Alone Together.

Picture a world where taste is sacrificed for nourishment.  A time of light and dark, but no dusk or dawn. What tales of lunacy would such a place inspire?

Sit in the passenger seat next to me now, as I guide our vehicle through the labyrinths and blocked off motorways.  Look in the rear view mirror; you’ll see the sign for the time and place we have just entered.  The FryLite Zone.

Here’s a tale regarding a lonely twisted man, who was given a chance of redemption.  Unfortunately he was given it in:

The FryLite Zone

Alone together.

I was born into money, and have lived within it’s grand design ever since. There has never been a time when I felt the need to want, it was always just expected and as a result occurred. You may feel that this was a luxury.  I fear your chagrin but in reality you know little regarding opulence. When nothing has been truthfully accrued then what appears is always never truly respected. If this offends your misjudged and misguided sensibilities, then accept this awful truth; my people will always be in control of yours, and we do more often than not, get what we want.  That is we are until the final chapter.  I know that now. But it's too late for me. Alas it was not too late on that night, for on that night, for whatever reason I was given a chance. 

The evening started as they always had. Alone. Not one for others I dined alone and bathed in the luxury of solitude, garnered in the knowledge of acknowledged superiority.  Why require others?  It was only as I lay my head upon the sumptuous pillows plumped upon my bedstead and turned the table lamp out that I realised someone was in the bed next to me. I smelt his sweat, felt his shape and as I turned staring into the darkness of the bedroom saw his vague outline. This silhouette with its spindling whiskers and unkempt hair shuddered then said these three words. Words I would spend the next thirty years fearing.  "No More Life...NO MORE LIFE!!!!!!" a gnarled hand stretched out from under the blankets reaching for my face. Terrified, I pulled the blankets over my eyes. Clutching the fabric I begged that whatever I had been adjacent to “Be gone!” Please, oh Lord in Heaven make it be gone.  Please let it be a piece of undigested turnip playing tricks on my maladaptive mind. 

Truth is I know what I saw and experienced and knew that it was sent as a warning. I should never leave the house.  I would die if I did. With this foretelling I spent the next thirty years in my room. Maids and butlers paid from Ma and Pa's money allowed me to exist. I knew that I would never allow the treacherous spirit, which had invaded my space to claim my right to life on this blue and green Marble.  

I woke this morning and saw a butterfly.  It flew around the room and landed on the flowers I insist remain. It lit the room as powerful as any man made light and just before it expanded it's wings to their majestic breadth it hit the window, nailed closed by my orders, and died.  I realised. I understood.  I had never known the joy of love. I had never known the disappointment of loss. The room grew darker. I had never known curiosity.  I had never known how it felt to be truly satiated.  The room was pitch black. I had never known life. I turned in the bed, my beard and unkempt hair scratching the pillow. I saw the young man in bed next to me. I realised I only had seconds.  Looking at my younger self I begged of him to "know more life, know more life!" and stretched a kind hand out to stroke my/his cheek.  My younger self pulled the covers over his/my head. My wings hit the window.

Bright New Things

Let me tell you a story.  Let me tell you how I came to be here awaiting my doom.  The Angaran appeared on every screen and device throughout our Planet during the first Tuesday in June.  It’s appearance shocked many on Earth as it closely resembled that of our own human features.  The only discernible difference was it’s forehead which appeared translucent on the surface allowing a glimpse of it’s inner workings.  It’s internal electrical synapses sparkled and fizzed as it spoke.  The Angaran introduced itself to the masses watching as being a Representative of the Planet Angara’s Royal Family.  Angara was found in the collection we know as Andromeda, and had long ago discovered a wormhole, which allowed them safe passage between our Galaxies.

It was able to have this discourse with the whole of our Planet via technology far superior to anything we understood.  It’s own language immediately translated into the national parlance of the Nation’s telecommunication system it was hijacking.  There were occasional mistakes, for instance it seemed unable to translate adverbs well, but overall each person watching the images fully understood exactly what it was saying. The Earth had finally found a common language.

