tonystewart3 – Short Fat Stubby Finger Stories

Night casts dark shadows across the brightly lit green lawns of day and some things change forever

Episode 1 (start)           Episode 24 (next)            Info         Use Search for other Episodes

Short Fat Stubby Finger Stories PRESENTS:

Episode 23

Martin scratched his head in bewilderment at what he was observing as the small group made their way into the farmhouse.   In direct contradiction to the Devil’s caricature on the front door, a large crucifix hung conspicuously on the wall of the small hallway leading into the house, and judging by the highly polished shine on the silver cross Martin guessed that it was a recent addition to the environment.

   Attached to the wall directly opposite the crucifix there was a full length mirror where somebody had sketched a crude drawing of the face and upper body of a horned beast inside a circle, using some form of red liquid, which Martin presumed to be paint.  And although the image itself was roughly drawn, it had been accurately sized to ensure that the reflection of the crucifix was encased within the circle, as if to ward off the evil entity.   More symbols appeared around the outside of the circle, and although Joseph and his friends failed to interpret their absolute meaning, the intention to keep the Devil enclosed seemed obvious to them.

   “This is creepy,” Rosetta commented, clutching at the small crucifix she wore around her neck.

   “Come on,” Martin called out cheerfully as he moved on towards the next room, “we’ve work to do.  No time to admire the local art.”

   Passing through the hallway the trio entered a large room that appeared to be a combined dining and lounge room – although at the moment it bore a closer resemblance to a warehouse for Andy Warhol rejects.   The walls were splattered with charcoal drawn images of stick men, all wearing what Martin took to be dunce’s hats, and a replica of the horned beast hovering above them.

   Most of the stick men were either drawn as if they were running in fear of the creature, or piled up on top of each other in one big heap – and all with a thick streak of red paint criss-crossed over their prone bodies.   The more Martin looked at the strange drawings the more he became more convinced than ever that it had been children that had drawn the images both on the wall and the front door … though he had his reservations about the crucifix and the position it occupied within the circle on the mirror.   Although the colour of the liquid used on both the wall and the mirror appeared to be similar, the act of creating the image in the mirror seemed much more the work of a religious zealot, than a pimply-faced teenager out getting his jollies.

   On the floor, in the middle of the room, were the remnants of an almost expired bonfire somewhere around three to four metres in diameter.   The almost perfect circle was littered with soot and glowing embers, but whatever had been burning on top of the carpet was no longer to be seen.   Some odd crackling and popping sounds could be heard as red embers occasionally projected themselves out of the still smouldering area, creating new scorch marks on the carpet surrounding the circle before they quickly burned themselves out.   For whatever reason, the fire seemed restricted to the circle … and not an inch outside of it.  

    Joseph, like Martin, was also trying to make some sense of the room’s current appearance, and he was equally surprised that the still smouldering fire in the middle of a carpet was not causing them breathing problems, though it did add a rather repugnant light odour to the room.   Not enough to make one feel sick, but strong enough to be noted and annoying.    However, as he looked around the room he could see several windows had been left slightly ajar, possibly since the fire had first been discovered, and he decided that it was the access to fresh air that they provided that had greatly subdued the obnoxious smell.   And then he remembered what Martin had mentioned the previous evening in regards to what the police inspector had told him about the fire.

   “It looks like somebody’s had one hell of a barbecue,” Martin commented, as if reading Joseph’s mind, “It is not exactly how I imagined it would be.   Though I’m not too sure I knew what to expect when the Inspector told me about it.  The whole concept of a still smouldering fire inside a house left a little bit too much to imagination for me, I am afraid.”

   “You and me both, Martin,” Joseph replied, “And,” He added with a crooked smile, “What were they cooking – because there doesn’t seem to be any cooking apparatus inside the circle.   No signs of a barbecue or anything similar … just carpet and ashes.   Perhaps they were trying to simulate a hangi.’

   “What’s that?”   Rosetta asked.

   “Ah, it’s a New Zealand way of cooking where the food is cooked under the fire, instead of over it.   Quite popular they are … and they make some great meals.”   Martin offered.

   “Sounds a bit strange to me … why did they bother inventing ovens if digging holes under open fires are so good?”   Rosetta replied, rolling her eyes as she spoke before turning back to face Joseph.   “Do you think there is something buried at the bottom, Joseph?”

   “Like a stuffed pig or some potatoes in alfoil.”  Joseph grinned, “No, I don’t think so.   At any rate, the fire-fighter’s decision had been partly right.   The fire didn’t go completely out, but the house still didn’t burn down.   So it will eventually burn itself out, no doubt.”

   “Shouldn’t we put this fire out?” Rosetta asked with concern at both the slight odour that still emitted from the dark patch of carpet, and the fact that it was, after all, still a fire.

   “No, I shouldn’t worry about it just at the moment,” Joseph replied, “I doubt it’s going to explode in flames any minute now.   Anyway, it is not actually burning as much as it is smouldering – though whatever it is that is smouldering, I am afraid that I have absolutely no idea.   And, on top of everything else, the house is mainly made of brick and stone, so it’s not going to burn down very easily.   And, on the other hand, too much water sprayed on the carpet would most likely create an even more foul-smelling odour to overtake the farmhouse within a few days than what it produces now … especially in this weather.   Remember, there is no one actually occupying the farm at the moment, so there would be no one to soak up the water once the fire was completely out.   The water would just lay there and rot what was left of the carpet.   And if I remember correctly, the police inspector said that the fireman had told him that they couldn’t out the fire out completely.   So if the professionals couldn’t manage to extinguish it, I very much doubt that we could.   Is that not the case, Fireman Sam?”  Joseph called out as he turned to face Martin.

   “Couldn’t have put it any better myself, old chap.   We’ll just let it smoulder away.   No need for us to become volunteer fire-fighters.   Not our job, and we don’t want to get in trouble with the local chapter of the fire brigade union by doing their job for them.   Much better for us just to stick with our searching and get out of here as fast as we can.”

   “You could just as well have just said no.”  Mary stated dryly, her lower lip dropping as she spoke, “It would have been a lot quicker to have put the fire out than the time it took for your answer.

   “But we can open a few more windows if you like.” Joseph added with a smile, “Make the room a little fresher.”

   “Yes, that would be good … thank you.”  Rosetta replied, her tone not hiding her disappointment at the dismissal of her suggestion.  She had no idea of what was bugging  her about the fire, but the ominous feeling that it had placed on her from the moment they had entered the room was not subsiding.

   As Joseph and Martin opened the first of the extra windows the change was immediate.   They could feel the mild odour of the room being sucked out with the aid of the newly opened windows, and by the time they had finished the task the smell was unnoticeable.

   However, in point of truth, the fire had worried Joseph from the moment he had first laid eyes on it, but he had not said anything to the others.   Something about the fire was ringing warning bells in his head, but he could not yet work out what it was.   Whatever it was, it was making the hair on his arms tingle and his veins were tightening as hard as he could tolerate.   Joseph knew that something evil was not too far away.

********

   Rosetta felt more comfortable when Joseph suggested it was time to do a quick search of the rest of the house because it meant getting out of the room which was making her feel rather unsettled.    Leaving Martin to his own devices Joseph and Rosetta moved on to the next room which turned out to be a bedroom.   An unmade bed, its bed-head pressed hard against one wall occupied a large percentage of the smallish room.  A single wardrobe stood fast against the wall that ran parallel with the bed, and a small dresser and a trunk on the floor beside the bed completed the sparse furnishings.   The room emitted a natural, lived-in appearance … a complete disparity to the state of the room that they had just left with its charcoal littered carpet and graffiti laden walls.   Rosetta opened the wardrobe and found a smattering of men’s clothes hanging on some wooden hangers.   “These are my father’s,” Rosetta exclaimed excitedly,   “He never takes much on his travels.   Mainly work clothing and a good suit with accessories for his air travels.   This must have been his room.   Most of his other clothing should be in the dresser.”   And a quick check of the dresser confirmed her theory.

   While Rosetta was occupied with the contents of the dresser, Joseph had begun to rummage through the professor’s trunk hoping that something amongst the archaeology necessities such as lights, small tool packs and rope ladders would reveal something of help to them.   And as luck would have it there was also a small diary.   Joseph opened the book and began to flip through the pages, but he quickly realised that it was all written in Italian and handed it to Rosetta, advising her to hold on to it and they would examine it later.

   “You don’t want me to read it right now?’  Rosetta asked in surprise, “It might tell us straight away where the statue is.”

   “It could, Rosetta, but even though I can’t read or write Italian it seemed to me to have too much information crammed inside to find anything in a hurry.   No, I suggest we keep searching and examine what we find in more detail when we have finished.”

   However, regardless of Joseph’s suggestion, Rosetta opened the pages and like Joseph flicked through the pages for a minute then closed the book and put it in her bag.   “I am sorry, Joseph.”  Rosetta said, her face expressing both embarrassment and apology,   “Your instincts were correct.   Nothing appears to be in any particular order.  It will possibly take me several hours to make sense of my father’s chicken scratchings.”

********

Finally finishing their search of the professor’s room Joseph and Rosetta moved to the next room where they found a similar layout complete with clothes and personal effects that included a framed photograph of two men at an unknown dig which helped Rosetta identify the items as belonging to her uncle.

   “Your father and uncle are fairly similar in appearance, Rosetta,” Joseph remarked, “They are fine looking men.”

   “Yes,” Rosetta replied, her tone and smile indicated her pride in the two men, “you will like them, Joseph … when you meet them.”

   “I am looking forward to it.”

   “So am I, Joseph.”   Rosetta reached forward as she spoke and clasped her hands around his.   Joseph was surprised by her affection, and again he wished he could tell her the truth … but he had begun to wonder what the truth really was at the moment.   The fire had told Joseph that there was much more going on around him than he could ever imagine and he was quickly understanding that the sooner they became aware of what was about to confront them – the readier they would be.   But it was also something he knew that he couldn’t discuss with Martin and Rosetta … at least not just yet.   They would probably think him mad.   Joseph knew he would have to keep everything to himself and hoped things would reveal themselves to him in a clearer manner before it became too late.

********

   Meanwhile, Martin had completed a check of the remainder of the house which revealed the same kind of undisturbed, lived-in, impression.  Used towels were hanging on a rack in the bathroom.   A tube of toothpaste and several toothbrushes were neatly standing upright in a cup that rested on the sink cabinet.   The kitchen was reasonably tidy, though there was little food in the cupboards.   Tea, coffee, sugar and some biscuits sat on a sideboard near the stove, and there was some milk still in the fridge, but it had thickened and gone well past its expiry date.   In retrospect everything in the house seemed normal considering the type of life the archaeologists would have expected to be living when they were on the digs, and Rosetta had said that was how her father had viewed the trip to the farm because he still had a lot of research to do on his find.  

   When the trio met up again in the hallway they all agreed that, for all sake and purposes, the house appeared normal.   Only the lounge room and the hallway were out of sync.   It was Martin who expressed the opinion that was in all of their minds – that the situation wasn’t making much sense.  “Surely vandals must have started the fire in the lounge room,” he began, “and painted the graffiti on the walls.   But why graffiti the walls then try to burn the house down … why not one or the other?   Why didn’t they trash the rest of the house?   Why were the contents of the other rooms undisturbed?   It couldn’t have been because they were interrupted, surely, or they wouldn’t have had time to set up the fire.   It would have made more sense to steal everything that wasn’t tied down and damage whatever was left, before setting fire to it if they were simply thieves or kids after their jollies.   Why pick on those two rooms?   And, besides, even an idiot would surely realise that with these walls the fire was never going to reach the timber beams in the ceiling.  So what was the point of it all?”

   “So many questions, my friend, so few answers.”  Joseph added in agreement.

   “The mirror may have been part of the household furniture,” Martin continued, “as the crucifix in the hallway could also very well have been the property of the farm’s owner, but the image in the mirror was created deliberately … and I am fairly certain that the professor or his brother did not draw it … just not their style as Rosetta would attest.  It was crude, but some effort had gone in to the way the crucifix was reflected in the mirror to counter act the devil.   That surely wasn’t the same miscreants that had started the fire, surely not?   But the drawings on the wall; those stupid matchstick men with the dunce’s hats … they had to be juveniles, and they could have been responsible for the fire.”

   “Perhaps they were a warning.” Joseph offered, “But a warning to us, or for us, that is the question?

   “What do you mean, Joseph,” Rosetta asked, slightly perplexed where Martin and Joseph were heading.

   “Martin is pointing out that perhaps there were at least two sets of people besides your father and uncle visiting the house recently.   Whoever started the fire – and whoever drew the image of the devil on the mirror in a way that it would capture the reflection of the crucifix.   There is also the possibility that there were a third set of visitors that drew the graffiti on the walls, though I personally feel the graffiti and the crucifix warning were put there by the same party.”

   “But what do you mean by the warning, Joseph?”  Rosetta insisted.

   “I was wondering whether it was a warning for us or to us?”

   “Yes … ?”  Rosetta  insisted, awaiting Joseph’s explanation with the impatience of somebody who had unexpectedly found themselves in an environment completely out of their depth.

   “I was wondering if whoever created the illusion on the mirror meant it to be a warning to us that something evil supposedly resided on the farm and for us to be careful – or if it was meant to warn us to stay away … or pay the consequences.

   “Oh,” Rosetta said with a shudder, “Which do think it is, Joseph?”

   Rosetta and Martin both looked at Joseph with hope, but he simply shrugged his shoulders.   “No idea, I am afraid.  I think we need to return to the dining room.”

    Both Martin and Rosetta felt slightly disappointed as they followed Joseph out of the room.   For some unknown reason they had both expected him to not only have an opinion, they had half expected him to give them a Sherlock Holmes explanation … complete with facts and names.   When that never eventuated, to give themselves peace of mind, they decided that Joseph was playing his cards close to his chest and would reveal all when he was ready.   Little did they know that Joseph was playing his cards close to his chest … for a completely different reason.

   However, in their minds at least,  Joseph quickly exemplified their thoughts as soon as they entered the room when he immediately began having a far closer scrutiny of the wall and its childish art.   He began with the drawing on the far left hand side of the room, then slowly moved to his right, stopping in front of each new drawing as he came to it until he had reached the last one in the room.

   “Do you see something in them, Joseph?”   Martin asked hopefully,  “They all seem rather vulgar and amateurish to me.”

   “I agree,” Joseph replied, “they are very amateurish,  but … .”   Something about the entire layout was bothering him.  He looked at the ceiling, and then at the wall again, and finally the fire.   Then suddenly something inside Joseph’s brain twigged.   “I don’t know the background,” he unexpectedly stated to his companions, “and I don’t know the facts, and I certainly don’t know who they really were, but I don’t think the drawings represented a pack of dunces.   I think that they were telling us something that we’re not yet understanding.   Do you notice something strange about the fire, Martin?”

   Rosetta turned to him with a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

   “I’m not too sure what you mean either, old chap.”   Martin added.

   “There is no fuel that we can see.”  Joseph responded,   “No pieces of timber.   No cans of petrol or bottles of kerosene sitting on the floor near the fire.   The fire looks as if it has been smouldering for quite some time, and we know that it has, and it would have been a fairly large fire initially, in area at least, judging by the size of its base.   Which means that at one stage a flame must have been rising, and a fair amount of the embers still appear to be hot even now.   Yet the house didn’t burn down when it was at its most intense … there is no indication that any attempt was made to control it, or put it out – even though the fire brigade said they had attempted to.   There are no water stains.   There are no blisters appearing on the paint on the wall.  There are no smoke stains on the walls, or the ceiling, and there is virtually no smoke coming from what is left of the fire – it’s almost pure heat.    It is still smouldering … and it still produces a faint odour of something rather foul.   And yet the smoldering fire seems to be confined to the inner circle.   So what exactly is keeping the fire active?”

   “Well it had to burn something to make that awful smell.” Rosetta said in confusion.   “So there must have been fuel to begin with.   Furniture, do you think?   Perhaps a table and some chairs?  They threw petrol or oil or something onto a table and some chairs and that is what set fire to the carpet and made the smell?   Joseph, there must have been something burning.”

   “I agree,” Joseph nodded, “the question is what was burning.   I doubt very much somebody set fire to a table and chairs, because I also doubt that this place warranted two tables and more chairs than it houses at the moment.   But you are right … it had to be something that was combustible, but large in quantity or size.”

   While Joseph was talking, Martin moved closer to the outer ring of the fire.   He looked around for something to use, and when he realised that there was nothing in the room he went to a cupboard enclosed in the wall between the two bedrooms and returned with a broom.   Stopping at the edge of the circle he cautiously extended the handle into the glowing embers and began to push some of the burnt debris aside.  Eventually he made contact with the object that he was after and used the broom handle to slide it across the floor until it was at his feet outside the circle, then he reached down and picked it up.

   “Look at this,” Martin exclaimed as he displayed his prize in his open palm, a gold ring, twisted and bent beyond being used as it had been designed to be, but possibly still holding some value providing it was as it appeared – pure gold.

   “You have good eyesight, Martin.”   Joseph noted with admiration.

   “I thought that I could see something glistening in the debris.  It seemed to reflect the embers, rather than glow.”  Martin said. “Just a bit of luck really.

   “It certainly is, Martin.   But the thing that makes it really interesting is that unlike the walls, there is damage to it,” Joseph remarked.   “Just look at how much it has melted.   One can only guess at how much heat it was exposed to, but the melting point of gold is just under two thousand degrees Fahrenheit, or a little over one thousand Celsius, if you prefer … and that is almost twice the heat of an average house fire.   Well done, Martin, but you’ve now made matters worse for us.”

   “How is that?”   Martin asked in surprise.

   “If there was that much heat in the house … how come then, that the house did not burn down?   That is quite a lot of heat simply to produce an ember popping carpet … and it is far too much heat for a kitchen table and a couple of wooden chairs to produce.   There are so many questions in this house they would supply fodder for a science themed game show for a year or more.”

   “I think I might do a little more fishing while my luck is in.”   Martin said with a grin, “never know what I might hook.   See how many more questions I can add to the pot.”

   Martin returned to his prodding and raking, eventually locating an odd mixture of items, which included some clothing, namely a shirt and jacket that had somehow managed to remain intact, and several gold watches that, like the ring, had been badly affected by its exposure to the heat of the fire.   But the watches also presented a new addition to the slowly expanding list of facts pertaining to the fire.  One watch would have been worn by a man … the other by a woman.

   “Why would there be so many people in the house if the residents weren’t present?”   Joseph asked almost to himself, “Could they have started the fire?   But why?   Why were they here?    Who were they?   Were the professor and his brother in the house at the time?    Did this have something to do with the professor’s current condition? “

   “Can’t help you there, Old Chap, but perhaps this is your answer to the origins of the fire, Joseph.”   Martin mused, staring at the clothing in his hand as he spoke,   “Clothing, or some similar material like old curtains must have been used to start the fire, but why didn’t these particular items burn?”

   “I don’t think that clothing or curtains of any description could have produced the heat that bent the ring and the watches,”   Joseph replied,  “but why what you are holding didn’t burn, I don’t know.   Perhaps they were protected by something that covered them at the time.   Something that we can no longer see.”

   “Perhaps because they are made from a non-combustible material,”   Rosetta chipped in, taking the coat that Martin had extracted from the fire, “and this is certainly not my father’s or uncle’s.   It is far too big for either one of them.”

   Martin and Joseph looked at Rosetta, a shade of bemusement covering their individual faces.

   “I learnt that in the fashion industry,” Rosetta continued defensively when she saw the expression on their faces, “some clothes are made of heat resistant materials that cannot burn.   They were originally designed for use by rescue workers, but now clothing manufacturers create domestic wear in the same material.”

   “So, Rosetta, you are more than a pretty face, “Martin said with a laugh.

   “And I do have a pretty face.   So I have the best of two worlds, don’t I.   Is that not true, Joseph?   Am I not both pretty and smart?”  Rosetta felt proud of herself to be able to contribute something scientific to the conversation, her face grinning from side to side as she looked at Joseph.

“You are that, and a brave young woman as well.”   Joseph replied softly,  “You are handling the situation well for somebody that deep down feels uncomfortable in a strange and possibly dangerous environment.   I think even Martin senses the threat this place extrudes.   I know that I certainly do.   However, I wouldn’t worry too much.   I think that we are safe as we can be for the moment, but I also feel that the quicker we find the statue and get the antidote for your father, the happier we all will feel.”

   Rosetta, again in awe of Joseph’s sensitivity, moved closer to him and put her hands to his face, pulling him forward until his lips rested against hers and kissed him gently before moving back a step, then took his hands in hers as she spoke.   “Thank you for coming, Joseph.   I know with you here we will find the statue and my father will be well again.”

   Martin looked hard at his friend Rosetta as she stepped back from Joseph, and suddenly it all clicked in to place for him.   He wondered why it had taken him so long to notice the obvious.   Martin decided it was because he had never seen Rosetta so happy in all the years he had known her and her family, and this was despite the concern she had for her father’s condition, so he had no previous experience to compare the situation with.   And it was Joseph, he felt certain, that had caused this change in her.   As Martin watched her he realised Rosetta never took her eyes of him.   Rosetta had taken to Joseph like a bee to honey as far as Martin was concerned.    ‘Well,’ he thought to himself with a smile, ‘this will be an interesting few days.’

   Joseph, however, again regretting his impetuous tongue when he was with Rosetta when he felt that he should be keeping a reasonably low profile, still wasn’t satisfied about the fire.   ‘Martin, can I have the broom for a minute, please?”

   Martin handed him the broom, and Joseph proceeded to scatter the debris with the wooden end of the broom as Martin had been doing.   When he met with little success in his experiment, he pulled it back and reversed it so that he could use the straw end.   Martin had used the wooden end to prevent scattering too much of the debris that he was trying to shift through.   Joseph wanted to have a look at the carpet under the embers, but he was concerned that there may still be enough heat left in the embers to make the straw catch fire.

   Gently, he pushed the straw broom towards the blackened, smouldering debris, but as soon as the straw crossed over the edge of the circle it burst into flames as if it had been blasted with a flame gun, and within seconds there was only the wooden handle remaining in Joseph’s shaking hand.   He dropped the still smoking appliance on the floor and the three of them stared in awe as what was left of the appliance rolled across the outer ring and stopped motionless at the inside edge of the glowing embers.

   Martin bent down to retrieve the broomstick to examine it, but Joseph quickly grabbed him and pulled him back.   “I don’t think that would be a good idea, Martin.   I think that I know why we can’t see any wood in the fire.   I am uncertain what fueled the fire in the first instance, but I am fairly certain that I know what got burnt.   Come with me.”

   Rosetta and Martin followed Joseph with no idea what he had in mind.

   “I thought that I heard the sound of chickens outside when we first arrived.” Joseph said in answer to their unasked question as they marched out the door, his comment as much a question, as it was a statement.

   They paused in their tracks and listened … and eventually they could hear the sounds of chickens clucking somewhere out of sight.

   “Behind the barnyard,” Martin indicated and the three of them set off towards the rear of a large building located around one hundred odd yards from the main house, shortly arriving at a caged area where around two dozen egg-laying hens and a rooster wandered aimlessly in an area big enough to hold several hundred

   “Well they certainly look healthy enough,” Joseph stated, unlocking the gate and immediately grabbed the closest chicken by the scruff of the neck before heading straight back to the house with Martin and Rosetta in hot pursuit, painfully curious about what Joseph was going to do with the chicken, but hesitant to ask in case it had been obvious from the start and they had missed it.

   “Hopefully I will be proved wrong here,”   Joseph remarked, shedding no light of understanding on his actions, and Rosetta and Martin were uncertain whether he was talking to them, or to the squawking fowl.

   Martin and Rosetta watched in bemusement as Joseph approached the circle where he stopped about five feet outside it, swung his arm behind his back, then swung it forwards as hard and fast as he could before releasing his grip on the chicken and threw it towards the middle of the pile of embers.

   The squawking fowl flew through the air, its legs thrashing in the unaccustomed freedom of flying.   Ecstasy, it possibly thought for the briefest of time, but this intriguing interruption to its earth bound status came to an abrupt halt as a bolt of lightning screamed through the air, and the bird exploded in a ball of fire.   There was not a thing left by the time that it had travelled less than a quarter of the way to the middle of the circle, save a single feather that slowly rose – then fell as it made its way to the floor below, where it finally landed on a glowing ember.   And then it too disappeared in a puff of smoke.

   “My God,” Martin exclaimed in astonishment, “that’s not how they cook K.F.C..   Whatever baked that chicken, it was certainly not a fire … and it’s still active.   That could have been me if I had tried to pick up the remains of the broom.   Thank you, Joseph – you saved my life.   But how did you know?”

   “I really wasn’t too sure.   I just remembered something that I read by chance when I was doing some research at uni, and the conditions of spontaneous combustion seemed an acceptable explanation as to why there is nothing actually burning.   However, whatever killed the chicken, it was not spontaneous combustion in the way that I had imagined it to work, though the end result is still the same.   But whatever it was, it’s still hanging around, and it seems to have enough power to completely destroy its victims to a degree that is beyond anything that I have ever come across.   Perhaps that is what the warnings were all about.”

   “What is spontaneous combustion?” Rosetta asked, uncomprehending.

   “There is a theory that in certain conditions a human body can reach boiling point for no apparent reason, and subsequently implode.   There are reported cases world wide where bodies have been found burnt to a crisp, and yet there was no evidence of fire existing anywhere other than in their immediate environment.   Sometime even their clothes are only slightly singed.   In most cases the incidents have taken place indoors, with the rooms locked.   There are sometimes scorch marks on the walls, or ceilings, but rarely is any other damage done to the room where it happens.”

   “And you think that this is what happened here?” A bewildered Martin stared at Joseph,   “How?”

“I don’t really know.   It goes well beyond anything that I have ever studied or seen. All the cases that I have read about have only involved individuals.   No, wait, there was a report of two brothers once found dead, burnt to crisp in a room locked from the inside with absolutely no other way in or out, but if it were true I would think it to be a rarity.   I have never read anything of a ‘group’ combustion, though that doesn’t mean that such events have not occurred, I suppose.   However this case seems a little more complex.   Nobody knows what causes spontaneous combustion, nor how it actually happens … it usually takes place behind closed doors and the bodies are found after the event, not during it.      But this … this seems almost as if it was the result of an outside intervention.   The mind boggles at the thought of how much energy was released here, wherever it originated … .   And it makes it all a bit worrying when you realise that whatever caused it is still active.   It reeks of science fiction … a Martian running around with a deadly ray gun or something similar.   Where’s Big Arnie when you need him?   I am only joking, I don’t think that it is some kind of alien invasion, but I am open to the possibility it was mass murder.   But even that thought doesn’t guide us to who the victims were, why they were here, or why they were killed… and what the tie-in to Rosetta’s father and brother is.   I think that we should take care in what we do and where we go on this farm.   There could be more danger waiting for us.

   “Are you telling us that that pile of burnt rubbish are human remains?”   Rosetta asked, horrified at the thought.

   “I am sorry if this is upsetting for you, Rosetta.”   Joseph said in a soft, remorseful tone,   “I wasn’t thinking.   I could have put it more subtly.   However, I doubt there are many, if any, human remains left after seeing what happened to the chicken; but yes, maybe … I don’t really know for certain … and I am certainly not going to attempt to sift through the embers to prove it one way or another.   What I do know for certain is that this is not a normal fire, and whatever caused it is still active.   I would imagine the police and the fire fighters had no idea how lucky they were that they didn’t enter the circle.”

   “I think that you are right, Joseph.”   Martin offered, “The image of the crucifix in the mirror and the stick men were warnings.   Maybe somebody else is aware of the danger in the house.”

   “It would seem so.   But that could also mean a witness may have survived.”   Joseph agreed.

   “How horrible for them to see anything like that” Rosetta said quietly, “I feel rather ill.”

   “Let’s go outside and get some fresh air.”   Joseph suggested.

   “Please.”   Rosetta agreed, leaning hard against Joseph, her arms around his waist as the trio made their way out.   Partly for comfort, partly for physical support as Joseph’s words began to sink even deeper into her mind.

   “What do we do now?”   Martin asked as they passed through the doorway and onto the lawn,   “Do we discuss what we have seen in the house, or do we continue to search for clues to the whereabouts to the statue?”

   Joseph quickly summed up the situation.   “There wasn’t anything found in the house to help us with finding the statue, other than the diary, that is.   So I suggest that we have a look around the barn, and if we don’t find anything within a reasonable time period then we’ll try to book into a hotel in the village for the night.   Tomorrow we’ll have a really good look around the entire farm.   And I think we need to review the professor’s diary as soon as we get to the hotel.   He very well may have left some clues there, but Rosetta has already said that the diary is not in any particular order, so she will need some time to analyse it.   So the sooner we get to the hotel, the sooner she can get started.   Does everybody agree?”

   Martin nodded his head in agreement, as did Rosetta relieved to be away from the house and the gruesome thoughts and images that were manifesting themselves within her mind

   However, their plans may have been changed slightly had they been aware of a pair of wild red eyes hiding in the relative safety of the darkness within the barn that totally disagreed with their decision.

Go to Episode 24

Episode 1 (start)           Episode 23(next)            Info         Use Search for other Episodes

Short Fat Stubby Finger Stories PRESENTS:

Episode 22

Mary took a deep breath and slowly let the air escape her lips – then repeated the action several times before the panic within her began to subside.   The fear in her mind all but disappeared.   The ice had gone completely from her entire body, and normality was returning to her rationality.   Eventually Mary found the courage to attempt to verify her newly found control over her own body and was elated to find her limbs to be supple once more.   Tentatively she had tried moving her hands, rolling them from side to side while simultaneously moving her fingers.   She then began twisting and turning them in every direction imaginable … and with every movement the smile on her face grew wider and wider.    The hands, the arms, both moved easily, comfortably.   Mary found herself in seventh heaven.

   “Yes!” she called out loudly, excitedly, and quickly became even more energized when she realised another faculty was working again, half expecting the garage attendant to come rushing in because she had yelled so loud, but he didn’t.   However, Mary’s nervous system was still in damage control following the pain and suffering she had undergone only minutes earlier.  Her mind was not certain that all was well with her because she still did not understand what had actually happened to her.   She still mistrusted both her sanity and her physical capabilities, and although her voice and hands appeared to be back to normal, she did not trust her legs.

   It had been her legs she had relied on to take her to safety … and they had failed her when it counted.   She had no reason to trust them now… not at face value.  They would have to prove themselves … for both her safety … and her sanity.   Though whether this would help in deciding whether she was insane … or a survivor, was now a mute point in her mind … it no longer seemed to matter.   Whatever was happening – was happening … Mary just needed to know that she could walk so she could get as far away as possible from this nightmare.

   Mary stared intently at the door.   ‘Only ten – no –maybe, eleven steps,’ she told herself, ‘I can do this – I can!  Whatever had possessed me before … is gone!  I am free.’   Mary stared even harder at the door.   It became the focus of her objective.   She concentrated on it.   Not for a moment did her eyes waver.

   ‘One step at a time’, she impressed on her mind as, slowly, she began to lift one foot off the floor, an action that seemed to take forever in her mind …  an action that required enormous concentration and will power as Mary put every ounce of her mind power into action, her teeth gritted tightly together as she pushed her mind to the limit … and then it all came to a frustrating end and became an action that had failed to eventuate.  She had not been able to lift her foot one inch upwards.   Despite the warm feeling that had begun to trickle through the veins in her legs a moment earlier that had convinced Mary that all was now well with them … her feet were still as one with the floor.

   Mary became panicky, and tried again, but on each occasion she found her foot still pasted fast to the concrete floor.  ‘An inch, I can’t move my foot even one single inch,’ she complained aloud to no-one but herself, ‘is everything moving backwards in time?   Am I about to return to the same nightmare, the same level of insaneness I had been in but a minute or two ago?’

   Mary was becoming fraught with frustration.   It was as if something unseen, some invisible adversary, was somehow melding her foot with the floor to prevent her from moving.  But no matter how much her mind was telling her Mary about the lack of co-operation her feet were giving her, she did not move her eyes from the door …not for one second.   She had no intention of doing anything but passing through the doorway even if that meant going down on her hands and knees and crawling her way through it; no intention of allowing distractions of any kind preventing her from accomplishing her task, and that included distractions caused by invisible entities or the supernatural … or whatever one called the thing that was currently controlling her mind and body.

   As she increased her concentration on the door, attempting to push everything else that cluttered her mind aside, Mary could feel the sweat building up on her forehead again; on her arms; her head began pounding – and the fear of the unknown was quickly re-entering her mind.   But she would not take her eyes from the door.

   Mary forced her mind to block out the distraction; the fear; the sweating.   Sucked in a deep breath; exhaled, and tried again, attempting to push her body forward with so much force that she was on the brink of falling forward – straight to the floor in front of where she stood.   But still she couldn’t move her foot an inch.

From nowhere within her vision a voice suddenly began to enter her head.      ‘Mary … listen to me,’ it implored her, listen to me.’

   Mary was but a single distraction from submission to defeat; to becoming convinced that she was losing her mind.   To admit she was insane.   And when the deep, gentle voice unexpectedly began flowing through her mind, Mary’s spirit finally broke.  She was immediately willing to accept insanity was the cause of her current grief.   ‘What more proof did she need?’ she wondered.   She knew there was nobody else in the room.   There was no radio or television playing in the background, yet the sound of words continued in their almost monotonous tone as they rolled on inside her head.  Mary never heard the intent of the words, her refusal to listen – her last act of defiance.   But the words continued their request for her attention never-the-less.

