Twwisted Pearls

by Phyllis Burton 

flat beer 

     The Buntonian Theatre nestled almost apologetically, in the centre of the town of Sanderwood. Most of the town’s larger buildings were built after the war, but the Buntonian first opened its doors in the year 1899, and looked slightly at odds with the more modern buildings surrounding it. Nevertheless, the town’s inhabitants loved their theatre, and looked forward to all the productions which were held there. Every month, the local repertory company performed plays, ranging from Shakespeare, to Victorian melodramas, and the most up-to-date plays written by young writers.

     It was two weeks before Christmas on a bright Tuesday afternoon. The theatre’s staff, the producer and the back-stage crew were busy making sure that everything was ready for the final rehearsal for their production of Cinderella. The actors were gradually entering the auditorium, chattering away and trying to ignore all the hustle and bustle of the final technical rehearsal.

    The intercom system from back-stage, blared out noisily…

     “WOULD ALL PERFORMERS PLEASE GO UPSTAIRS AND CHECK THAT THEIR COSTUMES ARE WHERE THEY SHOULD BE, AND ANY PROPS THEY REQUIRE ARE IN THEIR RIGHT PLACE IN THE GREEN ROOM.”

      As soon as the intercom message had finished, Lady Priscilla Prendergast’s haughty aristocratic voice boomed out over the heads of the assembled cast

     ‘I want everyone involved in the opening sequence up on stage now, please, as I have a few things that I want to say to you, so check on your costumes and props afterwards.’

     But nobody moved. They were far too busy talking to listen to her. 

     ‘Will you please listen to me?’ she said, desperately fiddling with the microphone. ‘I said that I wanted everyone up on stage for the opening,’ she repeated stamping her feet in temper. ‘We’ll never get through this rehearsal if you all insist on talking all the time.’

     Most of the stage lights were on, and the lighting in the auditorium was dim. Lady Priscilla couldn’t see anything clearly. Her hazel eyes flashed, and she put her hand up to her forehead to shield them from the unforgiving lights. She was tall, slim and her long blond-to-grey straight hair, swung around her head wildly as her anger increased. ‘I won’t tell you again. You have to remember that this is your final rehearsal, and if your pathetic efforts last night were anything to go by, you all certainly need it. You won’t get another chance.’ There was no response to her pleas. ‘All I can say is, that the dress rehearsal last night was dreadful. Several of you forgot your lines, and as far as some of your make-up is concerned, you looked like a lot of pasty faced, idiots.’ She peered out into the gloom. ‘Is the Dame here yet?’

     ‘Yes,’ a squeaky voice replied.

     ‘Well, your wig is totally wrong, so would you please contact the Wardrobe Mistress, when you have a moment?’   

      The assembled cast looked chastened, but continued to chatter. 

     ‘You have a paying audience tonight, so if you care about what people think, and I hope that you do, then please come up on the stage now.’ The cast gradually began to move, and Lady Pricilla’s imperious gaze alighted on one of the few people in the whole theatre, who was not in awe of her.

     Jack Smithers’ eyes twinkled as he returned her gaze. ‘She’s going about it all wrong,’ he whispered to himself as he walked slowly up the old wooden steps and on to the stage. ‘Lady Prendergast?’ he said eyeing her up and down.

     She looked at him with distain, and irritation. ‘Yes, my man? When I said that I wanted everyone on stage, I didn’t mean you. What do you want, can’t you see that I’m busy. I’m trying to start this important rehearsal. You should have sorted out any problems you may have had during the Technical Rehearsal, and NOT now.’

     ‘I’m not your man and unlikely to be so, and in my ‘umble opinion, you won’t get any of this lot to do anything if you shout at ‘em all the time: ask ‘em gentle like,’ he said as he ambled towards the back of the stage. His old shoes squeaked and squelched as he reached the ladder which was propped up against a bank of stage lights. ‘These ‘ere lights need some urgent attention before yer re’earsal starts.’

     Even as he uttered these words, one of the lights flickered a few times, before going out. Jack’s clothes had all seen better days, and some would even say that they needed a good wash too. His jacket had elbow patches made from different materials, and the baggy lining hung down at the back. Jack had been “Sparks” at the theatre for 40 long years and had seen many Producer/Directors come and go. He shook his head, because he considered her Ladyship to be one of the worst.    

     ‘Well make sure that you do whatever you have to do, quickly’ she said. ‘I can’t wait any longer, or this production will not be ready for the first performance this evening.’

     Jack coughed and spluttered as he climbed up the ladder. ‘Alright, alright, I’m doing me best,’ he said. It seemed that every time he climbed up now, it became more and more difficult. His chest felt tight and he stood on the top rung for a while to get his breath back.

     By this time, Lady Prendergast’s temper was turning into a rage. ‘Smithers, I say, Smithers’ she began to shout. ‘Please hurry up and move this ladder, as the cast are coming on the stage. We can’t possibly have you cluttering everything up.’

     ‘Don’t you get all ‘igh and mighty with me,’ he wheezed, as he looked down at her. ‘I just won’t stand for it, do you ‘ere, and if I don’t do these ‘ere lights, there won’t be no performance tonight.’   