Fascinatingly the Representative explained that the Angaran’s had spent many years scrutinising our Solar System known to them as Helios 9 and had found life forms able to communicate to a suitable level on seven of them.  It seemed disappointed that none of the Planets, which the Angaran’s scouting parties visited, had managed to take the step of contacting their neighbours. It accepted that it was not for want of trying by the various occupants but the knowledge gained was a long way from reaching the ultimate goal.  

The Representative explained that the eldest child of it’s Royal family was about to celebrate a landmark birthday.  It was the Angaran King’s wish that the brightest of each of the inhabited Planets of Helios 9 be invited to the birthday celebrations and live among them allowing the wisest of the Angaran’s to pass on information ultimately allowing a two way channel of communication and visitation to be put into place.  The transportation chambers would be landing on the Northern most point of each of the Planets on the last day of the month known to us Humans as July.  Each Globe had to discover the brightest and most suitable candidates to visit Angara and be recipient of their advanced scientific intelligence. 

There was one proviso.  Peace must be established on each of the Worlds all of which at that time had wars between by various collections of it’s inhabitants.  The Angaran’s had long discarded the concept of War realising the futility and nonsensical nature of it’s true purpose.  Diplomacy was the only answer.  This was their mantra.  By applying their intellect to the pursuit of knowledge and improvement of existence, whilst discarding wasting genius on death and annihilation they had expanded their technology and discovered an expansion of travel through both outer and inner space.   They would not allow their culture to be tainted by outside influences affected by an age-old desire to combat.   

The Angaran’s could only able to provide safe passage for three messengers from each Planet.  This was to be repeated on an annual basis, allowing more of our scientists to be transported and educated.  There was the possibility of increasing the numbers making the travel in the future but this was dependent on the success of this initial experiment.

The Earth responded beautifully.  Men and women of all cultures, religions and creeds came together united as one in the goal of discovering this frontier.  Peace was established within weeks. The recognition of trans-galactic travel alongside interplanetary communication and the opportunities this could deliver was too great a carrot to be wasted.  There were small warring sections, but these were minor in the overall global climate.   Each Country was placed in a Lottery allowing three to be selected. Argentina, Australia and The United Kingdom.  This is where I come into the story, for my name was pulled from the hat.  A hat filled with the names of the highest elite scientists and engineers of our various nations.

I was taken alongside my Argentinian and Australian colleagues to the North Pole on the last day of July and placed on a spot designated by the Angaran’s co-ordinates.  I cannot explain the transport details because one second I was stood in the Arctic Circle and the next I was waking in a room bereft of any decoration. The vastness of the space was initially overwhelming.  My eyes were unable to become accustomed to the dimensions.  My feet were unable to move as they had been placed into a stock, which was impaled into the ground.  I could smell a substance and felt stickiness on my face and hair.  The surface of the ground was smooth, though did not appear solid.  It resembled something I could not at that point picture but within my mind schemata were being pulled from files.  My hands were fastened securely behind my back.

My vision coming into focus noticed the others also contained in this restrictive manner.  My colleagues from Earth, alongside the aliens from the other Planets were positioned in a circle.  Fleetingly I wondered if my features looked as panic-stricken as theirs.  I’m sure they did. The roof was stripped from what was fast becoming to feel like a cell and light was introduced to the room.  I had a feeling of motion as if the entire base we were balancing on was being transported.  Alongside the introduction of light a cacophony of noise was forthcoming.  At this point I recognised the Angaran’s.  What had not been apparent via the screens we had greedily lapped up their empty promises and words from was the sheer size of the Race.  They were a good twenty times the size of humans. It became apparent that we were being transported through a humungous Hall full of braying and celebration.  Where we about to be introduced to the Prince on the occasion of his birthday?  Oh God, no.  It can’t be.  But of course my subconscious had known what was going to occur the minute I noticed the surface of our floor. 

Three of the brightest individuals from each of the seven Planets?  The Prince's Birthday? Obviously 21 was not only a significant milestone achieved by the population of Earth.  I dizzied as I saw the first of us being set on fire.  It was the Argentinian.  Her hair disappeared and her skin melted from her face, though the emollient they had placed on our upper bodies did not allow the flame to extinguish.  One after another was set fire to until it came to my turn.  Screams filled the air, though undoubtedly far too small to be noticed by the Angaran Prince and his Party.  As the flame was placed to my head I remember thinking the problems the translators had experienced with adverbs.  Obviously they actually meant the brightest individuals.  We were the Prince's Birthday Candles.  At this point it went dark.

