Dodging the Puddle

by Susan E Willis

a glass of ale

Queen Elizabeth. These walk-a-bouts were tiresome but according to her peers, a necessity. It was the only way of meeting her people, so she plastered a bright smile onto her face for the walk around Whitehall.

 

Her lady-in-waiting stood behind smoothing the wrinkles from her gown. She whispered, ‘At least it’s stopped raining today?’

 

Elizabeth nodded. It had rained for two days but at last the sun had appeared this morning. She wrinkled her nose at the foul smell from offal and dead animals that the butchers threw out into the streets.

 

The high lace ruffle around her neck seemed to dig into her skin but she took a deep breath and slowly set off to walk. Her guards were all around them which always made her feel safe and she was amazed at the crowds of people who had arrived. They parted like the Sea of Galilee and she walked amongst them nodding and waving.

 

Along the route her people cheered, and men donned their tall felt hats which lightened her mood and she began to relax and smile more. She was their queen and they loved her. It did her soul good to look at them and feel their adoration because she wanted to support them all.

 

Her father, Henry V111, had often told her, being the monarch was a lonely job, and lately she’d begun to realise how right he was. She’d appointed a loyal staff to help her govern but she didn’t have anyone close to her. Throughout her reign her main aim was to provide her people with stability and consistency, which from what she could see today, was working well.

 

Ahead of her lay a big pool of mud and she stood still.  How was she going to dodge this puddle? The dirty, rank-smelling mud seemed to stretch across the whole pathway.

 

She glanced at her lady-in-waiting as though she would have the answer, but she bit her lip and shrugged her shoulders.

 

Elizabeth gathered up her vast golden gown into her hands and looked down at her cream embroidered boots. These were going to be ruined, she sighed, and they were her favourites.  

 

Suddenly, two of her guards were pushed aside as a huge man strode towards her. He was very tall with big shoulders in a brown studded tunic.

 

One of the guards shouted and tried to bar him from stepping any further but Elizabeth wasn’t scared, she could tell he was a gentleman. She nodded her consent to the guard who stood down but glared at the stranger all the while.

 

With a quick flourish the gentleman whipped the blue and silver cape from his left shoulder and threw it over the puddle. ‘Your, Majesty, allow me.’ 

 

Elizabeth stared at his brown bushy eyebrows, his dark brown moustache and goatee beard. His chocolate-brown eyes twinkled at her until she felt her cheeks blush. Her heart began to pound, and she wanted to giggle for some reason. He’d made her come over all shy and girl-like. She shook herself and pulled back her shoulders. Get a grip, she remonstrated, you’re the Queen of England.  

 

Gingerly, she stepped onto the cape. It was a good quality thick material with beautiful embroidery detail. She hoped the bottom of her boots weren’t too muddy. Alighting safely across the puddle onto drier ground she smiled at him.

 

With a demure sideways glance, she enquired, ‘Your name, Sir?’

He stood in front of her and bowed low from his waist. Elizabeth saw the sun glisten on his curly brown hair, and knew he was the handsomest man she’d had the pleasure to look upon for a long while.

 

He grinned. ‘Sir Walter Rayleigh,’ he said. ‘Forever in your service.’ 

Greta Scacchi Eyes

by Matthew Roy Davey

a can of Quatro

It was a typical Saturday lunch, sausage, beans and mash, Dad telling us if Concorde had sold internationally we’d have been living somewhere glamorous, eating by a pool in California perhaps.  In the seventies he’d worked for BAC but the high hopes they’d had never materialised.  I paid little attention, shovelling beans down and glancing at my watch.  In half an hour Kate was picking me up for our first date.  I couldn’t drive.

Kate worked in the local record shop and after weeks of building up courage I’d asked her out.  Astonished that she said yes, I floated out of the shop with a new seven inch.  Later, as we arranged where to go, I could see her wondering if she’d made the right decision, her expression faltering.  I told her it was a feminist date, the woman in the driving seat.  She pulled a face.

When her beige Peugeot pulled up I hurried out, hoping my parents wouldn’t look out of the window.  Kate smiled from behind the wheel.

“Hi”

“Hi!  What’s that on your back seat?”

She looked over her shoulder.  I’d thought it was from a joke shop.  A cigarette with a tail of grey ash.

“Oh shit.”

She’d flicked it out of the window as she was driving but it had blown back in.  I opened the back door.

“No, let me do it.” 

She picked up the filter and brushed hopelessly at the scorch mark.  It was burnt to the foam.

“Dad’s gonna kill me.”

There wasn’t much to say.  I couldn’t tell how close her laughter was to tears.  A grimace and a smile are the same but for the eyes.

As we drove away I stared at the dashboard.  If we were in America, I thought, there’d be a steering wheel in front of me.  I imagined reaching until my fingertips touched the black vinyl surface.  I didn’t do it, just sat motionless, staring.  A Pearl Jam tape hissed on the stereo.  She stared straight ahead, knuckles white on the wheel.

I hated Pearl Jam.  

About the author 

Matthew was winner of The Observer short story competition and winner of the Dark Tales competition.  He has been long-listed for the Bath Flash Fiction award, Reflex Flash Fiction competition and Retreat West Competition.  His  story Waving at Trains was translated into Mandarin and Slovenian and was published in anthologies by Vintage and Cambridge University Press.  Recently he has been published by Everyday Fiction, Flash Fiction Magazine, Odd Magazine and Flash: The International Short-Story Magazine.  he has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize.

https://matthewroydavey.wordpress.com/

Palvine Part 5

By Mitzi Danielson-Kaslik

Parisian red wine

 

As we began to kiss, I found myself wishing I knew more about him. He seemed so young yet so old somehow; he seemed so good and yet maybe he was so evil; he seemed so in love with me but also so out of love with at the same time. I so wished I could see inside his mind; what was he thinking? Did he love me? I had spent the last months dreaming of being his, did he dream about being mine? 

“My dear?” he whispered, brushing aside my curtain of dark hair “Did I tell you out of all my adventures in Paris and all my new found happiness all I wanted was you?” his words almost sent a shiver down my spine. 