     ‘Well do hurry up then,’ she retorted. ‘What is this world coming to? I’ve never had so much trouble with the lights before. It’s just not good enough.’

     ‘I’m going as fast as I can,’ Jack replied.

     ‘Well it’s not fast enough. In fact I’m not at all satisfied with your work, Smithers. You     are too slow and too old for this job. I’ll be speaking to the management about you.’

     Lady Priscilla Prendergast was wearing a twin-set with pearls and a tweed skirt. Jack Smithers stared at her and felt an almost overwhelming urge to tighten the beautiful necklace around her neck until she squealed. He clenched his gnarled old hands tightly. He wasn’t a violent man, but he’d had enough. ‘If I don’t leave now,’ he told himself, ‘I won’t be responsible for me actions.’ Jack climbed slowly back down the ladder, walked over to his tool box, and closed it with the finality of a pistol shot.  The noise echoed around the theatre.

     He smiled at her.

     ‘Well, that’s it, yer Ladyship. If I’m not good enough, or I’m too old for yer, just see ‘ow you get on without me. Bye,’ he said giving her a wave as he walked down the steps and limped slowly towards the door.

     Lady Priscilla looked as if she was about to explode, and then panic began to set in. ‘But you can’t leave now,’ she shouted ‘What will we do. I… I…?’ For the first time in her life, she was lost for words.

     Jack Smithers doffed his cap, picked up his tool-box, and sauntered out of the hall. He felt triumphant. For once in her sheltered and privileged life, someone had stood up to Lady Priscilla Prendergast and had won!

     He smiled. He’d had enough. Peace and retirement beckoned to him as he walked out into the brilliant sunshine.

About the author

Click below to see her new Website!.....

 

http://www.phyllisburton.com

Your Strangeness

by PritJ

Coorg filter coffee

During these strange times, talking on the phone with friends has increased in frequency, having taken over from meeting in person. Then, you realise there is only so much sense you can make after a couple of hours of chatter, and one conversation about taking a vacation, tapered into this: 

Friend: Why do they tuck the sheets in hotel beds so tight, all nice and clean and crisp and white. And once trapped in, do guests become mummies, and mouthing unmentionables, in ancient hieroglyphics, to complain, rest as their right? 

Made me blink, twice - sputter into my filter coffee, and led me to think "When we met, we were strangers, then some of you got stranger. It isn't only the times which are strange."

About the author 

PritiJ has lived a life across cultures. She is an outspoken representative of her gender; still unsure whether she represents liberation, or equity, and finds humour, and inspiration for her poetry, in odd places. 

VE Day

by Mark Readman  

brandy

Dawn brought in a new day in the half light; Susan’s reflection looked back at her in the tall window. The face mask hung below her chin, her blue overall faded away as the sunlight strengthened revealing the grass and the yellow of the daffodils in the borders.

 She watched the flashes of white tails as the rabbits rushed off to their burrows.                                     

It’s been a long time since January the first, when Edwards Hall goes into lockdown.  A clause was applied from the sixties, after it converted into retirement apartments for wealthy gentlemen and ladies. The signage in the staff room clearly states:                      

 " To lower the risk of passing on influenza as a resident you are requested not to receive guests or to leave the estate during the winter months."

 For many generations this big house was the home of the Edwards a military family.  Set in the Norfolk countryside, enclosed by farmland and security fencing it makes for a safe place to be.

The kettle comes to boil just as Emma entered the staff room, the fire door slamming behind her. 

“Do you know how long it takes for the hot water to come through in my room?   When it finally gets there, it could strip your skin off.”

“Well good morning to you too.”

  “Sorry, I don’t know why but last night I couldn’t stop worrying about this virus. I mean being this close to the end of our own lockdown.  Now all of a sudden we have to stay in, for God only knows how long.”

 “This new virus has changed everything; we should think ourselves very lucky to be in this environment. We are used to isolation and we know how to follow rules our jobs depend on it. This will come very hard to a lot of people but that is the price we’ll all have to pay for the freedom we’re so used to.”

  Susan buttered a couple of rounds of toast and made them a coffee. Emma moved over to the table resting one knee on a chair. Susan returned to the window placing her mug on the window sill.

 

 “I’m so grateful we’re in here and not having to worry if there is enough food. I’m glad we had the delivery a couple of weeks ago, the cellars are fully stocked for at least the next six months. It must be hell in one of those nursing homes.”

 “It’s good that the residents here just look after themselves while all we have to do is the cleaning and housekeeping, which means it must be your turn to clean Phyllis’s apartment.”

 “Thanks! I don’t know why she always makes me feel like I’m here to be told what to do. It’s like she owns the place, the other day she told me to make arrangements for her trip to London in May. She wasn’t too happy when I said nobody would want to go to London at the moment."

 “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“Phyllis was the owner up until the trustees took over about twenty years ago. Surely you must have realised that with her name being Edwards?”

 “No I just thought it was coincidence, but that would explain a lot. Well you’ll have to tell me how she came to own this place.”

  “Okay but it will be quick, we’ve work to do. Between the wars, Colonel Edwards’s wife was very ill. Frieda Holst a young nurse of German descent was employed to look after her.  The Colonels son took a shine to Frieda and they became lovers resulting in marriage.  Which was just as well because she could well have been imprisoned in the war years; you’re looking puzzled?”

