Fire In The Hole

Fire In The Hole

--sky is cracking the night eh?

--aye, cannae beat it. 

--probably the afterburn o the flare coming oot that boys arse though, eh?

--whit?

--the flare up that boys arse. Yeve seen the photie, surely?

--ave got nae idea whit yer talking aboot

--on the Internet

--whit ye usin the Internet tae look that up fur

--whit? The photie frae the night o the fitba. The final. 

--where wis this, on the pitch?

--naw ootside in London somewhere. Bent over. Flare up the Arse.

--whit was it daen up there?

--well I think he put it there on purpose it didnae dae it itsel 

--aye true - whit would possess ye tae dae that?

--eejit, eh?

--aye…imagine finding that doon yer pan though eh?

--aye that's whit a wis thinkin. 

--ye'd need mair than a double flush for that

--aye

A Ship Out of Time

"I think we've taken a wrong turn, Captain."

"Away wae ye. How so?"

"Well, I'd fair say we have. Look at all these modern sorts."

"Aye fair enough. We stick out like a sore thumb. Can ye get us back?"

"Dae ye want tae go back?"

"Mibbe we hang about a bit. See what's what. Then go back?"

"Aye fair enough. Head for those Golden Arches ahead. Follow the gold, I always told ye. I'll keep us right."

"Aye Captain."

-- A Ship Out of Time, C.Patrick

Lighthoose Hing

--"Ach aye, there's always light at the end of the tunnel. See? Always light. Bitta hope."

--"Whit?"

--"Light at the end o the tunnel. Brighter days. Better days. They're coming."

--"Aye, I get that. But that's no a tunnel. It's a mad lighthouse hing."

--"You know what I mean though."

--"Am jist saying. Theres poetry in words an that, but there's also accuracy."

--"Dinnae talk to me."

--"How?"

--"Just dinnae. Ye ruined the moment. Ruined it."

--"Awrite huffy drawers. Still, light is oan the way."

--"..."

One Night

Separate. Distant. Covered.

Drudging along, each moment felt like endless exhausting Monday’s after a lifetime of sleepless Sunday’s.

Hoping. Thinking. Asking. Praying.

For one night.

One night of sleep.

One night like before.

One night to forget.

One night to remember what has been lost.

Time, like falling autumn leaves.

Given up. Sacrificed.

Just one night.

Love Sick

Humphrey Willis had felt strange of late. He was certain he was unwell.

He felt a lot lighter, both of body and of mind. Plus, he had developed the rather peculiar habit of smiling, singing, skipping and dancing for no reason whatsoever.

Ripping open his hospital test results, Humphrey read the results.

Lovesick. Caution: May cause terminal happiness.

This story originally appeared in Toasted Fiction: A Collection of Very Short Stories (That Nobody Asked For) available here

An expanded version of the story also appears as the central story in The Shadow People Won’t Take Us Alive & Other Lost Souls available here.

Little Jimmy

He hadn’t been able to ride the train since.

He remembered the leaves on the station’s glass roof, and the roar of the train approaching, like a metal lion.

The football was old and flaky. Not worth it.

But little Jimmy insisted on getting it back.

The ball stayed there.

Is This What Happy Feels Like?

I feel funny.

It's nice to smile for no reason.

I feel good.

Life’s new.

I feel calm.

Anything’s possible.

I feel awake.

My step is light on the ground.

I feel alive.

Breathing is easy.

I feel right

Everything’s OK.

I feel fine.

Is this what happy feels like?

Nearly There

The trio marched on, evading the sleep and gaffer tape that haunted them.

The need of others was greater than their own. Heroes with their bums and thumbs.

But they would not venture alone. The community they had built would fall in step behind them.

They would keep them company, and bask in the warmth and kindness they were giving the world.

Clouds Break

They shivered. The clouds were hunting them.

Something they could not see, touch or hear.

"Ain't nothin' but this damn fog. Can't see no end. He looked at his partner. He was solemn, but smiling.

"Choo smilin' bout?"

"You busy looking at the darkness, I'm busy lookin' for the light. See it?"

"Nah."

"It's there. It's coming. Just can't quite see it yet. But it's coming. That much I can feel."

Sure enough. It was there. faint. Almost imperceptible. In the distance.

Light.

Fall(ing)

Tasting the air. Cold. Gentle. We’re almost there.

The green is tired. Ready to die brown and start again. Fresh.

The light dwindles. Fighting to keep up with the change. Night falls. Early.

Chocolate becomes hot. Old movies become new.

New sounds and new stories. To look forward. And back.

Frights. Lights. Delights. Wrapping up and wrapping round.

We are falling again. Maybe snow will come too.

We become the light and the warmth. We keep the days alive.

It’s time again.

Step

It was his  110th birthday.

The mirror confirmed as much, with his stretched leather skin and his nicotine-yellow teeth.

All his life, Arthur had lived indoors doing nothing but worry, leaving his dreams for sleep.

Today he stepped out for the first time.

He never stepped back.

Tree Toppers: A Christmas Story

The door to the loft swung open, casting the entire space in a pale yellow glow as the light bulb hung from the rafters like a fading sun. It was December, which meant the annual search for the Christmas decorations had begun and the routine muttering of “This place is a mess. It needs gutted. We’ll do it in the spring….” echoed throughout the house. Dodging the wooden beams and the occasional drip of rainwater as the hunt began, Tom continued his rants about the state of the house. Since moving in roughly four years ago, the loft had turned into nothing more than a makeshift dumping ground for the nostalgic. Like a TARDIS that had crash-landed and its content spilled out everywhere. It was crammed with everything from wedding dresses, plastic sleeve vinyl and suitcases stuffed with baby clothes and cuddly toys from a childhood gone by. Dodging the debris that was scattered around the loft, Tom eventually found the decorations in the same place they always where; in the back left corner somewhere between the photo albums, a dust-covered poker table and a pile of board games that had already been ear-marked for eBay. This year however, it was also wedged behind an eerie painting called “ Twelve Cats In A Pub”, a gift from his wife’s crazy aunt who, since entering her 80th year couldn’t finish a story with “they’re dead now.” Shoving the painting aside, Tom rescued the decorations from the pile and took them downstairs to where his kids were waiting patiently at the foot of the ladders, ready to welcome them with open arms and help the house get into the festive spirit.

