tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48864789859320343542024-03-13T10:41:51.214-07:00The Mischievous Cat Told Stories...This is the blog page for UK animation artist Benedict Bowen's unedited short stories and ramblings. Warning; these stories might be pretentious or even terrible, but hopefully you'll get a kick out of them regardless... Comments welcome.Benedict E Bowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03708804727480380647noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886478985932034354.post-62870220949032129622015-09-01T15:35:00.002-07:002015-09-01T15:35:42.858-07:00Intruder<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Winded and gasping for breath, Jen mustered just enough strength to pull herself up, nails against the wall scratching downwards with enough force to fill the gap between them and her fingers with paint chips. Her head swam and her eyes wouldn’t focus, lazily swinging the stairs in front of her into a double-image.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">She knew she had hurt him. Somewhere behind her she heard a heavy breath as the stranger stirred and began to attempt to stand. The rail on the balcony above lay on the ground leading to the door to the back garden, splinters scattered on the carpet. She hadn’t thought - as the man had swung at her she simply leapt at him without question. Most would probably have turned and ran, but not Jenny. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">She felt a pain in her leg and looked down. A large splinter of wooden rail stuck out of it at a crazy right-angle. Then a groan sounded from the man behind her, starting her into action.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Forgetting the wood jutting out of her leg, Jen started to pull herself towards the back door. It should be unlocked, as she was heading back down to it when she caught the man with the bathroom door half-open, staring at her from under his hoodie. Splinters crunched under her trainers, her hands grasping for any assistance. The phone table wobbled under her weight.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The man would be rising now. She could hear the rustle of clothing against the door mat. A rasping intake of breath. Maybe a broken rib? Good.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Nearly there. Her head started to hurt. She looked up at the windows, dark to the outside. A stumble behind her, a curse.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The handle cold in her hand. The sound of boots on floorboard.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">- thump thump thump thUMP THUMP -</span></div>
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<span class="s1">A hand grabbed the back of her hair. A yell gathered in her throat, her eyes widened, a pull - a scream, maybe her own - the door handle slipping. Jenny fell backwards, the man turning away to drag her back into the house. She fumbled her hand down towards her leg and wrenched at the long splinter. Bits of wood wracked and rolled across her back as she was pulled once more to the stairway.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Pain as she wrenched the wood free. A scream as she raised it upwards and jabbed it into a soft wrist.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The hand let go. Jen rolled forwards, onto her hands and knees and scrabbled back towards the door. She turned briefly, seeing the black shape twist itself around, pulling at the ragged triangular shape jutting out just under its hand. The back door was close, but she rolled herself sideways and onto the freezing red clay tiles of the kitchen. Her vision was back but it was dark. No streetlights out here, she thought, wondering if whether the house was closer to town help would have arrived by now.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Think… think…</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Her mobile was in her bag. Other than the main phone, there was no way to contact anyone. And the man was in the hallway. It was just her and him. She had just rounded the cupboards behind the dining table when the man came into the room.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">He turned on the light. Her eyes hurt briefly as they flickered on, but the pain in her leg was much greater. She heard him enter the room, only a couple of steps. He was now hesitant. She could hear his breath, as no doubt he could hear hers. He was also wounded and more reticent, no doubt because she had entered the kitchen and probably had a weapon to hand. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">She wish she had thought of that.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">He coughed and took another step. Then another. Jen looked about, searching for something she could throw.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">She backed up against the living room door on her hands and knees and prepared herself. Only thing to do was to go for him again - he wouldn’t be expecting that. She grimaced in pain as her calf tensed. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The man rounded the corner, his eyes fixed on the thin trail of dust and splinters leading around it. His hood was off now. Young, heavy-set white guy, thick stubble, small blue eyes and lank hair. His furrowed brow uncreased as he looked up just as she pushed off against the door. Jen was late to notice the kitchen knife he held in his hand.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">She hit him hard. He was unable to raise it as she pushed him back and pinned him awkwardly and briefly across his back against a work surface. He let out a sharp cry of surprise as she then swiftly brought her knee upwards into his genitals and pulled away, turning back into the kitchen and letting him fall to his knees, the knife clattering onto the tiles. She turned and quickly ran across to the hallway, clutching at anything she could find to support her weak leg. Then she rounded the corner to the back door, just as the front one opened.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">“What the…”</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Another mans voice, older this time. She quickly raised her arm to pull her balaclava down as a light was turned on.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">“Who are you? Geoff?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Dad!”, came a cry from the kitchen.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Jen grabbed her bag with her other hand, reached in and pulled out her handgun. The older man flinched and stumbled back as she squeezed off a round, the wooden door frame shattering into pieces in his face. A woman behind him screamed as he fell backwards. Jenny fumbled with the door and wrenched it open, a final glance back at a shocked wife’s face. The son gave another cry from the kitchen. She hauled at the heavy bag, a prize well earned, lugged it over one shoulder and fled into the cold night air.</span></div>
Benedict E Bowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03708804727480380647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886478985932034354.post-11187921897630939182011-12-06T14:07:00.000-08:002012-09-04T15:19:08.556-07:00The Demon On The HillI retired from London soon after the fatal accident that took them from me, as I needed time to be on my own, come to terms with my grief and to bury myself in my writing. I do not remember the journey to the mansion where I used to spend long, hot summers with my wife and child, so deep I was in internal reflection. Yet I found myself one dreary early December noon standing alone outside on the wet gravel drive that lead up to its grey stone facade. <br />
<br />
The wind had an early winter chill in the air, so I pulled my great coat close-to and hurried up to the front door. Finding myself standing in the entrance hall, I found it cold and uninviting, with a lingering smell of damp. The house appeared to be in quite the abysmal state. The staff had clearly not given the house the cleaning it had required in some weeks, if not months. <br />
<br />
Had it been that long? It struck me that I had forgotten my own affairs, perhaps even forgetting to pay them. I made a mental note to rectify the situation, as it was too late to raise attention to it, then went to the drawing room to set about lighting a fire. <br />
<br />
After this was done, I sat down in a dusty leather chair, still wearing my outdoor attire which seemed to offer no avail against my frozen abode, and watched the flames dance in the hearth. My writing arm throbbed with a dull ache that I recalled had been unremittingly persistent on my journey, so I rubbed it keenly, my thoughts turning to trivial matters. <br />
<br />
It occurred to me that I had not brought any luggage with me, mistakenly believing that I had clothing in the house for just an occasion. Of course, this was a summer house, so anything I'd had left previously would be woefully inadequate for the weather. There should be plenty of food in the storage area, but the general upkeep of the place gave me some cause for concern as to what I would find.<br />
<br />
That said, if I had to live with what was in the cupboards, however meagre, then so be it - I wasn't hungry. The village shop would be open the next day if needs be. I spent a short time watching the fire die down, allowing myself to doze a while. My dreams were full of imagery I'd hoped to forget. Her face, her scent, the sound of my daughters voice. It always comes back. Then my mind would roll over into darkness once again and all I could recall was the screaming of horses, the clatter of wood, pale faces and the metallic taste of blood.<br />
<br />
I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and turned my mind to plans for the night ahead. Before I had set out, I had elected to spend my evenings writing. There were things, important things, that I had to write down and with each passing day they ebbed away. So I trudged to the back of the house and walked into my study, which was in the same state as I'd left it some months prior only now coated with a thick layer of dust. <br />
<br />
Wandering over to my desk, I removed my coat and slung it around the back of my chair before sitting down. The leather rests were chilled and uncomfortable, but it would soon warm up. Opening a drawer, I found it contained enough ink and paper to keep me happy, or at least approximately so, for a good long while. So, I sat down and set to making my preparations, the physical pain of my arm and the cold put aside to allow for the anaesthesia of creation, and as I began my scribbling I allowed all mortal concerns to fade away. Hunger and cold be damned. The pain in my arm be damned. <br />
<br />
At least two hours passed before I allowed myself to look up. I had fervently written several thousand words by this point, my nib scratching at the paper as it raced across each page. I could not say for certain if each sentence was particularly satisfying, as pleasing my more finicky creative side was not my intent. Usually I did not want to look back, but to progress, move on, then do the editing when the final story is laid bare on the page. Only in this case, I wasn't writing a story. More... a confession. I leant back and allowed the pain in my arm to rush back, put my pen down and took a breath.<br />
<br />
Looking up, my eyes wandered to the window and the wild darkness outside. A gust of wind rattled the glass squares in their wooden frame and I gave a shiver, my attention settling on the hill that rose beyond the garden. It cut through the horizon; a curved knife edge, ragged soil rent asunder by the farmers heavy plough. The sky still held some light, clouds glowing a dark blue as they gusted quickly over the ridge. And there, a figure. I sat up, startled. I hadn't expected to see anyone braving the weather on a night like this. It struck me as odd, as it was hardly the sort of evening to take a walk - if anything, it was the sort of evening that would mean you would catch the most damnable chill, if not even death.<br />
