Mrs Kinsella's Boot

We often forget how lucky we are, or should I say, I often forget how lucky I am.

I live in a wonderful country. Yes, we've had wars but thankfully we now exist in a time of peace. We have an economy where anyone wishing to make a living can do so and the majority of our population lives in relative comfort.

Now I do say relative because all things are relative. I hear people complaining about the hardships they're enduring and there are hardships for sure. There are people who are homeless, some people have to spend days waiting on hospital trolleys for a bed to become available. There are those who suffer from addiction, mental illness, disadvantage and economic degradation. There are problems and many who are suffering from them.

But how do our problems stack up against those experienced in other countries or even Ireland a hundred years ago?

Today, most of the homeless can access emergency accommodation in the short term and eventually be  placed in social housing long term. Those waiting on hospital trolleys are getting treatment, even if in less than comfortable surroundings. In this country there are services for all manner of struggles and most of them are free. All in all, I think we're not doing bad at all.

What brought this to mind was a story I heard about a woman called Mrs Kinsella. Mrs K lived in Dublin around the year 1918. Those were tough times, real tough times. I think today's pampered kids would have a heart attack if they had to live there for even one day.

To set the scene for you, Dublin had just been through a bloody uprising that saw the city turned into a shooting gallery, women over thirty were just getting the vote, unions were battling the tyranny of powerful industrialists, work was hard and poorly paid, education was a luxury not a right, money was scarce and if you didn't have a job, well, you starved.

The Kinsellas had been married about seven years, the first of which were spent squashed into a small bedroom in Mr Kinsella's mothers house. Two kids later, that room was about fit to burst. The day they put a deposit down on a tiny two bedroom house of their own was one of the happiest of Mrs Kinsella's life. They moved in carrying all they owned in four small cases but felt like the richest people on the earth.

The house was close to the center of Dublin and only a short walk from Mr Kinsella's factory. Within a year, another little mouth had appeared in the Kinsella home along with an ominous bump forming under Mrs Kinsella's petticoats. Mr Kinsella was working all the hours he could and even became involved with the union to ensure a better life for his family. Despite all this there wasn't enough money to go round. Wednesday often found the cubbards bare with two days till pay day. The preasure was growing on the family and it had caused more than a few heated discussions. Mr Kinsella was a proud man, he wouldn't go begging to the church for a hand out, nor from his family...banks were for people who already had money, not the ones looking for it so the only way of getting a few bob was to visit the pawn broker but Mr Kinsella wouldn't hear of it.

"No wife of mine will go begging to those bloodsucking moneylenders," he declared when Mrs Kinsella suggested it and she had little choice but to forget about the idea. Women had just as much pride as the men in those days, but it was they who had to tend the kids as they cried themselves to sleep with their ribs tickling their back bone. Mr Kinsella was a prideful man but he had the good fortune to marry a woman who was brave enough to do what was right, no matter what the world, or husband, would say.

The amazing thing about having so little is how much value little can have. The Kinsellas weren't unusual in this time, nobody had much. A winter coat was a treasure when the rain was driving down on your back, and an even greater treasure if it covered a thread-bear jumber. The first years of the century were good times to be a Pawn Broker. People would turn up with a clock, a watch, a suit of clothes...practically anything. The article would be wrapped in brown paper, tied with string, and put on a shelf for safe keeping while its owner went away with a few shillings jingling in their pocket. Friday was a busy day because it was payday. The people would arrive to the shop, repaying their loan with a little interest, and reclaim their property.


The first time Mrs Kinsella went down the Pawn Brokers she returned without her boots. Mr Kinsella went ballistic. He ranted and raved until she promised she'd never shame him like that again. Her words agreed but in her mind she simply decided to get more creative.

First thing she did was to change her name. All the woman of the time were doing it. She might leave the house as Mrs Kinsella but when she placed her package on the counter of the Pawn Brokers, Mrs O'Connor was scribbled on the brown paper.

After a while she became a regular in the shop and the man behind the counter stopped checking what she had brought in to trade. He was always sure she would be back on Friday...regular as clockwork. Mrs K took to bringing neatly washed and folded bed linen. Mr Kinsella never missed them. And after a while she kept a special set of older sheets, worn away in the center but folded in such a way that they looked perfect on the shelf.

She had pawned Mr Kinsella's good suit a few times, the one he wore for union meetings and mass, before he spotted it and started locking up the wardrobe. That suited Mrs Kinsella just fine because she simply took the back off the wardrobe and crossed her fingers that Mr Kinsella wouldn't have a union meeting on a Thursday or Friday morning.

But the thing that really made Mrs Kinsella famous was her habit of pawning one of her boots, only one. The man behind the counter never asked why only one boot...but often wondered as he watched the lady limp away from his shop. If he had asked, he would surely have labeled the woman a genius.

Mrs Kinsella dressed like all ladies in those days, in gowns that brushed the ground. Once she had left the Pawn Shop, one boot on, one boot gone, she would make her way around the shops and get what she needed. That night she would feed her brood, and Mr Kinsella of course. Once all the kids were in bed the couple would sit each side of the fire and discuss the happenings of the day. This was when Mrs Kinsella's one remaining boot became vital. Mrs K would deliberately stick the foot with the boot out under her skirt, making sure Mr Kinsella got a good look at it. Once she had seen his eyes glide over the booted foot she could relax in the knowledge he wouldn't question the origin of the bit of bacon they had just eaten for dinner.

I have to tell you every word of this story is true and it makes me sure of one thing. The men of 1918 drastically underestimated the ladies in their lives and I'm fairly sure things haven't changed much in that respect in 2018.

Wish Upon a Star

Greg planted his shepherds' crook firmly in the moss-covered soil and let his weary body hang from it. Tramping across mountains was hard work and every year he did it, it got harder. He closed his eyes and let the breeze whip through his grey whiskers. It might be a difficult way to make a living but it was still better then sitting in some soul-killing office. The warmth of summer still clung to the wind but that wouldn't last long. Winter would soon show its teeth. He arched his back and felt his old bones creak. Bess, his dog, lay panting in the heather; her long tongue lolling happily out of the side of her mouth. He leaned down and let his work-weathered fingers comb her silky fur. Bess closed her eyes with pleasure.

"I'll catch my breath, girl, then we'll get the last of these buggers done."

She nuzzled his palm with a love pure and true. Greg adored two women with all his heart, Bess, and his wife, Mary. Leaning on the crook he surveyed the hill above him. He had one hundred and twenty sheep grazing the mountain, as long as he hadn't lost any. He'd checked just shy of one hundred already but there were more to do. Scattered across the hill were pens where he could gather his heard, it made the job easier but without Bess, it would be impossible.

High up, where barely a blade of grass would grow, the rest of his heard were wandering. It was as if they were doing it on purpose.

