Reporter:
Good evening, Mr - er - Robot.

Robot:
It is to be presumed that it is a pleasant evening; evenings cannot be ‘good’ or ‘bad’. And my correct title is AN562/12-093.

Reporter:
I beg your pardon, Mr AN656 - er -

Robot:
AN5 will suffice, thank you.

Reporter:
Thank you, AN5. Now, first of all, how do you find our city?

Robot:
I simply boarded an aeroplane which was scheduled to land here. I really did not have to search for the city.

Reporter (voice trembling a little:
I really meant - er - do you like our city?

Robot:
I have not had sufficient time to make a complete and honest assessment of your city. When I have had time, I will let you know.

Reporter (running fingers through hair):
Er, well, let’s leave that for now. How long do you intend to stay?

Robot:
Do you mean, is my height about to increase or decrease? I am made of metal; my size cannot alter. Or do you perhaps mean - of what duration will my visit be?

Reporter (undoing collar with shaking hands):
Er, yes, that last bit.

Robot:
‘Be’ - that is a verb denoting existence, to have presence in the realm of perceived reality. Also used as a linking verb between -

Reporter (biting his pen in half):
Yes, OK, all right! Have you met our heads of state?

Robot:
I have actually met the complete personages. Their heads would be of little use without their bodies.

Reporter ( throwing his notepad on the ground and jumping on it):
All right, you - you pedantic freak. I defy anyone to get an interview out of you!

Robot:
‘Pedantic’ and ‘freak’. Those words do not complement one another. They should not -

Reporter, livid of face, hurls a chair at the Robot, who fends it off deftly, then pats the Reporter gently on the head. ‘Gently’ for a Robot, that is. The reporter sinks to the ground unconscious.

Robot (alarmed):
Oh, dear, I have broken the First Law. (Self destructs.)

It is early Monday morning. Ellen is woken by her husband, bringing her a cup of tea and the morning paper.

She stretches and yawns; she is finding it hard to keep her eyes open.

She sits up, and stares sleepily at the paper. What has happened in the world while I have been sleeping, she wonders to herself?

Her husband Al comes back into the bedroom. "Right," he says, "I'm off," giving her a kiss. It is 6 a.m. and he is going to work.

Ellen read her paper as she drinks her tea. She hears pitter patter. She looks up from her paper and her little puppy is there enquiringly. All right, she says, we will go for our walk.

She dresses quickly and makes the bed. The puppy sits and waits obediently while she puts his lead on then off they go. It is a beautiful morning and many others are out walking their dogs.

Ellen has to hurry, she has a lot to do this morning. When they get home Ellen gives the puppy a treat and his breakfast, and then heads out again to the gym. When she gets home she showers and has a quick breakfast. She tidies the house and washes the dishes.

She grabs her bag and is ready to go out again.

It is 9.45. She drives to a friend's place, she knocks on the door.

"Come in," calls a voice. Ellen opens the door and enters into another world.

She sees four ladies in the room. They are all dressed in sparkling flowing skirts and sequinned tops. Bright sashes are round their hips, jingling and jangling as they move.

One has a beautiful beaded headdress and necklace. She moves sensuously to the music. This is Aida, the teacher.

Another is dancing and spinning round and around, her skirts billowing around her. She has a sparkling tiara in her hair. She is completely lost in her dance. She is Sumara. There is a small dark lady with a beautiful smile and she is making lovely hand movements as she moves to the music. This is Yolande.

The fourth lady is dressed in a beautiful bright skirt and top and shimmering hip sash. She is swaying gracefully to the music. This is Mystique.

Ellen quickly puts on her flowing skirt and bright red sequinned top and gold sash. She is now Danielle.

They all pick up their beautiful veils and begin to dance, twisting and turning, their veils above their heads, flowing out behind them.

They have changed from their everyday lives and for a little while they have become Kismet, and they are Belly Dancers.

 

 

**********

 

THE MIGRANT

by Wendy Beames

 

The young woman walked slowly along the hot concrete footpath. Mechanically, her feet propelled her body along, step after weary step. Only her thoughts remained free. Able to retreat unconstrained, to happier times and places. Overhead, the sun glared angrily down from a clear, deep blue sky.

Ahead of her, oblivious of his mother's misery, the boy trotted along happily. Now and again he would stop, stooping to inspect some minute object which had attracted his attention. The woman watched him with envy, wishing she had been able to retain the innocent adaptability of childhood. Maybe then, she could accept her situation more readily. Instead, she stubbornly resisted any temptation to like anything about the alien place she found herself in. She hated this strange country she had come to. She hated the heat; hated the bustling traffic of so large a city; but most of all, she hated the strange way of the people.

