A Murderous Talent

The water sounded almost as if it was whispering to itself. The way it gushed around the bloated body and encouraged crimson swirls of blood to spiral out from the figure was almost calming. Tendrils of the mixture snaked around nearby rocks and stained the overhanging grass from a pure green to a sickly red. Bruising on the temples with a leaching wound reaching from a stubbled left cheek down the neck and under the collar. It was evident that the shoes were missing as a single blue and white striped sock bobbed its way downstream at a pace a snail could beat. No murder weapon was to be seen nearby...yet. This just made things more like a game of Cluedo. Was it Professor Green in the garden with a candlestick? Or perhaps Madam Peacock in the neighbor's hedge with a revolver? It was my job to sort things out - it was always my job to sort things out.

 Detectives, policeman, dogs; they were always useless, always bumbling around and tripping over the evidence from one another and constantly jibing with the Judge over the most fickle details while skipping the most important part of an investigation. Finding the culprit and the history of the victim. That's what I did, no matter how many times I've been told to "keep my bloody nose out of it". I've always hunted, sniffed, tracked and traced the culprit down to the very last nose hair found at the scene of the crime AND I've always come out with results. Let's just say some love me and some hate me - it all depends upon your perspective.

However no matter how many past investigations I've solved or uncovered, as I look down upon the body floating in front of me, having little to no long-term memory - I know that this time things will be different. To say this case is a near impossibility is an understatement. For you see, this time - I am the victim; the body is mine.

Here to There and In Between - FINAL PART

Later on we woke up with a start and remembered that we were within a large metal bird flying to who knows where. We all calmed down until we heard the footsteps. Why have footsteps always meant something bad ever since Nepal? I thought to myself as we huddled closer together.

My heart took on a rampage within my chest as they grew closer and closer to the back compartment. Barely holding onto a scream, the back door began to creep its way open slowly letting in light that glared on our faces.

Anya was holding onto Ema and Alina like they were comfort dolls, almost squeezing them to a pulp. The door opened wider and we began to hear the soft breathing of the person who was opening it. Suddenly the suspense was too much for Ema and she let out a terrified squeak loud enough to rattle any mountain nearby (or at least it seemed that way).

The person opening the door jumped before they threw it open entirely and peered in. It was the woman.

She stared at our terrified faces before letting out a sigh and turned around.

“It seems we have a couple of stowaways on board Michael!” she called back to the pilot in a language foreign to me.

“Please!” I shouted above the roar of the engine and the pilot, “We need help! Don’t hurt us!” With a look of total bewilderment the woman turned back to us. She had fair hair that curled around her shoulders and a face with two pink cheeks. He eyes were a deep brown the reminded me of my mother’s.

“Nepalese?” she said in our own language, “But how on Earth did you get here?”

So she invited us to come out and sit on the middle benches as we all told her about what had happened to us.

Half-way through she asked for a large piece of fabric from the pilot to blow her nose with and wipe her eyes. She then proceeded to tell us that she had just come from Nepal and stopped a large box (she used another word I did not know) of girls that were to be sold on the black market. Apparently she was part of some group who wished to help people from my country survive the inter-Asian disturbances.  My heart rose as I realised that it was our terrifying box that we had been imprisoned in so long ago which she was talking about.

She also told us that we were headed to her homeland; a place by the name of Australia, which was to our astonishment also known as the Great Southern Land. Soon after our discussion, she had talked to the pilot who was also her husband and came back to us.

“Now what I am about to propose is very, very serious. I want you to think about this very seriously as it will impact your life greatly. You will not be able to go home.”

“Oh, but we don’t want to go back.”

“Well then perhaps this will come as good news to you. My husband and I wish to adopt you.” she said with a tentative smile on her face.

“Adopt? What is that?” I asked her blatantly.

“Adoption is where another adult takes responsibility for lost children. If we adopt you, you will be able to stay together as a family within Australia with myself and my husband Michael. But it’s okay if you don’t want to. I am just worried that if we don’t, you won’t be allowed to come into Australia and you might get split up.” At this, Anya gave me a look of questioning.

 So we began a discussion that would once again change our lives forever.

****

As it ended up, we agreed for Belinda (that was her name) and Michael to adopt us and have all lived together in Australia ever since. I still wonder about my real parents back in Nepal but do not dare go back for fear of being captured again.

