Miss me

After a personal tragedy for most of 2022, I have managed to pick up pen and paper again.

It's slow going but words and sentences are forming. Next trying to make them sound coherent.

Woke up at 2am to let dogs out, had an idea and wrote the word "Blood". Yeah, me neither sat here reading it now. 

#28prompts challenge Feb 2nd

“You hear news of your next-door neighbor vanishing without a trace.”

I open the curtains, snow has come down fast and heavy. The garden is covered in around 5 inches of the fresh clean white stuff. 

The chickens in their coop looking shell shocked at the surroundings. They won't be coming out today for a run about in the garden. The plastic compost bin, green with an ice cream topping. The shed and greenhouse off limits until the thaw comes. 

Unlocking the sliding door, the dogs escape to empty their bladders. Instead of chasing and playing in the fluffy snow, they run to the fence and see tails wagging. 

I stick my head out and peer to my right. 

Two policewomen are at the neighbours door talking to Mrs Cleary. From her facial expressions alone it's obvious that she is worried. 

"You ok Jo," I ask

"No… NoNo I'm not… Tom's missing" 

"Missing?" 

"I've just got back from my mothers and there's no sign of him" 

"It is early, maybe he crashed pissed at one of his mates" 

"His phone, wallet, everything is here" 

"Gone for a walk?" 

"All his shoes are here" 

"Not likely to have got far barefoot in this. I thought he'd been quiet. We haven't heard the telly since Thursday" 

One of the policewomen walked towards the fence and removed her notebook from her trouser pocket. 

"Mr?," she asked 

"Mark Sawyer" I relied 

"Can you narrow down a bit further, the last time you saw or hear Mr Cleary?" 

"Yeah, it was definitely Thursday, as we could hear him yelling at the football. By the sounds of it they were losing" 

"Nothing since?" 

"Not a peep" 

A few more questions are asked but I couldn't help them further. The police finish up and leave. 

Jo smiles at me. I smile back. I tip my head to the bottom of my garden. She looks and smiles more at the compost bin. 

#28prompts challenge Feb 1

My twitter friend @ASYoungless Asyounglessauthor.com (check her stuff out) posted an idea of during February, she would set #28prompts and who would be interested. 

I took my time thinking about it but eventually signed myself up. Today is 10th Feb. I've just finished my 10th mini story. Somehow I haven't forgotten or missed the deadline. Mind you I didn't finish yesterday's until 45mins beforehand. That was close. 

I'm 10 in, 18 to go... 

I have surprised myself at where my creativity has taken me. Subjects I would never have thought of on my own. 

Here is the 1st prompt and my story. Hope you enjoy. 

"Write a story in which you retell a famous tale from mythology, fairy tales, literature, etc, from the POV of a minor character."

#28prompts

Poppy forces her body past Barley and pops through the mousehole first. 

"Mamma mamma, we can hear whistling" 

Mamma mouse's ears prick up, "No, not again. I'm not having it. PAPPA, PAPPA, activate Defcheese 1"

On all fours Pappa scurried away to the larder. 

"Children, roll call" 

"Quinoa here, Barley here, Peanut here" 

And then silence 

"Where's Poppy?" asked Mamma

"She's followed Pappa," came three replies 

"Stupid girl" 

Small footsteps could be heard as Pappa ran back, with a large lump of cheddar under his arm and Poppy surfing on his tail. 

"Faster Pappa Faster" 

Screeching to an abrupt halt, they stop just before they hit Mammas feet. The icy glare she gave Poppy, was enough for her to say "Sorry Mamma" 

Even before Poppy jumped off his tail, Pappa, quick as a flash starting gnawing 12 ear plugs from the lump of cheese. 

Barley didn't hesitate, he was lying on his back, mouth open catching cheesy shavings. 

"Children get them in your ears and for goodness sake don't take them out. She's coming. Keep your eyes on me at all times." 

Mamma was the final mouse to squeeze the cheese into her ears, just as Snow White burst into the kitchen singing and whistling. 

"Battlestations", Mamma mouthed to her family. 

While she could feel the vibrations of footsteps, couldn't hear that witch singing of 'we whistle while we work' 

But peeping out of her mousehole front door, she could see lips moving. 

