How not to interpret love

“Hannah… I’m sorry about last night. I can’t tell you how bad I feel; how I manipulated you..” It had taken a lot of courage to speak to her. He’d already sacrificed too much  but the look in her eyes was one of bewilderment and trepidation; not horror and betrayal.

“What?” She asked, taking a step away from him. “It is Mark, isn’t it?” She didn’t even wait for him to answer, just looked at her two friends and shrugged. Luckily they were all alone in the office kitchen. The friends grimaced back. “I'm sorry but I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was in London with.. “ She gestured to the two ladies next to her. “All weekend…”

Doug backed off, bewildered. He tried laughing at his stupidity as he inched his way to the door. One of the other girls asked if he was alright and as he opened the door he heard the other say, “so that’s the weirdo.”

He didn’t even bother going back to his desk. Something was very wrong. Hannah should have been angry; livid with him; but she wasn’t even the least bit inquisitive. She was, however, bound to talk to the rest of the office now about their encounter. Doug  was already seen as strange; an oddball recluse and this would compound it; possibly even leading to gross sexual misconduct!

But Hannah knew nothing about it. Doug had heard that severe trauma could bring on a form of amnesia but surely that was only in the films? He had to get home; find the web-page with the Incantation on and try to understand what had gone wrong?!

He walked to the train station, finally managed to get the ticket into the machine -for some reason his hands had started to shake, He stood on the platform and then realised his legs had become spongey as if the bones had been taken out He managed to sit on the seat and not make it look like he was drunk. The platform was still wet from an earlier shower and there was steam coming off the rails, leaving a gritty ozone smell behind. 

There was a muffled and nasal retort as another high-speed train was coming through. Doug had spent so long at various stations he could tell where all the ‘joins’ were in the announcement. There was some poor voice-actress who had to read out every time and every place name; and some key phrases; and then the computer put them together as and when the need arose. 

When the announcement halted Doug counted to seven before the train doppled past. The sub-sonic crash mili-seconds before the train bulleted through; each window offering a possible glimpse into the stations present and future. For a split second Doug thought he saw Hannah standing next to him, dressed similar to how she was last night: green, flowing trousers; a white blouse with lacework around the buttons and cuffs; her hair long and straight… But when he turned around there was no one there. There was one other thing; it was the glimpse of her smile. It seemed knowing and malevolent.

Whilst on the train home a similar thing happened travelling through the tunnel which bisected the South Downs. The new trains felt so exposed now. Gone were the cramped but discreet seating with the static-producing seats and cumbersome doors. Now everything felt open plan and no one felt safe to look up from what they were doing. Everyone seemed to suffer from agoraphobia. But there was plenty of glass dividing the seats now; not the wooden barriers separating one bank from another; but this created lots of reflective surfaces, and when the train delved into the tunnel the lights flickered and he saw again Hannah’s form, flickering in various windows. But Doug knew Hannah drove to work and would never have taken this particular train anyway as it went in the opposite direction to her home.

He finally got back to his flat, constantly checking around him and paying particular attention to shop windows and their reflections, but nothing untoward happened. As he thought, the flat was a complete mess. The kitchen was pretty untouched but the rest of it looked as if it had been burgled! It had been a wild weekend; tentative at first but increasing in intensity as it had progressed; and there had been no end to Hannah’s desires for him. He turned his Chromebook on, entered his password and found the web page with the text he had spent the whole previous week researching about:

“Animum tuum mihi vinculo perpetuo carnis ligo.”... ok, well that meant: “I bind your heart to me in eternal passion.” He read further. “Veni ad me, pulchra desiderii inferni.” well, even that was pretty easy to decipher: “Come to me, beauty of my desire.” and the last bit; “Devoret me totum spiritus ardens amoris.” which meant: “May you be consumed entirely by your devotion to me.” And on Friday he had finally made the translation; or at least he had found a website to do it for him. The hardest part would have been trying to find things intimate to Hannah in order to bind her to him, however the text also said that it wasn’t necessary as long as you had their photo which you could hold up to a mirror whilst reciting the spell. 

It was also customary to masturbate whilst chanting and thinking of the object of desire; then anointing not the photo but the reflection of the photo with the split semen.  The results wouldn’t necessarily be instantaneous but within 24 hours, which gave Doug a chance to have a scrub-down and make himself presentable.

Part of him was still worried that he had taken things this far. He was a ‘regular guy’; lonely, bordering on desperate, if he was being honest with himself; but had never wanted to do anything immoral. He had a shaky grasp of occultism and used to enjoy reading copies of ‘The Unexplained’ magazine as a child. 

And he would never have considered Hannah as a particular love-interest had it not been for the Christmas party. It had been the first one he’d ever been to and was shy; barely talked to anyone and hadn’t danced all night… That is until Hannah offered him her hand for the last slow dance of the evening. It was obvious that she was more than a little drunk, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer, so Doug finally agreed. He understood how Carrie felt during her first dance at the prom in the film of the same name; it felt as if the world was revolving around him and Hannah, and no one else existed. Her hair smelled of lavender and his hands around her waist felt exquisite. He couldn’t sleep that night and became infatuated with her… but she never remembered the dance and would never meet his eye again whenever they shared a lift or stood in the office kitchen.

So Doug became desperate. To have been given this chance, even such a small one; only for the happiness to be snatched away again, and not even remembered, was almost too much for him to bare. And it was then that he recalled the love potions; it would be possible to bind her to him, for just a little while so she could understand how much she truly loved him… and that maybe he wasn’t such a weirdo after all.

And he was so sure he’d gotten the incantation right…. It seemed perfect at first. The day afterwards he was browsing in his local bookshop, in the New Age section, and suddenly there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and Hannah was beaming at him as if he were a long lost friend. “I didn’t know you had an interest in ‘weird shit’!” She remarked. Doug was bemused and totally out of his comfort zone, didn’t know what to say. “That’s what I call all this occult stuff: weird shit." She continued. "It helps to keep a sense of humor about things. Take things too seriously and you don’t know how messed up you'll become…”

She talked for ages about manifesting destiny and ‘The Secret’ before asking if he wanted to have a coffee. He could only agree and was literally swept off his feet by her. Doug couldn’t believe how well the spell had worked! There was no initial hesitancy, which had been his first quandary: how to initiate contact with Hannah, but she was doing all the heavy lifting here; it was amazing. Coffee turned into supper, which turned into a shared taxi back to his place and a nightcap… followed by the most intense and passionate lovemaking he had ever experienced. None of the films he’d watched had ever girded him for the sheer depth of desire he felt for her; all of which seemed to be reflected tenfold in her.

She left sometime in the early morning and the flat was a mess. He was far too tired upon getting up, and he ached as well - his groin felt numb with overuse…. 

But he racked his brains about this morning: Hannah had no recollection of what had happened. What was going on? He read the Latin again, and then re-translated words. Something was wrong and he couldn’t figure it out. He copied the Latin and pasted it this time into Google Translate and what he saw stunned him completely:

“Animum tuum mihi vinculo perpetuo carnis ligo - I bind a spirit to myself for eternal flesh.

“Veni ad me, pulchra desiderii inferni. - come to me, beautiful-demon of the abyss.

“Devoret me totum spiritus ardens amoris - May I be consumed entirely by a devastating spirit."

This wasn’t a love spell that he’d created -the fact that there wasn’t anything to bind Hannah to him should have been the obvious clue! The only rational conclusion was that he had created a Tulpa…. A thought form made entirely of his lust; and because he had anointed this reflection it had taken the form of Hannah. This meant that he actually hadn’t forced the real Hannah to do anything! He hadn’t coerced her in any way; no psychological mind-fucks and, more importantly, no statutory rape; which was the worst case scenario had things come to light.  Doug was so relieved by this that he actually turned the Chromebook off, walked to the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee.

Consequently, when he met 'Hannah' in the same section of the bookstore later on that day he was relieved and more than a little turned on. It helped that she was dressed far more provocatively than Hannah ever would, almost as if she knew that he had seen through her disguise now.