Did he mean it? Truly mean it? I wanted to believe him so terribly. I look back into his sapphire eyes and found a fleck in the corner of his left eye; a little tiny grey fleck, smaller than a pin prick and yet so perfectly pronounced in the otherwise waterish depths of his eyes. I wondered what it was. I whispered back to him, mimicking the same hair brushing and soft permissive tone he had used and murmured “My love, did you know that all I’ve wished for and dream of was you? I only found the note because I came back to your house. I needed to see you again. And now I have you.” I finished with a subtle English pink blush creeping in over my cheeks. It was my ‘virgin’s blush’ as he had called it. So I asked “Sylvester, do I still have a virgin’s blush?” I giggled.

“Of course you do my love, you will always have a virgin’s blush. You know, I once heard that the Whore of Babylon had a virgin’s blush.” He laughed. I wondered what he meant by saying this.

The weather changed as we arrived in Paris. It was no longer murky and cold but the November morning in Paris was rather warmer with a slight crispness to the air. The train drew to a clanging stop and we happily hopped off onto a packed platform filled with well-dressed gentlemen in fine tailored coats and ladies draped across their arm dressed in well-fitting dresses with jackets and fur stoles and high heeled shoes and they bore delicately stitched handbags. They all seemed to bustle about their business and hurry in a manner of such decorum that it almost seemed impossible to find a thing out of place.

The platform itself was cold.

He took my hand with an almost wicked smile and led me to the huge ornate exit. The archway towered over us so high it almost kissed the heavens. I couldn’t take my eyes off Sylvester. We began to walk down the main street south towards The Artists’ District and he broke his silence once more “I – We- live on Rue De La Liberte.” He smiled excitedly. We ducked off the main street and down a small alleyway.  I followed him, slightly disconcerted. We continued down it for a while until I began to wonder of Sylvester’s capabilities as a navigator having only lived in the city the better part of nine months. But eventually the path opened out of the alley network and onto a much wider street bustling with all manner of people. Ballerinas. Painters. Musicians. This street held everything. I followed him as he turned to a small narrow street with high stone walls with a small sign marked Rue De La Liberte.

Three Wishes

by Allison Symes

raspberry lemonade

Jenny Williams rushed indoors with her washing.  It was bad enough getting soaked and having to put the washing through the tumble dryer when the forecast  predicted sunshine, but to have a smirking Janine Stanshaw looking down from her neighbouring bedroom window was the last straw.
Face it, Jennifer, you've never liked the woman. With her looks and glowing skin, she looks like a walking advert for the benefits of eating yogurt.  You're small, must watch your weight and your skin is nowhere near as good. You should find out what care range she uses instead of just indulging in jealousy.

Jenny scowled on recognising the crisp, clear voice invading her mind.  To discover she was a fairy godmother's daughter was one thing. To discover she shared her mother's telepathic ability was worse.  And to have her mother being able to plant thoughts in her head was enough to make Jenny want to scream, only she didn't want to give her mother the satisfaction.

Okay, Mother, since you will insist on invading my thoughts.  I loathe Janine Stanshaw.  She has an eye for the men.  I object to her eyeing up my Paul.  You wouldn't like her doing that to Dad.  I've seen her, Mother, when out shopping, eye up men from the age of 18 to 108.  Trust me, I'm doing well resisting the urge to curse her.  I doubt if you would. Given what you've told me of your past, you never did resist cursing anyone who'd crossed you.  I'm not being bitchy.

Yes you are...

Okay so I am but it's true all the same. Janine was peering at me through that gap in the privet yesterday.  I was only putting my bedding plants out.  What was so fascinating about that?
Nothing though you put your pansies in upside down. 

I did not...

Jenny froze as she heard her mother laugh in the recesses of her mind.   It wasn't a comfortable sensation.

Mother, you can stop laughing.  You have been getting me to practice my magic outdoors for safety reasons.  What if she sees anything?

She won't.

How can you know?

She would have told you in no uncertain terms if she'd spotted anything odd.  Besides you know I've put a force field around your place to prevent that.

Can force fields fail?

Yes but it is rare. I'm not aware of any non-magical species being able to make one fail.

I still say...

Shut up, Jennifer, there's a good girl.  Mother does know best here.

Jenny gritted her teeth. Her mother was irritation personified.  So was the sprite her mother insisted continued to live in the girl's loft.  Jenny was told to see Stan as a kind of guardian angel.  Jenny saw him as a pest as he got in the way, told rude jokes (okay some were funny) and it was a complete loss to the girl as to how husband Paul could not see they had one extra for dinner with food going down an invisible throat at mealtimes.  Paul hadn't noticed a thing.  Jenny sighed.  That was men for you.



'Stan, I don't care if it is pouring down.  It's the perfect time to practice magic.  The neighbours won't be about.  Mother's visiting her friends so is unlikely to bother us.  Before you say anything, I asked her not to bother us. I said I might "perform" better if I didn't always feel under scrutiny and in any case there was nothing to stop her watching via crystal ball.  Yes, she did accept that, stop looking cynical.  I do have some sway with my mother.  Paul's due back in an hour.  Since it seems I am half magical I may as well make the most of the powers I'm supposed to have.'

The sprite, who was considered tall at 3'6, glowered at Jenny.  She hadn't liked finding him in her loft.  His argument he'd not wanted to be sent to Earth in the first place, so stop resenting him, only made Jenny stare at him so hard he had several uncomfortable seconds wondering if he was about to be turned into a statue or a frog.  These were Eileen's specialities when tackling offenders and he was frightened at what a hybrid like Jenny could achieve.  Did the hybrid nature weaken or strengthen inherent magic?  Nobody back home, even the Fairy Queen, was sure.  Stan didn't want to find out the hard way so decided if he did what he could to please Jenny, he would live.  The good thing, the one thing that reassured Jenny and himself, was Eileen's confirmation Paul, and any other human, wouldn't see Stan. Jenny would just have to be careful not to appear as if she was talking to herself when talking with Stan.

'I was trying to stop you getting another soaking, Jenny.'

'Really?  You don’t want to get wet. On the count of three, I'll make you invisible, and then on the second count, I'll restore you.  It’d help if you stand still, please.'

Stan sighed.  At least Jenny said "please" and "thank you".  It'd never occur to Eileen to do likewise for a sprite.  That also went for everybody in the Fairy Kingdom who wasn't a sprite. 

'All right then.  Three, two, one...' Jenny recited the spell. 