On the same day each week, she and the boy walked to the shopping centre to buy the weekly provisions. It was a distance that they were both unaccustomed to and she felt the journey endless. Perhaps the distance seemed so interminable because everything was so dull and uninteresting. The same concrete footpath ran alongside block after block of drab, uniform flats. A barren expanse of concrete surrounded each block of flats, replacing what had once been a flourishing garden with a treeless car-park. The old, colonial-style houses, which had once stood proudly behind neat Buffalo lawns edged with borders of fragrant roses, had been ripped down. In this city suburb, more and more room was constantly needed to house the growing number of migrants coming to the Lucky Country to start a new life.

It was all so desolate; so different from the tiny, close-knit village community she had left behind in her own country. She wondered how it was possible to feel so isolated, when she was constantly surrounded by so many other people. The flats where she and her family lived housed many other families, yet they hardly ever saw anything of them. Each family was a small, cellular unit, withdrawn and distant, rejecting all contact with neighbours. Only at night, when heavy footsteps overhead, or a heated argument in a strange language kept them from sleeping, were they aware of their neighbours.

The boy was lonely too. His older brother had started at school, so the younger one was left at home, alone. With no garden outside to play in, his only source of stimulation had become the old, second-hand television set in the corner of the room. She worried about him, and wondered what they had done to their children, leaving the familiar friendliness of home to bring them to this dreadful city. How would they cope with the terrible feelings of rejection that she had left? If only she had known before they came, perhaps then, they would never have come at all. She worried about him now, having to walk so far. He was only just three. Yet his legs were sturdy enough, and the fresher air outside would probably do him good; perhaps it would put some colour into his place skin. At least, out here there was more going on to activate his inquisitive mind.

Soon, they were approaching the main road, where traffic hurtled past in both directions. She shouted at him then, making him wait until she could reach out to seize his hand tightly, before they crossed. She hated herself for shouting at him. She loved him so much, and it distressed her to upset him. But sometimes he was all she had to vent her misery upon.

They reached the shops and she began the process of selecting groceries. And again, it was all so strange and different. Such a variety of brands to examine, and so many unfamiliar products to decide upon. There was also the problem of getting a week's supply of food home. Some things, from the supermarket, could be delivered, but the fruit and vegetables would have to be carried. In her own country, she had shopped every day. The shops had been close enough then, and along the way she had greeted other villagers and spent moments in friendly discussion. Here though, they were recognised as migrants and she sensed the hostility. Their foreignness was all too apparent; their clothes were different and their accents betrayed them. At first, she had attempted a cheerful greeting when someone passed her in the street, until she became disillusioned by their sour expressions. There were no smiling faces of acceptance here, only the fear and mistrust of strangers.

In and out of the shops they went. The boy lagged behind now, wanting to stop and look at things. In the supermarket, a young, slovenly check-out girl was sullen and uncooperative. So different from the smiling village store-keeper she remembered. In the butcher's shop, the butcher was arrogant and loud. Impatient at her hesitation between lamb grillers and oyster-blade steak, he seemed to joke mockingly with his waiting customers, at her ignorance.

In the post office, where she needed to buy the stamps to send her unhappy letters home, she was all but ignored, as others pushed her aside to be served before her. Anger surged up inside her chest and invisible fingers grasped her throat so tightly that she felt she would choke. She wondered if she would ever be accepted by these people, who only knew how to reject her. Stinging tears welled up in her eyes, as she gave in to overwhelming self-pity. Looking around for the boy, she suddenly realised that he was no longer there. Abruptly, she was shocked back to reality. Where could he be? He had been there only minutes before. Panic-stricken, she rushed blindly out on to the footpath. Into one shop after another, crying out: "Have you seen by son? A little boy in red shorts?"

Blank faces, bemused by such an emotional outburst, stared curiously back. She felt totally lost; completely helpless; not knowing what she should do in such an emergency. Had he been taken? He was appealing enough, with his large brown eyes and pretty, girlish face? He might be in danger of being run down by one of the fast-moving vehicles which flashed past constantly, dangerously close to the footpath.

"Oh help me! Somebody help me!" was all she could inwardly cry.

An old woman, ragged and dirty, appeared from nowhere and stretched out an arm toward her.

"Go to the cops, lovey; they're just in the next street, just around the corner. They'll help you."

She rushed away, barely able to gasp out a 'Thank you' to the old woman.

