Sunday, December 20, 2009

The Durlseys

The Dursleys are Harry Potter's only know relatives and foster family. It is easy to demonize them as horrible people who are small minded and intolerant of anything outside their narrow scope of life. And to a point that is very true.
I have a friend named Pam that like them quite a bit. Now Pam is about as far from the Dursleys as one can get. She is nice and opened minded and willing to give anybody a chance. So, it was always a head scratcher to me when she would mention how she liked them. Mostly I'd give a small chuckle and say yea, and change the subject.
That was until yesterday, I started to think about them and their role in the Harry Potter story and their role in life in general. I have not been very open minded or tolerant about them and, in fact, have turned into a Dursley of sorts.
Let's look at how they treat Harry. Yes, they are horrible to him, they kept him in a closet under the stairs. They made him do a lot of work. They yelled at him for things he didn't do. The list goes on and on. However, it doesn't include beating, except from the son Dudley, but how many siblings can say they didn't get in fights with each other. They never swore at him, and they did warn him before they'd punish him.
Why would the Dursleys behave like this toward him? Well, for the most part, they were scared and I would even go as far as to say, scared for him.
They didn't like Wizards. People get upset about them for that. But why? They don't do anything against them. They just ignore them and go on with their life as best they can. If only the world had more people like that in it. So, they don't like wizards, and know what kind of trouble it can be to be one, ie. Lily and James Potter, so they want nothing to do with them and then out of nowhere, they get stuck with one. And not just any wizard, Harry Potter, the most dangerous wizard to date. All of the Dark Wizards are looking for him and if the spell Dumbledore put on the Dusley's house were to break, they would all be dead. I know... That would scare me too.
So, they are scared, and the life as they knew it is ruined forever. But like good Brits, they keep a stiff upper lip most of the time. Dudley ends up wishing that Harry would go with them when the Wizards make them pick up and move because they are in danger of the Dark Lord. (again, who can blame them for not liking the magic community). Dudley, who had his life saved by Harry, really started to like his cousin. But, if Harry was never around he would have never been in that danger, or even if Harry wasn't a Wizard.
As the beginning of the first book said, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number 4 Privet Drive, were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. And all of that was ripped away from them. Perhaps, you'd like to think you'd handle it better, but I bet you'd get annoyed more than you're prepared to admit to.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

The Old Sailor

The old sailor stood on the shore. The waves hissed as they washed back and forth over the sand and weeds which littered the shore. The sun set in a multitude of colors taking his breath away.

He stood, staring at the sea, searching, pining, longing, and yet if pushed could not tell you what he was longing for. A larger wave lapped at the sand reaching close to his feet. A small thrill slithered down his spine. He lit his pipe and sighed.

Twenty years he had been retired. It was nice at first; a time of relaxation, knowing he didn't have to get up and prep his ship everyday for a voyage. He liked that he could spend his autumn days with his wife and friends always at his side. He had given his shipping business to his son. His son made the business even more successful than the old sailor had.

Then, after two years, he son died in a tragic accident. During a summer storm out at sea, his son's ship collided with an ocean liner. The lightening ruined both his and the liner's navigational systems. His son, as a good captain of integrity, went down with the ship, he could have excepted, but his engineers couldn't, he tried to save them. The rest is history.

Of course, full of sorrow the old sailor was also filled with pride over his son's noble efforts, he'd have done the same. He was glad he was able to have taught his son to be such an upright young man and good captain, he just wish his son didn't have had to prove it in such a final way.

Time, as it does, lessened the pain, just the scar remained.

A year to the day, after his son's untimely death, his wife died from the drink. Not her fault she only her usual glass of wine at supper. It was a drunk driver that hit her car. She was on the way to store for, he he forgets, it doesn't matter now anyhow.

Every evening at sunset the Old sailor goes to the sea and looks, he longs, and fights back tears.

“Mister, what are you looking for?” The voice was young.

The Old sailor looks down and sees a boy of eight look at him with wide curious eyes.

“I don't know.” Said the Old sailor quietly.

“I sailed with my dad for the first time yesterday. Have you ever sailed before?” The little boy asked with such innocence. “There is nothing else like it!”

The boy reminded him of a couple of other kids he'd known,

He smiled at the boy, “I've spent most m'life in a boat, lad.”

“My dad said you are looking for something and wanted me to help you. He said that he used to sail with you.”

The old man nodded slowly. He had many men join his crew over the years.

“Well, there's a boat over there in the bay,” the boy pointed west, “let's go find what you're looking for!”

“I don't think it's out there, lad, not anymore.” The Old sailor puffed on his pipe. Yet, the sea did seem to call for him.

He looked at the boy. The boy looked to be about fifteen. This shook the Old sailor.

The teenager smiled. “I know where to look, I know what you've lost.”

“What,” whispered the Old sailor.

The boy was now about the age his son was when he died. He grabbed the Old sailor by the arm and led him toward the bay as night fell.

“You've lost your destiny? Your meaning? We both know, lets sail old friend, it's what we're made to do.”
The young and old men walked silently towards the wharf. The ship was an old one, like the Old sailor's father had in the early 1900s. They prepped the ship, and sailed off into the ocean.

No one ever saw the old man again, but then, no one was really looking either.

 

This is just a short story to give you some food for thought. It is ambiguous on purpose so you can glean your own meaning. I’d enjoy hearing what you have to say about it.

Friday, April 10, 2009

Exile

This is the beginning of a short, but it may be a long short story about the beginning of a wandering warrior band, not unlike the Fianna. Anyway, this is just the very start, I wanted to get this online so that Nathan can see I haven’t forgotten about our story, yes, it does take place in a very early age of Tir Na Thonn. I am trying to get a feel for the land and it’s people, and so I thought I would do a story that had a lot of character development and setting description. I will add more later this week (well in this seven-day)

 

Heavy clouds hung over the high iron-colored peaks, lancets of lightning probed and flashed. Thunder rumbled like a distant avalanche through the mountain valley. A lone warrior stood on a rocky ridge.

A wound sliced open his face from cheek to temple exposing white bone, he gingerly touched around the laceration, it was swollen and tender. He shook his head, disgusted with himself.  For the first time in his twenty seven years he had been defeated. The whole warrior band had been defeated, and he knew from the start the raid was foolish, but greed had gotten the better of his clan.

That wasn't to say he lost in a one on one battle, he estimated fifteen warriors were punching, kicking and clubbing him. He fended them off as well as he could, but it wasn't enough. And so he stood, a broken sword, a broken body, a broken spirit.

The clouds cracked open sprinkling rain. The warrior went back to the narrow trail in search of shelter. The rain worsened and the temperature dropped, still in early spring the temperature would easily drop below freezing by night fall.

