Giri - FGC #21

She had long strong fingers. They probed deeply into Candice’s lower back, exploring the knotted muscles, pressing exquisitely into painful areas before releasing, allowing pure blissful relaxation. Candice wasn’t sure if it felt so good simply because it wasn’t hurting any longer.

“You’re new.” A statement not a question.

The probing faltered momentarily, the touch lighter for a second.

“I’ve been away for a while.” The digging continued.

Candice rolled onto her side and caught the hand before it could withdraw. Her towel slipped revealing a breast. Both women drew a breath and regarded one another. 

Candice slowly smiled and released the hand. She sat up and pulled her towel up to cover bare flesh. “Away huh? Must have been some holiday. What’s your name?”

“Roz” she stumbled.

“I’ve had enough today. Make sure you are free this time tomorrow. I’ll be asking for you.”

Roz lowered her eyes, the flush rising to her cheeks. There was a time, she’d never have given the time of day to a woman like this. “Thanks Mrs Haynes. I’ll be outside if you need me.”

Candice swung her legs off the massage table and stood naked, not even attempting to reach for her robe.”That a promise?”

Roz closed the door behind her, clenching her fists and biting a lip.  Toya looked up from her magazine. “Is she ready for her manicure yet?” Roz nodded. “I’m going to clock off. She was my last client.” Toya picked up her kit. “Suit yourself. I’ll be about 20 mins if you want to get a drink?” Roz shook her head and grabbed her back before heading out through the glass doors.

XXXXXXX

Roz feigned interest in the abstract art displayed in the hotel foyer, acutely aware her pale purple tunic uniform stood out in stark contrast to the whispering silks and luxurious furs which floated past. She was angry at herself for wanting to see Candice again, even if it was from afar. A warm, spicy presence slid up behind her.

“Roslyn? Rose? Rosetta? I think you may be right. Roz suits you best.” Candice regarded her through long lashes.

“Mrs Haynes; I -” Roz’s heart hammered. she licked her dry lips as her eyes fixated on Candices glossy red pout.

“Put this jacket on. I’m buying you a drink.”

Sitting down in the corner of the bar, Roz toyed with her softdrink. Candice sipped her cocktail, her hand finding Roz’s knee. Tenderly she traced a circle on the top. Roz lent across to Candice , hissing, “You don’t think I don’t know what you are trying to do?  Play out your lesbian fantasy with something you can pick up and throw away like garbage?  Then you can run on back to your sugar daddy or whoever the fuck pays your bills. I am not that person, so get your hands away from me and don’t come back to the salon.”

Candice pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Now see thats where you are wrong. We are both very much the same. Trapped in a place neither of us wanted or dreamt about. Forced to play the parts of people we don’t like. Both of us are meant of better things. Away from here. And I will be back. You know you want to see me again.”

Roz caught her breath as she stared at Candice. Her body, now tightly wrapped in the latest fashions, was now twice as desirable as it was when she was naked on her massage table. “You got the wrong girl. I need to leave. If I get caught here, talking to you -  I’ll get fired.” Roz struggled to stand.

Candice put her hand on Roz’s. “Rose Lyn Ferrier. 27 years old. Jailed for 5 years for the Chiveld Jewellery Hoist. Out after 2 years for good behaviour. Self professed lesbian and known accomplice to Sugar Lil. Accused, but never sentenced for countless other artwork and jewellery robberies across the state.” She squeezed the cold hand. “ Oh, I think I have the right girl.”

Slumping into her seat, Roz shook her head. “So much for the frigging slate being wiped clean after you get out.”

“Don’t look behind you, but I’m being followed right now. My husband controls everything I do, where I go, every moment of my life. He thinks I am having an affair.” Candice raised her empty glass to the bartender to signal another round. “Idiot doesn’t realise I‘ve been taking the pill for months. He’s desperate to get me banged up, breeding, a house full of kids.” Candice’s eyes suddenly welled, her bravado crumbling,” I can’t do  it. I know thats what most women want but its not me. I want to choose.”

“Mrs Haynes, its been very nice sitting with you, but I can’t see what I have to do with any of this.” Rozs' eyes slid around the bar. Two men in suits sat with near full drinks in front of them. Her shoulders sagged. “Can’t you just say something? He’s your husband - I mean its the 21st century for Christ sake its not like you are a 50’s housebound bride.”