Around the corner, the familiar blue and white words: Police Station, stood high on a tall pole. A large white police car stood at the kerb. And there, in the front seat, with a bottle of Coke in his hand and a beaming grin all over his lovely round face, sat the boy. A smiling young policeman approached and said, "Don't worry! Here he is, and safe and sound! He'd even told me his address and I was just about to take him there. He's pretty clever for a young bloke! But you can have him back now."

She breathed a great sigh of relief a she hugged him to her chest.

The next week, they shopped again as usual. Only now, the woman noticed a subtle change in the people. The girl in the supermarket greeted them cheerfully, with a smile. The butcher said, "G'day," to the little boy and winked knowingly at him.

The joking seemed not unlike it had the week before. Only now, she was laughing with them, and that made all the difference in the world.

 

**********

WAR DOG

By Jaldrich

 

He was one of the biggest German Shepherds I had ever seen. As I watched, his powerful back legs propelled him spring-like against the bars of the confining cage which shook under the impact of his solid body; flattened ears, lips stretched back exposing an awesome set of teeth, a lion-like ruff of hair quivered his rage.
I stood and watched as the handler closed the door of the truck and drove away.

 

It happened shortly after the war in the Pacific had come to an end. My husband John had been recently demobbed from the Air Force and we had bought a small house in the San Francisco Bay area, had a year old baby girl and a skinny six month old German Shepherd called Rex, whom I had rescued from the local Dog Shelter. John and I had loved this breed of dog and we had joined the local German Shepherd Club.

I woke up one morning to a leaden sky, the rain coming down in buckets. Whoever said it never rains in California but it pours certainly knew what they were talking about. Rex was sitting, head on paws by the front door, sighing his discontent at not being taken for his usual morning run in the park.
By noon the down pour had eased off to a drizzle, so putting the baby in her pram with the hood up and donning my rain gear, we all headed off to the park.

I first saw the dog lying on his side in the shelter of a large tree. I thought possibly he was sick or injured because he wasn't moving.
I tied Rex up to a park bench, leaving him in charge of the pram and telling him to stay. I then very cautiously approached the still form. I got within a couple of metres of him when he suddenly sprang to his feet. He stood motionless, dripping wet. He was magnificent, bigger than the average German Shepherd, heavy boned and beautifully marked. There was a black saddle back fading to gold on his face, chest and legs and a large ruff of hair framing his face. His brown eyes watched me intently. His stance would have caused competitors in the show ring to go green with envy.

I stood still and began to talk to him in a quiet voice. His eyes never left my face. I could see no sign of a collar or tag round his neck. I thought maybe he had jumped out of a car and become lost. I moved slowly closer talking to him softly; as I drew nearer, he dropped down to a crouched position, watching me intently. I offered the back of my hand ... fist closed. He stood up, walked towards me and sniffed.
"Want to come home with me?" I said and began walking back towards Rex and the pram. I was conscious that he was following a few paces behind. After an initial sniff Rex and he paid no attention to each other. We continued our walk, he staying a few paces behind, when I stopped walking he immediately dropped to the crouch position and was up on his feet the moment we moved on.
I decided that someone had spent a lot of time on his obedience training.

Arriving home he let me towel him dry along with Rex. I gave them both a good feed. He ate as if it was his first meal for a long time. I then lit a fire in the fireplace and within minutes both dogs were snoring away on the hearth rug.

When John arrived home, he was not unduly surprised that I had picked up 'another stray' ... as he put it. But he was surprised that the dog was lost in the first place. He was not your usual lost dog that was for sure. He felt somewhat flattered when after dinner and sitting in his lounge chair, the dog walked over and put his massive head on his lap. For the first time as John stroked his head, we saw him wag his plume-like tail.

"Tomorrow," I said, "I'll phone the dog shelter to see if anyone has reported him missing, and if that fails an ad in the local paper will probably help a lot. Someone is bound to be looking for him."
That settled we turned on the TV to watch the news. We were just in time to catch an announcement that a valuable German Shepherd had escaped from an Army truck taking him to the nearby base Camp. The announcer went on to say that the dog in question was a Japanese War Dog and could be dangerous if approached. The public was asked to phone a certain number if the dog was sighted. This was followed by a detailed description of the animal which fitted perfectly the dog snoozing on the hearth rug.

We sat in stunned silence for a minute. "Well," said John, "are you going to make that call or shall I?"

Within the hour an Army truck arrived. Two dog handlers wearing padded jackets and long leather gloves came into the living room.
The transformation was electric ... The 'pussycat' on the hearth turned into a roaring lion. Teeth bared and hackles rising, it took both men to get him into the cage at the rear of the truck. I felt like a Judas.

"What will happen to him?" I asked one of the soldiers.