 “Where does Phyllis come into this and why would Frieda have gone to prison?” 

 “Sorry I should have said Phyllis is the daughter of Frieda and the Colonel’s son the heir to this place. Anyway when the war came all German nationals living here were confined, to lessen their chance of spying for the Nazis.”

  “Of course Frieda would have been an Edwards by then and she was over looked.”

  “Right history lesson over! Back to work, if you want to know any more ask Phyllis I’m sure she be delighted to tell you.”

On that note the air thickened, though Emma was respectful of all the residents; Phyllis was the only one she never felt comfortable with. It’s a long walk to the other side of the house. Phyllis was seated in the bay window taking in the sun, Emma’s voice being slightly muffled by her mask.

 “Morning Phyllis how are we today, it’s lovely now the sun is out.”

  “Have you washed your hands?”

  “Mrs Edwards! Please I do know how important it is for us all to keep a good standard of hygiene even without this new virus.”

 “Emma, leave the cleaning today. Come and sit down. It would be nice to talk with you. I’m getting a bit fed up with the T.V. and the radio, all the time it’s bad news”                                                                     

“Only if you’re sure, but I’ll clean your bathroom first, then I’ll sit with you for a while.”

This was a first, in all the time she had worked here. Phyllis actually spoke to her like a fellow human and not as a servant. Emma did ensure she done a thorough job in the allotted time, not to be caught out by Phyllis saying it wasn’t done properly.  

  “There sit yourself down and take your mask off then I can see you properly.” 

  “Well I’ll have to sit back from you, if I remove the mask.”

  “When was the last time you left the building?”

  “January the forth I went to Norwich and bought some new underwear.”

  “And have you been ill since then, no! So you haven’t got this virus and it's April now.” 

  

 She was right.  No one had been anywhere since then, Emma was last one to have been out of the grounds. The virus had only been talked about on the T.V. feeling the need to change the subject.

 “Is that your husband in the photograph, he was a good looking man.”

 Oh, no dear I never married, that was Daddy.  He died trying to save a pilot who crash landed at the airfield during the war.”

 “Was he a pilot too?”

 “No he was an officer at the airfield they all had a very dangerous jobs to as well, I think people tend to forget that war involves many more then the frontline fighters.”

 “Were you very close to your father.”

 “Yes, I was very young I had very little understanding of what was going on. Times were different then, children were shielded from the horrors of war.  I was lucky to have lived here and able to stay with my family.”

 “It must have been hard for you though.”

 “Well yes I looked forward to Daddy coming home, because mummy was a nurse and part of the house became a hospital for awhile. He seemed to be the only one who had time for me when he was able to be here.Then he stopped coming home and Mummy and the Colonel were very sad, then Mummy took more notice of me and we took flowers to the church and put them on a heap of earth. You see I wasn’t told, I was probably deemed too young to understand.”

Emma was feeling emotional as Phyllis spoke of her past; she’d never given the children of the war years any thought. Like the children now, they have no control over their future with this virus taking their loved ones who would have guided them into adulthood.  Phyllis was staring towards the main gates; a tear appeared as if she was reliving a memory waiting for Daddy.

 “Would you like me to make you some tea or something?”

“There’s some brandy in the cabinet over there, treat yourself to one as well.”

  Emma duly lifted her mask back over her nose, returning with the glasses of drink.                            

Phyllis held the photo frame in her arthritic hand, taking a sip without a flinch or gasp swallowed deeply. Emma on the other hand felt its smoothness then the violent kick resulting in a cough.

 “One day mummy took me to the church with some flowers. Mummy said how beautiful it was, as we stood at the earth mound. I watched as she ran her hands over the top of the headstone and the words. Of course back then as a child we never used our parent’s names it was just Mummy and Daddy.”

  “It must have been awful for you, reading the headstone when you hadn’t known why you had been going there with flowers.”

 

“It was a lot to take in, the capital letters V and E. of Victor Edwards that made such an impression on my mind, even when I closed my eyes. Worse still, a few days later there were flags and buntings on the trees and lots of people came to the house. There was food and drink and everyone was happy.  They kept saying victory and I tried to tell them daddy’s name was Victor but they didn’t listen to me. It made me so unhappy I sat near the stables at the back of the house, after a while the Colonel came looking for me.”

  “I can’t imagine how you must have felt at the time.”

  “The Colonel told me about the Victory in Europe and we should keep my misunderstanding a secret. You see for me V. E. Day is Victor Edwards’s day that’s how the Colonel and I would always remember daddy.”

“That’s why you were asking to go to London. For the V.E. Day celebrations.”

 “Yes. Dear I’ve never been and I should before I die.”

 About the author

 Mark Readman is Essex born and bred and enjoys writing short stories in his retirement. By joining a writing group he’s found this to be most helpful to polish his written work, having one story published on Cafelit site   2019 (The kings Shilling)

(Un)Limited Poison

 

by Kiyasu Oka

matcha latte with honey

 

I sat behind my friend. His back had an unlimited symbol. He likes doing… unusual things.

Including mixing poisonous liquids in math class.