Taking a swig from her newly deposited drink, Candice shook her head. “He’s THE Gerrard Haynes.”

Roz stared. “Millionaire type, Gerrad Haynes? You guys live the high life. What are you doing here?”

“Some dumb conference he is opening and then we are stuck here for a fortnight while he does the rounds at the schools and colleges. I’d trade it in a second. But I can’t leave. I got no family, no money, nowhere to go. Just him.”

Opening her jacket so Candice could see her uniform, Roz smiled, “Look at me, learn a trade - get some dummy papers, its not the highlife, but its a life. One I chose. You could do that.”

“Roz, its no accident I walked into your salon. I did my research. I knew you’d be the one to help me get out. Get papers, whatever. Please, get me out and away from him.”

“Well, You need a heap of money for what you are asking. Need time to plan things. But, I don’t do any of that any more. I am dead to my old life. I’ve made a new start.”

“Wait Roz. Its not just about me. My husband - he’s not a good person. You know he’s not all that clean?”

“Not really that interested in your bedroom life.”

“He is made out to be this philanthropist doing all this charity stuff. He rips them off. The Charity, the people who sign up. All those orphans who are supposed to have money sent to them, to improve those orphanages never get a cent. You remember those places don’t you Roz? Cold showers,  thin blankets, no food.”

Roz shuddered recalling the beatings, solitary confinement and endless chores she suffered at the hands of the nuns.

Candice traced a pattern on the table from the condensation dripping off her drink. “What he is doing isn’t right. Those kids deserve better. You deserve better. You could help other kids have a better life.  I need your help to expose him.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m not going back to the slammer. The girls in there - make me look like a marshmallow. I’m straight now.” She grinned half heartedly - “You know what I mean.”

Candice stood. “Think it over. Help me, help the kids. Don't you wish someone had done it for you? Its your duty to isn't in? Bring down one bastard who deserves everything he gets.” She traced a heart on Roz’s hand before gliding out of the bar.

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The next week overflowed with secret trysts; Candice always careful with meeting places and times. She didn’t mention the orphanages or her husband during their love making. For the first time, Roz felt she had connected with someone who was kind, loving and considerate. She fought the urge to be the first to suggest they leave their current lives together to build new ones. At night, she schemed and calculated how to make it - them - work.

A week since they met, the pair lay entwined across a king sized bed. Roz’s lips tingled as a flicker of a tongue crossed over lips. Candice’s breath sweet, musky warm air between them, filled her with renewed desire.

“We could just stay like this - you and me. Discrete.” Roz refused to look at Candice, fearful of what her face might reveal after her suggestion. 

Candice stroked her head. “I wish we could. But Gerrard wants me to have a baby. Once I do, nothing will be possible or the same. Please Roz. I can’t. I can’t let him touch me any more, not after you.” tears welled and grew in her eyes. “The thought of a creature growing inside me, clawing to get out, ripping me apart and then suckling mewling and helpless. I can’t” 

Roz pushed a stray hair out of her face, catching the tear on her finger. “What can we do then?”

Candice sat up. “He is exchanges a work of art for a replicas and then donates them to Art Galleries. Pays off the authorities who have signed to say its real.” 

“And the real ones are ?”

“Rolled up and sold to a private collector.”

“But how is this going to help us?” 

“Its time to expose him and run. He has a Van Gough to auction off for the Children's Fund. We can take the real one with us. We may be poor and got rotten jobs in some hillbilly town, but we will have each other. Meanwhile he will have alot of explaining to do from the authorities, and the collector. All we need to do is to tip off the authorities, cause a  ruckus, it will give us the space to get out.”

Roz rolled onto her stomach. “This ruckus needs to be high profile. Mr Haynes - he is top end of the strip.” 

Candice clicked her fingers “ The strip - He is doing some promo for the Childrens Charity in two days on the Glitter Strip where the painting is going to be displayed. Everyone who is anyone will be there.”

“So whats your plan Candice - neither of us are computer savy enough to hack into his presentation?”

Candice shrieked in laughter - “As if anyone could do that in the first place.”

“How about doing some sort of text message at same time to give everyone there the info about his underhand dealings?”

“You watch too many movies. What we will do is the simplest thing. Start a rumour about the authenticity by word of mouth. I know some gossips who can’t keep their mouth shut. Once one of the art critics takes a good look at the painting, and has a questioning look, he will want to leave. We never go in the same car - Michael will probably chauffeur me we can meet up and take off from there - he won’t miss me for at least 12 hours.”