The sprite vanished.  Jenny smiled.  Her mother should be pleased with that if she was watching. 
If! Of course Mother's bloody watching.  Don't bother moaning about my swearing, Mother. I've heard you many a time.  At least Stan vanished better.  It was only the two stages.  Last time one foot went, then the other, then his arms and so on.  Today it was his top half followed by his bottom half.

'Okay, Stan, about to bring you back.  Three, two, one...'
Jenny recited the restoration spell.  Stan reappeared but instead of being where he vanished from, he was three feet to the left and upside down in a rose bush.  Jenny pulled him out by his boots.

'You moved, Stan!'

'Only a little... and I could've got myself out of the rose bush.'

'It took you an hour last time.  I thought I'd speed things up.  Stop being ungrateful.  Come on, that will do.  I'm hungry.  Fancy a chicken and bacon baguette?'

Stan nodded. His host was good with the provisions.  Though she needed to put in more work on her vanishing spell.  The sensation of being split in half wasn't pleasant.



Janine Stanshaw blinked.  She looked back into Jenny Williams's garden. There was a funny looking man, about 3' tall, walking out from the house with Jenny.  Janine smirked.  So her neighbour liked small men did she...  I'm willing to bet her dishy Paul knows nothing about this. 

Janine frowned as she came away from the window and resumed sorting out her wardrobe.  She was clearing out old clothes, ready to go to charity, in time for Janine's promised-to-herself clothes shop in a week's time when her favourite store would have its new line available.  The charity would benefit, Janine looked after her clothes well, and Janine would indulge in retail therapy.  It wasn't as if she had anyone else to buy things for her. 

Janine scowled, spotting her expression in the mirror that formed part of her wardrobe door.  She hadn't liked seeing Paul give Jenny a gold necklace in the garden the other night and Jenny being delighted with it.  It was unlike Janine not to be able to get anywhere with a bloke she'd set her sights on but Paul was unfailingly polite and as warmly appreciative of her overtures as an iceberg.  Janine wondered if Paul was already seeing someone else, hence the gift to his wife, but observations over months gave no indication.  He was always home promptly after work. When he went out, Jenny went with him.  Perhaps the pair were happily married.  Janine sighed.  Why did the squat Jenny Williams manage to find someone nice like that?  Face it, the girl was dumpy and not much taller than the strange companion.

Janine frowned.  Who was that?  She'd not seen him before. Janine dropped the skirts she'd been holding. She grabbed her phone and began taking pictures. Jenny Williams made the small man disappear.  Janine heard the count of three through her open window.  Then there was another count of three and the small man turned up in the rose bushes upside down.  How did that happen?
Janine smiled.  There could be fun here.  If it wasn't to be adulterous sex with the husband, the wife was open to blackmail.  Janine was willing to bet there was something here Jenny would never want darling Paul to know.  That could be exploited.  Exploitation was useful many times in building up Janine’s savings.  Time for another deposit then...



Ten minutes after Jenny and Stan finished lunch, Jenny made herself smile as she opened the front door to find Janine Stanshaw standing there wearing her supercilious grin. 

The grin she uses to persuade people she's friendly, Jenny thought.  Women who eye up other women's men are not likely to want to befriend the wife.  Fool the wife, yes.  You're not fooling me, Stanshaw.

'Hello, Janine, I wasn't expecting you.'  And isn't that the truth.  You're not the type to visit the neighbours unless the wife's out.

'I wasn't expecting to visit,' Janine said.  'But something unexpected happened and I'd be glad of your advice.  May I come in?'

'I’m busy now...'

'I don't think this can wait.  Word might get out.'

'About what?'

'That's what I need to discuss with you but it's not a conversation for the front door.  I'll be quick.  I too must be getting along.'

Yes but not with women in general, Jenny thought.  You save friendship, and more, for men. 

'Come in then.'  Jenny stepped aside and ushered her unwelcome guest inside, noting Janine's eager look around the hall.

No doubt judging me on the state of my housework or decorations, Jenny thought.  Fortunately it was a look Jenny knew well as her mother always used it when she visited.

'We'll go into the office,' Jenny said, ushering Janine into a small room off the lounge.  Only welcome guests went there.  Stan was lounging on the sofa.  He wasn't exactly welcome but he was a far better companion than Janine.

Jenny was pleased to spot the scowl that told her Janine hoped to go into the lounge. That puts you in your place, Madam.

'So, Janine, what can I do for you?'  If you think I'm offering tea or coffee, think again.

'It's a case of what I can do for you,' Janine said wandering over to the high-backed wooden chair near the desk and sitting down.  She glanced around the desk but there was nothing to see. 
Jenny had long been in the habit of not leaving papers out.  If her mother was going to snoop, Eileen could at least make some effort. 'Really?'

'Yes.  I spotted something odd earlier this afternoon.  Well in the last half hour actually.'

'Where?'

'In your garden.'

Jenny felt cold.  Janine couldn't have seen...  There was the force field...  Mother was never knowingly wrong. She's not the type to muck something up.

'And?'

'Who is the small man who was with you?'

Jenny smiled.  'Janine, what are you on about?'

Janine returned the smile.  It was as equally insincere.  'I know what I saw, Jenny.  You made a small man vanish and reappear in your garden.  That small man is  here in the house.  You're not keeping an illegal immigrant, are you?'

Jenny blinked.  Stan had been called many things by her, and even more by her mother, but illegal immigrant wasn’t amongst them.

'Janine, I don't know what you've been drinking but I'd come off it. You do realise what you've just said?'

'Of course.  I have pictures to prove it.'  With that, Janine retrieved from the deep pocket of her mauve velvet jacket three pictures and handed them to Jenny.  The pictures showed Stan as he was vanishing and was in that awkward half-way stage, and Stan re-emerging, again in the awkward half-way stage in the rose bush.

Jenny stared at the pictures.  Her mother reassured her nobody could see.  How could a human camera photograph something magical?  Was there more to Janine Stanshaw than met the eye?  Goodness knew Jenny had called her neighbour an old witch many a time.  Had Jenny been right?

'I'll give you your due, Janine.  You're a whizz with Photoshop.'

Janine smirked. 'Very good, Jenny, but you know these pictures are accurate.  You've gone pale. You should never give yourself away like that.  But the problem remains as to what to do with these pictures?  I've been thinking what could lead to these images.  There must be magic here.  Oh yes, I accept things like that exist.  I think you must too.  So I'll tell you what we'll do.  I'll destroy the pictures once you grant me three wishes or arranged for whatever or whoever is magical here to do that.  Deal?'