<br />
I stood and slung my greatcoat back on, as my consciousness had returned from its internal fantasy and the chill of the mansion now clung to me. Putting on my eye glasses I paced around the desk toward the window to take a closer look at the silhouette beyond. <br />
<br />
The glass was not perfect in my country retreat. Each square had an imperfection that flung the world beyond into a distorted spasm like a defective lens. I leant to one, my nose pressed up against the pane, to take a closer look at the lonely figure above. Scrunching up my eyes, I nearly came to the conclusion that I was mistaken and I had taken a gnarled, weather-worn tree for a person. But as the image swam before me, in and out of focus as my vision danced across the warped glass, I made out a tall figure wrapped in ragged cloth, with what appeared to be deer horns jutting sharply out of its head. <br />
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Startled, I jumped away from the window. Glancing about in distraction, putting my hand to my mouth, my mind whirled as a cold pit dropped in my stomach. Disbelieving, I looked again. The figure stood on the curve of churned black soil, clouds swirling about it, the very image of something from Dante's darkest poetry. And worse... ... I swore I could feel it looking at me. <br />
<br />
I stumbled back into the edge of my desk. The feeling was almost indescribable. The terrible apparition had reached its alien will toward me, and an overwhelming urge struck me like a wave to step out into the dark and join it up on that cold, lonely ridge. <br />
<br />
Resisting, I left my drawing room and hurried downstairs to the other side of the mansion, away from the creature to the front of the house where I had arrived that afternoon. The corridor was dark and barely illuminated through the small window above the entrance. Clutching the catch at the door, I stood at the exit, ready to throw it open and run down to the village for aid. <br />
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But instead, I held myself in check and turned to look back, past the stairs to the back door. My body was racked with a revulsion to the entity but my mind could not remove itself from it. My muscles were taut, willing me to open the door and flee as fast as I could muster back down to my neighbours beyond. But I could not shake the feeling that destiny was calling me to take my chances and confront the demonic presence, whatever the outcome. <br />
<br />
I thought hard. Around me the house shifted and creaked. Cold air crawled through the gaps in around the door. The corridor was wreathed in shadow and I felt the entire house retracting from the chill wind outside. The rear exit stood at the end of the corridor, a blank grey rectangle, pulling me towards it. Releasing the catch, I took several faltering steps; then relented, speeding to the rear door and flinging it wide. Wind rushed against my face and through my hair, the garden, devoid of life, stretching out before me, brought to life by the rush of the last dead leaves torn from the complaining autumn trees.<br />
<br />
And there the sentinel stood, high up on its cruel mountain, horns piercing the sky, ruined cloak streaming in the gale. <br />
<br />
I pushed against the wind and down the stone steps to the garden, pulling up the lapels of my coat, hand shielding my eyes from the weather. The smooth soles of my leather shoes slipped on the wet grass, once vibrant in the summer and now a sickly green-grey. I pressed on to the bushes between the garden and the field, forcing my way through them, cursing as my coat tore across the grasping twigs that clawed against it. Then up and over the fence, my right arm complaining once again, and onto the rocky, jagged earth behind, being careful not to lose my footing in fear of breaking an ankle. <br />
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Then began the climb. The hill stretched before me, reaching up into the tempestuous, roiling clouds. The figure was closer now and although I could see no detail, I started to gain an impression of its size. It was tall, taller than any gentleman or soldier I had ever known, and stood proud against the winds that lashed at it mercilessly. I gathered an impression of a figure of great physical power and strength. <br />
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I continued my climb, pulling my thick woollen coat closer-to. My glasses were now flecked with rain and wore down heavy and cold on my nose, my beard only just affording me some warmth. One would have seemed quite a sight to an observer, my unkempt red hair streaming behind me, my trousers stained from the dark earth as I awkwardly made my way up the ever-increasing aspect of the hill, occasionally failing to stop myself stumbling to my knees. <br />
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I looked up. Closer now, my fears were confirmed. The creature was certainly no man. I could see now that the dirty rags were in fact a heavy, torn cloak swathed around a slender yet powerful frame. It appeared to be wearing some form of ornate, black leather armour, a figure torn from some surreal historical battleground. Its arms and hands were covered in sinewy, metallic gauntlets and its feet were wrapped in similarly adorned greaves. A long helmet elongated its head into a bullet-shape, itself finely patterned. From that the antlers sprouted through it, as if grown from temples of the beast itself. It was huge, at least fifteen feet tall, and a terrible apparition to behold. Fear clutched at my breast.<br />
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I drew near and balanced myself. The creature turned its head and gazed down at me. I could not see eyes, but I could feel its attention.<br />
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<b> Speak.</b><br />
<br />
The voice boomed inside my skull, as weathered and old as the rocks the hill was built on, the sound of the plates of the earth grinding together in the back of my mind. The impact of it nearly knocked me off my feet and my head ached from a great stress. My eyesight briefly spotted black with the shock of a sudden migraine, for the beast had not spoken to me, but into me. <br />
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I croaked a greeting in return, but whether I actually spoke a coherent word I could not say. I was completely frozen in fear, a fawn facing a hunters rifle, legs shaking and body racked with cold. I was scared I was going to faint there and then onto the hard earth, possibly to never wake up again. My arm ached again with a dull throb, a painful reminder that what I was witnessing was all too real.<br />
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The creature shifted its weight and I could feel the black metal boots grind down into the mass of earth and stone below it. It didn't so much stand on the hill as inhabit it as part of nature itself. I coughed, looked up, then was surprised to hear my own reedy voice.<br />
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"Are you... are you a demon?"<br />
<br />
It was all I could muster. It seemed so weak, so obvious, but I felt lucky to be able to command any sort of speech at all. The creature stood silent. It struck me that it was thinking. Then, again, it spoke, and I felt the sick feeling at the back of my skull once more as the low, granite tones racked slowly through my brain.<br />
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<b> Demon. I have been called that.</b><br />
<br />
I allowed myself a second of composure.<br />
<br />
"Wh... why have you... come f-for me?"<br />
<br />
The demon threw its head back and laughed. The force of it in my mind pushed me to my knees, hands falling down into the mud and grit, my head weighed by internal pressure. As suddenly as it began, it stopped and I looked up to see the figure once more regarding me in stony silence. After a moment, it lifted its head and appeared to be looking down into the valley. I traced its gaze and twisted myself back to see what it was regarding. Beyond my mansion, back across the gravel drive, through a copse and to the cluster of grey slate rooves that huddled together against the elements. Soft orange light from the windows betrayed the life within, as did the tall chimneys that streamed thin smudges of smoke that were pulled thin with the wind.<br />
<br />
<b> I watch the village. </b><br />
<br />
The voice still rattled the inside of my skull but had now turned gentle. I turned back to look at it over my shoulder. <br />
<br />
<b>Understand I am not the judge, nor the executioner. I am the collector. </b><br />
<br />
"Collector?"<br />
<br />
The beast raised a hand and pointed down into the valley. When they are ready, I will lead them to where they must go. It turned its gaze back to me. I am not the only one. I struggled back up to my feet and balanced myself, sick and weary, head pounding. The demon looked down from on high, the wind whistling across its armour, the ribboned cloak waving against the clouds. <br />
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<b>I am yours.</b><br />
<br />
"M... mine." <br />
<br />
You remember. I steadied myself as my mind raced in confusion. Then, looking down at my hands that were thick with black soil, something released itself from the darkest recess of my consciousness. Raising them to my face, I leant to them and breathed in deeply. The damp, warm, almost metallic smell of earth. I recalled the taste of it, mixed in with blood. Gravel against my face, ground into my top lip. My arm bent back. Immediately I was struck with a sharp pain where the dull throb haunted me. <br />
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Staggering, I held my forearm and steadied myself.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>You remember.</b><br />
<br />
I looked once more at the implacable, featureless mask of the demon. It nodded. Turning back to my sleeve, I took a breath and pulled it back. There was no blood, but my arm looked as if something had taken a bite out of it. An arc of grey flesh had been torn up to the bone. <br />
<br />
“No...” <br />
<br />
I heard myself as if I were at the other end of a vast tunnel. My wife, pulling me from the wreckage, my daughter clinging to my breast. I screwed up my face and began to sob, dropping again to my knees, clutching the distorted ruin of my arm.<br />
<br />
The anguish wracked my body as the reality of my situation hit me. The storm clouds above raced ever fast, the rain drove harder, the creature itself seemed to grow taller, to dominate all around it. Never in my life had I felt such misery and as I sunk further in, the more oppressive the beast and landscape became. <br />
<br />
But what could I do, outside of accept the situation? What's done is done, in the eyes of God.<br />
<br />
Resolve returned to me, slowly. My breath slowed and I could feel my brow knit as I attempted to regain myself. <br />
<br />
I raised my head back to the creature.<br />
<br />
"How long has it been?" <br />
<br />
<b>It is not for me to know. </b><br />
<br />
Slowly I stood once more. My fear began to ebb away and as it did, I realised that the sky had begun to lighten. I looked again at the valley below. The storm clouds had gone and it was morning. The sun streamed down from behind me, casting my shadow long across the tilled earth.<br />
<br />
Holding my arm up, I saw that the terrible injury had disappeared. I couldn't do anything but bring myself to smile. Then I felt something step to my side, and I turned. <br />
<br />
It was the creature, still standing tall, the same pointed helmet, the same antlers reaching out into the sky, but now without its ferocious aspect. Instead it looked elegant, beautiful. I could see the ornate detail in its leather armour, the horns were covered with a green moss and through the slits in the helm golden eyes regarded me with a gentle concern. The robe wasn't torn, but ribboned. A slender arm reached out, hand open. <br />