"Oh, he'll be OK, Ma'am, the boys will put him through a re-training course and then he will be part of the Army Military Police Corps and possibly be used as a stud, he is such a fine animal. I wouldn't want to turn my back on him, though," he added.

"He really is a friendly dog if you talk to him," I said. The soldier laughed.

"Talk to him ma'am ... He only speaks Japanese."

John and I stood in miserable silence watching the truck disappear down the hill. I struggled to swallow the lump in my throat. I was thinking that language is irrelevant to animals. They know what is in your heart.

**********

VALLEY OF THE GIANTS

by Wendy

 

Ancient giants raise lofty banners high,
The mighty, towering guardians of the Earth.
Standing majestic in their fortessed rows,
The sentinels of Mankind's future hope.
A vital part of nature's complex plan,
Protectors of the fragile land below.

Beneath the drifting canopies of green,
The dappled sunlight dances on the ground.
Sparkling rays dart into hidden nooks,
Glistening and bright on dew-strewn grass.
Shy wildflowers wake and raise their dainty heads,
From out the rich, moist debris of dead leaves.

Elusive reptiles rustle through the leaves,
And tiny rodents bustle on their way.
Birds sweep and flash across the peaceful glades,
Their gentle music echoing high above.
And silently the mighty Karris stay,
Protectors of the frail and precious land.

**********

OCEAN

by Wendy

 

The ocean seethes and sucks at the shore.
Drawn by the moon, the motion is perpetual.
The rushing tide tumbles a multitude of tiny shells,
over and over, across the sand.
The receding tide retreats,
exposing a ragged line of texture and colour.
Sometimes I imagine myself
inside one of these tiny empty vessels.
Swirling, rolling across the ocean bed.
Above, green, frothy waves foam onto the shore.
Muted sunlight filters through.
A myriad of tiny fish flash by like quicksilver.
The ocean overflows with life.
For ever and ever, since the beginning of time,
the ocean has pounded the shores.
But how long is forever? How much time is left?
How soon before the ocean rises up,
swollen with melted ice
sucking, seething, swamping and crushing all before it?

 

**********

A DAY TO REMEMBER

by Noeline

 

My alarm went off as usual. No! Not as usual! Instead of the b-r-r-ing, b-r-r-ing of other days, it played a very lively tune - rather like an Irish jig. I rubbed my sleepy eyes and shook my head to clear it.

"Must have dreamt it!"

I jumped out of bed - or tried to; there was a wall in the way. My bed was on the wrong side of my bedroom. I swung my feet over to the other side, and on a bright red carpet. Where was my pretty floral floor covering? And those things on the dressing table; they weren't mine!

Afraid of what I might find, I opened my bedroom door and was knocked flat by a very large and exuberant dog. Dog?! I don't have a dog! I don't like dogs!

I finally managed to subdue the creature and looked around. My living room was now two-tone - two purple walls and two green walls, instead of the gentle ivory colour of yesterday. And my prized collection of china in its glass cabinet was now a collection of savage-looking African artefacts.

"I need a cup of tea!" I sobbed and entered my little kitchen: now all black and chrome instead of cream and green. "Tea - tea ... ?" I mumbled, but no tea-bags. I opened the shiny, unfamiliar refrigerator. "There has to be milk!"

No! Cans - lots and lots of them. Coke, gin and tonic, 5X beer. 5X!! This was too much. I rushed from the room and opened the front door, forgetting I was still wearing - nothing!

Muttering, I seized a throw-rug from the orange leather (yuck!) lounge, wrapped it round myself and looked out into the street. It looked the same - if you ignored the fact that every house was now a different colour. It was rather like looking into a kaleidoscope.

I decided that it was time to see if I still had a job. An hour later, after a shower in a totally way-out bathroom, dressed in clothes that I had never purchased, I had managed to lure that obnoxious dog out into my tiny backyard by means of the contents of a tin of 'Delicious Doggy Dinners'. Again, yuck!

My car was now a sporty yellow Cheetah (never mind!), but at least my office was still in the same place. However, from then on ...

I won't go into details about my day. About the rest of the office staff, unfamiliar faces in unfamiliar clothes, using strange business terms, apparently unaware of my growing bewilderment.

Enough to say that I left early. On my way hope I passed a news-stand and picked up a paper, hoping to find an explanation of my strange world. I sat down on that orange lounge and looked at the front page. Then the date caught my eye.

'Thursday, February 30th.'

Now I am lying in my bed, unable to sleep, anxiously waiting for midnight and hoping that with the coming of March 1st, all will be normal.

PLEASE!!!

**********

FORTY TWO IN A DINGHY

by Eileen

 

This is the forty second week we have been in this dinghy.