After a short while he found a shallow cave. It was dry and full of last autumns leaves. He smiled at himself, a cave, isn't that a fitting place to die, by himself, wounded, without sword and exhausted. He wasn't going to die cold; he could see his breath form vapors out his mouth. He sat and using some of the leaves and sticks within his reach he started a small fire.

Flames licked at the leaves, finding it liked the nourishment blossomed into a fire attaching itself to the sticks.

The Warrior put his hands out and warmed them. The fire’s glow spread throughout the cave warming his body enough to relax for the first time in days.

It was then, when he could finally relax that his body finally felt the pain. His ribcage burst into a pain that seared through his back.  The cut on his face felt like it was a blacksmiths forge.

He took the leather cup that hung on his belt and filled it with rain water. After several pulls for himself, he filled it again and warmed it near the fire. He bathed his open wound, cleansing out any possible poison. He washed the blood out of his hair, then he tenderly blotted his broken ribs. The warrior's muscles eased while the pain dulled.

He knew he'd need more fuel for the fire, larger sticks, he hoped for logs. After a half an hour he found enough fuel to sustain a good sized fire through the night. The fire grew as he added the logs and sticks. The flame played shadow games on the walls of the cave.

The Warrior laid by the fire in an attempt to sleep off some of the pain.

Friday, April 3, 2009

Spiders first draft

Here is a long short story, I wrote this in two sittings and I need to re-work this baddly, but I figure now that I have a reader he could help me out and give me hints if he wants. Yes, I do have the main character Sean describe his own death, deal with it.

It was the winter of 1999 when my friend Jared and I decided it was time for us to attempt to rob the jewelry store on the west part of town. We have done little heists here and there, mostly grifting, conning, or minor shoplifting. Jared told me that our lives of toil could come to a perfect end if only we tried to find something bigger to steal than minor trinkets and moneys. I was inclined to believe him, for me thieving was more than just getting money or items, to me, burglering was about adventure, it was a way for my mind to find a puzzle and solve it. I would look at all of the angles, measure every cost, find every nook and cranny that may help us, and after I have calculated every slightest detail, it became an adventure to see if we had what it took to pull it off. And so, at his suggestion, my mind started to whirl. The analytical part of my mind welcomed the challenge with great anticipation. We decided that the best jewelry store to attempt our heist would be the small, yet elegant, store called Soma’s Jewelry. Jory Soma was the sole proprietor and jeweler of the establishment: it was well known that he did not have much of a security system since he believed our town was small and full of decent folk who would not be as crass or low brow as to steal anything. He did lock the door; after all, one cannot be stupid. It was on that knowledge, which was indeed correct, that we proceeded to plot our visit.

For two straight weeks we planned, we plotted, we analyzed, we studied, and we rehashed everything in order to make this a heist which we would not regret. We looked at every angle, we agonized over minute details which we would have never thought of, but did out of fear of getting caught and put away for more years than we wished to wrap our minds around. We poured all of our efforts into this robbery. We made arrangements as to where we would run away to when we had finished our job; we had two other backup places to go if any of them would fail on us. We knew every inch of the store, as we had visited it several times during those two weeks. We found a back door in case that needed to be used, we found that we didn’t even need to break the glass, since the door was so old that the locking mechanism just barely worked, it was almost a false pretense. Our confidence rose and our spirits grew excited with each moment the day came closer. It wasn’t going to be easy, but then, it wasn’t going to be the hardest target we would ever hope to find either. From every angle we looked, this was going to be in the bag and we would be well out of the state before Jory Soma even bothered to get to work the next day. Such arrogance! We did have a concern about the lack of security that surrounded his place: at first I did not want to believe it was just because of the nice neighborhood it was located in, but the more we thought it through, and the more we analyzed it, the more logical it seemed. It did bother me to the last day though, to be that trusting just seemed to be so far fetched. Eight hours before our night of fortune we went over all of our plans again, memorizing everything we needed, and making everything second nature. We have looked at all angles; we both smiled our satisfactory smiles of known success.

We did miss one very important angle. If we would have done a character study on Mr. Jory Soma we would not have missed it. Well, I say that, but both Jared and I know that this single piece of information would not have mattered to us, our minds were too analytical, too pragmatic, to believe any of what we now know. Mr. Soma, a very respected citizen, was a part, in high standing, of the Cult of Luthluthian. For those of my readers who do not know, Luthluthian is one of the Four whom God used to create the universe as we know it. The Four now reside in the Dreamscape, where they yet hold some power over this side of reality. It was this angle that we missed; it was for this reason Jory Soma did not have a security system, as a benefit of Luthluthian’s worship, he gives a certain amount of protection which is very effective when properly used.

Jared and I donned our black sweat suits and masks one hour before our adventure. By this time we had everything burned into our brains as to what we were going to do. We took our black felt bags and black Mag-Lite flashlights and drove two blocks to the south of Soma’s Jewelry, parked and walked to the store. The hour was one A.M. and the street was empty of people and cars. This is usual for the west part of town; the residential parts are mainly to the north and east. We neared the store when Jared stopped and put arm across my torso.

“Do you hear something?” He asked. We both stood perfectly still and indeed I could. It sounded like whispering, only it seemed to be coming from hundreds of miles away, or perhaps like the distant whispering voices over crossed lines heard on a cheap phone.

“There’s no one around,” I hissed. “Must be hearing things.”

“Probably it’s our nerves,” he whispered back, “this job is our biggest yet.”

I nodded in agreement. I shook my head to clear it. The whispering voices did not stop. We started walking toward Soma’s Jewelry again, this time walking with caution. The whispering voices grew slightly louder as we drew closer to the store. It seemed at first, they were speaking in a strange otherworldly language, similar to what fire might sound like if it could speak. Still we pushed on.

We were a half a block away when the ethereal language merged into English. “Listen,” said Jared. I was even before he told me to.

“Desist, stop, go back, you know not what you are getting yourselves into. Go away, nobody wants you here, death for you, madness unknown, you’re asking for it...” those were the sorts of things the voices were whispering.

“It’s kids, from the alleys. They’re trying to scare us and be tough, you know.” explained Jared, not even bothering to whisper. “Let’s just keep with the plan, we’ll be gone before they ever know what we’re doing.”