<br />
<b>We leave when you are ready.</b><br />
<br />
The voice no longer hurt me. I turned back to the mansion. At the study window I could see a pale face staring back. <br />
<br />
It was her.<br />
<br />
* * *<br />
<br />
As she gazed up at the grave on the hill, she thought she could see two figures. The light from the morning sun made it difficult to see, so she raised a hand against it and squinted. The tall gravestone stood against the light, yet there was no-one standing on the ridge. Despite herself, she felt someone looking back at her. Yet it wasn't an unpleasant feeling; rather, she felt at ease, at peace. Possibly for the first time since... <br />
<br />
The sound of her daughter playing in the corridor called to her attention. She called out to her, then peered once more through the square panes of glass. All she could see was his grave. The feeling of peace remained yet the presence had disappeared. Her thoughts were always with him. Always. Yet until now she'd always felt as if he'd left this earth without the opportunity to bid her farewell. <br />
<br />
Now, she felt something akin to release.<br />
<br />
The thought made her giddy, so she sat back down into his old leather armchair holding her head. As she did so, her other hand fell to the table and onto a set of papers. Regaining her senses, she looked at them puzzled. Were they there when she moved back for the summer? She couldn't say...<br />
<br />
Taking them up, she began to read. She smiled forlornly, and as she did so, she began to cry.<br />
<br />
ENDBenedict E Bowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03708804727480380647noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886478985932034354.post-60067628478445186052011-04-26T12:40:00.000-07:002011-12-09T01:22:52.738-08:00A BeginningDespite being hunted, he decided to take some rest before they eventually caught up with him.<br />
<br />
There wasn't much use in continuing further, they were fast and he didn't have much time. His heart thumped, bones clicked, muscles were tight and painful to move, and his sight was rendered a blur by the throbbing in his temple. Taking off his backpack, purple bruises across his shoulders revealed the toll the weight of his burden inflicted on his body. It hurt even to sit, let alone think about gathering kindle for a fire to burn. Fine... the only fire tonight will be one last cigarette.<br />
<br />
He was certain it was only a matter of time before they finally caught up, and he was certain that his death would be long and drawn-out if he was to die by their hands. It wasn't his smoking that was going to kill him.<br />
<br />
The air was cold and the dew on the grass had started to freeze, but that didn't stop it from seeping into his jeans as he sat.<br />
<br />
God, I've never been this tired.<br />
<br />
The dark was illuminated briefly by the flash of his lighter. The glowing orange dot of the burning end of his cigarette would surely give him away, but he was kind of past caring by now. He'd chosen a spot high up on a rocky outcrop, looking down over a sheer drop over the pine forest that stretched down into a valley before him. Jagged mountains beyond clawed at the sky, the small, pale blue moon flickering in and out of sight as heavy cloud raced across it.<br />
<br />
Funny, I could swear I was still on Earth.<br />
<br />
Their obsession with his home was as amusing as it was now frightening. He'd been stupid.<br />
<br />
It hurt to take in the cigarette, his lungs still burning from the last twelve-or-so mile run, but the kick from the nicotine and the familiar taste made him feel just a little better.<br />
<br />
The warmth of the smoke made him acutely aware of how cold he actually was, and he gave a shiver. His vest clung to his body as sweat seeped through. Much as the rest was needed, it certainly wasn't going to do him any good to catch a cold, so he leant over his backpack to grab his hoodie. As he unclicked the plastic clips and threw it over, his eyes cast over the plastic-wrapped package that had got him into all this trouble. He lay a hand on it. Still slightly warm. But no movement.<br />
<br />
The hoodie was at least some comfort and he gave himself an internal pat-on-the-back for being well-prepared. He pulled the zip up to his neck, picked up his cigarette and lay against a rock to wait.<br />
It's funny, I figured when I knew my death was coming I'd reminisce more. Make mental notes on where I went wrong, what I could've changed. Something. Instead, here I am thinking about how sodding hungry I am. <br />
<br />
Is it possible to be too tired for regrets?<br />
<br />
He wasn't sure how long he'd been lying there before they finally arrived. He couldn't even recall what he'd been thinking about for that time. He felt mentally prepared, however, and as far as he could see, that was pretty much all that mattered at this juncture.<br />
<br />
A snapping noise in the undergrowth behind caught his attention, and as he turned his pursuers revealed themselves. Small, yet lithe bodies with figure-hugging black catsuits. Those strange, moulded helmets with the luminous wires. The dangling threads where a mouth should be. Their gentle movements reminded them of cats, all grace and tightly-wound tension.<br />
<br />
He made a start to get up, and the lead put up a hand for the others to stop. <br />
<br />
"I'm suprised you didn't catch up with me hours ago."<br />
<br />
He stood and gave a stretch. The cigarette was basically a stub now and had gone out a while ago, but he kept it in his mouth. A funny thought about how impure it must seem to them crossed his mind, how it must seem like some kind of insult. The lead spoke. Or rather, it hissed. The helmet spoke for it.<br />
<br />
"We are suprised at how fast you could move, considering..."<br />
<br />
"... considering I'm a human? C'mon, give me more credit than that."<br />
<br />
He gave a little dismissive wave and turned his back to them. Maybe his nonchalence unnerved them. He half-expected to be lept at there and then, but he figured he knew he was cornered and maybe ready to do something desperate. If that's what they were thinking, they were at least half-right. Truth was he wasn't even sure what he was going to do. In the mad rush to steal the package from right under them, the instant decision to do so, forward-planning hadn't figured into it.<br />
<br />
"Why did you do it, Hartman?"<br />
<br />
He tensed visibly and half-turned back to them.<br />
<br />
"I'm pretty sure you know why."<br />
<br />
"Do you feel that your kind have to know?"<br />
<br />
Hartman put a hand to a shoulder and rotated it, grimacing as it clicked. In the corner of his eye he noticed that despite the order to stop, the other two had moved slowly to either side of him, trapping him on the edge of the drop.<br />
<br />
"Strange question."<br />
<br />
He spat the stub out and reached into his pocket for another cigarette. The leader gestured.<br />
<br />
"I will never understand your need for those things."<br />
<br />
"What doesn't kill you... you know, that old human adage."<br />
<br />
"Is it giving you strength now, Hartman?"<br />
<br />
"It's certainly helping me forget a few things, that's for sure."<br />
<br />
He reached down for the backpack. Behind him, his pursuer tensed and looked to the others.<br />
<br />
"Have you... done anything to it, Hartman?"<br />
<br />
He hefted the backpack up onto one shoulder. Christ, it hurt to do so. The two beings to either side of him affected a crouched stance. Not long now before they make their move. He smiled and patted his charge.<br />
<br />
"Don't worry, I'm taking good care of your baby."<br />
<br />
"Sarcasm."<br />
<br />
Hartman took another drag, and eyed the lead. Those damn helmets. You couldn't tell what they were thinking, ever. For us, everything was there. You could lie, but they always knew. They'd studied us intensely for centuries. But their understanding of emotion was somewhat... autistic, in a sense. They didn't really know, all they were doing was reading. They would react to, say, a joke, but the laughter was always hollow.<br />
<br />
"Good to see this little run's kept you sharp, Rith."<br />
<br />
He backed up to the edge.<br />
<br />
"We are going to kill you, Hartman. It's not going to be pleasant." <br />
<br />
"Hm. No shit."<br />
<br />
He let go of a long breath of smoke into the cold air. He was lucky that they weren't carrying any weapons. He couldn't take them, though. Short as they were, they were powerful. One? Maybe. Three? Suicide.<br />
<br />
Suicide.<br />
<br />
"The only way your people will learn by your mistake, is by making an example of you. I hope you won't take it personally."<br />
<br />
He sensed the figure to his left tense up.<br />
<br />
"Well, you'll have to catch me first, Rith."<br />
<br />
And with that, he fell back, over the drop and into uncertainty. He felt a glancing blow as his vision rolled up towards the heavens as the one on his left lept for him, but he knew it had missed. As his eyes rolled back down, he saw the screaming figure flailing beside him, the rocky incline filling his vision as it raced up into the sky as they both fell. The black-clad creature smashed against a rock, its body breaking, arms crooked and contorted. Its head thudded with a dull crack and the screaming stopped, the mask ripped off its face. He could just about see its orange eyes and ridged face before the world went black.<br />
<br />
In his dream, he continued to fall. Invisible shapes rushed by in the darkness. He could hear nothing but the roar of the wind.<br />
<br />
Then, cold.<br />
<br />
No... wet.<br />
<br />
Cold and wet.<br />
<br />
He blinked. Still dark. Then spluttered. The agony racked at him as he lurched onto his side and vomited water from his lungs. His fingers scrabbled at his face, wiping away sand and grit. His vision cleared and through the pain he could see he was next to a river. The backpack lay a few meters away.<br />
<br />
He twisted himself onto his back again then fumbled for his pocket.<br />
<br />
Shit. My cigarettes.<br />
<br />
He let out a mad, uncontrolled burst of laughter at the absurdity of it all, then rolled back onto his side and pulled himself up. If it was painful before, it was nearly impossible now. His arms were lashed and he was bleeding. It looked bad but it seemed superficial. His ankle hurt with a mild sprain. He gave it a test, found it could bear weight, then hobbled over to the backpack, falling to his knees before it. Without opening it, he reached in.<br />
<br />
Warmth. Then, movement. Almost imperceptible. Good... it wasn't dead. Not yet, anyway. But it wasn't going to live long on sheer luck. And neither was he. He was still being tracked, had no idea how long he was out, nor knew where he was. <br />
<br />
He reached into the backpack and pulled out a smushed, but still edible, chocolate bar, stuck it between his teeth and hauled the backpack up. A sickening jolt of pain shot up from his bad ankle, but it was just about managable. He was pretty sure his body was starting to get used to the abuse.<br />
<br />
He glanced up and about at the pine tree's lining the silted shore, picked a direction which, as far as he could figure, would lead as far the hell away from the facility as possible, and slowly, painfully, began to walk.<br />
<br />
***Benedict E Bowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03708804727480380647noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886478985932034354.post-39614400917105982952011-01-31T16:05:00.000-08:002015-09-01T15:45:45.606-07:00PortalsWhen the portals came, the world changed.<br />
<br />