Green Fingers

Si noticed the small hand growing in the bush the week before his fortieth birthday. The house belonged to his friend Jason who had asked him to look after it for a month whilst he was away on holiday in Haiti.  Si had decided that eventually he was going to move to Australia to investigate the great “Down Under”, but until he had the means to go off on that particular adventure he would take any opportunity he had in his life to experience the finer things.  Jason’s property was vast and this fitted in well with Si’s plans for his celebrations regarding his entry into his fourth decade on this third marble from the Eye. Jason had given the OK for such a celebration with a warning that the party be contained within his house. Jason did not wish for his prize Siamese twin cats to be allowed out of the house to venture where their curiosity would allow.

House was one word which could be used for the property Jason had allowed Si to inhabit.  Mansion was another.  Si had spent the first night wandering the various wings of the building drinking the fine brandy and wine stored in the basement. The following morning Si, having looked from the kitchen windows, decided to investigate the Grounds. He discovered an impressively large patch of land including a small lake and a huge lawn with a vast array of Garden Greenery which Si with his minimal gardening knowledge could only describe as bushes. It was one of these bushes which caught his eye that sunny morning.  Si was rubbing his forehead as the hangover which had been blurting a klaxon from his waking was now diminishing to a hover-board in his brain.  He looked at the bush about ten feet wide and seven feet high. The leaves blowing in the wind allowed a Zoetrope effect. There, yes there in the lowest part was a small hand. It’s wrist tiny and attached to the stem, but its palm and fingers grasping at the breeze.  Si noticed it had fully formed finger nails, clean and sharpened to a point. No larger than a tennis ball it squirmed and jiggled and grasped until it touched another leaf.  Si rubbed his eyes challenging the reality to explain the absurdity. When his blurred vision returned he saw merely a leaf with five green points protruding from the body similar to a horse chestnut. He shook his head and returned to the kitchen.  Behind him a Sparrow flew into the garden. Turning it’s head as if beckoned it flew into the bush.

The next morning Si headed back into the lakeside which he had taken to calling the sprawling mass of blessed land. He’d decided he wished to take a rowing trip on the lake encompassed in the said terrain. As he headed to the boathouse he noticed a dead robin on the path. Next to the robin was a sparrow, and next to the two birds were several small rodents. All the creatures had sections of flesh ripped from their bodies which lay in odd angles as if multiple fractures had been inflicted upon them. The path of the recently deceased garden beings led to the bush which he had seen the day before.  Si derailed his idea of a casual rowing boat jaunt on the lake preferring instead to investigate the unusual events which had caused the grotesquely distorted corpses lining the grounds to pull his curiosity in an invitational manner. The path led to the bush. By now there were at least twenty hands growing from the branches. Each hand had five fingers with sharpened nails.  Si noticed that the hands had become filthy and the nails were now caked with a substance he disturbingly realised was blood.  Each hand was grasping another leaf, rolling it in it’s palm and exulting triumph as it emerged in it’s renewed existence as a fresh hand.

Si noticed a bundle in the bush. It’s limbs spitting out between the fingers of the leaves. The bundle thrashed this way and that never once being allowed a release from the strong grip of the clasping hands engulfing it. Before he had a chance to help the cat’s neck was snapped and it’s throat ripped open allowing the blood to be poured into the soil covering the bushes roots. He reached into the bush to retrieve the cat which he now recognised was one of the Siamese twins Jason had asked him to keep in the house, when he felt the first nip. Followed by a pinch, followed by a grab. The bush with it’s increasing number of hands was reaching out and not only picking at his clothes but continuing to reach other leaves and, stroking their lamina, creating fresh ghastly appendages.