I looked around and indeed, there were more alleys than I remembered. The voices didn’t seem to be coming from them, nor did they sound like children. We were a half a block away when I felt something resembling a foot right in front of mine. At first I thought it was Jared’s then decided he was too far over to my right to trip my left foot. Mostly I was thinking about not falling. However, my thoughts went awry when my other foot hit a patch of ice and sent me flying into the air. Then there was a sharp pain on the back of my head as it hit the pavement then there was blackness, a cold deep blackness that seem to absorb everything into it. I felt that I must have been knocked out, but wondered why, if I was knocked out, I was still able to think. The whispering voices we ever present even in the blackness.

I shook my head to clear it, and the blackness dissipated, in its place a grey light shown and fuzzy object, nearly resembling things started to appear. A narrow stream to my left wound itself past me and into a forest which lay behind me. In front of me there came into my vision a sapling resembling the most generic tree I’ve ever seen. Grass of a particular green appeared under my feet and stretched out over the land. The sky turned from a light grey of steel clouds to an electric blue and then to an emerald green. The whispering voices grew from whispers to small voices and before me I saw to perhaps twelve little figures. Their bodies seemed to consist of mostly hair and the way they moved would suggest that perhaps there wasn’t much else under it. Their faces were completely devoid of any form of hair, they had a fat nose that turned to an upward point. Their mouths seemed to have been cut into their flesh with a physician’s scalpel. They moved in slithers and some bounced. The most bazaar aspect of these little things were, when they moved, their eyes seemed to stay behind for half a moment and, in golden blue streaks, rejoined their faces. My mind had a hard time wrapping itself around that sight. I blinked to help my mind adjust... but it didn’t help.

The little creatures seemed to be lining up in two rows parallel with the stream. All the while they chattered in short chirps that seemed to be words but none I recognized. They seemed to want me to walk down the path in which they made. They were hopping, or swaying, but always in movement, little eye streaks always present making it look like postmodern art done on a computer. Yet, through all of their movement they kept their place in line. Their voice, chirps, seemed to be encouraging, their eyes alluring, but I hesitated. Finally the thought hit me, where the hell am I? I wondered if it was a dream. Before I could wonder for too long, their chirping became sharper, perhaps more earnest, as if demanding me to follow down the path they had created. Maybe, it was their eyes, that could be it, the hypnotic aspect of their eyes, streaks following their faces, in a color unlike any other, whatever the cause, I found my feet treading toward them, willing themselves. I began to think, well, it would be ok, I really don’t know where I am, I might as well go somewhere, so why not follow these little fellows, they seem to know what this place is all about.

When I approached the first of the creatures, it chirped at me politely. I couldn’t help but look at it and smile in response. I surveyed my surroundings as my feet brought me along the small creature created path. Everything directly around me was in sharp focus to my eyes, however, everything twenty feet away from me was a hazy blur of colors that did resemble trees, or sky, or grass, and other such landscape, but only in the way an impressionistic artist would represent it. The furry little things kept encouraging me along with their words. When I came toward the end of their path the ones from the back would hop and slither ahead of the front ones. Their disciplined uniform movements would have impressed the most hardened of drill sargants, expect for the constant bobbing and swaying. In this fashion they lead me toward the forest and we stopped about ten feet from the first wall of trees. They formed a circle around me and their chirps turned into an unworldly thrill giggle that made my ears feel like they were going to burst. Then, they went ballistic hopping and dancing, jumping high and landing on their heads, some spun in quick little circles that made their eye streaks made multicolored rings. Their insane giggling swelled into a mind splitting crescendo which lasted a thousand years, or perhaps a small moment, either way it was too much. All of the lights, all of the movement, all of the noise, it made me tremble in fear. I tried to look away, but it was so fascinating, or perhaps hypnotic, that I could not avert my gaze. The clutter of sensation filled my mind well past the point of tolerance. Soon I realized that I was screaming in protest at the top of my lungs, though I could not hear myself, demanding with all of the authority I could muster, for them to stop. Tears were streaming from my eyes, I could feel them streaking across my face in searing rivers. I looked up at the sky and fell to my knees.

The sky was a tear blurred green. My body felt that it would tear itself apart. My stomach heaved in protest and I vomited in terrible spasms, it felt like my whole abdomen was going to come out of my mouth inside out. Then, it stopped, all of it stopped, and the blackness returned. During this time of darkness, snapshots of strange memories swam in my mind. All of the little creatures hysterically hopped, or slithered, or jumped away. A broken piece of a crystal shard fell out of one of them. Voices told me to pick it up. I laid down. Voices: sleep, go home, we like you, get away now! Then blackness. Then nothing.

My eyes cracked open. The first thing I saw was an emerald sky. I felt like my brains were leaking out of my head’s sweat pores. “Jared,” I said.

“No, that is not my name.” A voice replied. I felt a gentle hand touch my cheek and forehead. I tried to move away from it, but my body did not seem interested in responding. “Don’t try to move yet. Your body has gone through too much for one day, allow it to rest.” I saw a hand move across my eyes. It was deathly pale, to the point where I could see all of his blood veins and vessels through the skin, like the blue lines of a river on a map.

“What do you mean a lot?” I asked. I’m not sure why.

“Well, for starters, your soul has entered The Dreamscape. And then you endured the attacks of the Djiggerries.” The memory came back in a wave of sick bile, my stomach heaved. “You needn’t recall it so early after the fact. You can be glad that they were not attacking you.”

“Weren’t attacking me? What were they doing then? It sure feels like they showed me who was boss.” I said.

“No, no, you would not be here if the attack was bent on you.”

“It would have killed me?”

“No, they would have thrown your soul out of existence. In The Dreamscape there is no dying, there is only existing or not existing. Since you are from the Mortal Plane, your mortal body would have withered away into a sort of nothingness. Any memory of you would have been enveloped into oblivion, you would just become nothing more than any document you might have signed or, if you have published anything, debates would start, wondering if you ever existed or if you were just a pseudo-name used for a few men writing stories in the same vain.”

“Sounds like Shakespeare,” I said. The pain in my head had not eased yet, but my mind was beginning to clear. The figure moved his head in my line of sight. He was very thin, his face was not sickly thin, however, you could see his cheek bone clearly. He wore a leather fedora, a leather coat that looked like an old European Highwayman cloak. His features were sharp; perhaps they were chiseled out of three million old translucent rock. Upon seeing him for the first time, a gentle, soft rain of terror blanketed my soul.

“Who are you,” I asked.

“That is neither here nor there. I am who I am, and you are who you are. The question is not so much who one is, as, what is our intentions. I know yours that is why I sent for you. What you should ask, instead of who am I, is, what are my intentions.”

“My intentions? What do you mean you know intentions?” I was thoroughly confused. I thought my head wasn’t as clear as I assessed.

“We can go about this in that direction I suppose. I shall be the judge and you the defendant. It seemed that you intended to steal my servant’s livelihood. A servant who serves me well, and asks for very small payment in return. When need should arise for help I take it very seriously.”