In their millions, barely visible to the eye, they appeared simultaneously across every border. Some were in the air, some were on land, some were underwater. Many were found stuck halfway in the ground, some were even underneath it. All had roughly the same shape and appearance, a spherical tear forming a transparent rupture in the air, and each portal linked to another somewhere on the planet, seemingly at random. One on the ground might lead to the edge of the atmosphere, another in a street during the day could take you to the top of a skyscraper at night in another part of the world. <br />
<br />
Millions of people were killed and injured on the 15/3/2019. Firstly, despite not visibly leading anywhere, the pressure difference on either side of the portals when they popped into existence meant anything nearby was either violently sucked through as if into a vaccuum or exploded outwards. A bus in London and several vehicles, whilst not immediately destroyed, were pulled through a twenty-meter rupture that opened up on a busy junction. The portal lead to another a few meters off of a peak in the Andes, where the UK residents were shot out with force over a glacier. Only one survived, who days later somehow managed to make it down to a village below, miraculously contending not only with the below-zero conditions and rough terrain but also other holes that had opened up around the side of the mountain.<br />
<br />
Busy cities found themselves brought to an immediate standstill. Thousands of American citizens were killed by a large portal that opened up in central New York, bringing with it a massive explosion of deep ocean water. Several buildings were toppled by the force and many survivors found themselves in the swirling waters of the bay, where several smaller fissures had formed whirlpools.<br />
<br />
Some were lucky to escape, most were drowned or sucked under to either die or find themselves coughing up water on a lonely pacific reef island.<br />
<br />
Airline pilots suddenly found themselves struggling to control planes as portals opened up in the sky. The gulf stream was broken up in several places, forming massive eddies across the globe. Whilst many died as planes fell out of the sky or were sucked literally into the oceans and rocks below, one Airbus A30 pilot managed to land despite flying immediate into a portal in Argentina on its arrival and being flung into the upper atmosphere somewhere above Canada. That he didn't manage to collide with further portals, which fortunately for many pilots had a physical presence on radar, was considered a miracle.<br />
<br />
The immediate change was geographic. Different climates, pressures, and atmospheres all being slammed together, without rhyme or reason. lead to biblical flooding and chaotic weather patterns. This wasn't to settle for many years to come. Towns and villages disappeared or were destroyed and all major cities were left in disarray. In some parts of the globe, even topography was changed. One rural area in China was completely wiped out as Saharan sand poured through in vast quantities, leaving a hole in eastern Morocco. Whereas a vast swathe of Australian desert was covered in snow overnight from a portal in a remote part of Alaska.<br />
<br />
Some countries were fortunate enough to initially survive with some form of governence intact. Usually these were in places where the infrastructure was still running, where power stations were still working and communication lines miraculously not cut off. The portals only existed in the bounds of the earths atmosphere, so satellites were still working. However despite this, global telecommunications was for a period of weeks brought to a near-standstill as huge electromagnetic storms washed over both hemispheres.<br />
<br />
By some outrageous fortune, the internet managed to stay functional for many places. Initially some thought that it was saved by undersea cables being laid below a line where the portals seemed to cease. It was also pure luck that the American servers keeping it running hadn't been affected by a blackout.<br />
<br />
However, national, let alone international governance, was proving near enough impossible. Many cities descended into chaos as humans fought for survival beyond the initial impact of the portals. Smaller, regional governance was hanging by a thread in areas across the globe where communcations were intact and through this many pulled together. Some were lucky enough to have contact with central government. Several South American countries reliant on less high-tech forms of communication and more prepared for natural disasters were the first. The Chinese were the first superpower to manage to put together some kind of order, closely followed by the States. <br />
<br />
Yet on top of the immediate impact on locals, there was also the problem of disparate communities suddenly being thrown together. As an example, a group of indiginous Philipino tribesmen found themselves wandering around the chaos streets of Krakow. Fortunately they were taken in by the withered local authorities before they came to any harm. Elsewhere a regiment of North Korean troops on an armed exercise outside of Pyonyang were collectively dumped outside a central Tokyo police station resulting in a standoff where many were killed.<br />
<br />
Yet even as people were being brought together, the atmospheric changes the portals brought began to wreak further havoc. Massive storms and tornadoes came down globally as pressure fronts changed and many millions more were killed. The weather couldn't normalise, wind patterns irrevocably changed, bringing north and south together. It would eventually settle into pattern but global temperatures rose for several years before reaching a plateau. As the ice caps shrunk further and glaciers formed elsewhere, there was more flooding.<br />
<br />
But as if nature working against humanity wasn't enough, there were further clashes as ideologies came together. China, Russia and the US, even though many areas within each were quickly developing stable social structures, couldn't stop bloody battles for resources that broke out around various interconnected portals. It was considered fortunate that all-out war was near-enough impossible and doubly so that many countries weren't as nuclear capable as had been previously made out. The worst hit were areas where religious ideologies came crashing head to head.<br />
The portals, it must be noted, didn't bring about the apocalypse. Many areas of the globe were brought underwater and some places became a general no-go, but life on earth somehow clung on, even if many species of plant and animal life were to be made extinct. <br />
<br />
After the decades of disease and death, those societies that had organised themselves through the years globally finally managed to cope with the initial catastrophic changes. Efforts were made by groups of organised scientists in the more functional areas of human society to figure out solutions to the continuing crisis. A back-to-basics approach was figured out and self-sustenance was one of them. Portals started to be mapped. To begin with this itself brought problems of organisation and, again, violent confrontation. Some parts of humanity started to block portals off from others, in others new alliances were forged. A great population movement began into areas less affected by the ruptures. Humanity begun anew its battle with itself, only now the borders were less invisible lines on a map and more invisible shapes in the sky.<br />
<br />
As you would expect, eventually there came the question of what brought the portals. The question of whether it was a cruel intelligence, or a natural occurence - or maybe final proof of the existence of some spiritual entity. The portals became the subject of intense scientific and theological scrutiny. Whilst their cause was never categorically discovered, eventually a portal in the Causcaus was settled on as a clue. <br />
<br />
Like many other fissures, there were local tales told of people and animals that had wandered in and had never come out, so it had been avoided on the assumption that death had awaited in some form on the other side. However, one day a man, driven to suicide by the death of his wife, somehow managed to get past the men guarding it and run into the portal. As he disappeared, a guard pulled his hand and forced him back down to the ground. <br />
<br />
Before he died, skin red raw and gasping for air, his last word was - "...beautiful."<br />
<br />
A team of scientists, arriving days later, sent through a robotic exploration vehicle similar to those used many years ago prior on Mars, bringing back pictures of an alien vista beyond. There lay a flat, rocky plane, massive organic forms silhouetted on a twisted horizon reached into a swirling green sky that crackled with lightning. When they turned the device back to view the portal itself, it was shown to be held in place by a black device, that on testing was revealed to be made out of some forged metal alloy. It stood against thousands of others that spread out to either side for what seemed like miles.<br />
<br />
Further tests showed that the device was keeping the poisoned atmosphere of the world beyond out from ours. Yet before anything else could be deduced, the robot seemed to short something on the mysterious creation and the portal blinked out, along with every other portal on the planet.<br />
<br />
In the years of ensuing chaos caused as they snapped shut, the alien portal was forgotten. But the portals themselves became forever embedded in the Earth's history, changing what we knew and understood about the universe forever.Benedict E Bowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03708804727480380647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886478985932034354.post-44766715488140868402009-08-27T13:52:00.001-07:002011-12-09T01:24:47.681-08:00SplinterThe sun bore down on the sandy concrete, dust blowing up from the wind that casually swept through the narrow buildings bringing a respite to the midsummer heat. A young girl, no older than maybe seven or eight, ran along the strip of shade cast down from the houses, smiling brightly to herself. Her feet skittered lightly, the patter of her sandles echoing on the bare walls, one hand trailing across the cool brick to keep her balance.<br />
<br />
Her face shone, her happy eyes wandering around the road looking for a new toy for her imagination to bring to life. Boredom had given away to exploration that afternoon and she was determined to eke some fun whilst her mother did the chores.<br />
<br />
She came to a junction where the alleys flowed into eachother, and stopped to reach into a bag she was carrying for an old plastic bottle full of water. She unscrewed the cap and gulped some down, scowling briefly at the sun for being so hot and pulled her headscarf further over her forehead.<br />
<br />
Then something finally caught her eye. Up ahead in the distance, she saw a glimmering reflection on the ground. She popped the cap back on the water, slung it back into the bag and ran up to it.<br />
<br />
The girl bent down and screwed her eyes up against the glare of the object that lay in the grit. A cylinder of golden metal reflected the sun back up at her. Slowly she bent down to pick it up, her hands curling around it before suddenly retracting as she realised how hot it was.<br />
<br />
She stood up and kicked it back into the shade, where again she took out her bottle and poured the (slightly warm) water over it to cool it off. The cylinder was even brighter without the layer of dirt it had gathered. It was about the size of one of her fingers and bent in at the top where the hole was. She prodded it then gingerly picked it up lengthways between her thumb and forefinger. The bottom of the metal was blackened and when she held it to her nose and gave it an inquisitive sniff, it smelt strange.<br />
<br />
The girl considered it for a second, then pocketed it in her bag before taking another sip of water. The afternoon was still young, as was she, and she had every intent of making use of her free time to explore the backalleys further.<br />
<br />