"Right! Standing around here won't get us home before dark," he said, pulling the tip of his crook from the ground. With a twitch of her withers, Bess sprang to her feet and was rearing to go. "Walk on!" he commanded and the dog bounded away in front of him, leaping gorse and fern gracefully. Greg remembered days when he could have done the same but they were a long time ago.

They climbed higher and higher until they reached the ancient sheep-pen used by his father and his fathers father. With a shrill whistle he sent Bess bounding up the mountain to draw his scattered flock down. Together, they worked the animals, Greg directing the dance with a combination of whistles while Bess followed his instructions precisely.

Soon the flock was a cloud of wool gliding slowly toward the open mouth of the pen. Then, one animal broke ranks and scarpered for freedom. Bess was about to chase down the renegade ewe but  Greg blew a long piercing call, stopping her in her tracks. The sheep galloped away without a backward glance and disappeared over a cleft in the hill.

"God Damn yea!" he swore. There was no way he was going to start all over again for one sheep. He got Bess turned back on the main group of animals and finished guiding them into the pen. As he swung the gate closed he looked at the area of mountain where the runaway sheep had vanished and said, "Nothing as stupid as sheep."

Dusk was drawing in by the time he examined the last penned sheep. They had passed the summer well, a few minor cuts but nothing serous. When he released the sheep he knew he'd have to go after the lost one. It was only one, but he was he kind of man who wouldn't leave a job half done. One tired step at a time he pulled himself up the slope to the last place he'd seen the sheep. When he got there he paused and scanned the heather. He thought he heard a faint sound but couldn't be sure until it came again. Any man that spent sixty years with sheep would have recognized the bleat of a ewe in trouble.

"What have you gone and done yea daft thing?" he said out loud as he clambered down into the gully, honing in on the cries. Fifteen minutes later he found her tangled up in a discarded length of barbed wire.

"Shush...shush," he cooed as he moved in on the struggling animal. Bess watched intently as he got down on one knee beside the ewe. Crimson blotches marked the spots where the sharp barbs pierced her flesh. The ewe's eyes were full of panic so he spent some time soothing the frightened animal before beginning to unravel the deadly wire. It took a while to get her free. Before he let her go he applied balm to the cuts. Infection could easily kill an animal. By the time he struggled up off his knees the sun was sinking behind the hill.

Climbing down the slope was actually harder than coming up. Each jarring step sent a shudder up through his aching body, rattling his joints and straining his muscles. There were't actual paths up here, just animal trails worn into the bracken. Even in the near-dark Greg found his way easily. He knew the mountain like the back of his hand. After a while he was forced to stop and massage his spine. The stars were beginning to appear in the darkening sky. He was about to get going when he noticed something. At first he thought it was the north star but then realized the speck was moving.

"Lookit, Bess. A shooting star," he said point up a the sky. Bess cocked her head as if admiring the phenomenon. "Perhaps I should wish for a new back."

The light grew stronger and seemed to come straight at him. He was mesmerized by its beauty. When the object hurtled directly overhead. Greg couldn't help ducking and throwing his hands over his head. From behind him came a huge bang and the ground shuddered under his feet. Greg uncurled his hands and looked over his shoulder. A few hundred yards away a black furrow had been plowed into the side of the mountain. Greg hurried forward as fast as his legs would carry him. Bess was clearly less enthusiastic but kept up.

He followed the ragged trench until he came to a crater. In the bottom lay something about the size of an egg which glowed extravagantly. For the second time that night Greg got down on his knees. He reached toward the object expecting to feel heat. He always thought these shooting stars burnt up before they hit the ground. Amazingly his fingers touched the thing without being singed. He plucked the glowing item from the clay and held it tenderly in his hand.

"Beautiful..." he said to Bess, only to realize that the dog was nowhere to be seen. "Bess?" he called but the words wobbled as they came out. The smile fell from his lips as he felt his palm begin to tingle, then throb. The sensation grew in strength and ran up his arm, infecting his body and mind. He knew he'd made a huge mistake and tried to drop the star but his vision blurred and the world went dark.

***

Slowly, painfully, he opened his eyes. Far above the stars swirled into focus and he remembered what had happened. Gingerly, he sat forward and something fell from his hand. He looked down at the blackened lump lying in the grass. No longer did it glow, nor did it seem different from the rest of the rocks littering the ground, but what had happened was no accident. There was no way he was touching it again. He rolled onto his knees and struggled upright. 

"Jesus..." he groaned as he swayed on his feet. Tenderly he explored his body for injuries. Besides his headache, nothing hurt more than usual. Eventually his head cleared enough to see the moonlit countryside. All seemed normal, well normal except for one thing...he was alone.

"Bess! Bess! Where are you girl?" he called. A whimper came from a nearby bush and the dog edged her nose out into the open. She seemed terrified.

"It's all right," he said moving forward but rather than being reassured the dog skittered away and rocketed down the hillside toward home. This day was going from bad to worse. Bess knew her way, he was sure of that, what he was less sure of was his own ability to make it all the way down after what he'd endured. He took his first tentative steps down the mountain.

He found the going good, even easy. His strides seemed more fluid than usual and his feet found solid ground with a surety he'd not felt in years. It might have been an illusion but he thought he arrived back his own farm gate in no time. A light was burning in the kitchen window and a dark plume of smoke wafted from the chimney. On cue, his stomach growled for his dinner, he could nearly taste it from where he stood. He swung the gate open and the hinges sang their high-pitched song, a noise which always brought Bess running, but not tonight. Greg was starting to worry about the girl, he hoped she hadn't done herself a mischief. He crossed the cobbled yard and his boots rubbed familiarly against the time-smoothed stones. Today had been the strangest of his life and he couldn't wait to tell Mary about it.

He unlatched the kitchen door and ducked beneath the low-hung still. The house was warm and the air was thick with the smell of baking.  

"I'm home," he called as he hung his coat on the hook behind the door. He could hear the TV in the front room, it must be time for Coronation Street. As he did every night, he opened the fire-pit of the kitchen range and turned his backside to it. Mary often said If he was given a choice between heaven and hell, he'd choose hell as long as he could go in arse first!

"You'll never guess what happened up the hill," he called into the front room and heard the volume on the TV go down.

"What happe..." Mary said as she came into the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. When she lifted her eyes to meet his, her words cut off in mid-sentence. She stood there; starring: dumbfounded.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he saw the colour drain from her cheeks.

"Get out! Get out of here!" she yelled backing away and putting the kitchen table between them.

"Mary.."

"Get out!"

"Mary, what's wrong with you?"

Then confusion replaced shock on her features. "Those are Greg's. Where did you get them?"

"What are you talking about woman," he said, starting to lose his patience.

"What have you done to Greg?"

"I'm Greg..."

"No no no." she said backing further away.

"Mary," he said trying to round the table.

"Get away from me!" she screamed and ran from the kitchen, throwing the door open and leaving it open.