********

Time strolled by in its inevitable way – and as it did, the world inside Mary’s mind became darker and darker – until eventually Mary’s defiance, her courage, her fear, subsided simultaneously.   Her mind began to become devoid of any thoughts whatsoever – only the words remained.   She no longer cared if she could walk or not.   She cared not for anything but a release from this madness that was beginning to engulf her.

   And, as she stood in limbo, uncertain of what would become of her over the next while; uncertain if she would stay in this position until she had totally succumbed to the madness … or if her mind would simply give out and leave her unaware of her own existence, she stopped fighting, succumbed to the inevitability of it all and allowed the words that had come from nowhere to communicate with her: words that called out her name; words that demanded her attention.

   ‘Mary … listen to me, listen to me,’ the voice had said over and over again.

   Now, finally, Mary began to listen and a soft light began to glimmer in the thick forest of darkness that was now Mary’s mind.

   The density of the darkness soon began to be reduced to shadows as the light began to shine with more intensity.

   The request stopped – and was replaced with more meaningful words; words that didn’t seem to make much sense to Mary.  But still she listened.

   The light intensified … the shadows completely disappeared and light reigned within her mind again.

   ********

Mary took another deep breath as she attempted to analyse the words; to try and understand the message more clearly, but found that she couldn’t.    Mary stopped trying and let them roll around inside her befuddled mind.   She knew eventually they would explain themselves to her mind what was to be done next – and then her mind would tell her.  And, as she waited for the answer to come forth, Mary relaxed for the first time since she had noticed the photo and had allowed it to momentarily take over her life.

   She knew she had to take control of her fear, an action she had known and attempted from the beginning of entering this strange world that her mind had wandered into, but had been unable to do so indefinitely.   And it was with this thought that she finally realised her inability to move her foot was somehow being controlled by her mind.   She had had absolutely no real control of her attempt to walk to the door.   Something had tricked her mind into thinking she could not walk; had made her concentrate solely on the door; had made her ignore seeking an answer to why she could not move her foot.   Who or what had created this situation was a question for another time.   A time when the answer would make much greater sense to her, but that time was still yet to come

   Then Mary suddenly realised it could even have been fumes from the oils and fuels in the room and the adjoining workshop that had caused the madness; the delusion to occur, caused to her to trip out.   Perhaps there was something in the workshop that had made her feel hot in the first place … and the vapours from various items in the garage eventually got into her system, which in turn caused her mind to go a bit funny for a while.  Whatever, she had to take back control … and do so quickly, before something worse happened to her, something like chemical poisoning.

   As she sought a solution to her problem Mary began pondering over her new found reasoning, and from whence it came, unaware that the voice inside her head had stopped talking, not realising that her mind had already advised her of the answer to her problem.   Mary simply presumed it was instinct that made her move her eyes towards her stubborn feet.   And when she did so, her mind reacted in total disbelief at what she saw.  So perplexed by what her eyes showed her, she automatically tried to refute what her mind was beginning to comprehend; the simplicity of the solution to her problem.   Then Mary broke out in uproarious laughter as much in relief – as the sudden understanding of what had happened.

   Tears of joy rolled down Mary’s face as she began to remove her non co-operative foot from under the wheel jack that lay on the floor in front of her as she realised there was no problem with her foot movement; no invisible demon was playing games with her.   She had simply failed to see the wheel jack as she had begun to move towards the door.   She didn’t remember seeing it when she had gone down to where the picture had been hanging, and presumed that she had probably been too preoccupied with her discomfort earlier to have even noticed making contact with it when she was trying to get out of the room.   Mary began to think it was a wonder she hadn’t tripped over it in her attempts to walk. 

  ‘It was certainly a tight fit, the space between the top of my foot and the bottom of the jack.’ She thought, ‘It had been a wonder that I hadn’t felt the contact when my foot went under it.   ‘Still, I was pretty wound up at that stage.   It would have been like being under a fear-induced anaesthesia.’

   Shaking her head once again in disbelief at what had occurred, Mary continued her journey towards the glass door, but instead of going outside to the driveway as she had originally planned, she stopped at the door where she could see the attendant who was in the process of closing the hood of the customer’s car.  His vision, once he had completed the task at hand, was in direct line with the glass door and seeing Mary staring out at him gave her a smile and a wave.   Mary, now relieved that things seemed natural again, gave him a smile and a wave in return, then headed back to the coffee machine, her mind set on a double strength dose of caffeine.   ‘God knows,’ she thought, ‘I deserve one after what I have been through.’

   “God, I’m a goose,’ she laughed loudly to herself as she looked one last time at the wheel jack, ‘a silly, bloody goose.”

   “And now you will become a dead one”   The voice was without volume, without tone, but its intent was unmistakable.   Mary’s body felt like it was completely immersed in ice as absolute fear wrapped itself around her again, and she knew this time it was not her sanity that was at stake … it was her life.   She swung her entire body in the direction of the sound of the voice and jumped in pure terror at the sight of the distorted face that she had thought that she had imagined earlier emerging from the photograph.

   Spellbound, Mary watched in fearful fascination, as most of the body of a half man – half something not human, drifted out of the photograph and spiralled upwards towards the ceiling, increasing in size with every beat of her heart.   The apparition, even from that distance to Mary, produced such a vile odour it made her feel abhorrently nauseous.    But even that could not encourage her body to loosen up enough to allow her to escape the room – instead it did just the opposite … her legs buckled under her and she fell backwards to the floor.

   As the almost indescribable repulsive thing that was the creature moved ever upwards towards the ceiling it never once took its eyes off Mary, and as a result Mary could not help but notice the thick vein on its forehead.   A singular skin covered tube that ran from the base of the nose to the dead middle of the forehead where it separated into the shape of a three headed scorpion,  each head facing a different direction.

   Then she noticed the scabbard in the creature’s hand and its intention became clear in her mind, but still she found she couldn’t move.   Mary tried to scream for help, wishing with all her might the attendant would arrive in time to save her from this thing, but her tongue too had became frozen, stuck to the inside of her mouth as the creature reached its goal and hovered against the ceiling just above her, then it began spinning in a dizzying circle.   The smell in the room became rank – darkness began to cloak the light, as a trail of distorted coloured vapour trailed behind the creature as it moved around the room.   She tried harder and harder to set free the frenzied well of terror that was bubbling up within her.   Her head flew back, her body arched itself, her mouth opened wide and her voice exploded with her silenced scream until she could feel her lungs bursting, but nothing emitted from her lips.   

   As a final resort, Mary tried with all the strength she could muster to get off the floor; to run, but fear still immobilized her legs, she couldn’t roll over onto her side, far less push herself back up to a stranding position – her mind was bursting with panic and trepidation regarding her immediate future when, without warning, the creature suddenly struck down at her.

   Laying backwards on the floor, unable to move, Mary was an easy target for the razor sharp blade that glistened in the reflection of the brilliance of the overhead lights as the creature began to move down towards her, the tip of the knife pointing directly towards the sacrifice that lay waiting for its unwelcome arrival.  

   However Mary was taken by surprise by the cruel, slow-motion speed at which the blade and the creature travelled towards her waiting body.   It was as if the creature was trying to absorb the very rawness of her absolute fear and pain for its own macabre gratification before it killed her.   In her mind Mary prayed she would pass out before another second passed.   That her mind would be covered by total darkness and deafness before it happened.   That all feeling would disappear from her mind and she would simply slide into oblivion.   For this she prayed, but her pleas and prayers for compassion fell on deaf ears and eventually she could feel the steely coldness severing the skin and setting the exposed nerves on edge as the tip of the blade penetrated the middle of her forehead.   The blood ran freely, its crimson brightness glittering in the bright light as it quickly ran down her face.   From its frozen position within her throat, the hideous scream of a life leaving this world was brutally released; the forlorn sound rebounding against every beam and pillar inside the room until the air was filled to the limit with the expose of the tragic atrocity that was taking place.

   Then, as Mary’s mind began its transition into permanent meltdown, the penetration of her skull suddenly ceased and her body was roughly lifted high off the floor where she had lain … her eyes sprung open in both fear and surprise as she was lifted upwards and upwards until her eyes were in direct line with the vile creature that was attacking her.   The creature roared so loud Mary could feel her body vibrating from the sheer volume it produced.   She could feel her face burning from its spittle, and the stench that emitted of the creature almost caused her to choke … and it was then that Mary knew that her fate was sealed and in her final seconds of her life on this mortal coil her thoughts went to Joseph.   Then, her body went limp, and she was finally granted the escape from the nightmare that she had so badly craved in the preceding moments as her eyes closed … and darkness surrounded her.

PRESS HERE TO GO TO EPISODE 23

Episode 1 (start)           Episode 22 (next)            Info         Use Search for other Episodes

Short Fat Stubby Finger Stories PRESENTS:

Episode 21 Chapter 19

Joseph, Rosetta and Martin stood staring at the farmhouse in disbelief.    The incarnation of the Devil that was painted crudely on the front door had them perplexed.   Deep down, they had not been expecting to find anything at the farm, never mind something so ominous.

   Rosetta was the first to speak.  “What does it mean?”  She asked, but her words, not unexpectedly, failed to gain a response, “My father wasn’t into devil worship,” she continued, “he was only using the farm for storage.   Why would anyone think that there was something like that going on going on here?”

   “I have no idea,” Martin answered, “but with no security here, it’s my guess that it was only children getting their kicks with spray cans and graffiti – after all the gates were wide open when we arrived.   Anybody could have gained access, and with it being a village it is more than likely that everybody that lives in it would be aware that it is now currently unoccupied … and the reason why.   They would have all known by now that your father was in hospital and his brother was missing … and the police haven’t blocked it off because it’s not a crime scene.   Your father was found several miles from here … though it may be soon if somebody reports us for being here.   Perhaps we should have reported to the police first.”

   “Yes, I agree, Martin,” Joseph chipped in without thinking,   “Children are the most logical answer.   But as far as the police are concerned we should be pretty safe.   If they do turn up we will just have to tell them that Rosetta wants to make sure that nothing of importance has been taken in her father’s absence … and she is also looking for clues as to her uncle’s whereabouts.   Well, we may as well start here and search for any clues the professor may have left as to where the statue might be hidden.”

   Joseph surprised himself with his sudden decision to put himself at the front of the decision making, wondering what had got into him.   He was assuming a bluffing position, a ‘question me if you dare’ attitude.   Yet Joseph knew he was far better off agreeing to Martin’s decisions than assume a leadership role when he had absolutely no idea what he was doing in the first place: far better to let Martin make the mistakes than him; far less questions would be asked if the directions and decisions backfired.   But from the minute they had arrived at the farm Joseph had begun to feel something taking place within his mind that he couldn’t quite understand: a sense of déjà vu: something vaguely familiar, but still out of memory’s reach was surrounding his thoughts.   Something that gave him the firm impression that to remember whatever it was, was an absolute necessity.   But, for the moment at least, he had absolutely no idea how to force it to resurface.

   Whatever it was, it made him feel that it was to do with the rationale for the constant thoughts that had rolled into his mind throughout the morning telling him he needed to be there; that he was destined to be involved.   The feeling that he was a preordained cog in a preordained chain of events that could not, or would not, work successfully without his involvement remained locked in his mind … and it was a feeling that persisted in his mind the more he remained with his present company. 

   Joseph tried his hardest to dismiss the thought, but it would not leave his mind.   And the mere fact that he could not discuss this strange emotion that was running through him with Rosetta and Martin made it all the more harder for him to control his frustration with the path his life and lies were taking him.

   “Good idea,”   Martin replied exuberantly, much to Joseph’s surprise.   Joseph had really expected an objection to his advice from the tall man who stood in front of him, grinning like a schoolboy on a day out with the teacher he admired the most.   Martin’s face betrayed his admiration for the man that Joseph was pretending to be and a new wave of guilt flooded through Joseph’s entire body.

   Joseph immediately regretted his thoughtless tongue, he had not meant to gain gratified approval from Martin for displaying signs of overriding authority – he hadn’t meant to say anything at all – it had just slipped out.   And Martin’s reaction had frightened him somewhat – ‘Would this mean that I now have to take a leadership role?’    Joseph wondered worriedly, ‘I hope not.   I am not who he thinks I am … and I don’t intend to play-act the role just for his benefit.   I am afraid that this it, old chap.   The truth must prevail.   I have had enough.’    And this time the guilt complex his mind was precariously hiding regarding Rosetta and her father hit him so hard he capitulated to it, turned to face her, and began to make his confession.   Regardless of any thoughts Joseph had been receiving in his mind about being the pivotal centre of this entire event he no longer cared.   He had no idea what his mind was talking about, in fact he was now no longer certain why he had even become involved in things in the first place.   Now he wanted out.

   But before his tongue could turn up the audio, before his mind, his heart, his soul went into total meltdown, like a bolt of lightning, the missing memory, and the strange feeling that always accompanied it, flashed through his mind, tore the words out of his mouth – immediately absolved his guilt, and gave him not only the confidence to carry out his deception – but was demanding it.   This time he had seen the memory for long enough for it to send a tremor down his entire body.

   Rosetta had caught Joseph’s strange actions, his sudden turn to face her, the unheard words escaping from his lips, the slightly inane look on his face that seemed to last forever, and she misunderstood his intentions and smiled coyly, but excitedly happy, at him.   And she was pleased with his reciprocal smile.

********

   Joseph returned Rosetta’s smile automatically, but gave it, and its possible meaning, no particular thought.   Joseph’s mind was suddenly in a happy place again because he now felt protected in his charade by the feeling that the extended image had provided him … the same sense of protection that had been constantly entering his mind since he had met up with Martin and Rosetta at the hotel the previous evening.   

   The memory that had flashed through his mind had been nothing more than a blurry image of something buried deep in the murky waters that housed his memories when it first arrived … something totally unintelligible, yet ostensibly expressing a sense of hope and expectations.   But unexpectedly, this time the blurriness momentarily disappeared.   Joseph could now see a narrow creek lined by soft brown and white stones running through an apparent wilderness.   The water was crisp, clear and fast flowing judging by the speed in which the odd leaf and twig on its surface travelled past the small basket that provided the warmth and safety for the young, blanket covered child that was enclosed within.   The weather had seemed cold and overcast.   Perhaps even verging on snow, but the child appeared to be warm and comfortable in the seemingly hostile environment.  

    Joseph’s perception had been of one looking downwards from an elevated position, but suddenly he found himself lying on his back, presumably at the edge of the creek, and looking upwards towards the bleak grey sky that now engulfed his vision.   The sudden change of viewpoint both surprised him and confused him.   There seemed no reason for this abrupt change of perception for there was now nothing to be seen whatsoever.   The seconds seemed to pass by like hours as he lay there bored and frustrated, all due to an obstructive, unimaginative memory that refused to desist … and he began to wonder why the image was remaining in his mind if it was not releasing information to him.   Joseph began to shake his head in an effort to remove this unwanted intrusion from his brain once and for all, but almost instantly stopped his action, pricked up his ears … and listened.  

   From somewhere out of his sight, in the fast approaching darkness of nightfall his strange memory was conjuring up, he could hear a weird, scraping noise.   At first it only seemed to move a few paces before stopping – then moved again – then stopped again, but with each movement it eventually undertook, the creature, or whatever it was, was getting closer and closer to his prone body.  

   Then there was nothing for several heartbeats; an agonising silence for what seemed an eternity.   Suddenly the thing in the semi-darkness moved again and the sound appeared to be so close it sent cold shivers down Joseph’s back.   But this time it was but a solitary shuffle … then silence ruled again.   It was as if whatever was approaching was hesitant: uncertain of its own safety.   Joseph, however, despite the indecisive movements of whatever was out there, was becoming extremely worried for his safety; his fear and concern as much due to the fact that he couldn’t see anything from his prone position, as was the fact that he couldn’t move either.                   

   Unreality was settling comfortably into Joseph’s mind as the strange, unexplained world that currently resided within was taking full control of his thoughts.   He was by now fully convinced that he was no longer receiving a memory returning to the fold, but he was actually, physically, laying on his back on the bank of a stream in some remote forest, god know where.   Though not yet panic stricken, desperation urged Joseph to use the only organ that he had currently available to him, and slowly rolled his eyes around in every direction that he could manage, but all he could see was the slowly fading light of the evening sky that forced its way through the ever threatening clouds that hovered above him.

   “Where is it?   What is it?” he asked himself as he spun his head and eyes around and around even faster, feeling more and more frightened by every sound he heard … and everything that he could not see.   Suddenly something shook him so hard it momentarily caused him to roll over on to his side before rolling back to his original position.   Without thinking, he swung his eyes back towards the sky above him and nearly had a heart attack when his eyes came in direct contact with those of a middle aged man whose head hovered less than a foot above his.  

   The man, too, had looked surprised when their eyes made contact, but quickly reached down and lifted Joseph up into his arms and held him tight against his chest.   Joseph had no idea what to do, or who the man was, but as the man gently patted him on the back he felt the warmth coming from him, he felt comfortable, he felt safe.   Joseph also felt confused.  ‘Was he the child now?’ He wondered, ‘was he in the basket?   Was that the reason why he hadn’t been able to see anything?’   But the questions began to float away from his thoughts as the image became blurred again.  

   Joseph could begin to feel changes in his environment as the darkness of the night began to dissolve before his eyes.   All he could see now was a thick grey fog, and even that was beginning to break up as his mind slowly began moving back to the real world – when a new image unexpectedly appeared before him.   An image that made him recoil in horror and terror.   A huge creature; blood red and orange in texture, with razor sharp teeth, and a stench emitting from its huge mouth that threatened to cause Joseph to dislodge the contents of his morning meal, appeared before him.   And blazing hatred emitted from the menacing eyes that stared at him.   Evil, penetrating, blood shot yellowish-green eyes that put the fear of death into Joseph’s heart.  

   But before Joseph had a chance to react to the fear that was threatening to engulf his mind, a ball of flame, like lava escaping from an active volcano, exploded around the massive creature’s body … and the creature was lost from sight, completely enshrouded within the black smoke that intermingled with the red glow that flowed within it.   Inside his own head Joseph could hear the cursing and screaming that raged in the creature’s voice – then it too disappeared as fast as it had arrived in his mind and Joseph felt strangely warm again.   Safe, as if he had been saved by something, or someone, but he had no idea what he had been saved from … or how.

********

   Everything that had happened inside the unreal world that the memory had taken his mind to had taken place in a ten second time zone inside his head, and Joseph wondered if he had been experiencing an awakening.    Perhaps some memory of his real family was finally going to be exposed to him, he thought with some excitement.   Perhaps something here at the farm was triggering it, though he did not think at six months of age he would have been exposed to very much, so there would not be much to remember.    

   His afterthought slightly disappointed Joseph once again, and he was about to dismiss the thought completely from his mind when he remembered reading an article pertaining to the impact the mother’s life had on the unborn child during pregnancy.   How the child learns so many things when they are still in the womb.   Sounds, voices, music, traffic and so on that form a backdrop to their daily existence in the womb, and a newly born child is quite content with the same noises appearing in the background as they sleep.   However, to change their new environment in a presumption that the child needs silence to sleep can often have a detrimental effect, and vice versa for a child exposed to a quiet environment at the same stage of life in the womb.  

   The article had also argued that many children were born with a greater knowledge of things that had occurred before their birth than ever was known by their parents, mainly because of the time taken to be able to effectively engage in conversation with their parents.   Usually by the time the child was able to communicate fluently and effectively, the event had been buried deep within their subconscious.

   However, this wasn’t always the case.   And it was this particular part of the article that had really caught Joseph’s attention at the time of the reading when the author of the article, who was also the author of the report, noted that there was proof that some children remembered, or held in memory, events that the mother had been involved in during the nine months pregnancy … and when the occasion dictated, were able to recall the event … with complete accuracy.   It was this suggestion that had made Joseph wonder if he did know more about his family than he realised.   And it was that thought that prompted his mind to reconsider that the resurfaced memory may very well have been the beginning of an awakening.

********

   “Are you alright, Joseph?” Rosetta asked, with some concern in her voice.

   “Yes, I am fine.   Sorry, just remembered something that might or might not be pertinent.   Why don’t we try the front door first, and if that doesn’t work we can look for an open window … or lever one open if necessary.” Joseph suggested, his mind suddenly snapping back to the present so quickly he didn’t notice the strange, quizzical look on Rosetta’s face due to the facial contortions he had been making when under the influence of the recovered memory, but, of course, Joseph had no idea that he had even made any.

   “Lead on, McDuff … you’re in charge.”   Martin said with an enthusiastic and joyous laugh, and Joseph rolled his eyes in despair, “Let’s get this show on the road.”  

   Cautiously Joseph reached out and tried the handle.  To his immediate surprise the handle turned and the door rolled forward of its own accord.   Years had passed since the hinges had last been oiled and they squealed piercingly in the still morning air on the desolated farm as the wooden panel slowly retreated towards the wall.  

   As the door swung back, a strange, rather obnoxious odour was released from the house and they were all forced to momentarily step back out of the way of the gushing air until it had all passed by.  

   “Not the fresh countryside welcome I would have expected.”   Joseph said, as he took a huge gulp of fresh air in his lungs before entering the building.   The others, following suit, were right behind him … and as they did so, the slight shiver that had run down their spines when the door had first been opened – increased in its intensity.  

   The markings on the front door had not prepared them for what they found inside.

Go to Episode 22

Episode 1 (start)           Episode 21 (next)            Info         Use Search for other Episodes

Short Fat Stubby Finger Stories PRESENTS:

Episode 20 part 2

   “It’s alright, Miss.   It’s just the driveway alarm for a customer arriving.”   The attendant said gently, uncertain what to do to subdue the fright that the unexpected arrival of the nerve shattering alarm had given her as he reached under the counter to mute the irritating racket.   “Are you alright?”

   Mary said absolutely nothing, simply nodding her head to indicate that she was, but by the way she was holding one hand to her head, half covering her tightly closed eyes, and the other hand to her palpating heart the attendant seriously doubted it.

   “Sorry, Miss … customer.   Perhaps you would like another coffee, or perhaps a cup of tea may be better for you.   I’ll be back shortly.”  The attendant said and took two steps before turning back around, a cheeky grin on his face as he again spoke, “And I promise that I won’t become involved in a long conversation with the customer.”

   Mary smiled and the impact of the attendant’s little joke had an immediate effect.  Her heart rate began to fall and the fear that had enveloped her began to rise.   Within a few seconds  Mary decided that a cup of tea would help finish the job that the joke had started and set about making one for both herself and the attendant. 

********

   Two minutes later, sipping slowly on the hot tea her nerves and heart were slowly coming back to a more natural state and Mary felt slightly relieved to have a minute’s solitude to absorb what she had been hearing … and how badly it had affected her.   It seemed obvious to her that she would be able to catch up with Joseph once she got the directions for the farmhouse, but for the moment she was more interested in hearing what the garage operator was telling her.  Only this time she would ensure that her mind would not become so imaginative in its interpretations.

********

   The seconds turned over, then rapidly became minutes, before threatening to become quarter hours … then half hours, and once again Mary unconsciously tapped her fingers on the desk counter as she waited for the conclusion to the story.   The attendant seemed to be taking forever with the customer who had just driven in, and Mary found herself having impure thoughts about country hospitality and what they could do with it.   Impatiently she began to pace the floor, half looking at the various things that were on the shelves and on the walls, however it didn’t take long for her mind to become bored with the constant array of car accessories, cans of grease and oils, along with various other chemicals and additives that supposedly made one’s car go greener, faster, quieter and smarter.  

   The row after row of the obligatory garage standard, ‘Playboy’, and other men’s magazines, and chocolates by the score, did nothing to lighten the dark cloud of frustration that was beginning to develop over her disposition as the minutes ticked by at an alarming rate.    As tempting as they may have been in a different mood, Mary decided there were so many packets of chocolate and other sweets on the shelves that ran from the side wall to the back wall it would be impossible for the garage to sell them all – and she was beginning to doubt many of them would have use by dates that would make them saleable – when something caught her eye; something that made her stop dead in her tracks, then head straight towards it for a better look.

   Taped on the wall, between the spark plug and radiator hose hang cards, was a picture of what looked like a farm.   It appeared to be a night shot, because the majority of the picture was pitch black, but in the middle of the photo the farmhouse itself was bathed in bright light emitting from a huge spotlight that appeared in the front of the building.    However it was not the light that had caught Mary’s eye, but, for just an instant, she could have sworn that she had seen the image of a rather ugly man’s face in the picture … a face that projected an instant image of evil and intent … and strangely it reminded her of something that she had seen recently, but her memory couldn’t immediately place the event.  

   But what had grabbed her attention the most was that the entity seemed to be looking directly at her.   For that split second the image had seemed so lifelike she feared that it could, and would, reach out and touch her.

   A shudder went through her body as she closed her eyes and shook her head a couple of times to dislodge the thought from her head, and when she re-opened them and looked again it was gone.    Mary thought about it for a second or two, convinced herself that it had just been her imagination, probably caused by the earlier incident with the driveway alarm, and moved back closer to the wall to get a better look at the picture.   The photo appeared to have some sort of blur in the middle, which is what she began to assume had caught her eye and caused her to think she could see something that actually wasn’t there.   

   ‘Something similar to the impression that your mind receives before your eyesight fully focuses on an unfamiliar area’,  Mary thought to herself as an old memory surfaced in her mind reminding her of an incident years ago when she was looking down at the beach below from a high cliff.   At first she had emitted a stifled scream in horror as her eyes took in the image of what she took to be a body lying on the beach.   But eventually her eyes focused a little clearer and she realised that it was just a small crop of rocks covered by patches of seaweed,   ‘Thank god I didn’t ring the police’ she thought, ‘I would have been so embarrassed.   I would have looked like such a fool.’

   Satisfied her reasoning was sound, Mary began to focus her attention on the smudgy white patch that seemed out of kilter with the surrounding scenery.   The distortion itself seemed to be caused by a blurred phosphorescent glow that appeared to be emitting from what she thought was a golden orb, or something very similar, sitting some six inches above the ground, but Mary could not see anything supporting the orb.   The orb appeared to be around twelve to fifteen inches in diameter and she could see markings like letters or hieroglyphics etched into it, however the photo was too small to be able to see the markings clearly enough to make out what they were.

   Curious, Mary began squinting in an attempt to make out what was on the orb, meeting without success on her first three attempts.   ‘God, I think I need glasses.   Am I getting that old?’   She complained to herself, but continued in her futile attempts to the point where her eye balls were hurting from the strain she was putting on them.   “Oh, this is ridiculous … I’ll never be able to read that … the picture is far too small.   Perhaps the attendant will know…if he ever returns.   Mary fully realised that identifying the markings was quickly becoming an obsession even though she had no idea why?   ‘Frustration,’ she finally decided, ‘Where is that man? I need to hear the end of that story.’

   But her self admission to her current mind set did nothing to make Mary lose interest in the orb … instead it had taken her to the point where she decided to remove the picture from the wall and take it to somewhere in the garage where there was better light.   She reached forward, placed her hands on both sides of the picture, and began to gently pull it off the nail that held it without tearing it, when suddenly a warm, almost burning, tingling feeling began running through her fingers, up her arms, and into her body; a feeling that quickly increased into heat … and then began vibrating with more and more intensity with each and every beat of her heart.  A heartbeat that was also increasing in intensity for another reason …whatever was causing her body to react so strongly to it – seemed to be coming directly from within the photograph!

   Mystified by the strange sensation that was causing her physical discomfort, Mary attempted to pull her hands back from the picture, pulling harder and harder … until she eventually succeeded – then yelped with pain as a minuscule bolt of light speared out from the photo.   And when it hit her hand and penetrated the skin, it caused her so much pain that Mary barely avoided passing out.

    Mary was now no longer worried about the inscription, her concentration was now totally centered on the photograph itself – and what it was doing to her.   ‘There has to be something else there,’ she reasoned, ‘this shouldn’t be happening.   Perhaps … that face …,’ she then asked herself, but Mary had absolutely no idea what her mind was searching for.    All she knew was that what was happening – should not be happening … and she was becoming frightened.

    Mary closed her eyes, breathed in and out as slowly as she could, and then began to count to ten and back as she fought with her fear in an attempt to regain control of her sanity.   It took almost a full minute of concentrated perseverance, but finally Mary obtained the result that she required.    She immediately returned to the coffee machine, made another coffee, albeit slightly stronger than the previous cups, then returned to the wall where she stood staring at the photograph while sipping on her drink.  

   Once again Mary tightened her eyes as she resumed her squinting face, slowly raking her eyes backwards and forwards across the photo covering every single pixel it offer.   Her intention had been to be observant, but not possessed by the photo and the image it contained.   She felt that what had happened before had been self induced.   She had allowed her mind to become too active; active to the point that it began to convince itself that things were not what they really were.   A badly taken night photograph of an old farm was all that it was.   It was not a V.R. production.   It was not 3D.   It was not alive.   It was not haunted.   It was only a badly taken photograph.   After all, she thought, she was only bothering with it to fill in time before the attendant returned and finished telling her about the farm, and whatever had taken place there recently.

   Convinced that she had sorted her brain out, Mary began to take her time to slowly pan her eyes over the photograph, sip on her coffee, and let her eyes, not her brain, tell her what they were truly seeing.   And it was during this tedious process that she noticed for the first time the man coming out through the farmhouse door.   She leaned in a bit closer to the photo to ensure herself that it was fear that seemed to distort the man’s face, and not just the badly lit photograph.   And as Mary’s now subdued mind joined forces with her curiosity to analyse the image in question, she failed to notice the thin wisp of smoke that began to emerge from out of the top part of the picture.   By the time she moved her head back to give her neck an absolutely necessary moment’s rest the wisp had drifted to the ceiling and away from her line of sight.

   Mary gently massaged the back of her neck with both hands, rolled her head a few times to remove the kinks, then leaned forward again as she began to refocus her eyes back to the face of the man in the doorway.   But she got the shock of her life to find the man was no longer exiting the farmhouse door; instead he was now lying face down on the ground in front of the door: face down that was, albeit with his neck twisted at an acute angle, his face most definitely expressing signs of absolute fear … and apparently expressing it in death.   Mary was fast losing concentration as a result off this unexpected turn of events and she was finding it difficult to regain her focus.    Then to make things worse for her, first one, then her other eye, began stinging, and, as nanoseconds passed, Mary found her eyes fast becoming covered with water; salty water she soon realised as droplets made their way into her mouth.   She raised one hand to her eyes and began to wipe the water away, surprised when she realised it was sweat.  She was sweating freely, her arms, her forehead; her entire body was breaking out in a lather of sweat.

   She could not understand what was going on.   The garage temperature had been pleasant but a minute earlier; she had not felt hot or sweaty when she had massaged her neck.   The room temperature had been body comfort warm, certainly not hot.   Now the sweat was dripping off her arms, pouring from her forehead, running down her back.   Her clothes dry as a bone only two seconds earlier were now already a matted, swampy, saturated mess … her hair a similar sight.   Mary quickly looked around the room searching out the source of the heat, but could see no reason for it and she doubted very much that the weather outside had risen to this degree.   She had only been in the garage for around fifteen to twenty minutes and it was not yet eight o’clock in the morning.   ‘This was Britain, not Australia in the middle of a heat wave.’   She thought.

   Fruitlessly, Mary attempted wiping the sweat from her forehead with a saturated hand, but finally conceded defeat in her task and began shaking her head from side to dislodge as much of the sweat that was running down her face as she could before returning her attention to the photograph, but doing so made began to make her feel dizzy.   Mary began to wonder if she was having a reaction from too much caffeine.   ‘How many coffee’s did I have?’ she asked herself, ‘Was it four or five, oh I can’t remember … and then there was the tea.   Too much … far, far too much.   It’s a wonder my bladder isn’t joining in on the action.   God, I feel strange.’

   The heat, the dizziness, the discomfort of the continuous sweating began to take its toll.   Mary turned away from the photo and began moving towards the front door with the intention of going outside to get a breath of fresh air and, hopefully, cool down a bit, but she had moved only a few steps when fear unexpectedly began to crawl inside her mind: icy shivers suddenly ran through her entire body despite the heat that was running amok on her outer skin: Mary was still sweating, but now it was rapidly becoming a cold, clammy sweat that ran down the back of her neck … a neck that was beginning to tighten to the point of pain.  A pain that felt like somebody squeezing with long, calloused fingers; squeezing the flesh as hard as they possibly could; squeezing so hard she could feel the fingertips touching together inside her neck.  

   Her arms and legs began to stiffen: another few steps walking suddenly became difficult: breathing began to become complicated – as the invisible fingers tightened their grip even further.

   Mary stared in absolute frustration at the front door only ten or eleven steps from where she stood.  ‘So close, yet so far’, she thought inwardly as she strained her body to breaking point to make the distance, but she could not do it … her body was now all but frozen stiff.   ‘The attendant,’ she suddenly remembered, – and just as quickly learnt that her effort to scream for help was just as futile as her attempts to move had been.   Mary could sense the tears as they began trickling down her face, quickly turning to a flood.   Her head was now pounding; her heart beating at a rate she knew was far too fast for her own good.   Mary had no idea what was going on, but it was frightening her to death … literally!   ‘If only I could move, get out of the room.   The attendant could help me then.’ Mary thought as she once again attempted to move; an attempt that once again became nothing but a futile intention. 