We were solving limit equations today.

“x squared minus three. Hmm… over x minus four,” I mumbled.

Suddenly, he turned around.

“Hey Sally, you should pretend minus three and minus four never existed. That would be fun! Let’s change the homework problems, yahoo!”

“You can’t just edit our math problems!!!”

“Ha, of course you can. If me, the oh-so-great-ish Dr. Almighty Poison King with (Mad Scientist) Glasses says so, then you can. But really, I have so many flasks of liquids at my house… it’s crazzzzy, dude!”

“Whoa there, poisonous? That’s pretty scary!”

“Nah, it’s my hobby! You know, anything to do with poissssson, snake style!”

“Huh…?”

“But I have so many flasks that if you broke into my house and stole some, I would still be in Happy Happy Poisssssonous Flasks Wonder Land!”

“Why would I want to steal flasks from you?”

“Well, why wouldn’t you? I mean, it’s my passsssion!”

“I have passion in math, not poisonous liquids and flasks.”

“Can you feel my passion, though?”

“Uh… I guess…”

“I have sooooo many flasks that it is as if!! As if!!!!!!!!!”

“… Yes…?”

“As if!! Me, keep doing same passion, every day. A billion years later, still SO many flasks left. Wow!”

“… Huh…”

“Like, there are SO many flasks!! An unlimited supply for more than eternity! An UNlimited supply of poisssssion for me!”

“…So…?”

“If you steal three or four, it is as if nothing had happened, dude!”

“So, whether or not there is a minus three or minus four, it feels the same?”

“Now THAT is what we call abundance, man! Wow! And yes!!!!!!”

“…Oh…?”

“Because when x is so infinitely large, like a billion times fifty more, does it make any difference as to whether minus three or minus four exists? They are, like, trivial, dude!”

“…Oh…”

“And this is an infinitely abundant universe, with an unlimited supply of beauty! That’s why it’s probably not a good idea to get carried away with the minus threes or minus fours. You might inadvertently make your life harder, by blocking the riches of life in this moment, when it is not necessary. Non non, dude!”

”……”

“You see, dude, you might think this world is limited in resources and has a, you know, lack of things. You have ten dollars, someone steals three, and you only have seven left because the three is gone. This lack thing.”

“……?”

“But!!!!!!!!!! With excessive exclamation marks!!!!! What if, within the limited-ness, you can somehow discover the UN-limited-ness of things? And passsssion might help!”

“Huh…?”

“The magic of life, sir. It might then reveal its truth to you, and whoa!!! You realize that you DO have plenty. All along. Wow! But it wasn’t, like, see-able with your previous eyesight depths, mentally and emotionally. That’s why you couldn’t see it before and no magic, dude.”

“Huh…”

“Like, when we focus on lack, like whether someone would steal three or four, we limit our mental and emotional eyesight depths, dude! We see a fragmented-ish world and universe. But!!!! This universe we live in is so vast, and maybe our eyesight depths should, too. Or else!!!!!!! Whoa, we might unconsciously make our lives hard to live. Especially with that money thing.”

“…Oh…”

“Mr. Kind Sir, even though you are Sally, but anyway! People are usually uncomfortable with this money thing. At least unconsciously. And with themselves, too. You know, there is not enough to go around, I am not good enough, I can’t afford this, etc. This is this fear thing, which is caused by lack.”

“…Oh…!”

“But anyway, that’s why I don’t mind you stealing my flasks and I don’t count the numbers in the dollars when it comes to money. Because if I do, I might limit the un-limited-ness of my sight, and then unconsciously block out the riches that are just around the corner, or maybe even right in front of me!”

“……”

“Oh, whoops! Looks like it is time to go home! Yay, Flasks Wonder Land, here I come! Super dash!!! And good luck on your h-o-m-e-w-o-r-k~~~~~”

His voice started to echo away as he distanced, but I smiled and said, “Thanks for all the help, Ken! You might look crazy and creepy, but you have a rich heart, and I am so glad to realize this today.”

We waved goodbye as we parted our ways, lengthening the distance even more, but this moment felt like the closest moment of my life.

“Mr. Ken Dokutai, now known as Doctor Poisson to me, made a special place in my heart, I guess,” I thought as I walked home. “Thanks to his passion for poission, I guess. Both with only two Ss, of course!” I chuckled along the journey there. “And his love…” I blushed as I thought about how I would be thinking about him tonight as I fell asleep for the night.

This one math equation became so much easier to solve, and along the way, I learned to live as infinitely as I could, every day.

Maybe that is what the unlimited symbol on his back means… to live with a rich eyesight, and a rich heart. And then maybe all the other riches will flow along the way, along the next journey.

With plenty more to come.

About the Author:

KIYASU OKA is a Taiwanese professional illustrator and entrepreneur, whose title can be referred to as a professional color magician. She is the “Magician of Color” from Taiwan. Her most well-known writing work is a personal love letter called “Taiwan is my Country,” published on her Web site since April of 2016. Kiyasu Oka’s Web site is at www.kiyasugreen.com.