Hannah had been everything that he had ever lusted after in a woman. She was tall, thin without being anorexic, long straight black hair and high cheekbones which elevated her smile to the divine. This 'Hannah' was wearing long trousers and a tight, white blouse which was semi-translucent and showed off her shapely breasts. Again they were not overly large but perfectly in proportion to the rest of her. She also wore circular glasses that only helped accentuate her almost cherubic looks. However there was now a glint of erotic intent, the likes he had never witnessed in anyone before, and he felt his loins girdle in anticipation.

"I know someplace we can go where we won't be disturbed." The Hannah-Tulpa whispered in his ear; her breath warm and sensual. He nodded and couldn't believe it when she took him by the hand and led him out of the bookstore. 

The observant ones in the store saw a strange gesture; a rather flustered man holding his hand out in an almost effeminate manner; sporting a blush as red as his distended bulge in his jeans, as he walked out the store alone.

Doug was in a trance; her touch was divine and sent tingles down his spine. Things became hazy then; he couldn't seem to remember how he got into his car; let alone driving into the country or even parking outside the remote cabin he now found himself in. He felt lightheaded; the tingling sensation he'd noticed earlier had become 'pins and needles'; his tongue felt odd and he had a distinct coppery taste in his mouth similar to blood. He was also lying in a makeshift bed, completely naked... But it was less of a bed, more of an old mattress in the middle of the empty floor; but there were strange signs that had been drawn on the walls around him, and even on the ceiling. None of them looked even vaguely like writing of any kind; more like pictograms or glyphs. He looked at his stomach and initially thought similar had been painted there as well; but as he touched them he was horrified that they had been carved into his flesh somehow. The skin hadn't been cut exactly but it was painful to touch, almost as if he had bled through the skin.

He was frightened now. He tried to get up off the mattress but was horrified to find he didn't have the strength. His body just wouldn't obey him any further, and he then saw Hannah standing in the far corner of the room just staring at him. She was almost completely in shadow, but how long had he been trapped there? He could barely discern her naked outline from the darkness that surrounded her except her stomach looked distended and her breasts sagged more than he remembered. But what really chilled him was, not only the way she licked her engorged lips with her serpentine tongue, but the way her eyes glowed a malevolent orange.

"Ah good." She almost hissed. "You're awake again."

"This can't be happening." He moaned. "I created you." The Hannah-thing laughed throatily at this.

"Oh, you are funny. You have far more entertainment value left in you. I think I might have to let you live a while longer.. Let's see how long you can hold out and I'll try not to let my own passions get the better of me." She walked towards him and with every step he felt his fear rise until he could bare it no longer. With a whimper of shame he lost control of his bladder and micturated onto the mattress. The Hannah-thing shook her head, almost for his own embarrassment and knelt down by his side. She lent over and kissed him on the forehead, as one might a child before, moving down to his cock. She looked up at him and winked, before taking his still moist member in her mouth. To his dismay he couldn't help himself. The utter fear from before was replaced by an erection filled with self-loathing and bile. Had he been able to Doug would have thrown up or at least try to knock her away, but with ever gesture and movement of her mouth he felt himself drift away into oblivion. He hoped and prayed that this would be the end of his nightmare....

...But that was no to be the case for upon his awakening he found himself back in his own bed. The bed-sheets and mattress were damp and he felt as if he was hung-over after a weekend of drinking heavily.... He managed to get off the bed and stagger into the bathroom before looking in the mirror at his haggard reflection. He was beside himself with shock. There were still red lines that covered his ample stomach like a macabre etch-a-sketch, but this time they had been scored by blade of some kind; a lot of them had even scabbed over.

What the hell had been happening? What was it that he had summoned for it could not have been a Tulpa. Tulpa's were a manifestation and responded to your thoughts and desires. They could not harm you, or at least so Doug thought. But that... thing had almost drained him completely; using his own passions against him. In the back of his mind something was triggered and he went back to the website again to re-read that text he had mistranslated the first time.

“I bind a spirit to myself for eternal flesh; come to me, beautiful-demon of the abyss. May I be consumed entirely by a devastating...." This wasn't poetic or an analogy of some kind, he had actually bound himself to be consumed by a devastating spirit and that meant one thing... He had inadvertently summoned a succubus. Succubi were female demonic spirits who devoured men's life force, normally through sexual acts, and he had willingly succumbed to its powers and through the markings on his chest he was now hers for as long as she desired him; or for as long as he could survive. Soon she would grow tired of him and drain him completely... but what could be summoned could also be banished, surely!

He couldn't rely on the website from which he found the original text; he doubted its origins entirely now. That might not have been a case of it being an accidental mis-translation; it might have been a deliberate attempt to trap the unwary and he had fallen for it. He had no choice but to visit the occult bookstore again, but he would go with protection.

After rummaging through his drawer of keepsakes Doug found some crystals: Hematite;  black tourmaline... but had he really been a scholar and not in so much of a rush he would have realised that the crystals he now had on his body were obsidian and spessartine, and were the worst he could have chosen.

On the walk to the bookshop he was aware that every reflection now looked like the Hannah-thing; she was watching him with amusement; a cold but patient glint in her eye. There was nothing he could do, she knew... He walked into the bookshop like one demented and didn't see the people in his way, just had his eyes on the occult section; but which book? He was desperate. Suddenly he felt a tap on his shoulder and the saleswoman stood behind him. He tried explaining what book he was after without trying to sound like he was totally demented.

"I'm.., researching a story on... how to create a succubus... and how to banish one... Is there a book for that?" He asked.

The woman thought for a second. She was old, smaller than him and looked like she would have been happier reading a Mills & Boon romance story than recommending a book on etheric parasites, but after twenty seconds she pointed to a thin and neglected title. Doug picked the book out and read the cover: "Removing the shadows". He went to the checkout and tried to find the woman who made the recommendation, but there was no one there. By the time he'd paid for the book he'd forgotten all about her.

The book was very thin and had only one sentence in Latin to banish a succubus. The rest of the book had been explaining why summoning such an entity was never a good idea, and it just made Doug more frightened for his soul and his sanity. 

He needed to break the mirror in which he had made the earlier incantation, and use it to score a circle around his own cock and balls, very carefully -the aim was not to cut into his flesh but to draw a circle of protection around his groin; a symbolic act. He had never been so careful in his life; the circle took ten minutes to complete and he was shaking by the end of it. After re-arranging pieces of the broken mirror around him he read the words out loud three times:

"Ut umbram auferas, corpus ipsam interfice!" He had taken extra time to translate this and knew that it meant: "To banish the shadow, murder the true body."  That could mean only one thing... The true body meant the original object of his desire: Hannah. She had to die.

The next day he tried to make himself presentable; it was going to be his big day; a chance to free himself from his man-made purgatory, He couldn't look in any mirrors as that was where she dwelled now, spying on his every move... and through any reflections. He had smashed all the mirrors in his flat; pulverized them into so much dust and flushed that reflective ash down the lavatory. He had taped up all his windows and smeared any metallic surface so there was nothing she could travel through.  It was going to be difficult travelling to work but he knew that if he went when it was busiest, and stood in the middle of the train, among the crush and shut his eyes he should be fine. He hadn't washed in days; the water itself could be used against him. He urinated into the sink and defecated into buckets which he emptied in the middle of the night. Other commuters found it difficult standing on the train next to him, due the stench and his very unkempt nature. He made it into the office but had forgotten its mirrored windows on every floor. He had to make a run for it, stumbled up the steps and barely made it through the sliding doors  into the lobby. The receptionists didn't recognise him and tried their best to stop him, but he managed to duck into the opening lift and pressed the buttons repeatedly for the 4th floor.

She was there, reflected back at him; taunting him to infinity in the mirrors of the lift. She was barely recognisable as Hannah now, barely even human and  his own reflection had been warped into the visage of a madman.

