Into The Mind Of A Murderer continued…

This was originally intended as a short story, and who knows that may well be what happens but the more I write the more I like the idea of it being a novel. Anyway Please do have a read, let me know what you think, all thoughts and comments welcome as always x

 

Into The Mind of a Murderer

He had closed his mind to the infrequent sufferings of his conscience many years ago. Time withered what little compassion he had left, empathy and love existing only as faded fragments, regarded as pointless fiction upon the rare occasions when his thoughts were permitted to wander to such things.

He picked up the scalpel and walked over to the bed. The nurse would be awake soon and these were the moments he savoured more than most.

Moonlight shone in though the skylight and reflected his perfectly sharp razor like grin on the surface of the surgical instrument.

The irony that this implement, designed to preserve life, was perhaps the most efficient tool he had ever used to torture and eventually kill was not lost on him, in fact he considered it often during his quieter moments.

Her eyelids flickered, slowly at first, before her own memories of the past few hours, like a burst damn flooded her thoughts and they snapped open.

Unable to move due to the leather restraints that bound her hands and ankles, she looked frantically left and right as though her eyes were trying to make a frenzied escape of their own. Even though he’d seen it before, this amused him somewhat, giving rise to a low guttural chuckle.

She followed the sinister sneer, slowly and reluctantly till eventually her gaze met his. He showed no emotion, apart from an ill concealed show of excitement as he studied her shocked and fearful expression.

An icy breath of air from the howling winds outside forced its way into the room and brushed over her body, forcing her to shudder. She had been stripped naked, apart from her flimsy undergarments, though modesty was now the least of her concerns.

She knew that this monster in human form was the last person her living eyes would ever see.

He reached for the strap of her bra and she spoke.

“Please”

Now there was a word she wasn’t used to using. She’d heard it often enough throughout her own life, but her feeble utterance gave him pause. She was scared, that much was screamingly obvious but the way she said that word, almost a resigned acceptance of what was to come.

He didn’t like that at all. He needed more petrified concentration from his victims. If he let that sort of behaviour slide what would be next? Would they be quietly reading a magazine or watching a final instalment of Eastenders whilst he carved away at their innards?

He cut the strap both sides and yanked the bra free, hoping to illicit some sort of reaction. There was none, in fact she slowly closed her eyes.

He stepped back, dumbfounded, probably for the first time since he had started doing this type of work.

Well excuse me. He thought, I didn’t mean to wake you!

 

Eight

I sat on the swing, alone, watching the other girls play. Occasionally they’d rush past me, never even bothering to taunt, not anymore; to taunt is to notice and I was as invisible as the proverbial housefly, and as annoying, at home, when I ventured out of the shadows to communicate with the only other person who lived with me – My mother. She had done nothing to earn that title. Giving birth then spending the next eight years blaming me for my father’s disappearance hardly qualifies. Whenever I spoke she would simply swat me away with a swift ‘woosh’ of her hand.

“Not now Bonnie, why don’t you …”

I liked the way she did that, didn’t even finish the sentence, just left it hanging and drifted back into her terribly important work, watching TV or eating toast, perhaps dying her hair yet another shade of orange. It did mean however, that I could occupy my time thinking up some imaginative endings to her incomplete suggestion:

Not now Bonnie, why don’t you…

Have some cake?
Take something from my purse?
Kill the dog?
Go outside, watch the other girls play?

Three down, one to go.

So there I was, sitting on the swing, watching the other girls play. They were standing round the duck pond arguing about how deep it actually was. The water was so mucky you couldn’t tell just by looking, though their incessant arguing was beginning to get on my nerves.

In the warmer months John Bower, the boat keeper used to do a good business there. He let me on one of his boats once so I guess the water had to be kind of deep. Most of the girls walked away from the pond to the little coffee shop, leaving one behind staring at her own reflection in the water.

“Bring me one too, with a flake in it!”

She eventually called back after the group without altering the direction of her own gaze. I guess they’d gone for ice cream. None of the girls responded, probably couldn’t hear her. The cafe was a good five minute walk from there.

I didn’t know the girl who was left, now dabbing her foot cautiously into the water, I mean she’d bullied me when I was younger but never stopped to offer her name in-between punches to my face.

I remember crying for hours after that. It was only later, when my mother asked me who the girl was that I had to stop and think… You know, she never told me. Rude!

I became transfixed as her attempts to touch the bottom of the pond grew ever more daring; each slow wave of her foot going a little deeper. My prediction was three more swooshes with her foot and she’d fall. I was elated when, on the third swoosh she lost her balance and toppled over and into the water, I knew I was right, three swooshes it was.

I walked over to the water’s edge for a while and stood quiet while she splashed and cried, least I think she was crying, hard to tell, she was covered in water. Bemused me why she didn’t just swim out. Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe her name was Tiffany, let’s say it was. She looked like a Tiffany.

Tiffany went under a couple of times then re-emerged, coughing and spluttering before she died.

I’ll never forget that look in her eyes before she was lost to the unusually deep duck pond, kind of a peaceful resignation, dunno what she saw, but that look… I was kind of jealous.

Into The Mind Of A Murderer

Good evening, unless you are not reading this in the wee small hours in which it was written, in which case helooo!

I’ve always been fascinated by psychology and what it is that makes a human being do the things that he / she does. Into The Mind of a Murderer is a short story that does just that and I include a mini snippet of the story for you to see here. I hope you enjoy.