“I have no ill intentions. I am a bastion of all things virtuous.” I had this misleading idea that I could handle judges just because I had been a criminal all of my life. How was I to know that I was lying to a god?

The translucent man laugh, a sound that rumbled the ground under us. It was a sound that inspired fear like nothing I have ever known. “ ‘Bastion of all things virtuous,’ are you? Then to be punished for your wickedness would be what you expect, even what you desire. You are a funny little man.”

“You have no right to punish me.” Through the fear anger swelled from my heart.

“I have the authority as I see fit. I tire of your insolence. I will not undo your soul as I first had planned. Instead, I shall teach you a life long lesson. Are you afraid of spiders?” His looked dared me to say no.

And so I did.

Darkness again.


Consciousness took over my body by way of voices. “Hullo sir, are you ok?” “Hey man, wake up” “I hope he’s not dead.” “No, if he was dead, he wouldn’t be breathing.” “Do you suppose he’s in a coma and will never come out” “Look! His eyes are moving. See, inside his lids”

I opened my eyes. Light from a window was beaming directly onto my face, two human shaped outlines were before me.

“Well, well, it would seem your friend has decided to join us.” That voice came from the short, plump figure.

“Hey there, welcome back, did you have a nice dream?” The question from the taller skinny shape was drenched in relief.

“Could someone shut the window,” I asked. The skinny shape stood up and moved toward the light. With the window shut the shapes took more familiar forms.

Jared, the tall shape, looked at the short, well fed, old gentleman who sat at the foot of my bed. It dawned me to later that I was laying on my bed, when, it seemed, only a few moments earlier I had fallen near Soma’s Jewlery, but after my dream I was just glad to be someplace familiar. Jared walk beside the gentleman and said something in a small voice I could not quite catch. To which the gentleman nodded his head.

“Welcome back to the mortal plain sir. I am Jory Soma, I dreampt about you lastnight. I trust you are feeling a lot better, does your head still ache? How is your stomach?”

“Jory!” I said. I looked over at Jared, he sighed. “Er, I’m feeling a lot better now that you mention it. I felt like I have slept for at least two days.” I yawned and scratched my face, it was prickly with whiskers.

Jared said. “Mr. Soma knows about our little plan. He said that he would not call the authorities on us. He’s very understanding. He says we’ll have punishment enough. I guess we forgot one angle, your clumsiness.” He laughed at his joke. Jory didn’t seem to find it funny. His face stayed very serious.

“What did you dream about while you were away?” He asked me. I looked at him, understanding seemed to indeed be in his eyes, but not the same understanding as Jared talked about.

“I dreamt about funny looking creatures in a strange land. I dreamt about a man. I say man, but the terror that he radiated made him seem more than just a man. What did you dream about?”

“I dreamt dreams of guilty men mocking the face of justice. I dreamt dreams of a poor young man who stumbled into matters that are quite beyond his ken, though he only has himself to blame. I dreamt of a young man who is going to have a life that will drastractly turn into Perdition within the next four hours. A young man who choose the wrong person to have an athority problem with. The man, whom you felt radiated terror is my diety, Luthluthian, one of the Four Creator gods. Luthluthian created a very interesting idea, it’s called terror, in a sense, you mocked Terror itself. That, on top of trying to rob my store, you shall learn what Terror really means. Some time in the next four hours you shall have the beginning of the spiders, and they shall return to remind you of your folly every four hours for the rest of your life. With that, I say, good day to you sirs, I shall see myself out.” He put on his hat and over coat and walked away. I never saw him again, nor did I have any wish to.

“Now that, is some crazy shit.” Said Jared. “What did he mean by spiders?”

“I don’t know. It was part of my dream, that Luthluthian, or whatever his name was, asked if I was afraid of spiders.”

“Are you?” he asked.

“Not really, I was when I was a little kid, but out grew it about the time I out grew Santa Clause. How long was I out?”

“For two days,” he said. “I was afrad you were going to be in that coma forever. I’ve heard stories about people who died hitting their heads in falls like that, you gave me a nice scare.”

“It’s over now.” I said. “I think we should find something to eat.”

“Alright, my stomach isn’t feeling well, probably because I haven’t eaten about as long as you have.”

We walked to our favorite resturant. It was a wine cafĂ© with a French atmosphere. It was one of those resturants that seemed to have a large yet quiet crowd in it at all times. It was a nice place to relax in and their food was excellent. We ordered a bottle of wine to soothe Jared’s stomach. Then we ordered our food.

Jared said. “If I just run off, it’s only because I’m going to throw up.” He held his stomach as a mother holds her baby.

“That’s just like you isn’t it?” I teased, “I finally wake up, and it revolts you enough to become physically sick.”

He stared at me, his face had an expression of sudden panic, or overwhelming fear. “My stomach feels like butterflies or something is moving around in it. Like millions of little butterflies fluttering.” His face went severly pale.

“Do you want to see a doctor?” I asked. He looked as if he was going to nod his head yes, however, before he had a chance too a few of the patrons made groans of disgust. A male voice rang out, “That’s a lot of spiders.” And, on the north wall, there was at least five hundred spiders crawling down onto the floor. Jared looked at me, he had forgotten about his stomach problem and simply pointed behind me. I turned to look and saw the south wall was also full of stampeding spiders. Both of us, without saying a word got out of our seats and, makeing as few movements as we could, backed our way out the door.

“Holy shit,” said Jared. “That’s just eerie. How could so many spiders come out at once like that? Where did they come from?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“I wonder if it has to do with what Jory was talking about?” Jared once again had his arms holding his stomach.

“O hell, you can’t really believe that Jory is responsible? I suppose your stomach hurts because he’s got a pin in a voodoo doll that resembles you. Anyway, it’s just now that we notice spiders because they were just talked about a half an hour ago.” I said that with a lot more conviction then I actually felt. I wondered if maybe I really would get attacked by spiders. How ridicules, I shook my head a little sad I would even entertain such a thought.

“We should go for a walk or something. I don’t feel at all well.” He burped.

“Alright,” I said. “Let’s go over by the park. Fresh air would be good for both of us.”

And so we walked. It seemed that at every building we passed I would spot a spider. Sometimes I saw spider webs in the trees that decorate the sidewalk of the town. It seemed strange, but the spiders that I saw seemed to stop moving and look up at us. I thought I was loosing it. Spiders watching us? I was beginging to think that perhaps my mind still hadn’t fully recovered from the fall. A couple of brain cells were still rattling around in my head, free floaters that would fall out, or die, or do whatever it is cells do after they’re done rattling inside heads.