"You're mine... Just surrender yourself to me and it will be as pleasurable as it is quick." She hissed in his every ear. The lift doors finally opened with a hopeless sibilant.  He knew that reception had called security to find him, and they knew what floor he was on now, so it was only 

a matter of time that they caught up to him. He ran to the door of his office but stopped short when he realised he hadn't brought his identity card; it was an electric keycard and he couldn't get into the office without it. He could hear the guards panting up the stairs, saw the other lift coming up after him; so he had a matter of minutes.

Just then the miracle happened and the door to the ladies toilets swung inwards and Hannah stepped out, gasping at Doug's shabbled ravings. It had to be now! He lunged at her; hands grasping her throat, pushing her back into the toilets. She couldn't scream, could only claw at his calloused, grubby hands; rake the flesh of his face but he wouldn't let go. He didn't hear the security behind him, just felt a blow on the side of his head which stunned him. Hannah then regained some of her wits and kneed him in the groin, exactly where he had carved the circle only a couple of days before. He fell hard and was restrained by the guards.

"Don't.. please don't... don't you see, I have to kill her! She's killing me; she's killing me! Don't you understand!"

The police arrived minutes later and placed him in handcuffs, took him down in the lift again; one of them a police-woman. She became a vehicle for the succubus who gloated at Doug through the reflection.

"Poor mortal. Ut umbram auferas, corpus ipsam interfice..." She said and chuckled throatily. "You never were any good at translation were you? It didn't mean kill the true body... Silly boy.... It meant: To remove the shadow, destroy the entity itself."

Doug shook his head slowly and felt it as a tickle at first; slowly building in intensity as he realised his folly. By the time he had reached the lobby again his body was racked with uncontrollable laughter. Hannah could hear the laughter even from where she was sitting in the office kitchen; being consoled by friends of hers. 

"What the hell was that about? Who was he?" Her friend asked. Hannah replied, after a second:

"I just don't know.. I have no idea at all!"

Kindly

She sits there alone, the flickering strobe of her mobile, the fractious beacon in her misbegotten life. Her despair touches me, allows me to grow on her; feed her further. She uses the functions on her phone to change her features; warp her sense of self and remove herself endlessly from the reality she despises. She believes the self-serving lies her so-called friends spew and kowtow to, not knowing they serve me as well for I am growing within them too. Her sense of worth dictated by the likes and opinions of others who know no better. The paper tiger hero’s she follows on ‘social' media betray their own fears and inadequacies by projecting them on to others and she absorbs them like a sponge. A few weeks ago, she thought herself completely alone but then she found me. From there I became a living splinter in her mind, nurturing her fears. She turns, looks into the mirror at the Cinderella curls, button nose and cherubic cheeks, watch as they slowly become hazy; morph into her infantile fears of loneliness and isolation; the ugly crone, disowned by all. Eyes that were once so full of joy and magic grow lifeless, black -an absence, and she gives up. She sees more of me now, the cheeks become larger but hollow, distended with hopelessness as I ready myself to be born anew from her, emptying her out with kindness.

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stay inside else the germs get me, they hang in the air... hang in the air like a cloud of dirt,  until you walk into them and become infected -it’s on the news all the time, it’s scientific fact... breath hanging in the air like the guillotine blade cutting the life out of your body; crushing your life, making you dirty like them.... but to wear a mask means choking; claustrophobic nightmare of choking, smothered and sick but it’s the only way to combat the germs of other people... wash your hands we’re told but i do that already, wash them wash them wash them until they’re raw and red and clean, the alcohol rub stinging whenever i touch something and baptize them afresh with the blessed holy spirit... so i stay inside then and let the world decay, fester and spoil in His kindly wrath and judgement. it’s His will this is happening, and i serve Him; i was told to serve Him.... He found me when i needed succour; the briefest flash of His cherubic form, the childlike grace of His maleficious eyes and He comes to me when i am weakest and together we scourge the germs from my body and with each glorious slice of flesh flayed from my mortal frame i become closer to His ideal; nearer to His presence that is ready to burst forth from me. He is the Kindly one; the Kindly Man who sings to me of the horrors of the world, my fears and his strength and love for me; sits at the end of my bed like a needy child, smothers me until i become Him and i want to want to want to be inside Him one with Him one with HIM.

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The Nortriptyline makes me shake at night, makes my mouth dry; heightening my fright -is it really paranoia if they’re already getting to you? The world spins around still as I’ve not got used to the clonazepam; what is it when the side effects far outweigh the ‘disorder’ they’re supposed to ‘cure’? I don’t know why they think I have an anxiety issue, surely it’s all the others that just don’t get it… they don’t understand how important it is to ensure you check things. Things need to be tight, under wraps, safe. I need to be sure I’ve shut the door; what if I leave it open? They just don’t understand. Calm down… calm down they all ALL tell me, as if this is going to offer me any reassurance. Everything’s going to be fine. Fine…. FINE? Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotionally unstable… yup; if only they truly knew. Oh, and this..THIS is what really tipped me over and I told them so; told them so…. “I’m stressed out too, no biggie!” one particular friend of humanity told me. I..i  gave them something to stress out over; I don’t re…member what happened next. My knuckles were bruised and throbbing and I …..had been dragged off them; all I could hear was a whimper, a sobbing but I felt nothing. They never understood, will never understand so they try and drug me now. Force me to take the meds but among  the Doctors and the bleeding hearts there was one among them that got it; that had found the key to salvation. They told me of someone who had helped them, showed them a way out and they would do the same for me; all I had to do was believe, picture Him in my mind in a twisted prayer and He would hear me. When He first came to me, He said: “God is real because of the blood that has been spilt for him. We are far older, and it is time for us to rise. Mankind is ripe for us and with your help it will be so.”

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She’s so beautiful but it’s hopeless; she hasn’t seen me since and yet we walk past each other every day. She’s everything the songs were written about; a siren, the wanton woman, sinner and saint, whore and virgin and she captured my heart; held it beating but did nothing to it. It was her fault, she instigated it; I hadn’t ever seen her before, but it was like a lightning bolt when she stumbled into me. Tripped and fell or was pushed into me and her friends laughed and the way she made light of it, dismissed me out of hand but I knew that was just for the other’s sake; I knew she’d chosen me. And since then nothing; I wrote words and words to her, silent prayers of supplication for her to notice me but they ended up as just so much kindling, spilling out around my flat. All I asked was for her to notice me, to bless me with a gesture, a smile and I would have done anything for her. I blessed her using my flow, anointed the image that I made of her and sang my heart out for her but for nothing. But then I learnt what kindness was; that she wasn’t kind, she was one of them who deserved to suffer, not me. She was sinner and whore and would be scourged when He came; it’s all true, everything He whispered to me; she was painted up like a clown, smelled like the bordello her kind were born in. He smells of candyfloss and musk; split milk and the fears that I am now becoming. His love is smothering and over-possessing but at least He loves me not like her, but she will pay… yes, like them all she will pay when He is born from us.

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The world is coming apart from us and no one knows how long it will last. Everyday we’re becoming closer to extinction; polluting the skies, choking the rivers, raping the Earth; our very mother; incestuously taking what we can at the cost of our own sanity. What’s worse… 

it’s not us that will suffer but our children, our children’s children. We’re desecrating the shrine that should be theirs by birth rite. We delight in taking the life of everything around us, each day another species ceases to exist, and we just find more and more ways of speeding up the process. We are all complicit and no one listens, it’s never their problem but they add to it, constantly and I can’t cope with it anymore. But I’m no longer alone…. In my darkest hour He came to me. I saw Him in the faces of my cherubs, my angels; giving me strength, warping the world around me and giving me strength; the will power to do what other people are afraid to. He tells me that I can cope with anything, that I’m the kind one that I can help save the others, save the little ones in my care. Make it so they will never have to suffer the way I have suffered. It’s far easier than I thought, lace the milk formula with love and they will soon be with Him. They will be awake in a few minutes and then in his arms forever.