Holey Night

by Dawn Knox 

hot chocolate (with some marshmallows if possible)

 Previously, Eddie’s plan to earn some much-needed cash in a department store backfires when Brian is mistaken for a toy and purchased. Unfortunately, his new owner is accident-prone and, for a bear cub, very determined. It’s a life or death situation for Brian, so whose nerve will crack first?

Brian pushed the box away, “No, I’m not getting in there. I get claustrophobia.”

“But you’re a doll, dear. Dolls don’t get claustrophobia,” Ma Bear said patiently.

“I’ve told you, I’m not a doll, I’m a monkey. Why won’t you listen?”

“Well, I suppose it’s because I’ve never held a conversation with a toy before, dear.”

“But I’m not a toy!”

The door handle rattled.

“Mama! Who’re you talking to?” A piping voice came through the door.

“I’m just talking to myself, dear. Don’t come in, I’m wrapping Christmas presents for Santa. Go and do some colouring. And don’t put anything up your nose. Remember what happened the last time?”

“Okay. But I’m bored of colouring. Why can’t I open the door?” 

“Because I’ve locked it, dear. I just need a few more minutes and I’ll be done.” Ma Bear looked doubtfully at Brian; his arms were crossed over his pink satin-clad chest, his expression was resolute and just in case there was any doubt, he shook his head. 

“Please, dear,” she added, nudging the box gently towards him.

There was a tinkle and a thud on the other side of the locked door.

“Whoops!” said the reedy voice. 

“Oh, Joey! Not the tree again!”

“Sorry Mama. It wasn’t me though. I didn’t touch it. Honest!”

Ma Bear put down the scissors and sticky tape and walked to the door. 

“We’ll continue our conversation later, dear,” she said wearily over her shoulder to Brian. 

“Any chance of some food? I’m famished,” said Brian, “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“I wasn’t expecting to have to feed you,” Ma Bear said, looking at him quizzically. She opened the door and locked it behind her. Brian ran to the window and peered out on to the lamp-lit street outside. He had no idea where he was and suspected from the length of the journey from Honkin & Sniffet Department Store, to the Bears’ house, he was miles from Hummus-on-Sea. There was no point escaping tonight, a few snowflakes fluttered down into the frosty street and his breath had already misted the window pane. No, he would have to find out where he was first and then acquire something warmer than his tutu to wear or he’d freeze to death before he reached the end of the street. 

The door handle rattled. 

Ma Bear’s voice came from outside, “Joey, dear! Stop trying to get into my bedroom, you know we don’t keep the dustpan and brush there. Now be a good cub and go and get it from the scullery. And mind where you’re walking, the broken glass seems to have got everywhere…”

“Ow!”

“Joey, I told you to be careful!”

Ma Bear slipped back into the bedroom about an hour later with a plate of toast and honey. She had pine needles, bits of broken bauble, tinsel and something sticky in her fur. 

“Joey’s eating, so I thought I’d come back and finish the parcels… Oh, but you’ve wrapped everything! How wonderful!” She beamed at Brian.

“Here,” she said placing the plate in front of him and staring at him intently.

Brian took an enormous bite from one of the pieces of toast and groaned with pleasure, “Mmm, that’s good!”

“So, you really aren’t a toy!”

“Finally!” said Brian, “What convinced you?”

“I’ve never seen a toy eat - so you really are a monkey?”

Brian nodded. 

“Oh dear! This is going to be very tricky. Joey isn’t exactly careful with toys – or with anything, for that matter. I don’t fancy your chances of still being alive by Christmas lunch. No, no, we can’t have that, dear! It’s one thing Joey breaking toys but quite another breaking a real monkey… And then there’s Pa. He’s going to be really cross after paying so much for you. Not that it’s your fault, of course, dear! But this is so difficult—"

There was a crash from outside, followed by “Whoops!”

“What are you doing, Joey?” Ma Bear asked sharply.

“The chair fell over. It wasn’t me. I’ll pick it up, don’t worry.”

Ma Bear cradled her head in her hands, “Sometimes, I feel completely overwhelmed… and my head is throbbing so…”

“Why don’t you put a DVD on for Joey and then go and have a bath. Relax for a while.”

“But there’s so much to do, dear! I need to clean up the kitchen, and then there’s Pa’s dinner to see to…”

“Just put a movie on in…” Brian paused. He was about to say in his bedroom but he still had no idea whether the cub was male or female and it seemed rather rude to ask. “Um, put a movie on in Joey’s bedroom and leave the kitchen and dinner to me,” said Brian. 

“Oh, you are a darling! I’ll put Lornsquit on. It lasts for an hour and a half. But make sure you keep out of Joey’s sight. I hate to think what’ll happen if you’re found.”

“Don’t worry, I can handle myself.”

“I’m not sure you’ve ever come up against anyone as determined as my Joey…”

It had taken Brian over an hour to clean up the mess in the kitchen. Then he’d opened random tins, the contents of which, he dropped into a saucepan. Brian hoped Pa Bear liked beans because there seemed to be quite a few different varieties in the pot, including red, green, black and baked beans. A tin labelled in Chinese text had yielded some round, white things that looked suspiciously like eyeballs but as half of them had slipped in before he’d realised, he threw the rest in too. The rhubarb may not have been a wise decision, but it was too late now and the concoction smelled quite pleasant as it gently bubbled on the stove. There was still no sign of Ma Bear and judging by the snores coming from the bathroom, she’d be there until the water got cold. He went back to her bedroom. Locking the door, he decided against putting the light on, and curled up in the chair in front of the fire – he’d have a short nap too – it had been a very long, fraught day.

