Santa run

The white-haired man with the white beard and big belly that had an abnormal affinity for red suits was once again spotted around the park. He was looking at all the young children playing carefree on the swings and in the playground and appeared to be checking a list that he drew out of his side pocket and seemed to have no end. What on earth was he doing? This could take a very ugly turn.

And it did.

Marissa was an old lady who couldn’t hear very well. She couldn’t see very well either, despite the fact that she wore glasses with lenses as thick a piece of gammon at Christmas lunch. She also used a cane to walk, which she would also occasionally use as a weapon lest any “young rascal” would try to steal her bag. She would take her young grandson to the park every afternoon and sit at the bench watching him (or at least someone who looked like him from afar) enjoy himself in the playground. She had become acquainted with the other children and parents who spent their time there too. Therefore, whenever a “newbie” arrived, everyone would notice. They were as easy to recognize as a fly drowning in milk.

The past few days, however, ever since the beginning of December, Marissa noticed the frequent presence of a rather fat and peculiar old man. He was oddly jolly with everyone and was very fond of children. Perhaps too fond, according to Marissa. And he was always there. From the moment she and little Everett arrived, to the moment they left, that old man was sitting on the adjacent bench taking notes.

A week later, after Marissa had ran through her mind all the possible things this man might be noting – all of which were remarkably anomalous, no matter how you looked at it – she decided it was time to take action. She did consider walking over there and whacking him on the head with her cane, then grabbing his list and running to the police to file a report against him as a pedophile. But there were two problems with that: she couldn’t see very well and due to the holiday season more and more people began to draw a liking to red clothing and she might thus end up hitting someone else; and then she couldn’t run very fast, so by the time she had made her way out of the park, he might regain consciousness and chase after her. So, Marissa decided to do the only proper and responsible thing she knew: she would call the police.

Her report said that an old man with white hair and beard, dressed in a red suit that was unflattering for his age, was constantly roaming around the park, observing the kids and making notes. Just to be sure that the police wouldn’t make fun of her, she did send an instant message from her tablet (that had a big enough screen for her to be sure she had captured at least part of the man in question).

It didn’t take long for the police to arrive. The German Shepherd dog accompanying them was already growling, but for some strange reason it stopped the minute its eyes located the old man. And surprisingly it sat down and refused to go near or attack, no matter how much the policemen were yelling. The old man did not even budge.

Yet, all of a sudden, chaos broke out. Seeing that the dog had no intention of chasing or attacking the suspect, the police officers decided to take matters into their own hands. They began to scream, whistle and shout – if there was the appropriate music, it would even seem that they were trying to do the Twist.

And then began the run.

The old man, seeing a handful of unusually frightening young men in police attire racing like raging bulls towards him, got up and began to run too. The kids, thinking this was some sort of festive game, thought it would be fun to join in. And the German Shepherd dog decided it was time to get a move on too. The parents, afraid the dog might attack the children or the police might fire a shot that may reach an unintentional target, raced like mad and white as ghosts, behind the mob. It was complete havoc. And on the side, Marissa was taking photos on her tablet – you know, for evidence.

The old man ran into the forest-y area of the park where a wooden shed was located, he rushed in before the police closed up – the dog was for some reason being intentionally slow at catching up.

And then…

Police, dog, children, parents, the kiosk-owner who had approached out of curiosity, the candyman who was looking for kids to sell his produce to, and Marissa (who was still taking photos), all looked up at the sky, rubbing their eyes. They could not believe what they saw. A sleigh. Yes, a sleigh, a red one with a small turbo engine at the back and a dozen reindeer – yes, those horned animals that look like deer – pulling it along. It all disappeared before the bedazzled crowd managed to take a second blink.

The police stormed the wooden shed, with the dog barking happily beside them. There was nothing in there apart from some hay – most of which appeared to have been consumed – and some firewood. Nothing else.

So where did the old man dressed in red go? And did they really see what they thought they saw?

When the police questioned Marissa, she told them she had photo evidence. But when they confiscated her tablet to see for themselves, all they found was funny-looking selfies of a befuddled old lady in the park.

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Tragic but no comedy

Justin looked down at the body that lay lying between the rubbish dumpster and the ladder which would have served as his escape route. It was pitch black outside still and if it weren’t for the growling cats on heat, nothing would have been heard. Not even cars rushing by. It was a peculiar night. A full moon always pre-empts something strange. Justin believed his ancestors’ belief to be true. And tonight it had become a reality.

Two hours ago he was standing there in the living room of his fourth-floor apartment drinking an Irish beer with his friend. “Friend”. He had just met him a week ago. How well can you get to know someone in such a short time? Even if you did spend an unusually large proportion of your time each day in their company?

Why? Because what they shared went beyond the ‘normal’. And the ‘legal’.

No, they weren’t smuggling, selling or growing drugs.

No, they were not into human trafficking.

No, they were not into something disgusting or perverted.

They were running around town all day, trying to do a good deed to change someone’s life.

They smiled at everyone in the street, no matter if they got sworn at or nearly hit in return. They truly believed that one single smile, one good deed, no matter how small, may one day save a life.

It was good karma if nothing else. And it certainly made them feel their day was worthwhile.

