2018 ‘Shared Adventures’ won an International Story Competition
2020 ‘Circles’ won Editor’s Choice
Shared Adventures (500 words)
Toby and Scott had been friends for several years. In fact, they’d been buddies ever since Toby had moved into the house next door.
Scott’s house was a big, old, rambling place with creaky polished wooden floors that were great for sliding on and even more exciting when they chased each other around. Sadly, they were soon chased into the garden to let off steam because they became over-excited.
They were both seven years old and enjoyed doing the same things, usually playing for hours in the vast wood that backed up to their houses. A tall wire fence acted as a substantial barrier, keeping wild deer and other creatures out of the properties, yet in the far corner of Toby’s garden, there was a secret hole they could squeeze through.
This saved the avid adventurers a long trek to a gate at the end of their road. Also, they didn’t have to pass a tumbled-down cottage where an old woman lived. If she were in the garden, she’d always shout and wave her stick at them.
So, the woods became their playground, where they enjoyed some of their best times together. They usually returned home worn out and grubby, sometimes needing a bath.
On adventure days, Toby would sit on his front porch and wait until his friend arrived. On this particular day, they encountered all sorts of great places to hide. The best was close to a rocky ridge, where Scott found what looked like a small cave. As they investigated, it became more like an extended tunnel, which was scary because it was very narrow in a few places.
It also smelt like a fox or badger had lived there, and they both knew a badger was something they shouldn’t tangle with.
Putting these thoughts to the back of their minds, they’d ventured further into their new den, and what they found kept them entertained. It was huge inside, with small tunnels heading off in all directions, but most were too dark, and some smelt very strange.
Wandering home later that afternoon, they came across a lake where they decided to take a brief rest— yet soon became captivated by a giant bird that circled the expanse of water at a tremendous height.
Sometimes, the bird looked like it had stopped in mid-air, but moments later, it dived down at great speed and tried to catch something hidden in the water.
The last time it swooped, there was a great splash, but the bird flew away towards some trees, so they couldn’t see what it had grabbed.
§
Toby didn’t see Scott over the next few days.
He’d wandered over to his place, but there was no sign of him or music playing, as it often was. The yellow car that usually stood outside wasn’t there either.
The car was back a day or so later, so Toby sat waiting on his porch to see if his friend would arrive. There was still no music, but he thought he could hear the faint sound of crying. It crossed his mind to go and investigate because he sensed something odd.
Then the phone in his house suddenly rang. A moment later, the porch door opened, and someone arrived at his side.
A hand rested lightly on his head, gentle fingers played with his ear, followed by a soft voice.
“Scott won’t be coming over anymore— sadly, he died yesterday.”
Toby didn’t understand, so wagged his tail before wandering off to find his friend.
⇎
Published by Hammond House in their 2019 book, Precious
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Circles
( 3,000 words )
When I finally returned to work after my stomach operation, I found things a little strained between me and management, probably due to a secondary infection that put me back in the hospital for another week, only days after I’d returned.
I’m not a key player at work. The world would continue to operate without me, so couldn’t understand all the drama.
I’m a backroom guy— a data analyst for astronomers and physicists who push projects forward. I methodically work through a few hundred pages of data, highlighting key points and anomalies that meet particular criteria before referring the project back, with pages tagged and a brief summary.
Returning to work after my second medical leave, it was apparent that something was wrong. Soon after I reached my desk, the boss summoned me to his office.
“Come in, George, and take a seat,” he said, shuffling papers on his desk as he added. “You’d better close the door.”
As I sat opposite, we made eye contact, and he slowly shook his head.
“I’m afraid it’s bad news, George. I’m going to have to replace you.” He paused and drew air through his teeth.
“We’re under pressure due to workload, and I need every able-bodied hand to the wheel. As you’re only a couple of years away from retiring,” he broke off and sighed before adding the killer punch.
“To be honest, George, you’re not looking that well. So maybe it’s time to take it easy and put your feet up.”
I’m sitting there thinking. You bastard! I almost busted another gut, trying to get back as soon as I could— it wasn’t as though I’d planned my exploding internals.
“George, we’ll give you three months’ severance pay, but would you mind sharing your office with Nickola for the last couple of days?” he asked. “It would be a wonderful opportunity for you to give her a few pointers.”
With that, he walked past and patted me on the shoulder before opening the door to ask my replacement to join us.
When I arrived, she was sitting outside his office. An attractive young thing straight out of University, I’d guessed.
Mind you, when she walked in, I could see my boss’s point about me not looking that well. Compared to her glowing aura, etcetera, I looked like I’d popped my clogs a few weeks back.