Brian was woken by the rattle of the door handle. Was it Ma Bear? Should he unlock the door?

“Whoops!” said a piping voice from outside as something clattered to the floor. A large, wooden object bumped against the door and then there were sounds of exertion, as if Joey were climbing, followed by something metallic scraping at the lock. Did the cub have a key? Brian leapt up and looked for somewhere to hide. There were plenty of places to conceal himself but if the cub were determined and the water in Ma Bear’s bath slow to cool down, he’d be found eventually.

Scrape, scratch, rasp.

Brian looked about wildly. The wardrobe? No, too obvious. Under the bed? Not enough room. A drawer? Brian pulled open the top drawer and pushed the contents to one side. It was Pa Bear’s underwear drawer. The pants and socks were enormous, in fact, an odd sock that was lying on top of the untidy heap, was almost as big as him.

Scratch, rasp, scrape… thump.

Brian had an idea. He quickly slipped out of the ballet tutu and shoes, dropped them on the floor and grabbed the scissors that Ma had been using to trim wrapping paper. He cut two small holes in the toe of the sock and dragging it over his head, he pulled it down to his knees. It was a snug fit and his arms were pinned to his side but he could see out of the eye-holes perfectly. Rolling the sock up so his arms were free, he leapt on to the chest of drawers next to the door, turned the key, opened the door and quickly pulled the sock down to his ankles. 

On the other side of the door, Joey was standing on a stool, poised with a screwdriver. 

“What you doin’, Kid?” Brian asked in a deep, gruff voice. 

Joey blinked and peered into the dark bedroom.

“Who…who’s there?”

“I’m askin’ the questions, Kiddo,” said Brian.

“Well, I was jus’ trying to get into the bedroom. I…I.”

“You’ve been told to keep out!”

“Well…”

“Don’t answer back! Now go to your room and finish watching Lornsquirt.”

“Squit, it’s Lornsquit not Lornsquirt. Don’t you know anything? Anyway, how d’you know I was watching Lornsquit?” Joey leaned forward to see who was speaking and catching sight of Brian, he gasped. “Are you a talking sock?”

“No,” said Brian, “I’m the Evil Christmas Stocking,” 

The cub was silent for a few moments, “There’s no such thing.” 

Brian stepped out into the light, “Do I look like a stocking?”

“I s’pose you do a bit,” Joey said.

“And is it Christmas?”

“Well…yes.”

“What colour am I?”

“Black.”

“So, what does that make me?”

“The Evil Christmas Stocking?” 

“Thank you.”

“But what is an Evil Christmas Stocking?”

“It’s obvious, Kiddo! If Santa makes a mistake and delivers presents to a child who hasn’t been good throughout the year, I find out, and then gobble those presents up.”

Joey was silent for a few seconds.

“That can’t be true. If you ate lots of presents, you’d be big and fat.”

“For goodness sake,” Brian muttered under his breath.

“Well, I didn’t want to get too technical, Kiddo but have you heard of black holes?”

“What, like there are in space?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of them, in fact, there are some black holes in Lornsquit. The Squeep Hunters go into one when they’re looking for the Pyrovaspians and they never come out…” Joey paused, “do you mean…?”

“Exactly, Kid. Toys go in and they never come out. In fact, sometimes kids go in and they never come out…”

“Oh!” Joey’s jaw dropped open.

“So, you’d better go to your room and do as you’re told.”

“But the Pyrovaspians escape. So, it can’t be that dangerous.”

“Are you a Pyrovaspian, Kiddo?”

“Well, no…”

“Then that’s not going to help you.”

“S’pose not.”

“What are you doing?” Brian asked, stepping backwards away from Joey’s outstretched paw. 

“I want to look in the black hole.”

“No, no! You can’t do that!” The deep voice Brian had been using rose an octave.

“Why not?”

“Because, because… yes, it’s because when you get too close to a black hole, the magnetic forces suck you in and you’ll never get out.”

“Ever?”

“Never ever.”

“Oh… So how close do you have to be?”

“Well, I’d suggest you move back a bit, I can feel the magnetic forces pulling at the moment.”

Joey moved back slightly. 

“Now, go back to your room ̶ “

“When there’s a baddy, you always get a goody, so if you’re the Evil Christmas Stocking, there must be a Good Christmas Stocking.”

“Possibly…” Brian hesitated wondering if he was being lured into some sort of trap.

“And would the Good Christmas Stocking look like you, except be white?”

“Yes,” said Brian uncertainly.

“So, does it have a white hole in it, like you’ve got a black hole?"

“Yes. Now, go back to your bedroom, Kid.”

“And would the Good Christmas Stocking beat you in a fight?”

“No.”

“But it might?”

“No, it wouldn’t. Now, back to your bedroom.”

“And, how would I know if a white sock is the Good Christmas Stocking or just a white sock?”

“Umm, well… oh yes… it whistles Jingle Bells.”