When we got to the park there were spiders everywhere. Even Jared noticed that, he went to a drinking fountian to get a sip of water. When he pushed the button a spider sprang out of the water nozzle. He jumped back just as quick and said he didn’t think he was as thirsty as he thought. I started to feel like he and I were on a terrible LSD trip sharing the same hallucinations. We sat on a bench. There was a tree above us and in retrospect it was stupid for us to sit there, all sorts of spiders came down from the tree on their thin webs and landed all over me. I suppose in a different setting I would have made Little Miss Muffet jokes but here I just sreamed. They were getting into my hair, and down the back of my shirt. I was hitting them, killing some of them off, but for each one I killed several would take it’s spot. I stood up and yelled, and hit myself trying to get them off.

I looked at Jared for help. He shook his head in amazement. What could he do to help? I was screaming his name anyway, but he didn’t move, he just watched. And then, he hunched over and started to vomit, but, it wasn’t vomit that came up. Spiders streamed out of his mouth by the hundereds, wet, full of stomach acid and mucus, they slimmed their way over to me. Spiders where coming up from holes in the ground, they were hairy and brown. Everywhere I looked spiders where coming at me in swarms. They tickled my skin with their light legs. Daddy Longleg spiders where getting into my mouth and sliding down my throat choking off my screams. Tiny black spiders where squeezing themselves into my eyes and yet they did not blind me. The spiders went under my clothes and fulled every crack, and cranny of my body.

I saw people gawking at me, some screamed, children cried, all of them were running away from me. They were in too much shock to even think about helping me. I clawed at me throat and tried to swallow so that I could breath again. I wondered if they were getting into my lungs, I wondered if I was going to live. Then, when I thought I was going to pass out for lack of breath I saw a giant spider. It’s body looked to weigh at least fifty pounds. It’s evil legs were ten feet long, the knees well above the body, it’s eyes were huge and I saw my reflection in the millions of facets. The most terrorising part of the it was it’s pinchers. What a horror to look upon, they could have easily fit my head into them and piecred all the way through my brain. It crouched, reared it’s body back and jumped. Fear seized my whole being at the sight of giant spider landing on me. The sight of my death allowed me enough power to let out one last scream, spiders shot out of my mouth as my voice released from my abdominal cavity. I fell to the ground, my spider covered hands sprang up to protect my spider filled neck. The spider bound right on my back smashing me to the ground knocking my breath out of me. Then it jumped again, I looked up and saw that it was bounding away. All of the other spiders crawled off and out of me at the same time. Just as fast as they came, there were no sign of them.

I was still on the ground and noticed that I was crying in huge sobs that took the effort of my whole body. Jared ran up to me.

“What the hell just happened?” He asked. He patted my back. I hit his hand away.

“Don’t touch me.” I screamed between sobs. “I don’t want anything to touch me.” With that I crumpled to the ground and passed out.


Some one was shaking me. I felt it in my sleep, in my dreams millions of spiders where pushing me back and forth talking in harsh raspy whispers. The shaking seemed to be deeper inside me than just what the spiders where doing. My eyes snapped opened. I rolled away from the hand that was shaking me. A yelp excaped my lips as I jumped up, fell backwards, and scooted acrossed the grass to get away from the hand.

“Hey, it’s just me.” Jared’s face was so full of concern it made my suddenly feel sad.

“This is freaking me out. What the hell are we supposed to do?” He asked. “I’m on your side, I wish you wouldn’t be so afraid of me.”

I just stared at him pushing back tears. It occured to me that Jory said I had four hours between attacks. I still wasn’t sure if I should believe it or not. I was a fool. “How many hours was I asleep for?” I asked.

“What? I don’t know, about two I think, why?”

“Jory Soma told us that every four hours I would get attacked. I wonder if we should believe him?”

“Why the hell wouldn’t we believe him? He seemed to be pretty accurate about the first attack. Holy shit man, did I really throw up all those spiders? We need to get out of here.” His eyes were scanning every single object that was close to us in the park. He seemed to expect the spiders to pop out of nowhere.

I wasn’t too far behind him. I knew I needed to keep my head, after all, this didn’t kill me, and he didn’t seem to be hurt or ill either. “There has to be some logical explanation, and some rational answer to all this. There must be some way we can get out of all this, it’s just another puzzle.”

“Are you stupid? Logical? Can you tell me what’s logical about any of the shit that’s happend? I puked spiders until my guts were ready to explode, and you.... I’ve never seen so many spiders in my life, holy shit! All over you man! Spiders: coming from everywhere, attacking you like you were their last sorce of food. Look at you, full of red dots from their bites. And that last spider, he was fucking huge. I’m surprised you’re not dead. Logic has nothing to do with any of this.”

After his rant he collapsed and began to weep. I walked over to him and put my hand on his back. He was right of course, but it still seemed to be so impossible. How could any of this actually happen? There weren’t supposed to be any such things as gods, and outside of Dungeons and Dragons curses were as usless as trying to fly on a broom. I wondered briefly if I could fly on a Broom. And yet, just a couple of hours ago I was under attack by a million spiders and this strange new reality said I would be attacked again in a couple of more hours.

“Well Jared,” I started. “I don’t think we’re going to die.”

He looked up at me. “How can you be so sure?”

“In my dream, the one where I met Luthluthian, he told me that he wasn’t going to kill me. He said I was to have a life long lesson. I guess everybody was right.”

Jared frowned, “what do you mean?”

“I was always told our life would catch up with us. I think it finally has. We thought we had that planned so well didn’t we. We knew all the angles. I guess you’re right, we are stupid boys. Let’s go home. I think you need a nap.”

Back at our appartment I lead Jared to his room.

“Hey man,” he said, “you’re going to be here when I sleep right?”

“I think I’m going to go for a walk. I need to think about this, all of this, I need to decide what I’m going to do.”

He protested, I assured him I’d probably be back before he woke up. I could hear him snoring as soon as I opened the door to leave the appartment. A spider was working it’s way down the stairwell while I was walking down it. I felt satisfaction from hearing it’s multiple crunching sounds as my shoe slowly crushed it. Bastard, I thought, now you can’t tell your little friends where I’m going.