Jenny leant back against the office door.  Her mind raced and she was aware she'd effectively conceded to Janine the latter was on to something.  Jenny could not issue an outright denial.  Her mother was happy to lie her head off when the occasion demanded it but it was not something Jenny was comfortable with as, for one thing, Eileen was so much better at it.

'You are thinking hard, Jenny.  I'm right then.'

Jenny glared, feeling her loathing for Janine strengthen, as if it was a physical force.  And then it came to Jenny the old proverb was right.  Honesty was the best policy.  Janine would have no answer to it.

'I'm not going into details as to what is happening here, Janine.  You don't need to know.  Indeed it's safer if you don't know, but I could give you three wishes.  However I am not going to. Why?  I don't need to give you anything.  By all means make this incident public.  Show your pictures.  Who will believe you?  People will take the same attitude I have - you've used Photoshop.  They'll also question your sanity.  Most people know how Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, that wonderful writer, was taken in by two girls claiming fairies existed.  People will think your story is the modern equivalent.'

'Plenty think he was right.'

'He was proven wrong. It was a well carried out set-up.  Besides have another look at your images.'

Jenny smiled as Janine looked at the images in her hand. 

'What the hell have you done?  The small man is no longer on the pictures. He was there.  You know he was.  I saw you go pale.  You've done something.'

'Of course, Janine.  The first line of magical defence is always undermine your opponent.'

Janine scrolled through her phone’s images menu.  Again the only image now showing was a shot of

Jenny in her garden.

'I will go ahead and...'

'You will sound mad, Janine.'

'I could still get people around to investigate.  I could stir things up.'

'Who? How? I know our local Council does not have its own version of The X-Files, agents just waiting to investigate the paranormal.  Bless them, the Council quite properly focus on ensuring the bins get emptied on time.'

A flash of light made Jenny and Janine blink.  Eileen stood between the women.  Eileen smiled at her daughter but Jenny scowled.  Her mother's intervention was seldom welcome given Eileen found something to criticise in everything from Jenny's marriage to Jenny's clothes to the way the girl cleaned her teeth.  Jenny sometimes wondered if Eileen would ever let her be her own person - and then realised she already knew the answer.

'Your arguments are good, Jennifer, but for the sake of good neighbourly relations, may I suggest you grant Janine her three wishes.'

'Mother, have you gone round the bend?  From what I gather, Janine gets her own way all too often as it is and does not need magic to extend that!'

'Janine must be certain of her wishes.'

Eileen's coolness made Jenny stare again at her mother.

Mother has something in mind.  Is she assuming Janine will overreach herself and bring some curse down on her head?  Whilst that would not be undeserved, it would be kinder to just say no.

'Mother, if Janine asks for something stupid, there will be repercussions.  There always are.  Word would get out.  Janine should be made aware magic can go wrong.'

'I think you've just done that, dear.  I think she'd also appreciate being talked to, rather than about, dear.  You are being patronising.'

'Oh yes?  Given you are the expert there, I'd say that was rich coming from you.'

'Grant Janine her three wishes and get this over with or she'll just keep returning.  Won't you, dear?'

Eileen gave Janine her best supercilious smile.  It was far superior to Janine's version.

Jenny couldn't resist a smirk.  That smile had made wizards blanch.  Jenny had seen those pictures. It now did the same for a man eating neighbour.

Janine turned to Jenny.  'Who is the old biddy?'

Jenny laughed.  Eileen swore.

'The old biddy is my mother, Janine.  I wouldn't get the wrong side of her.  I'm the only one she won't zap.  I suspect Mother wants you to make the three wishes because she wants you to do something stupid.  If I were you, I'd leave now and pretend this didn't happen.'

'No.  I'll have the three wishes.  I'll prove the old biddy wrong.'

'Keep calling her that and you won't get the chance.  She's turned people into amphibians for less.  I've watched her do it,' Jenny said, grinning at her annoyed mother.  'Very well, Janine, what is your first wish?  Oh I should warn you the moment you speak out the wish, that is it.  There will be no going back, even if the wish cannot be granted in part or in full.'

'I want my first wish to be for eternal life as I am now - young, beautiful and...'

'With a monstrous ego that if it inflated your head literally to house it properly would mean you would never walk through any doorway again.  Forget it, Janine.  Only God grants eternal life.

Besides do you really want to live on unchanging as your friends, family and contemporaries age and die.  Mother and I have magic in our blood but even we will age and die.  We'll just do so much more slowly. Even if you weren't worried about that, how would you explain to people?  I don't think they'll buy the "I  use a really good moisturiser" line.  What's your second wish?'

'Everlasting riches.  I get tired of having to watch my income all the time.'

'Diddums.  Get on with life, Janine.  We all have to budget.  Stop  looking like that.  I've not increased my wealth because of my "gifts".  That sort of thing shows up and has to be explained and it isn't worth the grief.  Have you not heard the Midas story?  You know the guy who wanted everything he touched to turn to gold and changed his mind on realising he couldn’t eat and drink.   Besides your request is greedy and I'm not granting that.  From what I gather of Mother's past, she never granted greedy wishes either.'

Jenny looked towards her mother who gave a curt nod.  Jenny sighed.  Outright approval was too much to hope for then.

'Count yourself lucky, Janine, I am not a witch.  If I was, I'd grant you that wish and make it rebound.'  Jenny looked at her unwelcome neighbour.
Janine returned the look but it was clear the girl was not comfortable.  Janine started scanning the room.

Good, Jenny thought, she's finally using her brain to work out what to ask for this time.  This could be interesting.

Eileen coughed. Jenny gave her an irritated look but Eileen ignored it as it was her daughter's standard expression.  Janine just looked at Eileen.

'Ms. Stanshaw, yes I know who you are, Jennifer did not need to tell me, I was wondering if you needed some inspiration for your final wish.'

Janine shook her head and faced Jenny again.  'My last wish is for a happy love life.  I've never had one.'

Jenny blinked.  'Really?  You do realise granting your request means you must be faithful.  Can you manage that?'

'And I thought I was the bitch,' Eileen said slowly.

'Mother, you know I have a point.'  Jenny looked back at Janine.  The girl was looking dazed.  Jenny didn't understand this.  Surely the girl had met irate wives and girlfriends before.  Janine must have heard at least the odd catty comment.  'Janine, I...'