   ‘Am I having a stroke … a fit … a mental breakdown?’ she wondered, ‘Is this what it’s like just before you die?   For almost a minute Mary’s mind began to wallow in self pity.   She was frightened.   Her life was out of her control.   There was every possibility that she was about to die, alone, in an unfamiliar village , with no one to care, no one to comfort her in her last moments on Earth.   Unexpectedly, her mind commenced whirling around inside an ever tightening cocoon that was the fear and sorrow she was currently enshrouded in.  As in the books of life and death, parts of her life began to flow past her inner eyes.   Some things familiar, some things forgotten.    Memories, old and new.   Then, for the shortest of time, she saw David and her heart lit up, but just as quickly it turned to ice as she saw him with the woman who was his mistress and the image returned to the grey misty curtain that swirled inside her mind.

   Suddenly the mist cleared once again … and sitting on a chair, on the opposite side of her desk at Johnson’s, sat Joseph Jacobson, and Mary’s heart skipped a beat.

   Mary was surprised at just how much Joseph’s presence in her mind was helping her to loosen up, to find a new strength inside her that she never knew existed within her.   Her fear of death began to subside as she faced the inevitable.   If she was going to die … she was ready.   It wasn’t as if Joseph’s sudden appearance gave her hope for life, nor a feeling he would suddenly come rushing into the garage and give her the kiss of life, but what it did give her was a feeling of reason for what was happening to her.   A feeling that made her feel  he was holding her hand and convincing her that a plan was in action which she was part of, and everything was moving in a predetermined sequence as it was intended.

   She closed her eyes and let the calmness flow over her.   Her mind relaxed.   Now she was prepared to meet death if that was to happen.    Should it be decreed that she would survive then she would do all she could to let her life roll along naturally as it had always been planned.    She wouldn’t dwell on what had happened to her this very day, it was a secret that she would retain until her mind thought it to be safe to talk about.  

   As Mary waited in her frozen world; waiting for the change that was yet to come, she looked through the glass window and saw the attendant still standing in the one spot.   In her mind he also seemed to be frozen to the spot.    She was certain that he was still in the exact same position that she had seen him the last time she looked.   It was as if time had frozen … and suddenly she realised that time was frozen.   She had noticed the smoke coming out of the rear of the car the attendant was serving earlier, but it was only right then that she noticed that the smoke was neither moving, nor evaporating.  The wispy, curly grey smoke that was emitting from the car’s exhaust was as frozen in the air as she was on the garage floor.

   Suddenly, if she could have jumped in fright, Mary would have as, for almost a whole second, something black reflected in the window, which meant it was right behind her … and it was moving towards her.   Mary was terrified, assuming it was the strange thing that had appeared in the photograph earlier.   The thing that she thought was going to come out of the photograph and attack her.

    Whatever it was, its reflection suddenly disappeared, but not before Mary felt something touch her.   A soft gentle touch on her forehead and then every thing seemed to go dark for a nanosecond.    The darkness lasted no longer than the time it took for Mary to flutter an eyelash, but it wasn’t the darkness that had all but make her faint in fright, it had been the feeling of whatever had touched her head.   It had felt similar to the end of a man’s finger, and in itself caused her no grief or pain when it made contact with her skin.   Nor did there seem to be any damage when it was removed, but when she least expected it, her entire body suddenly went into a series of spasms.   Whilst still frozen to the floor Mary could find her body vibrating and worried that she may lose balance and harm herself.   But the spasms had barely started when they stopped and the light flashes inside her head began, threatening to destroy her sanity.   But they too were short lived.   As was the temporary blackout that she had and then … nothing.    Through the window she could that the garage attendant and the smoke emitting from the car in the driveway still seemed paused in time.   The ability to move or call for help still seemed far removed from possibility … then Mary swore that she heard a voice.   “It is time for you to …” the voice seemed to say, but the shock of hearing the voice distracted Mary’s concentration and she failed to hear the final word or words spoken by the unseen voice, though she assumed them to be ‘die now’.   Whatever it had been, Mary knew that something bad was about to happen.

   However, much to her surprise, the ice that surrounded her body unexpectedly began to melt.  The natural warmth of the early morning air began to wrap itself around her body once again.   The pain in her neck disappeared completely … not a trace remained.   “Oooh!” she gasped loudly as her knees almost buckled under her as she felt life returning to them.   Mary was now totally confused.    If some evil creature that resided in a badly photographed picture was about to kill her, why bother releasing her when she was trapped.   Why not just kill her and be done with it, she wondered.   Did it have to perform some kind of ritual beforehand, or, worse still, did it need the thrill of the chase to satisfy its evil lust.   Did she have to run so it had the thrill of chasing her before it ripped her body to pieces and then devoured her?   ‘Well, I’m having none of that,’   Mary thought to herself, ‘If I have to die today, I will do so with dignity.’

********

But, as the seconds ticked by; as the hands on a clock on the wall that she faced stated that a complete minute had passed; as she continued to breathe and stand upright, Mary began to think she was wrong – that this was not the time of her departure from this mortal coil.    ‘The clock is working again’, she noted happily as she looked out of the window expecting to see the driveway back to normal, and the attendant perhaps on his way back in, however she was surprised to see that nothing outside the garage had changed.

   ‘What was going on?’ she wondered,  ‘Nothing is happening.   Something should be happening by now.   Surely I should have passed out by now, my world should have gone dark before the light appeared, and I crossed over to wherever it was that I would spend eternity.    Perhaps that migraine I had a couple of moments ago was the crossing.   Have I been dreaming all of this?   Was there nothing wrong with me after all?’   Mary was beginning to believe that perhaps she had dreamt everything that had frightened her.    But a part of her disagreed.   “I was awake,” a voice heard only inside her head suddenly called out, a voice demanding agreement.   It was a statement it was making … not an invitation for debate.

   Mary looked around the room, looking for something tangible to convince herself either way.   Was she going crazy … she had to know, but how?  Then Mary saw the door.   The door she couldn’t reach earlier.   She should be able to reach it now, she decided, but was she free now to move…or was she still incapacitated?   Mary suddenly realised she had a paradoxical dilemma to face.   If she couldn’t move then she was in deep, deep trouble; if she could move then there was every chance in this world that she was going crazy.   Either way, Mary’s life was fast going out of control, and the adrenaline run initiated by Johann P Bigg’s request to get close to Joseph that had made her so happy only a short while ago, now made her blood run cold.

Go to Episode 21

Episode 1 (start)     Episode 20 pt 2 (next)        Info         Use Search for other Episodes

Short Fat Stubby Finger Stories PRESENTS:

    Episode 20 part 1

As Mary drove closer to Trenthamville, unaware of the horror that lay behind her, she once again began to mull over ideas about how she would go about getting closer to Joseph.   Her being in the village would probably seem like more than a strange coincidence to him if she simply arrived on his door step, in a manner of speaking, when she arrived at the farm, or should they accidentally bump into each other in the street beforehand.  

   But she would have to make eye contact with him at some stage and it would be far better for her if she did so under her own initiative, rather than by an unexpected accident.   And she knew that she needed to find out more about his reason for going to Trenthamville.   All she knew at the moment came from what she had heard the night before when she was eavesdropping, and she knew instinctively that there was a lot more to what was going on than what she had heard  – and she also realised whatever was happening may very well hold the key she needed for her to gain access to Joseph’s confidence and trust.   But she had to come up with a plan … and she had better try and do it before she arrived in Trenthamville.

********

Joseph, however, was oblivious to Mary’s worries, thoughts, and fears … never mind her presence on the road.   He had his own problems to deal with as he sat quietly on his own in the back of Martin’s car while Rosetta rested her head against a pillow pressed against the front seat passenger window in an attempt to have a short sleep on the journey.   Regardless of her need to find her father as fast as possible, early mornings weren’t part of Rosetta’s daily routine and she was having trouble adjusting to what she described to  Joseph as an ungodly hour of the morning when he first got in the car, and thirty seconds later he could hear the soft sounds of her sleeping,  

   Martin, meanwhile, had been driving without saying a word for virtually the entire trip.   Martin had explained to Joseph that he found it hard to concentrate when he drove, especially on long trips, and rather than to have conversations that weren’t necessary, he preferred to let classical music wash over his mind.   This situation suited Joseph’s needs.   He had things that he needed to mull over in his own mind and a full blown conversation would not have given him much chance to do so … and it may even allowed something to escape from his lips without thinking, something that would give Martin or Rosetta cause for concern regarding his authenticity in their presence.   And a second problem had suddenly arisen in Joseph’s mind as he realised that he would somehow have to find some time alone to call in sick to his place of employment without making it obvious to Rosetta and Martin that his ‘cover’ was in fact genuine, and he was the fake.     

   There were company rules in place at Johnson’s and he was not about to start pushing his luck.  In normal conditions Joseph was a by-the-rules sort of person, and to take a ‘sickie’ on the day before a public holiday weekend was not the normal behaviour management expected from him.   Under normal conditions he would have had to just about be on his last legs to do so in their minds, so presumably they would believe him when he rang.   But he still had his reservations about the feebly thought out reasoning that had allowed his mind to justify taking a day off in the first place.   And as his brain reminded him of the need to call in, it also managed to make him think twice about what it was he was getting himself into – and how easy it would be for things to go wrong for him.

   Unfortunately for Joseph the resulting thoughts concerning the many possibilities that could take place once they arrived at the farm brought about an unexpected battle for control of his mind.   A battle royal quickly began to reach fever pitch inside his head as common sense fought desperately to regain control, rather than have it taken over by either panic, which was definitely on the cards … or his egotistical adventurous side which was the current favourite.  

   Joseph knew his currently befuddled brain had developed an increasingly addictive taste for adventure in the past twenty four hours… and for Rosetta’s company.   But what was intriguing him even more was the increasingly repetitious subliminal message that constantly tried to convince him that he was needed where he was going for much greater reasons than just to locate the statue … much greater.    His head began pounding with the confusion in his mind of what he was feeling in regards to Rosetta and the story she had told … and the guilt he was feeling in regards to lying to Martin and Rosetta, or, at least, not admitting to the truth of his false involvement in the situation.   Eventually the inner conflict in this mind became too much for him.   He was on the verge of getting a severe headache as a result of his brain’s inconsistent dealings with the problem.   Joseph finally decided it was time to step up to the plate.    He cleared his mind of everything connected with Rosetta, the statue and her father for the moment.    As far as he was concerned whatever fate awaited him in Trenthamville … awaited him, and there was no going back now.

   For the rest of the trip Joseph managed to keep his eyes on the passing scenery as they headed closer and closer to their destination, letting the peaceful serenity of the green countryside allow his mind to do whatever it felt it needed to do without any interference from him.  Something was telling him that things would work themselves out in the correct manner … so he set the paranoia inside him free … and hoped that he had made the right decision.

********

One hour and thirty five minutes after they had started out, the light-grey Mercedes pulled off the highway and onto the main road leading to the quiet country village of Trenthamville.   Three minutes later Martin wheeled the car into a garage situated just prior to the village centre in order to seek directions to the farm.

********

Mary arrived on the scene shortly afterwards and was just about to follow suit when she noticed the Mercedes in the driveway.   She quickly put her right hand in front of her face, pretending to be guarding it against the morning sun which was streaming like a machine gun down the main street, and drove straight past the garage.   She was far too nervous to take the chance to look in the direction of the Mercedes in case they were watching the road, and drove on for several hundred yards before pulling over and digging in her bag for her phone.

********

While Martin was still chatting with the garage attendant, with Rosetta close in attendance, Joseph took advantage of the situation and excused himself for a call of nature.  

********

If they had been two different people suspicion may have been raised when Joseph and Mary sequentially rang in on their mobile phones, on a Friday prior to a holiday weekend, to say that they were sick and wouldn’t be coming in to work.   But in their case it was accepted as pure coincidence.   In fact nobody at the office even noticed the coincidence.

********

Mary squirmed in the motionless car for the umpteenth time.   The increasing brightness and warmth of the morning sun burst down on the vehicle’s windscreen like a ray lamp on a tan seeker.   The still rising sun was far too bright to look at, but there was nowhere for her to shade her eyes against it, and it was beginning to make her feel ill.    As the minutes ticked away Mary decided that she definitely needed a new car, and preferably one with tinted windows and a working air-conditioner.  

   Small beads of sweat had begun forming on her forehead and Mary was beginning to have grave doubts about her own sanity in regards to this impetuous adventure she had undertaken – when, with a deep sigh of relief, she noticed the first flicker of movement in the rear vision mirror she had been using to monitor her quarry, and as soon as she realised that they were on the move she picked up the road-map lying on the passenger seat and placed it so that it completely covered her face until she heard the car pass by, and once it had she threw the map back on the passenger seat and slowly began pulling out – only to find the Mercedes stopped just in front of her, at the only set of traffic lights in the entire village.

   Mary was too committed to pulling out to stop the action, and she knew that she had to catch their attention if she followed them again, so she checked for oncoming traffic, completed a u-turn and headed back towards the garage.   In her mirror she saw the lights changing to green, and Joseph and his friends disappearing out of sight.

   Mary shook her head in disbelief at her luck as the small green Mini traversed the two hundred yards back to the garage, but two seconds into the short trip Mary jumped so hard with fright she banged her head on the roof of the small car as Gizmo’s calm, but exceptionally loud voice roared through the car.  

   “Are you going in the wrong direction, or are you giving up the chase, Mary?”   Gizmo asked.

   “Oh, god – you frightened the life out of me, Gizmo,” Mary replied once she got her breath back.   “Neither.   I need to stop at a garage to get my bearings, and perhaps a few pieces of information.”

   “Then everything is all right?”

   “Yes, thank you.”

   “Then I will turn myself off and wait for you to reactivate me.   Good Bye, Mary.”

   “Bye, bye.”   Mary replied with a sigh of relief that she had kept control of the car as she placed one hand over her heart in a futile attempt to slow it down from the pace it had set for itself at Gizmo’s unexpected arrival.   Then surprised herself more when she realised she had just reached the entrance to the garage.   Mary wheeled the car into a parking bay alongside the building, and once her legs stopped shaking she went inside.

    “Good morning!”  She called out as she entered.   Somehow she had managed to make her voice bright and cheery, despite Gizmo’s disruption to her nervous system and it brought a reciprocal smile from the garage attendant who stood behind the counter.

   “Morning, Miss!” he replied. “Wasn’t expecting city folk this early.   Is there something going on that I don’t know about?”

   “What makes you say that?”  Mary asked in surprise at his question.

   “I don’t get many strangers in here normally,” the attendant replied, “at least not on a Friday morning.   I often have my hands full on a Sunday when they are going home … anytime of the day they might come in, sometimes six or seven at a time, but this time of the morning on a Friday … and this time of the  year … ,”   The attendant left the sentence hanging in the air, but failed to dismiss his thoughts entirely.  “They usually go straight to the hotel when they arrive … and that’s usually not ‘till around lunch time … or later.   But you are the second stranger that’s been here this morning.   In fact you are the only other car I have seen all morning that’s not from around here.   The traffic has been really scarce this morning.   I wonder why?”

   “The second visitor?”    Mary asked in a soft, innocent, but inquisitive tone, hoping that the attendant would spread some light on the conversation that had taken place between him and Joseph and his friends.  

   “Had a fellow in a Mercedes only a minute or so before you arrived,” the attendant answered without hesitation, surprising Mary with the readiness of his reply, “with another man, he was, and a young woman – real pretty thing she was.   Trying to find their way to Forster’s farm, they were.   It seems like that’s fast becoming a tourist site by itself, with so many people going there ever since the incident.”

   “Forster’s farm?”   Mary held herself in check trying to not show the excitement that began to flow through her body.  It seemed to her that Joseph was definitely involved in something special and she couldn’t wait to find out more, “So it’s a pretty popular spot is it?”  She asked as casually as she could.

   “Fast getting that way,” the attendant replied with a smile, “A couple of days ago it was those foreigners asking all sorts of questions, and then that little chubby fellow in the big fancy car, he was a foreigner too, and today it was the three in the Mercedes.   I couldn’t see any of that lot being farmers.   What about you, Miss, that where you’re going?   Are you a farmer?”

   “I’m certainly not a farmer,” Mary replied with a smile, “Did something happen at the farm?   Did aliens land there?    Are ghosts haunting the cows and making their milk curdle?”    Mary’s voice retained its innocence through her flippancy, even though her sense of excitement was on the rise.  

   But before the attendant had a chance to answer, a car horn honked outside taking his attention to the driveway and once he saw who his customer was he turned back to Mary.   “Sorry, Miss, was there something that I can do for you before I attend to old Laurie?”

   “There is, but I would like to hear more about the farm. Would you mind if I waited?”  

   “No, that would be fine. I shan’t be long.   There’s some free coffee and tea in the machine over there.   Feel free to help yourself … back in a minute.”

   The attendant went out to attend to his customer and Mary waited patiently at the counter.   ‘It can’t take very long to put some petrol into a car,’ she thought to herself, as she stared aimlessly around the room.

********

  But the minutes ticked by at an extremely slow rate and Mary began to wonder if perhaps he had gone home and forgotten her.  However, as she looked out through the driveway window she could see the attendant leaning into the window of a vehicle, his back arched and his arms resting on the window frame … and it was obvious he was having a good chat with the car’s driver.   She had no idea what type of vehicle it was, but it looked old.   Not something you expected to see running through the streets of London, she thought.   And it was with that train of thought in her mind Mary remembered that she was not in the big city now and a different set of rules applied with country hospitality.  The attendant had not disappeared; he was simply applying himself to his trade: washing the car’s windscreen and having an idle conversation with the driver as he performed his chores.   ‘Ah well,’ she thought as she looked at her watch,” I hope Gizmo will be up to all of this time delay, but my instincts tell me that it will be worth my time.”  

   Eventually Mary decided to take the attendant’s kind offer and made her way to the small self service coffee machine that stood at the end of the counter and examined the small receptacle bin that stood on the floor beside it.  Nearly half a dozen used cups lay in the bin.   An extremely small bar fridge supported the coffee machine and Mary opened the fridge door to examine the contents, pleasantly surprised to find not only some milk inside, but it was fresh milk.

   Mary looked back towards the driveway window and she could still see the outline of the garage attendant.  ‘Why not,’ she thought as she pressed the appropriate buttons … and shortly she was glancing through a magazine she had removed from a display rack as she sipped ever so gratefully on her surprisingly good tasting coffee … and then five minutes later, ‘Just one more,’ she thought guiltily, ‘after all, they are rather small,’ and once again pressed the buttons and smiled as she watched the creamy brown liquid fill her cup to the brim.

*******

    Mary left her second magazine on the desk as she walked over to make her third cup and was in the process of pushing the buttons when the attendant walked back inside.

   “Oh, I am glad you found the coffee, Miss.   Sorry about taking so long.  Old Laurie likes a chat now and then.   But just when he was leaving I heard something clunking in his engine so I thought I had better take a look.”  The attendant apologised, a cheesy grin encasing his face, and then, as if to prove himself to have been telling the truth, he walked over to a small sink near the entrance to the garage workshop and began cleaning his hands.   Mary could see the black grease and oil that covered his hands glistening in the lamp on the bench beside him as he scrubbed and had no doubts that he had done what he had said he had.

   “That’s alright, did you fix the problem?”

   “No.   I’ve booked it in for Wednesday.   It should be alright for a day or so, as long as he doesn’t go rushing off to London or Scotland in it.

   “Is he likely to go rushing off to London or Scotland?”

   “No … not Old Laurie.”   The attendant said with a chuckle,   “Only drives between his home and the village … and that’s not all that often.

   “Well let’s hope he gets home safely this morning.”  Mary said, the smile not once showing any hint of leaving her face.

   Slightly confused at what Mary was alluding to, he answered with the only reply he could think of.  “Well, there’s no reason to think he won’t, Miss.  Why would you think that he wouldn’t make it home?”

   “Oh,” Mary replied sweetly, “I was just thinking how disappointing it would be if you had to go to work on his car again just when you were about to tell me all about what happened at Forster’s Farm the other night … or whenever it was.

   “Oh, that was strange that was.   Hold on a moment,”   The attendant said as he suddenly reached under the counter.  “Just turning on the bell in case anymore customers arrive and I don’t hear them while I am talking.   It was lucky Old Laurie knows to beep his horn in case I forget to turn the bell on.   Now, where was I?”

   “You were going to tell me what happened at the farm.”  Mary reminded him gently.

     The attendant nodded his head in agreement, his eyes began to light up as his mind travelled back over the events that had happened over the last few weeks and his head began nodding in agreement with some memory that had surfaced.   It was as if, inwardly, he was retelling it all to himself.   Without thinking Mary rolled her eyes in frustration, but before she could attempt to bring him back on track the attendant suddenly commenced the telling of his tale.

   “Sorry, Miss,” he apologised, “Just needed to get my facts in order.   Yes, it was very strange,” he began, “though it really began a few months ago.   Some professor, Italian I think he was.   I don’t really know his name, but he rented the old Forster Farm up on the highlands – a few miles out of town it is.   I don’t know what he was doing out there, but a few of the locals here say that there was some strange goings on up there some nights.

   Mind you I never saw anything myself, but there were those that said that they did.   The professor and his off-sider never mixed with the people around here very much as far as I know … so nobody ever got the chance to ask them any questions about things that they did up at the farm.   If somebody did know then they have kept it secret to themselves for all this time.    Word usually gets around here very smartly if queer things are happening.   Though, mind you, the professor sometimes stayed at Missus O’Shaughnessy’s on Kingston Street, but he never talked much to anyone even then according to her.  Just had his meals sent up to his room and stayed put inside it on his mobile and computer, so she says.”

   “Why did he rent out a room if he was also renting a farm?   Couldn’t have had sheep on the farm if he couldn’t sleep there, I suppose … nothing for him to count.”   Mary said, laughing at her own joke as she attempted to keep up the pretence of her light-hearted interest in the background story to the events at the farm as only being out of curiosity, and not with an agenda.   But the minute she heard the name of someone who she presumed to be Rosetta’s father being mentioned she didn’t want to become too pressuring in her questions, lest he became suspicious of her interest and clamped up.    If Joseph had needed to go to the farm  for something to do with Rosetta’s father – then she needed to know everything about the farm and Rosetta’s father’s connection with it, and at this stage the information that the garage attendant provided her with was her most solid starting point.

   The garage attendant grinned at her city humour and went on,   “Went there for the reception on his phone, or his computer, Missus O’Shaughnessy said.   The signal at the farm was very iffy and he had said a lot of his work involved communication and on-line research.   Spent most of the time he was there locked in his room working till the wee hours of the morning, she reckoned.   Said she could see the light from his room shining out onto the yard at the back of the boarding house.   She reckoned on some nights he didn’t go to bed at all.

   When he was not staying at Missus O’Shaughnessy’s he had meals delivered to the farm, but even then there was never anyone to meet James at the gate.  So, like I said … nobody knew very much about what they did at the farm.”

   “Who was James?”   Mary asked, needing to know every single detail.

   “James was Mister O’Shaughnessy’s brother.   All he had to do was place the meals in the mail box and pick up the old dishes they had placed there for him … when they remembered to put them there, that is.   Some days he collected a weeks worth in the one day.    Oh, and then he had to blow a whistle three times or four times until he saw somebody pop their head out of the house or around the corner of the barn.   But that was as far as he got to have any communication with the two of them.”

    “The letter box … he had his meals delivered to a letterbox?”  Mary asked in disbelief, “What was it that he ate … sandwiches?   Bread rolls?  Cheese on crackers?   I hope he had better meals at Missus O’Shaughnessy’s.”

   “No, he ate better than that,” the attendant replied in a slightly flustered, defensive tone, “the mail boxes on a farm are bigger than the ones they use in a big city.   They are used to store things like farm parts that are delivered to the farm, or being sent back to the supplier; big milk containers; all sorts of things, including mail.   They have shelves where the plates were put, both incoming and outgoing.   But the meals were always hot meat and vegetables or chips on china plates and covered in aluminum wrapping, as were the desserts which kept them hot or cold as need be.

   And Missus O’Shaughnessy is the best cook in Trenthamville.   Used to be the chef for ‘The Rat and Mouse’ until she retired and opened the B’n’B about ten years ago … when her husband died.    I’ve had dinner at the B’n’B and The Rat and Mouse on special occasions like Christmas dinner and birthday parties quite regularly over the years and they were the best meals that I have ever had.  No, they were proper meals that the professor and his friend got up at the farm, Miss.

   “Sorry, no offence meant.”  Mary apologised, the tone in her voice in complete agreement with her words.

   “None taken, Miss.”   The attendant replied, the smile returning to his face.

   “The Rat and Mouse,” Mary asked in curiosity, and as a chance to change the subject for the moment, “what is that … a restaurant?”

   “Sort of … it’s the hotel in High Street, just up the road a bit.   Can’t miss it – it’s the only pub we have in Trenthamville.  I thought that was where you were heading when you arrived.   That’s where most people stay when they come to Trenthamville.   It’s the only place that you can stay, outside of Misses O’Shaughnessy’s B’n’B, that is.   But it fills up quickly.”

    “Why did the delivery man, what was his name, oh yes, James.   Why did James have to blow the whistle?   If they were expecting him with their meals why couldn’t he just knock on the front door?   It would seem to have made more sense.”  

   “They do a lot of their work in the barn, and they don’t like people prying, though I have no idea what it was they did, but some seem to think it was something to do with mummies.”

   “Mummies – like in the old horror movies?’  Mary asked in surprise.

   “That’s right, Miss … Boris Karloff and Peter Cushing and their friends.  They say that some nights the lights in the barn are still turned on when the sun rises the next morning.   But whatever it is they do there – it is kept a secret – nobody is allowed inside … which is why James has to use the whistle.  One of them usually comes out from the barn when the whistle is blown within a minute or so.   But if nobody makes an appearance within five minutes James would pull the flag up and leave them to their own devices.

   “Sorry … a flag?”   Mary questioned in bewilderment

   “It’s a little triangle shaped piece of metal that sits at the end of a piece of piping around nine inches long.   It normally lays parallel with the top of the letter box, but when the postie, or someone like James, makes a delivery and nobody comes out of the house of the barn they raise the tubing up and the triangle looks like a flag and the occupants know that there has been a delivery.”

   “Oh, fair enough, but what happened there that caused all the fuss?   Was is something to do with the professor’s mummies?”  

   “What happened that night isn’t really about the professor himself, but I thought it to be important that you were aware that secret things happened on the farm before that night.   And it is because we know so little about the goings on at the farm before that night, we still don’t know what actually happened.   Maybe whatever they were doing there caused what happened to happen, or maybe it had nothing to do with them.    Maybe they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

   Anyway, one night – just over a week ago it was – there was a terrible noise up at the farm.   It was a still night; not a breath of wind; not a car on the road.   You could hear the noise miles away – which is what most of us did.   And it wasn’t the kind of noise that one likes to hear in the night.”

   “What sort of noise?”  Mary asked, the blood in her veins already beginning to flow a little faster; the hairs on the nape of her neck rising in anticipation of what might be coming.

   “They were screams, Miss!   They were the most horrible screams that you have ever heard.   They were like Banshees, squealing and wailing as loud as you please.   I think that everyone in the village ran out of their houses when the noise started.   You could see the farmhouse silhouetted by the fullness of the rising moon.   Some had said that witchcraft or devil worship was being practiced up there.   I don’t know if that was true or not, but I do know that there were strange lights flashing inside the farmhouse along with all that noise, and all that unearthly screaming didn’t help to ally fears that maybe the rumours were true.

   And then there was the long light.   It was shooting hundreds of feet up from the ground into the sky.   It was lucky that there weren’t many trees on the farm, or there could have been one hell of a fire, if you’ll pardon my French.   The tree closest to the light burnt to the ground as it was standing,” he paused for a second and looked her straight in the eye, “It was burning from the middle to the top – and the bottom to the middle – at the same time.  Weird it was.”

   It took Mary a second or two to take in what he had just said, but she didn’t really understand what he was telling her.   “This light – was it like a flame?   Something like a welder’s flame perhaps?”  She finally asked.

   “No, Miss.   Miles bigger than that; it was a light; not like a torch, but it was a light, not a flame …yet it still extruded heat: incredible heat.   But it wasn’t a flame.   It seemed to come right out of the ground, and went straight up into the sky, getting wider and wider the further up that it went.   Like a searchlight it was, only it never moved from the one position.   It just went straight up into the sky.”   He paused for a moment, as his eyes became transfixed by the memory, then his voice shook slightly.

   “And the heat … you could feel the heat here in the village.   Marianne Hopkins was one hundred yards away from the light and she suffered third degree burns on her face and arms.   Old Harry’s shirt caught fire, and we found a few birds on the ground the next day; they were char grilled.”  

   “Oh, my god,” Mary exclaimed.   Mary was finding this story incredible, but extraordinarily hard to swallow at the same time.   “So what happened next?”   She asked impatiently as she motioned for him to go on.

   “We’re not too sure,” the attendant replied, “the sky above suddenly exploded in a burst of light.   It bathed the entire farm in its glow and we were all temporarily blinded by its brightness.   It must have been five or six minutes before most of us could see again.   That’s an awful long time when you can’t see a thing.   Some were terrified that they had gone blind.    One old woman started screaming and running around, until she tripped over a garden gnome, and ended up needing a dozen stitches in her head.   She was lucky that she hadn’t bled to death before somebody eventually found her.   It was terrifying to be honest.

   When we could see again, the farm was in darkness, it was almost pitch black, yet it had been a perfectly clear night before all of this.   There had been stars in the sky, and it had been a full moon – yet now the night sky had become covered in a dark cloud.   There was no moon and no stars.   Just blackness!   It was eerie!”

   The look on the attendant’s face as he spoke sent shivers down Mary’s spine, and regardless of her scepticism of the tale he was telling she was hooked, and needed more from him in order to feed the adrenaline that had begun to race uncontrollably through her veins.   Almost as if in fear of missing a single word emitting from the man’s mouth, Mary subconsciously leaned in as hard as she could against the bench that was separating them.   And as the attendant talked, Mary’s mind moved deep into a mental vision of what she was being told; into the darkness of night that he spoke of.   In her eyes she saw people; old; young and some in between, and all with the same fear masking their face as they moved cautiously through the dark, their arms stretched forward like they were zombies lest they walk into something unkind to them and their bodies.  Eventually some fell and had unbelievable difficulty in getting themselves back on to their feet.    The night become darker and darker in her mind the more the attendant told her … and then a new fear sent the hackles rising even further up the nape of her neck when a noise began emitting from somewhere in the shadowy world her mind  was conjuring up.   “But why?”, she wondered, ‘the attendant had not made mention of this intrusion.”   Mary became more and more nervous as the noise increased in volume and wondered if something big and dangerous was approaching because the noise seemed to be getting closer and closer.   Within seconds she had assured her self that something big … heavy … threatening, was drawing near.   She knew it.   But now it was no longer in the darkness of the night at the farm her mind had been visiting …it was here in the garage.   Panic began to set into her mind … images of fire and smoke flashed throughout the blackness inside her mind.   A huge claw suddenly slashed through the air only inches from her face.  Suddenly a strong overpowering smell emerged into her dark world … a strange, monstrous face glared menacingly at her …then it roared, and the suddenness of the noise caused Mary to fall backwards as she screamed out in terror.

EPISODE 20 CHAPTER 22 PART 2 (next)

When a billion year old creature decides its time to come to dinner … and the entire population of the Earth is on the menu.     Who do you call??

Short Fat Stubby Finger Stories PRESENTS:

THE Night OF the DARKNESS

By Tony Stewart

PRESS HERE FOR INFO                   PRESS HERE TO GO TO EPISODE 1

PRESS HERE TO GO TO EPISODE 24 chapter 22 PART 1

• Published56

LEGENDS: LINKED TO EPISODE 19 (3) THE TRIP TO TRENTHAMVILLE

As the two cars, still travelling side by side, reached the peak of the short hill the sight that confronted their disbelieving eyes sent shivers down their spines.   An almost cloudless blue sky ran from left to right and almost as far as the human eye could see in a straight line to where they were heading.   But in the middle of the sky, directly above the motorway; directly above where they would be in a few seconds sat a single, humongous, dark cloud … a cloud as black as black could be.   Not a normal storm cloud, but a swirling dark mass that seemed to be almost alive – stretching out as if it was going to completely engulf both them and the sky itself – then just as quickly snapping back into a tightly knotted mass with savage streaks of lightning spitting out of it with the regularity of embers on a burning fire.   Inside the cloud proper a continuous series of spasmodic bursts of yellow and reddish tinged electrical discharges gave the cloud an even eerier appearance.

   In the Mini Jimmy felt the sweat pouring from his skin.   Andrea Jorgenson, the young woman in the Mercedes’s passenger seat, was having trouble with her breathing; her heart palpating like it was going to burst, while the Merc’s driver found himself becoming  unsettled and confused as simultaneously, a strange, unexplained foreboding began penetrating their collective minds.   A primitive in-built warning of unspoken endangerment, a warning of the approach of a danger that they were not in a position to handle by themselves, but with no clear definition of what it was that they should be afraid of … just the fear.   Confused in their thoughts all three individually tried to make sense of what was happening , their confusion further aggravated in their collective minds by a feeling of certainty that the cloud was turning blacker by the second.   Blacker … and becoming closer and much more powerful by the second.