This place here is amazing, we have learned to speak English and we now go to a place called school. Personally, I don’t like school much but Ema and Alina love it. Our lives are better here but we still bear the scars of such an emotional journey through so many cultures and countries that I don’t think we will ever forget our ordeal.

I cannot help but think where or who Ashmi is with now. Is he safe? Will he have a better life? Perhaps it would have been best for him to have stayed in Nepal after the old woman died. But however much we wish, we cannot change the past.

Many have asked us how we survived and what we have done. The most often asked question is where we have been

- but we can only reply that we have been here and there and in between.

Fin

(Please note this story is entirely fictional) 

Here to There and In Between - PART 4

The months ticked by as we stayed in our boat and wandered further downstream. Anya told me that we had passed through Thailand as aqua coloured water swirled around us and brilliant lanterns filled the night sky every night. We had cut across a channel of tumultuous sea and were now passing through eastern Malaysia with its thick forest jungles with mysterious animals and plants. Large foul-smelling flowers wandered past throwing their wide red faces out towards the rest of the jungle around them as big orange monkeys swung above us between the trees over the river. On occasion we got the rare sight or two of strange looking people wandering amongst the leaves in large groups some with large sticks and poles sticking out their noses.

Ever since Ashmi had left we had to fend on our own; bartering within market places was especially tough as we were only a group of girls. So we now relied on the forest and river around us for our own food and water. We were now an inseparable foursome as our lives followed the same course as the rivers we glided upon. Anya told us stories of a great land that her father had told her about in the south. It was supposed to be the largest island in the world which was filled with accommodating people. He said it was nothing like our old homes as it had lots of those boxes and buildings that touched the clouds. Anya said that he told her once that if she ever wanted to get there, she would need to fly. We all pondered this incredible feat of flight over the water and how it could be possible, filling our days with bizarre imaginings of people with wings and claws much like a bird.

****

It wasn’t until several months later that us four had found ourselves within Jakarta, Indonesia. We had long ago abandoned our little canoe as a rip formed in the bottom of it when we crossed the Indian Ocean between the islands. We had adapted ourselves to the life of the bustling city of Jakarta and were living in an abandoned block of huts towards the centre of the city. At first we assumed this was the great southern land that Anya had told us about until we set our eyes on the great metal machines within a large fenced off area; they looked like metal birds.

This was when we came to the conclusion that these were how Anya’s father explained the strange feat of people flying into the mysterious land. We fed ourselves with stolen bowls of Nasi Goreng (fried rice) and drank from dirty rainwater pipes. Every night we huddled together and created a plan of reaching that amazing land. We had so far worked out that if we sneaked onto one of the smaller metal birds, we could get ourselves out of here and into the great southern country.

We implemented that plan the next night. Finding a pair of what they call wire cutters in an abandoned workshop; we made our way to the place of metal birds. Ema and Alina were terrified and so Anya and I had to calm them down every fifteen minutes or so.

When we reached the very back fence of the area we cut open a hole wide enough for us to fit through and ran onto the wide expanse of hardened ground. Dirty and filthy as we were from living in such dirty surroundings, we blended into the black backdrop of night well.

There it is again, that darkness which is always haunting me, always following me.

Whispering together, we planned to jump on the smallest machine closest to us which was a little red metal bird with four wings arranged in pairs, one on top of the other. Creeping closer there were moments of sheer terror of being caught by the giant spotlights. Once, a spotlight passed so close to where we had frozen that the outer edge of the circle had illuminated the tip of my foot for a short amount of time.

Pulling my toes back into darkness, we once again evaded detection. Creeping faster along, we came to the side of the red bird and pried open one of the doors with our wire cutters. We all crept inside and closed that same door behind us while hoping that none would suspect the dent in it that we had made. Inside, the bird had two seats in front of various lights and buttons and then two benches behind those that faced in towards the centre of the area. Down the back of it was a small opening into a compartment filled with crates and other such oddities. Slipping into the darkness of the storage area behind, we made ourselves comfortable but undetectable amongst a large pile of crates waiting for our chance to get out of the country.

After hours of hushed whispering and whimpering in the dark someone else got into the same red bird with us and walked towards the front of it.