The ship we were on was damaged. So we had to abandon it, and go over the side into the sea in the dinghy.

I was travelling with my husband and he was in the dinghy with me. There was also a lady with a ten year old son and two men who were travelling together. We had some water and dry biscuits, and the little boy had a large bar of chocolate. This he greedily ate all by himself as soon as he got into the dinghy.

I said to him, "You should save most of that. You might need to share it later on." He looked at me as if I had gone off my head.

"Not likely!" he said and chomped the lot.

We went on for days and days, with a sip of water only and a bite of a dry biscuit. The naughty boy was moaning all the time that he was hungry.

"Serves you right!" I said. "You were so greedy." His mum looked as though she wanted to slap me for talking to her darling child like that.

The men kept arguing with each other. I felt like throwing them both over the side.

My husband tried to keep us happy by telling the most stupid jokes; I would have liked to have thrown him over as well.

Days are going by and we are all very hungry and thirsty and I don't think we will see a forty third week.

Just as things were getting really bad, I woke up in my beautiful cabin on the ship, with my dear husband snoring happily beside me.

 

**********

REX

by Jaldrich

 

Many years ago when my oldest daughter was six, we had just moved into our first house and Diana decided the only thing lacking was a dog. Actually, that wasn't the only thing lacking. After paying all the expenses involved in buying the house, money was a little tight. However, one morning we took ourselves to the local dog shelter to see what was on offer.

We came home with a skinny little pup which the shelter man assured me would grow up to be a German Shepherd.

"All he needs is a good feed," he said reassuringly.

It took a little more than that. He was full of worms, had a calcium deficiency and needed immediate veterinary attention. However, after a couple of months on a diet of cottage cheese, raw egg and meat, he began to look like a healthy pup should. He was full of energy and devoted to Diana.

Three years later my husband was transferred to an overseas job and we had the hard decision to make to find a new home for Rex. Fortunately, a neighbour, Dan Webber, an elderly man who lived in the next street, had offered to take Rex over. He had owned a Shepherd that had recently died of old age. Dan said he would be delighted to care for Rex while we were away, which would be for a period of two years. He said he missed his dog very much.

We leased our house for the two year period we were away. When we came back Dan told us that he and Rex took a nightly walk around the neighbourhood and up our street and Rex had never even looked in the direction of his old home until the day we got back. Dan said that on that day Rex turned into our driveway and up to the front door.

We were mutually delighted to see each other again.

Dan put his arms around Rex's neck and we could see he was upset at the thought of parting with him. When he got up to go, Rex followed him to the door and my husband looked at me and I nodded.

"Let him go," I said. Diana also agreed and we assured her that we would get her another dog right away.

Rex and Dan Webber kept each other company for many years until Dan died of old age. Then the grown up Diana took Rex back for the remaining years of his life.

 

 

**********

ROY, THE LOLLABOUT CAT

(a story for children)

by Eileen

 

Roy is a very large and extremely handsome cat. He is also very lazy.

His coat is made up of black and light grey stripes and a beautiful fawn. It is very shiny and he has bright green eyes.

It is Monday morning and I find him fast asleep on the sofa. He has made himself comfortable on the cushions. He is flat on his back and his paws are tucked under his chin.

"Come on, Roy, move," I say to him. He lazily opens one eye and stretches to his full length. He softly purrs and meows, which translated to human language means,

"Sshhh please, I don't do Mondays."

**********

LOST SOUL

Jaldrich

 

Whenever I have any serious thinking to do, I go to my 'Thinking Spot'. It is the beach at the end of the street where I live. There is a wooden bench where I sit which overlooks the ocean. I don't know whether it is the sea breeze or the vastness of the outlook, but whatever, it seems to help to clear my mind.

The best time is early in the morning. Then I can selfishly have the bench to myself, the only distraction being the odd dedicated jogger along the footpath before breakfast.

A few months ago, I was surprised to find an elderly lady sitting on 'my' bench. She looked very frail; her hair snowy white above a face lined and tanned by many years spent in the sun. She returned my "Good morning," in a quiet voice and as I looked more closely at her I could tell by her red rimmed eyes that she had been silently crying.

Not wanting to intrude on her grief, I got up to go, but she, possibly sensing my discomfort, said,

"Please don't leave, it would be nice to have someone to talk to."

She pointed to a young couple walking arm in arm along the water's edge.

"Do they know how lucky they are," she said quietly and sighed. "You never know what you've got till you've lost it - my Joe's been gone sixty years - very close we were - thirty years married when he went; I couldn't face life without him. Trouble is, I can't find him." She turned and looked at me anxiously. "Do you think it will be all right?" she asked.