As usual all thought and comments welcome x

Into The Mind of a Murderer

He had closed his mind to the infrequent sufferings of his conscience many years ago. Time had withered what little compassion he had left, empathy and love existing only as faded memories, regarded as pointless fiction upon the rare occasions when his thoughts were permitted to wander to such things.

He picked up the scalpel and walked over to the bed. The nurse would be awake soon and these were the moments he savoured more than most. Moonlight shone in though the skylight and reflected his perfectly sharp razor like grin on the surface of the surgical instrument.

The irony that this implement, designed to preserve life, was perhaps the most efficient tool he had ever used to torture and eventually kill was not lost on him, in fact he considered it often during his quieter moments.

Her eyelids flickered, slowly at first, before her own memories of the past few hours, like a burst damn flooded her thoughts and they snapped open.

Unable to move due to the leather restraints that bound her hands and ankles, she looked frantically left and right as though her eyes were trying to make a frenzied escape of their own. Even though he’d seen it before, this amused him somewhat, giving rise to a low guttural chuckle.

She followed the sinister sneer, slowly and reluctantly till eventually her gaze met his. There was no emotion, apart from an ill concealed show of excitement from him as he studied her shocked and fearful expression.

An icy breath of air from the howling winds outside forced its way into the room and brushed over her body, forcing her to shudder. She had been stripped naked, apart from her feeble undergarments, though modesty was now the least of her concerns.

She knew that this monster in human form was the last person her living eyes would ever see.

Professor Fidget And The Trouble With Time travel (Part 2)

Good Moooning…. I’ve had one or two requests to post more of my story, so here it is: part two. This continues directly from where my last post left off so if you haven’t seen it i recommend you have a wee peek at that before reading this one.

I hope you enjoy.

As usual, all thoughts and comments completely welcome x

Professor Fidget And The Trouble With Time Travel

By P.J. Greystoke

(part 2)

“Well you can start by getting out of my machine before you hurt yourself.” Echoed the Professor’s voice from behind the book. “Professor? You can hear us?” Molly and Arran asked simultaneously. Fidget peered over the top of her book and stared at the children. “Now would be good.” Fidget was beginning to sound more like Mrs Anderson.
Now afraid, having never heard the Professor speak in such a serious tone, both children alleviated the machine and walked slowly toward her. She put down her book and stared at the children. “Do you know how dangerous that could have been?” “Yes Professor” both children answered whist bowing their heads, in the same way a puppy does when he’s being reprimanded for leaving a smelly parcel on the rug instead of outside the house where he’s supposed to.
Fidget got up from her seat; walked round to the front of the desk and propped herself up on it whilst facing the kids. She drew a huge breath before allowing a slight smile to appear on her face. “So what do you think, you like it?” Relieved and unbelievably excited, both children embraced the Professor. “Like it?” laughed Molly, “It’s amazing.” “It’s a time machine” contributed Arran. He was aware his input was screamingly obvious, but it seemed to be all he was able to add to the conversation.“Yes it is.” answered Fidget, and it is vitally important that this remains entirely between us. In the wrong hands this could be very dangerous.” Both children agreed.

“We have a project on Cleopatra at school” said Molly. “Can we go see her?” The Professor allowed herself a slight chuckle.“No, we can’t interfere with history, what has gone, has gone, besides, the machine does not work like that, the furthest back in time this machine can go, well you have already been. That image you pressed on the front panel was no ordinary image, the machine took an exact photograph of the room eight hours ago, and by exact I mean every single atom and molecule was captured in that image, enough for it to act as a gateway for us to travel back to that point in time as we please. “Forward time travel is much easier” Fidget continued “We can travel forward to any point in time simply by the turn of a dial and the push of a lever.”
Fidget opened her old fashioned pocket watch, 3.20 am “which reminds me, it’s quite late, go get some rest. We’ll go on a journey tomorrow.” The children’s faces beamed with excitement. “Remember not a word to anyone” “Not even dad?” asked Molly. “Not even your father.” said the Professor. “Can we tell Batsy?” continued Arran. The Professor allowed herself a cheeky smile, “No, though I’m not sure Batsy’s only working brain cell would understand anyway. Now off you go to bed.”

Chapter Six
The Ghost

The night seemed to last forever in wait for the next morning, rather fitting as time seemed now to have lost all of its meaning. The children sat up for as long as they were able, talking in wonder about all of the things they could now do, until Mother Nature, as if she was trying to assert her own authority on the situation eased them into a restful and somewhat reluctant slumber.
The Professor’s sleep was less than restful.
Crying from outside the bedroom woke Rebecca Fidget barely moments after her eyes had closed. It sounded like a young girl, but who? She sat up in bed and listened carefully. Not Molly, definitely not Molly; The Professor knew all too well her expressions of grief, after spending many hours through the years comforting her, usually as a result of Johns terrible temper.