“Really?”

“Yes, now go back to your bedroom, like a good cub.”

Joey thought for a moment, “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

 “For crying out loud,” Brian muttered under his breath. Perhaps he should simply run? He turned and spotted the discarded tutu and ballet shoes on the floor. 

“Well, your talking monkey fairy doll didn’t believe me and now she’s gone.”

Joey saw the tutu and shoes, and gasped. 

“No!”

“And the longer you stay here arguing…”

 “I’ll be good. Really I will. I’ll go and watch Lornsquit and then I’ll do a jigsaw puzzle.” Joey slowly edged backwards away from the Evil Christmas Stocking and fell off the stool.

“I can’t believe it, dear! Joey’s finished watching the film and is tidying his underwear drawer. It’s a miracle. And I feel so much better after my bath. Dinner smells delicious, by the way. Now, why don’t you curl up in front of the fire and I’ll bring you hot chocolate and marshmallows.”

Brian settled down in the rocking chair and dozed. He’d put the tutu and ballet shoes back on and tucked the Evil Christmas Stocking sock under the cushion in case the bear cub should return.

He woke several hours later to the sound of raised voices. 

“Quick, we need to hide you!” said Ma Bear, rushing into the bedroom, “Pa’s home and I don’t want him to see you.” She tucked Brian under her arm and carried him into the spare room. “Stay here. And I’m sorry about the noise but Joey’s superglued herself to the carpet. I blame Lornsquit. Those films fill cubs’ heads with nonsense. She says she won’t get sucked into a black hole if she’s stuck to the floor. But why she needed to stick all her socks together, I’ll never know. Well, sleep tight. It’s going to be a long night for me. Pa’s using hair clippers to trim some of Joey’s fur away and try to free her but she’s adamant she wants to stay stuck. She says she’s never leaving her bedroom again. By the way, there’s a box of chocolates on the cupboard. 

So, Joey was a female cub. Male or female, she was one of the most determined creatures Brian had ever met. 

“And don’t worry. As soon as I can, I’ll take you back to Hummus-on-Sea to your friends, out of harm’s way, dear,” Ma Bear said.

“No hurry,” said Brian, lifting the lid of the chocolates and helping himself. 

  

Links to previous stories in The Macaroon Chronicles series

1. The Macaroon Chronicles Prologue and the Three Wise Monkeys - http://cafelitcreativecafe.blogspot.com/2020/01/the-macaroon-chronicles-prologue-and.html?m=0
2. #ChickenInCustard - https://cafelitcreativecafe.blogspot.com/2020/02/chickenincustard.html
3. The Fine Print - https://cafelitcreativecafe.blogspot.com/2020/02/the-fine-print.html
4. French for Cheese - https://cafelitcreativecafe.blogspot.com/2020/02/french-for-cheese.html
5. Porkies and Espiggy-onage (Lies and Spies) – https://cafelitcreativecafe.blogspot.com/2020/03/porkies-and-espiggy-onage-lies-and-spies.html
6. Nearly Death by Chocolate - https://cafelitcreativecafe.blogspot.com/2020/03/nearly-death-by-chocolate.html
7. Waxing Lyrical - https://cafelitcreativecafe.blogspot.com/2020/03/waxing-lyrical.html
8. Seduced by Zeros - https://cafelitcreativecafe.blogspot.com/2020/04/seduced-by-zeros.html
9. Soup-Legs - https://cafelitcreativecafe.blogspot.com/2020/04/soup-legs.html
10. The Year’s Most Popular Christmas Toy - https://cafelitcreativecafe.blogspot.com/2020/04/the-years-most-popular-christmas-toy.html

About the author

Dawn’s latest book is ’The Basilwade Chronicles’ published by Chapeltown Books. She enjoys writing in different genres and has had romances, speculative fiction, sci-fi, humorous and women’s fiction published in magazines, anthologies and books. Dawn has also had two plays about World War One performed internationally. You can follow her here on https://dawnknox.com, Facebook here DawnKnoxWriter or on Twitter here https://twitter.com/SunriseCalls 

West Wood Story

by Allison Symes

chilli chocolate

‘Help me’ he screamed to silence.

But he knew the huge oaks and beeches around him had moved to box him in. He also knew how mad that sounded. It was the truth though and it was his fault he was now trapped with no way out. Though the marble statues he found when he reached what he thought was the halfway point were odd. It wasn’t what you’d see in a forest as a rule. Had this been a grand estate sometime in the past? Was there a castle with a fairytale turret somewhere?

The villagers in Preximel, two miles away, were not so fanciful. They had warned him not to go to this forest. They also told him in graphic detail what happened to the last person who thought it was a good idea to go into a magical wood with an axe.

What they hadn’t mentioned was the creature who lived in those woods and feasted on the greedy who thought they could chop down magical trees and make a fortune from the timber.

Not that it would have made him feel better as he watched the creature approach him cautiously. It wasn’t looking at him. It was looking beyond him.

The man sighed. Dare he look behind him? Or, given death appeared to be inevitable, should he just give up with good grace and as much courage as he could muster?