Screaming, Si stood and pulled away from the leaves, leaving welts of flesh contained in their fingers. He rushed to the lake house where the rowing boats were kept and frantically searching for something to combat the foul growths found a hedge trimmer. Powered by 2 Stroke he pulled the tag and for once this weekend allowed himself an ounce of comfort as the device sprung into life with a satisfying rumble. Leaving the boathouse he ran back to the bush realising that the foliage was now mostly made up of hands. These hands had grown. They were no longer the size of small leaves, instead now being muscular and the size of a young adult male’s. He ploughed the hedge trimmer through the first wave of hands, noticing that only flakes of leaves passed over his head. The other hands grabbed the intercepting juggernauts of the hedge trimmer resulting in many evaporating, but the larger ones held strong.

As Si got deeper into the bush the hands became plentiful and grasped the interweaving blades with aplomb. Even at this stage Si noticed other hands grasping leaves, stroking them. Si felt the hedge trimmer being turned. He felt the hands grabbing his shirt. He heard the 2 stroke motor being reversed into the path of his midriff. He felt the flesh from his stomach being ripped out of his belonging. He saw the blood being guzzled by the soil underneath the bush. He heard the motor stop. He dropped to the floor and felt himself being pulled into the bush. Pulled into the bush by hands which slightly tickled his skin prior to ripping at it.  Soon he was gone.

Jason returned home the day after, having completed his holiday in Haiti. The Houngan Holy Man he had gone to visit out there had told him what to do. He’d contacted all of Si’s friends informing them that their friend had decided to spend his Fortieth in Australia. He’d had a long chat with him and Si had told him that he was very likely just going to take off whilst over there. They had to admit, that was just like Si? He’d always wanted to see Down Under.

For My Child.

This blog is not just for scary stuff, I'll also be posting poems, sketches, musings and general nonsense which seems to fall out of my head.

Ten years ago we were ecstatic when we discovered we were going to have a baby.  our daughter was 3 and we had been trying for our second for a couple of months.  We spent the weekend in York and had a wonderful time.  When we returned home, my wife began to feel unwell, and without going into too much detail we experienced a miscarriage.  The next morning I woke and wrote this.  I've kept it in my wallet since that time, and through discussion with my wife I'm writing it online for the first time.  If you have experienced or are experiencing this awful time, I hope it helps.

My Child,

I'll never see you floating contently in the womb

I'll never see the faces as I show you to the room

I'll never change your nappy or hold you in the bath

I'll never get to hear you cry, I'll never hear you laugh

I'll never ask how your day has been or pick you up from school

I'll never have you help your Dad or teach you all the rules

I'll never help to mend your heart the first time it gets broken

I'll never get to shake my head when you tell me you are smoking

I'll never get the chance to see you start in your career

I'll never get to tell you that I always will be here

I'll never feel the sadness as you set off on your own

I'll never feel the pride as you set up in your first home

I'll never meet your partner or your children and their friends

I'll never get to be appalled as you wear the latest trends

I'll never get to see your face

I wish I could have met you

But of all the things I never will,

I never will forget you.

Dad. X

Soulstice.

 There was a thirst building in him that meant only thing. Water was required. As much as it pained him, Ian was going to have to get out of bed and trudge to the bathroom to procure the life affirming liquid. He pressed the alarm clock on his bedside table and its face lit up informing him that the time was just before 5am. Ian pondered his situation. He would be getting up in another two hours anyway, was it worth breaking the snug warmth he was experiencing in his bed to dip his beak a little? His tongue scraping along his palette gave him all the answer he needed. The seven beers he had quaffed and the takeaway Southern Fried Chicken he had devoured not more than six hours ago did not seem such a good idea anymore. Ian quietly slipped out of the bed so as to not disturb Nicki, his partner of twenty five years. She had been with him the night before and she had the good fortune of not being at work this morning, a rare thing indeed. To wake her on such an occasion would not end well. His eyes became accustomed to the darkness. The coldness of the late November morning pressed tightly against his bare flesh causing goose bumps to appear on his lightly tanned arms. Opening the bedroom door he walked out onto the landing.