After introductions and a brief chat, where I agreed to everything, I was dismissed.
Dawdling back to my office, I wondered if I should’ve told him to shove the whole kit and caboodle up his fat arse, yet I didn’t have the energy or willpower.
Over the last few months, I’d had the stuffing knocked out of me, and now, after this stab in the back, I felt like giving up on life altogether. It didn’t seem fair anymore.
I know what you’re thinking. Pull yourself together, man up, yet maybe my doctor was right— I’d worried myself into this bloody illness.
It all started nine months ago when Cathy, my wife, had been killed in a car crash. We’d been together since University. We liked the same things and didn’t want children.
Well— she did but couldn’t.
I said it didn’t matter. In truth, I would’ve loved a couple of kids. We’d talked briefly about adoption. Well— I had, yet could tell she wasn’t interested, so I never brought the topic up again.
The police called fifteen minutes after her accident.
Both occupants died instantly. The police said Mr Willis, the driver, must have fallen asleep or been distracted. His car had run into the back of a truck, which had broken down on the feeder road off the motorway into Tree-Tops Motel.
At breakfast that morning, Cathy had said she was meeting her sister Shirley for coffee and would probably do some shopping in town.
She’d worked as a receptionist at the local dentist for several years and seemed very content with life. Yet what I found out after her death tore my heart and mind to shreds. I’d been living a lie.
I met Willis’s wife at the inquest, and she seemed nice enough. She was a short, well-built, reserved woman who lived on the other side of town with four children. Cathy would’ve called her a ‘homely body’.
Regrettably, after the inquest, this homely body devastated me by calmly telling me, matter-of-factly, that her husband’s affair with Cathy had been going on for three years and they’d been planning to live together in France.
From that moment, my home felt cold and empty, as did my life.
A month later, it got worse.
Bobby, our dog, was killed by a kid on a motorbike close to the cemetery where we’d buried Cathy. I’ll never know how the animal managed to get out of our garden.
Then my stomach problem had flared up. The doctor said I needed to relax and get a hobby. He thought I was worrying too much because I’d confessed to having had a couple of anxiety attacks the week before my visit. Plus, I’d been taking loads of indigestion tablets.
But now, sitting in my soon-to-be-vacated office, I felt extremely pissed off and raw.
Raw because the nurse who removed my stitches two days ago had little experience. I wondered if she’d purchased her medical certificates, and it crossed my mind that she might have trained as a vet.
I looked around my small, bland office, soon to be full of feminine paraphernalia and a hint of perfume, making me ponder my deteriorating situation further.
My life was as stark and boring as this bloody office.
The routine I was trapped in— a tedious circular rut. Get up, go to work, go home, watch telly, go to bed. To add to this depressing situation, the time between these repetitive events appeared to be getting shorter. Life was passing me by at breakneck speed.
Suddenly, I couldn’t see the point of continuing.
Swivelling my chair to face the window darkened my mood even further. Storm clouds filled the sky, and the heavy rain that had started the day before hadn’t relented.
I stood and gazed at the glistening car park far below, then realised I’d opened the window.
The jump from the seventh floor would take seconds.
Opening the window further, I wondered if I’d hold my breath on the way down or scream. Would I look at the ground rushing towards me or keep my eyes—
My thought process was suddenly interrupted by a female voice behind me.
“I hope you’re not thinking of anything sinister?”
I slowly closed the window, then turned and forced a brief smile.
“I needed to fill my lungs with cold, wet, polluted air to anaesthetise my brain,” I replied, wiping the water from my face.
“So what can I do for you, Nickola?”
“May I come in and have a chat?” she asked.
I pointed at a chair.
“I’m sorry they’re letting you go, George. I hope you don’t think I’ve prompted that decision?”
“Well— you’ve just taken my job,” I replied flatly.
“Yes, I know,” she responded with a grimace. “Oh! Gosh, George, I feel terrible about this. I thought they’d give me a job, but not someone else’s— if you see what I mean?”
I leaned towards her across my desk.
“Look, young lady. Don’t lose any sleep over this. It appears my time has come, a bit earlier than expected. So for me— it’s a bit like the final straw— if you see what I mean?” I added sarcastically.
She smiled briefly and nodded, meaning she’d been brought up to speed on my situation. So we sat there looking at each other for several seconds before she spoke.
“Do you really believe the Chilbolton Crop Circles are an alien response?”
Her question made me sit back and gaze at her for several seconds. Then she added,
“A response to a binary message sent into deep space twenty years ago by the Arecibo Radio Telescope?”