   Furthermore, as the wheels of the cars following the Mini and the Mercedes finally made contact with the motorway some distance behind, they also began to notice the strange apparition in the sky – an apparition they also quickly became convinced was not just hovering in the sky … it was moving towards them.

   The lightning blasts from the cloud began to intensify in both quantity and volume.   Rumblings from the approaching storm could be heard by the occupants of all the cars that travelled the southern lanes that fateful Friday, even those with their windows locked tight and their car radios belting out songs at full belt … and every car felt every rumble from the cloud as the vibrating noise rolled down to the ground and along the motorway.

    The drivers of both the Mini and the Mercedes, still at the  front of the pack, as if in a pact, planted their feet and within seconds they were a further thirty lengths in front of the nearest vehicle … and increasing their lead by the second.   Their sole justification for the dangerous speed they were travelling was they knew they had to out run the storm in order to survive … and the warning inside their minds was telling them that time was running out for them.

   It took the drivers of the following cars several precious seconds before they realised the two leading cars were disappearing out of sight, and then panic began to envelope every one of them as remnants of the ghostly thoughts that had been transmitted to Jimmy and the driver of the Merc from an unknown source, still lingering in the air, now entered the minds of all that passed through them.   Suddenly all lanes were occupied and every accelerator pedal placed firmly on the floor as they attempted to emulate the leaders and get past the cloud as quickly as humanly possible.

   At the front of the pack Jimmy and the driver of the Mercedes were at their wits end.   No matter how fast they travelled the cloud seemed to be getting closer to them, yet it was always in front of them – never above.   They did not seem to getting past it … no matter how fast they went.   And to Jimmy’s dismay the cloud seemed to be intent in down-loading its massive liquid content directly onto them – and that was not something that he was looking forward to.

   Jimmy was feeling unsettled as a result of the way his brain seemed to be working at the moment, and the presence of the cloud itself.   Not knowing how to deal with his on-coming depression he had decided that he would make his brain explain the strangeness of what he was feeling and was in the process of implementing the thought when something made him look in his rear vision mirror – and what he saw put despair in his heart.   The pack was approaching,   Bigger, faster cars, with more aggressive drivers were fast on their way.   This was the part of driving on the motorway that Jimmy feared the most.   In the little green Mini he was like a squirrel amongst elephants on the motorway.   He now felt danger from several corners: aggressive, bullying drivers, cars so big they may not see his car, and a storm that threatened to drop so much rain in such a short time it was almost guaranteed to result in accidents … and most likely he would be a statistic in such an event.   But there was nothing that he could do.   Nowhere to pull over and let them pass, nowhere to hide, nowhere was safe.   All he could do was keep up this speed and hope for the best.

   As the seconds passed, the light on the motorway became darker and darker to the point Jimmy and the driver of the Mercedes were forced to turn their headlights on for safety reasons.  The vibrations on the road from the violence of the thunder from the cloud increased to a point where the roadway actually began to shake intermittently as the cars drove on it … and at the speed those following were now travelling at they were moving way too fast for the new road conditions.   In his mirror Jimmy could  see the cars swerving in and out of their lanes as the vibration rolled irrationally under their vehicles and he prayed as hard as he could that the rain would not begin to fall while he was still under the cloud.   Judging by the thickness and darkness of the cloud the density of the rain that would fall almost guaranteed instant blindness for the drivers, and that, along with the current road conditions would guarantee carnage on the road.  

   Jimmy was now becoming more petrified of the oncoming traffic than he was by the strange, fear inducing cloud that was still getting closer and closer to him.   But it still unsettled him.   For a second he raised his eyes to face it, as if in a vein hope that he could  simply will it away.   But as his eyes made contact with it, without any warning, a brilliant light exploded across the darkness and all eyes were lifted towards the large, dark, storm cloud that hovered above them … and every single occupant of a vehicle on the southbound lanes of the motorway felt a fear like nothing that they had ever felt in their entire lives.

   In the middle of the storm cloud there now appeared the image of a gigantic, surreal image of something part human – part god knows what: an evil, frightening image that seemed to project the oncoming of death and despair.   Somehow the drivers of the small green Mini and the grey Mercedes managed to steer their cars without incident regardless of the sudden, unexpected appearance of the grotesque apparition that appeared before their eyes.   The image, they co-jointly thought, was simply an illusion caused by the unusual light conditions, but by now they were convinced that the cloud, and its artificial occupant, was definitely heading towards them.   No matter what speed they were reaching, the cloud was keeping pace with them … and still heading directly towards them.

  Jimmy felt both frightened and helpless in the situation.   Frightened, not because of what he saw, but because of what it made him feel .   He had no idea what was happening, or why.   Whatever was happening  in the sky – it was unnatural … and whatever was going on in his head was making  him resigned to the inevitable.   Finally he began to concede that this was possibly going to be the last few minutes of his life on earth and he resigned himself to joining up with his father in a matter of seconds, minutes or hours.    Then, for a reason that he could not fully understand, he turned his head towards the Mercedes and was pleasantly surprised to find the young girl looking in his direction … not just looking, but, with contradictory tears in her eyes she was smiling at him.   Not just smiling, but emitting radiant happiness through the tears and at that moment Jimmy had never felt so close to somebody in his entire life.   He smiled back and her smile increased even further.

  Jimmy turned his head back to the road, shook his head in disbelief at his own inane thoughts of life and death and began to calculate how much more he could get out of his little car in a last ditch effort to get past this obnoxious situation, when, suddenly, the Morrison Street overpass appeared before him, albeit a little over four hundred yards away, but importantly Jimmy saw the sign that stated there was an emergency lane ahead and he remembered that it was directly below the overpass.   He immediately decided that he would be much safer parking under the overpass, out of danger from the storm … and the crazy motorists behind him who weren’t far away.   Jimmy flicked on his hazard lights then slowly began to reduce speed, and although it was a little earlier than needed for the hazard lights to come on, he knew for a fact that the lane itself was not that long, and he didn’t want to park outside of the cover that the overpass offered which is what would happen if he was going too fast when he arrived at lane entrance.  But he was also aware that all three lanes behind were now occupied by the cars that he had left behind earlier … and they were all travelling at speed.   Jimmy did not want to be travelling at a speed that would make it hard to stop safely in a short distance, but he also didn’t want the car in his lane to accidentally run into him.   He wanted to give the driver as much warning to his intentions as he possibly could.  

********

   By the time he was around one hundred and ten yards from the overpass Jimmy had managed to slow down to fifty miles an hour and applied more pressure to the brakes.   He was more than wary that dropping from a speed of seventy five miles an hour to zero in a relatively short distance was not going to be an easy achievement in these circumstances.

   And as he drove, Jimmy kept one eye permanently flitting to his rear vision mirror, becoming slightly worried about how fast the other cars were travelling towards him while he was dropping back, and the other eye on the road ahead.   And it was during this repetitious motion that his mind began wandering to the image of the girl in the Mercedes.   Feeling a bit more relaxed now that his turnoff lane was clearly visible to him he turned his head in the direction of the car and for the first time realised the Mercedes, still occupying the middle lane, was trying  to drop back in speed, presumably to emulate his movement onto the emergency lane.   However the driver was having trouble dropping in behind  him in to the left lane behind him because Jimmy was continually dropping his speed back. 

   Jimmy’s only thought, once he realised what the Mercedes driver was trying to do, was for the young girl’s safety.   In his mind he decided that the driver must have realised what he was up to and decided that parking under the overpass would be a better option than the pandemonium that was about to occur once the bulk of the traffic caught up with them and the rain began.  Perhaps he had even come up with the same thought.   Or perhaps the girl had seen the hazard lights on his car and they were going to see if they could help him.   The latter seemed the best reason, Jimmy decided.   It would give him a genuine chance to talk to her  … if it wasn’t her boyfriend that was driving the car.

    But, at the moment, Jimmy knew that he had to do something, but he had only had a split second to come up with it … and the driver of the Mercedes would have had to act on it immediately.  “What?   What?   What?”   Jimmy screamed out loud in his mind… and suddenly he had it.   He wound down his window and put out his arm, using it indicate for the Mercedes to overtake him and pull over as they were approaching the lane which was around eighty yards further up.    The driver appeared to understand what was required and the Mercedes, which had a much quicker acceleration than the low cylinder Mini, suddenly screamed past Jimmy, but he was no more than twenty five yards in front of the Mini when he pulled across into the left hand lane that Jimmy was travelling in prior to accessing the emergency lane which was a further twenty five yards up the road … and began to slow down.  

   The Merc had pulled into Jimmy’s lane a tad earlier than Jimmy had been expecting.   He had been expecting the Merc to accelerate and go straight across his lane and turn into the emergency lane just before the emergency lane lines began, not force the Mini to slow down even more by coming in too early.   He had deemed it necessary for both cars to have the full length of the emergency lane to safely pull up safely under the overpass, but circumstances had suddenly changed for him.   Jimmy had known that both cars needed to accelerate at a speed that would keep them safe from the oncoming traffic, but slow enough to move into the emergency lane when they arrived at its starting point and pull up safely within the confines of the overpass.   Now everything had changed … he was now travelling too slow for the motorway and too fast for the emergency lane… and he was in trouble.

    Jimmy had managed to drop back to thirty five miles an hour when the Mercedes had pulled into the emergency lane twenty five yards in front of him, which would have been an easy speed to control when he too reached it, but suddenly he was forced to press as hard as he could on his own accelerator, barely managing to move over into the emergency lane before jumping between gears and hitting the brakes to slow down as the first of the approaching cars flew past him, quickly followed by another six cars travelling head-to-tail at high speed.

   The force of the wind created by the cars that passed by Jimmy at a breakneck speed was enough to rock the car several times as he struggled to steer it in the short distance he had to bring it to a halt, avoid accidentally ending up back on the motorway, and avoid hitting the Mercedes which had come to a stop and was now parked parallel with the pylons that supported the overpass six feet inside the safety of the huge concrete and metal structure that crossed the motorway.

   Jimmy wrenched, struggled and fought with the steering wheel as he tried to retain control, while his feet, planted hard on the brakes, added smoke and burning rubber to the air which suddenly dissolved into complete darkness.   The limited sunlight that had previously filtered into the underpass from both entrances and exits, was now non-existent, momentarily rendering the parked Mercedes all but invisible.  

   Unexpectedly one of the front wheels of the mini become stuck on an unseen foreign object and it caused the car to spin around and around in never ending circles, the cars still turned on headlights of no use in the otherwise pitch black for Jimmy to obtain any orientation.   All he could do was hold tight to the steering wheel … and pray.

Suddenly, for just a nano second he had the weirdest feeling of being trapped in a freeze frame.   Everything around him seemed to stop: the sound of his car stopped.   The motorway went silent.   There was no sound, no movement to be felt or heard … there was nothing.   Outside the encasing of the underpass the rumblings that had run repeatedly along the motorway momentarily ceased.   The streaks of lightning that emitted from the black cloud seemed frozen in the sky, as did the intermittent flashes within the cloud.   Then Jimmy felt the car rock gently, followed by a slight bump.   Suddenly a small light emitted in the darkness to Jimmy’s right and it took Jimmy a couple of seconds before he realised that the two cars were parked side by side, and in the eerie glow that came from within the Mercedes the girl was looking him – her face showed fear, but suddenly she recognised him; the glow to her face returned … and she smiled.  

   But before Jimmy could reciprocate, he saw something out of the corner of his eye that made him look towards the front of the car, and as he turned to face the front, out of nowhere a black hooded figure appeared; a black hooded figure that, in his current mind setting, Jimmy assumed to be death approaching.   In the limited light from the reflection of the car lights against the retaining wall at the far end of one side of the overpass that the two cars now faced, Jimmy watched, fascinated as the strange apparition seemingly floated towards them until it reached a point between the front doors of the two cars where it did something with his hands that Jimmy didn’t understand.   The unexplained dark cloaked manifestation that appeared between the two cars raised its arms upwards, and in the unnatural translucent light of the semi-darkened underpass he moved his hands in a motion that reminded Jimmy of magician’s performing their illusions on a semi-lit stage, something that he had seen dozens of times over the years.  But, for the life of him, he had no idea what the apparition was doing.

   Suddenly Jimmy heard a series of strange clicking  noises coming from somewhere in the darkness above them.   The apparition stopped what it had been doing and began to reach forward towards the closest occupants of both cars with both its hands.    Jimmy’s window was still down following his hurriedly given hand signals to the Mercedes, but the window for Andrea’s side was still raised.   However, as Jimmy watched on in complete surprise and awe, the window began to wind down so fast that Jimmy thought what he was seeing to be impossible, and before the window had completely wound down, the strange creature that stood beside them reached into both cars simultaneously touching each of  them gently on the head.

   And the minute the hand made contact with Jimmy’s head his world exploded as a massive explosion brought a huge chunk of the overpass crashing down on the southbound lanes, including the emergency lane where the two cars were parked, smothering the traffic lanes – and all vehicles that were travelling on them at the time with debris, dust … and concrete.

   Outside the enclosed area of the motorway the second wave of cars had not been far behind those now trapped within the framework of the overpass when the ball of fire had flown down from the creature’s open hand, and they had all been travelling far too fast to stop with care for safety.   Some ran directly into the massive pile of debris from the fallen overpass.   Others crashed into each other trying to escape the carnage forming in front of them.    Some cars had exploded, while others had flipped onto their sides or bonnets.

   On the other side of the overpass, the seven vehicles that had passed Jimmy in the underpass had exploded with so much force they had melded with the boiling tar beneath their wheels.

********

   The initial reports on the radio, television and even twitter were sketchy to say the least, but they indicated that at least ten cars, perhaps more had been completely destroyed by an explosion on the motorway overpass.   Authorities were reluctant to place the blame on terrorists until the investigators made their report which could take up to a week considering the damage that had been done to the overhead support.   And the ensuing carnage the debris from exploding vehicles had caused to other vehicles was immeasurable at this stage. 

   An unsubstantiated figure of an additional twenty five vehicles had been reported as being damaged beyond drive-ability, while dozens of vehicles had some  minor damage done to them.   The force of the initial explosion, and the immediate domino effect that resulted from it, was so strong that bits and pieces of glass, plastic and metal were strewn across the motorway for hundreds of yards back from the point of impact for the initial vehicles.   On top of the carnage on the out-of-London lanes where the explosion had occurred, at least ten vehicles on the inward lanes also had had some damage done to them by the explosions and the following spate of accidents that had resulted from the debris that had landed on those lanes.    

   The final death toll was still unknown, but it currently stood at twelve.   However, the first seven cars that had exploded were now nothing but melted, charred blobs – all permanently indented into the heat melted road.   Now so much as one with the bitumen the road itself would have to be dug up to remove them, and it would, most likely, take some time to retrieve the bodies, or at least ascertain how many life forms were on board.   It was entirely possible that the heat from the explosion of these cars had been so fierce it may prevent D.N.A testing to be ever carried out.  At least a dozen badly injured victims had already been taken to various hospitals by helicopter and ambulance, and rescuers were still trying to gain access to over half a dozen vehicles to release those still inside, dead … or alive.   There was also an unconfirmed report of two cars parked on the emergency lane beneath the overpass where most of the damage was done.   Judging by the huge chunks of concrete that now cover the emergency lanes the authorities give no hope for any survivors, but this will remain unconfirmed until the site can be cleared … and that could take several weeks.

   The authorities were at a loss to understand what had happened to cause the situation, and exasperated by the surviving victim’s version of events.   According to what eventually became the classified official records, whatever had happened seemed to have created a mass hysteria amongst the victims, for every single conscious survivor reported the sudden appearance of a creature appearing in the sky above them just before the front cars and the overpass exploded into a ball of fire and smoke.  

   ‘A huge creature, half man – half devil like in appearance, partly enshrouded in an almost completely black cloud that glowed like embers in a fireplace appeared at the very second the fireball was released.   Its arms stretched out in the direction of the oncoming traffic, it had released a fireball at the leading cars… the cars and the overpass exploded – and then they saw nothing more’ was the story that each and every one of the witnesses told the investigators.

   Virtually to a man the survivors swore they heard the sounds of several more enormous explosions, but they couldn’t be certain that what they were hearing  wasn’t the sound of one of the cars exploding.   From the moment of the first explosion on they were blinded.   They were still travelling, but could no longer see the road, or the cars in front of them.  The combined light of the fireball and the subsequent explosion had been far too bright for their eyes … it temporary blinded them.   They had had no choice but to apply their brakes and pray that they would survive.  Some did … many didn’t.

   They had no idea how long they were blinded, it felt like hours, but it could easily have been only minutes; they had been panicky; they had been frightened and time was immaterial to them.   Many said their vision returned to them around the same time that they heard the sounds of their rescuers approaching.   Many said once their car had stopped moving, either by the application of their brakes, or by crashing into another vehicle, they had thought about getting out of their vehicle, but were prevented from doing so for various reasons:  injuries, too frightened, locks broken, air bags preventing them from moving …and so on.   They were the lucky ones.   Several who did manage to get out were rewarded with the wheels of another vehicle taking their lives.

   A representative for the government indicated to the press that the wreckage on the freeway was similar to areas of London during world war two.   It was horrific.   He had no doubt that it would have been the most traumatic thing that any of the survivors had ever encountered in their lives, and perhaps one of the traumatised victims may have had a hallucination and convinced the others that they too had seen something he had imagined.   ‘After all,’ he had laughed, albeit with a nervous tremor, ‘a giant devil in the sky …”

   The media did not seem to agree with him, pointing out the damage to several large road guide signposts that had hung across the start of the motorway which were now twisted and heat buckled beyond use although they had not shown any signs of damage just prior to the explosion, but the representative merely placed the blame on an errant semi-trailer.   And then changed the blame to a crane driver when the hecklers pointed out that the signs sat at least ten feet higher than any semi-trailer, and promised a full report on the events would be forthcoming as soon as possible … though, as the camera that should have shown exactly what happened was also a victim of whatever had attacked the cars, there was no guarantee of the accuracy of the report.

   The police and authorities finally got traffic moving again by using one lane of the London bound lane for southbound traffic to reach a feed-in lane that would give them full access to the correct lanes, however the pass-over was not expected to reopen for at least six months and the repairs to the damaged part of the southbound lanes would reopen within a time somewhere between one and two months, albeit with constant interruptions to follow as required for the repair of the overpass.  

********

Seven and a half hours after the policeman fired his speed gun in pure frustration at Mary as she drove past him, the first car to arrive after her rolled up in front of Trenthamville’s only hotel, ‘The Rat and Mouse’.

   Standing behind the reception desk inside the ‘Rat and Mouse’, William Jones, manager, owner and publican of the hotel scratched his head in disbelief at the growing number of cancellations for the weekend’s bookings that were being rung through.   The cancellations were coming in so thick and fast that at first he thought it to be some kind of practical joke somebody was playing on him.   ‘Perhaps the chef,’ he wondered … ‘wanted the day off to go fishing.’   However, when several of the callers mentioned the incident on the freeway he reluctantly began to accept the loss of trade he would suffer as a result, and when he saw images of the carnage on television he immediately regretted his selfish thoughts as he could imagine in his mind the sadness that so many homes would be feeling at that very moment.

   But it was not until his head began to pound, not until he went into the quietness and solitude of his private room, not until he sat quietly in the subdued light with a tall whisky in his hand, absently sipping on it as he reflected on the communication he had just had with the Guardians, did he begin to fully realise the consequences of what had really happened at the motorway on-ramp … and then he too found himself becoming helplessly entangled within the web that was beginning to be woven tightly over the village and inmates of Trenthamville.   And all William could do was hope and pray that the guardians were right … that he was on his way.  

PRESS HERE TO GO TO EPISODE 24 chapter 22

When a billion year old creature decides its time to come to dinner … and the entire population of the Earth is on the menu. Who do you call??

Short Fat Stubby Finger Stories PRESENTS:

THE Night OF the DARKNESS

By Tony Stewart

PRESS HERE FOR INFO                   PRESS HERE TO GO TO EPISODE 1

PRESS HERE FOR Episode 23 Chapter 21 Part 3

• Published56

LEGENDS: LINKED TO EPISODE 19 (the trip to Trenthamville) 2

The authorities made the decision to allow the seemingly endless line of vehicles caught up in the car-park that was now outer London to continue on their journey to wherever life was taking them that fateful Friday as soon as the last damaged car was removed.   They felt that they had no choice but to do so.   The traffic lined up behind the damaged cars at the James Street intersection was already far more than the traffic lights would be able to cope with once the traffic began moving  again because of all the traffic trying to merge from the side streets.   The authorities quickly realised the use of traffic lights would have led to utter chaos as frustrated drivers were guaranteed to ignore the lights and try to force their way onto Shaftson Road, and that would, more than likely, lead to more accidents.   It was for this reason that they had made the decision, but held back on making any move to announce it until they were certain that half of London’s finest were available for traffic control … and  in place to make it work.  

********

    Eventually the road was cleared of the damaged vehicles … and their damaged occupants; the traffic lights were turned off, and a whistle armed policemen was stationed at every feed-in street and potential trouble spot that the authorities could think of.   Then once the authorities felt that every single thing required for a smooth transition was in place the order was finally given to disperse the traffic and the cars began to move forward, albeit at a much slower speed than they would have had the police not been out in so much force.  

   The new head of the pack in the left lane was an affable young man by the name of James (Jimmy) Morrison who was driving a green Mini similar to Mary’s prized antiquity.    Jimmy, a young man on the go who had recently inherited the Mini following the death of his father, was heading to Trenthamville to visit his uncle.   Jimmy’s mother had passed away several years earlier and now that he was alone in life his uncle had suggested it might be a good idea to come down to his farm to visit for a while.   ‘A few weeks in semi-solitude where he would have as much ‘company’ and ‘me’ time as he required’, his uncle had suggested … and Jimmy thought it to be a good idea: a chance to come to grips with his losses and ascertain the direction that his life would take.  

  Jimmy and his uncle had been reasonably close over the years and he was looking forward to spending some time on the farm with him.   Herding the cows to milk them, mucking around with the pigs, driving the tractor, getting up before the sun did, sounded like a great retreat from the twenty four seven computer repair and back up service that had employed him, but it had taken him some time to find reliable fills-in for him while he was gone.   Jimmy knew that he needed a break at the moment, but he had to ensure himself that he still had a job to come back to.   Now, relaxed, everything seemingly sorted out on the home front, he was finally on his way and as he drove he tapped on the dashboard as he spoke,   ‘Thanks, Dad.  I miss you, but I can feel you here beside me every time I drive old Lucy, here.’    Jimmy loved the little green Mini his father had left him.   Driving it gave him a warm feeling and reminded him of the good times he had shared with his father before his illness overcame him.   Jimmy had fallen in love with the car ever since he had first seen the Italian Job with Michael Caine on one of his father’s sixties D.V.Ds, and his father had assured him that he would leave it to him when he went, no matter how long that it took for that to happen … which unfortunately had happened a lot earlier than they both had expected.

   However, despite his love for his own car, Jimmy’s other great love interest when it came to cars was for retro Mercedes Benz … and especially the model that was travelling beside him at the moment.

  It was a beautiful day, the sun was now in full light and Jimmy felt proud as punch as he drove side by side with the elegant grey coloured Merc as they moved towards the on-ramp.   Eventually they approached the turn off to the motorway where the last policeman on point duty waved them on.   But as soon as they had passed him the constable immediately stepped in front of the next two cars, placing one hand in the air to indicate he wanted them to stop as he listened to the two way mobile he had in his other hand.   While the frustrated drivers waited impatiently, mumbling to themselves as they shook their heads in disbelief, the policeman’s head went up and down like a bobble head car dog in agreement with whatever the person at the other end of the line was saying.   Finally he took the mobile from his ear and walked over to a point between the first two cars and indicated for the occupants to wind down their windows.

“Sorry about this, lads.   I know its been a long day, but they are about to turn the traffic lights back on, or at least, these ones,” he said, indicating the lights next to where he was standing, “and about another dozen sets heading back to the city to see how things go … and they don’t want any accidents to happen as a result.   Won’t be more than a moment or so, they say.   It will be a lot safer once they are turned on because it will slow down the amount of vehicles trying to get on to the motorway at one time.   There are a lot of vehicles waiting to enter the motorway just now, as you may have guessed, and we don’t want them all running amok on the motorway at the same time.   They want to make everything a bit safer with so much traffic on the road at the minute.   And we don’t want any more hold ups do we?   Well, thanks lads.    You’ll be on your way in a moment.   Have a safe journey, then.”  

   And in an effort to keep everybody else in the queue happy, especially those that were getting rather heavy on the car horns, the policeman raised one arm high in the air, raised his other arm in the air and tapped his watch with the index finger – then pointed the index finger upwards to indicate one minute before turning the finger in the direction of the lights.  And true to his prediction, forty three seconds later the traffic lights were back in action, the policeman was on his way back to his parked vehicle and the huge stream of vehicles now banked up for over forty five blocks began to move off once again. 

********

   While the policeman was busy advising the new leaders of the pack of the intention to turn the traffic lights on, the two original lead cars began rolling forward to the motorway, with their respective drivers unaware of the action taking place behind them.   And as they drove Jimmy felt elated, perhaps ecstatic would be a better word to describe his feelings with the Mercedes at his side.   As he glanced in the rear vision mirror he was surprised to see the growing distance he was placing between the following cars and himself.   He had no idea what had happened behind him, but he was glad that it had … he felt it gave him a short ‘alone’ time with the Big Merc at his side.   He felt this way because the cars were the cars that they were, they were his two favourites, and for just a moment he felt that he was somebody special and allowed his imagination to take control.   Suddenly he was the suave cockney, Michael Caine, travelling casually on his way to one of the greatest robbery getaways in movie history, and Uma Thuram was travelling beside him dressed up as if in her role as Poison Ivy in the Batman and Robin movie.   It didn’t matter to him if the car in the movie was red … it was the same model, and that is what counted.

   ‘When she turned her head to see who was driving the smashing green Mini it would be love at first sight.’ his imagination  told him,  ‘She would manoeuvre the Mercedes in behind the Mini and follow it until it finally pulls over.  Then she would get out of her car, walk over to him, smiling happily as she walked, and they would meet face to face.   And after that…’

   Three beeps of a car horn snapped him back to reality and the first thing he did was check his steering to ensure himself that he wasn’t drifting over to the other lane, which he was.   Sheepishly, as soon as he had corrected the car, he turned his head in the direction of the Mercedes to offer an apology should it be possible and got a pleasant surprise to find the face of a young woman around his own age smiling at him.   Without thinking, he reciprocated.   The young woman increased the radius of her smile, though it was quite obvious it was tinged with a splattering of embarrassment at being noticed.   The young man also increased the brightness of his smile.   ‘The girl was pretty, very pretty.’ He thought to himself, “It is a pity that we didn’t meet under better circumstances than on the entrance to the motorway.’

   At the thought of the motorway he realised that they had almost reached the peak of the hill and were only seconds away from joining the motorway itself, and he began to turn his attention fully back to the road.   Jimmy knew that the cars behind him would most likely attempt to pass him as soon as they reached the motorway.   It could very easily be a nightmare for the first few moments on the motorway as impatient drivers attempted to increase their speed and constantly change lanes as they tried to make up some of the time they had lost due to the accident … and a lot of them didn’t care who they cut off … or how.   So the greater distance that he put between them and him at the time of their initial arrival on the motorway suited him right down to the ground, and at the moment everything was in his favour.

   But just before he gave driving his full attention he decided to risk one more smile.  A quick look to extract his position on the road then he turned his head to his right, hoping that she was still looking in his direction.   So hopeful he even placed a cheeky smile on his face in anticipation, but what he saw on her face gave him cause for serious concern.   The girl’s face, a minute earlier, young, pretty and full of life was now seemingly drained of life as she stared in awe at whatever had caught her attention.   Confused by her sudden change of mood Jimmy turned his head back to the road to locate what she was looking at … and his mind recoiled in surprise at what he saw.  

   Fear was about to completely surround his mind, the unknown was going to control his every move and thought for every yard he now travelled as his front wheels made first contact with the motorway.   Every action, every decision, that he made from that moment on would have an effect on his life forever, or at least, for as long as it took for the massive ball of fire and death to arrive.

PRESS HERE FOR Episode 23 Chapter 21 Part 3

When a billion year old creature decides its time to come to dinner … and the entire population of the Earth is on the menu – Who do you call???

PRESS HERE FOR INFO                                                   PRESS HERE TO GO TO EPISODE 1

PRESS HERE TO GO TO EPISODE 23 CHAPTER 21 (part 2)

Short Fat Stubby Finger Stories PRESENTS:

THE Edge of Nightfall

By Tony Stewart 

Volume 1:

The Night of the Darkness

What are heroes, if not human folk who display incredible courage under duress?
Tony Stewart – 2002

LEGENDS LINKED TO THE TRIP TO TRENTHAMVILLE Episode 19 (1)

When Mary had first set off after Martin’s Mercedes she had no idea that the dozen or so cars that she was travelling with were, all bar one, about to reveal their true intentions for entering the motorway – SPEED… and speed alone.   But their speed, at that stage, as they travelled towards the motorway entry, was much more moderate than what was to come.

   It was a speed that Mary was more than happy with and she never thought to look behind her to ensure she had additional cover should she need it.   She had fully expected that it would be following her, block by block.   And, as a result of her inaction, she was unaware that the nearest traffic to her little group was sixteen blocks away, on the far side of James Street, waiting on the red light to change to green.   And the queue that was constantly forming behind those waiting at the lights at James Street was growing by the moment.   By the time the lights at James Street turned green the queue behind the now moving traffic that was crossing James Street was stretched back to the lights nineteen blocks behind Mary, who was now entering the motorway entrance ramp.

********

At the head of the traffic, as they awaited the changing of the lights to allow them to travel across James Street, the driver of a Jeep Cherokee currently occupying the left lane opened his windows to allow the world in general, or at least those forced to share the morning streets with him, to also share the sounds of his new c.d.   But even the wailing sounds of Harry and the Toads at full blast didn’t prevent him from hearing the aggressive revving of the Suzuki GSF600 motorcycle in the next lane and, as a smile crossed over his face, he placed his foot on the accelerator and mocked the actions of the motorcyclist.    The helmet covered rider of the motorcycle slowly turned towards him and an unspoken challenge was offered and accepted by both parties.

   Suddenly the lights changed and both the driver and the rider accelerated at a breakneck pace, flying over James street with so much acceleration and aggression that it caused several unlucky pedestrians to quickly clamp their hands tightly over their ears and pray for their own safety.    As the two challengers began to almost literally fly down the street they could see the next set of lights change to green and began to accelerate even harder in order to reach them in time.   The driver of the Cherokee Jeep was grinning from ear to ear, and under his helmet mask, the rider of the Suzuki was doing the same.   Their eyes ablaze – fueled by adrenaline, common sense, safety and other lives meant nothing to these two possessed souls.  Adrenaline ruled their minds … winning was all that mattered.    Then, in an instant, the young driver’s face turned from maniacal happiness to pure terror as a tall, hooded figure suddenly appeared in front of the Cherokee – his hands stretched forward as if to magically stop the car in its tracks … and for a second the young driver felt that the strangely dressed figure in front of him could actually do that.   But the thing that was really beginning to send the young man’s mind into a tail spin was the fact that no matter how fast he was travelling towards the apparition, it seemed to remain at the same distance from the car.

   The now confused and frightened driver slammed on the brakes and wrenched on the steering wheel as hard as he could to avoid hitting the man who was standing on the road in front of him, but he really had nowhere to go … and he was travelling at speed. 

   He had taken the only course of action his mind could formulate in its moment of panic and stress, and the sudden combination of the changes to the steering and the application of the brakes caused the vehicle to slide sideways.   The front of the vehicle flicked the rear wheel of the motorbike, then flipped over and the car spun around in increasing, uncontrolled circles on its roof.  And it didn’t stop spinning until the first of the cars following it slammed into the upturned driver’s side of the vehicle forcing the Cherokee towards the footpath where it finally finished its ability to move when it smashed through the plate glass window of a dress shop narrowly missing two joggers and a cyclist.    But even without the Cherokee’s input the carnage continued as car after car slammed into the car in front of it until the flow of the traffic came to complete standstill.

********

Meanwhile, the force of the initial impact from the Cherokee sent the Suzuki and its rider to the ground where they too began spinning in circles and sliding uncontrollably across the road onto the inward bound lanes.   And as the bike and its rider came to a halt on the wrong side of the road, the closest vehicle travelling towards them miraculously managed to stop but inches from the rider’s head without having the following traffic make contact with his car.   Both the motorbike rider, and the driver of the car that had narrowly managed to avoid hitting him, had been fortunate that very little traffic was travelling in that direction.   And those that did travel that way were some distance away from each other as they moved, which is why they had all been able to come to a stop without incident.

********

However a total of twelve cars following the Cherokee Jeep and the Suzuki motorcycle in the outward lanes had not been so fortunate.    It took well over an hour to remove the damaged vehicles from the road and transfer their injured occupants to various hospitals due to the congestion that they had caused, and senior officials were reluctantly forced to take the decision to allow the traffic to immediately resume their respective journeys, rather than cause anymore disruption to the morning’s roads.