The stranger was stood in the darkness. Half illuminated by the light bulb shining out past the half closed door of the toilet at the top of the stairs, it had one hand held out. Its palm was facing Ian in a “halt” gesture. Ian felt his breath dragged from his lungs. The Stranger lifted its other hand raising a forefinger in a waggling manner as if instructing Ian to not go through with what his terrified mind was contemplating. Ian understood what was being asked and complied. He wasn’t sure whether he had the guts to confront the stranger anyway. The stranger pointed down the stairs and made a “follow me” gesture. Ian followed the stranger down the newly carpeted stairs and into his kitchen. Ian noticed the softness of the fabric under his toes and soles of his feet. He noticed that the door to the kitchen opened without the stranger reaching for the door handle, and felt the door close behind him as he entered the room. The stranger sat at the breakfast table. The same table Ian had always thought he and his wife and kids would sit around every morning whilst eating their early morning meals, the three of them reading their comic’s or magazines, Ian reading his newspaper. This had never happened. Mornings were in reality far too hectic for anything other than toast being munched whilst on the move, or in the car taking the kids to school, or travelling to his workplace.

The stranger looked up to the ceiling and the electric light buzzed into existence. Ian could now see the strangers face. He recognised it. It’s gentle features and kind eyes immediately put Ian at ease. He was not going to be robbed or murdered in his own house. The Stranger spoke, and Ian knew the voice. Sitting in front of him was his favourite school teacher. She was called Mrs James and she had set fire in Ian a lifelong love of learning. He had been 7 when he first met her, in what those far off days called first year Juniors. Ian had forgotten he was thirsty, so when he spoke he was surprised at just how rough his voice sounded. “Mrs James, what are you doing in my house?” He asked before coughing. Looking at the table he noticed a glass of water perched on a coaster. Taking a sip of the deliciously cold liquid he looked at his old teacher. She looked exactly the same as she had back then. He knew this was the same of all teachers when accidentally bumped into by ex-pupils twenty plus years after leaving their classes, but she did look exactly the same.

“I’m afraid I’m not Mrs James,” she replied in that sweetest of voices.

“I have assumed this persona and shape as she is the only person in your life who could help you on this first step.”

Ian coughed a little. “First step, what do you mean? Who are you?” he asked. “The first step to the end Ian. I’m known by many names in your plain, but your culture know me and my kind as Death.”

Ian’s head swirled. He felt the room begin to spin and grabbed onto the table for support. Cold sweat covered his body. Mrs James held out a hand and gently stroked the top of his arm. Ian regained his composure feeling at peace. 

“That’s not an uncommon response.” Mrs James said smiling.

“Here have more water it will help.” Ian gulped greedily and wondered if he was dreaming. Mrs James sensed his thoughts.

“No Ian, I’m afraid this is really happening. A time has come and we are now about to end this part of it.”

“But how,” Ian blurted out “how can I be dead? I’m as fit as a fiddle, I’ve just had a full physical health check, came out with flying colours. I was promised another thirty plus years!” Mrs James stroking his arm her gaze never losing his replied

“The one organ they did not examine was the one affected by the disease. Your Soul.”

“My soul? But that’s not an organ.” Ian said blinking tears back. ”How can my soul have become diseased?”

Mrs James took her hand from Ian’s arm.

“Ian, I am about to change. This is necessary for your mind to be able to accept what I am about to tell you. Don’t be scared it will only take the briefest of moments.”

Ian did not have time to respond, but noticed a change in the form sat in front of him. It was too quick for his eyes to fully take in, but his brain understood. The being sat opposite him, where his daughter had sat many an evening completing her homework, expanded into a skin stretching mass before retracting into a recognisable human form. This time the person sat looking back at him was his Editor at the local newspaper where Ian had begun his career working as a journalist. His name was Jeb Taylor, but everyone called him JT. The nicknames corniness was never lost on Ian, and he would often ask JT why he had settled on the moniker. “With a name like Jeb, I’m never going to complain about what they call me.” was the oft quoted response. JT looked at Ian through his hard rimmed spectacles and smiled.

 “Listen to what I’m going to tell you, and don’t interrupt. You get one chance of hearing this and one chance only!” He said firmly. “My kind created your people. We breathed life into the clay, if you will. We soon realised though that your species was missing something. They were born, slept, woke, ate, mated, killed, gave birth and died with no thought of anything further. How could any species hope to develop with those restrictions. So we developed an organ that could help with this.  A Soul. Everyone of you has your own Soul, the same way everyone of you has your own heart, liver, lungs. The problem was that putting a soul into a human body was like putting a bowling ball into a sandwich bag. The thing was just too big for your shells to take. It took us a very long time to figure out how to allow you all to retain the thing and learn from it.”