As Tom made the short descent, refusing any help from below, the decorations rolled around in the box, banging off of each other with a CLINK, CLANK and RUSTLE. It almost sounded like they were fighting, jostling for position to be first out of the box and out onto the Christmas tree. This of course wasn’t the case. They were instead victim to an impromptu rollercoaster ride as Tom tried to do what every man can’t multi-task. Balancing the box in one hand, he tried to turn off the light and shut the loft door while simultaneously descending the ladders. It was times like this he thought he was some sort of domestic superhero. A house trained Batman. 

Refusing the help from his kids, (Tom wanted to instil the idea that father’s were able to do anything and everything without assistance which of course just wasn’t the case) Tom’s endeavour ended in tears. The box fell and landed on Abigail’s head who, thankfully, was at the age where she could take this kind of incident in her stride without an explosion of waterworks. The real casualty however was a score of decade old baubles, escaping from the box prematurely and landing on the kitchen floor. It smashed into a thousand pieces before making the sad journey to the rubbish bin while the rest of them made their way into the living room. 

The tree was the first to go up and, as always turned into a battle that became known as a game of festive jenga. Pete, Abigail’s older brother (who had just decided to re-create the nativity as an R-rated movie, putting the donkey and Joseph in compromising positions while Mary entertained the wisemen and the baby Jesus smoked a makeshift joint) had begun trying to put the tree up without any sort of plan which caused the two of them to start arguing over the correct way to put it up. This ended with Pete having a tree branch shaped bruise on his arse and Abigail being tied up and jammed in the empty cardboard box that housed the tree before Tom eventually managed to split them up. He’d only stepped out for a moment to make a cup of tea as a sort of mental preparation before beginning his yearly fight with the lights. Each year as he tried to untangle them he swore (as everyone does) that he put them back into the box the previous year untangled and was now thoroughly convinced that it was some act of mischief carried out by the lights in order to frustrate him. The idea that the Christmas light’s had a mind of their own and were able to pull of something like this was something that never failed to entertain the kids or his wife. What they didn’t know was that, yes, every year Tom had put them in the box untangled and that it was indeed an act of mischief. There was only one way the lights could get their kicks and they were fairies after all weren’t they?

The lid came off the decoration box, unleashing a cloud of dust that rained over the living room like little flecks of snow, causing Abigail to enter into a sneezing fit. Each ACH-CHOO louder than the last, the poor thing had inherited her mother’s habitual sinus problems that caused her nose to work over-drive. But, much like her mother Abigail was a trooper and carried on going through the decorations regardless, looking for the ones that were being rewarded with a place on the tree this year. As she began the judging process, her father and brother assembled the tree behind her, or at least they tried to. They were lacking the woman’s touch that there mother wasn’t on hand to provide at that moment and was a duty which Abigail didn’t dare touch, her mother’s shadow too great. Deciding to leave it to the professionals, she instead continued her search for the most important decoration of all; the tree topper.

It wasn’t the traditional star or fairy that oversaw proceedings in the Dawson Household each Christmas. It was in actual fact something much more peculiar, giving the tree a unique identity and a bit of personality not shared by the other Christmas trees in the neighbourhood. The tree topper in question was Garfield in a Santa hat. As Abigail hunted for Garfield, growing frantic in her search, Pete and her Dad had began debating over which Christmas music was best to accompany them. It was a dead heat between an AC/DC’s Christmas classic, Mistress For Christmas, the live recording of Thunder’s annual Christmas show or a compilation album that flipped between Frank Sinatra, Paul McCartney and Mariah Carey without mercy. Eventually they settled on the Thunders album, Rock City, much to Abigail’s delight. She was desperate for anything that would avoid the traditional fare that played on a loop in shopping centres, the radio and in supermarkets all month. She was also happy because they were the first proper band Abigail had ever seen live and was the rare occasion that found all four of them (Abigail, Pete, her Dad and even her mother despite the original protestations) enjoying the same taste in music. Going to the gig was one of her happiest memories and the opportunity now to hear their take on some festive classics (not to mention some humdingers of their own) looked to put Abigail in the best mood she’d been in months, if not the entire year. It had been a turbulent one for the family but especially her, more turbulent than any young girl her age should experience. It was for this reason that it was vital the tree be just perfect this year and the house be decorated more Christmas-y than it had ever been, in an effort to wash the bad taste the year had left in each of their mouths. 

When Abigail finally picked out Garfield she felt a great wave of relief and smiled, sitting him on the mantelpiece to wait patiently waiting before taking his rightful place at the top. She squinted at Garfield for a moment who smiled lazily back and remembered something her mother had said to her once when she was a child. She had come up with the idea one year that Christmas decorations were, just like Woody and Buzz from Toy Story  (a movie they both watched religiously) ALIVE. Eyeing Garfield now, she couldn’t help but feel a suspicious sense of wonder that perhaps her mother was right. But the thought slipped away as quickly as it had come as Pete dangled the tinsel in front of her face in a rustle of colour and took her away from an impromptu investigation into the idea her mother had stumbled upon all those years which would have found that this was, in actual fact, the truth.

They were alive.