   The traffic accident branch were not keen on their not being able to make a full investigation into what had caused one of the worst accidents they could remember taking place in the outer city area, but they understood the reasons for the decision.   The traffic wasn’t going to reduce if it couldn’t move, it was just going to increase.   And they weren’t getting anywhere fast in their investigations at the moment, mainly because the witness accounts were constantly referring to a man standing on the road in their path … a man who had mysteriously disappeared the very instant  that the accident had occurred, and he was not to be seen again.

********

Later, back at their headquarters, the investigators still had severe doubts about the validity of the statements they had obtained, but they needed to report something because in the long term they were responsible to the government, and governments demand reports … and the dubious response from the witnesses was all they had to go on.   Then things got worse for them when they reviewed footage from the traffic cameras and dash-cam supplied by several of the drivers that had closely followed the Suzuki and the Cherokee Jeep and saw the man themselves.   Saw him disappear on screen as the Cherokee began to swerve and brake in order to miss him; saw him not appear to run away from the scene, but simply disappear from every single footage that they watched, disappeared the very second the car swerved.   Finally the report was completed as the only way that they could.  ‘An unfortunate accident caused by speeding.’

********

But it was those that had authorised the early re-opening of the traffic lanes following the incident at the James Street crossing that would feel the guilt complex for what came next.   A guilt that they would carry in their hearts over many, many years to come.   In their minds what happened next would have been greatly averted had they applied a more diligent approach in their allowing the traffic access to the roads again.   They felt, in retrospect, that the traffic should have been released in small batches, rather than letting everyone move off at once.   It may not have prevented the incident, but it could have reduced the carnage and the deaths to a greater degree.   However, in reality, there was nothing that they could have done differently … this was a planned attack … it was intentional … only, the targets were wrong.

PRESS HERE TO GO TO EPISODE 23 (part 2)

Episode 1 (start)           Episode 19 (next)            Info         Use Search for other Episodes

    Short Fat Stubby Finger Stories PRESENTS:

Episode 18

The sound of a car pulling up snapped Mary’s mind back to the present, and she immediately attempted to ignite her engine the minute that Joseph had closed the back door of the grey Mercedes and the car had begun to drive off.   Her little British racing green Mini had been running a tad sluggish over the past few weeks and this would not have been the right time for it to not start, she thought inwardly.   And then, as if she had just placed a mocker on it, the first two tries were nothing more than a series of whining, vibrating, clicks.  Mary closed her eyes in frustration and panic as her mind immediately began to wonder if her entire night, and her efforts this morning, would end up being a complete waste of time.    She knew that she had Gizmo as a back-up to locate them, however she also realised that without a car Gizmo was of no use to her, he was fitted, installed, not a portable device – and if she somehow, magically, got hold of another car, she still no longer had the use of Gizmo, because she couldn’t simply plug it in to the new vehicle which meant she would have no idea how to follow them because she wouldn’t know where they were.  

   Mary was in a quandary: on the verge of absolute panic, and she took a deep breath to settle herself down.    And then, as she slowly exhaled, she tried again … and this time a sound that roared like a dragon filled the narrow lane-way as the beautiful sound of an ignited engine bounced off the building walls … and she moved out onto the roadway and sped off in pursuit of  Joseph, her foot heavy on the accelerator pedal as if in fear that the car would take it into its own mind to come to a stop should she slow down.

   Eventually Mary caught up with the Mercedes and dropped her speed back.   At the moment Mary felt safe and in control of the situation.    With just the right amount of traffic surrounding or preceding her she could easily see and follow the Mercedes at a comfortable pace, and do so from a safe distance.   There was no reason to hide herself on this exciting, yet tranquil, morning.   The occupants of the car she followed wouldn’t have any reason to suspect that they were being pursued … all they would see in their rear vision mirror would be a variety of headlights following them on a main road leading from the city limits and they would have no idea, and nor would they care, who was behind them; they had their own journey to keep them busy, but why take risks?, she thought.    So, content in her mind that all was going to plan, Mary relaxed and took in the beautiful sunrise as a slowly rising orange sun bounced its scattered rays of light on to the many high rise buildings and shops that lined the road ahead in a way that reminded Mary of her childhood … and Christmas lights that lit up the city.

********

   But her mood took a turn for the worst as they reached the end of the central traffic area and took the turn-off to gain entrance to the motorway.   Without any warning, the slight feeling of anxiety that she had tried to push out of her mind, a feeling of anxiety that had sat slowly pulsating away at the back of her thoughts since she had woken up that morning, was suddenly pushed to a higher level.   The cars that had been accompanying the grey Mercedes and The British Racing Green Mini unexpectedly resumed their real identities as Grand Prix contestants as they moved into practice mode and disappeared at an average speed of around one hundred and thirty miles an hour, leaving Martin and Mary as the sole occupants of the outward bound lanes of the motorway within seconds.

   As a result of the flag fall that only the grand prix contestants had seen Mary now found her cover had completely disappeared, and she soon realised that following a car at night, or through the streets of outer London in the early morning’s subdued illumination, was one thing, but following a car for miles through country roads as the sun shone bright above them, with little other traffic for cover, was going to be something else.   Mary took a glance in her rear vision mirror to see how long it would be before she was passed by on-coming traffic so she would have some cover once again and was surprised to see that there was nobody coming.   ‘Must be a problem with the lights at the turnoff.’ she thought.   ‘Oh well, they should arrive shortly.’   Mary wanted to keep the Mercedes in sight, but herself out of theirs.   It was going to be a challenge, she thought, then she remembered Gizmo, dropped her speed back even more than the snail’s pace for a motorway that she had been travelling at, pressed the start button, then called out Martin’s registration plate number in the manner she had been requested to use the previous evening.   To Mary’s amusement and amazement Gizmo welcomed her back in a much more respectful tone than on their first meeting.   Even to the point of enquiring if she had been successful the previous evening, to which Mary replied with a non-committal “It’s all still in progress, thank you.

   “Wish I’d had thought to do this earlier’, Mary thought with some regret, ‘I really have to get used to Gizmo.   I could have pulled over and bought myself a second coffee at least six times before we reached the motorway.   Maybe I’ll find a Wild Bean garage exit on the way.

   In compensation for her lack of additional morning caffeine, Mary flicked on the c.d. player, and settled back to her Adele and Ed Sheeran mix as her eyes began to take in the tranquillity of an open highway: the beginnings of calming, green, countryside scenery, and not another car in sight other than the far distant grey Mercedes she was tailing.   No hoons tailgating her, passing her at a supersonic speed then suddenly pulling into her lane and dropping their speed back until their boot was within inches of her bonnet, no oldies dawdling along at a speed one could imagine was allowing them to pour out fresh boiled tea into bone china cups which they would slowly sip on as they travelled.   No ancient nineteen sixties caravans swaying from side to side in front of her.   No cheeky children sticking their heads to the windows and pulling faces or sticking out their tongue as their car flew past hers.   Nothing … nothing anywhere, with the exception of the grey Mercedes, and losing sight of it at the moment didn’t phase Mary in the least … after all – she had Gizmo on board.

********

As Mary and Joseph’s little group traversed the open road towards Trenthamville, the minuscule convoy provided slim pickings indeed for the solitary police officer standing, beside a huge billboard at the side of the road.   The policeman, his trusty radar gun resting idly in his hanging arm, looked like he was in a scene from an old western movie.  A gunfighter waiting for his gun slinging rival to arrive at the O.K. Coral for the inevitable winner-takes-all shootout at high noon, but the frustration of the lack of traffic for the past twenty five minutes was beginning to wear him down.   Twenty five minutes ago he had reached a quarter of his quota for the day in one big hit, the cars had been travelling so fast he had trouble getting them all in his sights. but since then … nothing.   He raised his gun, aimed it at the green Mini and pressed the trigger as hard as he possibly could, but it was all to no avail as he knew it would be.   ‘Where is everybody?’ he thought to himself, ‘There should be dozen’s and dozens of vehicles heading out of the city by now.   It’s like every delivery truck driver and salesman in London has either slept in, or are taking an extended holiday weekend.   I’ve never seen it so empty.”    He shook his head in disbelief, then headed back to the out-of-driver’s-view police car stationed behind the huge billboard, where, waiting patiently on the back seat, rested a huge picnic hamper full to the brim with several large tea flasks, and dozens of fresh buns and other assorted goodies.   A minute later, with three super-sized iced buns sitting precariously on the arm rest beside him, and a hot cup of tea in his right hand, the now-on-an early morning-tea-break policeman used his free hand to press the on-button for the classical music station on the car’s radio … and in the early morning air, at the edge of a country road, with not a car to be seen on the outbound lanes since the green mini had began disappearing in the distance … and nobody around to annoy him, Officer Harrison sipped on his tea, munched on his buns, and let Bach, Beethoven and Handel rule the world that surrounded him at full volume.

********

   Mary had no idea that she was driving with her very own soundtrack blasting away in the background, but like the policeman who was providing the inspiring accompaniment to her adventure-of-a-lifetime, Mary herself was becoming concerned that there were no other cars travelling the way she and Joseph were headed.   There were the odd vehicles travelling towards London, but absolutely nothing showing up in her rear vision mirror no matter how long and straight the road behind her was.   She had already been travelling at five miles an hour below the speed limit, but she decided that in itself may give cause to her being noticed by those in front, who could not fail to notice her on such an empty road whenever they looked in their rear vision mirror, and decided to drop back a little bit more.   She never for a moment thought that they would realise that she was following them, she just didn’t want her Mini to be noticed by them in case it caused them to become suspicious of her motives at a later stage.

   What Mary hadn’t expected, however, was a reaction to her decision from Gizmo.

   “Are you alright, Mary?  Is your car having mechanical problems?   Do you need help?”   The voice asked, its tone polite, though displaying concern,  but Mary knew that it was demanding an answer … otherwise why did it bother to ask a question.

   “Yes, no, I’m fine, Gizmo,” Mary replied awkwardly, uncertain of Gizmo’s prime question,  “You are doing a great job, but I need to follow the car to its destination without being noticed by the occupants.   I felt I was still too close to them.   Does it cause any problem to you if I am too far away from the car?”

   “No, Mary.   I only ensured that you, or your car, were not having any problems as you have slowed down to a pace well below the speed limit.   I have an inbuilt automatic program installed that advises me to contact you whenever there are apparent changes in your brainwaves or the car’s performance.   Should you break down I have the ability to arrange a quick rescue service, or get medical help if that is what is required.   The program is currently active and your brainwaves showed some signs of stress, so when you slowed down the car’s speed at the same time I had to obtain an assurance that you were not in distress, or that the car was not malfunctioning.”

   “You have the ability to monitor my mind and body?”   Mary asked in complete disbelief as she began freaking out at the thought of her privacy being invaded in such a personal way.

   “No – I don’t.   That information is fed to me from the prime computer when you activate my help.   Once your levels appear to be running abnormally it is my responsibility to communicate with you to ensure your well being and safety.   The initial safety program is only initiated with the complete authority of the recipient, and it is not used for invasion purposes.   It is designed purely to provide help whenever it becomes needed … and that can include help such as providing  immediate physical medical help for problems such as remote resuscitation and C.P.R. providing  the driver is mentally awake and physically active, or there is a second person in the vehicle at the time.   The installer should have mentioned that to you and had you sign an authority agreement when you took back possession of your vehicle, but the actions of the system is a standard protocol in cases such as yours.   I shall send a memo to Mister Biggs immediately to ensure that he speaks to you about this matter as soon as possible.   I am sorry if this knowledge has offended or worried you.”

   Mary was stunned by Gizmo’s reply and was undecided whether to seek clarification of the wording of ‘Cases such as yours’, or to continue with her enquiries about Gizmo’s medical capabilities. and eventually decided on the latter.   “You can provide C.P.R. remotely – is that at all possible?”

   “Mary, you are classified to a very high level, but not a high enough level to be given the complete details to fully answer your question, but I can tell you the following.   However, what you are about to be told, limited as it may be, is for your ears only.   Is that clearly understood?”

   Mary was becoming simultaneously overwhelmed and confused at the information that Gizmo was currently providing and she began to wonder exactly what it was that Johann P. Biggs was really getting her into.   ‘Was there more to things than just Joseph’s promotion?’ she wondered.   “Yes.”  She replied to Gizmo’s question, her voice toneless as she spoke.

   “Thank you, Mary.   Now, please remember that I am only giving you the basic details.   You may have many questions to ask once I am finished, but I am afraid that it will be most likely that I cannot answer most of them.   But what I can tell you is as follows.   Firstly, using nano technology, there have been a series of instruments and devices installed in your car besides this communication system.   These devices are usually invisible to the naked eye as they are given a chameleon coating which allows them to blend perfectly with the exterior of wherever they are placed, which is usually somewhere out of the way of drivers and passengers normal movements in a car.   Amongst the various items installed is equipment that collects a continuous reading of the vital signs of life that are automatically produced by your body: your heartbeat, pulse, brainwaves, body heat, and so on, as well as monitoring the car’s performance.   Many of the things installed are similar to what is used to take readings from your body in doctor’s surgeries and hospitals, but these are more like bluetooth applications because they can pick up your readings without anything physically attached to your body.   To make this simple for you, the devices that read your body work in a similar way to a microphone and a recording works, except that these devices are extremely sensitive, and each one is programmed to only react to one individual sound or sense such as a heartbeat, or body heat.   Your body is connected to the system from the moment you get into the car, and stays active until you tell it to turn off.   There is no on switch, it runs off a combination of solar power and your car battery and is activated by your opening the door to enter it, but is only deactivated by your vocal instruction.

   If you have already me turned on, then when a reading detects something apparently not working correctly, the system will relay any transmitted anomalies it notices to me so I can make verbal contact with you, as I am now, to verify the problem and your current safety.   If I am not turned on and an anomaly shows up on the main computer system I will be turned on remotely and initiate a conversation with you.   Should you not respond to my voice you will be immediately contacted by a call on your mobile.   If you fail to answer the phone your location will be already known to the G.P.S tracker that is following your medical signals and you will be physically contacted as soon as it is possible.   Should you depart the vehicle and travel a distance of five hundred yards or more away from it,  the system will lose contact with you as that is the maximum limit of the range of the equipment, but it will continue searching for you as the system will remain active until you turn it off. ”

   “How would I do that?”   Mary asked, her curiosity up, despite the reservations she had about her privacy.

   “You should have been given a personal security code which you emit when you are exiting the car.    The code is voice activated.    When you first called me to follow the taxi last evening the security system automatically recorded your voice and fed it through the main system, so now, anytime that you have a need to use any of the voice activated products in your car your voice will be recognised by the security system and it will allow you access to the device you are requiring.  

   Mary thought back to the time that she had collected her car from Johann’s garage.   “I vaguely remember the mechanic going on about ‘quantum leap’ for some reason.    I had no idea what he was talking about.   It was all gibberish to me at the time.   But now I wonder … could that have been my access code?”

   “It is quite possible.”    Gizmo replied, but offered no more.   Mary had expected a bit more from Gizmo at this revelation, however, as nothing was offered she changed tact.   “Why does the computer want to follow me for five hundred yards,` anyway?”  

   “The extended range of five hundred yards is for safety reasons.   It is for situations when you may be under threat, possibly been made to leave the vehicle under duress, perhaps injured and moving away from the car after an accident, or you may even have become lost and can’t find your way back.    It gives us a location, or location direction, should it be needed.   The systems in your vehicle will tell us where you currently are, or, at the very least, where the vehicle is parked and which way you travelled when you alighted from the vehicle, at least for the first five hundred yards.   It will not, however, continue to track you if you have turned it off as you left the car.   Should you alight from the car and travel for some distance away from the vehicle without turning the tracking system off, the system will automatically place you on alarm stand-bye, create a rescue plan, and continue monitoring your progress.   Should you be injured and have moved away from the vehicle for safety purposes and, for some reason, you cannot reaccess the vehicle, or if you are physically forced to move away from the vehicle, regardless of how far you have travelled away from the vehicle … the rescue plan would be put into action once you had failed to return to the vehicle to turn off the transmission within fifteen minutes.   And that includes situations where you have appeared to have only moved a short distance from the vehicle, but are still not answering your mobile.

   The human recipients of the original readings, the ones who use me to communicate with you should it prove necessary, are housed in a control centre whose location I cannot reveal.   The staff there are all highly qualified specialists in their fields of expertise, including a wide range of surgeons and search and rescue personnel, and they are on a permanent roster: on stand by for emergency situations.    Should something unexpected happen to the driver of a vehicle fitted with the special applications as is your vehicle, the staff would be made aware of the situation almost immediately, though not the exact details.   Providing the driver is still in the vehicle, and their vital signs are still being picked up, the specialists can talk the driver through the steps required to get themselves out of trouble, at least temporarily.   Additionally, a passenger in the car can be given permission to speak on the driver’s behalf and use the applications.   If the driver, or an authorised passenger, can’t communicate with the control centre within the fifteen minutes the rescue team will be dispatched to the current G.P.S. location.

   “How would a passenger get permission to talk on my behalf?”

    “I am afraid that that question must be answered by Mister Biggs,”

   “Yes, okay, fine, thanks.   So tell me, Gizmo, how does it work, this self help from the bowls of the car.   Is there a robot in the boot that jumps out and attends me or something?”

  “Nothing like that, Mary, I’m afraid.   I mentioned earlier that there were medical devices hidden within the car.   These devices require voice activation to make them visible and usable.    To show you what I mean call out ‘Quantum leap’.   If this is your code then the system will activate itself and await your request.”

   Mary did as she was requested and nearly jumped off the seat as she drove when a loud male voice asked her to affirm her full name and age, but managed to calm herself enough to answer his question, albeit in a slightly shaky voice.   The male voice then asked her what her request was.

    Mary felt perplexed, she had no idea what she should say, but, as if she was reading Mary’s mind, Gizmo came to the rescue,    ‘Just say ‘Air tube.’   She advised Mary.

   Mary had no idea what to expect, but did what Gizmo had instructed and almost lost control of the car as a hidden panel on the dashboard unexpectedly sprung open with a bang, exposing a gap of around four inches square in the timber panel as it did.   Mary blinked at the hole, then screamed loudly as she simultaneously fought to retain control of the steering wheel, check her rear vision mirror for any cars behind her, and watch what was happening on the dashboard – as a plastic tube, around half an inch thick, with something bulky attached to the front end of it, ejected itself from the dashboard and loudly whacked itself down onto the armrest console that sat between her and the passenger seat.   And as soon as it had touched the top of the armrest the strange apparatus that had been attached to the end of the tube sprung open exposing a combination of rubber and metal.   In a reasonably mild state of shock considering the ongoing occurrences that were currently doing her mind in, forcing herself to keep her eyes fixed primarily on the road, while also forcing herself to calm down, Mary still managed a glimpse at the strange object on the passenger seat and suddenly realised that it was an oxygen mask.   She took a deep breath of air into her lungs and then put all of her concentration into her driving as she slowly released the air and let what she had just seen wash over her.

   She was fascinated, exhilarated and confused all at the same time.   The questions in her mind splattered themselves against a brick wall in her mind like raindrops in a storm.   ‘Where had it come from?’  she wondered, ‘Why hadn’t I seen the joins?    This is so thrilling … it’s like a James Bond movie, but why would I need things like this in ‘my’ car?   Why has Johann gone to so much trouble just to ensure that Joseph is fit for promotion.   All this security and James bond thingees are just too much for me …. am I in danger?   God, I hope not.’

   But before she could begin to analyze her own questions, the questions were put to one side as Gizmo unexpectedly continued with the lesson she was giving.    “The air hose is ready to be used by yourself, or administered by anybody that is with you … provided you have authorised that person to be accepted by the computer.   I cannot advise you any further on that aspect of the security system.   As I said earlier it should be explained eventually by Johann or his appointed agent.  To return the hose to its holding area simply say ‘return air hose to storage.'”

   Mary repeated the words and found herself surprised that she hadn’t suffered from whiplash … literally – so fast had the hose retracted.   “How many gimmicks like that are there?”  she asked, uncertain that she really wanted to know the answer.

   “More than enough to keep you alive until help arrives …in most cases.”  Gizmo replied lightheartedly.

  “But how could somebody apply C.P.R. remotely.   Wouldn’t there be a need for an injection at the very least?”

    Gizmo appeared to pause momentarily, as if deciding whether or not to go on.   Finally she came to a decision and continued, albeit with a rather pensive tone.   “My program information on this matter is restricted to a rather minuscule explanation, Mary.   So although what I give is only a basic overview, I am afraid that it would be of no use to question me further because I know no details other than what I am about to share with you.”    Gizmo paused again and this worried Mary slightly.

   “You seem to be reluctant to explain this aspect of  the system, Gizmo.   Does it distress you to do so.   If it does there is no need to go on.   I am certain that I can go on living without knowing everything about the things that I now find myself becoming involved in.   There is no need for you to go on if it distresses you.”

   “That is very nice of you, Mary.   Thank you, you are a kind person, but there is no problem.   It was something else that was distracting me.   I will try to retain concentration.   The human mind and body is a unique thing.   It can often cure itself of the most deadliest of illnesses and damage, but it sometimes needs a kick-start to get the self-repairs into motion.   There are data chip devices that can be inserted into various parts of a body which allows access to vital parts of the brain and major arteries from a remote location.   Access which will help your body to get back to normal following a major breakdown of your system by making your mind and body do the work necessary to repair itself …without the aid of the physical appliances usually associated with such medical issues as a stroke or heart attack … at least long enough to get you to a physical environment such as a hospital.   The devices that you have inside your car communicates with the medical staff at the control centre, which means that they, in turn, can gain access to the chips remotely.   With their assessment of the individual case, combined with the aid of the computer, they can feed back information to the car’s equipment which will send the required information to the chip you have installed that will, in turn, activate  the self-healing process.”

   “You said that the chips had access to the brain and several major arteries.   I think that I understand the connection to the brain, but I don’t understand what they can do to an artery.   Surely the arteries would require physical connection to do anything productive such as destroying a blood-clot.

   “The chips have built in nano-lasers.    Lasers that are all but invisible to the human eye, but powerful enough to disintegrate the largest blot clot with one blast.”

   “What!!!”, Mary jumped in excitedly,   “Do you mean that they can fire something like a rocket that flies and flies until it reaches its target no matter how many twists and turns it takes to reach it?   How can you possibly produce that much power in something that small?   Where does it get its power from … do they blast it down the wi-fi trail from the computer like they do with a movie to your computer?”

   Mary was uncertain, but she thought she heard an audible smile in Gizmos initial response when she said ‘No,’  however she soon repressed that thought as the rest of Gizmo’s reply was given in a much more sombre tone.   “No,” she repeated, “the power charge comes from the both the body and the brain.   The body produces electricity in order to go about its business, the chip simply taps into it and feeds that to the laser.    However, the laser does not aim for the clot itself unless the clot is in a direct line to it.    The laser blast is not an explosive as such.   There are several nano contained droplets of a chemical installed inside each chip which can cause the clot to disintegrate when injected into the artery that houses the clot.   The chemical is similar to what is now used in hospitals, but much stronger in its chemical composition to compensate for its reduced size.   Each chip has its own laser and under normal conditions the closest chip to the clot is selected.   The laser absorbs the contents of one of the droplets installed in the chip and fires it directly into the appropriate artery and it will destroy the clot within several minutes.   It will depend on how far that the chemical needs to travel in the blood stream.   However, should the clot be in a close proximity, and there are no obstacles in its way, the laser will be directed to inject the chemical directly into it and in that case the clot will dissolve completely within nano-seconds.”

“How do they know if they have been successful?”

“There is camera with a zoom lens attached to each chip.”

“How did they get cameras that small?”   Mary asked in total disbelief.

   “Again, nano technology,”   Gizmo replied.

   “That is incredible,”   Mary said, her voice reeking of awe, “but what happens if you physically can’t use the equipment because of your situation?

   “That is why all of your life signs are monitored.   Should something physical  happen to you while you are either parked or driving the accompanying sound will possibly be picked up on the audio monitors along with the readings.   If you are within the five hundred yard radius and you are capable of making sound you will be heard and the chips can be activated within that distance.   You will be contacted immediately either by me if you have activated me prior to the incident, or by a device that is installed in the car.   The device can accurately pick up a whisper from one hundred yards, the voice recognition program will listen only for your voice and if you can’t reply I will be turned on remotely if I am not currently switched on and give them your co-ordinates and a rescue program will swing into action.   And that is all that I can tell you, I am afraid.”

   “I have one more question for you, Gizmo.   I know that this is a bit of a personal question, but considering I had expected you to be an over qualified, aggravating, computer program with a monotonous vocal tone when I first switched you on … and now to find you communicate as elegantly as anybody I have ever known … as elegantly as any human, it perplexes me no end to fully understand what you really are.   So, please, I just have to know.   Are you a robot, computer program or human.”

   When Gizmo’s replied it was in the sweetest, softest, friendliest voice that Mary had heard for many, many years.   Not since her mother had consoled her when she had injured herself as a very young child.   “I am none of those, Mary … I am what’s left.”

   Mary was far too shocked and confused at what she had been told to say anything more than “Thank your Gizmo … I think,”

********

   The wheels of the small green Mini had traversed many miles of the motorway since Mary had spoken to Gizmo, but it was only now that Mary had stopped mulling over all she had learnt from Gizmo’s revelations for fear of a headache joining her already over-crowded mind.   ‘Digesting too much information in too short a time was not good for one’s brain,’  she told herself as she went back to the c.d and Ed Sheeran.

   The open country morning light exploded in its brightness as she drove closer to her destination, and as she drove she could not help but notice a dramatic increase in the volume of scattered packs of vehicles to be seen heading towards London, but still absolutely nothing followed or passed her.   The road that she traversed at the moment was long in distance and wide in lanes, both going forward, and for miles behind her, but in her rear vision mirrors Mary still saw nothing but an empty road behind her … and it was beginning to unnerve her.   It felt to her that hours and hours had elapsed since she had first driven onto the motorway, when in fact it had been but a little over an hour, but she felt the need to speed up; at the moment Mary felt that she was travelling at a snail’s pace.   It was boring; it was frustrating, however she still felt that she needed other cars to travel with her so she could get closer to the Mercedes without being noticed.  

   The sign she had passed a minute earlier had advised the Trenthamville turn-off to be only ten minutes away – twenty at the speed she was travelling at, and Mary was frightened that she may run into them unexpectedly in the village which is why she had wanted to be closer to them when they had arrived there.   She wanted to be able to see if they pulled over in the village or kept travelling to the farm.   She knew that she could get that information from Gizmo, but she had no idea of the layout of the village.   She wanted to see their movements for herself from a safe distance, not in her imagination.    For all she knew they could have stopped the car and split up once they arrived at the village and Martin could have travelled on to the farm by himself.   However, with no other traffic on the road when she arrived it was going to be hard not to be noticed if she was to run into them when she herself arrived either in the village or at the farm.    “Ah, well, c’est la vie.”   She sighed as she resigned herself to the inevitable and cautiously increased her speed slightly.

********

   There was, however, a valid reason for the lack of traffic that Mary was unaware of at the time … as were Joseph and his friends, and even the policeman who was still enjoying his buns and tea and music, for that matter.   And had she known the reason … then perhaps she may have thought twice about taking the trip to Trenthamville in the first place.   Perhaps they all would have thought twice about taking the trip to Trenthamville, and that thought includes the policeman who lived in Trenthamville.   At that stage it is doubtful that any of them would have seen the connection … but it was there.

PRESS HERE TO GO TO EPISODE 19

Episode 1 (start)           Episode 18 (next)            Info         Use Search for other Episodes

Short Fat Stubby Finger Stories PRESENTS:

Episode 17

Daylight was slowly beginning to emerge in the morning sky as Martin’s light grey Mercedes pulled up across the road from the building that housed Joseph’s apartment … and in a small lane, just out of sight from where Joseph was standing while waiting for the car’s arrival, there was just enough darkness to cover Mary and her small green Mini.   

   From her hideaway Mary had a perfect view of what was going on.   She had been there for over half an hour … giving her time to finish the large coffee she had managed to purchase from an early opener … an early morning fix that she felt she badly needed to calm her nerves, gather her thoughts for the forthcoming trip, and reminisce about the nerve-wracking events of the previous night.

********

   Reaching its conclusion, the previous evening had become a rather more harrowing experience for her than she had anticipated.   While she sat, eating, drinking and listening in on her dining room neighbours in her little hideaway beside the Roman pillar she had realised that she not only didn’t know where Joseph lived,  she also had no idea what Martin drove, and as Joseph had walked to the restaurant she had no idea whether he had a vehicle parked somewhere nearby – or if he was going to take public transport, which would make things terribly difficult for her.   Mary had been fortunate enough to hear them agree that Martin would pick Joseph up in the morning from outside the building where he lived, and the time was mentioned which helped her with her planning, but Joseph had written down his address and had not said it aloud, which is what had planted the thought in her mind of following him home so she could be certain of getting the correct location.

   Mary knew she could return to the office and get his address from the files, but she preferred the idea of following him if possible as it would help her in obtaining some landmarks for the next day’s journey – and it would also help her become aware of any possible obstructions that may require additional time to be calculated into her departure time.    Mary had been happily multi-tasking her brain; refining her plan to follow Joseph, while simultaneously continuing her eavesdropping, when she nearly jumped out her seat in a  mindset of panic as Martin unexpectedly called an early night to their discussions – and to shorten her life span even more Mary almost screamed when she felt a presence beside her and looked up to find the waiter hovering above her with the bill.   He smiled apologetically thinking he was the sole contributor to the panicky terror that was covering her face, handed her the bill and gently reminded her that she would need to leave within the next ten minutes.  

   Mary nodded her head agreeing to his request, reached into her purse, pulled out her card, resisted the urge to have a heart attack when she saw the bill,  managed to retain her composure and swiped the payment plus tip, but not saying a word as she performed the necessary actions lest she brought attention to herself.   The waiter, however, suddenly felt the need to engage in mundane pleasantries regarding the quality of the meal and Mary began to have a panic attack with the increased loudness of his voice – then, out of the blue, had a brainstorm.   She placed one finger on her lips – then, using the same finger, Mary beckoned the waiter to lean forward till his face was only inches from hers, then, with sad puppy dog eyes, she whispered to him in the softest audible voice possible,   “Please don’t talk quite so loud.   One of those men at the next table is my husband.   I am of the opinion  that he is cheating on me, but I need to be certain.   Especially now,”    Mary looked  down and placed her hand on her stomach for a moment, then turned her head back to face the waiter, her eyes telling him to not say a word as she continued,   “I may be wrong.   It may be just business as he says, but I need to be sure, which is why I have been listening to their conversation.   I’m still not certain if he is or not, but it still remains  necessary that he is not aware of my being here.   So please be very quiet when you leave so they wont notice you which will meant they won’t see me.”

   The waiter, completely beguiled by the beautiful woman with the saddest eyes he had ever encountered, nodded his head in silent agreement and turned his head towards the other table to ensure himself that the occupants had not noticed him and was pleased to see their attention at the moment was totally occupied with settling the bill with their own waiter.   He smiled kindly, bowed – then moved away as quietly as he could.

    Mary gave him a thank you smile as she watched him moving quickly out of the room before turning her attention back to the conversation at the next table … and as she did, inside her mind, she slowly counted to ten to force herself to calm down.   Mary knew this was not the time to lose her nerve.   She was far too close to achieving her goal … and, according to the adrenaline rush that was keeping her involved, possibly becoming involved in the greatest adventure of her life.

   She convinced herself that all was going well and Joseph and his friends weren’t suddenly going to get up and run out of the restaurant in the next two or three seconds.   Took a deep breath as she did her utmost to make herself calm, and was about to get up so that she could pick up her keys from reception, get out of the hotel before they did, locate her car, move it if she needed to, to somewhere where she could see them come out, see which car he got into, and follow them as they drove off – that had been her plan.  But Joseph had dumped all of her well thought out plans into the nearest rubbish bin in a second when he used his mobile to ring for a taxi – because that meant they weren’t going to the car park, but to the front entrance to be collected. 

   Mary had risen from her chair in a flash.   Joseph was going to leave by the front door, which meant she would have to be quick to get her keys from reception then get to her car and move it to a park that would not only give her a view of Joseph, but also give her almost immediate access to the road when the cab arrived.   Fortunately for her Jimmy had given the reception desk a clear indication of where he had parked her car and she could not believe her luck when she realised that it was directly in line with the front entrance to the hotel – and complete with easy access to the roadway.   And as she all but ran to her car, using her remote to undo the locks as she ran, once again the strange sensation of Déjà vu crossed her mind.

********

   Mary had only barely made it to her car when Joseph’s taxi arrived, the trio boarded the vehicle and the taxi moved off on its journey as Mary’s car roared into life in the car park.    Mary switched on her headlights and had just begun to merge with the constant flow of traffic when she remembered the gizmo that Johann P Biggs had insisted in having installed in her car.   ‘You never know when …’ he had said and Mary realised that now might be a ‘when’.   A thousand thoughts and decisions were flashing through her mind, including the fact that she disliked technology, especially technology she did not fully understand, which was most of it these days.   She wasn’t even sure she fully understood how to turn the thing on, but Joahnn P. Biggs has assured her that there were no absurd complications in using the Gizmo, it was easy, it was reliable and it would be of tremendous assistance in certain circumstances he had said  – and Mary realised that this was such a circumstance.   ‘Decisions – decisions –decisions,’ she thought as she weaved her way in and out of the traffic, simultaneously trying to keep the taxi in sight … and close-by, while making a final decision on the instrument sitting on the dashboard a few inches away from a procrastinating hand whose fingers kept opening and closing in constant indecision.   Mary’s head was beginning to pound in frustration and she knew she had to make a choice.   ‘Time is of the essence,’ she finally decided, ‘it’s Gizmo time.’   