We held our breaths as a feminine voice jumped into the machine as well. They were both speaking in tongues that I had not heard before although Anya whispered to me that her father had told her a few words that were English and that she thought this was the language they were now speaking. My nerves did an entire 360 degree flip when I heard the female voice mention the name Nepal and began to panic that this plane would drop us off on Everest.

Yes it would be closer to home but we would not survive on Everest!

Anya and I gave quick glances between each other as the floor beneath us began to wobble and tremble and our stomachs lurched within our bodies. We were about to fly and we had no idea what to do. Suddenly flashbacks of the trapped girls that were with me in that terrible box came back to me as the darkness closed in once more around us.

“We’ll be alright,” mouthed Anya to me as she grabbed and squeezed my hand. I held onto that hand as tight as I could for the majority of that flight until we all became dizzy from the rocking of the machine and fell asleep.

(To Be Continued...)

Here to There and In Between - PART 3

A month rolled on in our little boat until one day Anya informed us that we were now in a place known as Burma as well as Myanmar. Also, that if she remembered correctly we were on the main river of Ayeyarwady. Tall orange coloured candles dotted the landscape but we were soon to find out that these were in fact magnificent temples known as Golden Stupas. The local people of Myanmar fed us Peh-hin-ye lentil soup as they listened to our story.

One day while on the river, Ema and Alina became restless and tired in the boat and after much whinging became increasingly annoying. Therefore we decided that we would have an excursion up to the top of a nearby Golden Stupa which was next to the river. So off we went and jumped out of the boat one by one and began our steep ascent up the hill.

When we got to the bottom of the steps, we were already huffing and puffing so much that we needed to sit down. After a few minutes of resting, we decided to climb.

Oh it was a majestic climb up the old sandstone bricks most of which were covered in ivy. Looking out at the views around us we saw that a thick Asian jungle stretched away in all directions; and towards the west, a great shimmering plane of water winked at us like an old friend. Of course we could see the winding river that snaked its way through Myanmar; we had now named it our vein of hope.

So as we continued to climb, the sun began its slow meandering descent towards the horizon. But by about the time we were three quarters of the way up, Ashmi, Anya and I began taking turns to carry Alina and Ema on our backs. It was at this moment in time that we began to hear soft chanting and murmuring coming from the great golden dome above us which could only mean one thing; Monks.

We slowed down and began murmuring between each other as to whether we should continue but at the same time a third party joined in on our Stupa. Sneaking up the other side to the one we were making our way on, we stopped and watched as a small group of what looked like military soldiers crept up towards the top. Speaking in a language that none of us understood, we watched as they took out ugly looking objects from their belts and they then turned their backs to us. Written in neat print on their backs was a single word; Junta. It was then that we realised that they were going to attack the monks at the top.

Everything that happened after went so quickly it seemed a blur.

The soldiers on the other side began to run hastily up to the top as Ashmi made a split second decision and put down Ema before charging up to the top as well. I then screamed at Anya to take the other two back down to the boat and get ready to depart as soon as possible. Then I sprinted off after Ashmi.

It was a race against time; Ashmi wanted to get there before the soldiers so as to warn the monks, the soldiers did not know about us but wanted to get their horrible deed over with as soon as possible and I wanted to get to Ashmi before either parties reached the top so that we could escape as soon as possible. Huffing and puffing, I struggled to keep up, jumping up stairs two at a time to keep up with Ashmi and the soldiers. We were gaining on them until I slipped on an ivy leaf and fell to my knees. With the world spinning around me I jumped back up and continued to run.

Ashmi and I reached the top first. The soldiers soon came after.

“Get out! Get out now!” screamed Ashmi at monks who just looked at us blatantly. Ashmi grabbed the nearest monk and pushed him towards one of the sides.

“We have to go NOW!”I shrieked at Ashmi in response.

Chaos ensured with everyone running around like headless chickens. It was then that the soldiers arrived. Barking quick commands between each other, they spread around the internal temple and pointed their ugly weapons at everyone in the middle. Ashmi turned around and pushed me behind a large vase behind into a small alcove hidden in the wall. He ran back off into the centre of the room and demanded to know answers as to why they were here. One brave monk attempted to push a Junta off the edge of the stupa but was shot to the ground with two quick Bang!s.