She hoiked the bag back up, slinging it around one shoulder and over the opposite hip (having it on the same side was proving problematic) and took off again. The sun was pretty much overhead now and the shadow was starting to recede to a fine line. There was barely any escape aside from making sure that her scarf was peaked over her face.<br />
<br />
The girl was suprised she hadn't bumped into any of her friends yet. It had gone quiet in the hour or so she'd left home. Her mother wouldn't be worried though... it wasn't the first time she'd gone out on her own, and she knew pretty much everyone in the community so it wasn't as if she was going to get lost, or worse in trouble, without being able to knock on the nearest door.<br />
<br />
The next alley was pretty much a dead end, aside from some bins and a short fence. Being seven, she could barely see over it, but knew just over it the countryside would sprawl into the distance where tree's and rooftops were clumped on faraway hilltops, places she would often dream of seeing when she was old enough to go and explore beyond her small town.<br />
<br />
She pulled herself up onto one of the bins, being sure not to spill the top, and lifted herself up so she could see over.<br />
<br />
The golden landscape spilled out away from the village in front of her. Other villages and houses were speckled across into the haze beyond. The road which led in ribboned out into a valley, where far away a column of dust rose into the sky, drifting at an angle in the light wind.<br />
<br />
The girl squinted. Something was coming. <br />
<br />
She turned her head to the left to look at the village entrance which in easy peeking distance from where she leant. A group of men, some of whom she recognised being her mothers friends, were looking down to the approaching objects. One of them, instantly recognisable as her uncle with his shaved head and untucked white shirt, had his hands raised up over his eyes and was talking inaudibly to the others. Another older man nodded and raised some binoculars up.<br />
<br />
All of them were frowning. One was sat down with his head in his hands.<br />
<br />
The girl felt a sudden pang in her chest. It wasn't excitement like before, when she was running the streets with the sense of adventure filling her heart with adrenaline. No, this was something she'd felt before when she was younger. When the sky was dark and full of lights. When her father had gone into the night.<br />
<br />
She suddenly realised she was gripping her hands so tightly onto the fence it was beginning to hurt. A large splinter had entered the center of her left middle finger and a trickle of blood had started to flow slowly into the webbing between her digits. For a moment, distracted, the feeling in her chest went away as she turned to the shard of wood that dug in underneath the surface of her skin. Her forehead creased with the pain as she reached a fingernail underneath and extracted it with a sharp intake of breath.<br />
<br />
Even with the splinter gone, it still bled and the wound continued to hurt.<br />
<br />
The girl looked briefly back up at the distant yellow cloud, then jumped down off the bin and ran back to her mother. <br />
<br />
If anyone could make her better, make her feel safer, it was her.Benedict E Bowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03708804727480380647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886478985932034354.post-38934986138261506452009-04-02T16:20:00.001-07:002009-04-02T17:26:04.588-07:00DeadlineIt was late - and getting later.<br /><br />A man in his mid thirties sat in a blank office somewhere in a nondescript town at the edge of nowhere. The walls were white and the large sheet glass windows looked out onto a dull, grey industrial estate, the sky as blank and as featureless as the room he sat in. The only exit was a plain wooden door in the wall behind him.<br /><br />He was typing, transfixed to the single monitor on his otherwise bare desk. The mans fingers rapidly moved across the keyboard with almost supernatural speed, his eyes darting up to look at the clock. To him, its hands seemed to be getting quicker, as if the faster he typed time sped up... and so the closer the deadline drew.<br /><br />To the casual observer, the reams of apparently random numbers and letters he laid out on the screen would've made little sense. Occasionally you could make out a word within the text and code, but it would be quickly swallowed up and swamped in the crazed reverse Tetris of characters. The matter of fact was that even to the man, what he was writing made little sense. It was stream-of-conciousness babble. But that's what he was there to create. That was his job.<br /><br />The hand ticked closer and closer to three o'clock in the morning.<br /><br />Sweat had appeared on the mans brow. The speed of his typing had got a point where it had become a physical exhertion, his fingers screaming at him to stop, the ache of carpal tunnel beginning to enter his wrists. Damp patches had appeared on his grey shirt and a trace of condensation had begun to creep up from the bottom of his glasses.<br /><br />Numbers followed numbers that followed letters. The scrolling had become almost rythmic. The blank system font rolled ever upwards, the occasional break in the unintelligible sentencing giving it the appearence of an ancient scroll.<br /><br />Thirty seconds.<br /><br />He gritted his teeth. The pain had really start to hit him now. His fingers were almost raw at the tip, blisters had begun to form. The keyboard itself seemed hot to touch. But he had to keep going.<br /><br />Fifteen seconds.<br /><br />Nearly there... nearly there...<br /><br />Ten.<br /><br />His eyes nagged at him to look at the clock, but there was no time... no time...<br /><br />Five.<br /><br />Four.<br /><br />Three.<br /><br />Two.<br /><br />The man gritted his teeth.<br /><br />One.<br /><br />At that precise moment, the screen locked. His hands hovered over the keys and he allowed himself a glance up at the clock, before looking down again at the final sentence of characters.<br /><br />+--YK1MCH1ZUK7>'=12ADMSCL5LNDnN23F2J//]<br /><br />He lowered his head, took his glasses off and wiped them dry on his shirt. Then, letting out a sharp breath, he turned to the simple white phone on his desk, picked it up and pressed the hash key twice.<br /><br />There was a click on the line. The man cleared his throat.<br /><br />"We have a new deadline."<br /><br />Then, slowly, he put the phone down, stood, took his suit jacket that was draped over the back of his chair, walked over to the plain wooden door, opened it and walked out.<br /><br />The room lay quiet and still - until the next day, when it would all begin again...Benedict E Bowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03708804727480380647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886478985932034354.post-10398928319945594722009-01-22T09:36:00.000-08:002009-01-22T16:10:39.648-08:00A VisitorJenny liked to lie on her bed when the lights were put out and stare at the shadows dancing on the ceiling, cast by the trees outside.<br /><br />In that respect, she'd later note as an adult, she was unusual for a little girl her age. Most kids wanted the door slightly ajar, knowing that their parents were a quick bolt away should anything appear under the bed or from behind the closet door. But not Jenny. She loved the dark, it was mysterious and romantic, not frightening and strange. Some nights if she couldn't sleep she'd throw back the covers, tip-toe into her dressing gown and slippers and go downstairs to the conservatory to sit. If it was a clear night, with a moon casting its silver light over the garden beyond, she'd look up at the stars (for there were many where she lived in the country, away from the orange glow of city streetlights) and speculated as to what would happen if she were to shoot off in one direction at the super speed, what she would see.<br /><br />Her gaze would turn to the garden, bordered at the end by a forest, and wonder what strange animals were staring at her from the safety of the thicket. Maybe there were faeries there, or other supernatural forces. But these thoughts didn't scare her like they did other children – instead, they fascinated her.<br /><br />When it began her mum or dad would come down to find her there, scold her and take her back to bed. Behind her back they would discuss their daughters odd night-time habits and wonder if it was worth doing something about, but aside from that she led a pretty normal life, did well in school, got on well with her friends and had a keen interest in playing the violin. So eventually they decided to give up and let her get on with it, keeping a blanket to hand to cover her if it was cold and sometimes finding her asleep in her chair in the conservatory the following morning.<br /><br />But Jenny was to discover something one day the week before Christmas. That if you spend enough time watching, eventually you'll see something, or find out that something was probably staring back all along....<br /><br />It had been a pretty normal day in school. Jenny had rushed home as ever, had her dinner, polished off some homework and spent some time practising her violin. Later she watched a film and, come ten o'clock, shipped herself off to bed (her parents rarely had to nag) to spend a while reading with a glass of water before switching off the light.<br /><br />As usual, four hours later, she woke up. As her eyes opened, the jagged shapes of tree shadows swaying on the white paint of the ceiling swam into view.<br /><br />Jenny yawned and lay there, still, her eyes half closed. She needed the toilet. So she stirred, checked the time (02.18) and rolled out of bed. Her toes dipped down into her slippers as she slid off and after walking crookedly to her door, she grabbed her dressing gown off the hook and disappeared to the bathroom.<br /><br />A few minutes later, she shuffled back in, a little more alert than before. It was a bit cold and she shivered slightly, keeping the gown on as she moved towards the bed. The moon appeared to be full outside, and the room was cast in a white glow, sharp shadows scattered everywhere through the treetops outside. Jenny reached the edge of her bed and looked up. The wood swayed in a breeze and above it the sky was free of cloud and swathed in blankets of stars. She blinked, slightly stunned. Somehow it looked so much clearer tonight, as if she could see billions and billions of miles out to galaxies that even the largest telescope couldn't reach. Then she realised that it wasn't the moon illuminating her room, as it was absent that night, but the stars alone.<br /><br />Countless tiny points of light clustered around each other here and there amongst the ocean of blue blackness, punctuated by larger, brighter distant suns... and giant nebulae, deep purple, pink and red, formed massive, cloud-like waves as if they were threatening to crash towards Earth. The sky was alive with detail, stars weaving together and sweeping through the air like silk trailed by a dancer. Venus and Mars hung bright and fierce in the sky and when she squinted Jenny swore she could nearly make out each one as a crescent in the night.<br /><br />Excited, Jenny banished all thoughts of sleep, grabbed a blanket and made her way downstairs. Her feet navigated about the creaky floorboards so as not to wake her parents as she crept downstairs through the darkness to her favourite red wooden chair in the conservatory. She passed through the lounge which was aglow with the warm lights of the Christmas tree, and when she reached her destination noted that the plants almost seemed reverent, the leaves wilting slightly as if bowing to the breathtaking sky above. As she sat, she looked up into the garden. The light from the sky above had taken away the colour of the world and left it almost monochromatic and when she looked up at the majestic scene spread out before her she felt almost dizzy with vertigo, as if her dream of shooting off into the galaxy was about to come true.