‘Are you sorry?’ came a voice from behind the man. He thought it sounded female. He guessed it would be a good idea not to find out. Whoever lived here with a creature which looked like a cross between a wild boar and a dragon was not to be argued with.

‘Yes, I’ve been an idiot. The villagers did tell me about this place. I thought they were nuts.’
‘But you know they’re not now.’

‘Indeed,’ the man wondered if now he should look behind him. After all his life had been extended by a minute or so. It would be nice to know by whom or what.

The man shuddered. The creature in front of him had stopped about ten feet away and the stench of its breath made the man have to fight to not be sick. The one thing the man knew for sure was that being sick in a magical forest was likely to be construed as an insult by whoever or whatever was behind him.

‘You may go then. Go back the way you came in. The trees will part for you when you take one step towards them.’

‘Thank you… oh thank you. Who are you?’

‘You were wise not to look around to check. I can turn anything into marble by one spell and a wave of my wand. I am the fairy godmother who guards these woods. The creature over there is my pet. It has been known to feast well on those who dare to try to harm my forest and show no signs of remorse for doing so.’

‘I like living. If I need to say sorry to keep doing so, that’s what I’ll do.’

‘Wise man. Now off you go. I do not expect to see you here again.

The man ran, relieved the trees did part as the woman had said. He did not hear the laughter of either her or her pet.

***

The fairy godmother waved her wand and changed her creature back into its usual form - a collie. ‘I think our guest was trying to outdo the land speed record for running, my love. Still we are well rid of him. But it did make a nice change not to have to turn someone else into a statue. That one had some basic sense. Maybe there is some hope for humans then. We must be off. Time for your usual dinner, Lady. Will chicken do tonight?’
The dog woofed its approval. It hadn’t fancied the human even when in its monstrous form. The human hadn’t smelled right and even his magical owner didn’t quarrel with his nose.

Ends

The Smiling Ghost

by Susan E Willis

a glass of orange juice 

‘Mam says there’s no such thing as ghosts,’ Emily chants to her best friend, Maggie.

Maggie shrugs her shoulders. ‘Well, I don’t care what your mam says because I saw it!’

Emily sets off to walk across the park towards home. She doesn’t want to hear anymore from Maggie because she is scared. Her brother has a spooky ghost-story book in his room, and she doesn’t like the pictures in it.

She can hear Maggie skipping along behind her and she kicks at the pebbles on the side of the path.

‘Wait up,’ Maggie calls.

But she hurries on. ‘Shut up!’ she yells. ‘You’re just showing off and making it all up.’ 

‘I’m not, Emily. It was a big white cloud that floated down on me when I was lying on the top bunk.’  

Emily bites her lip. She knows what her mam would say and tells her friend, ‘You probably just got tangled up in the sheet.’

‘I…I didn’t,’ Maggie claims and stops to catch her breath. She starts to cough.

Emily stops when she hears Maggie coughing. Her mam told her that Maggie has a bad chest and her mum is worried about her.

She turns around and Maggie is bent over with her hands on her knees just above her red shorts. Her head is down, and she coughs some more for a longer time then spits out some yellow gluey stuff onto the path.

Emily hurries to her and puts her hand on Maggie’s shoulder. She can feel her skinny bones shaking. Emily knows her shoulders have much more muscle on them. ‘Are you alright now?’

Maggie lifts her head up and gasps trying to catch her breath. She usually has rosy cheeks, but her face is now a pale creamy colour. Emily wonders if she should run to Maggie’s house and fetch her mum.

Maggie wipes her mouth on the sleeve of her pink T-Shirt and grins. ‘I’m okay now I’ve coughed it up,’ she says.

Emily is not convinced but figures she will take her hand just in case. It feels cold and a bit damp. They start to walk slowly through the park and Maggie mentions the ghost again.

‘Okay, tell me what the ghost really looked like,’ Emily says. ‘I bet it went 'Ooooooo.'’

Maggie giggles and swings their hands together backwards and forwards. ‘Nah, of course it didn’t. But it was friendly-like.’

‘Friendly!’ Emily hoots. ‘How can a ghost be friendly?’

‘Because it smiled at me.’

Emily giggles. ‘Ghosts can’t smile,’ she says, and feels happier now because her friend’s cheeks are pink and shining again.

‘I’m telling you, Em,’ she says. ‘Most of the sheet was covering it’s body but there were two circles cut out for it’s eyes, which were blue by the way, and a long slit for it’s nose and then a bigger moon-shape for its mouth.’

Emily screws her nose up and imagines the moon-shape. ‘So, could you see its lips in the hole?’

Maggie nods. ‘Yeah, that’s how I knew it was smiling at me,’ she says. ‘They were bright red like my mum’s lipstick.’

They reach the edge of the park and Emily can feel Maggie’s hand is warm again but all the same she reckons she should walk with her to her house.

‘And, Em, do you want to know what the ghost said to me?’

Emily nods then smiles when she sees Maggie’s mum come to the gate to meet them. She is glad they are home and knows her mum will look after her. ‘Go on, then. What did it say?’

Maggie grins. ‘Well, it said, I’d come to take you up there into the sky above, but I don’t think you’re quite ready yet,’ she says. ‘But you will be soon, and I’ll come back for you with an angel to guide us up.’