'You’re lucky with your Paul, Jenny,' Janine blurted out.  'From what I've seen, he's decent.  All the blokes I've ever been out with...  well I'm a good time girl.  Whenever I hoped anything would develop further, they've run a mile and I'm tired of it.'

There was silence for a moment.  Janine looked at Jenny.  Jenny was surprised. The great man-eater had tears in her eyes.

'Your wish is granted,' Jenny said softly.  'I know I am fortunate with Paul but, and it is a big but, you must be aware of what you are looking for in a guy and if it's not there, dump him.  You must work out what you want before the wish can be fulfilled. Perhaps your real trouble has been in putting up with less than what you would like?'

Much to Jenny's surprise, Janine crossed the room and hugged her.  'Thank you.  I'll be off now.  I'm due out tonight.  Wish me luck.  Oh you probably can't, can you?  I've had my three.'

'From my daughter, yes,' Eileen said, 'but not from me.  I will grant you good luck.  The good luck to have good judgement.  Have a nice evening.  And a nice life.'



Jenny poured tea ten minutes after Janine left.  There was a plate of home made chocolate chip muffins in the middle of the kitchen table. Eileen was on her third.  One thing her daughter did better than she did was home cooking but Eileen would never tell Jenny so.  Eileen wasn't sure why Jenny was better here.  There was a theory in her old magical world magic could seep into cooking and ruin it but it was good to know her daughter had a talent.  It was also good to annoy her daughter.  From the look on her face, Jenny had been reading her mind again.

'You did well, Jennifer.  You won't have further trouble from Janine.'

'That was the idea, wasn't it, Mother?  You've set things up.  Janine should never have been able to take pictures showing anything magical.'

'I fixed her phone, so what?  You've fixed it back again.  No harm done.  And she will try to find her own man now.  Much as I loathe Paul, he is your choice, dear, and you are happy with him.  The same way I am happy with your father and my old world doesn't approve of him.  We have more in common than you think here.  It's no good wincing.  You know I'm right.  And I agree with Janine your Paul seems decent but don't tell him I said so and I will know if you do.  It never pays to inflate a man's ego.'

'Stick to scoffing the muffins, Mother.  You’re not cut out to be an agony aunt.'
Eileen smiled.  It had been a good day.  If ever there was a Rile Your Daughter Week, Eileen would be in her element.  Perhaps she would arrange it.

'Forget it, Mother. I am reading your mind. You rile me every week.'

Eileen's smile became a grin.  'Isn't it good to have life back to normal?'  She paused.  ‘Or at least as near to normal as we can get.’

About the author

Allison Symes, who loves writing and reading fairytales with bite, is published by Chapeltown Books, Cafelit, and Bridge House Publishing.  She is a member of the Society of Authors and Association of Christian Writers.  A round-up of her writing is at http://allisonsymescollectedworks.wordpress.com and she blogs for Chandler’s Ford Today - http://chandlersfordtoday.co.uk/author/allison-symes/

Roller Coaster

by Leon Coleman

cherry cola

 There we were, standing on Blackpool promenade.  I couldn’t believe it, that after all Dad’s promises we were here.  In the car, he’d said he’d give five pounds to whoever spotted Blackpool Tower first.  I won and spent the last ten minutes of the journey waving the five pound note in Jane’s face. She didn’t like that.

Seagulls squawked as they hovered in the wind, their beady eyes searching for food.  I hoped we wouldn’t have to walk on the beach like last time; I was tipping sand out of my Nikes for months.  The sounds of arcade and slot machines were slowly drowned out by the screams of the terrified as another rollercoaster swished down from above. The carriages pounded the tracks. 

We queued at the entrance to the Pleasure Beach.  Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as Dad bought us tickets at the kiosk.  I was twelve years-old. My sister Jane, she was ten.  And my parents, well, who knows?

‘Who wants to go on a ride then?’ Mum said.

‘I do,’ I said.

‘I do, too,’ Jane said.

‘What do you fancy then?’ Dad said.

‘Alice ride.’ Jane’s head was obscured by a ball of pink candy floss bigger than her head.

‘Alice ride is boring. It’s for little kids,’ I said.

‘No it’s not,’ Jane said.

‘Come on, Tim, you can go on the Alice ride with your little sister.’

Dad looked at me in that way adults do when they’re trying to talk you into something. I knew because he wasn’t blinking. He squinted and his head tilted to one side and his voice sounded funny. Not funny ha ha, just funny, funny. You know, different. He always spoke slowly when he asked me if I wanted to do something I had to do: if I don’t do what he wants then I’m going to pay for it later. But if I do it, then I usually get a treat. He played this game a lot, ‘I’m sure you could let Jane use your keyboard,’ or ‘I’m sure you could take Jane to the swimming baths.’ Blah blah blah.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll go on the baby ride.’ Fortunately, I’d brought sunglasses, which I’d kept in my shirt pocket. They would come in handy for my disguise.

Jane stomped her foot and crossed her arms, her face on the verge of tears. ‘I’m not going with him.’

I shrugged my shoulders.

‘We’ll all go,’ Dad said, clearly thinking fast.

If Dad thought this was going to help matters he was wrong.  Jane and I climbed into the front seats of a carriage shaped like a giant white cat. (Yes, a cat).   Despite wearing my shades I kept my hand over the side of my face, just in case. Mum and Dad sat behind.  We headed off, passing under the ten of spades, up towards an ivy-covered tunnel. 

‘Wow, that was amazing, wasn’t it?’ Dad said grinning like the Cheshire cat as we climbed out afterwards.  I think he actually meant it, judging by the snorting noises he’d made all the way through.

‘I loved it,’ said Jane.

‘And you, Tim?’ Dad grinned at me with a, didn’t I tell you it would be fun look on his face.  He practically dribbled like he does when he watches Baywatch.

‘Boring. For babies like Jane,’ I said.

‘No it’s not,’ Jane said.

‘Okay then, spoil sport, what do you want to go on then?’ Dad said.

‘Something fast.’

‘Maybe later,’ Dad said.

Why did he bother asking me? I looked up at the sky; I put the shades back in my pocket.

‘Rugrats,’ Jane said. The candy floss on the stick was nearly gone, most of it now on her face.

