Suspicious clues

©Dale Rogerson

There were three clues that raised Mrs Harris’ suspicions that night. Firstly, the whole town was snowed-in for two days. That would have been almost “normal” had it not been the middle of April. Then, when the snowplow finally passed through, it was accompanied by the police, firemen and an ambulance. They all had their sirens off.

In fact, the entire town was plunged into silence that night.

The third thing that was out-of-place was a black garbage bag, tightly sealed and thrown out of the opposite window right on to the packed snow.

And then a power cut occurred.

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

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Turn to page 82

The thing with bookworms (people who love books, not worms who live in them) is that they are deeply attracted by the writing on them, particularly that on the cover. And especially the back cover. So, when you grab a book with a huge “82” drawn on the front on a blueish background and with all sorts of creatures and objects flying, crawling or even drilling their way out of the number itself, it does catch your attention. So, you turn it over to read the summary on the back. All it says is “This book has a significant focus on the number 82. It tells a story like no other, which will remain with you long after you read it. Now, you want to find out what the number 82 has anything to do with it, don’t you? Well, you’ll just have to read the book then…” You think it is silly. But it already has you gripped. And the next thing you know, you’re comfortable in your relaxing armchair, with your soft, fleece blanket at your knees, and a steaming hot cup of tea at the table beside you, and you turn the first page of this new book.

It had a fascinating start. It was a story about a young man who had learned to read from a shepherd who took refuge in his barn one night. And he inadvertently found his first book one morning when he went to offer the shepherd-guest some food but discovered he was gone. All he left behind was a book. Intrigued, the young man began to read it, as he believed it would solve the mystery of the shepherd’s presence.

That is when it first appeared.

“Turn to page 82”.

Was this a Fighting Fantasy book? It couldn’t be. But the man tried to find page 82 to turn to anyway. (So did you). Page 82 was nowhere to be found. (It was nowhere in this book either). It was not between pages 81 or 83, nor misplaced in any other part of the book. Nor were there any signs whatsoever that it had been ripped out. Page 82 had simply never been a part of that book. (Nor in this one – clever, huh?).

But drowning in curiosity, the man continued to read on from where he left off. A few pages later, it appeared again.

“Turn to page 82”.

The same process was wearingly repeated. The man continued to read on. It was a story that seemed incoherent. With weird animals, imaginary creatures and ghosts appearing out of nowhere, with the story taking place on earth, in the ocean, on different planets, in different universes, at different times even. It was utterly confusing, but for some reason it kept you wanting more. That’s the other thing with bookworms – they must finish the books they start reading; it’s a matter of principle.

So whenever the prompt to turn to page 82 appeared – and it appeared quite often – the man simply ignored it and continued to read on. (So did you). He had still not understood the storyline or purpose of the book, but was profoundly drawn into it by now. (And coincidentally, so were you).

Alas, he reached the final page. He thought that finally he might understand what all this “turn to page 82” was about. It turns out, however, that the book would eventually end in a cliché: this was all a dream. The young man had apparently imagined it all – the strange paradoxes, the hen fighting with an elephant, the appearance of a yoku (a beast which was half eagle, half something that resembled a lion-snake) and its defeat using rat’s poison that was taken from a far away planet that could only be reached by planting a specific type of bean that grew from tomato plants watered with coke. It was so confusing that you were surprised you had managed to last until the end. So, although you were deeply disappointed that all this time you were reading something that was in essence never there, a smile did form on your face when you read the last sentence explaining that the man had fallen asleep in his quest to find page 82 in a book that simply did not have it because a publisher had been distracted when numbering the pages.

And that is when you closed the cover and put the book down. “Well, that was ingenious”, you thought.

 

Inspired by Daily Prompt: Connect the Dots

The other side of the looking glass

The feeling of the key turning in the palm of your hand as it unlocked the door was one that always brought relief to Priscilla. For no matter the horrors, the exploitation and the emotional drainage she experience outside in the real world, in there, through that door she was safe. “My castle, my home” she would say and she meant it. It was as though in there nothing could touch her.

Until that day. When she walked in to find a couple she had never seen before, sitting in her living room, eating a slice of cake.

She was dumbstruck. She dropped the key and stood still as if she had been petrified.

“Hello dear, there you are! Would you like a piece of cake? It’s fresh and not too heavy!” The woman spoke to her as though they had been apart only for a little while since she last saw her. And her voice was so soothing. But who was she?

“Come, have a seat. You must be tired!” The man’s voice was just as welcoming. It was almost wrong not to go and sit with them. They were both so inviting.

But who on earth were they?

Priscilla rubbed her eyes. Maybe it was a dream, or rather a nightmare. She pinched herself, but nothing worked, except perhaps give her a bruise.

“Who are you!?” she managed to utter at last.

The couple looked almost insulted. “Auntie Clara and Uncle Tom. Why, don’t you remember darling?”