   Her mind, now made up, immediately recalled the instructions the serviceman had given her once he had finished installing the machine.   She crossed her fingers for luck, rolled her eyes back, took a deep breath then reached forward with her index finger: pressed the ‘ON’ switch: then called out the taxi’s registration plate number loudly as she travelled under cover of the cavalcade of outward motorists on their daily return journey to the suburbs and nearby towns and villages as she pursued Joseph and his friends to an unknown destination: a destination, she hoped, that would lead her to an exciting, mysterious world as the sun rose slowly up towards the heavens early in the following day’s morn.   The Gizmo whirred into life, and as it did a multitude of small, multi coloured, bright lights began to randomly flash on and off as the soft voice of an unseen woman that existed somewhere between her car and the outer reaches of space began giving her precise instructions on how to follow the taxi, which was just as well as the taxi had suddenly disappeared in a sea of cars that now filled every conceivable space between it and Mary’s Mini. 

   ‘This is G.P.S. with precision,’ Mary had thought excitedly to herself initially, and a smile had broken out all over her face as the voice continued to spit out instruction after instruction as the taxi appeared to weave in and out of lanes with regular monotony as taxis tend to do, ‘And with attitude’, she added with sarcasm shortly thereafter as the voice became more and more aggravated every time Mary failed to do the impossible and change lanes in the heavy traffic when the command was demanded of her by the voice within the Gizmo.  She knew that there was nothing that she could do about changing lanes if the space and opportunities weren’t there – and the rantings of an over-bloated G.P.S. thingee was not going to give her the ability to do the impossible, instead it was more likely to do just the opposite.   Its constant, agitating, vocal tones would most likely have the distinct possibility of giving her a massive headache – and create a guaranteed inability for her to concentrate on her driving.   And beside that, she thought to herself, what was the point of going from one lane to the other – if the taxi was going to move back to the previous lane before Gizmo had even finished her ill-mannered tirade.    Finally Mary had had enough.

   “Here, you take the bloody steering wheel if you’re so bloody smart, Gizmo, but I bloody well can’t move in this much bloody traffic.   I have a damn good mind to bloody well turn you off and do everything my bloody self.”   Mary, totally frustrated, finally screamed at the obsessive, unrelenting voice in the small black box.   She knew, of course, her words fell on deaf ears, but she felt much better within herself after getting them out of her system.    Mary knew she was wasting her time arguing with it, but would have to put up with the electronic machine’s ranting and ravings – or take the risk of losing sight of the taxi altogether.

   But, to her eternal surprise, the voice suddenly became more passive.   ‘You sound very upset, Mary.   Is the traffic heavy where you are?”   The voice asked, a voice no longer rude and demanding, but a soft, gentle, caring, human sounding voice.   “I cannot see the traffic conditions that you are encountering, Mary.   At the moment I am only programmed to pick up the movements of the vehicle you are following as you requested.   I cannot see any other vehicle on the road with my current  program.   Your installer should have told you to provide more information along with the request you submitted via voice activation should there be any unusual factors that may affect the pursuit.   Things like speed or movement restrictions, or if you were being followed and wished to lose those that followed you.    I have programming that can take these inconsistencies into my calculations of the best way to deal with the situation, but I need to receive them along with the initial request.  I need to receive comprehensive instructions  such as ‘Follow car registration number ABC123.   Currently I am in a forty mile an hour zone and the traffic is extremely heavy.   I wish to avoid being seen by the driver I am pursuing so let me know if the car exits or stops and its current location.’   When I  receive instructions in this manner I know I only have to advise you when the vehicle has diverted from the road it is currently using, or has come to a stop.   In the assumption that you failed to receive this important information, or simply did not comprehend the instructions, a new, simplified set of rules for communication with me will be delivered to you as soon as possible.   In the meantime if traffic problems are inconveniencing you please say ‘yes’.”

   Mary stared blankly at the black box, her mind was beginning to freak out with this unexpected turn of events.   Mary had expected a robotic voice that never understands what it was that you are saying to them on the phone, human sounding robots perhaps, but a robotic, self-centred, often snappy, voice never-the-less .   Not a compassionate voice that was all but apologising for its ill-mannered behaviour earlier and explaining  things to her the way that Gizmo was currently doing.   And  when the voice patiently, gently, repeated the question Mary could not take her eyes off the box as she began to wonder if perhaps she was speaking to a real person and not an automated answering service.   And the more she gave thought to her suggestion the more the thought began to dominate her concentration; however she suddenly found herself being brought screaming back to reality in the barest of time by the blasts from several cars behind and beside her.   Mary adjusted the steering wheel to avoid hitting the passenger door of the car beside her – then came to a complete stop with barely inches between her and the truck in front as the road turned into an unpaid parking lot.

   The muted sound of sirens from somewhere ahead of the car-pool made Mary realise that there was an accident somewhere not too far away which meant she would not have to concentrate on her driving for a while and she allowed herself to fully concentrate on the box … and the voice, which for a third time, began making enquiries of her.

   “Please say ‘yes’ if you are in heavy traffic.” The voice repeated calmly.

   “Yes.”  Mary replied, still in disbelief at the voice she was now hearing from the Gizmo, but never-the-less, also in a much more calmer voice herself.

   “Good.   Thank you, Mary.   It would appear that all traffic has come to a standstill.   Is that correct?”

   “Yes.”

   “That would explain why the pursued car is also stopped.   Do you have pen and paper at the ready?”

   “Yes.   No, wait, give me a minute … I have them here somewhere.”  She replied without thinking as she fumbled for her bag and retrieved both items, advising the distant voice when she had done so.

   “Inactivity of ground movement for another two minutes will cause my program to cease transmission temporarily.’ the voice explained, ‘You can reactivate me once traffic is moving again by inputting the following code, ‘Follow car indefinitely’, ensuring you include the registration number once again – and remember to include any other information such as obstacles or traffic problems that you are aware could inconvenience you in your pursuit.”   The voice of the Gizmo stopped talking for enough time to allow Mary to write the code down – then continued.  “Do you have that, Mary?”

   “Yeah, got it.”   Mary replied.

   “Should there be a need for you to stop following the vehicle for an indefinite period and then relocate the vehicle at a later stage, input the following code: ‘Temporary halt to pursuit.’   Gizmo again went silent for a second or two, then continued,   “When you recommence your pursuit input ‘Return to pursuit of registration number whatever.’   At that stage I will search for the vehicle’s current location and then guide you to it once I have obtained that information.  

   In regards to your current situation, however, if the traffic begins to move as a pack rather than a few at a time, then the majority of it will, more than likely, exit this road for the motorway … and you should be able to follow the taxi under your own steam.   The taxi is currently in the the right lane, and three vehicles up from yours, so you should be able to see it should it start flashing its indicators and then begin to move into the left lane in order to take the motorway exit should that event occur,  though that is deemed to be an unlikely event as the taxi’s computer reveals all trips to have been within a short range from the city proper for the past six months, so it is unlikely that it will access the motorway.

   The voice then said goodbye to Mary and turned itself off line, and by this time Mary’s mind was in complete awe of the small black box that sat there quietly on her dashboard, and her mind was also in awe of Johann’s intuition.   ‘What other surprises might he have in store for me on this mission,’ she wondered, ‘what other situations will arise when least expected?’   And with that thought Mary’s mind had become just as entrapped and drawn into the web that was slowly being woven around Joseph – and all those who were fast becoming a permanent part of his pre-destined future.  

********

   Thirty seconds after Gizmo’s departure the traffic began to move again.

********

   A minute later Mary passed the accident.   The voice of the Gizmo had been right.   The traffic had thinned out considerably once they reached the motorway entrance ramp, the truck ahead of her had moved over to the exit lane just after the traffic had begun to move, and Mary had been able to move at a fast enough speed to catch up with the taxi and easily followed it for some time before suddenly being forced to pull off into a parking bay as she realised it was about to pull up outside a hotel.  

   From where she was parked Mary could clearly see both Martin and Rosetta leaving the taxi and heading towards the hotel she assumed to be where they were staying, but no sign of Joseph so she assumed him to still be in the taxi.   As the taxi pulled out she could see Rosetta turning to wave at somebody in the taxi which verified her thoughts and quickly began to follow the taxi as it headed towards its new destination.   With limited traffic now travelling in the direction the taxi was heading she had been able to follow it safely to Joseph’s apartment building without any help from Gizmo.   She had even been able to park her car close by and watched him enter the building without any problem.  

   And to top up her luck on the night, Mary had been pleased to find that his unit was not far from where she herself resided, which would make things a lot easier in the morning.   The night was still young, but when she arrived home Mary would get her clothes ready for the next day, set her alarm for four in the morning … and then go straight to bed.   There was no way that she was going to be running late, or too tired to do what she was setting out to do .   She wanted to know what Joseph was up to, and that was that.  

********

  Mary turned the car around and began the trek to her own apartment – and as the car began to move forward; as the car began picking up speed; as the adrenaline began to rush madly through her veins once again; as the strange pieces of information that she had overheard at the hotel began rolling through her mind … and as she glanced at Gizmo sitting quietly on the dashboard , Mary felt certain that this holiday weekend was not going to be anything like she had expected it to be.   Certainly not with comparison to what would have been her usual routine … doing absolutely nothing.

PRESS HERE TO GO TO EPISODE 18

Episode 1 (start)           Episode 17 (next)            Info         Use Search for other Episodes

 Short Fat Stubby Finger Stories PRESENTS:

episode 16

“Well, that’s all sorted out.” Martin said cheerfully on his return to the booth, “With a bit of luck we should receive our answer in the a.m.   Possibly before we arrive in Trenthamville … and that should make things a bit easier for us to deal with.   Now, Rosetta, are you feeling a bit better now.   I know the possibilities of what we may find when we get to the farm can make for an endless series of nightmarish scenarios in one’s mind, but we have no choice in the matter.   We will simply have to face up to whatever we have to face up to and deal with each situation as it arises.   For the moment we will just have to wait until we get to the farm to work out what he may have done with the statue.”

   “Thank you, Martin.   Yes, I am fine now,” Rosetta replied with a smile as she looked softly towards Joseph before returning her eyes back towards Martin.   “But, Martin … if my father had opened the crate, or whatever he used to transport the statue to the farm, wouldn’t the remnants of the packaging have been found by the police … or your friend Raji?

   “I haven’t had the privilege of meeting your father, Rosetta,” Joseph interjected, “but although we have been suggesting that the statue may have been stolen, the way you and Martin are describing his capabilities and intelligence I would not be surprised to find that he had taken extremely well thought out precautions as soon as the statue arrived at the farm.   After all, Rosetta, you did tell me that there were certain unscrupulous characters that would go to any lengths to possess this prize find.   He would have known that no matter how many steps he had taken to prevent anybody obtaining knowledge of his find and his movements, he would still have had to involve a variety of people during the transporting of the statue to its new location, and that certainly increased the risk of leaks: information passed on to those that were desperate for the statue to fall into their possession, or simply a case of opportunists taking advantage of the remoteness of the farm.

   “So how would he hide it, Joseph?”   Martin enquired, excited at Joseph’s suggestions.   This is what he had been expecting of the great man.   A quick, reflexive thought processing, mind that would conjure up possible solutions long before he had even been to the location of interest.

   “Firstly, if he had always intended to send the statue to a museum, he would have retained the box it came in for repackaging.   So I would assume that the casing is now part of its hiding place.”

   “I am afraid that I do not understand, Joseph.   What do you mean by a hiding place … surely the statue is too big to hide, and too big to move?”  Rosetta asked.

   Joseph smiled.  “Where is the best place to hide a stolen tree?” he asked.

   Rosetta looked quizzically at him, but said nothing.

   “In a forest, of course,” he explained with a grin.  “Who is going to notice one more tree amongst thousands?    It is quite possible that the box your father used to transport the statue home may have been manufactured in a way that made it easy to disassemble then be reassembled to cover the statue in a completely different way.   I am not offering a probability of how they used it, certainly not without a bit more knowledge of the physical appearance of the barn and the house, but I will give you an analogy.   Firstly, you said that farm was almost derelict which means it is fairly old, and older farms, and their barns in particular, usually have piles of old farmyard equipment and bric-a-brac that the generations of  farmers have accumulated over the years cluttering them up.   Farmers have a tendency to not throw away anything that they think may come in handy in time … the original recycling greenies they were.   And this, of course, means there is probably more junk congested in the barn than there is space.   And piles of exposed junk spread around the building would, in the main, be expected to be ignored by searchers.   They would be looking for something in particular; something more in prime condition … and would expect to find it exposed.   It was large and they wouldn’t think to search in and under every nook and cranny – they would look for something large and have no reason to do a far more thorough search.   And even if they did try to enlarge the perimeter of the search I doubt that there would be enough light in barn for a one hundred percent search – which brings me to my second reason for thinking this way.  

   We could easily presume that the statue would be laying down, face upwards, and still inside its box somewhere in the barn, rather than the farmhouse.   If it was as heavy as it is assumed to be then they could not easily move it around by themselves, therefore they would leave it where it had been placed when it had been unloaded … possibly resting on a bench … perhaps an old, but solid, dining table supported it.   They would have had it a height just below chest level so they could examine it in some degree of comfort rather than having to bend down, or even have to go down on their knees.   That is the scenario that we can easily assume existed at Trenthamville, at least until your father was attacked.   But that is all that we have … assumptions – assumptions based on an automatic interpretation of the scene that plays well in our mind.    However, for just a moment, let us suppose that it was possible to move it, and they now had it standing up: not in the middle of the room, but up against a wall in the barn.  But how then could the searchers not see it?   Let us think a little bit more outside the square … suppose the appearance of the box that it was transported in had a completely different appearance on one side than the other.    Let us now accept the possibility that the casing could be easily dissembled if one knew how, and let us further assume the timber that had been used, although looking quite normal on the shipping side, had an inner casing that was especially designed to look like rustic timber when the casing was reversed.   Remember we are talking about an almost derelict farm by all descriptions, which would mean the barn would have seen better days over the years.   It would, most likely, be at least a hundred years old, perhaps several hundred.   So the side of the timber casing with the rustic colouring could easily have been used to hide the statue in plain sight, perhaps disguised as a wall partition … and in limited light that I expect would have been available inside the barn the rustic colouring could easily have blended with the old wall.   They may have also pinned a calendar from years and years ago on it.   A calendar that they had discovered in the house, or even the barn itself, to give the fake wall even more authenticity of being old.   They may have attached dozens of ancient and now grubby or rusted things like old saws or some ancient and damaged tools to it.   They may even have rested old beams or fencing against it.   Anything to make it appear unused for a long time.   Now, I am not saying for a moment that this is exactly what they did … I am just suggesting that we have to look thoroughly at everything in the barn, and not be discouraged by what appears to be a waste of time.   Your father may have gone to a lot of trouble to keep the statue away from prying eyes, and if he did it right then we will have look even harder until we discover some clue … or the statue itself.”

   “But how could they have moved it, Joseph?”  Rosetta asked in disbelief of Joseph’s suggested scenario,”   My father said it had taken six men to get it on the truck at the site.   Are you suggesting that others may have helped him and Vittorio?”

   “No,” Joseph replied with a small chuckle, “Getting the statue from wherever he found it, and onto the truck without some form of mechanism, would have taken some effort, but that was because they would have been lifting it up.   Your father and Vittorio would have had far less trouble getting it down if was laying flat on its back several feet from ground level.   You said that they had intended to scrutinise it in detail while it was still in their possession, remembering that you also said that they had not arranged for a museum takeover until after they had arrived at the farm.   If the statue was laying at the height that I have suggested, and the box it had been shipped in was dismountable, then once they had removed the sides they could have pushed the statue forward until it reached the floor then pushed it upright.   Once it was standing on the floorboards they could have walked it to wherever it currently is and then used the shipping container to hide it.    If they were lucky they may even have had access to rope and tackle.   It may not be exactly what happened, and it would have taken some effort, but it is a feasible possibility.  

   “Very ingenious,” Martin admitted, “so I guess there is very good chance that the statue is still there somewhere.   Then all we have to do is find it … a piece of cake.   I hope.”

   “I really pray you are right, Joseph.”  Rosetta said, “Knowing that it was there, somewhere, would make me feel so much better – even if it takes a day or two to find it.”

   “Well, don’t forget there is always the possibility that somebody in the village also knows where it is hidden, but has no idea who to contact in the current circumstances.”   Joseph added,   “And don’t forget Vittorio, who may be in hiding after what happened to the professor … he may even have someone looking after him, so we may very well find ourselves conducting a door to door knock with the neighbours.

   “Oh, poor Vittorio … my poor uncle.   I had almost forgotten him with everything going on at the moment.    Yes, we must search for him as well.   We must find him, we just have to.   He must feel lost and frightened in a strange land without my father being here.   He is not of a natural independent nature and has no one to look after him.   I hope he is safe, and nothing has happened to him.”   Rosetta exclaimed in shock, a new tear forming in the corner of her eye which she quickly flicked away as she attempted to retain her composure.   “But he will know where the statue is.”   She added, with a weak smile on her face as the belated thought began to give her renewed hope.

   “Well, boys and girls, seeing we only have seven days to find the statue I think we had better discuss our plans for tomorrow,” Martin suggested.

   “Yes, Joseph. Why don’t we do it over dinner?” Rosetta suggested cheerfully, “You booked a table didn’t you, Joseph?”

   “There was no real need to book,”   Joseph replied, “the restaurant has free seating until seven thirty.   After that you need a reservation, but, yes, I booked a table in case it became necessary, mind you, it is only a table for two … I was not expecting Martin.   However, it makes little difference as, I am afraid, I will not be able to stay that long at any rate … a few loose ends to tie up before tomorrow.   But the two of you can feel free to use the booking to your advantage if you wish to stay longer.  It will save you the embarrassment of being asked to vacate your table half way through your meal or a fresh drink when the waiter’s watch strikes seven thirty so they can get the tables ready for the gourmet diners who will begin to arrive at eight.”

   The mention of dinner had brought Joseph screaming back to reality.   He realised dinner conversations tended to loosen tongues, or place one in an inescapable corner, and he knew questions about his non-existent past could be asked.   A subject he was uncertain he would be able to answer easily with evasive replies.   Again he was feeling the pressure of his deception and again felt that he should confess right then and there … even though something was still tugging at his romantic and adventurous sides.   He just hoped that he would have the courage to see the next hour or two out without too many questions being asked … or cracking under the strain.

   “Come, Joseph, I am famished.” Rosetta said, indicating with a cupped hand  for him to evacuate the seat which he did.   “Perhaps we can send Martin home and we can share the table for two, Rosetta continued, a huge grin on her face as she too evacuated the seat, placed her arm under his as she stood upright, and proceeded to escort him to the dining room, with Martin following in tow … and Joseph no longer in control of his own future.

********

‘Wait for me!’   Mary cried out silently as she followed them, issuing another silent outpouring of words as she moved behind them with caution lest she be noticed, her words again a thanks to a higher power for protecting her presence from being discovered by those she followed.  

   As they entered the dining room Mary quickly, silently, moved herself into a table for two directly behind where Joseph and his friends were heading, where a huge, ancient roman styled, sculptured pillar stood between the two tables keeping her completely out of their view, but close enough for her to hear virtually every single word, albeit with a slight tinge of discomfort from the way she was forced to position herself in order to do so.   

   The huge ornate column that now prevented her presence from being discovered had grabbed her attention from the second that she entered the dining room; the shape, size and design of the pillar’s appearance had fascinated her, with its sculptured interpretations of ancient Roman gladiators in battle, horse drawn chariots being pitted against each other in death-defying jousts and Rome’s mighty army conquering half the world, spiralling around and around the tall column from the floor up to the ceiling – where more skillfully re-imagined images appeared at regular intervals around the walls just below the ceiling.    And now, as she looked around the remainder of the room, Mary found herself lost for a moment in the opulence of the late eighteenth century British art that adorned the walls – and the light that shone down from the stunning crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, streaming an endless array of elegance from a time long before her birth into the room.   And as her eyes perused the room Mary found herself surprised, but eternally grateful, that the place was empty barring the four of them.   She knew, should even one table become occupied it was most unlikely that she would hear anything at all … and there were still things she needed to know.   Things like knowing where it was she was going tomorrow – and at what time would she need to leave.

   ‘The advantage of an early arrival,’ she thought to herself, ‘I would never have had  these opportunities of spying on Joseph should I have arrived a bit later.   It was a good thing that I was able to follow him.   If I had arrived much later there was every chance that he would have seen me when I entered the hotel … if he could take his eyes off Rosetta, that is.   But Mary had been lucky and had managed to walk behind Joseph  whose mind was solely concentrating on his forth coming confession to Rosetta, and occupied a seat directly behind Rosetta as Rosetta had risen to greet him.’   Mary was feeling extremely lucky in her little game.  Everything was working in her favour … even to the point that the restaurant offered self-seating between four thirty and seven thirty.   On the downside, however, was the acceptance that the early arrivals would have to vacate their seat by seven thirty so the tables could be reset when the reserved seating crowd began to arrive, so she had been quite pleased when Joseph had said he was going to leave early.   After overhearing Joseph’s conversations back in the office Mary had made some enquiries on the hotel’s layout on their website.   The site had shown there was only one exit, so she said a little prayer that Jimmy would find a spot in the car park so she could be ready in the car and watching out for Joseph leaving should she have to leave the dining room before him.   Mary knew this was a distinct possibility because she had heard Joseph booking the table along with the booth, and she had also noticed the two restaurant opening times which were boldly displayed on the site’s main page, and that would mean that she needed to position the car somewhere near the entrance and wait.   Perhaps on the main road itself – if that was at all possible.   And purely out of curiosity Mary had run a cursory glance over the menus quickly judging the quality of the meals for this seating to be fairly mundane when compared to the prices that applied to the five star courses that the following diners would be offered – however the early meals price list seemed much more suitable to her purse strings, or at least the few prices that she had looked at seemed reasonable.   However she was beginning to wonder if the early crowd ever got fed as she had not seen any sign of a waiter since she had arrived, though considering how much this was in her favour she wasn’t about to complain about the service for once.    No waiters and no more diners would be exactly what she would like to order.

   ‘Yes,’ she thought, ‘I am having a run of luck.’   For a moment Mary even considered things were running like they were pre-ordained, then decided that was a rather silly thing to think and immediately dismissed it.

   To Mary’s way of thinking the positioning of the two tables, along with the huge Roman styled pillar that centered the room in the gorgeous, beautifully preserved, dining room, offered Mary the perfect cover, while still giving her the opportunity to follow the intriguing conversation she was listening in to.   Though, what she was not privy to was Joseph’s mind which was so high in the clouds at the moment that he most likely would not have even recognized her had she decided to seat herself down at their table.

    But Mary immediately regretted her bragging in regards to her good luck, even if it had only been to herself, as two of the dining room staff finally ventured into the room, fortunately from different sides of the room, each heading to the closest table where they offered their sincerest apologies to the table for their delayed appearances, took the meal orders, and returned with the drinks for both tables in record time, and had done so without the diners at Joseph’s table becoming aware that the table on the other side of the pillar was currently occupied.  

   Mary knew that she hadn’t been outed yet, but she still had to wait for the waiter’s return with her meal to ensure herself that she was not finally discovered and recognised by Joseph.    However she had received an excellent wine which had been delivered without incident; a wine which she was enjoying immensely as she waited for the meal, and it was at that point that she suddenly turned her attention to her meal as it finally dawned on her that she had no idea what she had ordered as far as the food was concerned.   She had gotten such a fright when she suddenly realised the waiter was standing right in front of her while she was leaning her head back as far as she could manage, knowing full well that it would have been quite obvious that she had been listening in to the conversation taking place at the next table, she had simply picked the first number that came into her mind for both the main menu and the wine list.   The waiter complimented her on her choices so she assumed she had chosen well and thought no more about it.   Mary was doing her very best to remain calm in the situation, but the strain was slowly beginning to tell and she hoped the wine would help her settle down and, hopefully, help her keep her cool.     

   Her dining choices, however, were later to make her hope that Johann P Biggs was also supplying her with an expense account for the spying job that she was requested to do, as she was soon to learn that she had ordered the most expensive items on both menus.

   ********

“Salute!   To success!”  Rosetta offered, raising her glass.

    “Salute!   To success!” Joseph and Martin repeated.

   “May this be the start of your father’s recovery” Martin offered.

   “Thank you, Martin.   I am sure, with Joseph at our side, it will be.”

   Rosetta turned to face Joseph, giving him a smile so sweet he felt his heart skip a beat.   He reciprocated without thinking, then, as he sipped on his wine he let his mind wander into a dark void where he saw and heard nothing.    

   Something inside Joseph was snapping.  Something hidden; something pushed away sometime in the unknown past; something buried deep within his soul was now stirring … rising.   He was beginning to believe that he could pretend to be who they thought he was and get away with it.   He began to convince himself that it shouldn’t be too difficult.   He reasoned that he only had to go to this place where they thought the artifacts had been held.   If they found some clue then the rest would be easy.   After all, Martin had said that the Punjani were willing to do a deal.   If they found nothing then they wouldn’t hold it against him. After all, it hadn’t been him who had suggested going to the farm … it had been Martin’s suggestion … and Rosetta’s insistence.   He had simply attempted to comply with their wishes by agreeing to go with them.

   He also knew he could always pull out of the deal if it all got a bit too unnerving for him by pretending that he was whoever it was they thought him to be and say that he had been called to another country on an emergency, or something similar.   It wasn’t as if he moved in the same circles as them, so they were most unlikely to run into each other again.   If anything went wrong it would be most unlikely that they would ever meet again – and they had absolutely no idea who he really was.   Then Joseph had a worrying thought … he had completely forgotten that he had mentioned Johnson’s to Rosetta and he hoped, under the circumstances of their initial meeting at the restaurant, she would have been too stressed out to remember such a trivial detail, ‘But then again’ … he thought.

   Joseph forced his mind to cleanse that pessimistic thought from his mind, and to his initial satisfaction he succeeded in his third attempt – however, the demolition of one singular inconvenient thought did no more than make way for the continuation of the strangest notion he could imagine.   A voice that had rolled through his mind ever since he had passed through the hotel entrance door: a thought that he couldn’t understand.  Nor did he know where it was coming from – a thought – words – a sense that he needed to go with them … it was imperative that he went.   The voice was telling him that it was important that he accompanied them – to be involved, however it was not to help Rosetta’s father … but for something far, far more important.   And it was for this reason that he had let his mind wander off by itself to deal with the strange opinion that his mind itself had conjured up from nowhere and was now beginning to dominate his thoughts.

   But Rosetta was not about to give him that moment of solitude he felt he needed so badly as she reached over and squeezed his hand.   “Thank you once again, Joseph.   I don’t know what I would have done if you had decided not to help.”

   Rosetta’s words struck at Joseph like a bolt of lightning.   For a second he was speechless.   He felt naked … his guilt exploding in his heart and mind and it took him an almighty effort to try and act natural to avoid giving himself away with a guilt stricken confession.   “It is my great pleasure to be of service to you, Rosetta,” he said finally, instantly admonishing himself for the condescending words he had chosen, though, in reality, he had no idea how to correctly communicate at the moment.   Yet somehow, despite the shame and embarrassment that spun uncontrollably inside his heart and soul, Joseph unexpectedly found the courage to go on with his lie, and as he did so he also found the words to continue his attempt to deflect the conversation from himself.   “So, Rosetta, tell me all about yourself, about what do you do with your life when you’re not gallivanting all over the world trying to save your father?”  

   “I am not interesting, Joseph.”  Rosetta purred.  “It is you that I want to hear more about, darling.” 

   ********

‘I do too, darling.’   Mary thought to herself.   Mary was hoping nobody else would come into the restaurant.   Her act of listening in to the ongoing conversation in the booth behind her was now totally obvious to anyone that could observe her.   Leaning sideways, her hand cupped to an ear, there was nothing casual about her appearance.   She was listening in, and that was that.  Her only concern was a sudden appearance of a waiter with the food.   Or Jimmy with her car keys.

********

   “I am afraid the details would only tend to bore you,” Joseph replied taking a stab in the dark,   “Help me here, Martin.   Explain to her that most of my work is fairly mundane … a lot of leg work … mostly paperwork.”

   “I am afraid that he is telling the truth, Rosetta.” Martin replied with a wink to Joseph,”   It is normally routine and monotonous work.”

   Rosetta looked at them both in turn, scalding them both with her eyes, as if they were naughty schoolboys.   Then her face turned to a smile. “   You are trying to fool me, aren’t you?    Well it doesn’t really matter,” she tucked her arm under Joseph’s and snuggled up close to him and whispered softly in his ears, “this time I shall be able to share the adventure with both of you as we rescue daddy.”

   Their food arrived in a similar manner to the wine.   Mary, who had sensed the arrival of the waiter quickly moved her hand from her ear and ran it through her hair just as the waiter came into view.   She felt herself blessed that nothing had been said loudly enough to bring attention to her existence to the next table as she began to tuck into her meal with both ears wide open … and, as she ate her meal with vigour and gusto, once again a pre-ordained thought bubble began floating above her head … and this time, with all things considered, she accepted the thought as possibly being the truth.

PRESS HERE TO GO TO EPISODE 17

Episode 1 (start)           Episode 16 (next)            Info         Use Search for other Episodes

 Short Fat Stubby Finger Stories PRESENTS:

EPISODE 15

Joseph, unaware that he was being followed, entered the hotel as arranged.   He had told no one where he was going, nor why; not that he actually had anyone to tell anything to in the first place – and he still had no real idea of what it was that he was getting himself into, so he would not really have had anything to tell anyone should he have wanted to.   It had all sounded like a big, adventurous, game earlier at the restaurant: a beautiful woman, a missing statue, middle-eastern cults and devil worshippers, but now …   now that he had settled down from the adrenaline rush that had persuaded him to arrange tonight’s meeting it had given his, albeit now more sober mind cause to think things over.   And once he had thought things through he knew that right thing to do was to tell Rosetta the truth; that he was not who she thought him to be.  

   Joseph knew deep within his heart he was disappointed at both of his decisions: disappointed in himself for what he was giving up, for what, perhaps, could have been; but equally disappointed in his letting Rosetta down in the first instance by not convincing her at the time that he was not the man she was expecting to meet up with.   But in relation to his giving up his possible sharing the adventure of a lifetime with the most beguiling woman he had ever had the fortune of meeting, he had to admit to himself that he had no idea what would be expected of him in a search of such importance, or what he would … could … say if she questioned his clumsy attempts at searching if he had gone with her to wherever it was she thought the statue had been hidden.

    ‘After all,’ he had thought to himself, ‘if something that big was hidden somewhere in the house or nearby, and, presumably, the authorities had not come across it, then what chance would I have.   I can’t even find half my socks when I go to the laundromat.   And, to admit the truth, I am a little bit concerned with meeting up with the Punjani.   If they were capable of putting her father into a coma,’ he began to ask himself, ‘and they’re deemed to be a murderous bunch of thugs, what would they do to me if I did or said something wrong in their eyes?    No, sorry Rosetta, but this is not for me … not my cup of tea, I am afraid.’

   Joseph did not consider himself to be a hero in any form of the word, and when he thought it through he knew that it was possible that it would prove to be a very dangerous game to be involved in, providing Rosetta was telling the truth … which he believed she was.   And he did not believe he would be up to the task. ‘No, for everybody’s sake it is best that I bite the bullet and tell the truth.’   Joseph admitted, making his final decision as he began the long walk to where Rosetta sat waiting for her reluctant, and false, hero to arrive.

   But a second later, as he saw Rosetta in the booth waiting for him, a shudder resounded throughout his entire body at the sight of her incredible beauty and he found his resilience beginning to wither immediately.   Joseph sighed again as he considered what might have been had he been the man she thought him to be, but resigned himself to the following day where he would once again find himself munching on another mundane lunch consisting of soggy toasted ham, cheese and tomato sandwiches, accompanied by a luke warm latte,  glancing half- heartedly through the pages of a newspaper and rubbing a small coin over the pattern of another waste-of-time-and-money scratch-it card, because Joseph knew he was destined to spend the entire holiday weekend alone – as usual.

   Joseph knew immediately that in one split second he was going to be the most admired and envied man in the room for the second time today as he joined with Rosetta in the booth, though there was a much smaller audience here than had been at the restaurant … which he thought was just as well considering the circumstances.   ‘Admired, that was,’  Joseph thought, ‘until I get the courage up to tell her the truth, have my face slapped, and slink out of the room into the blessed relief of the darkness of the night, possibly … probably … to the sounds of applause and sniggering laughter.  

   Joseph took a deep breath as he took the last two steps to the table … and Rosetta.   ‘Well, it’s time to confess and say goodbye.   Shame, but that’s the way it goes.   All I have to do is … just do it, say it … say that I am sorry … and then leave.  Then it is all over and I can regain my sanity, because I know I will go crazy if I keep on playing this silly game.   It’s just not my style.  I could never have gotten away with it.   I’m just not that good at pretending.’