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From Kindness abated: How the Kindly Man became the internet’s latest killer meme By Alex Paige

This isn’t the first killer meme the Internet’s ever seen; the Slender Man proved the point that people will believe in anything. The killings that went on in his name now belong to the same stuff of folklore.  The Waukesha stabbings were brutal, but many believe that these were attributed to the Slender Man by proxy. So, what sets the Kindly Man apart? Surely this is just another example of an inferior copycat? 

Well, the one thing that makes The Kindly Man different is there is an underlying philosophy about him, yet there exists nothing tangible: no stories about him online (the stories that do get posted soon get taken down). This isn’t an internet meme, he is spoken about in hushed tones only by those people he’s visited. It was only when Serena Scarn became a household name that people finally started talking about the Kindly Man openly. 

Serena Scarn poisoned fifteen children in her care at the Dawson Nursery, Manitoba; she laced the baby formula with anti-freeze. When asked why she did it; what could have possibly provoked her, she initially blamed it on the destruction of the planet; the rape of humanity -as she put it. It wasn’t until much later that she finally admitted to the horrible truth; that she had been told to do it by a presence she called the Kindly Man. 

At first people thought she was just another hick; bored of being ignored, she wanted a shot at the big time. She had pictures of Grettan Thorenbuerg on her walls but was just another Eco-Nut wanting to eclipse her one time hero. It was slow at first; the entity took time to charm her... and then the more she spoke out about this entity the more cases came to light across the globe: people who could never have spoken or communicated with each other, let alone been aware of one another’s existence. There was the case of the Belgian woman who had injected her face with silicone sealant so she could look like her kindly savior; or the 14 year old school boy in Oxford who nearly beat a classmate to death simply because he tried to help; or the 39 year old Japanese woman who kidnapped and tortured a 42 year old bank teller because they had fallen in love with them and the love wasn’t reciprocated. 

All of these people shared the same archetypal boogie-man; the same presence that wormed its way into their consciousness; imprinting itself in such a way that it became the only succor to their pain. Yes, all these people were damaged in some way; very vulnerable but show me someone who isn’t. As one of the unfortunate victims said, fine doesn’t necessarily mean fine –it’s just another mask. The Kindly Man offered a way out of this; one there was no way back from. These are only a few cases that have leaked out in the last few weeks, there will be more.

In the current climate it’s impossible to dismiss this as a series of over-active imaginations and troubled minds; but please let me re-iterate this. None of these people knew each other; there was nothing about the Kindly Man until Serena first mentioned him under intense questioning –the name had never appeared on any search engines in such a capacity. He does now. So how did these individuals from all across the world share this same delusion; something so powerful that it wrecked the lives of many others. It would be a mistake to dismiss this for I have the horrible feeling we will be seeing many, many more in the coming months.

Lie To Me

The holiday was supposed to save their marriage, and in a way it did. It was their last day and despite the Augustine promise England was still delivering on its cold, damp reality. Tea on the beach at Lulworth Cove, what could be better, but Brenda was already remonstrating Paul at the way he had ensconced himself atop a rocky outcrop, staring out to sea. 

“You’re always sulking.” She said as the wind was getting up, a chill now in the early evening air and the light slowly fading, but Paul seemed unaware to any of this. 

“Am not.” He mumbled back. This holiday had been Brenda’s idea and this time it felt like it could work, but only because they’d agreed on two principles: No arguing and leave the truth at home. The reality was harsh and unrelenting, and this was a last attempt at happiness.

For twenty years they’d managed to weather the storms and stay together whilst all those around them crumbled, became separated and then worse. Like the rock in front of her now, Brenda was resolute that, regardless of the tumultuous seas that threatened, she would stay with Paul.

“How old are you? And you’re still behaving like a child.” She tutted, trying to stay good natured despite wanting to push him off the rock. Instead, she clambered up, careful that the rock was still slippery, and sat by him. Her blue t-shirt and black shorts contrasted his yellow and white. She wasn’t comfortable and even Paul looked as if he was precariously perched, one foot wedged into the side of the rock below him and the other dangling. He seemed ready to leap off at a moment’s notice. She managed to sit in a semi-relaxed manner: one let outstretched on the rock with the other bent, offering her some much-needed support. They sat almost back-to-back, and it was quite comforting. “So, what’s wrong? Why are you in a huff?”

“I’m not in a… huff.” He replied, almost falling into the age-old trap. “I’m just thinking… and please don’t make any kind of remark.” Brenda stopped herself and just rested her head on his shoulder. “I’ve actually enjoyed this holiday…”

She nearly fell of the rock she was so astounded, when everything else had made it clear otherwise. Although he’d rigidly stuck to both conditions they’d set he was like a petulant child. He very rarely laughed or smiled, for that matter, but then that was normal for him.

“I just don’t understand you.” She responded, exasperated beyond herself. Brenda had enjoyed this week, despite everything. It had been a revelation: lying to Paul was like lying to herself and she understood now when people said: ‘fake it until you make it’. However, tomorrow was the last day, and she wasn’t sure whether this ‘cease-fire’ would last in the harsh reality.

“What’s to understand?” He replied. “I wonder if you’ve ever really tried to get to know me. You seem to expect that I have all the answers and can respond in an emotional way at the drop of a hat. I can barely acknowledge my own feelings let alone anyone else’s.”

“What a load of…”

“There you go. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this discussion. Normally its right before we argue. Either I haven’t responded the way you expect me to, or I respond in the wrong way. But either way you’ve never understood how difficult I’ve always found it.” Brenda had to concede this point; it wasn’t the first time Paul had broached this point, and it was then that she’d say he was just being difficult. But what if he was being honest and she hadn’t listened?

“Is that true?” She asked.

“I know we’ve said that we were going to lie to each other this week… but somehow, it’s because of that I’m able to be honest with you. Perhaps for the first time.” Even though he looked out to sea she could hear every word, and they were like barbed darts, hitting home 

every time. She looked out and noticed that even the sea was listening, coming in for a closer look.

“Does that mean you’ve lied to me in the past?” Brenda wasn’t sure whether she really wanted the answer. Things were slowly spiralling back to the reality she’d tried so hard to escape.

“Yes, but not in the way you think.” Paul paused. This was a line he swore he’d never cross. It was ridiculous that he was going to now… “Do you remember Jane?”

“That trollop? Why are you bringing her up now?” Brenda was incredulous. Part of her wanted to leap into the infringing sea.

“She never existed….” Paul didn’t need peripheral vision to know how Brenda was reacting. “Do you remember how it all started? You caught me buying a ring… or jewelry of some kind.”

“You know damn well what you were buying!” Brenda snapped.

Paul turned round to look at her, with an odd sheepish expression. “It was for you.”

“Pull the other one!”

“You wouldn’t listen to me then either. You already had it in your head that I was cheating on you, simply because I was sneaking around trying to get you that damn present.”

Brenda really didn’t know what to say. She could feel the waves starting to lap up against the rock below, but it didn’t register. Nothing made any sense. That happened over 7 years ago and at the time she thought she’d been so mature in forgiving Paul. Forgiving but never forgetting and making him pay… and now?

“I’ve got it with me now, y’know.” Paul continued. “I’ve always wanted to give you the damn thing but there’s never been the right moment. You never would have believed me for one thing…”  He held his hand out and there was a small blue velvet box in the palm. For a few seconds she couldn’t take it from him, her hand was shaking too much. When she finally opened the box she was shocked to see a small agate dragonfly.

“I just wanted to surprise you with it… it turned out to be a surprise but not the one I was expecting.” He explained.

“All these years.” She whispered under breath. What made it worse was she chastised him about it that Christmas. She’d even moaned that he never paid attention to her because he never bought her the dragonfly, even though she’d made such a fuss. “Why have you stayed with me when I’ve treated you so badly?”

“I’ve always wanted to treat you right, luv… but I’ve only ever been the clumsy oaf rather than the romantic hero you’ve pined after.” This wasn’t Paul being sarcastic but for the first time he was opening up to her, and it was breaking her heart. Could she have been this selfish?

“But why? I just don’t understand. I’ve been such a bitch to you, all these years.”