The empty kitchen suddenly became full. Blue birds flew in the open windows. Red Deer, rabbits and a tortoise came in through the door. Chipmunks jumped in through the window. 

The birds while flying, used their beaks and claws to fold the dwarves clothing that were drying above the stove. 

To the right, an adolescent red deer had stuck his tail through the carvings on the wooden chair. A rabbit directed his tail wiggles to dust in all the curves. 

A cute red fawn was in the far corner licking plates clean. 

"That's disgusting," thought Mamma Mouse. 

Two chipmunks skipped towards the rug near the entrance to her home. She stepped backwards into the shadows out of sight. 

One chipmunk held the edge of the rug up while his friend tail swept dust under it. Snow White the slave driver of the animals wagged her skinny finger at them, "No, no, no" 

In shame, they relifted the rug and and brushed it the other direction. 

"Hell no", thought Mamma,"They aren't. Are they? They are, " she dived at her children and pushed them to safety, as the dust storm flooded her home. 

In anger she inhaled hard, her lungs filled of dusty air and blew it back out, spraying and covering the chipmunks in the dust. 

Poking out of the mousehole she yelled at them, "That's it we're moving in the Queen's castle. It was luxury here when it was just the dwarves without that harlot turning up" 

Coffee Break

 

“Hurry up and get that kettle on Billy will ya, I’m parched,” demanded Mickey as the back door slammed shut behind him.

“You know where it's kept if you’re that desperate. Anyway the coffee is made and it’s in the pot steeping,” replied Billy

“Steeping?”

“Aye Linda got into using these cafetiere things with proper coffee. She binned all the instant stuff.”

Billy slowly pressed the plunger down, separating all the coffee bits from the murky brown liquid, and poured them both a mug each. The mugs were  already nearly a third full of semi-skimmed. But the milk didn’t seem to do anything to lighten the colour of the coffee.

“Cheers lad, I need this,” as he took a sip. His smiling face turned as if he was a bulldog sucking  on a wasp, “What the hell, this is awful, dunno how you can drink that muck”

“Tastes lush ya wuss” 

“Do you not sweeten it?”

“Nah messes with the flavour” 

“It needs messed with. Do you have any sugar?” 

“Nah, Linda is on a health kick, she binned that with the instant coffee”

“Any sweeteners?” 

“Nah”

“I'll take an apple or a pear that I can soak in it. Anything” 

“I've got a Twix finger left. I’ve had to hide it from Linda. It’s behind the tins of tomatoes in the cupboard behind your head.” 

Mickey reaches into the top of the cupboard, and finds the solitary finger of the Twix tucked away. Unwraps it and drops it into his mug.

“This is much better, not only will I get the sugary goodness, I'll have a mocha.”

“Weirdo” 

Looking back into the cupboard he spots something interesting and pulls it out examining it, “What's this? A jar of funny coloured dried mushrooms?”

“Oh... Well… That’s for special occasions. That’s my dream time drink”. 

“Drink?” asked Mickey.

 “Yes, you know, you make a tea with them” 

“Oh, these are magic ones?” waving the jar.

“Aye”

“Never actually seen any of these before. What're they like?” 

“Far better than that weed you and Fran smoke non-stop.” 

“Howay man. You know that's pain relief for her arthritis. Codeine doesn't touch the side anymore when her knees give her agro”. 

“That doesn't explain you though, does it” 

“You don't like to drink alone, well she doesn't like to get high alone. C’mon tell me, I can’t say no to her could I? It would be rude” 

“You'll need triple the dosage tonight for it to have any effect after that coffee”. 

“It's still stripping the coating off my tongue” 

“Stop moaning. There's a bit left over carpet in the outhouse. Make a rug for it,” indicating outside with a backward thumb gesture to Mickey.

“Talking of carpets, we better get this shifted”. 

“Aye, coffee time over. Grab that end and slowly roll”. 

“This isn't my first clean up. I do know how to do it”. 

“I'm aware of that Mickey. But look at the size of this fat bastard. It's going to be obvious if his arms fall out and dangle down and this is my house. Can’t have the neighbours seeing, now can we.   Especially with his head twisted around the wrong way. They already think I'm a wrongun. Don't want to give them any more ammo  on that score.”