"Mary!" he called and thought about chasing her but it seemed the wrong thing to do. He went as far as the door and called her name once more but she was already heading down the lane. "Fecking hell," he said and closed the door. What the blazes was going on today?

He was still standing in the kitchen half an hour later when the night was filled with blue light from a a Garda car racing into the yard. He opened the kitchen door went out on the stoop. He spotted Mary and the neighbours from down the road standing outside the yard wall.

Sargent Casey leapt from the squad-car with his batten drawn. "You...don't move," he yelled pointing the club at him.

"What do you mean...you? And this is my house! What the hell is going on?" he demanded. This seemed to knock the wind out of the guard who looked around as if looking for guidance from Mary. Mary was in floods of tears and had no guidance to give. The Sargent turned back and said, "This is Greg and Mary O'Brien's house, who are you?"

"You know damn well who I am, Sean. We've sank plenty of pints down at Finnigan's," he said harshly. "Including last night."

"You think you're Greg O'Brien?" the Sargent stuttered.

"Who else would I be?" he said walking forward to join the Sargent at the car. What the hell was going on?

"Don't move," the guard said but Greg kept going. "Don't move!" Casey yelled in a tone that stopped Greg in his tracks. He actually though the man would brain him that sick of his. The guard looked him up and down before asking, "Where did you get those clothes?"

"They're my clothes!" Greg said getting annoyed.

The guard pointed at his pants and asked, "What's that?"

Greg looked down and saw blood from the injured sheep he'd freed up the mountain.

"Blood," he said but got no further into the explanation before the Sargent rushed him and knocked him to the ground. To say he was shocked was an understatement and that was before he felt the bite of handcuffs on his wrists.

"What's going on!" he screamed but nobody seemed interested in answering that question.

***

Greg was pushed harshly through the Garda station by a man he always considered to be a friend.

"Are you going to tell me what this is all about?" he asked, hoping his civil tone would bring some sort of sanity back to the situation.

Sargent Casey didn't reply, instead he punched him viciously in the back forcing him to grit his teeth and stifle a cry. He was guided past parts of the station he'd never seen before, toward a steel-doored cell. He was shoved inside so hard he nearly lost his footing.

"Take it easy, I'm an old man you know!" he yelled and turned to see a look of befuddlement on the Sargent's face. There was a protracted moment during which Greg believed anything could have happened but it was Sargent Casey who moved first. He grabbed some clear plastic bags from a shelf and threw them on the bunk then spun Greg around to unlock the cuffs.

"Take those clothes off and put them in those." he said pointing at the bags on the bed. The guard was a ball of barely controlled fury, his jaw was working overtime as he ground his teeth and his fists were balled ready for a fight. Greg had no idea what he had done to deserve this kind of treatment.

"What for?" he demanded.

"Evidence."

"Evidence of what?" he said throwing his hands in the air at the absurdity of the situation. He had never once in his life broken a law...or at least no laws that mattered.

"You're being held on suspicion of causing harm to Greg O'Brien."

"Have you gone completely nuts. I'm Greg O'Brien!"

The guard whipped out his truncheon and cocked it over his shoulder. "Get those clothes off before I knock you the fuck out and do it for you," the big man snarled, his shoulders bunching under the blue shirt and his face going an alarming shade of red. As mad as this whole thing was, Greg felt it was better to do what was being asked rather than getting a taste of that night-stick. When the bags were full of his working clothes Casey snarled, "All of them," indicating his y fronts.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered as he stripped down his underwear and tried to cover his manhood as best he could. After a short time of standing bollock naked in the cold he was given a set of musty smelling clothes to put on. They smelt like they had been robbed from a wino.

"Can I use the toilet now or is that forbidden?" he asked snidely, not believing he ever counted this man among his friends.

Casey pointed to a room across the corridor and said, "Leave the door open."

Greg went in and was about to pee when he caught his reflection in the mirror. He nearly died at what he saw. Instead of a seventy year old farmer looking back at him, he was faced with a twenty something year old man he'd never seen before. His hair was full and dark, his face wrinkle free and glowing with youthful health. He reached up and traced the line of his jaw. The fingers in the mirror did the same on the face of the young man. What he was seeing was beyond belief, beyond understanding, beyond rationalization. In shock he turned to the guard and asked, "Do you see this?"

"See what?" he snapped with disdain.

"Me you see me? This."

"Of course I see you. You're the crazy one, not me."

Crazy? Yes it was crazy. There was no other way to explain what he was seeing. Were they all seeing the same thing? Could it be a trick of his mind after picking up that thing up the mountain. It might have given him a shock or radiation or anything. He looked back at the guard and asked, "How old am I?"

"I'll be the one asking the questions," he growled.

"Please...how old," Greg was on the verge of tears.

"Mid twenties, at a guess."

"Oh God. It can't be...its not possible," he said looking back in the mirror again. That thing up the mountain had done something to him. Swapped his body with someone else, or something. He needed help, he had to get someone to help him. It was no wonder that Mary went mad when she found him standing in the kitchen.

"What shit are you on about now? Are you on drugs? Is that it?"

Greg turned on the Sargent with wide eyes and rushed forward. He was desperate for him to see what and who he was. "It's me! It's Greg O'Brien! I can't explain whats happened but is me. You got to believe me. Something happened on the mountain but I cant explain what. I passed out it...it....its all a blur."

"What happened up on the mountain? What did you do to Greg?"

"Nothing! I'm Greg." he said, beyond desperate to find one person who could see his side in this.

"We'll find out..." threatened the guard but he didn't get to finish the sentence. Greg grabbed him by the shirt.

"I'm Greg. I'm Greg. I'm Greg! I'M GREG!" he yelled. The punch caught him clean, sending his chin all the way over his shoulder, driving him into the arms of Morpheus for the second time that night.

***

When he woke he was in the cell and the door was locked. He spent a long time exploring his face with blind fingers. He wished there were a mirror on the wall or something so he could see himself in. It felt like his face from the inside but on the outside his skin was smooth and tight. His hands and body were changed as well. He hadn't noticed them before but the body he was in was not his. It was still him inside, he still had all his memories, his emotions but how could he reconcile the two. When the cell door opened again, it was not Sargent Casey on the other side but a suited man he'd never seen before.

He was hauled into the interview room and the most difficult night of his life began. He tried to tell them what happened but even to his ear the story was nuts. Stars falling from the sky, strange glowing rocks, blackouts...who in their right mind would swallow all that. Greg knew he had to make them believe, so he told them everything. Everything that happened, everything he remembered. In all the detail he could remember, to try to prove he was who he said he was. In the end they looked at him like he was crazy.

Eventually they put him back in the cell and time passed even slower. He worried about Mary. She must be going out of her mind, wondering where he was, why he hadn't come home and who she'd found standing in her kitchen. He was sure of only one thing, he had to get out of here and back to her. It felt like days before Sargent Casey reappeared with a sandwich and a mug of tea. 