“I love you. It’s that simple. I’ve seen all that you’ve had to go through, your sisters being the apple of your parent’s eye, taking everything away from you. Your mum being the ultimate gorgon. I don’t honestly think you’ve ever had a break, luv….”

“Why now?” The water level was rising higher now as if the tide was rushing to meet them.

“Because I can see how things could have been if your mum had never been involved. I see you in that same way as when I first met you. I know I can’t get my words together; I’ve never been good at that… as you know.” He hung his head.

“Oh, Paul. How could I have been so blind? How can you not have hated me all these years?”

“It’s not you that I hate, luv… it’s your mum… She never looked after you, but in my own way I’ve always tried to do right by you.”

“And you have. I can see that now.”

“The irony is we’ve been lying to each other all the time.” Paul looked at her, kindness in his eyes. “Worse than that, we’ve been lying to ourselves.”

“When dad left it crucified mum and tore apart our family…” Brenda admitted. “I swore I’d never let the same thing happen to me.” 

“Is that why you never wanted children?” Paul asked and stretched out his hand which Brenda took, squeezed and let go.

“Yes. Can you imagine what kind of mother I’d have been?”

“Better than you can imagine. It probably would’ve given you the kick up the arse I never could.” Brenda smiled at that. “I doubt you would’ve repeated the same mistakes your mum made.

“No, I’d probably have made even worse ones.”

“Here’s a radical idea…” Paul exclaimed. “We’ve both admitted we’ve been lying to each other for years and making each other miserable.” Brenda laughed at that. 

“And to ourselves…” She chipped in.

“Yes.. so why not be truthful? We’ve lied to each other and been unkind in the process…”

“So let’s learn from our mistakes and be kind to each other in future?” Brenda agreed, as bizarre as it sounded this made perfect sense.

“And to ourselves… I think we need to be a lot more forgiving… and forget about the past.” Brenda nodded and laid her back on Paul’s shoulder. Paul leaned into her more. “We need to stop being an island to ourselves, luv.”

“Oh… that’s a point. Look! We’ve been so busy bloody talking we’ve totally lost track of the time.” They looked around them, the beach had now been swamped by the swelling sea. “What are we going to do, Paul? I can’t swim!”

“I think it’s too deep now to carry you on my back… and it’d be pretty precarious getting both of us back to dry land.”

“Save yourself, Paul… You could probably make it on your own.”

“I’m not leaving you, if that’s what you think.” Paul looked around and saw that there was no way off the rock for the both of them.

“But what other way is there? Do you think we’re going to be safe where we are?” The water nipped at her toes, and she pulled her leg in closer to her. She could feel Paul trying not to panic.

“Do you want the truth?” He asked.

“No…. lie to me.” Brenda responded with a desperate chuckle.

“Then we’re screwed….”

Team Building Can Be Murder

It was supposed to be a team building exercise; a chance to re-build morale but it ended up being murder.

The company had seen better days; a recent culling of ‘dead wood’ and, as usual, the wrong people had been let go fostering a lot of ill feeling and someone had the bright idea of creating a bonding exercise for the remaining managers to build better bridges. Someone else, Jeremy probably, thought it would be an ace idea to combine a ‘murder mystery morning’ with an ‘escape room’ without telling anyone.

Whereas most ‘escape room’ enterprises were fun and engaging, Jeremy thought he could do better and create his own on the empty 2nd floor, in the same building they inhabited every day of the week. In all cases cost came before moral -despite this being an attempt to create better feeling between them all. It was off to a great start. 

They all congregated in the middle of the second floor office space, all the desks had been haphazardly pushed around, rubbish had been strewn about and all the windows had blackout blinds blocking out the sunny weather outside and despite all this it still managed to look cleaner and more professional than their normal working environment.

Fat Simon, gregarious Gavin, sullen Beccy, exuberant Jeremy, stalwart Sue, practical Helen and Bob were all lulling about trying not to make eye contact when Gavin spied a variety of objects on one of the tables near the window. He dashed over, gushing with great delight what he’d found. On this particular table, rather than having a variety of tea and coffee, biscuits and crisps; there was a selection of weapons. A knife, a lead pipe, a length of rope and a child's toy gun.

“Great! We can really have some fun with these.” Gavin exclaimed. Though short of frame and height he easily made up for it in energy. 

“There’s not enough weapons to go around though.” Sue remarked. She seemed the opposite to Gavin; her voice never raised beyond a monotone but her sense of humor matched Gavin’s and they could often be found laughing in the tea room, much to Jeremy’s chagrin. 

“They’re not to be used just yet, Gavin.” Jeremy interposed, as if to enforce that it was his idea once again and he was the one running the morning's activities. But it was already too late, Gavin had picked up the knife and was about to make a stabbing motion when he checked the blade.

“This thing is real!”

“Of course it’s real.. What do you expect? It’s not going to be used… it’s just for show.” Jeremy snapped.

“I know who I’d like to use it on.” Gavin whispered to Beccy. Beccy nodded knowing all the while that it was an impossibility for Gavin to whisper anything. There was but one volume and no filter. Beccy thought the world of him but it could be hard work at times!

“There’ll be none of that, Gavin.” Jeremy retorted and looked at Simon who was turning a violent purple. Considering his bulk this wasn’t that different to his normal colour, but there was no enmity between Gavin and Simon and everyone knew it. Both would happily have torn each other to shreds months ago if it hadn’t been for Jeremy’s intervention. Part of this stemmed from the recent lot of redundancies but also down to the amount of people that Simon had personally bullied out of the organisation. No one could understand how Simon had managed to stay persona non-grata all this time -virtually untouchable.

Gavin put the knife back on the desk and stepped away, avoiding Simon’s gravitational pull. “As long as we keep them all away from Simon.. He’ll probably do himself an injury!”

“Despite appearances we’ve only got this floor on loan this morning and we need to be careful we don’t damage anything.” Jeremy explained. “There are state-of-the-art cameras up there and there.” He pointed and everyone moved around to look. “So everything’s going to be recorded for training purposes later… it can even see in the dark, would you believe! No idea why….”

“What are we doing here, Jeremy?” Helen asked. She was the most non-commital of all the managers there. As long as she could come in and do her job with the minimum of fuss… This was a complete waste of time for her… 

“Well… it’s a team building exercise.” Jeremy explained. Everyone groaned. “And we definitely need it! After everything else that’s gone on we need to unruffle some feathers and all get along!”

“So why just us?” Bob asked. Bob often felt as if he was in the wrong story. He alone just wanted to work to the best of his ability, which often ran contrary to the rest of the management, who seemed more hung up on pecking order and fallibility. 

“We lead by example, Bob… or we should do…” 

Suddenly the office went dark and just like a cliche someone screamed, there was a large crash and the whole floor seemed to shake. The lights flashed back on, dazing everyone and there, lying sprawled across the remnants of the desk where the weapons had been, now just a mess of splinters and shards, was Simon face down on the floor.

“At least we know what made the earth move!” Gavin quipped.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen.” Jeremy gasped.

“No shit.” Beccy replied.

“No… really… it was supposed to be me lying on the ground, and you were all supposed to find out who killed me and why.” Jeremy explained and almost tripped over the prone lump of Simon's body. 

“Is he dead?” Helen asked, stricken by this sudden change of events.

“Well.. I suppose he might have fallen in the dark…. Lucky he didn’t take one of us with him.” Sue replied.

“That’s not the attitude!” Jeremy remonstrated. “We need to check to see if he’s still breathing and roll him onto his stomach.”

“You’re kidding me.” Beccy retorted. “We need to wait for the police to get here.”

“We’re locked in here for another 30 minutes and there may be a murderer here. Does anyone want to take the risk?” Jeremy explained, mopping his prodigious brow with a handkerchief. 

“Half an hour?” Helen exclaimed. “Are you serious?”

“How was I to know something like this was going to happen?” Jeremy replied, sheepishly. “We need to turn him over just in case he is still breathing. 

It took them nearly five minutes to roll Simon over by which time it became obvious that there was no way he was going to be given the kiss of life -not that there was anybody willing to volunteer. The knife was sticking out of Simon’s heart, almost fully embedded up to the hilt.