“Maybe we should tie his hands together up first”. 

Billy looks down to see the corpse looking back at him even though his arms are wedged under his bloated stomach, “No. I don't want to have to roll his lard arse more than once. As it is, it’s going to be painful enough getting him to the crematorium.” 

“We better hurry. Fran can't keep the doors open after 4 o'clock. The last burning is scheduled for quarter past 4”

“She's a cracker your Fran. Give her a kiss from me tonight as a thank you” 

“Keep your mitts off her Billy. Otherwise I'll get Barry to help roll your skinny arse up in the last of that carpet”. 

They smirked and got back to it. 

“Remember Mickey, bend with the knees, one, two, threeeee.. Jesus he weighs a ton”

Aunt Jenny's Tea Shop

 Posters had been placed around the town, on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram for the grand opening. Teasers of the cakes, pies and fancy sandwiches which would be sold were almost a plague on social media for a month. 

Day one, she opened bright and early on a Monday morning. The blinds went up, and the door unlocked. It was almost half an hour before the first customers which were not friends and family entered the building.

One old lady, with her two grandchildren. Pot of tea and a slice of corned beef pie for her, Fanta and chocolate eclairs for the boys. And that was the start. A glowing start.  By the end of the first week, Facebook reviews averaged 4.7/5.0. Only let down because someone opened a bottle of Coke and it fizzed over. And somehow it was the fault of Aunt Jenny or her staff.

Repeat custom had been nice to see. Some ladies and workmen had been in all 5 days. This was always her plan towards retirement, to open a tea shop. Nothing fancy, nothing too large, providing good food at affordable prices for the majority. Tea was something she loved from being a young girl. She offered a loose tea service for those who wanted it the old fashioned way. Served through a tea strainer. And for those who don't want to risk a tea leaf in the mouth, she had plenty of teabags to choose from.

Friday afternoon came and went, she had already sent Claire home earlier. No point both of them being there for the final hour. She didn't expect a rush at 5pm on a Friday, most workers were heading home or the pub for a cheeky pint or two. Claire had a date night long planned with her girlfriend. And from memory,  the ritual of getting ready for a night out, and more importantly how long it can take was important for a young woman.

Looking at the antique clock on the wall, the tea shop door opened at 5.57pm

A skinny young man with a pale complexion entered.

“Sorry love, takeaway only we're closed. I'm about to lock up”

“I won't be long, I just need a quick chat with you. Are you Aunt Jenny?”

“Yes I am, how can I help you?”

The man's eyes scanned around getting his bearings, and quickly noticed she was alone, there could be someone in the toilet, but he didn’t think so, “I'm a representative of Smith's Security!”

“I've already got an alarm dear. Doors front and back wired.”

“It's not that type of security, it's a more advanced service than that.”

“Ok dear,  take a seat,” she pulls out a chair near the counter for him, “I'll pop the kettle back on. Tea or coffee?”

“Tea please, white”

“Can you pop the blinds down for me? Don't want others coming in and disturbing us, wanting served. Slide the bolt over too please”

The man turned, pulled on the cords for the windows and the door blinds to close. Then slid the bolt over locking the door.

“I’ve a fruit scone left if you want it. It’s just going to waste and I hate waste”

“Yes please, I never say no to a fruit scone”

“ Strawberry jam and cream?

“Yes please”, as he walks to the seat to sit down facing the door.

The stranger in the tea shop felt weird, this lady didn't know him at all,  asked him to lock the door and is now feeding him. He got a strange memory flashback of his granny. But granny dearest didn’t seem this nice, and she always had a cigarette sticking out of her mouth. Come to think of it, granny wasn't nice, she went through the motions of being a grandparent but she wasn't nice.

“So dear, tell me about the firm of yours.”

“Mr Smith has been looking after businesses in this area for over 20 years. His firm basically runs the security in this area. You will get no problems from the local villainy once you sign up.”

“Villainy? Not heard that word in a long time. How much is this advanced service of yours?”

“Introductory offer, £100 a week til your business gets set up a bit more than we will need to renegotiate.” 