Garfield sat on the mantle-piece flanked by his colleagues, a mismatch bunch that ranged from Harry Potter, a Santa made from toilet roll, Pluto The Dog (who’s head had been removed by the family’s cat last year and looked particularly gloomy today because the glue was too itchy) and a plethora of other famous and not so famous faces. Each of them watched on as Abigail tore her suspicious gaze away and moved on to tackle the task of taming the tinsel around the tree. As they watched the three of them fight with the spiky rainbow (a name Tom had given tinsel) they noted the remarkable change in the family and how much they seemed to grow each year. What was incredibly touching, however, was the fact that they remained a unit, stronger than ever, no matter the challenges they had faced (both professionally and emotionally) throughout the year. Being stuffed in a box in the loft for 11 months the Decorations Crew only had periphery knowledge of what went on. They had to figure out what was going on from the muffled sound of emotion that came from below or when one of the family retreated to the loft for a moment of quiet reflection, or indeed a few silent tears. It’s why they took their job so seriously and so preciously. It was their job to brighten up the house yes, but it was also their job to brighten up the mood of the family, and as always, they only had one shot at it a year.

One by one, the Decoration Crew went to work as they were removed from the mantelpiece and hung on their individual tree branch, taking their guard positions that would remain theirs for the forthcoming month. Being the tree topper Garfield was last, watching on as the family worked the tree delicately and with a care that had seemed scarce in previous years. It was important they got it right this year, the tree the way their mother would want it to be, one that would make her smile if she were to come through the door right now, despite the ramshackle job of the lights. Finishing up, the three of them stepped back and admired their work proudly, Sally sandwiched between her brother and her father. The excitement was palatable now, buzzing throughout the room as the time came to finish things off and for Garfield to take his position at the top.

He was delighted when it was Abigail who picked him up and carried him gently toward the tree before her father lifted her into position to put him in place. The view from here was complete and beautiful, and he desperately hoped that Abigail was sharing the moment in all its beauty. As she nestled him comfortably on top of the tree, she smiled at him and, for a split second, it seemed as though that she was in on the secret before her father took her away and back down to Earth, leaving him up there surrounded with tinsel, lights and old friends.

The three Dawsons stepped back to survey the tree in all its glory, safe in the knowledge that they’d done a good job. Tom thought it would be of great surprise to his wife that not only had they had done such a stellar job, but that the tree was still standing as were they, something that they hadn’t quite mastered before now.

Tom looked up to the top of the tree, and became fought back a tear. The fact was that Garfield had been in the family longer than the kids had, and had seen everything. So many happy memories were contained within him. Tom hugged his kids as hard as he could without squishing them before letting them go and asking Pete to go and make them some hot chocolate while he and Abigail picked a Christmas film for them to watch; a three-way battle between Santa Clause, Jack Frost and It’s A Wonderful Life.

As Garfield clung on for dear life at the top of the tree, he was anticipating the coming month with real fervour. He was here for them, they all were. They were here for the smiles on Christmas morning, the tears on Christmas night and the laughter on Boxing Day, Christmas Eve and all the days in between that it was possible to laugh. From his view at the top, he would look after the family over the Christmas period and to him, this was why Christmas truly was the most wonderful time of the year.

Wiggies

“You pussying out or what?” 

The voice was Jace, one of the “cool kids” from my school. I stood there, looking through the mesh of wire fencing surrounding Mrs. Dorries house, splitting her world into a thousand diamonds. At least that’s what it looked look to me. I turned to look at Jace and the other kids (D-Boy, Sandy & Billy) who stood there with there arms folded, staring at me impatiently. 

“He’s a pussy,” said D-Boy. “He isnae gonnae dae it. He’s no goat wit it takes to be in oor gang.” 

This lit a fire under me. I’d been without a proper group of friends for a number of years now. I was 12 years old and I’d grown up on a diet of books & films like Stand By Me, Diner & Grease. They were all movies with groups of friends and I desperately wanted to be part of my own little cool gang. Maybe Jace, D-Boy, Sandy & Billy weren’t the cream of the crop but it beat staying at home every night and watching all the other kids have fun outside. What I didn’t expect was to have to go through some sort of initiation process, nor it be something so, well, criminal. 

I turned back to them. “I’m naw a pussy, I jist….is there naw somethin' else? I know Mrs. Dorries; she looks after me sometimes when my parents are late back from work. Is there naebody else?”

      Jace looked at the others then walked toward me, jabbing a finger in my chest, then pointed to the house. “Naw Davie,” said Jace. “There isnae. Now fucking get in there and steal that old bitch’s wig, eh?” I gulped, trying not to show it. This wasn’t like The Goonies. I wondered if I just did the truffle shuffle might defuse the tension and endear me to the group but I didn’t have the required jiggle and they’d probably just beat me up. I turned back to the house and examined it. Mrs. Dorries was a hermit. She was a recluse who hadn’t left her house in over 2 years, not since her husband had passed. We used to call Mr. Dorries The Man With The Lego Hair or The Scaletrix Man. He used to walk around the town with Mrs. Dorries with the worst wig on. They sometimes looked like a bit of Lego, or the little grey bits you’d get on the back of a Scaletrix car, hence the names. Mrs. Dorries also used to wear wigs, slightly better fitting and always a different colour every day. Nobody knew why she wore a wig but we all thought it was maybe to support Mr. Dorries so he didn’t feel alone. They had earned the nickname around town of The Wiggies. But a few years ago, Mr. Dorries had been diagnosed with cancer and died shortly after a short battle. And Mrs. Dorries hadn’t been seen by anyone since, only in the garden or through the windows. Except by me. My parents often worked late and Mrs. Dorries, only a few streets away from our own, would look after me. Even then I didn’t see her too often. She’d let me in, ask how school was then give me a sandwich, crisps and some biscuits on a plastic plate shaped like a flower petal. Then she’d give me the remote to watch TV and then she’d retreat upstairs to her room. She’d come back downstairs to speak to my parents when they came to pick me up, and that was that. One day though, coming out of the bathroom I saw that one of the usually closed doors on the upstairs landing was open. Curiosity getting the better of me, I peeked in. And it was a room dedicated to wigs, even Mr. Dorries old wig. I told one of the people in class the next day and Jace had overheard. And now here we were. They had offered an exchange of friendship and being included in their gang if I could steal one of Mrs. Dorries wigs for each of them, but especially Mr. Dorries wig. The Holy Grail. I was Indy and this was The Last Crusade. Against all instincts, I’d accepted the mission. And now here I was. I took a deep breath, and started to climb. 

