Tales From The Café Volume One
Various Authors
Published by Café Three Zero at Smashwords.
Copyright 2011 Café Three Zero
Discover other titles from Café Three Zero at smashwords.com
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Smashwords Edition, License notes
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Table of Contents
Foreword
1 – Big Fella, by Vayla Berry
2 – A Knife For A Wife, by William Barrett
3 – The Villa, by Kelly Bird
4 – The Return, by Richard Kefford
6 – Laebrack, by Angela Sinclair
7 – Past Today, by Kay Lawrence
8 – On Target, by Jim Mcilroy
9 – Arab Spring, by Heidi McFadden
10 – Neighbours, by Amanda Garrie
11 – Repulsion, by D.P. Roberts
12 – The Kidnap Of Marcus Mountcastle, by Jobie Baldwin
13 – Mother’s Ruin? by Nicola Collins
14 – Bioremediation, by L.C. Bullivant
15 – Aeseus Stakk, by Joseph P Clarkson
16 – To Wander A Pale Sky, by A.C. Fullwood
17 – Resentment, by Vanessa de Elera
18 – A Little Extra Revenge, by Claire Mitchell Tsamados
19 – The Ghost Of Misplaced Shame, by Nathan LaMorte
20 – Dizzy, by Michael Jan Gibas
21 – A Mother’s Love, by Joyce Moyes
22 – Tequila, by Neil Stevens
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To our readers:
Thank you for choosing our first book and we hope you will enjoy our stories.
Café Three Zero is an online collaborative literary venture, a publisher of e-Books, and a fertile environment for Creative Writing.
The members of the Café met whilst studying with the Open University, an organisation which is a trailblazer of the internet environment. We come from all walks of life, hold down day jobs, but share a strong interest in writing fiction. Our stories start from original ideas, forum inspired themes, and undergo peer review before seeing the "e" light of day.
In addition to the stories in this book readers may like to visit our Blog where news of new publications, author interviews, and links to other sites of interest may be found.
by
Vayla Berry
It was hot. The road seemed to ripple, like a river George thought, a black shining river. He stretched his leg allowing the toe of his boot to touch the shimmering surface. Solid. He sighed, disappointed. Just tarmac and dust, but then what had he been expecting?
You thought something, just then when your foot touched it you thought…
He shook his head. Whatever it was had disappeared. Lost in the foggy mass behind his eyes. Annoying though, to forget something like that. He shrugged, blinking as a line of sweat rolled down his nose.
‘Too darn hot for these boots.’ He paused. ‘You wanna burn your feet Georgie boy?’ another pause ‘Guess not…’ He smiled. ‘Boots it is then.’
Talking to yourself ain’t good Sport and answering yourself is worse…
‘Makes sense though don’t it.’ He nodded, that settled it then… and yet the thinking voice kept niggling, more and more, most days now, most days since he’d…
‘Hush now.’ He frowned looking up at the sky. The sun, its orange face still full of midday heat glared back at him. He wondered if it knew about the thinking voice.
‘Goddamn it’s hot as hell today.’ He looked at his watch, ten to two; it wasn’t getting cooler anytime soon. Best find somewhere else. Maybe take his boots off. Being careful not to disturb the box he had been sitting on, he stood up. The careful bit was important. It paid to be careful.
If someone had been watching George at that moment, they might have been surprised at how graceful he was for such a big man, long limbs moving without effort in the afternoon heat. As it happened no one was. Mostly they never did.
‘Quiet today.’ He paused, ‘No Cars. Too hot I guess. Folks got better things to do.’
Like what?
‘I dunno. Don’t wanna know.’ Except maybe he did, maybe sometimes it was all he wanted. He stopped. Something in the distance had caught his eye, a shape lying by the side of the road. Squinting he tried to make out an outline, brownish-black, thick fur, a dog most likely. He moved closer. He was right. It was a dog. A big, brownish-black dog. And it was dead.
He walked slowly towards the animal, bent down and gently ran his hand along its back, ‘Still warm. I didn’t hear nothing…’ he looked back down the road.
You musta been daydreaming again, gotta stop that…cept...you would’ve heard it for sure, animal that size…
‘Guess it don’t matter either way. Whatever hit him is long gone.’ He paused, ‘big fella ain’t you, be sure you left a nice dent in whatever it was hit you. Probably going too fast. Always do round here. Anyways good thing I came when I did, maggots would have had you for sure.’ He stopped, swatting at a fly, ‘nah, don’t worry, too soon. They come after, after the eggs.’ A strand of damp hair clung to his forehead, he brushed it away, ‘couldn’t take you if the maggots was here. No point. Nothing personal, just don’t look nice.’
Looks dead…
‘No one wants a dead dog’
Except you.