Until that moonlit night.

Justin remembered that they had even joked about the only thing missing from that “twilight” sky was a howling wolf.

It was ironic that a cat howled like a wolf when the body fell four stories down and crashed onto its tail.

He didn’t mean for it to happen. He never wished anything bad for anyone. Not even him.

It did not matter that he caught him stealing money from his wallet. He offered to give him more if he needed help.

But Justin did not understand why the aggravation and the change of tone all of a sudden. What was with this attitude? The person who said a smile would make anyone’s day now suddenly lost his own. Without reason or explanation. He didn’t use to be like this.

And then it happened. The irritation brought about a quarrel which turned bloody. And then, he asked Justin for some water. Those fatal drops of transparent liquid would seal his fate.

For as soon as Justin returned with the glass in his hand he barely managed to avert a dagger stained with blood flying towards him. And his “friend” was falling butt-first out the open window. As if he was diving in a water-park fun pool.

He just made sure he would seemingly signal the culprit.

Thirty minutes had gone by, with Justin playing the scene over and over in his head. The sirens had become louder now.

He drank the water, placed the dagger in the glass and hid it in his inside coat pocket. He would leave no trace.

Only one.

An Italian gold carnival mask.

He was not known as the Harlequin for nothing.

The victim had after all smiled at his Colombina… And things, even a smile, are never what they seem…

Superstitious thirteenth

Friday the 13^th is weird. Because you expect something scary to happen, like you see in those horror movies, or something bad like urban legends and superstitions have you believe.

The scary thing is that something always does happen that accentuates your initial preposition against this “tremendous” calendar date.

Walking under a ladder or seeing a black cat on a Friday 13^th won’t kill you (not that I know of at least). For what happens if your favourite pet cat is black? Or if you are employed in construction and happen to work with ladders?  Or worse yet, if both apply to you?

See, it’s a strange date.

Perhaps it is also because you expect something bad to happen, that whatever out-of-the-ordinary does happen on this date is interpreted as such.

Then again if confusion strikes and you can’t get your work done because other people fail to deliver their part of the deal; or if you get lost on the road due to wrong directions given; or better yet if your entire power is cut off – well, then it is arguable whether this is due to a superstitious date, or in fact the all-round stupidity of people who regularly prove that common sense is indeed not as common as it sounds…

Silence in the Metro

The sun had already slit under the horizon as Lisa entered the metro station. This was one of the recently renovated stations and its marble walls were still shining white. People were rushing to arrive at the platforms, perhaps even catch the metro that would swing by at that very moment, instead of having to wait that extra 3-4 minutes.

There was plenty of noise, both from the trains arriving and departing and from the people, young and old, speaking to each other, to their phones, to anyone in general.

Lisa got off five stops further down. It was a trip that lasted less than ten minutes. And it didn’t seem any longer.

But there was something strange in that very moment she set her foot off the metro wagon. As if there was an eerie atmosphere, sending chills down her spine and causing her to shiver. It felt as if the whole world around her was moving in slow motion. There were so many people on that platform, queuing at the escalator that would lead them up to the exit above and to the square outside. No-one would take the adjacent stairs. “Typical of how comfortable our lives have become,” thought Lisa, as she observed the people surrounding her. Students, teens, middle-aged, elderly, there were people of all ages, forms, sizes and styles. But there was one weird thing everyone had in common.

No-one was talking.

There was absolute silence in that underground metro station.

The only thing heard was the faint footsteps from women’s heels, if there were any. But there was no noise. Nothing like what she had left five stations earlier. It was as if everyone was expecting something to happen. Not something good. As if at any moment now you would expect a rifle to sound. Running. Voices. Screams. Something. Something that would indicate there was still life down there.

Lisa felt as if she was being watched. She could even see herself from the back, as though she was part of a film noir. And she was the one in the red dress. The one sticking out from the crowd. The one targeted.

The escalator ride to the top seemed to take longer than the metro ride to that station. But at last she arrived.

Noise returned to her ears. The corridors leading to the square outside were bustling with life, instantly crumpling all conspiracy theories that had formed in her head.

“There you are!” shouted Francine as she grabbed Lisa’s arm and gave her a hug. “Wanna go to those cafés on the hill for a drink?”

“Yes. Please. Let’s!” breathed Lisa as her heartbeat returned to its normal rhythms.

 

Also part of  Daily Prompt: Twilight Zone

Also part of Daily Prompt: Land of Confusion

Also part of Daily Prompt: Safety First

Also part of Daily Prompt: Close Call

Also part of NaBloPoMo (November 2013)

Trapped

 

 

 

 

 

A room full of dreams
turned into shadows dark,
and unpleasant themes.

What once was full of life
is now left empty.
With no loving hug,
no welcoming seat.

A soaring pain inside the heart
cannot be healed
without a cure;
not without a miracle,
without change.

Lost between two worlds,
what do you do
with a troubled heart?

Do you stay and fight?
or run away?

Do you plea for life?
or cry in pain?

And all she feels is left alone.
Encircled by people but so alone.
For only she can decide her fate.

She is confused, clouded, and dazed.
but what she truly feels
is trapped.