Roz frowned. “This is dangerous ground we are going into. There is no turning back. Trust no-one till we are thousands of miles away, with new haircuts and identities. This is the real deal - we aren’t in some sort of action movie.  Listen, if I get caught, I’m straight back into the slammer. This time no chance of parole. I can’t blow it. I’m not going back for anything.”  

“I know you want out as much as I do. We do this, and we are both free.” Candice traced a finger down Roz’s arm picking out the tribal tattoo entwining her bicep. It twisted around kanji. She pressed it. "Hmm. 'giri'  Seems we have a duty to do this. We will be together forever afterwards.”

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In the alleyway outside the convention centre, laughter and music lilted their way around the two figures hunched in the shadows.  Roz handed Candice a small pack of paperwork and cards. “Our new I.D’s; untraceable and near perfect.”

Candice unrolled a small canvas sheet. The women stared at it. 
“Its alot smaller than I’d imagined.”

“Its worth how much?”

Candice snorted and rolled it up again. “Beauty and art is in the beholders eye. Here, you keep a hold of it.” She slid the I.D’s into a handbag and swung it over her shoulder. “Lets get out of here.”

Two dark suited men sprang from the dumpster and hoisted Roz by the arms, slamming her against the wall. One of them flashed a police badge while the other grabbed the artwork from her trembling hands.

“Sorry darlin. Every girl for herself. Once a thief, always a thief.”

Candice stepped gracefully into a sleek MBW Z4 and slid on a pair of sunglasses. “Trust no-one. Duty means shit.”

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This was written in response to Write Anything's Form and Genre Challenge ,  FGC #21 Noir Submission

Words - 2000

This was also submitted to Friday Flash  ( though technically its a bit long for a flash.)

Seeking Hamish

A yellowed news sheet lazily meandered its way along uneven cobblestones. It was quickly whisked into a willynilly, disintegrating as the air around it zapped with energy. Tiny blue snakes linked and the dissipating lines raced around the cobblestones evaporating as quickly as they had appeared.

A lithe figure shimmered into the scene. She glanced down at her figure hugging outfit and made an exasperated throaty noise before flickering a hand over the opposite wrist. The material on her outfit blurred momentarily and within a blink, she stood garbed in the fashionable gown of Victorian London. Selenes hazel eyes shifted up and down the street, lingering momentarily over the greened Square and its promenading couples. She frowned, reading the screen details on her wrist.  “Allsop Place. He should be here. I can feel him even without this stupid thing.”

She felt a vague push of energy to one side and smiled. “Gotcha. Though this Augmentors readings are a bit off.” She tapped the screen and then looked down at her tightly laced boots. “Hope I don’t need to walk too far in these.”

“Selene what a pleasure. I see you got my call.”

Thick skirts whirled as Selene spun to face the speaker. Her heart hammered as her face shot red with confusion and anger.

“How did you….? Hamish, whats going on?  Our repel fields aren’t working. There is no way you and I should be able to stand so close to one another.”

Hamish taunted her with a slow lopsided smile and put his fingers to his lips. With a slight jerk of his head he indicated she aught to follow him. 

Selene crossed her arms and watched take a few strides and placed on foot on a set of stone stairs.

“What do you want Hamish? By rights, I shouldn’t even be here. This is Dianas territory. My jurisdiction starts in the Twentieth Century.”

He beckoned her with an outstretched hand.  “Symantics Selene; whats a few decades between friends? Come up to my office. Its not seemly for a young lady to stand around unchaperoned.”

Selene trudged after Hamish, graciously allowing him to open the door.  He hung his overcoat and strange hat on a hall cabinet and knocked on a door to the side.  “Mrs Hudson, I have a visitor. We’ll take tea in the front room if you please.”

Continuing the old world charm he waved Selene up the stairs and opened his office rooms door at the top of the landing. Selene wrinkled her nose and shivered. The darkened room was crammed with taxidermic animals, every table top overflowing with gadgets and papers. Finding a space near the marble fireplace, she accidentally knocked the coal scuttle. As it rattled over, she stared at the contents and shook her head at the cigars tucked up inside. Continuing her assessment as Hamish threw open the curtains, she noted bundles of unanswered mail tied with string on the couch and piles of books leaning at precarious angles about the room. A loud snore from the overstuffed couch at the far end of the room startled her and she frowned as she looked at Hamish.