The sun was just about gone as I walked out onto the street. The yellow light of the street lamps filled the night air creating a surreal feeling to add to my already eldritch mood. I walked down dark alleys. I did not feel that I ought to be on the regular streets since I did not know when, or if, the next attack was going to actually strike. However, if it did, I was not going to let others see it again like at the park. In one of the alleys there were several spider webs that crossed from one building to the next. The web was strong, I did not think I would be able to pull them down in order to walk the lengths of the alley. Eventually I did. I should have turned at when home right then. Not that it would have made too much of a difference. For it must have been the four hour mark. Out of cracks from the walls tens of hundreds of spiders flooded. They threw themselves onto me. Again they went into every oriphis of my body. They bit me, sending their small bits of poison into my life stream feeling like fire coursing through my body. I screamed at the pain, I screamed at the fact that I was getting attacked again, but mostly I screamed in defiance. As the spiders bit their way down my throat, on the underside of my eye, as they squirmed their way up then down my nose, it came occurred me that I could not live my life like this. This torment could not be endured, I could do nothing for a living this way, I could never hope to have a wife nor family. I would be living for the spiders, I would live for every four hours in anticipation of their arrival, of their tourture, I could think of no worse a hell than where I was at right now. The spiders stayed on me longer this time. I thought I was going to actually die from this attack, it seemed like my lungs were filled too long for me to actually survive, and yet, when the giant spider came for it’s injection of poison into me, I screamed to spiders out of my lungs and again, though I should have been dead I was left lying, helplessly, on the ground sucking in breaths to regain what I have lost, hopelessly alive.

This time I did not pass out. I just layed there, in the middle of the alley looking up into the sky. looking up through the tunnel of two buildings the stars on the black tapastry of space seemed to wink at me. A sort of dark peace fell from them and into my heart. I didn’t know what it was at first, but the more I stared into space, the brighter the answer burned in my mind. There was no way I could possibly live my life like this. I was going to have to end it all. The dark peace turned into a darker sadness. I may not have been the greatest person in the world, but I did like living. Suddenly everything I loved about living came back to me in a down pour. Tears welled up in my eyes and I cried, for I knew the only way was to end everything that I loved, I had to end all that was good and holy in my life. I wept for at least a half an hour, the grief was strong and had to be released if I was going to be able to do anything again. Hot tears seared down my cheaks, at one point in my anguish I almost throught there might be a way I could live with the spiders, but a soon as I thought it, the false hope faded into dispear.

I picked myself up and walked back to the appartment. Jared was still asleep when I reached our place. I went to the kitchen, looked in the one and only cookie jar we owned and took out the .22 pestal we owned. We had gotten it several months ago, it seemed to make us feel safe, especially if we were ever to get cough from one of our grifts or robberies. I did feel the irony when I held the barrel to my temple; it did protect me, but only by ending me. And then, I squinted my eyes, felt tears again and pulled the trigger.

Click. I pulled it again. It didn’t go off. I knew it was loaded, we never used it before but we did fill it up. I aimed it at the floor and pulled the trigger, it shot, and the bullet riqochade harmlessly off the kitchen floor and through the window. It must have been jammed. I held it up to my head again and pulled, again, it did not go off. What the hell, I thought. I threw the gun on the ground, again, it went off, the bullet flying harmlessly off in space.

Fine, I though, I can always find a different way to kill myself. My mind began to find the different angles of this puzzle. For some reason my gun did not shoot off when I held it to my head. Well, I can alway jump off the this appartment complex. I ran for the stairwell and trotted up to the roof. I looked up the last flight of stairs. The door that opened to the roof was ajar. One the hand rail three spiders crawled down toward me. I frowned, What the fuck? It hasn’t been four hours yet. What the hell is going on now? Questions like that splattered throughout my mind I became so mixed up I didn’t even know what was true or what was fabricated in my mind any longer. I forced a burst of energy through my body and ran up the stairs, one at a time. The three spiders tried to attack me, however, made quick work of them. I closed my eyes and leaped through the open door and fell unto the roof.

The night air was cold on my sweat soaked skin. I felt spiders climbing under my pants and shirt. I sprang to my feet hitting my body, trying to kill the spiders, trying to end the tickles, trying not to feel at all. I rubbed my eyes, there it was, there was my relief, it was just ten feet in front of me. Tears fell from my eyes, not the sort of tears that fall when one is deathly afraid, they were the sort of tears that fell because you had just won the Olympic Games, or perhaps, just finished your final masterpeice. I crouched into a sprint stance. With a final intake of air I ran and ran fast. I anticapated the roof’s lip perfectly and leaped with the grace of a diver. Laughter streamed from my mouth, I won, Luthluthian, a god, had been checked mated by me. I plunged down into the darkness of the street twenty stories below me. I would not allow my laughter to die until I did. I felt the freedom, I felt the joy, I won, and I was free of my torment.

I turned myself upside down so that my head would hit first, giving me a swift death. As I looked at the street of the alley I was falling into the terror struck my soul and the laughter chocked in throat. I maneuvered my body so that my back was facing the ground. A moment after that my body was saved by a spider web that was hung between the two buildings that made the alley. It was huge and sticky. I tried to sit up but to move that much of me all at once was impossible. I attempted to just move my left arm, with a great deal of effort I was able to pry it from the adhesive web. I put that hand on a strand of web so I could use it as a base for leverage. It made it easier for me to unstuck my right arm. I put that hand on another strand, from there I eased my back off the web. After I managed to unstuck my legs I got myself so I could crawl.

The street was only five feet under me. I shook my head. Holy Shit, I thought, I can’t believe it, I refuse to fucking believe it. Anger surged through me, a rage I’ve never felt before. I was not surprised to feel the light tickle and hot sting of spiders begin on my arms, legs, and back. I shook my head to myself. I felt the defeat first in my heart, then in my whole being. I couldn’t win, I was just fooling myself, after all, I was playing a game of wits with a god, as if it was fair, a mortal, against a god. I collapsed onto the web. I allowed to spiders to what they would with me. I felt them fill my body. I felt the large spider bite me, taking disks of skin from my lower back, buttocks and thighs. The pain was overwhelming. I started to cry out, to scream, to taunt, but it did no good. The spiders kept on, and the pain became worse. I knew they would not kill me, but just bring me to the point of death, then leave me for another time. I quietly thought to myself, If there is anybody out there, anybody at all who cares, pleast help me. Please let this all end, I beg of you, I plead, I will do whatever you would have me do, I just want this to end.

When I finished my final prayer I heard whispering. It seemed vaguely familiar, as if it came out of a childhood dream. I could not quite make out what the whispering said. It was gibberish, yet, it seemed to sit at the edge of understandable language. After several minutes the words started to become clear to me. Feel the pain. Let it lead you to the edge. Let the pain overwhelm you. Trust us, we like you remember, we can help. The voices whispered on like that for several minutes before the words to form, in my mind it became English, or at least understandable. Let it overwhelm me? I thought I was already over the edge, I did not understand. The pain became stronger. I struggled to stay conscience. Then the words made sense. In that moment I remembered where I had once heard those whispers. I knew then that I had to allow the pain to knock me out. And so, at that moment, I allowed all of my efforts to leave.