We all ended up at the Rugrats Lost River, but only three could sit in a log: Jane in front, me in the middle and Mum behind; Dad had to take the next log by himself.  All the mums were screaming in parts, including ours, though I still don’t understand why. This was beyond embarrassing.

‘So? How was that?’ Dad asked. He had that look again.

‘Are you joking? I said, but by the expression on his face I could tell he wasn’t.

‘I’m not going on anymore baby rides.’ I said, and Mum and Dad looked at each other like I’d just shown them a dead mouse.

Mum suggested we take a break. Jane and I ate doughnuts as Mum and Dad drank coffee. Later we wandered around like homeless people. I hadn’t spoken since the last ride. We passed the Big Dipper; there were queues, with people scuttling around excitedly.  I turned to Dad expectantly, ‘Dad, can I go on this? Please.’ My fingers intertwined tightly, pressed against my chest. I gave my best smile.

Dad, unsure, turned to Mum, who nodded.

‘Okay.’ He handed me the ticket.

I craned my neck to see the giant structure above and then looked at Jane. She was terrified. ‘Come on Jane, let’s go,’ I said. I knew she’d be too scared to come. I left her behind with Mum and Dad as I made my way, a little nervous as I joined the line.  Mum kept waving and calling but I ignored her. As I waited someone nudged me from behind, and I turned around to see Jane stood behind me. ‘What you doing here?’ I said but she didn’t answer. Before, she’d jumped up and down excitedly and grinned showing her missing front tooth, but now she stood still as a scarecrow, and she wasn’t smiling.  Her arms were crossed, and between her eyebrows and the top of her nose was a crease like the letter H. If I had to guess I would say she looked more angry than scared. The fact she wouldn’t answer meant she was mad at me.  As we arrived at the front, three sets of four blue carriages arrived; we got in the second set.  I trembled, then rubbed my arms and complained about the cold.  I turned to Jane. She hadn’t said a word since she joined the queue five minutes ago.  This was unlike her, believe me. 

As the carriages clicked and clacked we began to rise. A metal chain, a bit like the one on my bike but larger, pulled us upwards, and the monotonous grinding of machinery rang through the air. I gripped the hand grips and checked on Jane, she was clutching tightly with her fingers, still silent.  She looked white as a sheet.

We rose higher and higher, and just after we passed the DO NOT STAND UP sign she started to scream. Then, in the distance a silver dome came into view ahead to the right, and she stopped as we reached the top, only to catch her breath before starting again as we passed the letters B.I.G.  We followed the tracks to the left before we dropped, the air hitting us square in the face and our bodies jerked upwards as we rose again but at speed. I must admit that after the initial fall, I felt pretty calm and turned to face Jane when we came to a stop. She looked tired.

‘Did you like it?’ I said.

‘No.’ She punched my arm.

We returned to Mum and Dad, like astronauts back from space, I asked if I could do it again,

‘Not straightway, let’s have a walk around first,’ Dad said.

I would have to wait.

From wherever you are you can see The Big One. It’s huge, and we stopped every now and then to stare up towards the sky. The carriages rose up towards the clouds, and those on it, their faces like dots, were so far away. We listened to their screams as they plummeted downwards. Maybe one day, when I’m older but not today.

I saw the Avalanche. ‘Wow, look, there’s no tracks, please, please, please, let me go on, Dad, Mum, please?’ I pleaded.

They gave me the tickets, I looked at Jane. She definitely wouldn’t do this one, not after the Big Dipper.

‘I want to go, too,’ she said.

‘You? But you were scared on the Big Dipper; this one goes even faster and has no tracks.’ 

‘I want to go, too,’ she repeated, and crossed her arms.

I recognised that stubborn look, the one with the scrunched eyebrows. So did Mum and Dad by the expression on their faces.

We got on the ride; she sat in front between my legs and we moved off.  The speed was crazy, and we were even higher than before, above everything, nearly.  When we reached the top we were transferred from the tracks onto the ice part – although it wasn’t ice – like on a bob sleigh. At the top we came down slowly, not dropped like the dipper. The speed picks up, gradually, but within seconds we were flying, and as we turned, my cheeks moved one way and then the other.  Jane was screaming again, even loader then last time, destroying my eardrums, and to top it all off the bones in her back were digging into my chest.

My head spun after this one. By the way Jane stumbled out at the end I think hers did, too.

‘So? How was it?’ Dad said.

‘It was alright,’ I said. In truth, it was the best thing ever.

‘Only alright?’

‘Well, it was pretty good, apart from Jane screaming down my ear the whole time,’ I said to annoy her.

‘I wasn’t. Tim’s lying,’ she said, though I’m sure no one believed her.

Dad rubbed his stomach.  He forced us all to go with him while he got burger and chips.  Mum and Dad began to argue; I’m not sure about what.

As we walked around the Pleasure Beach we passed The Big One. It towered over us, it was much bigger close up.  Nearby I saw another ride, the Revolution.

‘Dad.’ I pointed at the loop.  The carriages moved off, the track dropping before rising into a full 360 degree loop before coming up again and stopping.  On this you went upside down while moving forwards then repeat the track, this time backwards. And it moved fast too.

As we queued and people climbed into the carriages we got a close up view of those on the ride – the way the carriage would shoot off before dropping as though off a cliff. You then saw them coming up into the loop and then back down, before coming back up to the end. And then it stopped. And just as the screams died down, they’d shoot off again but backwards, following the same track.  I admit I was terrified, but I didn’t show it to Jane.  She just seemed tense, like before.

I shut my eyes going forwards into the loop.  I shut my eyes going backwards into the loop, too. I think I missed most of it.  The worst part was the turning in my stomach as we dropped on the return, which was pretty scary, especially after the doughnuts.

‘How was it?’ Mum said.

‘Really good,’ I said.

‘Really good,’ Jane said as we glared at each other.

‘You guys had enough? Fancy going for something to eat then? Dad checked his watch, he looked hungry again.

‘But you’ve just eaten,’ Mum said to Dad.

‘Yeah, but the kids haven’t, and anyway, it was only a small portion.’

Mum shook her head.

‘Yes, fish and chips,’ I shouted.

‘I want to go on this one.’ Jane’s little finger pointed upwards and towards the sky. At first I thought she was pointing to Blackpool Tower. Then I realised, she was pointing at The Big One.

Dad and Mum laughed. I didn’t.

Jane gave me the look. The one she wears when she’s on a mission.