Hamish waved vaguely towards him. “Don’t mind Arthur. He is still sleeping off last nights revelries…”

She picked her way over to him and traced her augmenter over his slumbering form; fher brow wrinkling as she read the screen. “Cocaine?”

A puff of dust billowed as Hamish shifted a badger from a seat and onto the carpet. “Its legal in Victorian England. Besides, everyone in high society is doing it.”

“Some things don’t change through the ages I suppose.”

Mrs Hudson masterfully traversed the maze and set afternoon tea onto the table. She coldly surveyed Selene before retreating and stomping downstairs.

“I’m not here for tea, Hamish. What is so important that you are willing to upset the time continuum just to talk to me?”

“I don’t go by that name here.”

“Since I’m not going to be here long enough to use it, I don’t care what you call yourself.”

Selene swept her fingers across the augmentor and began to program in her return co-ordinates.

The room lay silent bar tinkling of his spoon stirring tea. “Funny to see the great Selene using technology. Looks like the twentieth century made you soft. Just when you are going to need all your talents too.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“We are all being hunted down. Those things,” as he pointed to her wrist, “keep a track of our whereabouts.” 

“Hunted down?”

His spoon tapped twice as Hamish then lay it to one side. “Haven’t you noticed? Where are the Lost?”

“Now you are being deliberately tiresome. The Lost are lost.. thats why they are called that.”

“Never thought about who they were?  Why they would suddenly disappear from their time posts?  Dedicated Time Wardens eons old, suddenly decide to go wandering? To give up their stature their powers? Who called them ‘The Lost’ in the first place? ”

“Hamish - or whoever you are here, I have no idea what you are trying to tell me.”

“The Lost are men. Every one of them. There is only Johnathon and I left now.”

Selene slapped the couch arm and pointed at him “What about Jack? He’s safely in his Negative TIme Loop not far from here.”

Hamish took a long sip of tea. “Perhaps. Have you checked on him lately? The Ripper suddenly disappeared baffling the Law for decades afterwards.”

“What about Devereux?”

“Lost”

Selene puffed her cheeks, “Well, he's no loss to our kind.  That evil cane of his. His God Complex. A pity the Keeper can’t do something about him. Pity she doesn't get involved; especially with Time Wardens like him.”

“So you think.”

“Are you going to continue spinning tales or tell me what this is all about?”

“Its so elementary Selene and you can’t see it.”

“I’m still confused as to why we can be in the same space as one another. It goes against the laws of TIme.”

He flapped open his jacket, revealing a crude metallic disk. “This boosts the cloaking device. It also cancels the affect we have on each other, so we can have this charming conversation face to face rather than through the augmentors. Just one of the little things I have been working on here.”

Selene stared at it. “In spite of myself I have to say I am impressed.”

Hamish stood and extended a hand, inviting her to sit at the table. stood. “Now its just our own magnetism that draws us close.”

“Oh please, just when I was warming to you. You disgust me.”

“Making a habit of that Selene?”

“What?”

“Rejecting us.”

“If by ‘us’, you mean you and your brother - good riddance to both of you.”

“You don’t mean that Selene. Not after everything we have been through.”

“Listen, I don’t care if you live in this disgusting flat forever. In fact why don’t I do everyone a favour and push you into a Negative Time Loop of 1 hour here for the rest of eternity?No-one is likely to come and save you. Not even the Keeper.”

“Of that I have no doubt. But she’ll find me Selene, sooner than you think. It doesn’t matter what I do now. My time draws near. None of us can escape her. Still, I suppose I can try another unassisted jump, try and hide for another century or so.”

Selene shivered again. “Did you feel that?”

Hamish stood and nodded. “A time crack and close. I’ll slip through that and see where it takes me.”

“What will you do with Arthur?”  She picked up one of his calling cards which lay strewn on the floor beside the couch and traced the elaborately scrolled name with a finger.

Hamish glanced back at him as he reached the door. “He’ll forget me and just dream exciting dreams. Then wake. Maybe he’ll write them down; be a famous author retelling some of our adventures.”

Selene snorted. “I doubt it. Theres no writers of any note by the name of Doyle or Conan from this time zone, Though,” as she tapped her chin with the card,  “I think in late 20th Century, Schwarzenegger made a movie about someone called Conan. He might have made it after all? Popular Culture was never my forte.”

“Hamish opened the door. “Ladies first.”