“£100, that's steep dear. Have you seen my prices? The menu is in front of you. I'd have to sell over 100 more cups of tea just to catch up.”

“You said it, they are YOUR prices. Put them up.”

“Oh no dear, I’ll be leaving them as they are.”

She walked from behind the counter and placed a mug of fresh Yorkshire tea and a fruit scone, with an unhealthy dollop of cream on the strawberry jam, in front of him.

The skinny man looked down at the huge tower of a scone in front of him.

“I put  extra cream in for you, you look like you need to put on a few pounds.”

He laughed, “I eat all day and this is as heavy as I get”

He felt totally at ease with her, not like the grumpy cow from the kebab shop in the next street. She would've easily stuck him on a skewer and slow roasted him for the stray dogs, if she got the chance. In fact, she used some choice words suggesting something similar, but with her accent, he couldn't really be sure.

“Could you please tell your boss, I'm happy with my current cameras. I'll not be needing his services. They are working non stop, with a live feed.”

The young man expected this, and never enjoyed the feeling it gave him in the pit of his stomach.

“Would you prefer a fork or a spoon?”

“Fork please”

“What a polite boy you are”

She walked back behind the counter and rattled through the cutlery rack for a fork.

“Unfortunately Mr Smith insists of you using his services. Once the local bad lads find out you aren't covered, they will most likely cause you trouble. The tearaways will come in and be disrespectful to your customers and more than likely leave a trail of mess for you to clean up.”

Aunt Jenny shuffled from behind the counter with a fork wrapped in a paper serviette to hand him. 

“Villainy, bad lads, tearaways. You need some more up to date references young man. A mess, I don't mind cleaning up a mess dear,” as she thrusted the fork into the front of his throat.

His eyes widened in shock, his hands instinctively reached towards the fork. Jenny grabbed the hair at the back of his head tightly and smashed his head towards the oak table top. The force, the fork and the table met together. The fork almost completely disappeared from sight. Still holding his hair she yanked his head back up, and again slammed it down hard. This time the dead boy's face crushed into the towering scone in front of him.

“Sorry dear, when you try to shake down a little old lady. Check out who she is first. Oh my mistake, you can't anymore can you?”

Jenny lifted his head up and moved the plate away from under his face, before letting go of it. She picked up both the mug and the plate with the destroyed remnants of the scone. Blood from the now gaping wound had leaked onto the plate. She found it hard to tell what was blood and what was strawberry jam. She tipped the tea out into the sink, and scraped the scone into the bin with another paper serviette.

“What a waste, I hate waste” as she looked into the bin.

 Then she put them both into the dishwasher and set it away on the highest temperature setting.

After a slow long exhale she picked her phone up that was hidden  behind the till , she pressed a few buttons while she walked back then stood next to the dead  boy. The fork was still stuck in his throat, the paper serviette, no longer white. It was completely soaked in red.

“Billy, check the cafe’s camera feeds for the last 10 minutes and scrub it. One of Smithy's lot paid me a visit”

“Are you ok gran?”

“Yes, don’t worry about me,” as she chuckled, “the kid tried to tell me Smithys ran this area for over 2 decades. Bloody amateurs. Get over here with Mickey. I need this cafe spic and span no later than 6 tomorrow morning. I'm not losing my 5 stars hygiene rating over this.”

“Is he toast?”

“Of course he is, and he needs returning to Smithy as a warning. This area is still ours.”

Verbuary - TRANSPORT

Ten minutes late, the bus arrived.

As it pulled up, sweat beaded on his forehead, his back a river.

Holding the top of this rucksack, folded over in a tight grip, he paid his fare.

The only seat available to him was at the very rear of the bus in the centre aisle. Not ideal, but it was better than him standing. Keeping hold of the bag tightly, he rested it between his knees. If he had a window seat he might have been able to relax and put it on the floor. But today of all days, the zip broke. Unable to close it properly and no other bags at home to use, he had no choice but to hold it closed by hand.

Cramp started to creep into his fingers. He felt eyes looking at him. Burning into his soul. He didn't look at anyone just in case he panicked and ran.

For a chilly day, he was warm. Those beside him couldn't miss the damp sheen on his head. The river had now pooled down the back of his boxer shorts.