<br /><br />She sighed and huddled up to her blanket, pulling it over her mouth so the soft wool warmed under her breath. The garden sat silent. No animals scurried and the plants themselves seemed frozen, bewitched by the magnificent sky. Sparkling frost covered the grass, competing with the stars for her attention. The forest frame the scene as if a theatre backdrop, black branches curling up into the night, the twigs giving the illusion of millions of hands reaching up to pluck the tiny lights like diamonds in a pitch black mine.<br /><br />It was then she noticed the shape.<br /><br />There, right in the middle of the garden, something was hovering.<br /><br />She leant forwards and blinked. Whatever it was, it was floating above the centre of the lawn, a few meters high into the air. A faint shadow lay underneath as confirmation of its existence.<br /><br />Jenny got up and swept the blanket around her like a cloak, all the while watching the shape, which appeared to be spinning quite slowly in place. She tiptoed up to the window, narrowly missing knocking over a pot plant, put her hands up to the cold glass and stared. Occasionally it would glint a reflection of light which came from the house, probably from something in the kitchen window, and after a few moments staring, she decided that it was... a triangle. No... a pyramid.<br /><br />Jenny didn't feel scared or frightened by the presence in the garden. It seemed benign to her. Non-threatening... and she got the feeling that it was waiting for her.<br /><br />She gave it a thought for a moment about what to do. Her parents would want to stay inside. Talking to strangers was one thing, but approaching strange objects? Where did it come from? What did it contain? Was it an alien from another planet, like in the films she saw on TV? She recalled the few she'd seen... one with a creature with a glowing chest, another about a boy who befriends a spaceship and yet another about little robots that could have babies. She pressed her nose against the glass and let out breath, frosting it before leaning back. Through the dot her nose left, surrounded by the decreasing haze, the object floated. She was certain it knew she was there. If it was going to do anything bad, it probably would've done it by now.<br /><br />It was then she decided that at least going out to see what it wanted was the right thing to do.<br /><br />Jenny crept back into the lounge and walked up to the tree, before carefully removing a single silver bauble, thinking that a gift would be appropriate when welcoming a visitor. It was a pretty silver one that reflected the colours of the tree lights in thousands of tiny triangles of glitter. She smiled, popped it into the pocket of her dressing gown, huddled the blanket closer and set off for the conservatory door.<br /><br />The pyramid still hovered in place in the garden, she noted as she passed back through the conservatory glass. She picked up the key hidden under a pot away from the door, then, holding the cold metal door handle, put it in the lock and turned it. As she pulled the door open, she let out a little gasp as the cold air rushed in over her feet, then stepped out into the frozen night.<br /><br />The blanket kept her warm, but each breath caught in the back of her throat and her face felt numb in the chill of the night. Her slippers crunched the frozen, well trimmed grass as she stepped off of the path that led from the conservatory and out into the forest beyond (or at least that part which belonged to her family), and carefully she walked out towards the obsidian shape. Jenny briefly looked up at the sky, her head swimming at the sight of the cavernous universe above, the scale reminding her of the cathedral she'd visited in school the previous term. She recalled how far away the ornately decorated ceiling seemed, giant stone arches streaking off into its darkest corners, the distant faces of gargoyles and angels staring down as if looking through a portal from some unknown, darker part of heaven.<br /><br />Her eyes tracked back down to the pyramid as she continued her approach. Now she was closer, she could tell that it definitely wasn't a figment of her imagination. It looked like it was carved out of a solid piece of stone, smoothed to a shine. No light came from it, but it reflected everything about it – each surface facing up to the sky trapping the stars in their black mirrors. Jenny halted a meter away. Now she was closer, she could feel warmth coming from it. The air seemed to vibrate and an electric smell, reminding her of her parents kettle the month before, permeated the air. Yet despite both she couldn't hear a motor, her ears only settling on the occasional creak from the tree's and the distant sound of a branch dropping in the silence of the wood.<br /><br />She reached into her pocket, felt for the cool orb of the decoration and pulled it out. With a shiver she cradled it in both hands for a moment before hesitantly holding it out up to the little pyramid.<br /><br />Almost immediately, it started to slow down.<br /><br />Jenny looked about. Her parents lights were still off, so nobody knew she was there. For a moment she wondered if she should have gone and told them what she'd seen. But then the pyramid came to a stop and her attention was drawn back to it. It had tipped forwards slightly so that one of the triangular sides was facing flat towards her.<br /><br />Almost imperceptibly at first, a thin trace of white light broke through the glossy surface as a rectangular shape cut itself free and ejected out of its slot towards her. The thin piece of stone then started to slope out towards her and the light began to flood outwards so brightly that Jenny found herself shielding her eyes. The bauble reflected it like a mirror ball, casting silvery points out into the darkest corners of the garden.<br /><br />Then the light went out.<br /><br />Jenny lowered her arm. Her retinas were still a little burnt with the shape of the door, but she could see that the door had now fully lowered into something resembling a little platform and the space behind it had become pitch-black. As her sight adjusted back to the dark, she then noted a shape moving outwards from inside the little object.<br /><br />At first, a thin, white leg, smooth and featureless, curved out into the night air. Jenny retracted her bauble and moved a little closer. It didn't have a foot as such, the leg (or whatever it was) came down to a point and was supported by what looked like four little white roots. Then, after a moment, the rest of the creature followed. A small hand, with only three tiny fingers, if they could even be called that, curled around the side of the entrance and out stepped the most peculiar little creature Jenny had ever seen.<br /><br />It had a long, thin white body, two arms and two legs, and a head that didn't have any identifiable neck. It seemed like a formless worm from deep underground had taken the shape of something approximating human. It had eyes, but they were more the eyes of a small rodent than a person, being two unblinking black orbs that sat outside of its face on stubby little stalks. Yet despite their simple appearance were very expressive, their movement indicating that it was looking about at its surroundings. Under the eyes Jenny couldn't make out a mouth, but rather a cluster of the same small white tubes that ended its feet and hands, which wriggled out around in the direction it was looking. This was accompanied by a gentle sniffing sound, so she decided that they must be its nose.<br /><br />Jenny could hear herself breathing. She felt a palpable buzz of excitement. She'd forgotten how cold it was and in her transfixed state had let the blanket she was wearing slip to the icy ground.<br /><br />The worm-man, hesitant, stepped out further, looking about with small, smooth movements. Its feelers pawed at the air for a moment before it turned its attention to the small girl standing below, nervously holding out her silver bauble. It had now reached the end of the platform and was leaning quizzically over the edge, peering at the surface of the glittering orb at its hundreds of tiny mirrored reflections.<br /><br />Jenny let out an involuntary shiver and quickly placed her hand over her mouth, eyes wide. The creature straightened in suprise. Jenny cleared her throat to speak, and as she did so was surprised to hear herself in the stillness of the garden. Then it hit her that she had absolutely nothing to say and even if she did – would it understand? She held the bauble up.<br /><br />The visitor relaxed from its upright posture and put a hand towards the gift in a gesture of curiosity . Jenny croaked out, suddenly aware that the cold was catching her throat. Her words came out crooked and raspy, not at all the friendly introduction she'd had in her mind.<br /><br />“This... this is for you.”<br /><br />The worm-man stood stock still. Its little tubes moved about slowly as it processed the sound, then it reached out and plucked the bauble from her grasp. Jenny quickly retracted her hand and put it in her pocket, before huddling up her shoulders against the freezing temperatures. It held the bauble aloft in examination, turned its head somewhat theatrically back to Jenny, then bobbed its head like a bird before startling her with an odd sneezing sound, like a sped-up elephant.<br /><br />Jenny let out a little giggle. The creature visibly jumped a bit then leant back towards her, before bobbing its head again. She bowed back in return, which seemed to please it, for the visitor then squeezed its eyes shut (the eyelids seemingly coming from nowhere) and bobbed its head back in return. It then gathered itself up in a haunch, before throwing the bauble up into the air. Jenny reached her hand out involuntarily to catch it before she realised that instead of arching down back to her, the silver ball floated up above her head and carried itself onwards up above the conservatory and beyond the roof of the house.<br /><br />The little white creature watched as it rose, following its ascent until the glinting silver orb joined the myriad other stars in the sky. Jenny looked down back at the creature which cocked its head back at her like an inquisitive puppy and gave another of its distinctive sneezes.<br /><br />Jenny smiled and put out a hand.<br /><br />The creature looked down at it, back at her, then reached out. Jenny watched as its tiny little tube-like fingers curled around the end of her index finger. It was surprisingly warm. She looked up at its black eyes and smiled. The little whiskers vibrated slightly in response and she guessed that, in some way, perhaps it was smiling back?<br /><br />At that moment, an odd sensation ran through her body. She felt light and her mind fuzzy, as if someone had stuffed her head with cotton wool. Her vision blurred a bit and she blinked to see the face of the creature towering above her.<br /><br />Then she realised she was standing next to it. Jenny gasped and looked about - she was still in her garden, only now the creature was standing in front of her far bigger than before. Somehow it had shrunk her down to its size, only comparatively speaking in proportion the worm-man was far bigger than she. Looking down at her feet she saw her slippers were on the surface of the little craft, and when she turned to look about the sky seemed so much bigger than before, an epic painting in a chapel of infinite size, and the garden and house dwarfed the pair entirely.<br /><br />The creature bobbed its head then started to lead Jenny back to the hole in the pyramid from whereupon it emerged, tugging her gently and insistently onwards. At first she was hesitant, but it seemed to her that the visitor didn't seem to wish her any ill will, its benign presence filled her with confidence. So she followed, realising how cold she felt now she was so much smaller, and together they made their up the platform, which she could now tell was of a rougher surface than she first made out, and towards the dark portal gaping before them. Warmth emanated from it and Jenny began to walk alongside the striding visitor, eager to get out of the winter chill.