‘I’m not sure, sweetheart. You can’t go by yourself, it depends if Tim wants to go with you…’ Dad said. 

My first thought was, why doesn’t he go with her then? ‘I thought we were getting food, I’m hungry,’ I said.

‘Scaredy pants, scaredy pants, Tim’s scared,’ Jane sang.

More people screamed as more carriages dropped down along the tracks on The Big One.

‘I’ll go with you, but the queue goes back miles, do you think you could wait? Aren’t you hungry?’

‘No.’

‘Oh.’ I watched her, trying to figure out if she was bluffing. Eventually I came to a conclusion.  She was serious.

‘Okay, well… let’s go then.’ I said.

Mum and Dad looked at me funny. This time Jane led the way, I followed her.  She practically marched to the queue, although small she powered through, and I ran to keep up.

I looked around. She must have been the smallest one. Please god, let her be too small and not let her on. That would be amazing. I crossed my fingers. I saw a height restriction sign; balls! She was over the minimum, but not by much.

As we stood in the queue, everyone seemed so big. I had doubts; maybe we shouldn’t be going on anyway.  I thought about telling Jane but couldn’t find the words.  Eventually we got there, and to make things worse we were in the front car.  We pulled the lap bar down. I pulled and pushed the bar twenty times to make sure it was secure, even then I wasn’t sure.  I checked with Jane, and she said hers was fine, though I think I might have put some doubt in her mind.

Like the other rides there was the big climb, but this one was ridiculous, it seemed to go on forever. We were so high up you could barely hear the music, the amusements, or the voices below. From up here you could see over everything, the tower, the sea the other rides, everything below was tiny.  The clicking of the motor dragging us up only made me more nervous.  There was a knocking sound on the floor of the carriage as the motor pulled us upwards. My knuckles clung to the hand grip, and my foot pressed so hard to the floor I got cramp in my leg. Terrified, out of breath, I stared forward waiting. We reached the top, and the clacking stopped, there was only the whoosh of the wind blowing into my ear. At the highest point we virtually stopped dead, then slowly we began the drop, and when I say drop, I mean drop, vertically.  I can’t remember if I screamed, I can’t remember if Jane screamed, in fact, I can’t remember much after we reached the top…

This was all a long time ago now but I still remember it like it was yesterday.  Well, apart from that drop.  Now I’m all grown up and so is Jane.  She’s a successful businesswoman, and her achievements put mine to shame.  They say to be successful in the business world you’ve got to be tenacious. Well, after our day at the amusements park, I don’t think her success was in any doubt.

As for me, I learned a valuable lesson that day.  Never leave valuables in an open shirt pocket when going on a rollercoaster.

And don’t annoy your little sister. 

Scratch, Scratch, Scratch

by Jim Bates

ice tea with lemon

Jack Anderson whistled as he bounded down the stairs to check another job off the To Do List, this one to change the furnace filter. It was the last day in May, a beautiful Saturday morning, and he wanted to get outside and start on the garden. He and his wife, Darby, had three flats full of zinnias, marigolds and impatiens to plant and time was wasting. He was a product manager at a medium sized software development company and was used to everything running on schedule, even weekends. This Saturday was no exception. Change the filter, plant the flowers and then get the grill going to do some barbecue chicken, everything nicely planned.

            Life was good in Jack's world. Good that was until he stepped off the last step into the basement, turned into the furnace room and almost put his face into the tail of a squirrel hanging from the rafters.

            "Jesus Christ," he yelled, jumping back. The squirrel turned to face him, bared it's teeth, and Jack had a momentary panic that it was going to attack. He pictured the animal sinking it's claws into his face and teeth into his nose, rivers of blood running down his shirt, then undergoing weeks of painful rabies shots. No way. He threw up his arm to protect himself and yelled, "Get the hell out of here!" or something to that effect. Truth be told, he was rattled. A rodent in the house? Unacceptable. This would not do.

            Darby heard him yell from all the way outside by the garden shed. She hurried in through the back door and called down the stairs, "Jack? Are you okay? What's going on?"

            "There's a god damn squirrel down here, Darby. Almost bit me," he said, embellishing a little. In truth, the squirrel had panicked and scurried up a cast iron pipe and was now hiding in the space between the ceiling and floor above him. He could hear it scratching and clawing so he acted fast. "I'm going to plug around this pipe," he said. "Where's that steel wool?"

            Five minutes later he stood back and surveyed his work. He'd used an entire bag of steel wool to fill up every hole he could find in the unfinished ceiling of the furnace room.  When he was done he called for Darby come downstairs. Their house was nearly one-hundred years old, well cared for, but old. There were potentially lots of spaces for a squirrel to hide, a point borne out by the noisy squirrel above them in the ceiling scratching and scurrying around like he owned the place.

            "Damn," Jack grimaced, his face turning red. "God damn it to hell."

            Darby took him by the arm to try and calm her high-strung husband."Let's take a step back and go upstairs, dear," Darby suggested. "I'll fix us some ice tea and we can try to figure out what to do."

            "I already know what I'm going to do," Jack stated emphatically, pulling away, face turning redder by the second. "I'm going to trap that damn thing. And then I'm going to kill it."

            Darby signed and shook her head. This was not going to end well.

            It turned out the squirrel was smarter than Jack. It had an entryway into the house up in a corner of the eaves on the second story that was impossible for either he or Darby to get to. They saw it later that morning when they were surveying the outside, trying to figure out where it might be entering and exiting their home. The squirrel had inadvertently played it's hand when it popped it's head out from a loose soffit, two storeys above them, taken a quick look at the two people watching from below and scurried out of the hole, up onto the roof and over to the other side of the house where it disappeared from view.

            "God damn it," Jack screamed, blood rushing to his face. "I'm getting my keys."

            "Where are you going?" Darby asked, greatly concerned. Jack had high blood pressure and didn't handle stress well. On top of his stressful job he now had this pesky squirrel to contend with. He had to watch himself.

            "To the hardware story. Donny had trouble with squirrels, remember?"

            Darby did remember. Jack's younger brother had used a Havaheart live trap to get rid of some nuisance squirrels around his property a few years before. "He used those live traps right?"

            "Yeah," Jack said grimily. "I'm going to get one."