Priscilla was beginning to feel scared. Had she gone insane?

“We arrived this morning, dear. You left us to go to work because something urgent had come up. Your auntie made this cake in the meantime and we were waiting for you. Don’t you remember?”

“Ok this is all too weird,” thought Priscilla.

The strangest part of it all was that she had absolutely no recollection of what had happened that morning. She only remembered her terrible day at work. But no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t remember what took place before that, or how she even got to work!

Everything in her house seemed normal. All in its usual place. And these people seemed so nice and kind. If only she could remember who they were.

Cold sweat trickled down her spine. For a moment she felt her blood turn to ice. What if she wasn’t even the person she thought she was?

She rushed to the mirror.

Phew! This was one face she still recognized.

But on the other side of the looking glass, Evilia her evil twin, was determined to have the last laugh.

 

Also part of Daily Post: Unexpected Guests

Demonstrating out of line

“Quick, put this on!”

Jessica grabbed the gas mask Edward was forcing into her hand and struggled to place it over her nose and mouth as the air around them filled with thick smoke and tear gas.

She never thought a peaceful demonstration could lead to this.

People were panicking, running disorderly, in every direction possible. Bumping into each other violently. And coughing. There was lots of coughing and shouting and screaming!

“Move! We have to get over to Place Liberté – it’ll be safer there! Come on this way!”

Edward was more assertive than her. He always had been. And he always knew how to maintain his calm in the face of panic and transmit it to her. She on the other hand simply felt lost. It was as if she had entered a trance and was not fully aware of what was going on. Edward had to pull her across the tram lines and over to the other side of the street.

Place Liberté was peaceful and quiet. They could take the masks off now. It was as if this was a different part of town. Untouched by the incidents and episodes that had suddenly broken out just across the street.

“Come, let’s go have a juice to calm down, shall we?”

Jessica nodded and followed sheepishly as they sat at a café which was overflowing with customers extending their necks out in order to get a better view of the ‘action’.

This wasn’t frequent in Townville.

Peaceful demonstrations occurred only recently with the change of government and radical reforms that were announced.

But to have tear gas, clashes with police, and petrol bombs being thrown during a protest over the closing down of illegal pet salons, well, that was an extraordinary thing in itself!

 

Also part of Trifecta Writing Challenge, with the prompt word: Mask (noun):

a : a protective covering for the face
b : gas mask
c : a device covering the mouth and nose to facilitate inhalation
d : a comparable device to prevent exhalation of infective material
e : a cosmetic preparation for the skin of the face that produces a tightening effect as it dries

A spark in the forest

It was the midst of the night, in a dark, humid and particularly unwelcoming part of the forest. Night owls were perching on the trees with their eyes gleaming like crystal stars among the emerald leaves. Suddenly he stepped on a fallen branch and the crack awakened a whole swarm of tiny birds which screeched such a deafening noise in chorus that all Patrick could do was fall on his knees covering his ears.

“Someone make it stop. Please,” he begged, as he sunk his head deeper into his chest and crawled up like a caterpillar on the floor of an enormous forest.

He sat there for what felt like half an hour. His shoulders were already tense and his neck started to hurt. Where on this planet was he anyway? He took out his compass. That was no help at all. The needle had gone crazy, spinning around with no direction, making it completely useless.

Antisios the prophet had told him to enter the unknown in order to find light. So what did that mean?

The only thing unbeknown to Patrick in the area was that forest. And now he was at the heart of it. Still not knowing. And it was so dark he could hardly see his feet moving. Who knows what was even crawling, sliding, or marching beside him!

As the birds disappeared amidst the trees, silence was restored. Now it all felt too quiet. So much, his breathing sounded as heavy as a trumpeter’s sighing. He walked on a little further. At the edge of his right eye he caught a rapid movement and froze on the spot, turning only his head to see a bear-like creature run with the speed of a leopard until it reached a thick-barked tree and then climb up it with the agility of a koala.

“This is a weird place,” thought Patrick as he resumed his quest.

He was already feeling tired. As if this journey had worn him out, both mentally and physically. If he did not succeed now, he would not bare it. He could not stand to lose once again. Defeat had torn him up and the very little energy he had left was feeding on his hope that this time would be different. This time he would find it.

He approached an opening among the trees, when he suddenly saw a gleam of light creeping into the darkness. It was still dark, so it couldn’t be sunlight. As he searched, he found that if he lifted up this large eucalyptus-like leaf…

Light burst like a balloon popping in his face. He was blinded for a second and forced to jump a step back. When his sight was restored he saw a shadow before him, an image of a young maiden. A girl with golden curls trickling down her side, wearing a white dress with an orange trimming. She was walking towards him. He was startled.

And lost for words.

“I knew you would find me,” she said, as she fell into his arms.

“I was ready to die trying. My Juliette,” he replied, as tears slid down his cheeks. He had found her at last. She was his light in the darkness. And now they were together.