   Joseph’s mouth slowly began to open as he looked down at Rosetta with the intent of confessing his misdemeanors to her at a hundred words a minute, even if she never understood a single word he had said, then he would run out of the hotel as fast as his legs would carry him.   But before he could get a single word out of his mouth, Rosetta sensed his presence and looked up, giving him a smile that blew his mind … and froze his tongue.

   Before Joseph could regain focus, before he could do or say anything, Rosetta was on her feet and entwining both arms around him as she proceeded to hug him so enthusiastically that he felt his spine might snap … and it instantly made him feel unworthy of her attention and affection.   He should not have been here with her, he thought.   She needed help and she needed it from the man who would be able to help her; this was who she was hugging so enthusiastically, not him, not to Joseph Jacobson and his need to pander to his ego and his feelings.   Joseph was beginning to feel sick in the stomach as he realised how he had cost her the chance to meet up with the man she should have been with.  His reasons for the sham had been selfish and shallow and he desperately regretted what he had done, but he had no idea how to rectify the situation … especially now that he had lost the element of surprise.

   “Oh, Joseph, I am so glad that you came. Martin will be here shortly.”

   Joseph immediately felt his heart jump into his mouth; his brain panicking; his nerves now on edge.   He knew he should have nipped this in the bud at lunchtime.   Now he was not going to get the chance to confess: he would now end up being totally humiliated because of his awkwardness in the situation and probably severely dealt with by Martin once he arrived.   Joseph had still been trying to sum up the correct way of letting Rosetta down gently, and the courage to actually do it.   But now, with this Martin arriving – and failing to recognise him as whoever he was supposed to be Joseph was convinced that he was about to be publicly humiliated as he was exposed as a fraud; a charlaton: a complete bastard, in front of all and sundry.

   Personally, Joseph felt was this to be a ridiculous thing to happen because there had been no intentional fraud involved.   He just hadn’t known how to convince Rosetta that he wasn’t somebody else without hurting her because she wouldn’t believe him when he had tried to.   Then her story had mesmerised him so much he had momentarily dismissed the reality of the situation from his mind and he missed his chance to clear the air with the facts and the truth .  The only reason he had even turned up at the hotel tonight was out of guilt and a need to apologise as he cut the ties with her as cleanly as he could, rather than not turn up at all … but now, because this ‘Martin’ had arrived she would believe that he was a morbid sicko who had deliberately tried to mislead her for some creepy reason.

   Joseph opened his mouth to speak, still uncertain what to say, but again on the verge of screaming out an apology of sorts … and running, when Rosetta’s sudden declaration interrupted his thoughts before he could get his tongue over a starting point.”

   “Ah!  Here is Martin.” 

   ‘Oh God!’ Joseph thought inside his panicky mind, ‘Here it comes’, as his body reacted to the fear that discovery of guilt creates: to the nightmare truth releases to the brain: his legs froze; his brain turned to soup; his stomach to an acidic nightmare that threatened to burn him internally from the stomach up, and his eyes began closing in anticipation of the most embarrassing day of his life.

   “Ah-ha,” A distinguished sounding male voice called out from a distance of several yards,   “The famous man himself.”

   Joseph sighed and slowly opened his eyes ready to meet the inevitable.

   Marching towards him was a tall, slim built man, roughly his own age, standing somewhere over six feet tall, Joseph guessed.   Joseph was uncertain how many inches should be added to the final figure, but he was certainly taller than himself at a barely reached six foot.

   Joseph eyes quickly scanned the room looking for the nearest exit should he need to move in a hurry … and while Joseph attempted to calculate his best option for an escape, Martin continued on his military march towards him.

   Desperate and out of escape options Joseph concentrated all of his energies on Martin, looking for any sign of hostilities and took more notice of the man’s features for the first time.  Probably closer to forty Joseph now decided, handsome in a nineteen forties’ Hollywood rom-com way, complete with thick, dark, wavy hair brushed back; a moustache straight out of the same era, and a smile so broad it mesmerised Joseph.  ‘At least the last thing I will see is a smile if he hits me.’  Joseph noted to himself.

   The man stopped directly in front of him.    Joseph was uncertain as to whether the man would eventually hit him, hug him or head butt him.   However, he did none of them.  Instead, as Rosetta, in one swift movement, managed to unwrap her arms from around him and moved as close to him as humanly possible, placing one arm around his waist as she did so, the man reached out his arm, and taking Joseph’s unrestrained hand in his, began to pump it in a manner befitting the greeting of an old and dear acquaintance.   “My friend, my dear, dear friend,” Martin exclaimed so excitedly and loudly the majority of the punters in the room turned and looked in their direction.   “Sorry,” he apologised, his face slightly flushed, while grinning like a school boy finally coming face to face with his idol,   “Finally we meet. After all of these years of secret codes, messages, and phone calls, I finally get to meet you face to face.”

   ‘They’ve never met!’ Joseph exclaimed to himself in total surprise, completely uncertain as to what to do next.   This had not been something he had been expecting and he had no idea what was going to happen next.   Joseph knew that it gave him some extra time to work out a plan of escape, but he was almost beside himself worrying about things that Martin might bring up if he had been making regular contact with the man Joseph purported to be.

   “Or – have – I?”   Martin asked unexpectedly, his voice expressing a quizzical tone as he half closed one eye before proceeding to lean so far forward his face came to a rest only inches away from Joseph’s.

   ‘Uh-oh, here it comes,’ Joseph thought, certain that the truth was nigh.

   But Martin suddenly pulled back and stood tall; a huge admiring smile covered his face. 

   “By Jove, old chap,” he said with delight, “from all accounts of your reputation for disguise, I don’t think that I would have recognised you, even if I did know what you looked like.   I mean to say, I could have met you any time and never known it.   I am delighted to finally meet you in person and finally have a chance to work with you.   Rosetta tells me you had some trouble at this afternoon’s meeting.   I hope this place has no ears.”

********

‘Only mine, my lovely,’ Mary whispered to herself from behind the wine list she was using to prevent Joseph from detecting her presence in the booth right behind him and his friends when he had finally sat himself down.   Luck had run Mary’s way when Joseph had walked to the hotel, and with the hundreds of workers all making their way towards the tube or a bus or some other way of leaving the city, it had been no trouble to follow him right to the door.   She had hesitated momentarily behind some punters at the bar in order to watch Joseph’s movements as she entered, which was not easy to do considering the low number of patrons in the room, but when the woman stood up to embrace him in a hug Mary took advantage of the distraction and snuck behind Joseph’s back and into the seat right behind where the young woman had been sitting.   Mary had been expecting to find Joseph involved in some clandestine affair, but now she had no idea what she had stumbled into.   There was every chance her imagination had run away in the wrong direction … at the moment everything had seemed quite innocent, but never-the-less intriguing – especially after Martin had arrived with the strange words he had spoken in his, albeit one-way conversation with Joseph, and his being a friend of his, yet seemingly having no idea what Joseph looked like.   His words had indicated something of mystery was in the offering and she wasn’t moving until she found out more.   Especially about the beautiful young woman who was with him.  Mary had instinctively known this was the woman who had planted the lipstick on Joseph’s face – and she now knew that there was a very strong probability that she did have a problem in getting close to Joseph, especially as the young woman had seemed in no hurry to relinquish her bear hug on Joseph when Martin arrived.   Just how much of a problem she intended to find out.  Or at least she would when she came up with a plan.   For the moment it was simply a case of wait, watch, listen and learn.

   But as far as Joseph and his out-of-work-hours activities, and her report for Johann. P. Biggs, were concerned … well that was a different story, Mary decided.   Mary had always assumed Joseph to be a bit shy, without much of a life outside of office hours, but after hearing the conversation he was having with the other man she had come to realize that Joseph was, perhaps, much, much more than the ‘Nerdie-Man’ impression he gave at the office.  Joseph was leading a double life and that excited her.   ‘Yes’, she thought, ‘he is somebody that I really need to know more about.  And so does Johann P. Biggs.   Wow!   Who would have thought? ”  

   ********

“I say, Joseph … it is safe in here, isn’t it?”   Martin asked again when Joseph failed to answer, this time with a bit more concern in his voice.”

   Joseph’s knees threatened to buckle under him and it took an almighty effort to reply to Martin’s question without choking on the dry throat that had developed in his throat over the past two minutes.  

   “It should be safe enough,” Joseph finally replied quietly, uncertain whether Martin was being serious or facetious, “but I think it might be more prudent if we all spoke a little quieter.”  

   Joseph had only asked Martin to lower the tone of his voice as it was still attracting attention from the punters at the bar and he would have preferred to not have any witness to the string of abuse he still expected to receive from either Martin or Rosetta once the truth was known, but Joseph had not realised that Martin would take his suggestion as a form of chastisement.  

   And it would take Joseph some time to realise he had the upper hand in their newly formed relationship, mainly due to Martin’s admiration for the man he had assumed Joseph to be. 

   “Oh, yes … sorry.   Forgot where I was for a moment.  Being in such esteem company I am afraid I became a little carried away,”   Martin managed to splutter as he tried valiantly to hide his embarrassment at his barely controlled excitement,   “I am sure it is safe if you have checked it, James … sorry … Joseph … Rosetta did warn me.   Anyway I have some good news.”  

   Rosetta, bemused by Martin’s embarrassment in Joseph’s company, quickly became excited by his words, urging him to tell them of his findings right away, but Joseph suggested they took refuge in the cubicle and order their drinks before continuing the conversation.    Rosetta reluctantly acknowledged Joseph’s suggestion and disentangled herself from him and sat down, but as she moved her body across the seat towards the wall, she turned her head to face him.  “Siediti accanto a me”, Joseph”  she said, a beautiful smile on her face as her hand began gently patting the seat beside her,   “Sit beside me … and make my night perfect.”    Joseph did as he was requested as Martin headed to the bar with their orders, but he did so with reservations.   At that very moment his mind was extremely agitated: he was confused within himself:  his brain reeling in confliction between the guilt of his deceit that was pounding in his head – and the pleasantry of Rosetta’s physical intimacy.   It was no wonder Joseph failed to notice Mary scrunched as close to the wall as she could manage in the seat behind them.

   Martin had taken less than a minute to place their orders and return to the table due to the limited patronage of the bar at the moment, and he began to tell them of his findings as soon as he had settled in, his voice now so low that Mary had to really concentrate on what he was saying.

“I have managed to contact an associate of the Punjani,”, he all but whispered less his voice carry too far across the room and repeat his earlier gaffe in front of Joseph,   “His name is Raji Constanis, a bit of a cultural mish-mash, I should imagine, nevertheless, he insists that he has direct contact with the Punjani and that he will be the main liaison between them and us.   They are guaranteeing the trade, the statue for the antidote – however we only have seven days to locate the statue.   After that date they will take over the search themselves – and the offer of the antidote will no longer be binding.   At that point we will be on our own to help Professor Tusacani recover – which could quite possibly be never, I am afraid.”

   “Oh, that is so cruel,” Rosetta snapped, “I thought you said you had some good news, Martin.   How is telling me that my father may remain in a coma for the rest of his life good news?

   “Ah, the good news … well it is not actually good news,” Martin admitted, “but Ravi has all but guaranteed that the statue should be located, if not at the farm itself, then definitely somewhere in Trenthamville.   He said he had it on good authority that no vehicle big enough to carry the statue had been seen in the village since the day that Professor Tusacani arrived there.   So it may be very well hidden, but it should be locatable with a bit of effort put into the search by us.   So let us just pray that we find it, or at least a clue to its hiding place – and quickly at that.  If you do not have any preconceived ideas, I suggest that we start at Trenthamville.”

   “Is that where he was staying?” Joseph asked with genuine interest.   Joseph had found himself in a quandary in telling them the truth because Martin didn’t know what the man they thought him to be actually looked like.  Joseph knew he couldn’t simply excuse himself and go home.   He doubted he would  be able to come up with a reasonable excuse, and if they began to interrogate him he would fall apart at the seems, and god only knows how that would end.   He began to wonder if it was not a bad idea to continue the pretense of being who they thought he was, but confess to his bad judgement in agreeing to meet with Rosetta here at the hotel as he had already agreed to take on another task, or made up a story along similar lines when he got the chance.   But it worried him to do so for various levels including putting more stress on Rosetta’s already over-burdened shoulders by discovering that he was not interested in helping her.   Confession now also worried him: Rosetta had opened her heart to him in her worry for her father: who knew what damage it may do to her if he now confessed openly and told them who he really was and she discovered that he was a fraud wasting her time.  He felt it would be far better if he explained, albeit made up a story, why he could not help them and why he had delayed telling them and then they could find somebody else that could help them.   ‘He could say,’ he thought, ‘that he was hoping to find a way to help them, even if only for a short period of time, but he now judged it could possibly turn into an event that would take up all of the time that he had available to spare them, and, most likely, a whole lot more: much more than possible for him to provide considering his current workload.’

   But eventually he had decided that he would fall back on his original plan to listen and try to find an easy way out of his situation … some way of finding what would appear to be a genuine obstruction to his becoming involved in the search … perhaps suggesting that even at this stage that they were not the people that he was supposed to meet.  

   ‘Although there were several similarities in the two cases,’ his mind began to conjure up, ‘what had happened to the person classed as missing that I had been requested to help find had never been mentioned, but they were missing as far as I know, not in a coma … and it had not been Martin who had called him for help.   It was someone called Donald Johnson.   I thought Martin, here, was simply calling himself Martin for some security reason or another.   I am beginning to feel this is a case of a double misunderstanding, my friends, and we need to get the right parties together.  Martin, perhaps you could speak with your friend, Joseph, James, whatever his real name is:   Perhaps you can arrange a new meeting with him and I will attempt to track down Donald Johnson.   Yes,’ Joseph thought happily, ‘I can work around that angle.’   But it was a thought that was proving hard to enforce inside his mind, as once again he was finding himself being dragged like a fly into this intricate web, as his curiosity rose …fogging his common sense … and making it hard for him to withdraw.

   “Has Rosetta not explained about Trenthamville?” Martin asked.

   “I’m afraid not.” Joseph replied, his mind racing to recall whether or not Rosetta had mentioned it, but he had not needed to concern himself.

   “I found my self becoming rather upset as I spoke about what happened to father,”  Rosetta interjected, smiling at Joseph as she spoke,  “Joseph was extremely kind and sensitive to my feelings and I think between my pain and his kindness I may have omitted some details.”

   Martin looked quizzically at Rosetta, but said nothing about his thoughts.    Instead, he returned his attention to Joseph.   “Professor Tuscanni was renting a rather derelict farmhouse not far from the village of Trenthamville.   It’s about an hour and a half’s drive from London, or it should be if we leave early enough in the morning.   We thought that that was where he had taken the statue for safe keeping.   It would have made sense, but the police informed us that they had not come across anything that had resembled a statue anywhere on the farm. Nothing had seemed disturbed in the barn, but the house was a rather different matter.   It was like somebody had tried to set fire to it – without succeeding.   Or perhaps it was just kids who had broken in and were a bit careless with their cigarettes, though that seems a bit far fetched seeing the professor and his step-brother were living there at the time.

   “Was there much damage to the house?”  Joseph asked without thinking why, or questioning the alarm bells that had begun screaming out loudly in his head.   Bells generated by some long forgotten memory buried deep with the darkness of his mind that had tried to free itself the moment Martin mentioned the fire.  

   Joseph had no intention of trying to make the memory resurface, preferring instead to let it rise when it was ready … if it ever did.   This not the first time that similar things had happened – and nothing had ever ventured back into his mind before… so he saw no reason to imagine it would this time.   Just another strange mystery in his life that he had no time to spare thinking about … he already had enough on his plate at the moment without the need to add extras.

   “No,” Martin replied as he continued with his tale, “it appeared to be a rather strange fire, originating and ending on a portion of the carpet in the living room.   I have no idea what was burning in the carpet, but I have been advised the police had the local fire brigade have a look at it.   Unfortunately they couldn’t get the embers extinguished: whatever was smouldering had no idea of stopping just because they were fire officers, so they simply placed some fire blankets over the carpet and let it burn itself out.   It was never going to spread and burn the house down, so it was assumed safe enough by all concerned.”

   Joseph looked at Martin with disbelief.  “You are joking?” he asked, “did it work?”

   “It would appear so,” Martin replied, “The house hasn’t burnt down as far as I know.  

   “The police who attended the house … is it possible that they may have been corrupt.  That they found the statue and kept it for themselves to sell later?  I mean, it was considered rather valuable, wasn’t it?”

   “You are very cynical, my friend,” Martin said with a laugh, “but no, I was of much the same mind and had them checked out to be on the safe side.   According to all reports they seem to be an honest enough bunch.   I had never mentioned the composition of the statue to the inspector, just its approximate dimensions.  The inspector I had spoken to arranged for a search of the house and barn to be carried out after I had asked the question, giving him a quick explanation of why it was there, and where it was headed, but not its approximate value.   He called me back later that day to advise me that they found nothing of that description, nor did they find anything that may have once been a storage area for anything of that size and physical description. 

   “Did you speak to the police the same night as they found the professor wandering the streets … or was it the next day?”  

   “It was the following day.   I rang them as soon as Rosetta advised me of her father’s condition … and the value of the statue.” 

   “I became worried about the statue when the police rang and told me about my father … and when we were unable to contact Vittorio by the following morning I rang Martin.”   Rosetta added.  “As you can imagine it was a rather large item and its value would had begun to expose itself to anybody that came across it, being made of gold and covered with rubies and diamonds, I was worried that somebody may have stolen it … which is why I told Martin about it when I explained to him what my father was doing in Trenthamville.

   “Raji had also thought that the professor may have kept the artefacts at the farm,’ Martin continued, “but when he himself went there he couldn’t find anything.   He also agreed with the police that there appeared nowhere to hide it.   However both he and I still feel that it will be in our best interest to check it out for ourselves.   And if we can’t find any clues there, then we begin to talk to the villagers who just might provide us with a clue where else to try.  What do you say?”

   “Oh, Joseph,” Rosetta’s brown eyes opened wide in anticipation of getting one step closer to her goal, her eyes pleading with Joseph to agree with Martin, “should we go?   Would it be possible that we will find some clue?”

   Joseph thought hard and fast then turned to Rosetta.   “How did they get the statue to the farm?” he asked.

   “I think they hired a truck,” Rosetta offered, “but I am not certain. 

   “Is there anyway to verify exactly what they did.  That they didn’t employ someone to deliver it?  Joseph asked.

   “Ah, yes … I can see what you are suggesting,” Martin replied, his eyes lighting up into a knowing smile, “that somehow the hired crew discovered just what they were transporting and stole it.   I would assume that the thing was fairly well covered … all wrapped up inside the box with cloth or plastic – and the lid all tightly nailed down.   Should have been safe from prying eyes, but if the cats were curious … they could have scratched away.   Well, regardless of who delivered it, even with special clearance permits, the statue would still have had to go through customs, so there should be some collection details recorded, including who picked the statue up.   At least that gives me a starting point.  It will probably take a day or two to get it all checked out, but I can initiate the investigation now.   I will start the ball rolling immediately.

   With that Martin rose from his chair, pulled his mobile from his coat pocket and began to make his way towards the emptiness of the far end of the room to give his instructions clearly, without distraction, and without the fear of somebody listening to his conversation, however, before he had moved more than two steps Rosetta called him back.

   “But, Martin, my father had told me it had arrived safely,” Rosetta said when Martin returned to the booth.  “He said they had already unpacked it.   That was over a week ago … before he became comatose.  He said he had to take advantage of the short time he had left with it to examine it in more detail.   He said it was an unusual statue.   It seemed so solid, so perfect in its shape and size, it was almost like a sarcophagus, yet he was certain it was hollow inside and he wondered why.

   “Perhaps it was meant to house the god it was made to honour when he finally passed on.” Joseph offered.

    “Maybe,” Rosetta replied, a half smile on her face, “but if it was delivered safely, then … .   His last words to me were that he was searching for some way to open it without damaging it.   He had been in Trenthamville for soem time, so why do you think somebody may have stolen it before it arrived”

   “We are not suggesting that they did,” Joseph stated matter-of-factly, we are suggesting  that whoever delivered the statue may have accidentally identified the value of the statue, but there was no sense in them taking it then.   They would have to find a way of moving it and storing it without anybody being aware of their new acquirement.   And they would be better off finding a buyer for it before stealing it.   Perhaps they came back when they had a buyer – and your father confronted them.   There are a lot of questions that we can’t answer at the moment.   This is just one of them.”

   “I hope it’s not true – it’s not been stolen, surely not.” Rosetta said, a quaver in her voice, tears forming once more in the corner of her eyes, “it would mean that we would have nothing to trade.   Nothing …”

   “It won’t hurt to still get the facts through customs,” Martin said encouragingly.   “Let’s just hope that we get some answers to our enquiry rather quickly so we know just which way to run.”   He then turned his attention to Joseph.   “Joseph, about the farm … I really think it is worth checking it out.”

   “Yes, please, Joseph.”   The plea in Rosetta’s soft request carried the sound of invisible tears to Joseph’s ears.   Joseph’s head spun into warp drive, his tongue became a soft puddle of mush, as he was, once again, totally hypnotized by Rosetta, her story, and the entire situation.   If Walter Mitty had a brother, it certainly would have been Joseph Jacobson.

   “Yes,” he replied softly.

   “Good man,”   Martin said approvingly of Joseph’s answer, “Well I’m off to contact my sources in Customs.   Martin moved out of his seat and headed for relevant solitude in order to make his call, and as he moved off Rosetta placed her hand on Joseph’s hand and squeezed it for comfort.  Joseph offered no resistance, instead he turned to face her and as he did he saw the look of fear and sorrow upon her face: not fear and sorrow for herself, but for her missing father.   Without thinking he removed his hand from hers and placed his arm around her back, then gently pulled her forward until her head was resting against his chest where he could feel the warm wetness of her tears burning into his chest.   “Tomorrow may give us all the answers we need.” He whispered in her ears.

   “Thank you, Joseph?” Rosetta’s voice was but a raspy whisper from the dryness in her throat, “I am so glad you agreed to come with us … I really am.” 

********

 Behind their backs Mary nodded her head in total agreement to Joseph’s decision and then pulled out her phone from her handbag and began her text:

‘Chapter one: Story begins tomorrow on the road to Trenthamville – more soon … Agent Mary … over and out.’

PRESS HERE FOR EPISODE 16

Episode 1 (start)           Episode 15 (next)            Info         Use Search for other Episodes

Short Fat Stubby Finger Stories PRESENTS:e

Episode 14

Seated at her desk inside her clear glass office, Mary watched as Joseph walked into the outer office, collected some paper work from his desk and made his way to the external communal collection basket situated outside her office where he deposited the documents before giving her a smile, then turning to return to his desk.   Mary admired Joseph.   A definite loner, he appeared comfortable with his position in life … unlike her.  It had been eleven months since she had walked out on David and she was still coming to terms with the new level of loneliness that she now faced each and every evening.   After living with someone that she had loved, and thought had loved her, for over a year, in Mary’s mind, the emptiness of her single unit now seemed even more magnified.  

   Still, it was David’s limited companionship that she missed, not the man himself.   Her divorce was being processed and she could easily wait out the time that the law dictated, but she would have liked to do it with someone like Joseph, and not by herself.   But Joseph had shown no interest in approaching her and as a result she lacked the confidence in herself to initiate anything.

   Mary knew she could have gone back to living with her family, but she felt she needed to be on her own to get her life back again.   Something she felt would never have happened in the clutches of an over protective family.   She needed the past few years of her life to become a forgotten interruption, not constantly brought up in conversations with her well-meaning, but thoughtless, parents who would continuously advise her how well off she was making the decision to leave David.   She just wanted him to be a case of ‘David Who?’ in her mind if his name was ever brought up in conversation.

   As she watched Joseph pass, she momentarily imagined a close encounter with him and wondered if she could use Johann P Biggs’s request to her own advantage: smiled as a naughty thought crossed her mind for a second, then went to turn her attention to the pile of  work in her in-tray  – when suddenly Mary’s eyes almost popped out of her head.

   ‘Was that lipstick on Joseph’s face?’ she asked herself. ‘Yes, yes it was … and expensive lipstick at that, if I’m not mistaken.’

   Mary began wondering if perhaps Joseph’s life was a lot different to what she had imagined it to be.   She had always found him both interesting and attractive, though rather shy and socially reserved.   But to follow Johann P Biggs request she had expected it would be a relatively easy task to hook up with him if she decided to do what had been asked of her, despite her current lack of confidence, because she was certain in her mind that Joseph had nobody in his life.   Should she decide to take up Johann’s request she would treat it as both a challenge, and an opportunity to regain her confidence because it gave her a reason to make social contact with him.   But this – this put a new interest in her mind: a new challenge.   It was probably exactly what she needed to get her through the boredom and loneliness that was her current life.   ‘And who knows what may eventuate naturally,’ she wondered, as a silly grin crossed her face.

   Mary had convinced herself that if she got the courage up she could pounce on Joseph any time that she liked in the office, because nobody else there could see the things about Joseph that she found attractive – in this office she would have had no opposition to worry about.   In her eyes it would have been easy, but now … .  

    When Johann suggested she keep a close eye on Joseph she had seen no problems.   It wasn’t like he was suspected of being a criminal … or someone worse.   ‘A possible promotion’, Johann had said in confidence, ‘a very, very special promotion.   But I need to know a bit more about him.   Things that I doubt I will be able to observe personally  … at least not for some time … after he is in the new role.   And if he can’t handle the role … well let us hope that you get close enough to him to see him handle the sort of problems his new role will expose him to – for all our sakes.’

   Johann had not amplified what he had meant: had not cleanly expressed exactly what he was asking her to look for in Joseph and his behaviour.   All he would say was that he would know what he needed to hear when she reported to him on certain actions that Joseph had taken.   However he would not elaborate on what actions he was referring to – he did not want to prejudice her thoughts, he had said: did not want her to always look for something she may not recognise anyway – and miss something important by being blindsided.   Nor did he want her to accidentally embellish a story in order to please him.   He just wanted to hear her factual observations on Joseph as a person and things that he did outside work hours.   He was not looking for her to find him doing strange and unusual things every five minutes, he simply wanted her to observe and report on everything that he did – everything … nothing was too trivial to report.   But nothing was to be viewed as important either; just noted … and reported.   Mary had asked for time to think about her reply and Johann had agreed.   Now Mary wondered if what she had just seen was behind the request.   ‘Was Joseph involved in some sordid entanglement with a client’s wife … or perhaps the client herself?’   She asked herself without reply.

   Mary moved out of her chair and stood upright facing the far end of the room where Joseph was in the process of settling himself into his own station, and as soon as he sat down he reached for the phone on his desk and dialled out … and as he did so Mary wished she could listen in on that call; her instincts, screaming out loudly inside her head, were telling her it was something to do with that woman.   Mary quickly scanned her eyes around the room looking for an instant miracle to co-operate with her needs.   There were two currently unoccupied desks close to where Joseph sat and for a moment she considered moving down to one of them to pretend to check them for some administrative reason, but, in reality, to listen in, however she knew deep down that somebody would notice her there and ask her what she was up to in a voice loud enough to attract Joseph’s attention, or walk over to talk with her thus denying her ability to hear the conversation.   Whichever, she knew that it would attract Joseph’s attention.  Then, out of the blue, she remembered the special connection her desk had with Joseph’s.   When Joseph was first transferred to the third floor, he was employed in a singular, and unique, position, and not actually part of the team under Mary’s jurisdiction, so management had connected a special apparatus between her desk and his to link their phones for the odd occasion when senior management needed to connect departments by an internal landline rather than waste time by having them all assemble in a conference room.   She lifted her own landline phone to her ears and then pressed a button on the apparatus which immediately gave her access to Joseph’s conversation.   And her timing was immaculate as she realised that Joseph had dialled information and was in the process of requesting the phone number for the Camira Hotel on James.   The phone number was duly given and after Joseph hung up he began dialling the hotel itself and Mary was forced to once again press the button on the apparatus, regaining connection just as he began the process of reserving a booth and table.   Mary could not fully understand the details that Joseph was giving the hotel due to the threat of an incoming sneeze that threatened to blow her cover, but she heard enough to clarify the time and date of the booking: tonight at six.

   As soon as she had been able to hang up the landline safely she picked up her private mobile and pressed the button that automatically rang the number Johann had punched into the phone’s memory bank.   The call was answered immediately.

   “Is it yes, or no, Mary?”   Biggs’ voice was soft: toneless: non committal.      

   “Yes.”  Mary replied, her voice equally non committal.

   “Thank you, Mary.   Call me when you have something to report.   Leave an extended message if I don’t answer personally.   This may take some time, however I would not be surprised if your reports begin within a few days.   Thank you again, Mary, and I look forward to some interesting anecdotes.”

   “Goodbye, Mister Biggs.”   Mary pressed the red ‘disconnect’ button on her mobile – then stood rigid, still holding the mobile in her hand, as she let the adrenaline commence its flow on a course that would eventually take it through every vein in her entire body.   Her body remained rigid for nearly fifteen seconds before the smile began to crack wide across her face inside her clear glass framed office and her feet automatically performed a short, sharp, river-dance while her arms pumped the air.   Then immediately stepped out from her private office into the office proper to the sound of an unexpected roar of approval from her co-workers.   In her exhilarated outbreak of joy at her decision Mary had momentarily forgotten the composition of her office walls: solid, clear, glass, and her impromptu dance could possibly have caused embarrassment in other circumstances, but the clapping and whistles only caused Mary’s smile to widen even further than was possible; her adrenaline to rush even harder and faster through her throbbing veins, and the only action that she considered to be appropriate for the current situation was to take a bow … which she did.

   “Well done, Mary,” Jo Anne Hopkins called out from two desks away, “Did you win the lotto or do you have a new boyfriend?”

   “Spoilers,” Mary replied, the smile not moving an inch,  “it’s a secret.  So shhhhhhhhhhhhhh!   It’s for my mind only at the moment.”

   “Well, make sure it becomes an un-secret soon, Mary.   You know what the office gossip is like around here.”  Jo Anne said with a cheeky grin,   “They’ll have you preggers with triplets on the way by Friday if you don’t spread a damper on it shortly.

   “I know what your gossip is like, Jo Anne.”  Mary retorted with a happy voice,   “You could start your own supermarket magazine with the stories you tell.

   “Oooooh, you are awful.”   Jo Anne retorted in a haughty tone before breaking out in a huge smile.

   Mary, still grinning from ear to ear, began crossing the room, her hips swaying to an unheard beat, as she made her way to the executive tea room where she knew she could sit down in peace and solitude with a steaming hot, freshly made, coffee as she planned her first move.   

********

   The all singing, all dancing, automatic coffee machine did its magic and within a minute or two the aroma of the warm sweet juices of her café latte wafted tantalizingly through the quiet room as Mary let her mind wander around the problem at hand.  ‘The unwashed lipstick on Joseph’s face was obviously the work of an outsider, certainly no one from this office,’ she decided … ‘and a fairly classy one by the look of the lipstick she used.’   Mary knew instinctively she would have her work cut out for her if he was already involved with somebody, and she would need to work fast in case his affair was becoming serious.  

********

By the time she had finished her second coffee, Mary had the germ of an idea.   An idea she would run with, regardless of how many twists and turns got in the way.

********

 Mary looked at her watch.   Half an hour and it would be time to leave.   Mary pressed a buzzer on a small console on her desk.   Immediately a young, male voice answered.   “Yes, Miss Cunningham?”

   “Jimmy … I have a small job for you … and it is confidential.   You are to say absolutely nothing to anybody whatsoever about what I am asking you to do … and that includes that girl from the first floor that you have been dating.   Is that clearly understood?”   Mary asked to the young man’s surprise.

   “Yes, Miss Cunningham.”  The young man replied nervously, the tone in his voice clearly revealing his nervousness at the mention of the girl on level one.   Mary was certain that he could be trusted to do what he was asked to do without question, or talking about it with the other staff, which was the reason why she had placed him in the position that she had.   She occasionally needed someone to do the odd investigation on certain clients and needed somebody smart enough to know exactly what they were searching for and gain access to it without arousing the suspicion of either the unknowing supplier of the required details, or the client themselves and Jimmy Anderson fitted that description to a tee.   At five foot ten, freckle faced and ginger headed, the twenty two year old ideally presented the image of an affable young man on the rise, but still one hundred percent naïve to the ways of illegal business which allowed him to ask what appeared to be completely innocent inane questions that never raised a suspicious eyebrow on the most criminally leaning client or their representative.    Jimmy Anderson was, however, a very astute young man blessed with the gift of photographic memory and had several well-earned accountancy diplomas in his well credentialed resume, and had a mind like a steel trap, to boot.  

   “Jimmy, would it at all be a problem for you to do a little overtime tonight?”

   “No, Miss Cunningham, not at all”   Jimmy replied, “Enjoyed watching you dancing earlier.”  

   “So did half of the office,”   Mary admitted with a smile.

   “What do you want me to do?”  He asked eagerly.

   “Come up to my desk in about five minutes.  I have two things for you to do.  I will show you the files that I need proof-read and copied, and a level three check on the client … and I have a special favour to ask of you.”

   “Sure.”   Jimmy replied enthusiastically.