There was a pause, the bedroom door moved. The Professor froze; her heart rate suddenly increased and made a thumping sound which seemed to drown out the grandfather clocks solemn chime which could now be heard in the background. “Please help me,” came the weak and feeble voice from the other side of the door. The Professor wanted to answer, she wanted to help, but couldn’t bring herself to move or even offer a verbal reassurance that everything would be ok.
How could everything be ok? She was imagining this, she had to be. The young girl spoke again “Please, you’re the only…” A sudden door slam from across the corridor cut her sentence short and made the girl cry more. Heavy footsteps with a menacing dark and meaningful purpose moved rapidly closer and closer to the bedroom. The young girl screamed; the Professor jumped out of bed and swung the door open. All was quiet; there was nobody there, and no sound but that of the grandfather clock.
The screams and footsteps surely had to have woken more than just her. Putting on her dressing gown she decided to walk toward the children’s room, just to be sure the sound had not come from Molly herself, although she loved Molly dearly there was a small part of her which hoped the tears and cries for help had indeed come from her, at least then she would have something to rationalize and make sense of what had just happened.
The moonlight from outside the children’s room was bright enough to show Rebecca Fidget that there was no way Molly could have made that sound earlier. Molly lay on her back, peaceful, one arm extended off the bed side with Lancelot lying on the floor beneath her hand. The Professor smiled, crouched down, picked up the teddy bear, placed it on the pillow and kissed her forehead.

Footsteps again. Only now not heavy and menacing but those of a small child could be heard running past the children’s room. The Professor rushed out and looked down the corridor just in time to see a young girl, turn and stare at her. For a moment both were transfixed in each other’s gaze, “Hello” said the Professor calmly not wanting to alarm her. The girl turned and ran down the stairs, quickly perused by the Professor. “Wait” she called after her “I only want to talk” The young girl descended the stairs that led to the basement, ran inside and closed the door behind her.
The Professor was barely three seconds behind. Once at the bottom of the stairs she reached for the handle and turned it but the door wouldn’t open. It was locked. Locked? That door hadn’t been locked for as long as she could remember, there wasn’t even a key for it. “Please open the door,” she called through the keyhole. She tugged at the handle a few more times before stepping back to sit on the stairs. She buried her head in her hands and rubbed her eyes trying to make sense of the evenings events. There was a click. Sudden warmth from the rooms light was now shining upon her face. She quickly looked up.
The door was open. She cautiously stepped inside the room clueless in what to expect. The little girl she had chased earlier was on the ground, almost collapsed, looking like a lone survivor of a terrible disaster. Her clothes were now torn and dirty. There was little hope in her tired looking eyes, she stretched out an exhausted hand with fading energy toward an empty space and part clenched it as if holding onto an invisible object, no sooner had her hand rested in its final position than she froze; the slow movement of the her chest breathing in and out had stopped. Her eyes fixed, staring endlessly into the empty space ahead of her. A single tear emerged from the bottom of her right eye and began to roll slowly down her cheek till that single tear, only half way through its journey stopped. The little girl was as still as a statue.
The Professor cautiously moved toward her and reached out an outstretched hand to wipe away the glistening tear from the girls face. No sooner had her hand touched the tear than a sudden cold sensation passed through her hand. She quickly snatched it back; or at least she tried to.
The Professors hand was frozen solid too, unable to move, her proceeding struggle and screams were futile as the ice spread through her veins like a ravenous virus, till she too was frozen solid, unable to move or speak but somehow conscious and very aware of her environment.
“My little angel” came a male voice from behind her; it was accompanied by footsteps, but the voice, very familiar, but who? “Please don’t cry.” The little girl started to sniffle as the tears once again were free flowing down her cheeks. Mobility had at least returned to her. The Professor was still unable to move a muscle or make a sound. The little girl who was now quite transparent stood up and faced the Professor; she appeared almost like one would imagine a ghost to, rather ironic as the Professor felt like the girl was looking right through her.
Still frozen solid, the Professor had no choice but to stay put and let this play out. “Oh daddy,” cried the little girl, her gaze fixated on the unseen man behind the Professor. “I don’t want to do it. I can’t, and it’s not fair!” “We have no choice” the man replied solemnly. “But Daddy” the little girl said once again before burying her head in her hands unable to face the finality of what was to happen.
The man walked past the Professor to comfort the girl, who obviously was his daughter. She didn’t get to look at his face and could only see him from behind as he crouched down on one knee to hug the little girl.
He was partly transparent also, a man in his mid to late 30’s she guessed, good head of white hair, all be it un-styled and rather erratic, and a rather strange taste in clothing. He wore an old tweed jacket, unfashionable corduroy trousers and scuffed brown shoes. “Was the girl Albert Einstein’s daughter?” The Professor wondered.
“One day you will understand my daughter,” the man softly spoke, and with that turned his head so he was no longer facing the little girl but was looking directly into the Professors eyes. She wanted to run, as fast as she could but was still frozen to the spot.
The man feigned a slight smile as he spoke the words “Find Me Rebecca.” The Professor felt a tingling sensation return to her fingers, the same feeling made its way round her entire body as her mobility began to return. Now able to move, but somehow transfixed on the man she starred dreamily into his eyes. She felt fragmented memories returning, dormant lost images, like missing jigsaw pieces from the Professors past falling slowly into place, and then there was the sudden realisation.
Tears formed in her eyes. “Daddy?” she said and started to cry. “You’re my …” A million unanswered questions fleeting without form rushed through her mind, so many things she wanted to say, to ask, to express. She just needed to get a handle on the situation.
The moment was suddenly halted by an aggressive deafening sound; footsteps, the same ones she had heard earlier began to approach and were now close to the door. They both rushed a look in that direction before her father shook his head. “John must never get this” he said as he reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a white envelope, which he then proceeded to place beneath a loose floorboard near the Professors desk. As the footsteps got closer the little girl, who she now thought of as a younger version of herself began to shiver, petrified.
Watching the young girl now felt like re-living an earlier past experience. To comfort her now would seem oddly self-serving, but walked toward her anyway. A sudden door slam made her turn and then, nothing.
The Professor was in bed. Her room, exactly as it should be, nothing was out of place. Her dressing gown was still attached to the hook on the back of her bedroom door. She shook her head “Now that was a dream” she said to herself whilst attempting a rather unconvincing snigger.
Just as she was about to take her attention from the door it suddenly started to open, very slowly. Her heart race increased again and the Professor instinctively buried her head under the duvet, not that it would offer much in the way of protection or camouflage. She heard tiny footsteps approach her bed. She clamped her eyes shut as the duvet was slowly pulled from her head. Silence.
Gradually she resigned herself to open her eyes, only to see Arran and Molly’s smiling faces beaming down on her. “Mooning Professor,” Molly said as she rubbed the remaining sleep from her eyes. “what?” she replied, this time laughing and very relieved. “Molly keeps saying mooning instead of morning” complained Arran. “It’s getting irritating.” The Professor pulled both children close in a heartfelt embrace, “Well I think it sounds wonderful.”