<br /><br />As the warm darkness enveloped them, the creature let out another sneeze. The light from the craft started to shine again, and they paused before it.<br /><br />Jenny looked at the worm-man, who bowed in affirmation, then she squeezed her eyes shut and took a step forward...<br /><br />There was another sneeze.<br /><br />Jenny opened her eyes. She was looking up at her ceiling.<br /><br />She sneezed again.<br /><br />Shadows from the trees outside danced above in silvery overcast daylight, which hurt her eyes as she blinked herself awake.<br /><br />The feeling started to flow as her body began to wake up. Almost immediately her throat started to complain, then as she moved her limbs ached. Her head followed as she became dizzy as she sat up, and she fell back down again. A mild sweat clung to her forehead.<br /><br />Jenny gave out a little moan. She was ill. Her mother shouted up the stairs for her to come down for school, and six minutes later when Jenny didn't respond, she rushed in to tell her off only to see her daughter lying there, pale and feverish, holding the bedsheets tightly over her mouth with a slightly desperate look in her eyes.<br /><br />She stayed home that day. Her mother brought up the small television from the study and the video player from downstairs and, when not tending to household chores, sat at her daughters side. The doctor came and went, commiserating to Jenny about her terrible influenza and talking in hushed tones and long words with her parents that evening about things she couldn't understand. Comics were bought and she was spoilt rotten for days, missing the last few days of school and spending most of her time in bed, to the point where she couldn't remember ever being well – and if she'd ever know what it was like to feel normal again.<br /><br />Throughout her ordeal Jenny suffered silently, all the while thinking about her visitor that night. It all felt like a fever dream, an alternate reality that had intruded hers from the pages of her favourite fantasy novelist. As Christmas rolled on, then the New Year, Jenny begun to reminisce less and less about the strange little worm-man. They year went by, then years, and the entire ordeal of the visitor was swamped with vague memories of childhood illness.<br /><br />It was much later in her life when Jenny had a daughter of her own, that the memory resurfaced, one late night whilst sitting in their cabin in the country staring at the stars. Even then she couldn't remember if it was just something she saw on television, a strange dream, or a story told to her by her parents. She held her sleeping daughter close to her, looking up at the sweeping night sky, wondering what it would be like to fall into it, to be enveloped in its blanket of stars, a quilt of dark silk that endlessly wrapped around itself through infinity.<br /><br />She hoped it was real, feeling a twinge of sadness ath the thought that it most probably wasn't. Jenny felt her daughter stir. She looked down at her blonde head, her baby's face staring out at something in the woods beyond. The girl looked up, a quizzical expression on her face and one arm pointed out at something she couldn't quite see.<br /><br />“Mummy... what's that?”<br /><br />Jenny looked up... and smiled.Benedict E Bowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03708804727480380647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886478985932034354.post-11229154752867346742008-12-08T03:08:00.000-08:002009-01-23T15:27:32.831-08:00It happened on a Thursday.<div>It happened on a Thursday.<br /><br />James Fields had woke early as usual, filled up on far too much muesli, downed a coffee, showered and shaved, pulled on his clothes (comprising of the usual grey shirt, dull tie and barely ironed trousers), grabbed his briefcase and jacket and bombed out of the door into the cold morning air. It was late December, and an unexpected cold snap had blanketed the capital overnight, bringing a shiver to his frame as he cursed himself for not putting on more layers. The sun was very slowly making itself present in the night sky, a rich royal blue creeping into the star flecked darkness which competed with the glow of the orange street lamps.<br /><br />He made his way carefully down the steep road in Forest Hill, being careful not to rush as the ground had frosted. The dregs of a cold still clung to the back of his throat, which felt sticky and a little dry, the brittle air catching it and causing the ache to flare up. As he walked, he absent-mindedly cast his thoughts to the previous night relaxing with friends down at the local pub, wondered if that last pint was a good idea, then sighed out a breath that hung for a moment in the December sky before melting away.<br /><br />Finishing his descent he rounded the corner to a junction, a few cars were beginning to fill the streets, and crossed over to the station. Only a handful of early risers milled around at this hour. James liked to get in as soon as possible as typically it meant leaving early as long as his work was done, plus he usually ended up beating the rush hour both ways. The IT department at Fosters pretty much ran itself with only the occasional hiccup, being a small company with few staff. It was a lucky gig, truth be told, as even though it wasn't particularly fulfilling nor demanding the money was good and the hours flexible. Plus it was pretty stable, something he was thankful for at this time of year.<br /><br />The platform to London Bridge was almost devoid of life aside from a few dark-suited office types milling about. He walked towards the end of the platform where the first carriage would arrive, under a footbridge and in front of an old disused building where an attractive young Indian woman was talking quietly on a mobile. The journey from this station wasn't spectacularly long, but it was boring, and he made to stand close to her so that at least he had something to fantasize about on the way there. No eye contact, strictly peripherals, as after all chatting up random strangers on London trains was hardly a done deal. Besides, he'd noticed her before on a few previous journeys and welcomed the regularity of her appearance in his life, so the last thing he wanted to do was scare her off with a clumsy attempt at flirting.<br /><br />He looked up and peered back towards the station to the train times. The red letters indicated a couple of minutes. James idly reached into his pocket for his MP3 player to pull it out, casually eyeing the girl as he did so, before unwrapping the wires and putting the buds in his ears. It was when he started to put the second one in he heard something behind him.<br /><br />James turned back towards the footbridge. There was a bit of space between him and the next salary man down towards the station. Then the rustling noise infiltrated his consciousness again and he looked back towards the building that rose up behind the bank of brush near the platform. Peering into the dark, he could see a short, yet quite thin, figure stumbling away from a window in the half light that started to clumsily make its way down to the platform.<br /><br />James looked about. His first thought was maybe he should do something, but who was he kidding, he didn't want trouble. Any Londoner knows the best thing to do is to ignore potential problems whilst on public transport. Don't get involved. But there was something about the spidery gait of the person tumbling onto the platform that caused him disquiet, registering unease with that tiny, sickly part of the mind that ignited whenever he'd read a ghost story as a child.<br /><br />He turned away and popped the bud in his ear, vowing to mind his own business.<br /><br />Fumbling for his MP3 player, he heard two solid heel clicks as the figure's shoes finally met the platform. The footsteps stumbled, then solidly walked to his immediate right, steady and strong. James couldn't place exactly why, but suddenly the world felt a great deal colder, and he froze before adult logic set back in, giving himself a little shake before returning to his playlist.<br /><br />The man came to rest beside him.<br /><br />James knew he couldn't resist glancing down at the presence that had interrupted his mundane daily routine. He took his eyes off his player and made to look across the platform, before dancing them downwards at the figure below.<br /><br />The man stood to his front right and directly on the yellow line before the edge of the platform, at an angle where he couldn't quite make out his features. The morning was still a cold blue, although he was illuminated slightly by the lights further down the station. Whilst quite small, his tiny body was proportioned as if tall and thin, giving the impression of a shrunken basketball player. His hair was lank and black, twisted and a bit greasy, falling around to shoulder height and covering his ears. He was wearing a dark, velveteen suit, which appeared slightly worn and covered with flecks of dusty debris and wore black brogues that had been polished to a shine. The figures gnarled hands were clasped behind his back, appearing discoloured and pale in the dull light.<br /><br />James had only regarded him for a few seconds when the stranger's head jerked to the side, surprising him and causing him to snap his attention quickly back to the MP3 player. He'd barely caught a glimpse, but the features he did catch were unsettling. The man's face gave the appearance of someone with a disability, although which he had no idea. However, it wasn't a look to inspire sympathy - his cheeks were gnarled up close to his odd almond-shaped eyes and a crooked, drooped nose melted down close to his top lip.<br /><br />James realised that the man wasn't looking at him, but the same girl that had his attention only a few minutes before. She was staring down the platform past both of them, and when he turned his head to follow her gaze he was greeted by the sight of his train curling, snakelike, around towards the bottom of the station where it had begun to slow to a stop. The small man stepped up to the line with the rest of the small crowd of business men and women that had gathered at the edge of the platform, while James moved up to the top of where the first carriage would come to a rest.<br /><br />The girl stood beside him, idly checking her messages on her mobile phone. James looked over briefly to see the nose of the man protruding out from the small crowd gathered around him, and seeing that nobody had really taken any notice of him, decided to put the uneasy feeling he had about the stranger aside. The train finally pulled up, and as he and the girl boarded he fetched one final glance to see that the figure had joined the throng and had hoisted himself onto the second carriage, out of sight, out of mind.<br /><br />James was surprised to find the carriage relatively full that day. The seats were full of tired looking commuters, some rustling through papers, others reading books, but all generally ignoring each other with the glazed-over look so popular amongst public transport users in London. Moving out of the way of the doors, he put his case down between his feet, gripped the nearest handhold and queued an album up on his player just as the train started to pull out of the station. The Indian girl was stood a little further into the carriage, had produced a magazine from her bag and was doing a fine job of retaining her balance whilst reading. He allowed himself to stare for a moment. She was truly pretty. Big brown eyes set into a delicate face, full lips, her lithe figure betrayed by the way her coat clung to her form. She flicked her eyes up towards him and he immediately turned away to squint in faux interest at the train map splashed in the middle of the adverts up above the seats.