“Why would you think that’s of interest to me?” I asked.
The right corner of her lips lifted slightly as though a smile was about to follow, yet she spoke instead.
“I read your notes attached to a data file, which appears to have drawn little or no comment— apart from ‘vaguely interesting’ and ‘not worth further investigation.’”
With my elbows resting on the desk, I supported my head like I was tired or bored, but I was neither.
Twenty years ago, I’d found an anomaly in data generated by one of NASA’s deep space projects. In a distant star cluster some 25 light years from Earth, a faint beacon was transmitting repetitive data, information we’re still unable to decode. Yet it appeared something or someone was trying to catch our attention.
Within days, NASA responded by transmitting a high-powered digital signal lasting almost three minutes. A compact binary message, when viewed as a diagram, showed a human figure, our solar system, a DNA molecule, and the telescope that sent it.
Several months ago, the Crop Circle at Chilbolton replicated this diagram with subtle changes, which sparked an intense debate in many quarters.
“So what’s your conclusion, Nickola?”
She shrugged. “As a child, I was dragged around loads of Crop Circle sites by my mum, who was fascinated to the point of delusion. She was, or is, an old hippy, and her interest in this phenomenon spurred me to study Physics at Uni.”
I sat looking at her young, fresh face as my mind dashed back to those uncomplicated, easy-going 60s and how—
“Those days were amazing,” I whispered, then briefly relaxed inside for the first time in months.
“What does your mum do now?” I heard myself ask.
Due to my present state of mind, I wasn’t that interested, yet years ago, I’d done the Crop Circle thing, too. I’d met some weird and interesting people who had given my life a tentative nudge toward university— something I’d not considered because I hadn’t a clue what I wanted to do with my life, let alone study.
Nickola was shaking her head as she responded.
“I worry about her. She takes off at a moment’s notice with the excuse she’s collecting inspiration for the short stories she writes.”
§
Towards the end of the day, I’d shown my replacement everything I felt was relevant, and her questions and thought processes were impressive. She was going to be a great asset to the company.
As it was Friday, I left work early and drove to one of my favourite eating places. It’s one of those cosy pub steakhouse operations where I’d taken Cathy a few times. I thought I’d cheer myself up with a couple of pints and a steak while I could still afford it. Then, wander home to watch a bit of telly. Then go to bed— again.
It was quiet at The Fox and Hounds. The few people milling about were staff getting ready for the evening rush, so I sat at the empty bar and waited.
Moments later, the barman arrived carrying a cardboard box.
“George, how are you? It is ‘George’, isn’t it?”
“Correct, good memory,” I replied.
“You haven’t been here for a while, George. Been away, have we?”
I didn’t get a chance to respond because someone walked up behind me.
“Kimberly— let me introduce you to George,” he added.
I turned to be greeted by a woman dressed for a night out, not someone on their way home from work. And, she’d probably just come from the hairdressers because her long auburn hair was—
My train of thought was interrupted by the barman’s voice chipping in.
“Sadly, George, she’s spoken for. Arrived here fifteen minutes ago to meet someone— but he’s a no-show. Can you believe the guy?” Then, added in a very camp manner, “Kimberly darling, shall I move your drink down here next to George? Then we can all have a good old gossip.”
His animated actions had always made Cathy laugh. His good humour always had the customers in stitches.
“Pleased to meet you, Kimberly. By the tan, you look like you’ve just returned from a trip abroad,” I said.
“Thank you, George. Yes, I’ve only been back a few days. I’ve a tiny villa in Italy that I use a great deal— due to my problems.”
The glint in her eyes was beautiful, more from mischief I fancied, so I had to ask.
“What problems could you possibly have?”
“My love of red wine and, sadly, arthritis.” She made a face before adding, “Probably from sleeping on wet grass as a young thing,” she said, then laughed freely, which I found refreshing and enchanting.
Over the next fifteen minutes, she told me about her love of travel but suddenly stopped. Her date must have arrived.
The interruption made me sad. I didn’t want to share her. I liked this woman, even though I knew nothing about her.
Kimberly was natural and easy to talk to, making me feel relaxed in her company. She was unaffected in a laid-back way, and any quip the barman had come up with, she rebuffed with an equally hilarious one.
“Darling— you’re here at last,” greeting her date. “You look tired, babe. Have they been working you too hard?”
Her words stung somewhere deep in my brain. Reviving memories of how hollow my relationship with Cathy had been.
“George, let me introduce you to Nick,” I heard Kimberly saying.