"What's going on Sean? What are they going to do with me?"

"Don't call me Sean...you don't know me!"

"Just tell me."

The Sargent put the tray on the bunk and glared at him for a second or two. Greg thought he would walk out without answering but it seemed Sargent Casey couldn't help being a decent man. "That depends on what they find on the mountain. There are hundreds of solders and guards up there right now. You better pray that Greg is in once piece when they find him or you'll never feel the sun on your face again."

"They won't find him because I'm Greg and I'm right here!" he nearly cried.

"Shut up and eat your food," he said slamming the door closed.

"I'm right here!" he yelled hammering the door with his fist. Someone had to believe him.

A while later the suited man returned with a question. "You said you were on the mountain when something fell from the sky and changed you into a younger man, is that right?"

"That's what I have been telling you all night. I know it sounds mad but yes, yes, that's exactly what happened.!"

"Can you show us where it happened? We might find something that could prove what you are saying is true."

"Of course. I'll take you to the exact spot."

"Right, lets go," said the man standing aside to let Greg out of the cell.

They got him some boots and an overcoat before cuffing his hands in front of him. They lead him through the station which was now crammed full of people talking on radios and peering over maps. As he moved through the building a hush fell over those who were gathered under the roof. Outside the station stood two four-wheel-drives with their doors open. Once they were aboard the engines started up and began plotting a course back to his own house.

They had to go through his yard to get onto the mountain path. One of the guards got out to open the gate and Greg caught a glimpse of Mary watching them through the kitchen window. She was so pale and drawn, Greg wished he could hold her and make her understand. He smiled and raised his fingers to wave but her face morphed into a mask of hate. She spat at him, his lovely Mary. The phlegm splattered against the inside of the window and she vanished from sight. That just about broke his heart but he had to find a way back to her, he just had to.  

They bounced their way up the dirt road and when the road ran out they walked. His body might be young and fit but his heart was broken. The climb seemed endless. Normally it was only himself, Bess, and the sheep up on that hill but today the place was packed. Lines of people were searching the bracken, beating it with sticks, combing for clues to a crime that had never happened.

Greg led them higher and higher, nearly to the top of the mountain. He found the spot he was looking for with no trouble at all. He pointed out the trench gouged into the ground by the falling star and the crater where it came to rest.

"This is the spot. The rock is around here somewhere," he said, getting down on his knees to search. Surely some clever science type person could discover what had happened if they had the star to work from.

"We'll take it from here," said the suited guard hauling him up to his feet.

"Hang on, we have to find the star," yelled Greg trying to free himself from the policeman's grip. As he was herded back from the crater he saw a group of men move up and start photographing the area. Then they produced something that looked like a metal detector and started scanning the ground.

"What's that?" asked Greg.

"Ground radar. We will soon find where you burred him."

"There is nobody burred..."

"Get him out of here, Sargent," said the suited man turning away. .

"Get moving," snapped Sargent Casey giving him a shove to begin the journey. They were never interested in finding the fallen star. They just thought they'd be able to cut the search short by playing along with his madness. As Greg began the climb down he knew he was more lost than ever.

When they got back to the station Greg was locked in the cell once more. He started to wonder how long they could hold him before they charged him or could they charge him? After all, he hadn't done anything.

It was dark when they took him from the cell again. This time there were more people in the interview room waiting for him. There was Sargent Casey, the two suited guards and another man who was seated in the corner. They took him through all his answers again and again until his head was spinning.

"So what happens if we let you go? Were do you live? What's your name?" demanded the Guard in the suit.

"I've told you a thousand times, I'm Greg O'Brien and I live here."

"But you admit you don't look like Greg."

"I know, I know that more than anyone. I cant explain what happened but there has to be an explanation." All the men exchanged glances. The suited guard continued to ask questions.

"So, if released you intend to go back to the O'Brien farm and Mary."

"Of course, she's my wife. I'll explain what happened. Once we've talked she will see the truth...I know she will."

"And you still maintain you did nothing to hurt Greg O'Brien?"

"Did you find a him up on the mountain."

"No..."

"And you never will because I'm sitting right here. So...are you going to charge me or let me go."

All attention moved to the stranger who was sitting in the corner of the room taking notes. He looked pained and worried but eventually he nodded his head and closed the notebook he was writing in. He delved into a bag by his feet and withdrew a vial and a syringe.

"What's that?" asked Greg, not liking this one little bit. Needles were never good.

"Hold him, Please," the man said, his voice cultured and soft.

Sargent Casey and the suited guard pinned him to the chair as the man filled the syringe from the vial.

"What are you going to do to me?" Greg yelled.

"This is only a sedative, you've had quiet a day. It'll help you...cope."

"Don't touch me with that!" yelled Greg trying to free himself.

"You're a very sick young man. We're going to get you the help you need," said the man approaching with the needle. He pulled Greg's sleeve up exposing the fleshy part of his shoulder and jabbed him.

"It won't take long," the man said to the guards as if Greg were not even in the room. He slid a cap back on the tip of the needle and returned it to his bag.

"Mary needs me, you can..." Greg said but his head began to fill with cotton wool and all the strength left his body. Slowly the guards released him and Greg slumped back in the chair. His body might be unable to work but his ears were working just fine.

"So you're going to section him, Doc?" asked Sargent Casey.

"He is clearly delusional. We need to find out who he is and until then...its for the best."

"I better tell Mary what's happening," Sargent Casey said and was about to leave when asked another question. "How long do you think he'll be locked up."

The doctor shook his head and said, "It's hard to tell right now but as things stand...he may never be let out."

"Throw away the key if you can," said Casey as he left the room.

Greg got his elbows under him and with a huge effort he lifted his head and said, "The wish..a new back..wish on a.."


Then his mind blinked out like a shooting star racing across the night sky.

Price of a Happy Home

I was standing at the bar when Mary, (not her real name), came staggering in under a ton of IKEA bags.

"Some light shopping," I joked as she laid her load by the bar.

"I need a brandy or a Sherpa if you have one."

"A brandy so," I said happily and let the amber liquid flow into the glass.

"I've had the week from hell," she huffed and took a sip from the drink.

"Go on, tell me more," I asked and settled in for her story. I like Mary, she has a dry wit that tickles my funnybone.

She rested her elbows on the counter and began. "The other day I found four floating-shelves down in the Co-Op and knew they'd look great beside the fireplace. When I got home, John (not his name either) hit the roof when he saw the price of them. That much? For a bit of timber and a few screws? It's daylight robbery! he said. Nothing would do him but to take the shelves back."

"Why didn't you put your foot down and say you wanted them?" I asked, polishing a glass to seem industrious.