I sat there watching in horror as the men progressively went around to each monk to inspect their physique. Any deemed unfit or unworthy were shot. As this massacre played out in front of me, Ashmi remained defiant in the centre of the room. When the soldiers found that he spoke a foreign tongue a sadistic gleam came into their eyes. They drugged him then and there in front of me before placing him in a sack marked with that terrible word.

I was helpless; sitting there doing nothing as one of the most important people in my life was carried away by foreign military. The nearest monk to me noticed I was in the alcove and shuffled backwards.

“You need to get out of here, before they see you. Escape; now!” he whispered urgently to me; surprisingly in my own language.

“What are they doing to him? Why are they here?”

“They control this country. They recruit foreigners into their army faster than you can say stolen and they hate religious practices. That is why they recruit those fit into the army as well and kill the rest. You need to leave; there is no place for women in their eyes. I will look after your friend when I’m recruited. Go now.”

With tears streaming down my face I snuck out of the Eastern entrance and began to run down the steps. My heart near collapsing in my chest; I bolted down to the river. Once again all of the horrible things that had happened since that fateful night in Nepal replayed through my mind. Running helplessly at full pelt down the golden stupa I realised that what seemed like golden beacons of hope to begin with were nothing more than chambers of misery now. Falling into the boat, I told Anya that we needed to leave immediately. When she asked where Ashmi was my heart ached so hard that I passed out.

(To Be Continued...)

Here to There and In Between - PART 1

My name is Jyoti Lama, I am now 18 years old and I have a story to tell you. Some say it is a brave one; others think it was an adventure, while others yet believe I made it up. But I say it was hell. Let me tell you about my story of here to there and in between.

My feet were sore as the ice-flecked pebbles beneath them attempted to pierce the skin as I walked back to my hut.

 The wood forest nearby had nearly died out, but there was nothing we could have done as our cooking fire within our hut needed to be fuelled somehow. The solution to this problem was... well I don’t know. We would probably have had to move our house to live somewhere else than the small plateau on the majestically snow capped mountain.

With the splinter filled wood in my hands and the sun setting behind me, I crunched my way back to the gaping hole that was our door and walked inside. Mama was sleeping in the nearby corner as I stoked the central fire and adjusted her woven blankets. Our house may have been one roomed and had a dirt floor; but to me, it was home. The smoke began to curl out the holes in the roof as I heard the unmistakeable footsteps of my father coming home from the hunt. He told me from outside that he had luck that day finding several rabbits and began to skin them. I eagerly waited for my first meal of the day.

After we had eaten, I laid down and gazed at the stars that peeped through our thatched roof and thought of how magnificent Nepal was and how just a few kilometres away from our nearby village of Kodari was the magnificent Everest. ‘The stars are so beautiful tonight. I may have an empty stomach most of the time but to me that doesn’t matter. Life is life and though I have not travelled out of the village, I live with a peaceful life.’ This last thought floated through my consciousness as I drifted off to sleep.

That night was what started it all. I have no idea who they were or why they did what they did but they changed my life forever. While I was asleep, bandits of a foreign tongue crept up outside the hut. Their crunching footsteps woke me from my slumber as I sat bolt upright and looked at our door. Darkness had enveloped my home and I instantly knew something was not right. Usually you could see around you from the holes in the walls and roof and the moonlight that came through the door. But on that night all I saw was complete and utter darkness that leered at me with four harrowing globes. Eyes – that’s what they were and as soon as I had taken my first gulp of air to alert my parents, they covered my mouth with some sort of fragrant fabric. The next thing I knew I was breathing in copious amounts of fumes and struggling to keep my eyes open. Before I knew it, all was as dark as the insides of a black heart that was struggling under the influence of guilty actions to beat its pulse.

I woke up in the back of a moving platform. Juggling and bumping and jigging as the light coming from the slits in the walls flashed and sputtered. At first I thought I had fallen into the book Mama once read me and was on a flying carpet soaring through the night sky but soon the drug wore off and my mind once again came into sharp focus. As I peered around me I saw other girls around my age group either waking up or huddling in corners of the box. Swaying, I worked my way over to a girl with striking eyes and dark hair. If it wasn’t for the horror in her eyes, I would have said she was remarkably beautiful.