“I’ll jump from here and don’t worry, I won’t use Augmentor. Oh, what did you say you called yourself now?”

“Holmes, Sherlock Holmes.”

Selene giggled despite the brevity of the moment. “Thats the stupidest name I’m ever likely to not remember!”

His pierced stare chilled her into silence.

“Watch yourself Selene. Trust no-one. Its the end of times.”

“Save it. I’ve heard that throughout human history.”

“Didn’t say it was for humans. Its Our End. The End of TIme Wardens.”

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Prompt - The theme of this weeks story is " Your Main Character is a time traveller. He/She arrives at a destination but not all is as expected…. "


It provides a link into the world of Choose Your Online Adventures first Series ( due for release in Dec 2010)

Story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash  via Twitter.

To site Stambovsky v. Ackley

Tessa yawned and looked longingly out at the long thick grass growing in the paddocks beyond the doorway she was standing in.  Her parents were intently looking at the fireplace the real estate agent was showing them.  Her stiff boots pinched her feet and she wished she were able to pull off the hot sweater her mother had insisted she wear that day. 

“You’ll be sorry when the wind turns icy cold and you don’t have it.”  Her mother had her back to her then, as she did now, but Tessa could tell her lips were pursed as tight as a cats wotsit. A tiny giggle threatened to escape her lips as Tessa thought of her mothers lips and puffed the hem of her sweater to drive air up underneath to relieve the heat. She was bored after looking at half a dozen houses that day and wished her parents would just say yes to one of them so they would have somewhere to move into soon.  Living out of her grandmothers modest semi detached was beginning to sour relationships between all concerned. 

This house was the best they had seen as far as Tessa was concerned. She longed to pull off her clothes and run through the grass; flopping into the thickest part and laying on her back to look at the fluffy clouds as they passed overhead. She sniggered imagining the look her mother would give her when she discovered the naked lass.

“And was this home originally built here?”  her mother enquired.

“Not at all. You probably noticed that the stumps are fairly new. This was a farm house on an orchard a few miles up the road, but moved her in the ‘40s. Its had a number of owners in that time and as you can see, have all put their mark on the decorating. What this place needs is a family who want to make it their home.” The smooth suit oozed its gleeful marketing pitch.

Bradley Johnston looked over his notes again and pulled his glasses from his face rubbing the bridge of his nose intently. The heat and the pressure of having to find appropriate accommodation was beginning to wear him down . “So tell me again. Why is this place, with its 10 acres in semi rural farmland; close, but not too close to all the amenities of a town, clean, tidy and by all looks of things, not in need of a major renovation; so .. cheap?”

The sharp suited real estate agent shifted his weight uncomfortably and carefully avoided looking at the couple. “Truth of the matter is, that the current owners never felt at home here. Never really settled. She wanted to find somewhere with more facilities.  City folk is my guessing, too good for the countrylife and people. Not saying you folk are like that of course.”  Maria Johnston smiled warmly and assured him otherwise. “If you’d like to follow me upstairs, I’ll show you the bedrooms.”

The summer wildflowers waved in the breeze amongst the long grasses. Their molten colours fluttering as their perfume wafted into the house. All beckoning Tessa to run outside and join them. Tessa wiggled her toes inside her boots and wondered if mother would miss her for a few moments. A quick movement in the grass caught her immediate attention. A slender teenage girl swung her arms as she waded through the grass; stopped and stared up at Tessa. Before she could wave or cry out to her, the girl twirled and bolted, her long plats flying behind her as a a wily wily stirred up the grass behind her; obscuring her exit point.

“Tessa, come and look at the bedrooms!”

Tessa started up the stairs, trailing her hand along the smoothed wooden hand rail and wondered how many others had done just the same over the years. The front door closed quietly; the wind dropped and the house paused. 

It was dark on the landing; but Tessa could hear broken murmurings of conversation from one of the rooms. Her fathers strong voice was negotiating a price with the Real Estate Agent who seemed keen to close the deal quickly.  Glad to at last have a permanent home, Tessa pushed her had against the wooden door to let herself in to what she assumed would be her room.

The room was small and dark, the density of the air sent a shiver up her back. Tessa bumped her leg against the bed as she crossed the floor to open the curtains and screamed as a mans face loomed close to the glass. She stepped backwards, overbalanced and fell backwards onto the bed, landing abruptly onto a sleeping form.  The clean shaven man pulled a short barrelled eight gauge shot gun to his shoulder and fired twice through the window. Glass shards exploded throughout the room, leaving the gaping jagged smile of the remains, jutting dangerously below the mans tear streaked face. 