He nodded. It was true. He did want it. Needed it actually. He brought his hand along the dog’s flank with a care that was almost tender.
‘I’ll be back with the truck in a bit Big Fella.’ He paused, shaking his head reassuringly, ‘And don’t you worry about them maggots. I’ll be back before you can say… well I’ll be back is all.’
The first thing George noticed when he got home was that the keys to his truck were not where he had left them. The second thing he noticed was that the light on the answer machine was flashing.
‘Museum most likely. Wanting to know if she’s ready…’
You told them Monday.
‘…whoever it is they can wait. Promised Big Fella didn’t I.’ He paused. ‘Don’t seem right about the keys though. Could have sworn I left them on the table.’
You always leave them on the table.
‘Ain’t there now.’ He moved his hand over the smooth surface. He must have moved them; he’d had a lot on. There was the waiting list, not to mention that guy from the museum. More business than he knew what to do with.
You always leave them on the table.
‘Guess this time I left them somewhere else.’ He sat down, big hands folded carefully in his lap. The little light on the answer phone winked at him.
Play the message.
‘You know where my keys are?’ He tapped the machine gently and pushed the play button. Three words.
‘I’ll try again.’
No name, no number, nothing. Well nothing except… except nothing made it sound like something didn’t it.
The phone rang. George frowned. He didn’t like coincidences.
Pick up.
‘Hello?’
‘George? Is that you?’ The voice paused ‘don’t say anything, I can hear that it’s you.’ George nodded, pushing the plastic receiver hard against his ear.
‘I was hoping I’d catch you…’ something about the way it said catch made George uneasy, almost as if it had been waiting to call him. Waiting for that exact moment. He thought of Big Fella, of the sun beating down on the tarmac and then…
It’s happening again isn’t it?
‘…you see I’m a big fan of your work…’ the voice continued, ‘… It’s a great thing George, don’t you think? To love what you do. The piece you did for the exhibition was particularly captivating, making dead things come alive like that. Such care. Such talent.’ The voice stopped.
…like before on the tarmac. Like jelly, like jelly or…
‘But your work isn’t the reason I’m calling.’ It paused ‘I think you know that don’t you.’
…no not jelly but that’s what it feels like don’t it, all wobbly. Things go all wobbly and then…
‘It’s your other talent I’m interested in.’
…and then back there. Back to before she…
‘Yes. That one.’
‘You’re wasting your time sir, I…’
‘Time is never a waste George. You know that. Tell you what, have a think. I am sure you will find you can help me. But don’t take too long George, my patience, like most things, is limited.’ The voice paused; ‘And George take care won’t you.’ The line went dead.
Six is big. Pa said so. He said it’s big enough to know most stuff. Still don’t know how I done it though. I just did. I tried to tell Pa once. I thought maybe if I told him I could make it different, stop Ma from… but he got angry when I said about Ma so I shut up. He said I talk too much and none of it’s good talk. He said it would kill Ma to see what a filthy little liar I was. I knowed he was wrong about that coz Ma’s already dead but I didn’t say nothing. I just stopped my mouth from talking; even though it wanted to. One time I heard someone tell Pa that talking might help him deal with his demons. I don’t know what demons they meant, maybe the ones in Pa’s head, but I think the talking bit’s right. That’s why I wanted to tell Pa about the thing. The thing I did. Coz I was scared that if I kept it in it might go away. Like Ma did.
When I was three I thought Ma was in heaven with the angels. Pa told me six is too old for believing in angels. He told me where she really is, in the ground with maggots crawling out her eyes. Sometimes I think there might be maggots in my eyes. I can feel them all squiggly and itching but mostly it’s just when I’m dreaming about Ma in the ground. That’s when I first did my thing, after the maggots squiggling. I was remembering a photo of me and ma when I was just born. It’s her hair I like best. It’s all twisted together. Down to the floor nearly. I think it’s the most beautiful thing I ever saw. Pa don’t know I got it. He never looks. I think he’s scared of remembering. I wasn’t. I remembered so much my head hurt. I could see Ma. See her for real it felt like and then things went all funny, like jelly or something and....
The women bends over the cot and kisses her babies head gently. She wears her hair in golden braids that hang almost to the floor. As she moves to leave something strange happens. Something she will remember until the day she dies. A small shape flickers in the corner of the room and just for a moment she’s sure it is her son.
When George opened his eyes he noticed two things. The first thing was that it was dark outside. The second was that his keys were lying on the table.
‘Well I’ll be damned! Must have been there all along.’ He got up carefully.
You did it George. You…
‘No time for that now. I’m coming Big Fella. Only hope the maggots ain’t got you.’
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by
William Barrett
‘My mistake was decapitating the poor fellow,’ said the king. ‘His helmeted head clattered down the stone steps with such a racket that the whole castle guard was alerted. If it hadn’t been for my horse …’
The young prince’s eyes were rolling.