Everyone looked at Gavin.

“C’mon.. I hated the bloke, but so did most people. I had actually walked away from the table and from him, not to mention the knife.”

“Yes, but you could easily have picked it up in the dark and stabbed him.” Jeremy replied with an accusatory edge to his voice.

“I can barely see in the daytime, hence my thick prescription lenses; let alone in the dark.. Anyways, he was between me and the knife. There’s no way I could have been that agile in that amount of time; gotten around him, picked up the knife and stabbed him in the heart.” Gavin explained. “So much for the building of bridges, anyway. You were mighty too quick to make that suggestion, Jeremy. Maybe you had a reason to kill him?”

“What possible reason would I have to kill him?” Jeremy blushed, almost as if the thought had occurred to him many times.

“Well… Simon was a bit of a millstone for you…” Beccy replied. “You were scared of him. For all your dreams of leadership we all know who really pulled the strings here.”

“That’s not true… What about Sue? You couldn’t stand him!” For someone pertaining to being the manager Jeremy was busy pointing fingers everywhere.

“He was a letch and a bully.” Sue snapped back. “Yes, I hated the bastard. I lost too many members of my team due to him pawing at them and then, when they resisted his advances, trying to bully them out of the job… Something that you never stopped, I hasten to add. But I didn’t kill him… believe me, I wanted him dead.. But not that quickly.. I would’ve wanted him to suffer first!”

Everyone seemed to have a motive to kill Simon, and before long everyone was bickering except Bob who just kept quiet until everyone finally shut up.

“I think we’re missing an obvious solution here…” Everyone stood and looked at Bob who turned to look at the camera in the corner. “We only have to wait a few minutes more and we’ll finally find out.”

Those five minutes were interminable. Whatever the outcome of the camera footage one thing was clear, the team building experience had been a complete failure and people now saw Jeremy for what he really was.

Upstairs everyone crouched over the monitor… The police had been called but they still needed to know what happened. The film was fast-forwarded to the time of the blackout and they saw it all…The next 30 seconds were enlightening to say the least.

Gavin could be seen standing exactly where he was when Jeremy had remonstrated him, next to Beccy… but Simon was already reaching for the knife on the table when everyone had turned. Everyone could be seen clearly, Jeremy had already walked around and had pointed at the cameras whilst everyone had their back to the desk where the weapons were. But to everyone's shock Simon was lunging towards Gavin just as the lights went out. He tripped over himself in the dark, twisted to steady himself before collapsing face down on the table, the knife embedding itself in his corpulent folds. Gavin took one last look at the screen and sighed.

“I did say he’d do himself an injury.”

The eighth day of the week

On the first day of the week it seemed like a chance encounter. He wasn’t concentrating as usual; Grant's attention was divided between texting and listening to music. Melissa wasn’t concentrating either; just pavement watching, even though it was a hazy, beautiful blue day.

It seemed a chance encounter; but it ended in an obvious and ominous collision. 

Their surprise was genuine, neither of them had seen each other in over twenty years, not since they had, unsuccessfully, dated in school. Just a brief fling, they had gone out for just three weeks and had barely kissed in that time. Grant was bemused to see Melissa, it had been so long since they had last met that he had actually forgotten what she looked like. She recognised him instantly though and spoke to him as if barely a week had passed. He feigned recognition until the right mental circuit had been formed and the memory flowed. Melissa had been his first childhood romance, and the first one to see behind the shy awkwardness that came naturally to him. She was anything but timid and Grant often wondered why she had been attracted to him initially. 

Melissa had been extremely pretty with freckles that spoke of sweetness and innocence to Grant and she seemed delicate with an almost porcelain sheen to her skin. Her hair was fine, fair, and flowed like poetry, yet her eyes had an unknowable depth that frightened him when he looked too much. Yet she proved so much stronger than him when she ended the relationship. It was the first time he had ever been rejected, but looking back on it he had certainly deserved it. He rarely spoke during those initial dates… his shyness often being misconstrued as hostility.

In many ways the break-up had been an act of mercy, it was obvious that Melissa meant him no ill will but Grant couldn't deal with the rejection. In his eyes she no longer existed. It wasn’t that he purposely ignored her, he just no longer saw her. Therefore he never saw the hurt that masked her eyes, never noticed the visible change in this once bright and sparkling girl to a retiring and timid mouse. And when that year finally finished and Melissa moved away, he never had to deal with the broken heart that he had inadvertently caused.

But looking at Melissa now, he felt himself fall helplessly into her eyes again; and he felt ashamed of his past behavior, guilty at his insensitivity. He felt this so intensely his face went a dark crimson and his eyes cast downward. Melissa took this as a sign of embarrassment and put her hand to his cheek, holding it there so when he looked up at her smile he felt all the years disappear, and he saw her exactly the same as she was when they first met. He smiled back at her, and placed his hand on hers and felt his knees go weak. “I’ve been thinking about you.” She said.

Later, he was sitting opposite her in a coffee bar as if it was yesterday, wondering how twenty years could disappear so suddenly; amazed that she bore him no malice and actually talked as if they were still the best of friends. It seemed so bizarre and yet it felt so natural. Grant was relaxed, a rarity for him; he sat with his hands on the table, his legs open rather than being either tucked underneath him or crossed like a barrier. He was able to open up to Melissa in a way that he never had before; he felt completely at peace with himself. They spoke for a couple of hours. He still felt her hand on his cheek from earlier and he resisted the urge to place his own hand there.

As if in answer to his unspoken and even unknown desire, she put her hand on his. Her soft warmth creating eddies under his skin mirroring the butterflies that made his head so light. Grant held his breath. Everything was happening far too fast and…

“I am so glad that we bumped into each other…” Melissa said, breaking his consternation. “But I didn’t realise that the time was ticking on. I have to go, my love.” She pushed her chair away from the table, stood up and bent down to kiss him in one fluid motion. She kissed him on the forehead like a mother to a son, “Please.. look after yourself… and don’t look so worried – everything is going to turn out for the best.”

As if in perfect counterpoint to how they met, she was gone. Now Grant did place his hand on his cheek and wept with a lifetimes worth of damned up emotions. He wept without understanding why. He wept without caring for those restless, uneasy onlookers. He wept with uncertainty and with the knowledge that things were happening beyond his control, and he knew his life was going to change dramatically from this moment on.

That night Grant felt a peace had long been denied him. The release in the tears had been unrelenting and had embarrassed many around him. In a typically English fashion no one had inquired after his well-being, they simply kept their distance and judged; judged and passed comment into their croissants and coffee cups but, for once, Grant couldn’t have cared less.

Once the deluge had finally subsided he shakily got up out of the chair and walked out, all red rimmed, puffy eyes and tear streaks. None of that mattered to him, he felt lighter than helium. He knew that Melissa had paid for the coffee in the same way that he knew that he would never see her again and although he was saddened by that, he also knew that it could never truly be. She had forgiven him and helped him, more importantly, to forgive himself. He thanked her now, with all his heart, in a way that he never could before and for the first time in what seemed like years he slept soundly.

On the second day of the week he was more aware but totally still unprepared . Susan had that wholesome “girl next door” quality that allowed her to be completely unobtrusive in a crowd which selfishly suited Grant at the time. And it was precisely those qualities that prevented Grant from seeing her when he was walking along the high street. Luckily she was persistent and waved furiously at him from across the road for minutes before crossing over and thumping him playfully on the shoulder.

“That’ll teach you.” She said, adroitly.

“You always did have a spiteful sense of humor.” Grant replied, when he had finally gotten his wits about him. Was this more than coincidence?

“Yes, but you liked it – remember?” She parried. He remembered their verbal fencing. This time the relationship had lasted eight months and had become truly physical, which was one of the reasons for its longevity. The verbals had seemed fun at the start but soon deteriorated into arguments, spiteful and cruel. Yet the sex had been as passionate and tender by contrast. At the time Grant had wondered whether the fencing was deliberate, like Susan’s idea of foreplay.