Tessa scrambled atop the bed and pulled the bed clothes from the still figure. The teenage girl from the fields lay bleeding over her white sheets. The plats tangled now in blood. Tinkling of glass alerted Tessa that the man was now climbing through the window with his gun. Tessas heart thumped out of her chest as she fell out of bed and tried to reach the door. The man stepped past her and knelt beside the bleeding girl; weeping and smoothing her fringe. He carefully reloaded his shot gun, placed it under his chin and squeezed the trigger. As his body hit the floor beside the bed, the door opened and two pyjamaed figures burst in.

Tessa crawled out of the room, screaming and crying for her parents. In her haste to escape, she slid down the stairs and landed with a heavy bump at the bottom. Bradley was the first at her side and picked her up gently, taking her into the kitchen area, placing her onto the large country table. Tessas eyes opened to a squint.

“Is she hurt?  Did she break something? Tessa, are you alright?” Her mothers concerned face loomed dangerously close to hers. The mouth pursed as tight as she’d ever seen it.

Tessa griped her father and began to sob. “Upstairs Daddy. Didn’t you hear it? They’re both dead. I saw it.”

“Upstairs?  Whose dead?”

“The gun. Didn’t you hear the gun? He killed her and he killed himself.”

“Tessa, There’s no-one upstairs. We’ve just been around everything. Theres no gun. either.”

“But Daddy. The man with the gun. He shot her. I was there. Didn’t you hear me screaming, didn’t you hear the gun?”

Bradley cupped his large hands over her forehead and traced his fingers down her face, wiping her tears away.  “ Tess, all we heard was you falling down the stairs and you crying. Thats all.”

“Would you like me to get an ambulance?”  A mobile phone was produced and eager well meaning eyes watched Tessa sobbing on the table. The sharp suit seemed a little crumpled now, lines softening and starch fading. 

“I’m ok. Just fell. But the girl. The man. They’re dead.” Tessa sat up and pointed up the stairs.

The Real Estate Agent flicked his phone shut, fluidly popping it into his shirt pocket. The door to the pantry closed quietly. “ Tessa, there’s nothing you can do for them.”

Bradley searched the face of his pursed lipped wife to the pale, frighted one of his daughter. “What the hell is going on here?”

‘I’ve not disclosed entirely what the house and land encompasses.”

“Meaning?” Tessas mothers eyebrows pursed, threatening to collide with one another.

“The house was moved in the ‘40s. Away from an orchard a few miles up.”

“You told us that.”

“Reason it was moved was the family sold up. Moved away. Couldn’t bear the guilt, the looks from other folks.”

“Go on. Still doesn’t explain all of this.”

“It was normal during war that swaggies and homeless or out of work men travelled about and worked for no wages, collecting only food and board and them would move on after a few weeks. One such young man came to that orchard. After a while instead of moving on, he stayed on with the promise that he may marry the eldest daughter at the end of the war. From all accounts they were in love. Old Mr Peterson worked that lad hard and long hours.  When the war ended Old Peterson told that lad he  did not have permission to marry his daughter and he tried to pay the lad off and to tell him to be on his way. The lad got hold of a shot gun one night; climbs up to her window  and shot her while she was in bed. He climbed in and then shot himself. Peterson and his wife and kids sold up soon after that. The house was empty for years until it was moved here. You’ll see from the deeds its been bought and sold more times that a tramp on a Saturday night.”

“Why?  What happens?”

“The girl. She shuts doors, closes windows and is seen running. Can’t say I’ve ever heard of someone like Tessa who sees the whole scene, but pretty much someone in the fairly hears gunshots or screams most weeks. Well - that is until they are sick of it and sell up.”

“So the house comes with a ghost. Is that what you are saying?”

“Bon a fide. Just ask your daughter.”

“I’d expect a considerable discount on that asking price.  Aren't you aware of Stambovsky v. Ackley? Where is the contract?  I’ll adjust it now.” The suit smartened up a little and pulled out the manila folder holding the contract. A pen materialised in his hand and clicked open.

Tessa and her mother mirrored an expression which left Bradley in no doubt to its meaning; but left him stifling a giggle as he thought about cats.

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Story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter.