"What?" I said.

"What I did ... you know, he wouldn't have died if I hadn't ... " Her voice trailed off. "He wasn't well that morning. I didn't want him to go to work, I loved him so much." A tear rolled down her cheek.

I tried to sound reassuring. "I am sure it will be okay," I said. "Everything will be fine. I'm sure he knew you loved him very much."She took out a lace edged hankie and wiped her eyes. "I feel a lot better now," she said and smiled. "I hope I see you again."

As I got up to leave I said, "I come down here almost every morning, if you want some company," and she smiled.

"You are very kind, my dear."

On my way home I got thinking that what the old lady had said didn't make much sense, but then she was a very old lady and obviously had become confused about her dates and events, and obviously was distressed about losing her Joe.

I didn't see her for a month after that and had almost given up the idea of seeing her again until one blustery morning I spotted her walking along the beach at the edge of the water, her slight figure bent against the wind. I waved to her but she didn't see me. I debated on whether to go down to say hello but a glance at my watch told me that I had to get home and shower or I would be late for work.

The intriguing thing is that over the next few weeks I thought I saw her in the High street and at the market, but she was always so far ahead I could never catch up with her. She seemed to disappear into thin air as I approached.

My girl friend Kim kidded me about it.

"You've got little old ladies on the brain," she said. "Anyway, what's so special about this one?"

I couldn't think of a good answer to that.

"I don't really know," I said. "She looked so sad and lonely ... and lost somehow. I felt drawn to her. I wish I could do something to help her."

"She's bound to have kids or family around here somewhere," said Kim.

"I expect you're right," I said. "People can always get help these days, can't they," I added, trying to sound convincing to myself.

The weather was warming up and I decide to start swimming in the morning to try to get back into shape for summer.

Leaving the ocean that first morning I glanced up at the path and there she was, sitting on the beach. I waved to her and she waved back. I started to climb the steps up from the beach. The bench was temporarily hidden from my view for about a minute. I reached the path ... and she was gone!

I scanned the path north and south. I could see at least a kilometre each way but there was no sign of her.

Could it be that a friend had picked her up and driven her home? But I was sure I would have heard the sound of a car if that had happened. I couldn't work it out.

I didn't mention this to my friend. She would begin to think I was certifiable. I was even beginning to wonder about myself.

Part of the answer was revealed a month or two later. I was in the local library when I came across a book on unsolved local mysteries. I was turning the pages and suddenly there was a picture of my elusive old lady ... several years younger, but unmistakably it was her.

The article was dated 1940 - some sixty years ago.

The news item said: Mystery disappearance of local woman. Two days after the death of her husband Joe, Mary Anne Churchly had apparently walked into the ocean. The date was the 20th of June. Her body was never found. There was speculation that she had poisoned Joe Churchly with small doses of arsenic administered over a period of time because he had not been well for some time, but it was never proved. The story was that they were a devoted couple until Joe became involved with a widow who worked at the same factory as he did. Mrs Janet Lyons, the lady concerned, claimed that Joe was planning to leave Mary Anne to marry her. Joe had denied this at the time but Mary Anne became very morose.

A neighbour claimed to have heard loud arguments between the two, overhearing Mary Anne swearing that 'she would see him dead before she would give him a divorce'. Six months later, Joe did die but the cause was an accident in the factory where he worked, so no more was said about arsenic and no inquest was held.

The day I first met Mary Anne was the 20th of June, 2000. Maybe she had been waiting all this time for someone to tell her it would be all right. Maybe she needed forgiveness for whatever it was that she did.

Possibly I did help her. I hope so. The thing is, she has gone for good. Five years have gone by and I have not seen her since.

**********

The following stories were written from
sentence beginnings or
titles (I filched these from song titles!) or
they had to contain certain words or phrases.
Some clever writers used more than one starter!

 

 

This one is untitled

by Freda Lambert

Quickly I hurried towards the garden gate to see what was causing the commotion.

It soon became apparent that our gate, with its spiked top, had caught one of the gang of adolescents trying to break in to take a short cut through the gardens of our small housing complex. Several of the other residents were there, muttering threats of calling the police, informing the offender's parents, etc. However, before anything could be done, there was a rending sound and a piece of torn denim was left on top of the gate. Then came the disappearance of the youth to the road side of the fence, the sound of fleeing footsteps and squealing brakes as cars came to an abrupt halt.

When the gate was unlocked, the road was completely empty.