*

Mrs. Dorries didn’t often see the light of the morning these days. She didn’t often venture outside the house if she could avoid it. In fact, even if she thought hard about it, she couldn’t remember the last time she had stepped over the threshold of her front porch. Everyday, she woke up with the vague notion that today would be the day that she would go outside, even if it was just to the shop to pick up a carton of milk and a loaf of bread.  But everyday, she failed to muster up the courage to do so. Instead, she would wake up around noon get herself a cup of tea and toast, read the papers and watch a bit of Lorraine Kelly that she’d recorded from that morning. Then she’d either wait for deliveries (groceries, clothes, whatever took her fancy now she’d learned how to use the internet) or wait for the delightful little McDonald’s boy Davie to come home from school where she’d babysit him until his parents came home. On the days she had neither, she would don one of her wigs, dress to the nine’s and go on an adventure on her own from the safety of her own house by picking up one of her husband’s old books and getting lost in its pages. Some days she was a reclusive pirate or a heroic hermit and other days she was secluded seductress, an isolated investigator or an acrophobic explorer. Then she’d get to the end of the book, take off the wig, put her nightie back on and remember she was alone. His books were the only items of her husband’s she’d kept, other than his wig, which she kept on the same mannequin head he used to keep it on. Everything else she had thrown away. It was too painful to walk from room to room and be reminded of her loss. No wonder Christopher Columbus had tried to sail off the edge of the world – what else would drive a man to such lengths unless the loss of the person he loved most?

Mrs. Dorries began her daily routine (it was a Saturday so no deliveries to come and no Davie) flicking through the bookshelf and her wig collection when she noticed something peculiar out of the window. It was Davie, climbing over her back fence dropping to the ground and crouching low, sneaking toward the house. Why he didn’t just use the front door, she didn’t know. Then it dawned on her and she made her way to the back door. 

*

I landed on my feet like a cat, or rather a ninja – ninjas are cooler – and started to sneak toward the back door. I knew Mrs. Dorries would be in, but I just hoped she was sleeping. I knew she slept most hours of the day when she wasn’t looking after me or doing whatever else she did in the house. As I got closer to the back door I could feel the beady eyes of my potential gang mates burning into my back like an ant under a sun filled magnifying glass. The plan was simple, crawl through the cat-flap in the backdoor (weird because she no longer had a cat), sneak upstairs and grabs the wigs and get back downstairs. If she found me in the house, I had my excuse ready – my Mum asked me to come over and ask if you wanted to come out for dinner next week. She tried calling but there was no answer. It was the perfect excuse because she wouldn’t accept the invitation and wouldn’t question that fact she’d missed a call – her hearing was losing it’s touch in her old age plus she’d “gone a bit batty upstairs” as my Dad would say, so she’d have no problem buying that she hadn’t heard the phone ring. 

As I approached the cat flap, I took a deep breath and started to make my way through. When I was halfway through, something happened that I hadn’t anticipated. The door swung open and I swung with it cracking my head on the bottom of the fridge and letting out a yelp not too dissimilar to the cat she probably once owned and caused Mrs. Dorries to jump back in fear and grab a nearby broom. 

There was really no prepared excuse I had for this, I thought, as I heard the unmistakable sound of Jace, D-Boy, Sandy & Billy scarpering down the street and away from danger.

*

When Mrs. Dorries realized it was me coming through her cat flap she put the broom down and helped me through the last few inches and pulled me to my feet. She was remarkably strong for such an old lady. Grabbing a bag of frozen peas from the freezer she sat me down and pressed them to my forehead. There was already a large bump starting to show. 

“Davie what on earth where you doing down there?” she asked.

My dinner invitation excuse wasn’t going to cut it. “Um, I….well ye see….the hing is…” I heard myself say. Great. Fucking great. Indiana Jones eat your fucking heart out. 

She started to smile as I continued to stammer on, which was confusing, I thought maybe I should go get my head checked out, because I was pretty sure that was not the reaction most people have when they’ve just found a 10 year old boy sneaking into their kitchen through a cat flap. But she was definitely smiling. I couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Mrs. Dorries, why are ye smilin’?” I said. 

“Because you’re just a sweetheart, do you know that?” she said. 

The bump to the head had killed me. It had to have done. This was fucking mental. “Whit dae ye mean?”

She checked the bump and took the peas off then looked into my eyes, staring right into my soul. My guilty, wee, breaking and entering, arsehole of a soul. 

“If you wanted to visit me on the weekends, you could have just asked! There’s no need to come and surprise me, although it was a nice idea. But look what you’ve done, you’ve hurt yourself,” she said smiling.

My Dad was right. Completely fucking batty. She had gone full Captain Jack Sparrow up top. But there it was my get out of jail-free card. “Och, it’s awrite Mrs. Dorries, I jist thought….”I stopped myself. I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was because of the bump to the head or maybe it was because she just looked dead simple sitting there staring at me. Or maybe it was because any lie would be protecting the wee bastards I was trying to be pals with who just ran off and left me under the bus. Before I knew it I was telling her the whole sorry tale. How I was a right wee Billy no mates in school and they’d offered to be my friends and let me join their gang if I did a series of tasks which included throwing my neighbours garden furniture over the fence, stealing a toy police car from the newsagents and finally stealing her wigs and most terrible of all her husband’s wig. She sat and listened to the entire story without saying a word. Then she stood up walked away toward the kitchen door. I felt sick. I thought for sure she was going to phone my parents and grass me in, but she didn’t. She got to the door, turned round and smiled at me, beckoning me to follow her. “Come with me.”