   “I have to meet up with a client for dinner.   All I know is that I am supposed to meet her at Morrison’s where she has another appointment to attend – then we will make our way to wherever it is we are going to eat.   I was supposed to come to work by public transport today and walk to Morrison’s, which is fair enough as it is only a few blocks from here, from there we would make our way to wherever we were going to have our dinner, and she was going to have her chauffeur drive me home after dinner, but I have just received a message from her secretary to say that she may not be able to drive me home after all, but she still needs to meet with me.  

   Well that is not a major problem in itself as I had gotten my dates mixed up and inadvertently drove myself to work this morning.   My problem is, however, getting access to my car after the dinner as I have no idea where we are going.   Even the secretary had no idea as the client had made the booking herself and had failed to inform her of the details.   I could drive to Morrison’s, but that is not where we are having our dinner and you know the almost impossibility of getting a park at the major hotels even this early, never mind in another hour or so.   So I was wondering, if I gave you my car keys, and rang you from the restaurant when we get there, would you be able to deliver my car to me, and rather than go to too much trouble, simply leave the car in the car park, or somewhere close by, and leave the keys at the reception desk?”

   “It would be my pleasure, Miss Cunningham.”  Jimmy gushed at the chance to impress his boss,”   I’m on my way.”

   “No, give me five minutes,” Mary said quickly, knowing full well she was making everything up on the fly.   Then she noticed a ‘NEW CLIENT’ file in her in-tray which would meet her needs for something for Jimmy to investigate and photocopy and she breathed a sigh of relief.   “I will give you a cab charge against my name for your return journey to the office or the nearest tube station – whichever suits you best, Jimmy.   Just remember to leave the cab charge invoice in my in-tray in the morning.   And, Jimmy, please remember not to waste time having the reception staff at the restaurant looking for me.   Just tell them that I will pick them up as I am leaving … it may not go down well with this particular client if they come looking for me in the middle of negotiations.    No, wait a minute, Jimmy – if you have to park the car on the road, please text me with the approximate details.   I should be able to locate it easily with my G.P.S.,  but knowing roughly where I was headed would make things a bit easier.   But only if you have to park it in the street, otherwise simply leave the keys with reception and tell them I will pick them up on my way out.    Please get that bit right, Jimmy.   It is imperative that I am not disturbed while I am with the client.”

  “You can rely on me, Miss Cunningham,”   Jimmy replied,   “See you in five minutes.”

   Mary  breathed a sigh of relief at Jimmy’s acceptance of the task.   Her plan would seem complicated to an outsider, but Mary did not want to make things any harder for herself than she felt was absolute necessary.   Although she knew that Joseph had indicated that they were going to meet at The Camira on James, she was wary that plans could be changed at the last moment, so she deemed it necessary to follow him to the hotel which was around six blocks away, hoping like anything that he would make the journey on foot, and not by some other form of transport.   If he headed down towards the company car park at least she could follow him in her own car as she carried a spare set of keys, but she would need to ring Jimmy and cancel the task she had asked him to carry out, or else run the risk that the police could arrest her for driving a stolen car should Jimmy report it as missing when it wasn’t in the car park, and he had the keys.

  However, should Joseph take a taxi, or be picked up, then she would just have to hope for the best and continue on to The Camira … and if he wasn’t there when she arrived?    ‘Well, she thought, ‘I’ll have to wait and see… .’

Alternatively, providing Joseph was there, she would do her best to enter the bar area unseen by Joseph and find somewhere close-by to at least observe them, or, if things were going extremely well, listen to them and learn what Joseph was planning. 

   When Joseph left the office for the day, Mary would be right behind him and her plan would be simple.   Follow him everywhere … look for an opening in his life …and wheedle her way into it.

PRESS HERE TO GO TO EPISODE 15

Episode 1 (start)          Episode 14 (next)            Info         Use Search for other Episodes 

Short Fat Stubby finger Stories Presents

Episode 13

Feeling much better following the exposure to the fresh air Joseph climbed the final steps and made his way into the foyer of the Café De Monde.

   The effects of the strange events that had taken place back at the office were quickly wearing off, and Joseph was starving as he made his way to the reception desk expecting to be advised that his permanently pre-booked single seat table was awaiting his presence and would he care for his usual order, but he was surprised to be told that he had company waiting for him and as a result he had been allocated a table for two rather than the single seat table where he usually sat.   A waitress was called to the reception desk and directed to take Joseph to his new table.   Joseph had asked the receptionist who was waiting for him, but all he received in reply was a knowing smile.

   Joseph was disappointed to have lost the table he normally occupied, a space in the busy restaurant he had always considered to be the perfect position for his needs.  He preferred the balcony to sitting inside.   It felt less confined than inside: the air was fresher there: it was protected from the sun by the balcony from the apartment above and where he sat he was too far from the rails to be affected by rain should it fall before they got the protective blinds in place.   Situated beside the entrance to one of two doorways that led into the restaurant proper, the table was shaded and gave him the peace and quite he preferred.    Diner’s passing through the doorway would hardly even notice him there, his back to the wall, his face hidden behind the various coloured shrubs sitting proudly in the large decorative pot plants that guarded the entrances on either side, as he dined on his food, drank his latte, read through the newspaper and annihilated a scratch-it-card with an over active fingernail.  

   But today Joseph’s mind was in some bafflement as to who could possibly want to meet up with him … he didn’t actually know anybody that was likely to turn up unexpectedly – he didn’t actually know anybody who would want to turn up if they were invited.   It was not like he had a normal social life where he would tell all and sundry where he dined each day and expect somebody to occasionally join him of their own free will.   Social involvement was the last thing he wanted at the best of times … never mind during his lunch break.   In truth, Joseph just didn’t have any friends … nor did he want them.  He was happy enough in his own company, and would remain that way until somebody very special came along … and he doubted very much that was going to happen in the near future.   He wondered if it was somebody from the orphanage.   But why they would go to all this trouble was beyond him.   They could contact him at the office if they needed to speak to him – after all, every thing about him was on the orphanage records.

   As Joseph’s mind tried its best to understand what was going on he suddenly realised the waitress had been speaking to him.

   “I’m sorry, what did you say?”  Joseph asked belatedly.

   “The lady what said that you were expecting her – that’s her over there.”  She said, pointing a finger in an obscure direction over Joseph’s shoulder as she spoke.

    Joseph turned, but got a shock when he saw not one, but four two-seat tables appearing about fifty feet from where he stood … and three of them were occupied by women … all of which were singular occupants of their respective tables.   “Which one?” he asked as he turned back, but his words were falling on deaf ears as the waitress, who had absolutely no idea which one the woman was, only which table she was sitting at, but for reasons unknown had decided to keep that detail to herself, had already peeled off and was fast making her way back to the reception desk.

   Joseph watched as she disappeared through the open glass doors into the café proper, and realised that he had now found a new problem to deal with as he returned his gaze to the three tables he had to choose from.  

   He remembered that the waitress had said it was a young woman which meant that he could eliminate the middle aged woman that occupied the closest table, but he still had two more to choose from … and they were both young.   And to make matters worse for him, the two women were seated at tables side by side which meant that he could clearly see their faces, but he did not recognise either one of them.

   Joseph still had another twelve or fourteen paces to reach either table and attempted to use the precious little time he had left to try and identify the right table by means of deduction before he got too close and ran the risk of embarrassing himself, despite the fact that he had no idea how he would so … he just hoped his intuition would automatically kick in.

   He selected the girl seated at the table on the right first.   She was around eighteen or nineteen, Joseph estimated as he did his best to emulate a combination of Sherlock Holmes and Poroit.   ‘Perhaps a baby-faced early twenties?’ he wondered.   Thought her face pretty, but pale, though not unhealthy, and perhaps a shade too much rouge and lipstick had been applied, but it did her no real injustice.   Her clothing suited her even though it was off the rack from one the large chains.   Though sitting, she appeared slim, but not too thin, and judging by what he could see of her legs without staring, she appeared to be tall.   And, finally, he noticed the long slender fingers that indicated a strong possibility of artistic capabilities; however the broken nail on the index finger of her right hand indicated work of, possibly, a more physical nature.   Joseph shook head at the futility of his actions,   ‘This was ridiculous.”.  He thought to himself, “What am I doing … conducting a fashion show, writing some bizarre Raymond  Chandler chic lit .   I have no idea what I am doing, but what am I going to do.   Just walk up to the tables and ask which one of them it was that I am supposed to be meeting?   It is, however, likely to be the only way that I will be able to resolve this problem, but it is a rather unsatisfactory way seeing as I then have to tell one of them that I am not the right person anyway.”

   Joseph then turned his attention to the other young woman for no particular reason other than the fact that he had lost his concentration talking to himself and now found himself walking directly towards her.   And as he got closer he began to notice the young woman in more detail.    Her features were a bit indistinct at first as she had her head turned downwards to sip at her drink, but as she raised her head upwards his heart began beating uncontrollably at the sight of this incredibly beautiful stranger that sat patiently at the table; ‘Beautiful,’ he corrected himself, ‘she was more than beautiful: she was stunning.’   To his eyes her face was perfection itself.    It was the eyes that he first noticed: eyes that were flirtatious, dangerous and innocent simultaneously.  Then the tanned skin that reeked of Mediterranean beach-side colouring, and her hair: her gorgeous long dark hair that ran down over her slender shoulders, reached almost the complete length of her back before curling upwards in a massive wave enriching the image of a sensual golden princess in the form that Disney presented to a waiting world in every fairy tale movie he ever made.      

   And to complete the image of a beautiful, rich, intelligent woman; a woman totally confident within her own mind; the young woman was dressed in an outfit which, even to Joseph’s meagre knowledge of women’s clothing, appeared to have been commissioned from a catalogue that was only usable by the top ten percent in the world’s money list.  

   But she too failed to deliver a sublime message to him simply by her presentation … then suddenly Joseph began having a change of mind as he had an idea that this was the one he was to meet, becoming more certain in his mind by the minute that it would be this one … because he was absolutely certain that he had not a thing in the world that would be of use to her.   For her, this would truly be a case of mistaken identity … and there was no doubt that somebody would pay for the error.    He only hoped she would be reasonably easy going on Marilyn, because he was now certain that it had been Marilyn who had incorrectly set up this mistaken rendezvous.

   Then three steps from both tables the young woman of the indeterminable age on the right looked up and smiled a welcoming smile, and began to rise out of her chair.   And as she did so Joseph began to turn his footsteps and a reciprocal smile towards that table, and he may have continued with his intentions had it not been for the well built young man who, in two strides, overtook him on his right hand side and reached out for the now standing woman and pulled her into a passionate embrace.  

   Joseph was quick to realise that he had misread things just then and knew his instinct had been right.   He gritted his teeth in anticipation of how this would go and stopped but inches from the table on the left as the beautiful young woman looked up and broke into the most heart wrenching smile possible and also stood up and placed her long, tender hand toards his.  “Hello, James,”   The young woman’s low, sultry Italian accent nearly melting him as she reached out with her hand, “I am Rosetta.” 

   Joseph looked at the girl.  ‘She is absolutely stunning’, he thought to himself.   The young woman could easily have been mistaken for a model, such was her presence, however, she was not on the catwalk; she was here, at his table, and Joseph was both stoked and confused at her being there, but he knew for certain she was there by mistake, and he had no doubt that the error would be picked up by her within seconds.  Joseph sighed and moved forward expecting the inevitable apology from her as she got up to leave, but as their hands touched Joseph felt a new sensation flowing through him.  A feeling he could not ever remember having had before: Joseph felt instantly betwixt by this beautiful young woman in a way he never knew could exist.   It felt wonderful.   It felt weird.

   Joseph was confused by the way his mind was working.  It hadn’t taken him long to realise this was a case of mistaken identity, but he was surprising himself with his delight in being in this situation.  Although he knew that the meeting and greeting would soon be finished and the truth of the matter revealed to her, Joseph found himself enjoying her company to the point he didn’t want to cut her loose with the truth straight away. 

   ‘Surely a minute or two more couldn’t cause too much of a problem, then I will reveal the truth to her.’ His heart argued with his conscience as Joseph released the young woman’s hand and settled himself into his chair.   But Joseph’s conscience, backed and aided by his moral ethics programming, won the internal bickering immediately and he snapped out of his thought process just as quickly as he had slipped into it.  ‘If this was an error; a case of mistaken identity, then both Rosetta and whoever she was supposed to meet needed to be together much more than she needed to be at my table pandering to my bloated ego, he had argued with himself’.  The ego gene accepted defeat and the conscience and moral programming departments of Joseph’s brain decided the matter was now closed and all that remained was to find a soft, easy way of pointing out to her that she had come to the wrong table. 

   She would depart gracefully, he envisioned, albeit; apologetically, perhaps, unfortunately, a tad embarrassed and Joseph immediately felt sorry that she would have to endure that situation, ‘But it can’t be easily avoided’, he thought,  “Once she had left the table I will simply will get back to my mundane routine, though, perhaps with a drop of selfish sorrow.”

   “I’m sorry,” Joseph replied softly, and slightly nervously as he made his first move to clear the air with the facts, “my name is Joseph, not James.  Do I know you?

   “My apologies, Joooooooooseph!” she purred, flashing him a coy smile.  “I forgot.  Martin said that you might use a different name.”

   A quizzical look crossed Joseph’s face.  This was not the way the script was supposed to play out,’ he thought.  ‘I’ve told her my name and it was obviously not the name she had expected, so why is she so ready to accept the name change?   A worrying thought began to cross Joseph’s mind … ‘Was this some kind of set up?  Was he being set up for something illegal?’  He wondered.

   Rosetta’s smile suddenly changed to a look of genuine concern as she misread the meaning for the facial meanderings that were taking place on Joseph’s face as his vivid imagination began taking over rationality, “We are safe here aren’t we?” Rosetta’s voice had suddenly dropped from a pleasant, almost seductive tone to an agitated whisper: Joseph could sense panic forming in her voice and now he was becoming even more concerned about what he was becoming involved in. “Martin assured me that we could talk freely here.” Rosetta stated firmly, but her tone did not carry a lot of confidence in her own words.

   “I am sorry, Rosetta, but I haven’t got a clue what you are talking about.   I am sure you are at the wrong table.   I wasn’t actually expecting anybody.”   A perplexed Joseph objected, his voice soft, relaxed, but still questioning her words as he looked around for a hidden camera or microphone: Joseph’s mind was beginning to wonder if he was being set up for some Candid Camera type television show where somebody suddenly jumped from behind a pot plant and yelled ‘Gotcha!’, or something just as embarrassing, at the top of their voice.   “I don’t know any Martin.  I am only a clerk down at Johnson’s Import and Export.   Perhaps you could tell me who you are, and what you and this Martin, want?”   

   “Oh, you are good!” she replied, misinterpreting Joseph’s eye movements, “Where are they?” she whispered.

   “I really think that you may have the wrong table,” Joseph inadvertently offered a shade too sharply.   He was becoming increasingly frustrated with this conversation, now seriously doubting that his luck had improved, to the point where he was actually beginning to feel the opposite.   He had to find a way to convince her that he wasn’t whoever she thought him to be.

   All he had originally wanted when he had first arrived was his food, some coffee and some peace and quiet.  Now he would settle just for some peace and quiet … even if she was stunningly gorgeous; the most sensuous, beautiful thing that had ever entered his dull and monotonous life.   He knew she had to go to be with whoever she was supposed to be with, but things were taking steps in directions he was not expecting and he had no idea how to deal with them.   Never mind find a subtle way of breaking contact with her. 

   Sensing that something was wrong, Rosetta decided to change tact. ‘Perhaps they were being watched, despite Martin’s assurances.’ she wondered.  “Joseph, Martin said you could help me retrieve some items that … how should I say it?  They may have been relocated by a well meaning, but interfering party.   He assured me you were the right person for the job, but he said with your workload I may have trouble convincing you.  I am sorry, Joseph, but I don’t know what I have to say to get you to help me except to say, Please.”

    “Me?” Joseph asked in astonishment, and then shuddered inwardly when he saw the tears glistening in her eyes.  Rosetta’s words and sudden display of emotion distracted Joseph’s thought pattern so much he momentarily became a victim of his own imagination and took his place in the ongoing events seriously.   Something in the young woman’s tone was tugging at Joseph’s heart-strings.  Although he saw no validity in the strange conversation, to his way of thinking something was upsetting the young woman.   He had no idea just who she thought he was, or what he could do for her, but he decided to play along, at least for the moment until he could find a way out without causing embarrassment, or pain to her.  Joseph knew that he could not handle the situation if she started to cry … and that was what she was threatening to do as far as he was concerned. 

   In an instant he decided that if he got her to explain what was going on, then perhaps he could find someway of giving her a bit of advice without hurting her feelings and then she might leave him alone, or detect him as a fraud.   But she would need to hurry up.  He was on his lunch break – not a rostered day off.   If he was late getting back again he was sure to be in trouble with senior management.    

   Conveniently, a young couple seated a few tables away to Joseph’s right got up to leave and as they vacated the space they had been occupying Joseph was surprised to notice three men, obviously of middle eastern origin, who had been hidden from view by the young couple also rise and depart the restaurant.   Joseph took advantage of the situation.   He looked in their direction for a couple of seconds, two fingers covering his lips before returning to face Rosetta.  

   “I’m sorry.  I was a bit uncertain – still it is better to be prudent; it seems safe now.  Please go on.”

Rosetta had turned to look where Joseph was facing and her face immediately relaxed, and once again it was emblazoned by a beautiful smile.

   “Grazia, Joseph!  I am sorry … I had no idea they were there.   I don’t know where to begin.”   

   From out of the blue Joseph came up with a plan, a plan he was certain would be of mutual benefit to them both.   “Well, perhaps the beginning would be the best place … ,” Joseph suggested with a soft smile, ‘as they say in the movies.” – Then threw his ‘plan’ into action.   “Rosetta, before you do go on, there is something that I must say to you.”

   “Yes, Joseph?”   Rosetta asked, uncertain what Joseph was going to say.

   “Rosetta,”   Joseph spoke softly and friendly, putting Rosetta at ease with his gentle tone, “there was somebody that I was supposed to meet here, who may or may not have arrived.   However, I was not given a name, or a description other than she was very beautiful.    You certainly meet that description, actually you meet it in excess of the description,” he said with a smile, “but to make certain that we are both talking about the same problem may I suggest that you begin to tell me the reason why you are here, and should your problem not seem to match up with the limited information I have been given I will cut you short and we will go our separate ways and try to meet up with whomsoever we were supposed to meet.   Is that agreeable?”

   “Thank you, Joseph,” Rosetta replied, her face slightly flushed as a result of his unexpected compliment, “and, yes, that would be a marvelous idea … though I would be disappointed if you weren’t the right one.”   Rosetta added with a coy smile.   Joseph realised that she was flirting with him, but he had no idea why … and it took him some effort in order to not react to it.   He knew that he very well may have under other circumstances, but considering what his intentions in regards to their future relations were he considered it inappropriate for the occasion.

   “Then please go on.”   Joseph’s voice was soft and confident, but inwardly he felt a strange sensation knowing that his plan might actually be going to work.   Now all he had to do was keep his ears open for something she said that he could say was not what he had been expecting.   Once that happened he could make up a story about what he had been expecting her to say which would be far different from her tale, they would agree that they were not who the other had been expecting, apologise to each other and go their separate ways.

   “The story is not that easy, Joseph, but I will try.”  Rosetta began, “My father, Antonio Tuscanni, is a renowned amateur archaeologist in my country, and a fully qualified professor in that field, as well as coming from a very well respected, and extremely wealthy, Italian family.   It was due to his being so financially well off that allowed him to spend most of his life on his passion for archaeology.   A few months ago, somewhere overseas, in the Middle East I think it was … I get a little vague where he is most times, he changes countries so often.   I’m sorry for becoming distracted … it just that what happened worries me so much. ”

Joseph, who was listening intently to every word that came out of Rosetta’s mouth as he looked for his plan’s escape clause, became a bit worried as Rosetta’s eyes again threatened to dispense tears.   He automatically reached out with both hands, clenching hers to give her comfort and support.  It was the only way he knew how to deal with the possible problem her crying may cause and hoped she wouldn’t react the wrong way to his honourable intention.   However he needn’t have worried.   Rosetta, seemed pleasantly surprised by his action, smiled and composed herself mentally as quickly as she could, but she made no move to untangle their hands which, in turn, surprised and confused Joseph who had been expecting a quick retraction.   “Grazie, Joseph,”   Rosetta offered with a soft, personal smile.  “I am fine now.   I will get back to the story and try to stay there.”   Then to add to Joseph’s growing discomfort and confusion, Rosetta gave his hands a quick squeeze before she continued with her story … her hands not leaving his … and Joseph, reservedly, made no attempt to remove his.

   “My father” Rosetta began, “came across a discovery of immense value to those that are interested in such items and …” Rosetta paused for a second and took a deep breath, “also to those that still believe in pagan gods.”   

   Joseph’s eyes lit up with interest at the unexpected direction that the conversation had begun to take, however his ‘plan’ was quickly becoming unstuck because he knew right then and there that he should speak up and dismiss her story as different to his.   But all thoughts of revealing the truth of the mistaken identity situation disappeared momentarily, as did the need to physically place her with the man who still awaited her arrival at his table, wherever he may be sitting.   Joseph found himself becoming hooked on the adrenaline rush that was taking place in his veins, and he was finding difficulty in abandoning the young woman at his side until he heard more of her intriguing story in the remote hope that he could help her in some way.

   “The sheer value of them,” Rosetta continued, “made a public acknowledgement of their discovery out of the question at this stage.   Many small museums would have had little interest in having items with such a high-risk value on their premises – and the bigger museums might also be hesitant because of the risk of theft, so he had to be meticulous in his choice of museums to offer his findings to.   On the other hand, some collectors are renowned for their unscrupulous methods of obtaining such an item for their collection, so it would not have been prudent to bring the findings to their attention.   And finally there are the Punjani.”

   “The Punjani?”   Joseph asked quizzically.

   “My father told us a little about them in an e-mail just after the discovery.  They were a rarely heard of middle-eastern religious sect that formed hundreds of years ago, with roots said to be linked directly to the Devil himself.  It was thought that the sect had died out following an attack by government forces at the turn of the twentieth century, but now it appears that they may have moved to England – and are still here.  The items that my father found are said to be the exact same ones that were used during the creation of the cult all of those years ago, and later stolen by one of their own.  Legend has it that the thief, and his helpers, died less than a day after the theft, but the items were never recovered … and the Punjani has never stopped searching for them.”

   “So what were these items?”  Joseph’s imagination had now begun working in overtime, wondering what it was that he had he stumbled into.

   “The Punjani dagger, supposedly the weapon used for sacrificial purposes.  And the statue which is believed to be a life size statue of the god that the cult pays homage to … Rangor the Punjanti; The devil from the skies.”

   “But why is it so valuable?

   “In the e-mail my father told me the dagger, and its scabbard, are encrusted in jewels – and the statue is made of solid gold; adorned with hundreds of large diamonds and rubies.  It took six large men to carry it out of the cavern on a specially made stretcher where it was found.  It was shipped here to England, then put into an armoured van on arrival and taken to a special hiding place in the country until my father could figure out what to do with it.   Eventually he located a museum whose sponsor agreed to take out the necessary insurance to cover the items and guaranteed their capability to safeguard them – and he was in the process of arranging to move the items to their new resting place when …”   Rosetta paused for a second to catch her breath, to gently remove but one of her hands from his and wipe away a new tear that was beginning to form in the corner of her eye, before returning the hand to join with his once again.  When she resumed her voice began to quiver, “something happened to him.” 

   As the tears began to stream freely down her face, Joseph gently released his hands from hers and struggled to rummage through his coat pockets to obtain a handkerchief, hoping, with all of his heart, that it would appear to be clean and reasonably well pressed, and duly handed it to her.   Rosetta nodded her head in acceptance and proceeded to dab her eyes with it, while Joseph; so panicky within himself as to the cleanliness of the garment, diverted his eyes.   When he finally had the courage to return his gaze, he was pleasantly surprised to find her applying some make-up to her face, though the redness in her eyes gave him the impression that the tears were not going anywhere soon.

   “Grazia, Joseph.   I am sorry … I broke my promise.”   The tone of Rosetta’s voice was now much softer than it had been when she had been telling her story: more subdued, and Joseph could almost see: could almost feel, the pain that floated around her beautiful face.

   Joseph smiled gently as he spoke.   “You would never have been held to your promise, Rosetta.   We cannot be held responsible for the emotions that dwell inside us, and when they bottle up they need to be set free before they drown us.   If you wish to say no more that is fine, I will understand … as I will understand the need for you to put on your sunglasses to combat the glare.”

   Rosetta was slightly, though happily, taken back by Joseph’s sensitivity to her feelings and discomfort and looked hard at him; for the second time Rosetta took more notice of the man from whom she was seeking help.   And again they clasped hands, only this time it was Rosetta who initiated the personal attachment to her action in retaking Joseph’s hands in hers.   “Grazia, Joseph, for being the man that you are.”

   “You are welcome.”  Joseph replied, quietly, kindly and slightly worried that his face was becoming a bright shade of red. 

   Like Rosetta, Joseph, too, was finding his feelings hard to describe … and even harder to understand.   His life, and especially his midday meal were always decidedly dull, and now, suddenly, and completely by a case of mistaken identity, he was being bedazzled by the most beguiling woman that he ever seen … and the story that she was revealing to him had him riveted to the spot.   Reality told him to cut her short, before she told him too much, to explain he really was someone other than whoever she thought he was, but the excitement of the tale intrigued him as much as the strange exhilaration that rolled through his body as he sat spellbound in her company.   He was by now quite willing to let caution fly in the wind.  He had to know more.   But Joseph also knew deep down that this meeting was not going the way that it should have according to his plans, and he was fast running out of ideas that would bring it back on track. 

   “You are full of surprises, Joseph.  I had expected a hard-nosed professional.   I was not expecting someone who would show compassion.  It is nice.”

   “You are embarrassing me.”  Joseph complained, barely managing to contain just how close to the truth were his words.”

   Far more relaxed than she had been earlier, Rosetta continued with her tale. “I won’t embarrass you anymore, Joseph,” Rosetta said quietly, a broad smile covering her face, but her hands were not pulling back from Joseph’s soft but comforting reciprocal grip,  “I promise.  My father was found at the side of a road some distance from the farm where he had been staying.   He was unconscious when they found him by the roadside.   He regained consciousness long enough to say the name ‘Vittorio Borga’ then relapsed into unconsciousness, only this time it was into a coma and the doctors can offer no known cure for his condition.  It could be years before he becomes out of the coma – if he ever does.”

   “I am truly sorry to hear that, Rosetta.   But, tell me, who or what is a Vittorio Borga?” Joseph asked.

    “Borga is my uncle’s name.  He and my father are stepbrothers.  They had the same mother, but different fathers.  My father’s father, my grandfather, died the day that my father was born.   My grandmother remarried about three years later and Vittorio was born a year after that.  

   Once they were old enough to play together, my father and Vittorio became inseparable.  When my father developed a taste for archaeology, my uncle also took an avid interest in it.  It wasn’t a case of his having no mind of his own – it was more of a unique bonding of minds.  They were both on the same wavelength.  So much so, it seemed at times that my uncle was my father’s clone.   He was working with my father just before the relics disappeared.   However, we haven’t been able to contact him since the attack on my father.  We think that he is in hiding with the relics, and we fear for his safety.”

   “Who are we?”

   “My Mother, Martin, and myself, of course.”

   “And what makes you think that he is in hiding and has not simply run away with the statue?   I assume it is quite valuable.”  

   “He would never do that.   My uncle is a good man … and I told you, the statue is too large for one man to move – so it must be hidden somewhere.  We – Martin and I, that is, think that he may have witnessed the attack on my father so he knows who is after him and what they want, but has managed to escape them – at least for the moment … but he is not safe.   Like you, Martin has contacts, and his sources indicate that the Punjani were responsible for the attack on my father, but they failed to get what they were after, and they are still looking for the relics.”

   “Do you believe that they attacked your father?” 

   “Yes.  The Punjani now reside in London we have been told … it would be easy for them to spy on him and try to steal the relics … attack him if they needed to.  His condition was not as a result of a physical attack.  Blood tests showed traces of Ramanes.”

   “Ramanes,” Joseph interjected with a tinge of excitement, “the drug they discovered in the Easter Islands not so long ago, the one that can extend your life by ten or twenty years?”

   “No, that is Rapamycin according to the doctor who examined my father,” she grinned.   “I remember he mentioned it in passing,” then Rosetta’s face grew darker at the memory that had returned, “I am afraid he rambled on a bit with his excitement when he discovered what had caused my father’s condition.  I think he was a bit beside himself with it all, and he called it rapamycin, but quickly corrected himself.   Ramanes is an ancient drug that was used to make the receiver suffer hallucinations and forgetfulness for years after being infected.  It is believed to be the preferred choice of the Punjani when attempting to destroy an enemy’s ability to harm them, without killing him. There is a cure for it, but few people beside the Punjani know what it is. That is where you come in.  It is obvious that they did not kill my father because they could not find the relics.   Martin said that you might be able to help us track down my uncle, or perhaps the statue itself, then locate the Punjani and do a trade – the relics for the cure.

   So now you can see why it is so necessary that we find Vittorio, especially if he is hiding the statue.   He probably has no idea whatsoever about the exchange offer the Punjani have made to us.  And to make matters worse they may view him, or at least his actions, hostile if they approach him.   I know that I said that he emulated everything that my father did, well that part is true, but there was more to it than that.   My uncle has an illness, a mental illness that can instantly change his moods and intelligence from what appears to be normal – to being almost edging on insanity.   His large heart and compassionate nature would change dramatically to something very, very inhumane   The doctors have warned us for years that to miss his daily intake of medication would eventually turn his entire mind set to that of Neanderthal man.

   A bit like the character in Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde, but he has never transformed into that hideous character; he took his medication with regular monotony and we have never seen him in any state other than the jovial, beautiful person that he is.   My father has never seen him do anything but an unblemished day’s work, both in our home in Italy, or at the various digs that they have travelled around the world to for months at a time.   However without the medication the chances of a horrendous change to his mental state is unfortunately very, very real.   He has been on medication ever since he was diagnosed with the disease at the age of seven.   They think he inherited it from his father who committed suicide in extremely strange circumstances not long after his diagnosis with the disease.   With the medication suppressing his other self he has led a normal life, and though not quite as bright as my father, he is easily able to understand the mechanisms of archaeology from my father’s teachings and has become a most reliable assistant in my father’s eyes.   But without the medication and my father’s guidance we fear for both of them … my uncle for his sanity – and my father’s life as a result of my uncle’s insanity if he is not able to tell us the whereabouts of the statue.   It is imperative that we find him before the Punjani do, or at least find the statue, and complete the exchange as soon as possible.”  

   Now Joseph was in a dilemma.   He wondered if it had already become too late to convince her that he was not the one that she had expected to meet.   She had told him too much and he knew that there was no way that he was going to come up with a quick fix solution to this problem – this problem had become way beyond his daily routine, and way past his thought processing abilities.   And to make matters worse for himself, he found he was seriously wanting to become involved.   This was an adventure in the offering and it sounded exciting, if not a little dangerous.   And Rosetta was the perfect bait to drag him into the deep water … and danger.  

   ‘But how much danger would be involved in searching for the statue on a farm for a couple of days,‘ his adrenaline filled mind whispered to him,  ‘or asking the locals if they had seen Rosetta’s uncle in the past few days?’    And as one part of his mind questioned the sanity of another part of his own mind’s questions an idea began to surge through his mind.   ‘It’s a holiday weekend coming up, so I could spend a couple of days searching for the statue and asking around,’ he thought, then, if we hadn’t found anything by Monday  I could tell her that I had been called away to an important job for the government.   She thinks that I do this kind of work all of the time, so she would have to believe me … and this Martin chap could continue the search.   Good show, old boy, well done.’

   “How did the doctor decide that it was Romanus if it is so rare?”  Joseph asked as he desperately tried to get his adrenaline cooled down somewhat so he could think a bit clearer on what he was considering.

   “Ramanes,” Rosetta laughed, not Romanus.  The doctor happened to be originally trained in the Middle East and had done a thesis on ancient drugs during his university days.”

   “An amazing coincidence – I should have thought?  To have your father drugged with some rare drug and then just happen to have him examined by someone with experience in it!”

  “My, aren’t you the cynical one.”   Rosetta said, her eyes twinkling as she spoke,   “Do not worry, Joseph – there is nothing suspicious there – the doctor was just as surprised as anyone when he made that discovery.  It was only after he had my father’s blood analysed that he recognised the composition.”

   “And he had no antidote?”

   “No, unfortunately, his studies had only gone as deep as identifying the components and uses for the ancient medication, not for remedies.”

   “Pity,”   Joseph looked at the time and realised he would have to leave.   Then as he began to rise out of his seat he looked deep into Rosetta’s large, round, sad, brown eyes.   And as he did his mind snapped and he succumbed to a side of himself he never knew existed, and even then it is very doubtful that Joseph would ever really understand exactly why he made the rash statement that he did next.

   “Do you know the Camira Hotel on James?”   He asked.

   “Yes.”

   “Meet me there at six tonight: The Marble bar.”

   “Grazie, Joseph,”   Rosetta agreed happily, “six o’clock at the Camira.   I knew you were at the right table, my heart told me so.   Ciao, Joseph.   Till tonight”

    The smile on Rosetta’s face was as warm as the touch of her lips as she leaned over and gave Joseph a kiss on the cheek.

Go to Episode 14