I’d a sudden urge to get away, so quickly finished my pint— slipping off my barstool, I turned in readiness to meet some good-looking hulk.
“Oh! Hi, George. So you’ve met my mum then,” said Nickola.
I stared vacantly for a moment.
“I thought the eyes and smile were vaguely familiar,” I offered.
“Do you two know each other?” Kimberly asked pointedly.
Explanations and a good deal of laughter consumed the next fifteen minutes, which was something I’d not done for a while. Then, it seemed only a short time later, our barman was saying, last orders.
After an enjoyable evening, both ladies linked arms as we walked across the car park. Luckily, the rain had stopped, leaving the air smelling fresh and new.
“George, thank you so much for treating us to dinner. That was extremely generous,” Kimberly whispered.
“You’re very welcome. You guys brought some sparkle back into my life.”
Kimberly squeezed my arm affectionately.
“George, I’m planning to go to Cornwall for a week starting tomorrow. Would you be interested in tagging along?” she asked, bringing me to an abrupt halt.
“Gosh, what a wonderful idea. I’d love to, but sadly, I have work Monday and Tuesday— my last days for the company,” I responded as Nickola turned and stood before us with her hands on her hips.
“George— do you think they’d believe you were back in hospital again?” she asked, glancing at her mother then at me.
I just hunched before nodding my head.
“Mum— do you want to know the truth about Crop Circles?”
“What!” Kimberly exclaimed. “He knows stuff about our amazing Circles?”
Nickola laughed and walked off but shouted over her shoulder, “Guys, go and enjoy yourselves. Life’s shorter than you think.”
I looked at the woman next to me. “I have a distinct feeling I’ve just been given the green light on Cornwall.”
“Fabulous— finally a like-minded human. So we have a plan, George!” Kim said excitedly.
“So why so taken with Crop Circles?” I asked, eliciting a brief grimace followed by a coy smile.
“I was seduced by an alien in one,” she said seriously, then began laughing.
“That’s a good enough reason, but did you marry him?”
“Good God, no, darling. I’m a free spirit, the proverbial candle in the wind.”
“Well, you sure have been blessed with a very smart daughter.”
“Mmmm. I can’t say the girl gets it from me— and I don’t think it came via her father either. Mind you, he could’ve had hidden talents.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He was a ditch digger and worked for most local farms. Not that bright, yet as I remember, he had the most beautiful bottom.”
We both laughed, then stood looking at each other before Kimberly added, “Can I trust you with a secret, George?”
I smiled and nodded.
“My ditch digger was a perfect young male specimen.”
“With a great butt,” I added.
“Yes, with that— and beautiful blond hair so fine and curly, it was gorgeous. He worked around here because of the Crop Circles, which allowed him to visit them all. Reckoned, they gave him insight and energy.” She grinned before continuing her story.
“We met at a fabulous circle one afternoon and sat there talking into the small hours. Anyway, one thing led to another and to cut a long story short, I became pregnant with Nickola. Over the coming months, I pottered around the area on my old Vespa scooter, trying to find him. I didn’t want anything— just wanted to share my joy. Oddly, none of the farmers in a fifty-mile radius of that circle had ever seen the person I described. Not one of them,” she said, looking up at the stars.
“Fifteen years later, I’m meditating in the middle of a Crop Circle in the Wiltshire countryside. When I opened my eyes, I saw this heavily pregnant woman standing at the circle’s edge, looking at me.
She couldn’t have been a day older than seventeen and probably only days away from giving birth.
She asks if I often visit Crop Circles. After explaining my ongoing fascination, she hands me a postcard and asks, if I see her friend could I pass it on. Turning the card over from her address, I almost fainted. The image she’d drawn was my ditch digger, a sketch with shaded textures and fine detail of photograph quality. Oddly, my Crop Circle lover had not aged a day in fifteen years. I had to turn the card over to escape his hypnotic eyes and stop my heart pounding.
She was Jessica Mason from Maiden Bradley, a village fifteen miles away, but she’d signed the card ‘With love from Jessica and Nickola.’
I’d looked at her quizzically, then asked who Nickola was.
She’d run a hand lovingly over her swollen stomach and smiled back at me.
George, I gawked at her. My hunch made me lightheaded, but was I making too much of the coincidence?” Kimberly stepped back.
“What are you grinning at, George? Are you having second thoughts about hanging out with a fruitcake like me?”
“No— but you might. I’ve a strange tale about Crop Circles, too— something equally astonishing that I’ve never felt I could tell anyone until now.”
Ω
Published 2021 in ‘Survival’ by Hammond House & Grimsby University
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