I got up and followed her out of the kitchen and upstairs.

*

I still wasn’t sure what was happening, but I was starting to feel that I wasn’t going to get into trouble, which I was half relieved, half guilty about. We walked up the stairs and into the wig room. Now I was starting to get a little scared. Maybe this was my punishment. Maybe this was how she got her wigs; bumping off wee boys that have been bastards to her and keeping their hair. I started to feel sick again when she turned away from the wig wardrobe and looked at me. 

“Right, Davie. On you go. Pick one.”

Whit? I stared at her. “Whit?”

“Whichever one you want, pick it. Preferably one with a fringe to cover that horrible bump you’ve got. On you go.”

I had no idea what was happening, but I stepped forward and started to flick through the wigs over the watchful eye of Mrs. Dorries. Finally, I settled on a blue curly one. It was my favourite colour and I could never get my hair to go that cool 80s curly way that I liked from the movies. I pointed at it and she picked it up and put it on my head. It fit perfectly. After she fit the wig on my head, she picked one for herself and put it on.

“There you go. You’re in my gang now Davie. You don’t need those wee shits for pals. And don’t do anything you don’t feel comfortable doing just because some wee pricks have asked you too.”

My mouth went slack-jawed. I had never heard Mrs. Dorries speak like that before. Or swear. She smiled and winked at me. I smiled back.

“Thanks Mrs. Dorries.” I adjusted my wig and looked at the both of us in the mirror. We looked a weird pair. I started laughing and so did Mrs. Dorries. 

“Now, I don’t know about you, but it’s almost lunchtime and I’m hungry. What do you say, food?” 

“Aye, on ye go. Whit have ye got in the kitchen?”

Mrs. Dorries paused for a moment then smiled. “Why don’t we go out for a change, eh?”

My mouth went slack-jawed again, which caused Mrs. Dorries to give me another wink and the pair of us went downstairs and left the house, Mrs. Dorries breathing in the air like she was tasting it for the first time. 

This short story originally appeared in The Shadow People Won’t Take Us Alive & Other Lost Souls.

The Collective Birthday

The Collective Birthday

   “There’s no dip, Ray. I’ve looked absolutely everywhere and there’s none. Absolutely none! What are we going to do?” 

   The guests weren’t due for another hour so when his wife burst through the garage door with the news, her rollers in and apron hanging loosely round her neck, announcing the absence of dip from the cupboards like it were a threat to the Declaration of Independence itself. Any notion Ray had of an impromptu jam session with his new baby – Les Paul, cherry finish – became as elusive as the dip that Jane was fretting over. His plans now replaced with the unnecessary crisis that came with planning a party, something he thought that being new parents would have allowed them to get out of. As he tucked away the guitar, he did his best to ignore the feeling of longing that came with put down the six string and feign the interest that was expected of him in matters such as this. 

   “Is there definitely none in the fridge?” he said. 

   “There’s none Ray. None in the fridge. You don’t think I thought to check there?”, she said. 

“No, its just….well it’s a big fridge. Maybe you missed it.”

“It was the first place I checked. I checked twice. There’s none. What are we going to do?”

“We could get more hysterical for a start.”

“You know you’re not funny.”

   He knew better than to wind her up when she was in this mood; her personal No Man’s Land between Jane the Human Being, his best friend, wife, and Jane The Party Host. It was just too easy. He smiled and kissed her on the cheek, trying not to think of the guitar solo he could be perfecting right now instead of the task that was being thrust upon him. 

   “I’ll go get some.”

“The shops are closing in a half hour. Do you think you’ll make it?”

She bit her lip just then in that way that made Ray go crazy, making him want to freeze the moment forever and stick it in his wallet like a polaroid picture. He gave her another kiss for good measure and pulled on his jacket. 

   “Don’t call me a hero, but I’ll get you that dip if it’s the last damn dip there is on Earth.”

She laughed and seemed to relax a little and it made it all worthwhile for Ray, no matter if he didn’t get the dip, it was good just to be able to take that weight off her shoulders. As he headed toward the door, he looked back and pointed her up and down.

   “It’s an interesting look by the way. Very New-Age.”

She smiled. “Shut up idiot, and go get the dip. Take Sally too. Has she been for a walk today yet?” 

   The air was cool and calm tonight, looking up the stars were all out in unison, like they were throwing a party of their own, making Ray feel significant and insignificant all at once. It was the last night of the year and they were throwing a Hogmanay party (a word Ray wasn’t too crazy about) for the first time as a married couple. Truth be told, he had never quite gotten the ceremony of New Year. Growing up it’d always been quite an understated affair, bringing in the bells with his parents, his brother, sister and family cat before first footing the neighbours. But Jane had seemed big on it, when they first started dating, about 5 and a half years ago now, she’d recounted tale after tale of Hogmanay party. Maybe it was being with her and Sally that had infected Ray with a sense of hope and excitement for the New Year for the first time that he could remember. He actually was looking forward to seeing Jackie Bird on his TV screen before flipping over to Jools Holland and dancing the night away with his nearest and dearest, looking forward to the coming year mainly because he had something to look forward to. 

   In truth, the year had dragged on like one big hangover and they just couldn’t seem to get a foothold on anything, any control of reality and life evading them at every turn. There was no consistency and had passed something akin to that of a torch that’s batteries were dying; light flashing in the darkness but never enough to illuminate the whole room. It had started off promising enough, with Ray’s promotion to Senior Associate at the firm and then Jane falling pregnant, it had the makings of a great year; their year. Then things went downhill fast and every victory marred with the taste of defeat. First Jane’s father, then Ray’s mother…..and then the baby. Ray had never known silence quite like it. Losing her felt like the whole world had stopped talking to watch as their own fell apart. 