‘And if I hadn’t rescued your mother from that ogre, you wouldn’t be here. Sometimes, I wish I’d rescued the ogre instead.’ He smiled. ‘Good night.’
The king’s daring exploits were now ‘once upon a time’, as long ago as the Pied Piper had led the children of Hamelin into the hills - never to be seen again - following a disputed invoice for pest control. The prince was thirty.
The time of quests was nearing an end; these days a knock at the door was just as likely to be a Jehovah’s Witness or a double-glazing salesman as a wolf or a witch. It was the prince’s last chance to emulate the father he idolised before it was too late.
The prince had heard that in the middle of a tangled forest there lived, imprisoned in a tower, a beautiful princess who slept an enchanted slumber that could only be broken by the first kiss of true love. It was also said that her hair had grown implausibly long, and might provide a means of access to the tower for an intrepid adventurer who managed to tame the trees. Having verified that the legend was true on Wikipedia, he took leave of his father, the king, and set off on his fine white stallion to rescue the princess, spurred on by the fact that the princess had twice appeared in the list of FHM’s 100 Sexiest Women. He travelled light with just his sword, his shield, a bag of provisions, and a printout of the princess’s last known ‘tweets’ to read en route.
PMS Princess Maria Sophia 7 Jan
Visited @ThreeBears today. Lumpy porridge again. Note to self: Ikea chairs, a false economy.
After travelling through many strange lands and fighting many dangerous foes, the prince came to the edge of the forest and found it was just as he had been told; in every direction he looked, it was criss-crossed by vines, thick tree roots and prickly plants. His sword, which had been sharp enough to vanquish many enemies, made no impression on the magical creepers and twisted foliage.
On the edge of despair, the prince made a campfire and scratched his head furiously as he searched for a solution to his problem. That night he slept in the open, protected from the biting winds by the body of his horse, but he was tormented by nightmares.
PMS Princess Maria Sophia 13 Mar
Went to fab disco last night. New shoes too tight, danced all night in stockinged feet. Couldn’t find shoes in dark at home-time. Grounded by @QueenFlo!
The next morning, the prince awoke to the smell of frying fish, and the sight of a figure stooped over the campfire with a fork in his hand. Instinctively, he reached for his sword, but his scabbard was empty.
‘Is this what you’re looking for?’ asked the man, dangling the sword between two fingers. ‘Fear not. Had I any evil intentions towards you, I could have cut your throat while you snored.’
‘Who are you, soldier?’ the prince asked, for he could see from the other’s attire that he was a military man.
‘My name is Hans,’ replied the soldier. ‘I am a captain in the army of Switzerland returning to my home from far Cathay. I should get there much quicker, too, if you were to give you me your horse.’
The prince laughed.
‘But you have nothing to give me in return!’
‘I have already spared your life,’ answered the captain. ‘But also I will give you this knife.’
‘A knife for a horse?’ said the prince. ‘I would be a fool to enter into such a bargain. After all, I already have a sword.’
‘This knife will do what your sword cannot do,’ said Captain Hans. ‘It will cut through the forest and, perhaps, win you a bride. It is a magic knife, known only to the Swiss Army, with myriad attachments that reveal themselves in times of need.’
Knowing that he could never penetrate the deepest recesses of the forest with his sword, the prince reluctantly agreed and the Swiss soldier rode off towards his Alpine home on the white horse.
Day after day, the brave prince cut his way through the vegetation with the magic knife that was sometimes an axe, sometimes a scythe, sometimes a machete, sometimes a saw. He lived off the berries, nuts and fruits of the forest once he had exhausted his original supplies. Several months later he came out of the other side of the forest, having failed to locate the tower.
PMS Princess Maria Sophia 22 Jun
‘Shrek’ at Odeon. Love the fat green guy. LOL for two hours. Four stars.
Undeterred, the prince returned along the path he had fashioned to a point about halfway, whereupon he set off in a direction perpendicular to his first path, chopping and scything once more. In due course, he once again found himself at the edge of the tree line without success. Still determined to fulfil his quest, he returned to the centre and continued his second path in the opposite direction, thereby cutting the forest into quadrants by the time he emerged into sunlight at the other side again, still having singularly failed to locate so much as a wooden hut. Eventually he reached the point on his printout where the princess’s tweets ceased.
PMS Princess Maria Sophia 14 Oct
New spinning wheel arrived - OMG! Juicy red apples arrived - Double OMG!! Middle-size goat turned up too - WTF? Bit sleepy. YAWN!