"You know what John's like. Life wouldn't be worth living if I did that. Anyway, an hour later he lands back home with a plank of timber, a box of screws, a box of wall plugs and some brackets. He said he got it all for half the price of the shelves, not that I believe him. He starts measuring and I just knew in my bones that it was going to be a disaster. Before long he was hacking up the timber with a rusty old hand-saw. Now, John couldn't could cut a straight line if his life depended on it. Sure enough the ends were all cockeyed. So he cuts off another bit, then a bit more and before he's finished the things are too short. You should've heard the language out of him, it would make a sailor blush."

"Now that does sound like John," I agreed. "Did he give up?"

"Like heck he did. Back down the Co-Op he went and this time he came back with more timber and a bench saw! Flipping thing cost nearly two hundred quid but he said it was good value because he'd use it again. Anyway this time the shelves were cut and the edges were straight. He marked up the walls and drilled holes for the brackets. In fairness, they looked grand when he had them up."

"Job done," I said with a smile and gave the bar around her glass a wipe.

"Not even close. An hour later I looked up and saw the shelves were...drooping."

"Drooping?"

"Yes, the brackets he'd gotten weren't strong enough. The whole lot had to come back down and he was off to the Co-Op again. This time he came back with huge ugly iron triangles. He was in such a mood by now that he didn't even bother measuring again. He just guessed where the holes should go and drilled. He was like a dog. I couldn't tell him they were all crooked or that there were holes all over the wall, he would have exploded. They are up a week now and stuff keeps sliding off whenever someone slams a door. John won't even look at them, its like he's pretending they don't exist."

"Oh God, I can see why you need a brandy. What are you going to do about them?" I asked.

"Ah, they wont last long. I've been prying them off the wall a bit at the time. They'll fall down any day soon," laughed Mary and took another sip of her brandy.

"Is that why he let you go mad with the credit card," I asked nodding at the bags on the ground.

"Yes, and no," she said cryptically.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I wanted some stuff for the bathroom so I made a big list of materials waited until the match was due to start then handed him the list and suggested he pop down the Co-Op for it. Well, he took one look at the list and said, This lot will cost a fortune, you'd get if for half the price in that IKEA place," and like that, I was free to go shopping while he watched the match.

"Mary, that's positively Machiavellian!"

"Would you get lost with your big words," she said and she picked up her bags to leave. Before she did she gave me a wink and said, "I'll tell you this much, there's more than one way to skin a cat."

The Face of God

The Face of God

I think I've figured out why I love surfing so much. It's the feeling of being out of control, on the edge of destruction, only to survive.

To me, that is the face of God. It's a reminder that we are gifted with the wonder of the universe, laid before us in all its forms and we should feel blessed to be here. In that moment, we could, should, be snuffed out but we are allowed to exist to pay testament to the beauty of this world, this universe, in its finest moment.

It is only on the edge do we really appreciate what a gift life is, don't waste a second.

Fish Food

Fish Food

            The world is a strange place, it’s a list of conundrums. It's vast and minuscule, wild and civilised, discovered and mysterious. Humanity has long-ago shaken off the term animal and promoted themselves to a higher station. As a race we act without question or constraint, we build up, knock down, consume, alter, discard, create and destroy.  We do all these things in the noble name of species but realistically it is the greed of The One which drives us. Seven billion individuals, all scrabbling to have more then they need, careless of what they leave for those that follow behind.

            Nobody noticed the first few occurrences, which is hardly surprising as they happened mid-2018 and the world had more pressing matters to deal with. In America, Trump sat at the head of the most powerful nation on the planet. Nobody knew what to do with him, particularly the Americans. Across the world Mother Russia had its own issues of leadership, entrenched and devious in nature. What were a few dead cats in comparison to that?

            By 2022 the scientific world had started to focus in on the strange...well, beachings. You'd expect whales or dolphins but not birds, dogs, cats, rats and mice. Now that's weird but not weird enough to attract the attention of the public. It took some video footage of an incident on YouTube to do that. A woman with about a dozen dogs decided to capture her trip to the beach with a GoPro. As they drove up to the car park, the dogs began to go wild in the back of the car, barking and whining, pawing at the glass to be let out. As soon as the woman opened the boot of the car she was near floored by the wall of on-rushing animals. They raced across the car park and down the beach toward the ocean. By now the woman knew something was amiss and called them to heel. The animals ignored her and rushed straight in to the water, shoving through rolling waves and pounding surf until they were swimming well out of their depth. The camera bounced as the woman chased after her pets, screaming for them to come back. She actually managed to catch up with one old dog and pluck him out of the water. The hound thrashed and struggled, eventually snapping at the woman's fingers causing her to drop him. Immediately the little dog resumed his single-minded journey out to sea. The little terrier didn’t make it past the line of breakers. He was pushed down again and again by the waves until he drowned. Not once did he try and turn back toward shore. The woman’s anguished cries can be heard on the video as she called for her pets to return. One or two of the stronger ones made it all the way out of sight but most eventually bobbed and sank while the video rolled. Not one dog survived.

Bill Ashton had been working at The White House since the impeachment of President Trump. The country was still reeling from the chaos of those years. Thankfully they had a steady hand on the helm now in Dean Bell. Some might even say boring. No midnight tweets, no rants at other heads of state, no making up national policy on the back of a bar napkin and writing it into law the following day. Bill had heard all the stories and a little bit of him wished he had been around for the excitement. Today was another working day and Bill started shifting through the mountain of internal memos that waited on his e-mail. Whittling down what those above him needed to be bothered with. When he came across a request from the CDC, or Center for Disease Control for funding. Bill wasn't exactly sure what he should do about it.

The CDC was one of those sit-up-and-take-notice departments. A bit like the CIA calling to your house for a little chat. It was mostly nosiness that made Bill pick up the phone and call Professor Stanton, the requesting authority, to find out more. Basically Professor Stanton said there had been dozens of animal drownings across the country. He and his team were trying to figure out why. The latest find was a whole island of brown bears found floating near the mouth of a river in Canada. They wanted to go up there and do biopsies on the bears to see if they could match something to what was going on in the states. This needed to be cleared by The White House and permission sought from Canadian authorities. Bill promptly sent on the request up the line and forgot all about it.

Six months later a Greyhound bus on the Golden Gate bridge grabbed the attention of the world. Half way across the driver simply stopped the bus, opened the door, walked to the edge and jumped. That was weird enough but when nine passengers followed him over the edge the story made national headlines. One eye witness described them as sleepwalking or like zombies. The term Water Zombies caught the imagination of the world. Right around the country similar incidents began to happen and the press were baying for a statement from the President. An emergency meeting was called to formulate a response.

The boardroom was stuffed, Bill stood, after all he was only a bit player in this particular drama. They all waited on the leading man to arrive. Bang on time the door opened, and President Bell strode confidently into the room. All the chairs squeaked as people started to stand but the President said, "Stay seated everyone. Thanks for coming today. Ok, let’s get started, time is not our friend. How many incidents have we confirmed?" he asked taking a seat and looking around the table.