He paused waiting for a question. None was forthcoming.

“Are you keeping up with this Ian?” he asked.

“What? Yes, yeah I think so, I’m just a bit…..overwhelmed.”

“Well don’t be, we don’t have much time.” Said JT.  He now placed his hand on Ian’s forearm, and again the peace descended.

“We finally realised that we had to adapt principles from our plain into your plain in order for this to work. Our dimensions are different to yours. We can transcend your laws by placing those dimensions into your existence.”

For the first time Ian understood how his Soul worked.

“You mean it’s bigger on the inside than it is on the outside?” He interrupted. JT looked at Ian and smiled.

“You a fan of that show too eh?  Well in a manner of speaking that’s exactly what we mean. We made the organ so small that externally to your kind it was imperceptible. We placed it in the heart. Making sense now? The problem is that as a species you developed what your German contingent call “schadenfreude”. That is joy in other people’s sorrow and suffering, and this is the one thing that destroys the organ. Like smoking a cigarette destroys your lungs, deriving pleasure from other people’s sadness destroys your Soul.”

Ian lurched forward. “I’ve never enjoyed other people’s suffering. That’s just not fair.” He said, his anger now rising.

“Really?” said JT raising his eyebrows. “What about the moment you heard about Diana, sitting in that newsroom so early in the morning?  You couldn’t wait to get the story out there. How many stories gave you a buzz knowing that you were getting them out there as an exclusive? Gaining the acknowledgement of others relating to the suffering of many. Damn, you just have to go on any social networks these days. How many exclusives have you tweeted in order for them to be favourited, reposted always feeding your desire.” Ian sat back.

“Guilty.” He admitted.

“Anyhow it doesn’t matter how many times you do it, it only takes one instance to introduce the disease to the Soul. Once it’s there, it spreads.  It can take two days, it can take twenty years, but it will eventually destroy the Soul. Sorry son, but that’s how it is.”

Ian closed his eyes and sat back in his chair.

“Ian, it’s time to go.” This voice was different. It was the first voice he had heard in his life and it would now be the last.

“I can’t.” Ian said, tears tapping his eyelashes.  Ian’s Mother placed her hand onto his arm, and Ian felt released.

“Your soul doesn’t disappear it just becomes too big for your body again. You now visit it in our plain. Your Soul is touched by many. But it is the Souls that are touched by each other that are intertwined when your shell ceases. This provides a network of contact. The nature of that contact whether positive or negative balances out and dictates the next step of your existence. A few people understood this and tried to tell you but you are scared by them and kill them. The Soul you visit now is what they told you is the afterlife.”

“But Mam, I don’t want to go. I’m not ready”

“Oh but you are love. Come darling. Hold my hand. It’s time to start believing again”

Ian held the Angel’s hand and walked into the light.

Fry Light Zone 2.

The Road to Damascus.

“SMILE”! 

Their small section of the room was momentarily filled with a flashlight which would have made Saul on the road to Damascus question the spelling of his name.  Mike hung onto Amanda whilst looking into the tiny Cyclopean retina positioned on the rear of the mobile phone facing them. The device was attached to the hand of a girl full of cheap vodka purchased in the local off licence/Post Office.  Only one of those esteemed establishments deserved capitals in Mike’s opinion.  Mike was old school.  Not for him the early morning chats around the water cooler regarding the previous night’s X Factor wannabees.  Mike liked his celebs to have earned their chops.  Lately it seemed that a lot of the Celebs Mike worshipped as a kid had all liked children they could worship in a completely different manner.  This did not stop Mike from his opinions.  Fame and celebrity should be earned, as should love.

He and Amanda had argued about this many times.  The picture taken, Mike loosened his grip on her and looking into her eyes realised not for the first time that he didn’t love her anymore.  She was beautiful.  She was clever.  She was everything a man could want.  She had changed in the last couple of months though and looking at her now, her eye’s slightly glazed by what he suspected was one too many Pinot Grigio, he again realised that she wasn’t what he had ever wanted.  She was what, he perceived, all of his mates had ever wanted.  She was everything his family had ever wanted.  Not him. 