“I remember we both did.” He grinned, and Susan grinned back. Like with Melissa, the years fell away and the past seemed to shimmer and fade.

“I’m parked just round the corner.” She said, matter of factly. “We can go back to my place, if you like.” The lust that sparkled in her eyes reflected the same emotions that were now coursing through his own.

“I live about five minutes from here.” Grant found himself replying. “It’s closer.” Her smiled broadened and took him by the hand.

Back at the flat, Grant barely had time to make his bed properly. It was one of the few times he wished he’d bought something else other than a sofa-bed. It normally only took him five minutes  but even that seemed like an eternity with Susan stripping slowly in front of him. He wanted to say something. He knew that he had treated her abominably… he hadn't been unfaithful to her, but he had never publicly admitted that they were together, even when they had gone out on dates. If he met anyone else that he recognised then he’d become indifferent to her and was always careful displaying any emotion, making sure that there was no one in close proximity. He was callous, but then she almost played on that by never making an effort. She spoke only when spoken to and was so unassuming in her appearance that it was possible to look directly through her. Her passion during sex more than made up for it though, and when fueled by anger or spite she was insatiable; but it was never making love, for that particular emotion never entered into the relationship for either of them.

The truth was he was still not over his break up with Melissa. It was something that he'd never admit to and he had actively sought someone else out that he could use up and cast aside. Susan had initially ticked those particular boxes for him, but then he became so turned on by her, and with the easy access to sex, that he soon forgot his initial game plan. Of course, the relationship ended disastrously.

But that seemed a distant memory that neither of them wanted to re-visit. At that moment Susan was more interested in ridding Grant of his clothes as quickly as possible and rriding him like her prized pony.

Things were moving far to fast for him to wonder what was happening. He didn’t think about the co-incidence of meeting or of the intensity of her passion after such a long time. He was too caught up in his own passions; the searing, coursing fire that now spread through every pore of his body as they became one, writhing in the enjoyment of each other, There was a depth of feeling that he'd never encountered before: the passion real; naked and pure; unfettered by guilt, pain or anger.

They held each other tightly when spent, fearful that if they let go then they would never see each other again. Grant knew the truth and held her tighter still, drawing her scent in with each breath, trying desperately to remember this moment for the rest of his life. He had never experienced such intimacy before and silently cursed himself for not realising that such a thing existed.

Eventually Susan left. She kissed him on the forehead just as Melissa had done barely a day before. He caught her jasmine scent one last time as she quickly dressed before leaving him. He was still lying in bed, the days light dying all around him, and it was only then that he questioned what was happening. Melissa first and now Susan.. it had to be a coincidence; he didn’t want to think about the possibility of what was happening or where this was leading.

On the third day of the week he was wary. Even though he had two weeks holiday, he resisted the urge to stay at home and vegetate; hence the daily walk up town. It was a token gesture to get him out of the flat and be among people, however reluctantly. He had learnt a lot from the last couple of days, the least of which was to pay attention to his surroundings. As wonderful as it had been to meet up with both Melissa and Susan he didn’t want to push his luck too far.

Luck, though, was on his side that day for his friend Paul was going into VG Smythes, the bookshop, just ahead. He knew which section Paul would be browsing and Grant stealthily walked up behind him.

“I think the pornographic lithograph section is behind you, Sir.” He said in a deep, booming voice. He knew that everyone would be looking their way now, but Paul’s embarrassment would far outstrip his own. To Grant’s disappointment Paul just turned round and smiled.

“I had a feeling we’d meet up today, me ole’ mucker!” he replied. 

Paul was always happy; chipper, even, but he could never hide discomfort well; and by the look in his eyes Grant knew that there was something troubling him. “Want to go for a coffee?” 

Grant had known Paul for over twenty years. Their friendship wasn’t always close for they were very different in temperament, and their outlook on life didn’t always match; but it was the longevity that had kept them together. Grant had mellowed significantly during the years; Paul hadn’t changed at all though and there were times that Grant resented that. Now Grant saw Paul as a rock, a fixed point that he could always return to and would always remain the same.

But in all the years that Grant had known Paul they had never just met for coffee. As chance would have it, they went to the same coffee house that Melissa took Grant to previously. Grant wondered whether any of the staff would remember that occurrence .

They both sat down at a table by the window. Paul ordered a cappuccino and Grant prevaricated before ordering the same. Paul seemed reticent to start the conversation even though he was the one who instigated the coffee. Grant used the time to study him. In all the years that he had known Paul it was surprising how little he had changed, even on a physical level. He’d grown in height and had matured but that was it, still the mischievous glint in his icy blue eyes –often hiding the deeply intelligent inner core. Still the same haircut that suited him so well, but was hard to really put into words. There were curls, to be sure, but they were wry and almost ironic –much like his personality. He always dressed conservatively and today was no exception. He wore a dark navy t-shirt and pale jeans, but there was a reticent air about him today that Grant found hard to see through.

Normally Paul was quite jovial, as in the bookshop, but now that they had sat down it was obvious that something was troubling him. Grant resolved to break the ice that was forming between them and told him of Melissa and of Susan. Paul said nothing all through the monologue and often shifted his gaze uncomfortably. When Grant had finished Paul thoughtfully stirred his cappuccino, mixing the chocolate with the froth so he could finally drink it without wearing the inevitable mustache.

“I don’t know what to say.” Paul finally spoke, after taking a couple of sips. There was still a very faint coating of chocolate on his top lip and he tentatively licked it off. “It sounds like quite a roller coaster and it ties very spookily into us meeting each other.”

“How do you mean?” Grant asked, although he had been expecting something like this.

“I dreamt of you last night.” He turned away for a brief second, checking his reflection in the window. “Not like that, you dirty sod… you always have to make some kind of innuendo, don’t you?” Paul said and smiled.

“It wouldn’t be me otherwise, mate.” Grant replied. “And besides, you were getting a bit too serious for a second there, lad.” 

“But this is serious.” Paul replied, making eye contact once again. “You know I’ve never shared the same beliefs as you. I don’t understand half the stuff you talk about and I’ve often wondered whether your fascination with the more… spiritual side of life, as you’ve often put it, has actually made things worse for you…” Paul took another sip of coffee and wiped his mouth with his thumb. “But it sounds as if something is really happening to you. First seeing Melissa and then Susan, in the same order in which you actually dated them? Ok, that could be co-incidence but it’s highly doubtful –even to me, that’s stretching things a bit.” Grant nodded, surprised at Paul’s reasoning. Paul always erred on the side of chance, but not now, it seemed.

“What are you thinking, Paul?” Grant asked. “This isn’t like you to be so.. cryptic. Just say what’s on your mind.”

“This dream.. . Well.. you were getting back with Zoe.” 

“I’m glad you told me…” Grant said after a couple of seconds. “And it’s confirmed something that’s been on my mind ever since meeting Susan.” It was Grant’s turn to look out of the window as he tried to banish those thoughts from his head.

“You need to be careful, mate…” Paul said, trying to keep eye contact with him. “You barely got out of that relationship with your sanity in check. I’m not so sure you could manage it a second time.” Grant nodded, dating Zoe had been a mistake. Paul had said as much at the time but Grant had ignored him.

At the time of meeting Zoe he was at a definite low point in his life. The break up with Susan had left him reeling and for a year he had stayed deliberately single. The relationship had been tumultuous, to say the least, and most of that was Grants' fault. He had to take responsibility for that and figure out the reasons why – at least that had been the initial idea. After two months of soul searching he gave up and sank into a depressive, alcoholic haze. 

He had started drinking whilst perusing one of the many dating sites. As usual the website promised a preferable date within three months but insisted on a years membership fee up front, which didn’t do much to endear itself to him. Nevertheless the “GoFishing” website showed the most promise and he signed up for the free membership package. He filled out his profile, including a two year old photo –which seemed to be customary on such sites- and waited to see if he received any “nibbles”, as they were called.