The Secretary of State coughed before speaking, "Over eighty. There's been a sharp spike of suicide for no reason, and unexplained drownings, but confirming they're connected is impossible. All the dead were autopsied, nothing in common. They come from different parts of the country, different economic backgrounds. The only thing that links them is this apparent hypnotized type demeanour before the event."

"Could they have been hypnotized?" asked the President looking around the table.

"It's impossible for someone to be made harm themselves under hypnosis, your brain just won't let it happen," said a lady toward the end of the table.

"And you are?" asked the President.

"State department, Sir, but I'm also a Doctor of Psychology," the lady said looking bashful now she realised who she was addressing. The President smiled to ease her tension.

"What makes someone take their own life?" he asked.

The lady smiled at him and answered. "Depression, lots of other illnesses, most of which stem from chemical imbalances. They take time to develop where all of these people seem to be alright one minute and then dead the next."

"Is there someone here from the medical examiner’s office?" asked the President and a man near the top of the table raised his hand. "Were there any drugs found in the bodies?"

"In some yes, in other no. Nothing common to them all. Nothing like Spice."

"Spice?"

"A synthetic marijuana. Sometimes called the zombie drug."

"So if it’s not a known drug could it be some chemical weapon?"

"Not one of ours," said a medal strewn General.

"Someone else?"

"It’s possible," said the General and he actually seemed happy about that fact.

The President rubbed his head as if a headache were building. At last he looked up, "Ok, I want the military to open up all research in this area to a discovery team made up of people from the state department and medical examiner’s office..."

"Sir, they don't have the necessary clearance," objected the General.

"They do now," said the President angrily. "and I want a CIA report on my desk about the activities of our enemies. Now my friends, the wolfs await." He got to his feet. In an adjoining room the press were waiting for their pound of flesh.

***

President Bell went before the nation and assured them that every action would be taken to assist the families of these tragic events and no stone would be left unturned to find an answer to this strange behaviour. Despite his assurances, the situation got worse. All across the globe mammals of all descriptions were throwing themselves into the water, lemming style, including people. Sometimes whole groups would be affected, sometimes it was just one in the midst of many who suddenly took to the water. It was as if they were being drawn to it. 

Oceans, lakes, rivers, pools, canals. It didn't matter the type. People were diving in and refusing to come out until they physically could not swim any more. Some even drowned within touching distance of the edge and would not reach out to save themselves.

The plague spread across the world. There were photos of the Ganges in India, so thick with floating bodies that it is possible to walk from one side to the other without getting your toes wet. Floating islands of corpses were found in both Atlantic and Pacific, bodies pushed from all over the planet by the tides. Ghost ships bobbed in the waters, all crew vanished forever. Despite the combined might of science, nobody could explain what was happening.

Bill was at his desk one day when a call came in that would change his world and the world in general forever, "Bill Ashton's desk," he answered. On the other end of the line an elderly voice coughed and spluttered before speaking.

"Mr Ashton, this is Professor Stanton from the CDC. I called you about a funding issue some months back, do you remember."

"Canada, I think. I'm sorry but I only really direct the mails, Professor, I don't grant the fees," explained Bill.

"No, no. I got the money. It’s not about that. I am calling because I think I know what is causing this crisis."

"You do? Have you not reported it to your superiors in CDC?" Bill said, getting excited despite himself.

"Of course I have but they won't listen. They call me a kook."

"At this stage I would imagine they would listen to anyone. This situation is...unprecedented."

"On the contrary, young man, this situation is so precedented it is down-right normal."

"What do you mean?"

"Evolution, my friend, evolution."

"Professor, I'm afraid I don't follow."

"What is causing the behaviour is a parasite. A microscopic worm called Dipyllothrium or Dippy for short. It’s a worm found in fish."

"Professor..."

"You have to listen to me. I must get this information to the President. You are the only one I know in The White House, you must get me in touch with him. The future of the human race could depend on it." Bill hung his head. This old guy sounded like a kook and if his own people wouldn't listen to him, how much of a fool was he going to look bringing this to the president. On the other hand, people were dying, and nobody had any answers. Could he live with being the man who would not list to the man who held the answers?

"Ok, Professor, give me your number. I’m not promising anything, but I will do my best."

Bill brought his information to his supervisor and the decision was made to fly Professor Stanton up to Washington and present what he suspected to a panel of experts. Bill was told to attend, after all, he was the one vouching for this man.

Two days later the meeting room was filled with doctors and experts of all description. Bill met Professor Stanton at the gate and escorted him up. The man produced ancient laptop with Star Wars stickers on the cover and Bill groaned internally. Stanton must've been seventy years old if he was a day. His hands shook as he tried to fit the projector cable to the side of the machine. Bill felt his job slipping away from under him. That was the moment the meeting room door opened and President Dean Bell walked in. Bill's stomach went into knots. The room jumped to its feet and Bill's supervisor went to speak to the president.

"Is this the man," asked President Bell, nodding toward the white-haired Professor.

"Yes, Sir, but we haven't assessed his theory yet. I was going to..."

"Well I'm here now, why not see what he's got," said the President walking past Bill's supervisor and approaching the Professor with his hand extended.

"Dean Bell," he said shaking the Professors hand.

"Jim Stanton," said the professor warmly.

"Show us what you got, Jim," said the President moving to stand beside Bill rather than taking a seat at the table with the polished brass of his administration.

Professor Stanton was surprisingly short, "This is Dipyllorthrium or Dippy for short." he said indicating a small nondescript squiggle on the screen. "It’s a parasitical worm found in most species of fish. Basically, one fish eats another, they are transferred to the new host, bread and reproduce. They are completely harmless to both the fish and those that eat the fish, or at least they were. As you are aware, the global fish stocks have been diminished by over fishing in the last number of decades. With less fish, there were less fish eating fish and the numbers of these worms were being wiped out. This triggered a drastic change in they way these little creatures act. I believe they have evolved to produce chemicals that make their host unstoppably attracted to bodies of water, and as such, returning the worms back to their breeding grounds. All Dippy wants is to be fish food.

"How small are they?" asked one man.

"Tiny, invisible to the human eye," said Stanton.

"You are telling me something that small can control what we do and think."

"Viruses are far smaller and yes, Dippies in numbers could produce enough chemicals to make even a host as big as a human their drone.

"You say all fish have these? I ate tuna for lunch, why have I not lept into the Potomac?" said the same man who had questioned the size of the worms.

"Have you seen the Potomac since lunch?"

"No."

"Well you might well do, yet. You see, I believe this chemical reaction is triggered by what we see. These worms tend to gather, on mass, in brain tissue, including optical nerves. Also, not all Dippies have evolved to produce this reaction, but they are learning. Therefore more and more people are being affected."

"What evidence have you of this theory," asked President Bell, sounding more respectful than the previous questioners.