Chapter Seven
The Envelope

“Morning Batsy” Arran said as the ever joyful house keeper made her way into the dining room pushing a breakfast trolley containing scrambled eggs, toast, Rice Crispies tea coffee and juice.
“Mooning Arran” Batsy replied as she placed a bowl of breakfast cereal in front of him. Molly laughed. “Did you say Mooning?” Arran asked. Batsy nodded eagerly, so much in fact her little chef’s hat nearly fell off her head “Just for you. Molly said it’s your favourite word and you like to pretend you simply hate it, so I have to say Mooning to you every morning.” “Thanks” said Arran sarcastically smiling as he propelled a rice crispie off his sister’s nose.
“So Professor, where are we going in the ‘you know what?’” The Professor was starring into her empty coffee cup, lost in concentration. “Earth to Professor Fidget?” Arran continued. The Professor looked up and starred at him “Sorry, yes, emm I mean coffee would be great, thanks.” With that she stood up, and walked out of the room leaving her empty coffee cup and the two children at the table. Molly and Arran exchanged a confused glance before shrugging it off and tucking into their breakfast cereal.
Once at the door to her laboratory the Professor paused, took a deep sigh and pushed it open, everything as she left it, the machine still covered. She gazed at the wooden floorboards upon which the desk rested. “Well,” she said “if it was a dream, there will be nothing under that floorboard but dust and dirt.” Kneeling down in front of it she flexed her fingers in front of her face before tugging at what appeared to be a loose corner.
“What are you doing Rebecca?” Startled, the Professor spun round to see John standing in the doorway.
She still wasn’t sure if last night was a dream or not, but it had left her with an uneasy untrusting feeling regarding John. Her father’s last words that John must never see the envelope that may or not be lodged beneath that floorboard. She didn’t know why, but she wanted John out of her house.
“John you shouldn’t creep up on people!” She stood up and pushed the loosened piece of floorboard down with her heel “I thought you were going away for a few days?” John’s eyebrows came close to meeting in the middle in that familiar way they always had done when he suspected someone was lying to him, or all was not quite right. “No my trip was cut short.” He paused for thought. “I came to collect the children, but they tell me you’re taking them on a trip?” The Professors eyes widened, “Oh yes, that’s right,” she replied. “Did they mention where?” “No” said John. “Are you alright? You seem shaken up.” The Professor did a rather unconvincing impression of a smile “No No I’m fine and breezy.”
She placed her hand back to lean on her desk which unfortunately missed and she was, without support, propelled backwards onto the floor. “Yes still fine,” she lied as she began stumbling again to her feet. John rushed forward and took her hand in an effort to steady her upright. “Alright now?” he enquired looking into her eyes. “Strange dream that’s all” she concluded finally. “And I don’t think I got any sleep last night.” “You had a strange dream, but didn’t sleep?” John sat on the corner of her desk and regarded her accusingly. “What’s going on Rebecca?” He turned his attention to the floorboard the Professor was trying to loosen, bending over to examine it. “What were you doing on the floor when I walked in?”
Rebecca glanced at the floorboard then back at John. “Nothing important” she answered. “Thought I dropped an ear ring.” “You know I don’t think I’ve ever known you to wear ear rings, didn’t think you had your ears pierced.” She raised her hand to the bottom of her ear lobe, hiding the fact that there was no hole. “Clip ons” she finally offered. You know I’m not really into this girly stuff, but saw them as I was out shopping yesterday and thought,” she gulped “they looked rather nice.”
Unconvinced John knelt down over the loose floorboard “I’ll help you look.” The Professors eyes opened wide, her heart rate increasing as his hand neared the loose floorboard. “No Need John, really. They were just cheap nasty things.” “It’s no trouble” he said as he pulled the floorboard up.
There it was exactly where her father had placed it, a white envelope covered in dirt and dust. John turned his head and looked at the Professor before pushing his hand in the small crack. “Well I’ve got it.” he said, placing something in his hand and turning to face her. When his hand opened there was no envelope, instead a tiny clip on ear ring. “There you go” he said as he handed it to her.
“Have a good trip with the kids, bring me back something.” John left the laboratory and walked back upstairs.
Walking to the doorway she listened to make sure John had left the house before re approaching the loose floorboard. Had she just imagined the envelope? Where did the ear ring come from? She looked again where she’d seen the envelope, and there it was, plain as day. John couldn’t have missed that surely?
Lifting it up there was nothing special about it, just a normal white envelope slight yellow colouring round the edges. Nothing unusual in that, it had been there for over thirty years after all. On the reverse side the words To My Little Rebecca.
“Professor” Batsys voice echoed through the stairwell “Would you like me to get the children ready, they say you’re going on a trip.” She glanced at the empty doorway. “Yes do please; I’ll be up in a moment.” “Okey dokey” she replied.
There was a letter inside and a few photographs. Pulling out the letter her hand began to tremble. Last night was no dream. Though her logical mind couldn’t explain it she began to read.
Rebecca my darling,
If my calculations are correct you will have reached your 32nd year by now. To confirm what you are no doubt aware, your vision last night was very real. Your memories have been hidden to protect you from John. As yet they are not yet complete and exist as mere fragments. I promise they will be restored when the time is right and not all at once, again for your protection.
John is not to be trusted, I can’t divulge too much without awakening the resting images in your mind so for now will say keep the two children safe and away from him without arousing suspicion.
Under no circumstances must he be aware you have completed the machine. The fact that -he thinks- you have not finished is the only reason you are still alive.
I wish I could be there with you.
All my love
Richard Fidget 8013.
The Professor sat behind her desk. She put the letter down then took out the photographs, they made very little sense. They were simply pictures of empty rooms, one looked very much like the laboratory she was sitting in but much more Hi-Tec. Most of the equipment in the picture was alien to her. She placed them on the desk and rose to stand looking again toward the basement door.