 "A child walks in to a resident haunted house and is transported to another time."

Hideaway

Prompt: . A woman whose husband is killed during a tour of duty decides to turn her home into a boarding house.

This story has been removed to be redrafted and polished for competitions/ publication.  Wish me luck!

Virtual Invasion

Prompt: Your story involves an invasion of privacy.

This story has been removed for further editing and refining.. Its been submitted to a competition and perhaps will appear in an Anthology...

thanks for popping by when it WAS up.. and leaving your comments..

wish me luck!

Tzigane

Prompt: Four college bandmates who haven’t seen each other in years travel back to their former campus for a reunion.

Authors Note: I have taken liberties with this prompt as certain characters from my Rromani storyline have been waiting patiently to be allowed their space, but have now demanded to be heard. The prompt is held with my story in essence.

For stories which link before these events

A Lost Name

The last Safe Gathering

These characters will collide on a few occasions with those from Captain Juan.

Tired legs trudged over the rock strewn road. The horses smelt it before they saw it. Over the crest of the hill, the travelers stopped momentarily to gaze at the sprawling town in front of them. The river they had been following, snaked around the walls, widened, allowing for the port and jetties finally plunging into the sea.

“Seems so much bigger than I remember.” Victor grunted, wiping his brow and leaning on the cart.

Nelu threw a waterskin down to him. “Always is when you’ve been away as long as you have.”

“We’ll not do anyone good by standing here gawking. Lets find the others and let the games begin.”

Newly hewn stone guard gates stood in place protecting the entrance into the markets. Bored guards lounged on their spears. One picked his teeth with a dagger whilst another leered at the women as they struggled hauling their goods through the gates.

Gitano kept his eyes to the ground ahead of him and followed the cart. Although they had stripped their caravans of all insignia and donned their plainest clothes, the troope still looked Rromani. However, with the Spanish court legislation ordering the expulsion of all travelers, cities along the main routes were populated with those in hiding; so theirs was not the only strange caravan to pass through the gates in the last month. One of the guards shifted his weight, the clinking of his weapons sending a shot of adrenaline through Gitanos system. He felt the pressure of his throwing knives against his calves and readied his tingling hands to engage them; if only to allow confusion and time for the younger ones to escape.

The guard hawked and spat at the ground in front of Gitanos foot, the mucusy glob coagulating with the dust on the cobbles. Gitano looked up through his eyelashes at the guard. A tidy beard and stylized moustache atop the sneering lip. Defiantly Spanish. He could take him with a single dagger and the other guard wouldn’t even see it.
“Keep your eyes down and keep walking lad. Don’t rise to it. We don’t want trouble.”
Victors stubbly chin brushed Gitanos cheek as he whispered his advice and kept walking.

After Margarinas prophesy at the Lovers Gathering in February, fear had gripped each tribe. No-one had lingered at the closing of the ceremonies. Although not illegal in Italy, yet, they feared even a small gathering of Rromani may bring unwanted inspection to the tribe. Perhaps it had been foolish to travel to this gathering, so close to the main travel routes and to a city populated by the arrogant Spanish.

A barefooted lass who moments ago had been playing with friends, ran up to Victor and handed him a smooth rock. He bent down and plucked a leather necklet from behind her ear and presented it to her, grinning at her astonishment.

Victor motioned to the caravan and tribe walking. “We’ll make our way to the Torre pendente di Pisa. We are one of the last ones to arrive. Others will already be assembled witin the Piazza del Duomo. Despite our unwelcome status in Spain, the Doge has long welcomed our “entertainment”. There is space within the Church grounds to set camp before the competitions and exchange of knowldge begin.”

They all grinned at the irony of a large contingent of the followers of the Goddess setting up residence in Christian grounds.

“We’ll need to make our way past the markets, the Torre pendente di Pisa is beyond it. You can’t miss it.”

“Victor there are towers all over the place here – how will we know which is the right one?”

Victor roared with laughter. “Lets just say the tower in question is not as upright as the others.”

The cobbles within the township were worn smooth from the high traffic it experienced; allowing the horses to rest from their constant battle over the previous rough paths and tracks. Nelus steady hands on the rains calmed the steeds fear as they snorted and stamped at the multitude of smells and noise from the bustling marketplace.