"In a group bear drowning in Canada I found elevated numbers of Dippies in all the bear brain samples I collected.  I have since went back and biopsied all the samples collected from earlier events and found similar numbers. I offer no guarantees only a possibility," said the Professor, folding his arms across his chest. The room remained silent for a long time. In the end it was President Bell who spoke.

"Get this information out to all medical examiners in the country. I want all available victims tested for this...Dippy worm and I want the results on my desk before they go on anyone else’s. " Nobody moved. "Now please," said the president quietly and the whole room jumped to its feet and rushed out. When only Professor Stanton, Bill and the President were left, the president turned to the older man and asked, "What can we do to stop this."

"Simple really. Don't eat the fish," said Stanton.

"And if we have?"

"Stay away from the water."

The End

Zara's Emporium of Wonder

The kitchen door flew open and the handle slammed into the wall, denting the plaster.

"Benny McAlister! How many times have I told you not to slam that door?" she shouted, an accusation that halted the excited ten-year-old in his tracks. He'd made her heart jump and that added considerably to her ire. His manic grin melted ever so slowly, like an ice-cream-cone in the summer heat. He looked like a scolded puppy, how could she stay mad at him? In a much kinder tone she asked, "What is all the rush about?"

Kids are like Geiger counters for adult emotions, he knew he was out of trouble. His smile got hoisted back to full mast as he rushed forward waving a colorful flyer. "It's the circus, Mom! The circus is coming! THE CIRCUS!" he cried spinning in a circle. She thought her son was half human and half springier spaniel.

"I love a good circus," she said taking the flyer from his little fingers. The circular depicted a big top with a golden-caped woman standing in the ring masters position, her hands were raised and beaming smile crowned her magnificently. Around her, trapeze artists tumbled, jugglers juggled, clowns threw buckets of confetti and beautiful ladies balanced on the backs of snow-white horses. At the bottom of the page an adoring sea of faces looked on in amazement. The masthead declared, in big bold letters, For one day only, this Friday! Zara's Emporium of Wonder! 

"I don't know, you might be a bit old for this?" she teased.

"Moooooooom," he wailed, turning his face into a crumpled mask of disapprovement but she knew him too well, he was only playing along with her joke.

"Well...if you're sure," she said and let the half statement, half question, hang in the air.

"Mom!" Benny said stamping his foot.

She broke into a grin; she couldn't help herself. He was such a little man. "Alright, we'll go," she said and it was like striking a match to a fire cracker. Benny danced around the kitchen chanting "Yes, yes, yes,"and pumping his little fists in the air.

***

Benny spent the rest of the week counting down the minutes to the arrival of the circus. On Thursday he rushed in from school to say the big top had gone up.

"You should see it, Mom. Its HUGE!" he said with his eyes bulging and his arms spread as wide as they would go. Its red, yellow, green, blue, orange...its like a rainbow but one you can touch," he said excitedly.

"Did you see any elephants?"

"No, no elephants."

"What about lions or tigers?"

"Nope," he said a little disappointed.

"Well perhaps its not that kind of a circus, it might be a people circus. Did you see any circus folk?"

"None of those either," he said sadly, all the fun was gone out of his big news.

"I bet they were all inside putting out the seats for the show," she said. 

"Yeaaaa! Betcha that's it," he said, joy radiating from his face once more. He bounded away toward his bedroom and she called after him. 

"Don't forget your homework or there'll be no circus at all."

"No Mom!" came the cheery reply from the hallway.

***

Friday night took forever to get here, according to Benny at least. Trying to get him into his good clothes and his hair brushed was a nightmare, he wouldn't standstill for a second. By the time they got out the door it was dusk. They walked hand in hand toward the town green. Before long they could hear the music being piped through the Tannoy system, a music teacher once told her it was called Entry of the Gladiators, but to her it would always be the sound of the circus. On the evening breeze she could smell sweet buttered popcorn and candyfloss. Around them children ran past dragging adults toward the source of all the excitement. Benny was soon pulling on her arm, eager to join the fun.

When the big top came into view it was just as Benny described, only better, because it now twinkled under a constellation of electric light bulbs. She bought a stick of candyfloss for Benny and a tub of popcorn for herself before lining up to purchase tickets.

Klunck! Klunck! went the brass plate beneath the ticket vendors window and two pink tickets shot out. It looked like the booth was sticking its tongue out at them. She felt Benny squeeze her hand as she ripped away the stubs. He was on tender hooks and she even felt a few butterflies herself. Perhaps the magic of the circus never leaves you. They crossed the threshold and it was like stepping into a different universe. Beside her Benny said, "Whoha." It was dark, but not gloomy. Strings of bulbs hung from the roof of the big top and it looked like someone captured the night sky and moved it inside. Benny ushered her toward the front row and picked seats for them ringside. A circus has its own smell and this one was no different. She inhaled a lungful of earthy air overlayed with warm tarpaulin and a hint of sawdust. Under all that lingered the musky smell of animal. Perhaps Benny would get to see some tigers after all.

Soon the lights dimmed and two follow-spots sprang to life, dancing over the excited crowd before settling on a red velvet curtain across the performance area. A splendidly attired ring master appeared and strode purposefully to the arena. His voice boomed over the crowd without need of amplification. His curling mustache danced as he spoke. The first act to perform was a troupe on the trapeze. Benny was mesmerised. His little body swayed over and back in time with the swinging gymnasts and when they let go...he held his breath, tensing every muscle in his tiny body, until the catch was made. When the act was over he jumped to his feet and clapped like his life depended on it.

The next act was a sword swallower, followed by a fire breather, then came the jugglers and a contortionist. Not a sign of an animal but if anything the smell of beast was getting stronger.

A huge boom rang out and Benny nearly jumped out of his skin. The velvet curtains flew apart and a gang of clowns ran into the ring chasing a tiny police car. Round and round they went, crashing into each other, slipping, tripping, falling and tumbling until the whole crowd was cheering, well everyone except Benny who was hugging her arm and trying to hide his face behind it.

"Whats wrong?" she asked having to raise her voice to be heard over the laughter.

"They're not nice, I don't like them," he said and she knew by his voice he was terrified.

"Oh honey they're only men in funny clothes and makeup. They are just trying to make people laugh."

"They're monsters," he said and hid behind her completely.

"No they're not," she said. She never thought her adventure loving little man would be afraid of clowns.

She thought she heard him say, "They have teeth," but she couldn't be sure. He refused to come out from behind her shoulder until the clowns had finished their routine and departed the ring. Benny was still shivering when the ring master came back and braced himself for his next announcement.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Prepare to be amazed! I present to you...Lady Zara!" Drums rolled and the lights went out completely. When the drums reached their crescendo the spotlights came back on and a very tall woman, dressed from head-to-toe in glittering gold, had appeared in the middle of the ring. The crowd drew in a collective breath and went, "Wooo!" Without a word Lady Zara began her act. The ring master was right, she did amaze.