Darkness: I heard the whispering still, however, the deeper I went into the darkness the less I understood them. Then, it was gibberish again.


My eyes opened, I saw a landscape blurred as if by tears. I heard the sound of trickling water. I looked toward the sound and saw a narrow stream. The landscape started to sharpen up. I remember this, it all started here, every bit of terror, I was back in the Dreamscape. My stomach heaved, I was back in Luthluthian’s land. I knew that if I looked behind me I would see the outskirts of a forest. I stood up and turned around. Indeed, there was a forest. I knew the answer to the riddle of my sanity was here. I thought about the conversation I had with Luthluthian. He said that this was going to be a life long punishment, that would make logical sense why I couldn’t die when I attempted sucide, he’s a god of course, he can do things to get his way.

In my ponderings I strolled down the river toward the forest. There was a sort of sun in the air. It produced heat, but it’s yellow was a little off from what the sun should be, it seemed a little darker, or perhaps it had too much red in it. The emerald sky seemed at odds with the dark yellow sun. I looked back toward the forest. The instant I saw them I rememebered what they were. The little hairy creatures, with their bald head, and strange golden blue eyes that did not move at the same speed as the rest of their bodies. They were the Djiggerries. I smiled, of course, this was my answer.

The Djiggerries formed their two lines, six on each side. I walked between them in their little path. They churped excited words I didn’t understand. I knew they were the ones who were whispering, they were the ones who would save me. They lead me to the very edge of the forest. When they stopped they surrounded me in their loose circle. They started hopping, they started slithering. However, before their churps became too loud a great sound filled the sky like thunder. Stop! It said. You shall not harm the human. I forbid it, you shall all parish if you obliterate his soul. He is mine!

The Djiggerries closed in their circle. They churps became frantic, their jumping and slithering more erratic. I felt it affect my body, I felt like I was being torn apart. The pain was worse than any of the spiders. The little creatures faced me, they became intense, it was like I was inside of a moving wall trap. They jumped, they screamed out their churps, their eyes made such circles of maddening light I had to close my eyes. I felt my stomach raise into my mouth and I threw up. Yet, they intensified even more. I felt my chest start to split open. I felt blood run down by body. I heard my skin ripping open starting from the top of my ribs down to my groin. I dared open my eyes for a moment. I saw blood pool underneath me, mixing with my vomit. The pain kept pulling me into a state of unconsienceness yet I did not allow it, for the pain, the torture, it meant freedom, freedom from Luthluthian, freedom from the prison my life had become. The pain brough on relief, and I wanted to feel it for as long as I could hold out.

The thunderous voice filled the sky again, Djiggerries, you too shall be cast into oblivion for your defiance. You shall be cast right along with Sean. My last thought was, this time I really did win, nothing can stop it now.


Darkness came for the last time to Sean. Nothing was left of him, save, the signed lease for his appartment, and a faint memory in Jared’s, his best friend, mind.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

A Nice Conversation and Tea With Old Friends

"By rights, Mrs. Hoefakker should deal first. After all, we’re at her house,” said Mrs. Holland.

“It’s the same way for the last thirty-five years, Mrs. Holland. I don’t see why you insist on saying that every Tuesday,” said Mrs. Wellington.

Mrs. Holland, still tall and stern at eighty-eight, gave a quick glare at Mrs. Wellington. “Because I’m the most responsible of us four and I’d like to keep things moving regular.”

Mrs. Grey giggled at the choice of words. After turning eighty-five last week, she decided life was much too short for any petty arguing. Upon turning eighty-five she decided life should be treated as one long Monty Python sketch.

“I do wish you two would stop your bitching. It’s getting old, I just want to play some bloody cards and have a nice bloody conversation.”

Mrs. Hoefakker nodded her agreement, “I don’t like her language,” she said, “but, she has a good point. Now then, Mrs. Grey, if you’d be a dear and put on the kettle, I’ll get the cards dealt.”

Mrs. Grey nodded and started for the kitchen. As she walked, Mrs. Wellington said, “Remember, I take my tea plain.” Mrs. Grey turned and gave her a sweet smile.

“Bloody picky git,” said Mrs. Holland under her breath.

“Now ladies, let’s just play,” said Mrs. Hoefakker. She started to deal out the Pinochle cards. “So, Mrs. Holland, how’s your Angus doing?”

“Same as always, he’s just found some new model trains. He’s been playing with them this past week. Seems it keeps him happy. How’s your Gib?”

Mrs. Hoefakker finished passing out the cards. “He’s alright. He’s preparing a lecture for Oxford University next week. Silly rubbish really, but it keeps him busy.”

“Ooo,” said Mrs. Wellington What’s the lecture about?”

“Something to do with the practicalities of the Ontological Argument in a Cosmological Universe. Complete rubbish if you ask me.”

The three ladies laughed. It was at that time Mrs. Grey walked back into the room. “The tea ought to be done in a wee bit. What were you laughing at just now?”

“Mrs. Holland and Mrs. Hoefakker were just telling us about their husbands.” stated Wellington.

Mrs. Grey smiled and took her spot at the table. “My Andrew has been having his silly ideas as usual. He says he wants to try barrel rolling again. Says he’s forgotten what it’s like to be a young boy. I guess he figures that it should bounce it back in his head.”

“At his age!” said Mrs. Wellington, “he’s liable to be killed.” Mrs. Wellington’s husband had died three years ago and the subject was still sensitive to her.

“Oh, it’s not like I’m going to actually allow him to do it. But, if he fancies the idea, no harm can come from that.”

It was Mrs. Holland’s turn to deal. The conversations dimmed. After that hand Mrs. Wellington dealt. She was trying to think of a pleasant conversation. She knew no matter what she said it would annoy Mrs. Holland, probably the others also, but they wouldn’t say. Well, thought Mrs. Wellington, we’ve come together for a nice game of cards and conversation, so let’s have one.

“The past few days,” started Mrs. Wellington, “I’ve been thinking about all of the things I’ve yet to experience. I’m seventy-eight now and there’s still so much I haven’t done.” She looked over at Mrs. Holland who was rolling her eyes just as she thought.

“What sort of things do you mean?” inquired Mrs. Hoefakker. “Now, that Arnie’s passed away, I thought you’d do more of those sorts of things. To pass the time, you know.”

“Well, I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland, or maybe even America. I’ve heard there are lots of splendid things to do in those countries.”

“I’ve been to Ireland once. Andrew brought me there on holiday; it was very beautiful. I don’t know anything about America though,” said Mrs. Grey. It was now her turn to deal.