“E-excuse me? Where are we?” I asked with hesitation at the way her eyes were darting between me and the walls around her.

“We... we.... we are on our way to be sold.” She shakily replied as the box juddered over a large rock.

“S-s-old? What for?”

“To be slaves. We must honour our buyers- I mean husbands.”

“Husbands? I am only 15. I’m too young to marry anyone! What are we in?”

“Well you’ve got no choice, we’ve all been stolen you see. There’s no way out of it.” A sob escaped the girl as she admitted their fate. “And we are in what those filthy foreign men call an au-auto-tomo-moh-beele.” A large pot hole in the unsealed road beneath us caused the entire group of girls to be thrown into the roof and slammed back down again. Crying erupted around me as many of the younger-looking girls broke their resolve.

“Well we have to get out of here.” I said to her as we picked ourselves up. “My name is Jyoti by the way.”

“Mine’s Anya and it’s impossible to escape from this tomb!”

“Nothing is impossible,” I snappily replied as I got up shakily and placed my hands on the wall. They were made of wood which is what I was hoping for. I pried my hands in between the cracks in the walls and saw the slit of light become enlarged. “Alright,” I turned around and said to the girls, “we are all in this together. Now to get out, we all need to pull our own weight.”

“We can’t escape! They’ll find us and track us down!” screamed a terrified little girl at me. God, they’ve stolen eight year olds as well? What is this nightmare? I thought to myself as I suppress my own fear and summed up the courage to continue.

“We can at least try. Oh and my name is Jyoti. I’ll get to know yours once we get out of this hell box.” With that, I began to explain the plan that had formed in my head.

Everyone was to get their fingers in the slits of light within one wall between the wooden boards. On the count of three, I told them that they would have to pry the boards apart as best they could until the boards (hopefully) snapped off. After my little speech everyone tentatively and with a lot of swaying, took up their spots around one wall in the black box. I was in the middle and began the chant. “Ok everyone, ONE... TWO... THREE!” and with that, the wall gave an almighty creak before the girls and I ripped a large hole in the centre of it.

Light poured into the box as we saw a vast field of strange bright green leafy plants. Just before this field and running next to the box was a wide river slowly making its way South. I did not know where we were but a plan instantly came to mind. They are not going to like this. Glancing at Anya, I saw that she knew the same thought I was thinking and with a quick nod, we both made a decision. Hope had come into the eyes of all of the beaten girls as they looked at me standing in front of them.

“Alright,” I said, “I have an idea but you are not going to like it. We have to jump out of that hole and fall into the water. That way, we’ll escape and land safely as well.” There were different reactions between the girls. The younger ones looked mortified and the older ones looked fierce and confident. Although I appeared to be younger than a few of the older girls, it seemed that I had taken leadership of this group.

“It’s the only way,” Anya said beside me, “we can escape and we WILL escape girls!” Suddenly, with a stroke of sudden confidence, Anya turned to me and declared that she would go first so as to demonstrate it was safe. A worried look must have passed my face for she soon scowled at me. “I am going; you can’t stop me. I will never forgive myself if I don’t do this now.” Then with a fierce look of determination at me and a wandering look of reassurance at the rest of the girls; Anya jumped.

It was like watching a graceful fish jump and dive back into the aquamarine depths it came from as Anya jumped from the hole and landed in a perfect dive within the water. Screams came from the girls behind me as I sat in awe of her escape. I turned and saw the angry face of a driver peering into the back of the box through a previously hidden window. With a foreign tongue he screamed at us. The foreigners had seen Anya escape.

The box began to swerve and tilt as the men tried to veer away from the river. The girls in the back fell the floor with the violent tilting of the machine. An oncoming box or whatever-they-were-called forced ours to dart closer to the river. I took the chance and picked up the two unsuspecting eight year olds and threw them out the hole and into the river. At least their safe now, I thought to myself as the box once again moved away from the river.

“EVERYONE MOVE TO THE HOLE-SIDE OF THE BOX!” I screamed as the floor threw us up against the roof again, “when we next go to the river, JUMP!” The girls then scrambled over to the left-hand side of the floor causing it to tilt that way. As the path the box was travelling on became thinner, the river wound itself closer. The girl behind me panicked and ran back to the other side of the box as the one in front jumped with a scream. She had grabbed onto me in her delirium and pulled me out with her. Two SLAP!s against the water told me that we had both made it but that no others had. 