The prince began to doubt the wisdom of his quest, but decided to adopt a new strategy. Beginning at the crossroads of his first two paths, he carved out a spiral path with each loop wider than the last by about half-a mile. Finally, close to exhaustion, he came upon a large stone structure almost completely overcome by plants and trees that had clearly been a castle - once. He gingerly crossed the rotting drawbridge and found a tall tower, the only part of the structure still standing. The outside of the tower was sheer, but there were no tresses of hair to be seen by which he might scale it. A locked door at the base of the tower stood between the prince and completion of his quest. Thanks to the magic knife, the lock was picked in seconds. Climbing the spiral staircase within, his weary legs found new energy and he fairly ran, oblivious to the danger of the crumbling masonry around him.
At the top, the prince paused briefly to file his nails, comb his hair and trim his beard using the versatile knife. He then entered some sort of bedchamber where the afternoon sun blazed through what remained of the roof. His heart fell to the soles of his blistered feet when the chamber turned out to be quite empty apart from a few planks of wood, the remains of a bed in which a princess may or may not have slept a magical sleep.
The forlorn prince returned to his own land – on foot, of course - by such a route that he would avoid any conflict since he was too exhausted to bear arms, even in his own defence. He had been away from his home some eleven years, and his own people did not recognise the haggard figure that made its way to the palace through the market place.
‘Is that you, my son?’ the old king asked, his aged eyes struggling to make out the features of his beloved first-born.
‘Yes, father,’ the prince replied. ‘It is I; but I bring no wife as I had hoped.’
‘Read this, my child,’ coughed the king, passing a scroll to the prince.
As the king watched, the colour drained from his son’s face, and the younger man had to be helped to a seat by courtiers.
‘A helicopter?’
‘Yes, my son,’ said the king. ‘Your princess was rescued by helicopter not more than a week after you set out on your quest.’
'How did he ...?'
'Just winched her up.' interrupted the king. 'Like yanking a hungry salmon from a stream.'
‘Where is she now?’ asked the prince, his lips quivering at this revelation.
‘They married – she and the pilot,’ the king went on, shaking his head gravely. ‘The last I heard, and this was some time ago, they were living above an off-licence in Guildford.’
Devastated by his misfortune, the prince threw his head in his hands and wept bitter tears, and the king wept with him, and for him. Together, father and son drank several bottles of wine and, for once, had no trouble finding a corkscrew.
PMS Maz Grimes 1 minute ago
Dog’s got worms. Same Direction to win X-Factor!
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by
Kelly Bird
She waits by the window. The sun is a sizzling ball in the sky. Its rays burst through the panes of glass, coating the room with a butterscotch glow. Still she is cold. Her gaze follows two birds nestling together on a rooftop, their heads touching. One turns suddenly and flies away, while the other watches. She presses her forehead against the hot pane. Something tickles the back of her neck. Pushing up her hair, she scratches back and forth, back and forth. It’s raw. She keeps scratching until blood and skin fill her nails. She blows hot breath on to the window. She counts the seconds, waiting for it to evaporate.
‘Deb, where are you?’ he asks.
‘Richard come on up, I’m having a soak,’ her voice is giggly and flirtatious. She is lying in a hot, steamy bath surrounded by flickering candles.
‘Be up in a minute sweetheart.’ he calls.
She frowns and sips her Bellini, while mentally ticking off the contents of their case. Closing her eyes she dreams of Marco Island; its white sand beaches and turquoise seas. Switching the Jacuzzi button on, she lets the bubbles dance over her body. She smiles as she thinks of the white washed villa with sunny yellow-coloured shutters that they will buy.
‘Rich, come and join me’ she calls. She has planned their evening carefully. Cocktails in their newly- decorated drawing room with the Petersons’, followed by dinner at their favourite Italian, La Plaza. Then home and an early night, ready to leave for the airport at eight am. Wrapping herself in a soft towel, she dries quickly and slathers thick moisturiser over her body. She picks a flesh coloured bra and knickers set edged with cream lace. Covering herself with a silk dressing gown, she goes to find him. Halfway down the stairs she stops. She watches him through the banisters. He is sitting at the kitchen island, still in his coat, with his head in his hands. He is reading a letter. As she walks in, he turns and smiles brightly. Kissing her lightly on the lips, he pushes the letter in his pocket.
‘Sorry sweetheart, I was just on my way up. Can I get you another drink?’ he says nodding towards the bottle. Shaking her head, she sits down as he pours himself a flute of champagne. Spilling some on the worktop, he curses quietly.
Hugging her knees to her chest, she examines her hot pink toenails.
‘Are we all packed then? You have packed my speedos haven’t you? You know you can’t resist me in them,’ he winks.
She exhales slowly and smiles.
‘I saw Vanessa Mayhew today. You should have seen her face when I told her we are buying a villa’ she laughs.
Taking a large gulp of his drink, Richard reaches for her hand. She sits up straight.
‘About the house darling, we may have to delay it, just for a few weeks.’