   They both often stayed up late at night, especially the past week, discussing the year as painful as it was to remember. It was just trying to figure out why there had been so much good and so much bad happen at the same time. Why couldn’t it have been padded out? None of them really had an answer. Ray figured it was just luck of the draw, but Jane’s catholic upbringing forced her to look at things with a little more divinity. She figured that it was too show them that they could take on anything, no matter the hardship or heartache or the challenge, that together they could face it and come through OK. And Ray had to admit, despite his agnostic beliefs, he liked the sentiment, himself finding that the ones he considered friends became something much more, they had become family, like a posse surrounding them with love or like the crew of a ship surrounding them with a strength stronger than their metal confines. 

   The artificial light of the shop broke into his daydream, leaving it outside with the starlight and the dog as he searched for the dip. The dog had been a good idea at the time, though Ray could hardly bring himself to look at it. It was supposed to be a pram he was pushing, not the lead he was pulling. He knew Jane felt it too, because she never took her out for a walk. It wasn’t the dog’s fault. It was nobody’s, perhaps most frustrating of all. Tracking down within seconds and picked up a couple just for good measure, Ray decided to go a lap around the store and see if he could pick anything else up. Filling the basket with some goodies for Jane, and a bottle of Red for himself, he headed to the counter. The guy behind it smiled through his beard, though you could tell he didn’t want to. Ray smiled back and couldn’t shake the image that the guy looked like a pirate who’d brought dishonour onto his crew and was banished to work as a customer assistant. Destined to a life of tongue biting and day dreaming, the high seas replaced by high blood pressure and poor personal hygiene. It wasn’t until Captain Co-Op broke the silence that Ray realized he had probably been staring, wondering if the guy wished he had walked the plank instead. 

   “Having a party?” he said. His voice was gruff, just like the pirate Ray had painted him as.

   “Just a few people around yep. We had an emergency. DipCon One.”

Ray cringed at his own joke. He was born to make Dad jokes. Another painful reminder. The pirate didn’t seem to notice either the joke or Ray’s forlorn expression, instead just nodding and grumbled. “Got to keep those crisps lubricated.”

He finished packing the bag cashed up and Ray handed over the money and the pirate checked them over like buried treasure before handing Ray back his change. As Ray turned to go, Captain let out a sigh and looked out the window.

   “Funny old time of year this. Full of reflection and resolutions.” he said. Ray wasn’t sure if he was actually talking to him or the invisible parrot on his shoulder. One of the things he had hated about get the dog was that strangers would speak to him. It seemed now he didn’t even need to have the dog next to him. He responded all the same.

   “Not a fan of New Year then?”

He shook his head. “Nah. The Collective Birthday I like to call it. Just a reminder that the world is a year older and us with it. Instead of shrinking away like we do our on own birthday’s we throw a big party like it’s our first and our last.”

Ray nodded and smiled. “Well, Happy Birthday then, when it comes.”

At this, Pirate smiled and nodded. “Happy Birthday to you too.” And at that Ray left, walking out the store and leaving Captain Co-Op to dream of the high seas and hidden treasure from behind the counter.

   Walking home with Sally, the dip in hand ready to deliver, the phrase “Collective Birthday” played like a loop on his mind. He had thought it a touch morbid in the conversation, the philosophy of a depressed Customer Assistant, but in actual fact, it was kind of hopeful. Perhaps that was what the New Year really was, a collective birthday. Rather than an old year dying, it was a new one being born and with it a new hope. As he approached his house he thought of Jane and how he couldn’t wait to tell her about the pirate and wish her a Happy Birthday. Walking through the door, Sally running ahead, Jane was already in the hallway waiting for him. She was wearing a smile, one she hadn’t had in a long time and held something small in her hand too, but he couldn’t quite see it. He took the dip out of the bag and waved it at her smiling. She showed him what was in hers and smiled even harder. Running to hug her, the dip fell from his hands and spread over the ground. They laughed, all 3 of them as they watched Sally dart toward it to provide the clean up. 

This short story originally appeared in The Shadow People Won’t Take Us Alive & Other Lost Souls.

The Shadow People Won't Take Us Alive

A Beginning of Sorts

My name is Humphrey Willis. Yep, that's right, not very inspiring for the quote unquote "hero" of any great story, right? But there it is. That's my name. That's the card my folks dealt me. They played Russian Roulette with the baby name book and guess who won? That's right. The Russians......Anyway

This story is about me versus the shadow people. You know who the shadow people are. Everybody does at one point or another. It's hard to escape them. But maybe it's possible. You'll have to read on and find out – I'm not telling you now that would spoil the suspense. If there is any.  

People used to describe me as being not entirely miserable and not entirely miserable was the best I could do. I'm happy for the most part but scared because the world I live in is strange and scary and it always rains. It got less scary when I met The Crazy Girl With The Paper Flower Tongue though. Now, my world seems to slot into place along with the rest of life and what I heard living was supposed to feel like. But the thing is, I've grown up on the run from the Shadow People. I had a deal with them that kept me out of The World Of The Dark Places. For a while this was OK. I lived somewhere called Never-Not Rain. Not as bad as The Dark Places but bad enough. Somewhere that the Shadow People could keep an eye on me, letting me smile every so often but not often enough. But one day I left and refused to go back. Which takes me to now. They've taken the love of my life, The Crazy Girl With The Paper Flower Tongue. And that's something I won't stand for. Humphrey Willis is going to become a hero today. And there's nothing that The Shadow People or their Shaker Crew can do about it. 

Buckle up. But not for too long. This'll be a quick story. I can't spend too long in The Dark Places, so you might need to fill in some gaps. 

Ready? Good. Let's go. 