 

**********

ME AND YOU AND A DOG NAMED BOO

by Freda Lambert

My friend and I were out walking. We had no dog with us as Scottie, my friend's dog, had recently died. We were playing hide and seek on a rough piece of ground, covered in small gorse and broom bushes. Suddenly we found that there were three of us in the game. A medium sized rough coated dog of indeterminate breed kept popping out from behind a gorse bush, doing a sort of bark that sounded like Boof! and grinning from ear to ear. We stopped for a picnic lunch; so did the dog and accompanied us for the rest of the day. We tried to find his owner and reported him at the police station.

No one appeared to own him, so I took him home, where he was a good companion to the family for many years. I shall always remember the lovely day we met him. Me and you, and a dog named Boo.

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ELUSIVE BUTTERFLY

by Alison Davies

My sisters and I were sitting outside on a beautiful morning just talking. The sun was shining so brightly and there was an illusive butterfly flitting about - and we tried to catch it - but it would not be caught and flitted from flower to flower and left us all fascinated by its beautiful colour.

Suddenly we were aware of a great deal of movement close by and to our surprise a circus tent was being erected and people were rushing about bringing animals in trucks, and there was so much noise and activity that no one had ever seen anything like it in their lives.

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ME AND YOU AND A DOG NAMED BOO

by Alison Davies

When we started out on our journey no one knew where we were going - and it was a big surprise when we came over a hill and saw the beautiful valley below us. There was me and you and a dog named Boo and two others - and we all raced away down the hill into the thicket of trees with wild creepers all in bloom.

Then we were aware of cattle, so we had to carefully weave our way through them. It looked as though we were in for an adventurous time.

 

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HELP!

by Noeline Carlson

If you can hear me, please answer!
I don't know where I am. It's dark, and warm, and there are funny little noises all round me - and decidedly unpleasant smells!
I don't know how I got here - wherever 'here' is. I only remember waking up and feeling thirsty and drinking from the cup of water beside my bed. Then suddenly I had what could only be described as a shrinking feeling - a sort of condensation.
And now I'm somewhere unpleasant, and I need help.
If I move my hands - funny, they don't feel like hands - I can feel something soft and warm. It is warm, but I am cold with fear.
If only it were light, then I could see where I was.
It doesn't make sense, but it feels like fur all around me - and it's moving. Help, help!
Suddenly there's an ear-splitting noise, like a great siren, and my world seems to leap upwards, and then steady, as thought it - we - have landed somewhere.
Now there's a new noise, a throbbing, like a giant motor running.
Where am I? If I ever get back to normal, I'll kill my nephew, and definitely take his chemistry set away from him.
But wait. Now things have settled, it's actually quite comfortable. I just feel - hungry! And if I take a bite of the - er - ground under my - er - feet, it's very tasty. Maybe it's not so bad here after all.

Up on top of the brick wall, the tabby cat stopped purring, gave another peevish 'Mee - ow!' then began to scratch at that annoying flea.

 

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ON THE ROAD AGAIN

by Eileen Clay

It was such a beautiful day I felt like dancing in the street. I hadn't a clue where I was, it was a place I had never been to before, but I had found a large amount of money in the pocket of my trousers.
Having so much money was very exciting. I danced and I danced until I was so tired and dusty from the road, I had to stop.
When the dust finally settled, I saw a beautiful big mansion in front of me. It was such a beautiful place I had to see more of it.
I walked up the path and knocked loudly on the door. No one answered so I turned the knob.
The door opened and I found myself in a lovely big hall. I could hear a loud noise coming from a room at the end of the hall. I went in and saw a large industrial vacuum cleaner. This was being operated by a person who looked like a mythical creature. He had large pointy ears and a very long thin nose and a great slash of a mouth. He turned off the vacuum cleaner and came towards me. I was terrified but I thought he walks like a man and then he spoke in a most beautiful voice and said, "Would you like some tea before you go on the road again?"

 

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THE HAUNTED MANSION

Jaldrich

The old Victorian mansion stood forlornly in the middle of a tangle of overgrown trees and shrubs, the trees so dense than the house was hidden from the road. Next to the curving driveway a FOR SALE sign swung precariously from one remaining hook.

You had to walk halfway up the drive to see the house. It was a magnificent old property, its mullioned windows remarkably unbroken glinting in the rays of the dying sun. The stone portico sheltered a heavy oak door decorated with brass studs and a large lion head knocker. It had the appearance of being not lived in for several years.
The estate agent had not been able to sell the property. He had stopped trying. He explained to prospective purchasers the problems associated with the house.