Chapter Eight
The First Planned Journey

Arran and Molly’s faces, almost as if on cue, appeared round the corner. “Mooning” said Molly with a cheery grin on her face. Arran looked hard at her and rolled his eyes toward the heavens. “Can we leave her behind?” Molly said nothing, feeling the sharp kick in the leg he was about to receive would be answer enough.
“So where are we going?” Arran asked. Molly kicked him in the leg. “Oh I’m sorry” she said. “I slipped.”
“Well are we going?” they both asked taking the dust sheet off the machine and climbing inside. “Can I go in the front?” asked Molly. The Professor afforded herself a smile as she walked round the desk to join them. “You in the front on the way there and Arran on the way back,” the Professor said placing her hand on Molly’s head. Both children agreed.
“Well if we can’t go back in time,” said Arran “how far forward?” The Professor thought back to the date on her father’s letter. “8013” she said “six thousand years into the future.” Both children cheered as the Professor made the necessary adjustments on the panel. “Ok here we go” she announced pushing the lever forward.
Within moments the outside laboratory disappeared and the machine was surrounded in white light. The digital display rapidly increased from 2013 as they rapidly moved through the years as if they were seconds finally the display read 8013 and the machine vibrated.
Hover mode engaged was written on the display.
De materialisation in twenty seconds.
“Yea we seen that before” laughed Arran. This time they were in no hurry to return back to 2013.
Once the display reached zero both children eagerly looked at the Professor. “Why can’t we see anything outside the machine?” Arran asked. “Oh” she replied “The machine is doing an environmental check give it a moment.” Gradually the room around them came into full focus.
The children were not impressed; their faces were rather reminiscent of youngsters eagerly opening a Christmas gift only to find it was filled with all their old toys. “Are you sure we’re six thousand years into the future?” Molly queried. “Of Course I am,” the Professor answered with utmost certainty. “But we’re still in the laboratory, and it’s exactly the same as it was before we left.” “Yes interesting isn’t it?” the Professor answered stepping out of the machine.
“Well the air seems quite breathable” said the Professor with a huge grin on her face. “Imagine that” said Molly, disappointed. “Come on Arran; let’s go see If Batsy has any of that ice cream left.” With that both children leapt out of the machine and ran toward the doorway. “Arran turned before following Molly upstairs “Sorry it didn’t work Professor, would you like me to stay and help fix it?” The Professor chuckled. “No that’ll be fine, go save me some ice cream. I’ll be up in a moment.”
She pulled the green button from the machine pressed it between her fingers and watched as the time machine disappeared from view. With that she placed the green button in her pocket and made her way upstairs to join the children.
Unable to find Batsy and convinced the machine was not working both children made their way outside to play in the garden.

Chapter Nine
Grombit

“It’s a pity about the Professors machine” said Arran. “Yea” said Molly as they ambled across the grass to the swings at the foot of the garden. “Do you think we were rude just running out like that, she may be upset?”Arran shrugged “I got the impression she wanted to be alone. You know how she gets.”
“You know what I think?” he added. “Good morning” came the reply. Arran looked confused “What?” “I said Good morning.” “Well at least you’re not saying Mooning anymore, that was really annoying.” “Emm Arran, that wasn’t me,” Molly said. She pointed to a hedgehog which was perched on Arran’s shoe.
“Ahh isn’t he cute” Arran smiled as he crouched down to pick it up, just before touching it he had second thoughts “wait a minute, they may be cute but these things are supposed to be riddled with fleas and stuff.” The hedgehog took a step backward before retorting. “Fleas indeed! Do I come into your bedroom then turn up my nose for fear you will be riddled with lice, no thank you very much. I’ve never heard such rudeness!” Both children were astounded. “I’m sorry Mr. Hedgehog” Molly said. “Quite alright Miss Human” he replied. “I do have a name you know.”