As soon as I got my water-wings I looked up and saw that our box had travelled a little further down the river and had suddenly turned an abrupt right down a side path. A sickening feeling filled my stomach as I realised that the rest of the girls had no longer any soft landing to place their hopes of escape on. They were headed for the markets and there was nothing I could do about them. They would have to fend for themselves.

(To Be Continued...)

Was it Revenge?

Revenge is bliss.

That’s right, I said it. The sweet succulent taste of revenge is relishing. It over powers your senses until you’re eyes are clouded with a strange sense of peace which numbs the pain of the rage inside. Almost like some sort of natural drug. Endorphins I think they’re called. Whatever. He killed my sister. He stole her away from me. He ruined our family. Ripped apart, torn to shreds, left in tatters; that’s what he did.

So the rage that crept silently at times throughout my soul yet at others raged like a wild bull has finally been suppressed; by this sweet, sweet revenge.

Luring him to the cliff was the easy part. I used bait he couldn’t resist; money. Oh how money drives him mad, like a lunatic really. That’s the whole reason why he stabbed a raging silver blade deep into the heart of my sister. She was being careful; avoiding him on sneaking trains, desperately seeking help from co-workers and staying up all through the long nights just to make sure she was safe.

You see her boss originally was nice; kind, caring, even soothing for her usual nerves. She thought she was safe and sound within her workplace. Things got ugly however as he got to know her and her mocking money. Stalking is too kind a word for the situation she got into; more like obsessive compulsive life control. Quitting wasn’t an option, she was part of a binding contract and lawyers wouldn’t touch it. However she never told anyone about it; I only found out near the end; when it was too late.

So late one night, he arrived at her house knocking and banging upon the door like a wild beast let out from the local zoo. She cried and desperately ran for sanctuary within the deepest recesses of the house. He broke through a window and claimed he was there for payment. Holding her breath, not a sound was made throughout the house except the awkwardly concise movements of a drunken man slurring his way through the house. Her screams were heard and ignored by the neighbours next door as the man came upon her and slew her with a knife. Nobody believed the story when I repeated it to others so the murderer was left to go free.

So when the man in blue finally succumbed to my temptations, I violently threw his body of the cliff and watched it fall like a ragdoll upon the rocks below. The bitter sweet taste of revenge was finally mine.

Strange clothing bonds my arms to my sides as I now sit alone. Yet as I sit here in this strange room covered in white, I think to myself; what was my sister’s name? Why did no one believe me? Did I even have a sister?

(Crime Short Story)

The Cell of Ice

PRELUDE

Day ??? Month ??? 1788,

The cold seeps in through the walls of this cell like living tendrils of death that stroke my insides with icicles. Stone. That's all I can see around me. The cold life-sucking stone stealing my happiness and life. The scratches upon the walls around me count the days I've been stuck in here, however the dull blue glow of the cell has reduced my eyesight to nothing more than 10 centimetres forward and so those pitiful scratches mean nothing to me. My only current measurement of time here is the strange new short beard that clings to my face and is clumped together in spikes of icicles. It's just another reminder of my separation from society and my life before the arrest. I fear that I look like some nightmarish vision of Jack Frost waiting to come out from my lair. But alas - will I come out? I believe not as the guards have left long ago. For weeks I believe I have been the only one here, surviving on licking the water of icicles and killing the rats that run through. This predicament in which I am in is all for nought as I did not even commit a crime. All I did was write - of course I underestimated the power of my words but it was not me that turned them into what they are today. I now understand that the written word is to be used far more carefully than any other weapon in the world for though one word may lead you down the path of happiness and prosperity - another may lead you here. Here being the eternal prison of Hell - only cold and harsher upon the vitals. So as anoth--

Sounds, I hear something. Is it that I have finally gone mad? For I thin--

Voices, whispered voices. Coming closer, nearing the bars of my cell. They mus--

Chains rattling, clinking moving closer, closer, closer--

They're upon me like the plague, is this the end? They--

The Diary of Henry Walker ended here before several pages of a series of hurried symbols and scribbles. There is suspect of a second diary under a different name. Only time will tell whether his story will arise...