Raindrops Keep Falling From My Head

I don't know why I cry. 

Most of the time that is. Most of the time I don't know why I cry. I know why I'm crying now and so does the tear splotted bit of paper in my left hand. But most of the time I don't.  Maybe it's because I'm a pussy like the Old Lady Jane called me that time she caught me drowning her gnomes in piss her front garden and I started pissing tears. Or maybe it's because of the time I met the guy down the park who sits on the bench next to his heart and reads the instructions on how to get it back in and cries a whole lot too because he can't understand them. Or maybe it's just because I'm still the little boy inside not grown up a whole lot. Or maybe it's because someone once told me that your demons die in the rain and I liked the sound of it so I figured I'd like to cry good, cry hard and cry often. But one day, you're going to cry because some days you just wake up and realize that some of those demons that you cried out in the rain survived. Heck, some of them even learned to swim and when that happens you're going to cry all over again until you dry up dead. 

Today is one of those days. Today is one of those days that I know why I cry. Today I cry because the Shadow People came and took away my happiness. Today I cry because those Shadow People finally caught up with me like my mother promised they would and because they couldn't take me they took my Crazy Girl instead. Today I cry because I realize I'm going to have to fight like hell but not a hell of a lot because I know what the note the Shadow People left me mean. I know what I have to do if I want to see my Crazy Girl. And it makes me sad because it's not a happy ending. And I'm not an adventurer sort. And the fight has to take place outside on away turf which sucks cos I just like my bed most of the time. 

My mother, she used to tell me that the Shadow People won't take us alive. They won't take me, they won't take you and they won't take love. They'll try but in the end they won't. They never do. I always thought it was a crummy bedtime story and all I really wanted was to be read about cats who dream of milk-filled fountains or penguins who ride polar bears. But no.  It wasn't a bedtime story at all and maybe I should have listened more. 

I didn't know the Shadow People were chasing us then, mainly to get to her. In the end, the Shadow People did take her alive. But that's a different story. Or maybe it's the same one. Who knows? 

The Crazy Girl With The Paper Flower Tongue

Humphrey Willis, you've outrun us for so long but you won't outrun us much longer. We've taken the thing you love most into our world as punishment for taking yourself from ours. If you want to see her again, you'll find her where you belong. The World of the Dark Places awaits. 

Forever Yours.

The Shadow Men & The Shaker Crew. 

This was the note I found on our bed the day I came home from my job at the weather-making factory. It had been a long shift; the boss wanted the clouds darker and filled with rain that could go on for 30 days and 30 nights. I took the job because it was all I could get really. Like the note said, I'm not from this world so there isn't much I could do. But they were always looking for people to make the clouds darker and because I came from the Never-Not Rain World, and my history with The World of the Dark Places I was perfect for it. I was soaked to the bone by the time I got home and wanted to warm up next to CG but all I found was the note. 

I still remember the moment we met. I was on holiday from Never-Not Rain and had come to visit some friends in The Land of the Yellow Star when I saw her. There was a slight amber haze on the memory as that day I had too many Sunshine Shots at the Yellow Star Bar but I remember it all the same. She was doing a trick where she made ate a vase of flowers then made paper flowers from her tongue. She worked at the paper-tasting plant, and was one of the few people who could turn anything into paper. I'd heard about people like this but never thought I'd met one. After that, I missed my commute back to Never-Not Rain and I guess here we are. 

My choice was simple though after I found the note. All I needed to do was save her once, yet she saved me every day. I knew it would take me through places I'd rather not go. That was what I feared the most about The World of the Dark Places. But it was either that, or lose her forever and join the Lightening Bottle Broken Heart Club, which I wasn't prepared to do. I wasn't going to join a club where they sat and cried because they had broken hearts and lost loves, not when I had the chance to change it. If it meant I had to give up my freedom and join the Shadow People & The Shaker Crew then so be it. 

The Place Where Time Doesn't Move

Life isn't perfect. I know that. It wasn't made to be perfect and most of the time it feels like it falls short of not being very good at all. 

My mother used to say this but she also taught me about moments and the place where time doesn't move. She used to say, "Humphrey, if there's one thing I've learned in this world is that moments are what we live for. Moments were born to be perfect. That's what they're designed for. To be perfect and too make life perfect. Gather up all the moments you can. Eventually, you might have enough to reach the place where time doesn't move."

"What's that Mum?" I used to ask. 

"The place where time doesn't move is the happiest place you can ever be. All it takes is one other person and all the moments in the world at the same time."

She used to get sad after she spoke about the place that time doesn't move. I think that's why I lost her to the World of the Dark Places in the end. I think she had that one other person in my Dad and I think they used to live in the place that time doesn't move like I now did. But after my Dad died, that's when the Shadow People started hunting us. And the rest is history. 

Now, I look up at the clouds I built while I ride the bus to where they want me to go and I think about moments. On the days where everything is going south and it feels like nothing is going well and you think life sucks, and you can't steer clear of the fog, just look out for moments. Life is rubbish. But it's fine. Because maybe it's supposed to be. And that's OK. Why? Well, because there's always another moment coming just around the corner. 

Cracked Pavements

I got off the bus a few stops early. I needed a plan. I thought I already knew how I could save her but I wasn't entirely happy with the scenario as it really didn't favour me or a happy ending. 

When I looked down and saw the Cracked Pavements I knew exactly where I was. I was firmly in The World of The Dark Places territory now. I remembered the Cracked Pavements well. The last time they looked very different though. I'll tell you about that in a minute.