His true love was at the bar.  She was deemed by others to be ordinary.  Not in his eyes.  In his eyes, when he had met her and seen that smile with those eyes he had ascended to another plain.  A plain where three dimensions couldn’t begin to contain the love within Mike.  He glanced over at her.  Why had he invited her?  He hadn’t seen her in over ten years or something like that.  What was she doing here?  She looked back and catching his gaze pointed at Amanda.  She smiled as she did so and Mike was terrified to see that smoke was rolling from her mouth and her eyes were missing, replaced by dark sockets drooling weblike matter from them.  She turned her back and Mike forgot his anxiety as a child forgets fear when held in strong arms.

Back at the table Mike looked at his Fiance.  This was what this gathering of folks was celebrating.  This engagement of Mike and Amanda.  She looked stunning.  If she had been with one of his mates he might have really fancied her.  She had been the girl no one could get.  The girl in College all the lads had lusted after but never had the guts to ask out.  A few brave souls had attempted to lure her into their webs at the end of a nightclub dance, but Amanda had been like Teflon to their adolescent sticky nests.  That was until Mike had kissed her.  After that moment, there was only one for her.

Mike looked at Amanda, brushing her hair from her shoulder and kissed her on her forehead.

“I love you”. He said. She smiled.  Behind her, Mike noticed a child crying.   The young boy was looking for his parents, but no guardians were forthcoming.  Mike looked around to see whom this infant belonged to.  When he looked back, the boy was gone.

“What was…Mandy, did you see that?” he said but Amanda was lost in the crowd appreciating the coos and the compliments being paid to her.  Mike realised that he needed to use the Men’s room.  Shrugging away the image of the child Mike stood and walked to the nearest toilets.  He stumbled slightly.  The lager he’d been drinking must have been stronger than he was used to.  For the life of him he couldn’t remember ordering more than his first pint.  He passed a couple of people he did not recognise.  They seemed disturbed, angry almost.  Mike asked them who they were.  “We’re who should have had him.”  With that they turned and walked away.

Mike walked into the toilet.  It was empty.  He stood against the urinal and passed the lager he no longer remembered drinking into the bowl.  Except no urine came out.  He looked into the bowl.  He felt the emission being passed, but no evidence of it was forthcoming.  At this point he began to smell the burnt hair and heard the toilet door being opened.   He turned hoping not to see what had come out, but to wake from this nightmare. 

He did not wake.  The man walking out of the cubicle was missing most of his peripheral appendages as they had already been burnt away.  His nose, ears, eyelids and hair were gone replaced by an acrid melted plot disguised as a face.  He was wearing the remnants of an old raincoat which like his face was mostly melted into oblivion.  Mike tried to scream but the pungent smoke would not allow him to make more than a choking utterance.  Dropping low he crawled out of the Gentleman’s Room and made it onto the corridor.

Mike’s true love was stood there.  She was as beautiful as he had ever remembered.  She was holding her arms out to embrace him.  He walked towards her.  She smiled and Mike remembered that she was dead.  She had died ten years earlier.  He had wanted her, but she had not wanted him.  He had hit her head.  She had not put up a fight merely dying in his arms.  He had stolen a car and placed her in the back seat.   Mike had driven to a common ground and set fire to the car.  He remembered now that a man had seen him in the rain.  Mike had hit him.  The old fool had deserved it.  As he felt his true loves crusted flaking lips lock onto his mouth and tasted her petrol soaked tongue Mike finally understood what was happening.  His last thought was where had the young boy come from?

EXCERPT FROM THE EVENING ECHO: 

“Following an accident on the A142 it has been announced that the two fatalities have been named locally as Amanda Byers (25) and Michael Yentz (30).  They had been driving home from their engagement party when for no known reason their vehicle left the road hitting a tree resulting in the newly engaged couple sustaining fatal injuries.”

The above excerpt was accompanied by a photograph of the couple taken at their engagement party.

SMILE!!!!

The room was momentarily filled with a flashlight, which would have made Saul on the road to Damascus question the spelling of his name.  Amanda smiled at the mobile phone.  She was so happy, she hadn’t told Mike this yet, but she was pregnant.......