They passed merchants displaying their wares from the back of carts and on makeshift tables. Poultry sellers rattled wooden cages; the inmates squawking and quaking in protest. Women sat on small wooden stools surrounded by fruit and vegetables. Gitano stared openly at one of the vegetable sellers. The lacing on her bodice edges were a long way apart, falling almost from the shoulder edge, with her underdress shown clearly through it. She caught his gaze and smiling, shifted a marrow, exposing a glimpse of her calf. He blushed at her brazenness and studied the pumpkins in front of her before moving on.

Toward the end of the market region, three figures stood on blocks of stone, their hands locked inside a wooden box which had been chained to the wall behind them.
“Dear Goddess!”
Two women stood quietly wearing head gear made from leather and wood which covered their features. Crude carvings of oak leaves sprouted from the top of one and both had long red tongues protruding from the bottom of the mask. The male figures mask sported a long snout and real bone tusks.
“Shame Masks. We want to be careful not to let you sing anywhere. You’d be a prime candidate for one.”


“Enlighten me.”
“It’s a punishment, the mask showing everyone what the crime was. These people have to stand there for hours on end as public displays of their shame. Anything from gossiping to bad musicianship. And they call us barbarians.”

To the side, as if to utilize the masked people as a source of constant entertainment, a gathering of stools and overturned barrels served as an open air bar. Farmers and merchants gathered about each nursing their ales; exchanging news and gossip. The low conversation stopped momentarily as they eyed the travelers suspiciously as they passed.

“I’ll catch up with you at camp. The tower is straight ahead. I’ve just seen someone I need to speak with.”

Victor slid away from the group and leant his back on one of the brick walls near the bar. He watched the small group of farmers amazed faces as the tall man in their midst pulled coins from armpits and mice out of their beer. His handwoven, brightly coloured shirt set him apart from the dreary washed out colours being worn about him. His long curled locks were held from his forehead with a silken scarf and swayed along his back as he moved.. They cheered loudly as a potato was retrieved from someone’s behind. Silently dropping coins into the open hand of one of the barmaid as she handed him a warm frothy mug of ale, Victor breathed in its yeasty redolence eager to taste the contents. From that momentary lapse of concentration, he lost sight of the figure he’d been watching.

“How much do you want to win this?” The detached voice came from beside him.
Victor allowed a slow grin to spread across his face as he took a sip of his drink.
“You are as slippery as Beng and bring as much bibaxt as he would to any gathering you go to.”
“And yet here you are, about to ask me to join you. Beng doesn’t bring bad luck, he brings opportunities.”
“Jordan, my friend; its been too long.”
They clasped arms and slapped one another on the shoulder.
“I’m impressed at your little flame trick. I see we will need to exchange ideas.”
“Victor, you know the laws. You need to be taught by your master or work it out yourself.”
“Given Emilian has passed and he had taught both of us everything he knew, I assume that trick is your own discovery?”
Jordan smiled, his eyes glittered with secrets. “This gathering, how much do you want to win?”
Victor took a long swig of his drink and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Not a matter of winning or losing – not this time. The winners are being hired to entertain at the week long celebrations on the Castle grounds of the Marquis De Lume in La Speza.”
Jordan spat and made a protection symbol in the air about him. “Rromani, the last free people; being hired as entertainment. What low depths we have sunk to.”
“Lower than pulling a pototo out a farmer arse?”
“Have you seen the others?”
Victor drained his mug. “Hoping to see them at Piazza del Duomo”
“You’re sure they’ll come?”
“Separate tribes we may be. But no-one refuses the summoning of the Mistress Drabardi. They’ll be here.”
“You never answered my question. How much do you want to win?”
“Our lives depend on it. If we are chosen to attend the festivities, we carry legitimate paperwork for travel for up to a year. It will buy us time.”
“To look for them? The brothers? The enemy of the father? Victor, as much as I revere your Drabardi and her prophesies; surely one sighting shouldn’t send ripples through all the tribes. No-one else has had a sighting like this. You don’t even know who the brothers are, nor who this enemy is. Needle in a haystack my friend.”
“Margarina is not our Drabardi – she is her own person – as you are Jordan. She will be here to give witness and The Mistress Drabardi will govern our next moves as a people. You think Spain will be the only place we will be hunted? We have been given an insight into the future and opportunity to avoid the inevitable. For the sake of my tribe, for the Rromani, I am pursuing it.”
“Well my friend – it would seem you need the luck of Beng on your side.” Jordan clasped Victors hand tightly. “You won’t win this competition without me”