A Scene Upon the Knoll

The cool breeze plays across my face and hair as the sun warms my body. The old creaking oak behind me sways and swishes in time to the symphony of birds playing together in sky above me. Even the leaves share secrets with each other as they slowly dwindle down towards the ground at my feet. Oh the feeling of autumn, how it plays through every glade in the land like a silent page delivering the news of winter across the kingdom. It simply cannot be defined as anything but glorious now that the suppressive heat has passed by and we can relax against the fear of heat stroke. Of course, there is always the chance that autumn brings with it a certain silliness such as falling in creeks, slipping on leaves or catching influenza even before the nights freeze with frost. Right now I can currently see a canidate for a case of autumn silliness as a little boy dances across the stones scattered throughout the bubbling brook just down the grassy slope from me. He giggles with delight before - ah yes, there it is - slipping on a rather mossy rock and falling face first into the water. Well at least his older sister is there to mop him up and take him home. So the glorious day continues as I sit here rather like a lump upon the landscape and just be carried off with all the activities and festivities around me. But as I feel the honey warmed sun now caressing my face, my eyes cannot but droop with the laziness that is carried by the autumn breeze. Alas I slowly drifted off into a world ruled by the season of autumn in which every creature is happy and content with their lives...

The Carving

But all was not right in the house of the Caddys. Soft whisperings could be heard when the house was under the spell of slumber, the walls moved and the paintings sighed as one when none of the household watched. Some believed the house was a common meeting point for the spirits of the long gone as they came from different time periods and whispered secrets to one another. A hushed scream muffled by a soft cry from another would be heart late at night if one listened closely. All the while the house was sleeping...

Babies and small infants were not permitted within the house's walls as everytime they crossed the threshold, they immediately began crying and calling for their family. This did not bother the Caddys as they were people who seldom wished to be bothered. They would potter around the house during a dull winter's day muttering seemingly to themselves as they went about peculiar businesses. One clanging pots and pans, another hugging the moth eaten hallway carpet and a third walking in circles rasping tales of woe to the ceiling. The surrounding neighbourhood thought this family as very very odd. So odd as to be escaped inhabitents of an insane asylum seeking refuge in an innocent part of the country.

The house itself was somewhat of a piece of outdated terror. Marked by the sagging wooden turret in the northern corner of the mansion, the entire structure looked as if a grotesque 3-year old had mashed the individual sections together into a large rambling moldy construction worthy of a good bulldoze. However it was not the mansion that inspired terror into the indivduals who looked upon it, it was instead the large carved face imposed upon the front wooden door of the house that glared at passersby with accusing eyes...

(Gothic Beginning)

The Cruel Forest

What a cruel forest. The area is devoid of life. Small eddies of wind carry the star-shaped leaves to the ground in a spiralling motion. It is as if a plague of fire runs through the forest as flashing splashes of orange, yellow, red and brown flow down around me. Some say this forest tells stories, others say it deceives those that speak to it and all believe it tries to lure its prey in before sending them on a journey of never-ending twists and turns between the countless trunks. They say that if you listen really closely to the swirling patterns of wind and leaves, you can hear the cry of past victims. The air was still warm from the receding summer, the day the forest took me. Ever since, the leaves are the only beings that have kept me company as they crackle under my shoes. They tease me with stories of escape and freedom before the cool breeze picks them up and takes them away. It is indeed a very cruel forest.

(Segment)

The Winter's Calling

I hurried off the train that had taken me to this place. Isolated. Lonely. That’s how I wanted it. The rhythmic dripping of the icicles that hung precariously from the passing lampposts soothed my beating heart. However, the ever increasing layers of clothing were failing to prevent the bitter cold from kissing my lungs. Free. Alive. I had done it. However the comfort of this thought did not keep my mind warm for long as the foreboding guilt of all of my past actions stealthily slid through my skull and froze it solid. This added to the frozen throbbing in my ears and toes made me feel as if I was one of the snowmen that greeted me on my way from the station. Frozen. Immobile. The crunching snow under my feet made me realize the pace that I was walking at. I stopped and took in the smell of sharp smoke that was the result of several indoor fires in the neighbourhood. But as I stood there, the whispers of Jack Frost reminded me that a blizzard was coming and that I was winter’s calling.

(Segment)