It's like the old nursery rhyme they sing in your world. You know the one. About not stepping on the crack because you'll break your mother's back. In this world it wasn't a nursery rhyme. Stepping on the cracks wouldn't break your mothers back, but every time you did, you're brain would rewind back and you'd lose a memory of her. I had no new memories to make so I treaded carefully, avoiding each and every crack. It had been a long time since I'd done this, and by the time I navigated through I couldn't remember what she used to do to get me to sleep, or the time we baked a thousand cakes in one night just because we could. Those were good memories, gone forever. Once the Cracked Pavements were done, I could move on to The Beach of Many Names & Faces, which made me smile, because there was no problem here at all. 

The Beach Of Many Names & Faces

This was probably one of the reason I had incurred such wrath from The Shadow People & The Shaker Crew and why they came after me so hard. When they have you, you're chained to them for life really. There's no escape and they have different ways to keep your debt tied to them. The Cracked Pavements are one. Another is The Beach of Many Names & Faces. These are pretty much all your bad memories and the people in your life you'd much rather forget. 

The Crazy Girl and I came here one day. It was her idea, not mine. She was Crazy after all. I told her all about the Shadow People, and the different tricks they had. So she got us on the bus and took us here with a twinkle and a wrinkle of her nose. She filled in the Cracked Pavements with marshmallow glue and bounced onto the Beach of Many Names & Faces. It was filled with people and I just couldn't look. I couldn't speak. She just laughed, kissed me on the cheek and pulled me on to a wall that overlooked the beach. I watched her as she took out a catapult, placed a Cherry Stone in the centre and fired it, striking one of the people on the Beach square between the eyes. They fell down and promptly disappeared. I laughed then, looking at her with wide eyes. She wrinkled her nose and winked pulling out more cherry stones, some frozen marshmallows and things I didn't recognise. She handed me the catapult and smiled. "Your turn."

We sat there until the Beach was as empty as it was now. Walking through it alone, I took the catapult out just in case, but I didn't need it. The sand, which once was dirty brown was now a pale white, and walked toward where I knew they'd have her.

The World Of The Dark Places

There are many tricks that belong to The Shadow People and I'm sure you know of even more, because they have different ones for everyone. If I went through all the tricks they have for me we'd be here all day. And I know that nobody wants that, least of all me. After The Beach of Many Names & Faces, I swam through the Green Lake of Monsters, hacked my way through The Forgetful Forest (getting lost a few times and tangled in a few branches), climbed Mattress Mountain, danced through the Desert of Doubt, warmed my way through The Cold Islands and finally beat the Breath Takers and Body Tinglers. I was almost there now and to remain as brave I had already been I thought about all the things we had done together. All the places we've been, all the moments we've had and all the moments still to come. I thought of our home The Place Where Time Doesn't Move and it kept me warm, breathing and clear. 

When I arrived in The Dark Places it was like I had never left. It was a dusty place with little light. Eyes peered at your through the darkness, piercing you like arrows. Whispers stung your ears like bullets. The thing about this world that was so scary was you didn't see the darkness coming even though it was around you permanently. It was everything. It was noise and quiet at once. It was twisted streets where the things that would never happen happened and your worst nightmares that weren't true lived. I had a clear path because nobody walked these streets. Not even the minions that worked for The Shadow People & Shaker Crew. His friends had once said that the angels dance in the street while the devil waits in the wings. Nobody danced in the street here and the only light was the eyes along the side streets. 

The Shadow People & The Shaker Crew lived in the Dark Place which was dead version of the places I loved and called home. It was a miniature town of false memories. The purple house I grew up in was on my right with the windows boarded up, the paint flaking and the light out. The Yellow Star Bar was but instead of the sunshine shots, they instead drank their tears and filled up the cup to drink it all over again. People stood on street corners trying to sell little bottles of lightening and hearts sat on benches alone with their owner nowhere to be seen.  It went on like this for miles until eventually I saw her in front of me. Her eyes closed, a sign hung round her neck, which said Love Sick: Terminally Ill. I rushed to her, removing the sign and holding her as tightly as I could as the Shadow People & The Shaker Crew approached

You couldn't see them, not straight on. They lived in the Shadows after all. You could only sense them and see them from the corner of your eye. They didn't say anything. They just stood there and waited. I knew I'd escaped them for so long. I'd been defiant. And my time on the run was up. I kissed her on the forehead, hoping that my plan would work and the Shadow People would stop chasing us.  

As the Shadow People & The Shaker Crew moved closer I closed my eyes and reached in my pocket. 

Remember when I told you about moments? About how my mother told me to collect as many moments as I could and hold on to them? Well I did just that. And I held on to them everywhere I went. 

Waiting until the Shadow People & The Shaker Crew moved closer, I took out the little bottles of moments, glowing blue as they danced in against the glass. I couldn't see them, and I didn't know if they felt scared but they started to back away. Kissing The Crazy Girl on the forehead once more I dropped the bottles on the ground and let the moments swirl out. Then I closed my eyes and hoped.  

An Ending of Sorts

I opened my eyes and the world I previously saw melted away into memory. I turned, and she lay beside me reading a book like nothing had happened at all. Seeing I was awake, she smiled. "You were a way for a little while there. Sometimes I think you're sleeping with your eyes open." I smiled back and kissed her.

The worst thing when you go to the dark places - you know the place? The one where the Shadow People live and there are only glimpses of the light and sometimes not even that - is that you don't know you're there, not until you're out. 

This is the reason, every so often, I turn to her and say "Thank you."

And when I do, she looks at me, raising that perfect little eyebrow (the other was perfect to, but she just raises the one). "For what?" she says.

And, because it's the first time that night I've felt like myself I say, "For still being there when I come out of the darkness." And I kiss her again.  

She lowers her eyebrow and smiles, the kind where her eyes dance a different colour and you see a little glimpse of that beautiful soul beneath. "Always. Where else would I be?" 

And then I don't tell you the rest of the story, because it doesn't end and it's just for us. 

And that's OK. Because the Shadow People won't take us alive. 

This short story originally appeared in The Shadow People Won’t Take Us Alive & Other Lost Souls.