He counted the stops, seven to go. The bag’s contents felt heavy.

Could he do this? He knew he had to, but could he pull this off? He already found the perfect spot for the package yesterday. Yesterday was the dry run. Timing had to be perfect. Not too soon as to stand out, and not too late as to have dozens of people who could possibly identify him. The number of people around had to be just right as not to bring suspicion around him. Five more stops.

It was now or never. There was no going back. If people found out, they would never forgive him. Especially his sister.

Four.

The bus sped up. No more stopping for a couple of miles. Last bit of open road. The bus driver stepped on the accelerator.

The back river had turned cold, uncomfortably cold while his head melted. As the fresh sweat was wiped away with his coat sleeve, he didn't see the young male red deer jump the farmers fence onto the road. The bus driver did and slammed the brakes on, while she tried to safely manoeuvre.

Bert with no seat in front of him was hurled forward. His left arm smashed into the headrest two seats forward. His fingers lost control of their grip. The bag was thrown through the air, down the length of the bus before it landed with a thud.

The driver somehow managed to regain control without crashing and more surprisingly missed the red deer entirely.

Children and adults alike were petrified and in shock, some screaming. The driver left the cab and asked if anyone was hurt. But in her haste, she didn't spot the bag and tripped on it. Her full weight was behind her foot as she stumbled and turned into a kick, the contents of the bag released. Bert could only look in horror as he lay on the floor, and his mothers head rolled out staring at him in disgust.

Verbuary - Wine

Billy was a make do and mend type of guy. He learned the hard way. The steel industry and local mines were decimated by the Conservative party in the 80’s. That led to the closure of the towns and areas main employers. The knock on effect was brutal.

Families once carefree with cash suddenly found themselves at weekly jumble sales at the British Legion. Bidding on second-hand clothing to dress their families.

Billy's dad couldn't or wouldn't find a job. Options for him were slim pickings. Hundreds if not thousands scrambling for each position if it came up. He passed his time reading books from the library, often one per day.

As time went on, and the cruel days passed, discount shops popped up, including a homebrew shop. And so Billy's dad gave it a go. A large white plastic bucket, hydrometer, a tin of brown malty syrup with a sachet of yeast under its lid, and a bag of sugar. He was set.

Time progressed, and his dad became a dab hand at brewing and drinking. Two litres a day on average. It did the job but as he used the cheapest ingredients it tasted horrible.

Billy got older and found it wasn't just beer that could be brewed at home. His friend's mother started making wine. Country wine. Not a grape in sight. Autumn was her favourite time of the year for this. Blackberries, elderberries, crab apples. Anything fruit based was used.

The knock one effect of the closing of the steel company made the local rail tracks obsolete. It closed and they lay dormant for many years. With no trains to worry about. She would be out there as often as possible picking the free fruit before everyone else got to it. For pies, jams and wine.

This is where Billy got the bug. Country wine was beautiful. Fruity was what his taste buds craved. Not that awful beer his dad made. Mind you with a splash of lemonade on the top, it was almost palatable.

Armed with some demijohns, rubber bungs, and airlocks from the flea markets. Billy set away experimenting. Both he and his friend made it into a competition, to see who’s was nicer. Few pounds of fruit, water, orange peel, dried raisins or sultanas, sugar, topped off with high alcohol tolerant yeast, and he was off.

He quickly learned there was an abundance of fresh country ingredients to use all year around. Autumn led to Spring, with Mayblossom, dandelions, and elderflower. However while its drinkable immediately. It really needed to mature to taste better.

The science of winemaking enticed him to try and improve year on year. Different sugars, different yeast strains. Time was needed for chemical reactions within the bottled wine to create new aromas. The wine acids react with the prized alcohol to create esters. This gave wine its perfume. Young wines rich in polyphenols was the reason for the unpleasant dryness he once suffered in his mouth. During aging the tannins transformed, giving the wine a more delicate flavour. Something he preferred to the moisture removal of the unaged.

Space in the house was a problem, every cupboard was full of bottles. But the tastes were divine. To make more wine, he had to drink more for the valuable space.

20 years later Billy is a recovering alcoholic and now uses autumnal fruits to make non-alcoholic cordials. His next worry might be diabetes.