“I’m dreaming” said Arran “It’s the only explanation.” “There’s no explanation for rudeness,” the hedgehog said. “My name is Grombit.” He twitched his nose in a very proud manner “4th generation if you please.” “4th generation?” both children said in unison, still trying to digest the fact they had found a talking hedgehog. “Yes 4th generation, do you two have mental problems?” “But you’re a talking hedgehog.” they once again said together. “So you do have mental problems Grombit replied.” “But how is it you can talk emm Grombit?” Grombit looked confused before laughing a deep and hearty laugh. “Is this a joke? Am I being recorded? Did my wife put you up to this? Yes yes very funny you can come out now dear.”
“No really” said Molly. “We’ve never met a talking hedgehog, or any animal before.” “Except for parrots” added Arran. “Talking parrots” Grombit chuckled. “I don’t think so.” He shuffled his spikes before continuing “And how come you have never seen a talking animal, where are you from the 23rd century? Ha.” “Not exactly,” said Arran “the twenty first. Is this the future?”Both children now knew the Professors machine worked all too well and they were indeed six thousand years into the future.
Grombit opened his eyes wide so he could see them both more clearly then said in a slower more cautious tone “Only if you’re from the past children. Are you familiar with Professor Fidget?” “Why yes” Molly said. “She’s in the house.” “She? A woman?” Grombit asked rather confused. “Professor Fidget is a man not a she, a he. He He He!” “What’s so funny?” Joked Arran. The hedgehog was not amused though Molly found it quite funny.
“Well Professor Richard Fidget, a man developed a kind of translation in the air if you like. “Humans animals and even the environment exist in perfect harmony and understanding.”
Standing in the doorway that opened out to the garden the Professor watched as the children spoke to Grombit. Finally she decided to approach. “How do you do I am…” “Oh my worms,” Grombit interrupted. “It can’t be. Are you, excuse me for asking, Rebecca Fidget?” The Professor nodded “How do you know me?” “It’s my job to know you” he replied, “well my family’s job at any rate.” Grombit bowed his head “It is my honour Rebecca Fidget. Your father was a great man.”
“What do you mean was?” “I do beg your pardon” Grombit apologised “Greatness never dies of course.” Fidget shook her head. “That’s not what I… Is my father” she paused “dead?” Grombit gasped. “Good heavens no. Definitely not.” The Professor sighed with relief. “I don’t think” he continued. “What?” “Well I’m not sure, some say he’s dead. Others say he’s being held captive and some even say he’s missing.” “Missing?” repeated the Professor. “Yes missing, like the brain cells of these two children.” “Hey” shouted Molly as she marched toward Grombit who on a reflex curled himself into a little ball. “Sorry” he said from inside the ball “Just my idea of a joke.”

“That’s ok” laughed Arran “She can dish it out but she can’t take it.” “Can too” answered Molly and took a step back. Grombit popped his nose from his little ball and looked at his three visitors.
“Ok Miss Professor Fidget, come with me to the other side of the hedge, we have much work to do.” They followed him to the hedge and watched as he disappeared underneath. “Are you coming?” He shouted from the other side. “We can’t fit under there” said Molly. “Oh yes you two are blessed with brain cells aren’t you? Perhaps you might try the gate. I don’t know, this is supposed to be your house.”
Fidget took the children by the hand and walked out of the same gate, like she had a thousand times before whilst making her way to the school. Once on the other side she found that the similarity from her own time period ended there.
What was once a large expanse of fields enclosing a quiet suburban village comprising a few hamlets and a quiet country lane which led to the local school was now a bustling metropolis. The sky turned a beautiful scarlet colour then back to bright blue. The sound of thunder could be heard in the distance then the rain fell, but not everywhere; raindrops very specifically dropped on the trees grass and vegetation leaving the people bone dry. One couple who were resting on a field, relaxing and taking in the sun, upon seeing the rain did… nothing at all. They remained bone dry; the rain seemed to completely bypass them. It was as though the weather planned itself around the convenience of the animals and humans.
All manner of people and animals seemed to be living quite harmoniously together too. Business men and women were walking together, smiling and laughing, in and out of busy office blocks. One middle aged man crossed a road, with a tiny white mouse on his shoulder; for all intensive purposes it looked like he was having a conversation with the rodent. Having reached the other side of the road he knelt down so the mouse could jump to the ground. After a short affectionate wave the mouse continued with his days business and the man walked in the opposite direction.
A young girl walked past the Professor suddenly stopped and began uncontrollably laughing then began to do a strange dance waving her hands up and down like a rather like a cartoon chicken. Molly laughed, “reminds me of your last girlfriend.” Arran looked scornfully at her “She had a wasp in her hair, and you made fun of her for weeks after.” “I know” said Molly “I put it there, still was funny though”.
“Are you alright?” the Professor called out. The little blonde girl turned to face them “Yes we’re fine thanks,” she looked to her left, gave an affectionate wink to the empty space then looked back at the professor. “And you are?” “Oh I’m Professor Fidget” The girl laughed again, this time at her, looking her up and down. “Like the network? Sure you are” with that she turned and began to chat to her imaginary friend on her left and walked off.”
“What an odd girl” the Professor said as she looked around the bottom of the hedge for some sign of the hedgehog. “Grombit are you there?” “Out in a moment” Grombit called from behind the tree. “Takes a while to get changed.” Arran laughed imagining the hedgehog jumping out wearing mini trainers, tracksuit bottoms and a baseball cap.
A young man appeared from behind the tree wearing jeans, t shirt and a pleasant smile “There, ready. Shall we be off?” Both children exchanged a confused glance “And you are?” Asked Molly “I’m Grombit, brain cell.” “Grombit brain cell?” repeated Molly. Grombit sighed. “No just Grombit. You are the brain cell… or not.” “That’s amazing” exclaimed Fidget walking around Grombit. “Some sort of perception projector.” Grombit laughed. “You sound just like your father.”
Now irritated, Molly shouted “Professor, where is the hedgehog?” “I think he is the hedgehog” interjected Arran. “He just looks human” “Very clever” answered Grombit “ Are you sure you two are related?” Molly folded her arms and snorted in disgust. “So can all animals here do that, walk around as humans?” “No no no” Grombit replied. “Just me.” He produced a small back box from his pocket “This was a gift from your father. He said I was to use it if ever you should turn up. I’m still the same handsome hedgehog you met a few minutes ago. This box works as a kind of advanced hypnotism and everyone connected to the Fidget network sees what I want them to see. I can even become a tree or a table.”
“Fascinating” the Professor said prodding him in the nose “I can even touch you” Grombit sneezed “Yes your father was a very clever man.” Fidget raised her eyebrow un-amused by his persistent use of the word ‘Was’ when describing her father.
“But we have just got here said Arran and we’re not connected to the Fidget network, whatever that is. How is it that we can see you as a young boy?” “All will be explained in good time…

