         “Bernard, I think it’s a body!”

         With faces creased in anxiety, they stumbled towards the hummock of snow.

         “It’s a woman. Is she alive?”

         Bernard knelt beside the body and groped for a pulse. It was faint, but steady. He brushed away some of the snow and saw the twisted shape of the woman’s leg.

         “I think she’s broken her leg.”  He groped for his ‘phone.

         Maureen looked around. Apart from their own tracks, the snow around the woman was smoothed and unmarked. She frowned. It had started snowing at 7.30 last evening, she was certain of this, she always called the dogs in just before her favourite TV programme and they’d bounded in with sequins in their fur. She looked at Bernard.

         “Bernard. I think she must have been here all night. It’s been the coldest night for years. How did she survive?

         As if they were coming from a great distance, Jane heard their voices. Her eyelids fluttered and a smile curved her lips. She knew. It was her friend. During all of that long, cold night, she’d been drifting in and out of consciousness. In one of her more lucid moments, she’d become aware she was not alone. A heavy body was covering hers, its warmth protecting her from the sub-zero temperatures. A musky aroma had filled her nostrils and tentatively, she had stretched out a hand and felt coarse bristles. She’d closed her eyes then and drifted away.

         Crouched in his usual hiding place, the old boar badger watched as Jane was stretchered away to hospital. When the fields were quiet again, he got up and trundled away, the fur of his underbelly brushing the snow.

         It had been payback time.

Copyright Janet Baldey      

 

Cheilin Saga ~ 24

 Cheilin Saga ~ 24  1^st Day of the Games 

By Len Morgan 

Meredin marched at the head of the honour guard, going over the route again, looking for potential last minute hitches - material changes on the route that warranted further investigation.   At the intersection of ‘E1’ and ‘C20’ the route was blocked by the newly erected viewing stand, an hour past it had been a pile of wood and metal poles.   On the inauguration day of each series of Games, the stand was erected anew, the Emperor’s party would view the activities from above, and in turn, could be viewed by the populace.  

 “Troop halt!” his sergeant barked, “Easy… fall out!”

He sat in the shade of the temporary structure watching in fascination as the half-naked mahogany skinned erectors, acted as one, to create a stairway to the upper levels.   The truly amazing thing in his mind was the way they scurried about, barefoot on the skeletal framework, each intent on completing their own task knowing instinctively when to act and when to wait.   Each action was complex and dependent upon the timely execution of a series of others; each to be completed in its set order.   Just one step omitted would result in the whole fluid sequence of events grinding to a halt; speed was of the essence.  He watched the elaborate dance, with undisguised admiration, as it was enacted, at incredible speed, before him with not a word spoken.   He glanced at his troop and wondered how many commands they would require to duplicate it; doubting they would ever be able to do so.

Seeing the gaffer, with bundled plans crushed under his arm, Meredin walked over and stood beside him.   The gaffer acknowledged him with a nod.

“Sir, pardon my intrusion on your work, but I would ask a question of you,” he said.

“My work is done; it’s for them to act it out now Major.”

“How then do you convey your requirements to the workers up there?   I have watched and listened.   But for the regular beat of your drum, there are no commands issued by anyone.   So how do they know what to do and when?”

The gaffer rubbed his bristly chin and smiled.  

“Looking at them, what does it remind you of,” he said.

“A dance, a strange one I’ll grant, to the rhythm of a drum.”

“That is very perceptive; many would not even think to associate the drum with the work.   If you knew how many times they have erected this stand over the years, you would realise they can do it in their sleep or in pitch darkness.   There are twelve journeyman riggers aloft and six prentice riggers below who understudy them.”

“Understudy?”

 “They watch every move the riggers make until they can do it as well.   Each week they replace a different rigger, to extend their experience, and confidence.”

“But, there are twelve men aloft but only three prentices,” Meredin protested.

“No!   there are three prentices below and three above, while three journeymen are off duty.   I’ll wager five coppers you cannot pick two of the prentices as they work above” he said with pride.

Meredin looked long and hard, then shook his head,

“They are good for sure.   I can’t pick a one.   How do they remember so many jobs?”

“If you look carefully you will see there are three teams of four aloft.   Two prentices watch the moves of each team, so we have two supports for each team.   In case of accident, sickness, or if a man leaves, there is always a stand-in and a replacement.   It is a very demanding job but it pays well and there are queues of hopefuls waiting their chance on this team,” he said with pride.

“Mmm,” said Meredin, a seedling germinating in his mind.   He continued watching with renewed interest.

“Sir, the men are waiting,” said his sergeant patiently.   He hadn’t even heard them forming up.

Watch well men, see how they work as a team.   You may well be watching the future of  the Red Guard.”

On the beat or alternate beat, each team carried out a series of actions or moved to a new location.   It all worked like clockwork until one man dropped a tool.

“Ho!” he yelled and for one series of beats the teams did not move, while the man completed his activity, then the dance continued.

“That’ll cost him,” the gaffer remarked.

“Why so, you can hardly fine a man for the loss of half a minute, and the others should be grateful for the rest…”

“Ah you misunderstand,” he said with a smile, “It will be his companions he will have to pay.   It’s his fellows who will not allow him to forget, the ale they drink tonight will be paid for from his pocket, it will be a long time before he forgets that slip.   It’s a rare occurrence and now you know why,” he chuckled.