The old house had been the scene of a tragedy. In the year 1912, a wealthy young man had bought the property for his new young bride. They had had two happy years there before the advent of World War 1. John Winneger then joined the Army and was shipped over to France with the rank of Captain. Sadly, he was killed in the battle of the Somme. His distraught young wife Sarah never recovered from the shock of losing her beloved husband and six months later her lifeless body was found floating in the ornamental lake on the property. No one knew if it was an accidental drowning or if she took her own life.

Attempts to rent the property or to sell it had proved unsuccessful. Tenants reported seeing a ghostly figure in the house or on the grounds at dusk. This sighting was accompanied by an aura of terrible despair and misery which affected all who saw the apparition. It was reported to be a lady dressed in white but no one had got close enough to really see her.

None of the tenants could handle these appearances and so the house sat empty, unrentable and so far unsaleable.

James Mallory, a middle aged bachelor, recently retired and looking for a place to write his second novel in peace and quiet, fell in love with the house at first sight, especially the price. The agent explained this had been considerably reduced because of certain ghostly happenings over the years, with a lady in white spreading sadness whenever she appeared. James laughed this off, assuring the agent that a ghostly lady was preferable to a flesh and blood one in his opinion.

His offer on the house made and accepted, James moved in within a couple of months. He loved the space of the house with its five bedrooms and huge living room. Even the remains of a glass conservatory filled him with plans and enthusiasm for the next years of his life.

As he was stowing things away in the closet of one of the bedrooms, he came across an old sewing box. It had been pushed away to the back of one of the highest shelves. It was a lovely old box, about twelve inches by eighteen and was made of some kind of light coloured hardwood. The top was inlaid with a darker wood in shapes of various animals. When he opened the box it did not contain sewing materials but letters and postcards, all marked France and two old pictures. One was a wedding portrait of a handsome young man and a pretty young woman who was clad in a white wedding dress with a pearl encrusted veil. The other picture was of the same man, this time in an officer's uniform, with words on the reverse saying 'Light a candle for me. We will be together soon, your loving husband John.' It was dated 1917, the Somme.
The postcards were hand coloured with sentimental verses, lace bound edges and lovely ladies pictured, shoulders wrapped in tulle and holding red roses to their breasts. A feeling of sadness swept over James as he reflected on the love and wasted lives of these two young people.

James closed the box with a sigh. It was just one sad story of many, he reflected. Later that day he had an idea. He took the sewing box up to one of the bedrooms and covered an old dresser with a lace cloth he found in a cupboard drawer. He placed the box in the centre and the photographs one on each side of the box. Next he placed candles in holders on each side of the photographs and lit them, saying, "John and Sarah, you are welcome here in your house." He then went out of the room, closing the door behind him.

A week or two later he had a call from the estate agent inquiring if he was settled and happy with his new home - and had he seen the ghostly lady? James said that no, he hadn't. He then added that he had once caught a glimpse of a young couple walking in the grounds, but when he had looked again they were gone.

 

 

 

Naag - King of the Jungle

This author wishes to remain anonymous

 

From the day he was born he was on his own - no mother to feed or protect him - it was not necessary. He was not helpless. He came fully equipped to feed and protect himself.
Before she left, his mother had advice for her brood.

"Be very careful," she whispered. "Right now you are very vulnerable, being small and weak. You will be hunted and eaten by creatures larger and stronger than you - but it won't be for long, soon all will run in fear of you. Move cautiously, be always on your guard at all times if you want to live a long life - it's the best advice I can give you." And she silently disappeared out of his life.
Remembering his mother's advice he was exceedingly extra careful, extra cautious. He wanted to live a long life - he didn't want to be some creature's dinner!

He preferred moving at night, it was cool and easier to hunt his prey. It was not necessary to be extra careful and cautious at night.
Over the months as he grew larger and stronger he noticed other creatures did avoid him and ran from him in fear.
One day he came to a clearing in the forest and saw a large object in the midst of the clearing with several strange creatures standing in front of the object. Venturing slowly and carefully he approached the object and entered into the object. He found fruit and flowers, neither of which were in his diet but he liked the white water which was sweet and tasted different to anything else he had ever tasted or seen before.

Ever alert he raised his head from the dish, aware the strange creatures were watching him from a distance. But they did not run in fear of him - instead they were bowing down before him chanting,
"Naag, Naag."

Watching them with glittering eyes and flickering tongue he thought he had never seen creatures who were not afraid of him. He raised himself to his full height to get a better view and they continued to bow down before him, still chanting, "Naag, Naag."

He stood before them, eyes glittering, tongue flickering, hood fully extended - a fear inspiring sight.
Amid the gasps of fear and wonder he realised he was special - he was Naag - the King Cobra - the true King of the jungle!

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