“I’ve heard it’s loud and big. Doesn’t sound like a nice place at all,” said Mrs. Holland.

“Gib lectured there years ago, at Yale University. He did like parts of it, but he was glad to be back in good ole Britain.”

“He’s a sensible man, that Gib,” said Mrs. Holland.

“What would you like to experience Mrs. Hoefakker?” asked Mrs. Wellington. “I’m sure in your eighty-three years you haven’t done everything you’ve wanted to do.”

Mrs. Hoefakker hesitated for a moment. There had been something that sat at the edge of her mind. However, it wasn’t exactly socially acceptable, not in the slightest. She felt her stomach tighten up when it first occurred to her that she was actually going to tell her three most trusted friends her dark curiosity.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Hoefakker,” said Mrs. Grey, “you’ve grown awfully quiet, are you alright?”

That shook her from her thoughts. “Oh dear, we’ve nearly forgotten the tea.”

Mrs. Grey flushed with embarrassment. She made to stand but Mrs. Hoefakker shook her head. “Don’t fret, I’ve got it. You just sit and relax.” She stood up and walked toward the kitchen.

“Remember,” said Mrs. Wellington with a delightful edge to her voice. “I take my tea plain.” Mrs. Hoefakker did not turn around.

“What’s gotten into her I wonder?” asked Mrs. Holland after she heard the clattering of teacups and pots. “Did you see her face when you asked her your question? It’s a bit funny if you ask me.”

“Well, we didn’t,” retorted Mrs. Wellington. “Anyway, she’s probably never really thought of it before. Probably, just made her think a bit.”

“That’s it, I should think. Whose turn is it to deal?” asked Mrs. Grey. She still felt dreadfully embarrassed about forgetting the tea.

“I think it’s yours,” said Mrs. Holland. Mrs. Grey shrugged, picked up the cards and shuffled them. She was pleased with the distraction.

By the time she had dealt all of the cards, Mrs. Hoefakker came through the kitchen door with the tea tray full. She had taken the liberty of pouring all of the teacups for them. The ladies said thank you as she handed them their cups.

“Well, Mrs. Hoefakker, have you thought about what you would like to experience?” asked Mrs. Wellington.

“There was something I had been thinking about lately,” she replied.

“Well? What is it? Why are you being so mysterious?”

Mrs. Hoefakker took a deep breath and expelled it in a sigh. She tried to think how to word it properly. “Lately,” she began, “Gib and I have been watching some programs about serial killers”

“Ahh, yes!” Mrs. Grey cut in. “Andrew and I’ve been watching those, the ones on BBC4.”

“Yes,” agreed Mrs. Hoefakker, “those are the ones. Anyway, I’ve started to wonder why people fancy killing one another.”

“Good Lord,” cried Mrs. Holland, “What sort of rubbish is that? I don’t think they fancy it, they’re just ill in the head.”

“There must be something more, after all, or else I shouldn’t think they’d keep doing it. Anyway, you asked me what I’d like to experience. I’d like to know what it feels like. I don’t expect I’d actually do it.”

All three ladies took a sip of tea. Then they took a second sip to try and clear the strange atmosphere from the room. Even Mrs. Grey felt uncomfortable with that sort of talk. However, a question occurred to her, “Who would you choose to murder if given the choice?”

Mrs. Hoefakker frowned as she thought through the question. “I suppose,” she started slowly as if still thinking, “I suppose I’d more than likely choose a friend.”

Again, the ladies took a sip of their tea. Their game had now been forgotten, swallowed up in the bazaar twist of conversation. Mrs. Holland shook her head in pious disapproval. Mrs. Grey grew very interested in her cup of tea.

Mrs. Wellington, without making eye contact simply asked, “Why?”

“Well, if I murdered a stranger they’d likely think I had something against them. However, if I murdered a friend they’d know I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Mrs. Holland made a strange expression on her face. She opened her mouth as if to say something, shut it, and then finally said, “If I didn’t know better, I’d dare say you’ve become quite mad.”

“I don’t think I like the conversation any longer,” said Mrs. Wellington. She took a sip of her tea, and then looked into the cup. “I told you I take my tea plain, did you put a bit of Amaretto in it?”

“No, I don’t have any. Would you ladies like some more tea?” Mrs. Hoefakker offered as she poured herself more. Both Mrs. Holland and Mrs. Grey politely nodded their heads. Mrs. Wellington took another sip and politely declined.

“Do you two taste an almond flavor in your tea?” Mrs. Wellington asked.

The ladies said no. They looked at Mrs. Hoefakker as if she’s been unfair to them, giving Mrs. Wellington flavoring, and not them.

Mrs. Grey said, “It seems our talk of murder has put a damper on the conversation. However, I can see where Mrs. Hoefakker is coming from. After all, there are a few negative things I’d like to experience. I know I shouldn’t, but it does make one wonder.”

Mrs. Holland nodded in understanding. “When put like that it seems understandable. I mean, in all of those mysteries I enjoy reading, the authors never did any of those things, yet curiosity probably drove them to write about it. I’m sure that’s what you mean, right Mrs. Hoefakker?”

Mrs. Hoefakker wasn’t listening; she was staring at Mrs. Wellington. Mrs. Wellington wasn’t listening either; she had an expression of illness and panic on her face.

“What have you done to me?” asked Mrs. Wellington. She did not have time to hear an answer. For at that moment she died, face first, into her cup of tea.

“Oh, bloody hell!” Said Mrs. Grey, “Is she... is she... dead?” Terror and disbelief battled over her face.

Mrs. Holland fought bile from escaping up her throat. “Was it strychnine?”

Mrs. Hoefakker looked at Mrs. Wellington, much the same way a birdwatcher might look at their favorite bird. “What?” she looked over at Mrs. Holland. “Oh, no, it was arsenic.”

The three ladies stared at poor Mrs. Wellington for quite some time, each thinking their own thoughts, dealing with it their own way. Finally, Mrs. Holland, being the eldest and most sensible, regained her composure and decided they needed to make a plan. “I suppose we ought to think about what we should do with Mrs. Wellington.”

Mrs. Grey nodded her agreement.

Mrs. Hoefakker said, “Already been taken care of. Gib said something about the medical department at Cambridge needing bodies. I don’t know too much about it. All that university rubbish, it’s a mystery to me.” She shrugged.

“Well then,” said Mrs. Grey, “what did it feel like?”

Mrs. Hoefakker thought about it for a long while. Then, when she was satisfied with her thoughts, she said, “I can see the appeal, it’s charming really, a bit like a nice conversation and tea with old friends.”