Don’t Turn Out The Light

Well…  Poetry has always been something I have read and admired from afar, but not something I often turn my hand to.

Todays Free Form exercise however, inspired I think from a news story I read where a young lady was repeatedly beaten and made to suffer numerous indecent acts upon her person; an assault which lasted years before he (the assailant) was eventually jailed.

… Anyway I just started to write, please excuse any glaring errors, the words are exactly as they appeared in my mind, as for me that is what free form is all about.

As usual any comments or suggestions are always welcome. x

Don’t Turn Out The Light

Don’t turn out the light
I promise not to look

As the night blankets the sun
And the rain weeps into the vast baron oceans of my mind.
I’ll stand here
Waiting.

As the soft gentle beat of my heart
Signals that there’s someone, something innocent left behind
I’ll stand here
Waiting.

As the drum of distant footsteps
Marches with renewed anger till there’s nothing left to find
I’ll stand here
Waiting.

As a ticking clock with no concept of the day or time
I’ll stand here, waiting, waiting.
Just don’t turn out the light.

Little Ruthy

Hello all…

My book (The Trouble With Time Travel) is still going well and ever closer to the finish line.

Whilst writing, as a wee warm-up exercise i tend to do a little free form to drum up ideas for future projects and I think I’ve hit on something here.

Its not complete (Just an idea at this stage) and i am interested to see if this turns into a novel or a short story.

See what you you think, hope you like it ….

As always all comments and thoughts welcome x

 

Little Ruthy

“Drink, but slowly. It’ll feel a little strange as it goes down but…” He stopped to consider his choice of words before continuing. “That’s what you paid for,” he finally muttered under his breath before turning away from his dormant expressionless face in the mirror and downing the blue liquid contents in his cup.

It only took a few seconds for the paralysis to kick in, one hand grasping to the sink, the other clawing at his chest, instinctively trying to stop his blood from freezing over. The time had long since passed for second thoughts.

The last image his eyes were to capture, as his lay on the bathroom floor gasping out his last, was the little girl in the red dress. Stepping forward out of the shadows, she smiled sweetly before blowing him a kiss and walking out of the room.

Daddy was her first.

Father Mcdaniel mopped his brow, with a handkerchief that looked as though it had serviced his nose several times before tending to his sweaty head, refilled his tumbler and drained the contents in one smooth movement. He may have lost his faith many years ago but as an alcoholic he had a real future.

The dreams had not stopped, and this one troubled him more than most. He looked at the telephone on his desk waiting patiently for it to ring.

‘Riiiinnngggg’

To his ears the sound was piercing, like several broken finger nails skating circles on a blackboard. He slowly picked the receiver and placed it to his ear, knowing with absolute certainty Mrs Jennifer Collins would be hanging on the other end still trying to comprehend the apparent suicide of her loving husband. “Hello Jennifer dear, are you alright? Slow down dear… Have you called for an ambulance?”

Outside

Heloooo  and Happy 2015 to you…

I had an idea for a short story today which I thought I’d share with you.

The story isn’t yet complete, there are a few directions it could go  in but i would welcome any comments and suggestions you may have.

Till next time x

Outside

“Let me in!!!”

Ten minutes of banging on the door, the fifteen or twenty times he’d yelled at the upstairs bathroom window that was slightly ajar and the countless missed calls to her mobile had prevailed nothing but an ear piercing silence.

Jack Grundy was too tired even to cry. He turned and slid down to the front step exhausted. Looking across the street he could see that he wasn’t completely invisible, only to those he wanted to reach it seemed, neighbors curtains twitched, the odd face popped out to see what all the commotion was about before retreating into the comfortable camouflage that their darkened rooms provided.

Dorothy Evans, the street busybody made the excuse of coming out to check her car was locked. Maybe she was hoping Jack would spill his guts and tell her everything complete with spell check and grammar correction so she could relate it to the rest of the neighborhood the following day; this hot off the press Jack says “Fuck off Dot; it’s none of your goddam business!”