            He came home with three. He baited them with peanut butter and dry corn and waited. By the end of the day he'd caught three squirrels and a chipmunk but couldn't bring himself to kill them. Instead, he drove them to a park five miles away and released them. He knew it was against the law, but what the hell. Out of sight, out of mind was his way of thinking.

            That evening Jack was feeling pretty smug, thinking that at least one of the three squirrels he'd trapped that day was the one getting into his house. He was just sitting down with Darby to watch some television when they heard something in the ceiling right above them in the living room. A noise of some sort. Scratch, scratch, scratch.

            "What's that?" Jack asked, standing up, listening carefully.

            "Sounds like something's up in the ceiling," Darby said. "You don't suppose..."

            "No, it couldn't be," Jack said, just as the thing scampered overhead and chattered loudly as if to provoke them. "I can't believe it! It's that friggin' squirrel," Jack yelled. He ran to the kitchen and grabbed a broom and smacked it against the ceiling trying to scare the animal away, but to no avail. It scampered and chattered and even chewed on a nut (it sounded like) for the rest of the evening. In fact, the squirrel kept at it until late at night until finally all went quiet.

            "Maybe it's asleep," Darby suggested, worn out. Not so much by the squirrel but by dealing with Jack. He was frazzled and beside himself he was so mad.

            "Yeah. Hopefully," Jack said, suddenly feeling strangely forlorn and depressed. He couldn't stand that the squirrel was 'winning the battle' as he thought of the situation. He sighed a resigned sigh, "Maybe we should turn in ourselves and try to get some sleep."

            And one of them did. Darby slept like a log but Jack barely a wink. The last thing in the world he could do was to calm down and relax. He kept picturing the squirrel in the house hiding somewhere doing whatever it wanted to do and the very thought of it drove him crazy. He was up and the crack of dawn, wandering around the house, listening to every creak and crack, knowing for certain that, somehow, magically, the one squirrel from the night before had increased tenfold in number. At eight in the morning, exhausted and at his wits end, he called West Metro Rodent Control. They said they'd send someone out that afternoon.

            That someone was Bryan who showed up after lunch. He was a big man with a full beard, a long ponytail and tattoos on both arms. To Jack it looked like he could take care of himself and any squirrel for that matter, especially after he'd slipped on some safety glasses and a pair of leather gloves that went to his elbows. He took fifteen minutes climbing around on the roof, using his high ladder to inspect the eaves and a powerful flashlight to probe ever possible entryway into the house.

            After a thorough survey of the outside, Bryan summarized the problem by saying, "It looks like you've got just the one entryway in the soffit on the second story. I looked in and there's some insulation in there. I'd say there was a nest, some babies were born there and one is probably still living there."

            Jack was shaking with rage but tried to keep his voice calm. "Can you do something about it."

            Bryan smiled. "Easy. It's what I do."

            Jack breathed a sigh of relief.

            Next to him Darby asked, "How much will it cost?"

            Jack held up his hand to intervene, "It doesn't matter. Just do it."

            Bryan did. And in the end he was true to his word. It took him four days to capture the squirrel. He put three live traps on the roof to go with Jack's three live traps on the ground. Between the two of them they caught seven squirrels which Bryan took to land a farmer friend of his owned and set them free.

            Rid of the squirrel, Bryan then sent in a subcontractor who plugged the hole and sealed the soffits.

            A week later, when Bryan came back for his final inspection, he surveyed the work of the subcontractor and checked the roof line. All looked well, nice and sealed. He told Jack and Darby, "It's all done. I guarantee you'll be squirrel free from now on. Just keep an eye on the roof line. If anything looks suspicious, don't hesitate to call." Then he gave Jack an invoice for two thousand dollars.

            "You bet I will," Jack said, happily writing out a check, feeling very smug. Problem solved. He was already looking forward to the first good night's sleep in two weeks.

            But that didn't happen. That first night he awoke to a scratching sound in the wall right next to his bed. He sat up and woke Darby. "Do you hear that?" he asked her.

            But she didn't. "It's all in your imagination," she told him. "Just go back to sleep."

            Easier said than done. In fact, for the next week Jack heard scratching in the wall next to his head every night. Scratch, scratch, scratch. It was beginning to drive him nuts.

            Darby heard nothing, so finally, after a week, she made a suggestion, "Maybe you should give Dr. Jensen a call."

            Dr. Jensen was Jack's psychologist, someone he talked with to help deal with stress at work.

            "Good idea," Jack said. He needed to do something. He wasn't sleeping, he wasn't eating and his work at the office was suffering . He made an appointment.       

            A few days later, after listening intently during their first meeting, Dr. Jenson told Jack the sounds he was hearing were a manifestation of the stress he'd been under while trying to rid his house of the squirrel. Jack didn't care what the doctor called it, he just wanted the scratching to go away. It was as if the squirrel was still there, not in his home, but right inside his head. Something had to be done.

            "Too bad they don't make a trap for situations like this," Jack said to his shrink that first visit, to which Dr. Jensen just shook his head and smiled, sympathetic to Jack's plight but also happy to bill him for his time. No matter how long it took.

Jack's immediate plan is to continue to see Dr. Jensen. All he wants is for the scratching to go away. Some nights he doesn't hear a thing. No scratching. No nothing. And that's good. He's willing to pay whatever it takes to make that noisy squirrel inhabiting his brain go away. The cost doesn't matter. It'll be worth it.

            Unbeknownst to Jack, however, a squirrel is in the process of taking up residence in his home. She's a young mother to be and she's eagerly searching for a place to build her nest. She's expecting her babies soon so she's cautious as she hops around the back garden feeling more and more comfortable. There are lots of trees and nuts. Lots of food. It looks like a good place to raise her family. She scampers up to the roof where she's found a teeny-tiny opening under a soffit. If she's diligent she can open up a hole and crawl inside. Then she'll build a nest and start her new family. Yes, she thinks to herself, this will work out just fine. Happily, she begins clawing and scratching. Scratch, scratch, scratch.

About the auhtor 

 Jim lives in a small town twenty miles west of Minneapolis, Minnesota. His stories have appeared in CafeLit, The Writers' Cafe Magazine, A Million Ways, Cabinet of Heed, Paragraph Planet, Mused - The BellaOnline Literary Review, Nailpolish Stories, Ariel Chart, Potato Soup Journal, Literary Yard and The Drabble. You can also check out his blog to see more: www.theviewfromlonglake.wordpress.com.