<br /><br />The train continued its steady rush to the next station. The sun had maintained its crawl upwards and the gentle light rendered the rush of grassy banks to each side of the carriage a dull blue, yet it was still dark enough outside for the lights inside the carriage to reflect the passengers like a mirror in its windows. The winter chill had followed James into the carriage and he pulled the lapels of his coat closer, continuing to cast his eyes vaguely in the general direction of the girl under the pretence that an advert for vaginal thrush cream was of great interest. It was then the door at the far end of the carriage opened.<br /><br />James couldn't quite see who it was, and as he tried to catch a glance the cold morning air rushed over him from the other side. A few people shot irritated looks back towards the source of the gust, maybe thinking that some annoying homeless person had entered to pester them for their hard-earned shrapnel, only to turn away a moment later, satisfied that their consciences were safe for the time being. James, however, was still transfixed at the now-closed door, for right in front of the portal, as if ejected from some otherworldly dimension, stood the man. Through the line of commuters wobbling from side to side with the movement of the train, he could make out the tiny frame standing and peering about with jerky motions, putting him to mind of a penguin in a zoo enclosure.<br /><br />Now James could see him clearly, he balked in disgust. The stranger’s eyes were a baleful, almost yellow colour, the pupils’ tiny black dots surrounded by inward slanted eyes that put to mind runny egg-yolks, deeps set into a pasty, deeply contoured face. The drooped nose hung crook over a mouth that was screwed up tight in concentration, folding his skin in waves, whilst his hands were raised and posed as if a chef deliberating over the taste of fine cuisine. He was sniffing the air.<br /><br />James felt a chill run through his spine. As if the mere sight of the character was to inspire an unsettled feeling, his bizarre behaviour was enough to instil a twinge of fear in the back of his mind. Yet even so, his curiosity was sparked and he couldn't tear his eyes away. It was then he noticed that clustered around the far door to either side of the stranger, the commuters had moved apart as if unconsciously to let him through. The grotesque little head craned towards each on in turn, allowing a couple of sniffs, and with a feeling of creeping dread James watched as gnarled, thin little fingers reached out to each in turn.<br /><br />The ghoul stiffened and looked down the coach.<br /><br />James instinctively reacted, as any Londoner does, at being caught by hovering his eyes over another part of the carriage, still watching the man as his head turned back to his obsessive fascination with his fellow travellers. Keeping him in his peripheral vision, James, now having developed a cold sweat that ran thin down between his shoulder blades, watched as again the hands crept up to each commuter in turn, when suddenly one darted out and touched a fellow on the thigh.<br /><br />The thigh's owner, a middle aged man of the age of forty or thereabouts, reacted instinctively as if being stung by a wasp. His hand reached down and brushed his leg, looked about and, not registering the bizarre hook-nosed dwarf, returned to his paper. Then as scanned across the days news, James noticed a minor transformation occur. His skin started to lose its colour, instead being replaced by a mild grey pallor. The eyes seemed somehow dead suddenly, as if the lights in the coach had dimmed and the shoulder slumped where once they were straight. It was as if the little creature's touch had sucked the life out of him, leaving only a shell where once a man stood.<br /><br />James swallowed dryly, the soreness in his throat making him acutely aware of the reality of what was happening. Although he wasn't sure entirely what had happened, he was pretty sure it wasn't good, and certainly not something he wanted to happen to him. The man advanced a few steps down into the carriage and continued his erratic sniffing and James knew that whatever had taken place could easily happen to him – and he was stuck right at the end of the carriage, near the driver door, with no escape should they not pull into the next station before the character's advance.<br /><br />It was then, with that alarm ringing in his head, it occurred to James that the train hadn't slowed down. It had been racing continuously through the high-banked gully for nearly five minutes without slowing, and yet nobody had noticed. They sat around as before, absorbed in their books, music and own little worlds, utterly oblivious of the fact that the train had hurtled onwards without respite. James ducked his head past a suited couple next to him and peered diagonally forwards through the door window on the platform side. The scenery tumbled by as if in a late seventies children's cartoon where the scrolling backdrops were on continuous repeat.<br />James was really sweating now. He peered up at the face of the man next to him. The guy, in his late twenties, stared at him blankly. James quietly moved his hand in front of his eyes and waved, but nothing registered. He merely stared straight ahead as if James didn't exist. He still appeared to be breathing, his paralysis seemingly solely located in his mind. The body kept functioning.<br /><br />James straightened, his head now a mess of conflicting thoughts. This was impossible, unreal even. Staring back down the carriage the little figure had ventured further in, and was now near the halfway point. Like zombies the passengers shuffled aside to let him through without looking, and every now and again he would stop his ceaseless sniffing to touch one, only for them to react exactly like the first before slumping down into a monochromatic stupor.<br /><br />But what to do? James' first thought was to warn everyone about what was going on, as it seemed to him that he was the sole person who was aware of their predicament. Maybe moving around and making a noise would attract the attention of the gnomelike entity that was now passing over into the half way point. The rhythm of the train and the ever loudening sniffing made James realise that whatever music he'd idly put on was now stopped, or that the MP3 player wasn't working any more. It was as if the carriage was travelling along another plane of existence where everything was half frozen and time had marched on, leaving an imprint of what had gone before.<br /><br />The creature’s pin-like fingers reached up and stroked the face of the first person sitting down to the right of the doors, and the teenage girl lapsed back in her seat as if melting into her own shadow. There was a few people between him and the man, the closest being the Indian girl he'd so been admiring shortly before. She appeared to be in deep concentration on her book, but her eyes were no longer scanning the text and were instead frozen in the spaces in between the words.<br /><br />James felt a twinge. What if he touched her? In the back of his mind, he thought briefly about the utter, utter stupidity of what he was thinking, but for some reason some protective instinct had kicked in over the cold fear. What difference did it make to him, if she was? What made her different to anyone else in the carriage, why would he potentially risk his life to save hers? The sniffing permeated his consciousness. He was the only one who could see this creature and the only one who could make a difference. A small, possibly selfish one, maybe, but a difference nonetheless.<br /><br />He reacted without much more thought, and grabbed the girl as the creature twisted his head away towards his next victim, eyes closed. She barely reacted as he clasped her forearm, and he found her surprisingly easy to pull towards him. The little man was bent over an old woman who was in the middle of reading a thick tome, his hand arching over her head as if in deliberation. James twirled the girl around so she was against the far corner of the door away from the platform side of the train and stood between her and the ghoul. If he was going to be taken, then so be it, but at least he'd made a small gesture in his final minutes. He allowed himself to look at the girl's face once more, her face frozen in the middle distance, beautiful and dark-skinned. She'd probably never know what he'd done for her should reality return, he thought, wondering what her reaction might be should she snap out of whatever had her ensnared.<br /><br />He looked out at the scenery rushing past, and then adjusted his focus to the reflection of the demonic figure behind him. The man had now moved to the metal bars at the end of the seats and held his head high with nostrils flared. The eyes were slits in the mush of folded skin creasing up around them, the demented face framed by the lank, greasy black fronds of hair. The fingers waved about in the air, and it was then that James noticed that the tips glowed with a soft blue light. The freakish head that rose out of the tight-fitting suit swayed around, ever searching for the next victim, when suddenly it stopped.<br /><br />The watery yellow eyes opened. The pursed mouth under the icicle nose retracted into a mirthless, empty smile, full of black, crooked teeth. James then noticed the smell, like mothballs and dust that filled the corner of the carriage. The hands were still raised but now the fingers had stopped waving, and he realised that the next victim was going to be...<br /><br />He span about with a yell.<br /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">* * *<br /></div><br /><div><br />It wasn't so cold on Friday.<br /><br />Ankita walked to the end of the platform, clutching her book in one hand and her purse in the other. It'd been a hard week leading up to Thursday afternoon's appraisal and she was looking forward to unwinding that evening, thankfully the day was hardly packed with things aside from a few dull tasks to do. Her eyes passed along the platform and she noticed with a slight note of disappointment that the cute guy who'd been eyeing her up for the last few weeks wasn't there this morning. Not that she'd meant to do anything about it, but she'd been toying with the idea of finding an excuse to talk to him at some point.<br /><br />The platform seemed slightly emptier in general. She'd been lucky that the lay-off's hadn't affected her in any way, she noted absentmindedly.<br /><br />Then her mobile went off. As she flicked it open, she didn't notice the little man standing further down the platform.<br /><br />But then, nobody ever did.<br /></div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277865210915647362" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 167px; height: 320px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrtc4K4EkCaR6T7N2q6hsM1KRK0fTA_DQeqQuzioECDrL7x7n1hZkj7f04u7KE9lQoK-CmaKovhBltFhSL5okIA7Yakyk8dgbC50CHzdJIhWw0X16WZvSeH5tXlKNZctB-Jck9cFp0xfJ8/s320/thursday.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div><br />END</div>Benedict E Bowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03708804727480380647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886478985932034354.post-49695842059063571592008-12-07T14:10:00.000-08:002008-12-07T14:28:26.596-08:00The Mischievous Cat...... sat plump at its desk, paws at the ready, staring at his first blank page. As any artist knows, a white canvas is a scary thing indeed, full of promise and danger. The initial stroke may seem like a good idea but later down the line as the painting is coming together who knows if that curve might seem unsightly or out of place... or if the structure will fall apart due to flimsy foundations.<br /><br />The cat looked up and out the window. A mist hung low over the town below, illuminated by the soft glow of the full moon above. The trees in the garden were silhouetted against the tableaux, giant black claws threatening to drag the scene into the darkness... and with that, he knew what to write.<br /><br />It happened on a Thursday...Benedict E Bowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03708804727480380647noreply@blogger.com0