She simply smiled sympathetically, paused for a second as though she was trying to find the right words then walked back into her home.

It was 2am and the welcome doormat he’d purchased two years ago, the one upon which he now rested had become somewhat of an ironic note to self.

A patrol car slowly approached, lighting up the houses and the previously hidden neighbors gaping faces as it drew near.

John Hobbs the local PC got out spoke into his radio before clipping it to his belt and taking out a flashlight. He shone it on the house first surveying the area, probably checking for signs of physical disturbance before shining it in Jacks face, forcing him to raise his elbow in front of his eyes to stop him from going blind.

“Can I ask what you are doing here sir?”

Jacks mind processed a multitude of possible responses everything from “Yes I appear to have lost my key” to “Sod off PC Plodd it’s none of your goddam business either.”

In the end he felt honesty was the best answer.

“I live here officer. My wife and I had a kinda disagreement and I guess she’s not feeling like the forgiving type tonight.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Have you been drinking tonight sir?”

Jack looked almost offended “No, why?”

“This house hasn’t been lived in for over two years” he shone the torch on the house “look.”

Jack turned slowly to follow the direction the beam was facing. The door he’d been banging on only moments ago was covered by a huge wooden board, as were most of the windows in the house too. He stepped back not believing the evidence his own eyes presented. “It can’t be… I was just…”

He looked pleadingly at the officer who gently ushered him into the back of his patrol car. Jack offered no resistance.

A pair of sad eyes watched from the upstairs window as the car pulled away.

 

The Singular Strangeness That is Me

Ok…

I was teaching a creative writing class today and was asked where I get my ideas and inspirations.

I was also asked if i stick to one project and see it through to its conclusion forsaking all else.

The answer is…..

I have one method which I stick to and it works for me, that is not to say it will work for everyone.  We can but try…

I have a main project which is my Novel, to this I write 2,000 words every day without fail.

Just like an athlete in training i don’t just jump right in there i warm up first… I do some free form, that is to say I sit down and write the first thing that comes into my mind for 10 – 15 mins.

Often my free form warbling makes no logical sense, but I have called upon it time and again for inspiration when creating a character, an idea for a story or development. Its like having hundreds of seeds each with the potential to grow independently into something amazing.

Just to demonstrate how random these thoughts can be my ten to fifteen minutes of free form follow.

Hope you enjoy, as always all comments welcome x

Very Random Free Form Thoughts

1. Been exercising my body today. Now it’s the turn of the mind, the creativity. To turn the all knowing cogs and prove that there is always an undiscovered treasure, some little gem than can be found by randomly unearthing the rocks in my mind.

2. You know if you don’t take the steering wheel, if you don’t make the decisions you’d rather avoid they get made for you. That’s something I will not let happen.

You know the feeling, a bill arrives. There it is on your doorstep, staring at you, the contents practically burning through the unassuming white or brown envelope into the part of your mind that has its own front door; the one that is locked, the one with the letterbox boarded up.

Welcome to the house of avoidance and acceptance unto the will of others.

3. Time travel cannot be but the sanction of the weak and helpless.

The ultimate escape is also the infinite prison, the one with invisible walls and with a slight colour correction one cannot help but to be mesmerized by the worst time of your life.

4. Helpless hands make infinite work thank you very much.

5. Why don’t you try picking up something that is in more keeping with your sexuality?

6. Want some abs?

You can borrow mine, if you can find them.

I must really value my abdominal muscles. I have hidden them behind layers and layers of fat.
No one will think about looking there.

People should try that with all valuable possessions: jewelery, DVDs, homes and children.
Cover them all with fat and no one will want to touch them.

7. Ahhh that explains obese children.

The parents of these legged beached whales are, far from the current conception, actually very caring people, they are merely ensuring no one will kidnap them… and if they did, well lets face it they would be easy to spot in a park, just look for the eclipse.

I have nothing against fat kids, like any writer that writes about murder death and the mayhem that ensues when one’s mind is moved a little to the left and twisted slowly till all that is decent and holy leaves on a number seven bus I like to swim in the pool of the forbidden expressing the very thoughts others don’t like to admit to.

8. Hahahahaha ohhh I love this life. Don’t you???

9. I gotta say doing this is the best release. Well so is playing guitar. I like that too. And I’m pretty sure I can still rock it with the best of them.

10. When did I become such a believer?

I’ve been perceived as captain cynic but that’s not me. I’ve turned my back on my true self for so long, for fear in part that I wouldn’t be accepted, mainly by myself.

I cry more at the words I love you than anything else but always had a problem when someone said those words to me.

Well that’s not true.

My mom, dad, sisters and especially my children, saying I love you is a daily pre requisite… but from a significant other?

I never thought it possible.

Maybe all people are not the same.

Maybe…

….. and breathe.

Random Thoughts

I do tend to write the most random things.

Normally I save all my random thoughts and use them to create something hopefully worthy of future investigation. Usually they provide me with inspiration for a short story or novel. I thought i’d post some of the rambling free form in its raw form.

Doing some free-form writing a couple around 2am last night I came up with the following….

 

Fragmented Thoughts

 

People in my head

Wandering the desolate landscape my consciousness has laid out for its own pleasure

For whom every waking moment leaves you yearning for sleep

Form an orderly queue

Dreams are not the perfection you were promised

For perfection once it reaches attainability

Becomes Life

The waking world awaits us

Follow me

The lost prophet has an now has an a to z