“Do you ever envy the freedom they enjoy, up there,” asked Meredin.

In answer, the man stood and limped towards him, “I was the best until my fall.”

.-…-. 

As the cavalcade formed up in readiness for the arrival of the royal party, Aldor saw a man he did not know, within stabbing distance of Dan.

“Who is that young man,” he asked.

“He is Hestor’s replacement, appointed by the high council, to act as his steward, secretary, advisor, and confidante,” said Tyse.

“How long has he been working in the palace?”

“About seven years in all, in low profile positions.”

“Are you sure about him Tyse.”

“As sure as I can be of an outsider.”    “I would be happier if Hestor were back.”

“You do not think Hestor is our man?” Aldor asked.

“I never liked the man, too stuffy and officious by far, but he is loyal and his interests have always coincided with those of the Emperor.

“So,” Aldor pushed.

“I don’t think the man capable of treachery, not at all.”

“Then we have work on our hands,” said Aldor, “if it is not Hestor we need to know who it is.”

“You would back my instincts?”

“I would be a fool if I did not.   The parade is about to leave, on who would you wager?   Quickly, man, all our lives are at stake” said Aldor.   The new secretary mayhap?   Or Zophira, what of my look alike?”

Tyse was silent. 

“Think on it long and hard,” Aldor said as he hurried away to see to the carriage.

.-…-. 

“Good day to you Aldor,” Dan’s greeting was light and friendly.   “Tell me how am I to be assassinated, and by whom?”

“The popular vote seems to favour my double to be your executioner.   But, a close second favourite seems to be a high profile concubine of one of the princes of your line…”

“Ah Zophira, such a creature never graced my bed.   It is unseemly to envy the young but one look at her…” his face broke into a distant smile, “it would almost be worth it, and certainly natural causes, that would let you off the hook eh my friend?”

“According to other sources your new steward cum secretary,” he gazed meaningfully at Raynor, sidestepping Dan’s jibe, “is a close third favourite,” said Aldor.

“No money on Hestor?” Dan asked somewhat surprised.

“The smart money says no.   He is far too loyal and incorruptible,” said Aldor, “most think he simply hasn’t got the stomach for it.”

“Then why did he desert me thus?”

“Mayhap he was not given a choice, but there is one other.   A veteran of your bodyguard disappeared for two weeks and cannot recall what happened during his absence.” Said Aldor.

“It doesn’t look as though I have much chance of survival,” said Dan,” if I banished Rhynor I would die of embarrassment; you know what my dress sense is like.   If I banish Zophira I alienate my dearest flesh and heir.   If she went, he would I am sure follow her wheresoe'er she led him; he is quite besotted with her.    Finally, I’m not absolutely certain your famous double even exists.   I think you are, in reality, the monster you have been portrayed as being.   So, let us hope it will be the long suffering Bector.   Mayhap we could put him painlessly out of his misery Eh?” Dan giggled in his characteristic manner to signify he was jesting.   “Those are the only candidates?”  He chided.

“Well yes, if you discount every corrupt official you have removed from office over the last six months and the families of those who have committed suicide over the same period.   Then of course there are mission cells from Bluttland who would replace you with…”

“Yes?   Pray continue, don’t stop there, I was just warming to your confidence and positive appraisal of my future or lack thereof,” said Dan.

“I think we can remove one from the list of candidates."

"Which leaves us with?”

“Mmm,” said Aldor.

“Well man, what say you?”

“At a guess, I would say about a quarter of the cities population,” Aldor replied.

“Thank the gods; I thought you were implying that my popularity is waning,” said Dan.

 

Aldor rose from his seat and headed towards the family quarters.

“You too?” said Dan sniffing at his armpits.   “You might have told me Rhynor,” he said with a wink.   Rhynor smiled, he liked this old man, for sure, life with Dan was never dull.

 

(To be continued)

By Len Morgan

 ADAM

Peter Woodgate 

Within the labyrinth of time

The world was ours both yours and mine

And with it came the waters deep

The mountains, and should we peep

Beyond this sphere a show of light

The sun by day, the moon by night.

What more then could a man desire?

Too late, you find with that small bite

The knowledge that condemns all to eternal fire

 

 

 

(Written 37 years ago with the belief that mankind’s

Cumulative knowledge would lead to the destruction of our planet)

Conundrum:

 Conundrum: What happened to £1?

The Riddler

Three friends went for a meal.  At the end of the evening, each contributed £10 to the bill which came to £25.  They gave the waiter a £2 tip and each received £1 change:

 

So: they’d each contributed £9.  ~  £9x3 = £27

                    They gave a Tip to the waiter £  2

                                                    Total = £29

                              The guys started with  £30 

                            So whose got the difference?

Drop your explanation into the comments section...

 

 MESSAGE FROM HELL

By Rosemary Clarke

I'm brought up here inside my sty
And all they want is for me to die
To face the fear and a machine
I wet myself, it is so mean.
Electrics stun us into submission
For on your plate's our body's mission
We live, not for love, but for food,
Life for us may be short, but good.
Would you see your children so?
I think that's a resounding ' NO!'
To see us all hanging there,
Do you really have no care?
We're trodden underfoot, like twigs.
Be kind to us, we're only pigs.
Don't we deserve a life as well
Instead of this horrific Hell?

Copyright Rosemary Clarke