She made a box levitate into the air and then passed a hoop around it to prove there were no wires. With a flick of her hand the box shot into the air, where it opened by itself, and rained down confetti on the crowd. She put the ring master into a large box and then cut him in half before putting him back together. She made a pair of doves appear and when she let them go they flew up and vanished in a ball of flame.

For her final trick some helpers rolled a tall black box with a curtain hung across the front of it into the ring. Lady Zara walked toward the crowd and looked directly at Benny. With a long finger, Lady Zara beckoned him to join her. Benny didn't move straight away instead he looked up at her for approval. She worried he was still shaken after the clowns but this was a once in a lifetime chance, the chance to see magic up close and personal. She nodded her approval and Benny sprang forward, eager for this new adventure to begin. He clambered over the edge of the ring and joined the tall woman who was hold out her delicate hand toward him. The audience applauded as Lady Zara led Benny to the box and pulled the curtain open. There was nothing inside. The magician rapped on each side to let the crowd would know the box was solid before placing Benny inside. The crowd grew quite and held their breath. Lady Zara pulled the curtain across with a snap of her wrist and the drums rang out three times. The sorceress threw the curtain back and Benny was gone.

All around people clapped and cheered but she couldn't join in, she was frozen to her seat with terror. Inside her chest her heart was thundering, her boy was gone. Yes, she had expected the illusion but there was something unnatural, something wrong about the whole thing. She was about to rush forward when the gold clad woman flipped the curtain closed and open again. It happened so quick the result could only be described as magic. Benny was once again standing there, gazing out of the box with his mouth hanging open ever so slightly. The sound of clapping grew louder and the crowd climbed to their feet in appreciation. The tall woman took Benny's hand and escorted him back to the edge of the ring. He was not smiling, he was not crying, he was...well...nothing. He looked dazed.

When Benny reached her she hugged him and said,"You're the star of the show, honey!" Her heart was still aflutter but she expected Benny to be uncontrollably giddy. Instead, he stood unmoving in her embrace and she thought she felt him tremble. She pulled back and looked at him. His eyes were far away.

"Are you ok?" she asked seriously and starting to get worried. He didn't respond so she gave his shoulder a little squeeze and that seemed to do the trick.

"It was dark and filled with voices," he said cryptically. She started to understand. Benny must have gotten a fright when the curtain closed. The sound of the crowd in the dark must have terrified him. She just held him close in a tight embrace to let him know he was safe now and as she did the lights in the tent came back up to full power. The show was over and it was time to go home. She stood and handed Benny the popcorn left in the bottom of her tub but he didn't want it. He took her hand as they prepared to move and his skin was shockingly cold on hers.


All the way home she asked Benny questions about being the star of the show but he refused to answer, he just walked along limply at her side. When they got home she tried to get him to eat but he refused, he even refused hot chocolate and marshmallows. She got him dressed for bed and thought he might be coming down with something. She put her hand on his forehead, expecting it to be warm, but it was like touching stone. Benny was freezing.

"Are you feeling bad, baby?" she asked but he shook his head and said.

"Feeling funny, tingly."

Tingly? That couldn't be good. She was going to get Doc Foster to come straight over. What ever was going on was not right at all. She tucked the duvet in all around Benny and he didn't stir a muscle. Only his head poked out the top. "I'll be back in a minute, if you need anything give a call," she said and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Mom?"

"Yes Benny?"

"They were all calling my name."

"Who honey?" she asked rubbing his hair.

"The voices in the dark."

"Oh, baby, it was only a trick. It wasn't real," she said seeing a tear gathering at the corner of his eye.

Benny sniffled once and gave a little nod before saying, "ok."

"I'll be back in a jiffy. Are you sure you wont have a hot chocolate?" he just shook his head sadly.

***

She left the door ajar as she made a five minute call. Once that was done she went straight back to tell Benny that Doc Foster was on his way over but the room was empty. The duvet still was formed to his shape and it looked like he had evaporated.

"Benny," she called and went to check the bathroom but that was empty too. She ran back to the bedroom with dread in her heart. She checked the window but it was locked, as were all the other windows and doors. She called his name over and over again as she checked every room twice before rushing out of the house, calling his name, no screaming his name. A light sprang to life on her neighbours porch and Dale appeared in his PJ's.

"Whats going on?" he asked, worried. All she could say was Benny's gone, as she dashed into the street continuing to call for him at the top of her lungs. All along the road lights began appearing. When Doc Foster arrived there were already two sheriffs cars in the driveway with their bubblegum bars flashing. He had wanted to give her something to calm her down but she refused. She needed her wits about her or what was left of them. She tried to make the police understand the Benny had not gone out, he had vanished, but they didn't get what she was saying.

They started checking all the houses around the area and asked her to call his friends to see if he had turned up over there. No matter how many times she said, "One minute he was there... then he was gone," they just didn't get it. In the end she just went along with what they asked, they were the professionals after all.  

It was the small hours of the morning when they took her to the station, to take her statement. She was loaded into the back of a cruiser and driven into town. At the passed the green she was shocked to see the big top was already gone. That was when she realised she had not told the cops about the trip to the circus. It had to be them, the carny folk, they took her boy!

It took a long time for the officers to understand her frantic pleas but eventually they got it and one got on the radio.

"Dispatch, Missing ten-year-old, Benny McAlister attended the circus tonight and his mother believes someone from the circus may have snatched him. APB on all circus vehicles leaving the area, stop and search." In her heart a tiny sliver of hope shone in what was otherwise a black place. They'll find the circus, she thought, they had to.

Over the next hour or so she recounted her story again and again, answered the same questions asked a thousand different ways and none of it got them any closer to finding Benny.  It was morning whey they dropped her home. She asked the officer if they had found the circus. The guy turned his head around to give her the benefit of one eye.

"No Ma'am. Not as much as a piece of sawdust. Its like they were never here, but they were, my young'uns went to it. It sure is a mystery."

She dragged herself inside and collapsed at the kitchen table, sobbing uncontrollably for what seemed like ages. When she eventually did raise her head the first thing she saw was the gayly coloured flyer Benny had brought home at the start of the week.

For one day only!  Oh God, why did you have to come, she thought and something about the flyer made her look a little closer. Lady Zara was just as she remembered her, shimmering and magnificent. It was the clowns that caught her attention. Yes their makeup was smiling but it their real mouths were turned down in a growl, and one, one seemed to have fangs. She wiped the tears from her eyes and gripped the flyer in both hands, drawing it closer so she could inspect it minutely.

Now that she was looking closely, none of the other performers were smiling, only Lady Zara and that was when she began inspecting the tiny faces in the crowd. What she had taken for open mouthed wonder before seemed more like crying out. All those faces, terrified faces, and right in the middle, one she'd known all his life. Benny, his eyes raised to hers, his arms outstretched, and his mouth open wide as he cried out...pleaded, for her to save him.

She started screaming again but this time she knew she'd never stop.