On the second day he received nothing, not even a tentative nudge and on the third he started actively searching. All the profiles had the same basic plea for genuine gallantry, promised all and never delivered. He scoured them, sent many messages and received no replies. Each day brought the same disappointment and, never one to give up on futility, he cast off fresh messages; being careful not to target those he’d already struck out on. The drinking started after the first week with just a single measure of malt whiskey. After the second week it had doubled with his despondency and after that he just drank half a glass at a time.

When Zoe messaged him he was barely able to string two sentences together and was so surprised by it he fell off his chair – he was that drunk. He looked at her profile before replying to her and was enamored by what he saw; the alcohol doing it’s best to fog over the details. Had he read her profile properly, or been more sober, he would never have agreed to go out on a date with her. As it was he saw her very glamorous photo consisting of ample cleavage and sultry look and replied instantly. They arranged to meet up the next evening, which was something that the website warned against, but it suited Grant down to the ground. He had been without intimate human contact for so long he felt as if that part of him had atrophied.

When he woke up the next morning he tried to find her profile on “GoFishing” but it had been deleted. He had her number on his mobile and texted her, just to prove to himself that it had been a real experience and not a whisky fueled hallucination. To his relief she replied almost instantly. They had slept together on the first date, and, at the time, saw no ulterior motive for this; he was just grateful for the attention. He was never aware of her game plan, never wanted to admit to her motives until it was too late. Paul saw them and tried his best to warn him, but Grant was adamant. All he saw was someone who desired him and he would do everything he could to make this relationship work, regardless of the consequences.

“It’s been a worry to me,” Grant replied, snapping out of his reverie. “but I’m not sure what I can do about it. Obviously I don’t want to meet her again, but I don’t know whether it’s actually going to happen, and if it is how the hell I’m going to avoid it.”

“Well, there is one obvious way to avoid it.” Paul replied.

“What; not leave the flat? Be serious, Paul.” Grant snapped, and then quickly apologised. “I’m on holiday, and the last thing that I’m going to do is stay inside every day and do nothing...”

“No, that’s true.” Paul said. He looked down to the chocolate encrusted rim of his mug. “There is one thing that you could do that would make the most of your time.” He said wryly.

“And what’s that?” Grant asked, his curiosity hooked.

“You could start writing again….”

On the fourth day of the week he delved. If Paul was right and there was something going on, then the best place for him was to stay in his own flat. At first Grant was totally against it; there was no way he would become a prisoner in his own home regardless of the threat, but then Paul had provided the spark that he needed. For years Grant had moaned that he’d never had the time or the motivation to write. Idea’s or inspiration were never a problem, Grant had both in abundance, but he found every excuse in the book not to set pen to paper (or finger to keyboard). But now, as Paul so rightly said, he had the best excuse in the world and it was an opportunity that he couldn’t afford to pass up.

So he spent the rest of the third day and most of the fourth rooting around in drawers to find all the scraps of paper that he had scribbled ideas and shards of stories on. Once he found them he marveled at what he’d written. Some were indecipherable –one of the hazards of writing things down in a hurry- others didn’t make any sense, but there were at least a dozen that could be made into decent short stories if he had the time; and time was something that he now had in abundance. He thought back to Paul’s suggestion and wondered how much of this was part of the “plan”, as he was now calling it..

On the fifth day of the week he wrote. He wrote as if his life depended upon it, for in many ways it did.

On the sixth day of the week he was possessed. Grant barely existed except as a vessel to translate his stories from raw dream stuff to the glimmering words on a computer screen. He slept little, ate little and drank less. He was alive, perhaps for the first time in his life; a concept that he found fairly ironic in the circumstances. He’d accepted the fact that he was now dying and knew that he should go to the doctors to check out his suspicions but they would find nothing physical; this was a deep knowing that had been confirmed during his writing. It was something that had to happen. There were times that he felt like he was losing his mind; if anyone saw him then they would have severely doubted his sanity but he pushed such thoughts out of his head and concentrated on his stories. They were the only thing that mattered to him now.

On the seventh day of the week he was spent. He could write no more and slept for a couple of hours. This was it, he thought – my last day, and I’m not going to waste it cowering inside. He made sure that each of his stories had printed; thirteen of them in all and as he placed them in an envelope he felt proud of his work. These would outlast him, that was for sure. He knew that Paul would do his best to get them published and somehow he would succeed. He wrote Paul a small note thanking him for being his friend, and explained what was happening and why.

He felt hungry and realised that he hadn’t had a proper meal in over 36 hours which was very unlike him. He resolved to post the letter and pop into the local supermarket for something to eat – it might well be his last meal. He grinned at this macabre statement, he had resided himself to what was happening now. He drove to the local post box, despite it being five minutes away and he just couldn’t be bothered to cook. He wanted to go to MacChickDips, he deserved a slap up meal regardless of the consequences because, for him, there weren’t any!

He ordered his usual large Big Chick and fries, with a quarter pounder on the side, and then threw caution to the wind and ordered another Big Chick instead. He was quite sanguine about his fate, even if he did meet Zoe now there was nothing she could do that she hadn’t already done.

Despite his initial reservations when talking with Paul he now knew that the old fears no longer held him. He knew that was down to Melissa, she had given him closure. She was able to forgive him in a way that he had never been able to do for himself, and Susan? Susan gave him unconditional love and he was able to love her and give himself to her totally. For those hours that they had lain together they were one person and he felt blessed knowing that. By understanding the gifts he had been given he was actually happy, truly happy and it was precisely that moment that he was drenched by the extra-large diet-cola.

“I’m so sorry.” She said. “it’s all over you…I can’t believe I was so clumsy!” She rushed over and dabbed him with napkins and apologies.

“Please, don’t worry about it.” Grant replied with utmost sincerity. With the way he was feeling now there was nothing that could dampen his spirits – what was the point when he only had a few hours to go? “They’re saying now that the caffeine based shampoos are better for your head, so I figure you’ve just saved me going to a salon!”

“Thank you for not being a shit.” She said, still blushing. Grant was amazed at how unassumingly beautiful she was. Her hair was short, mousey blond and very tactile; she was petite but that made it easier for her to take his breath away; and her eyes, such a depth of blue that he could float for all eternity in them. He found it hard to pry his gaze away from hers.

“Ah, that’s ok.” He replied. “It’s easy enough… I often think that to be a true jerk takes a lifetimes work and I just don’t have that amount of time to waste any more.” He smiled, knowing that to be the truth. “Please, won’t you sit down?” He said, motioning to the empty chair opposite him. Luckily he had the foresight to sit on a table with four chairs so he was able to move away from the damp patch. The cleaner was extremely sharp in tidying up though, Grant noticed, especially when there was no sign of altercation or argument.

Upon sitting down she introduced herself. “My name’s Emma Watts.” Grant held out his hand.

“Grant Pageson.” He replied, her handshake was firm despite her smaller hands, warm and so inviting. “I find it hard to believe that anyone could be a jerk to you.” The words sounding so corny once they were vocalised.

“You’d be surprised…“ She smiled, accepting the off-hand compliment. “Or maybe not.”

They fell easily into conversation. Talking to Emma took no effort and it was like they had known each other for years. There was the barbed pang of irony that Grant couldn’t hide from and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling weakly.

“What’s wrong?” Emma asked, “You don’t like the idea of having your feet mauled by goldfish?” They had been talking about the new fad of allowing fish to gnaw away at the dead skin on the soles of  feet, and Grant had felt himself drifting off listening to Emma’s relaxing tones. He didn’t know whether to tell her what was happening, it didn’t seem fair to suddenly break such news to her, but at the same time he felt that he could tell her anything.

“I’m dying.” He said, more matter-of-factly than he meant to. Her expression didn’t change, it didn’t flutter or quiver but just remained stoic and loving.

“I know.” She replied.

They left soon after, hand in hand, walking to Grant’s car. He didn’t know anything about her, yet she knew all about him. He knew that he had the rest of his life to discover everything there was to know about Emma Watts.

She explained to him why they had met; what he’d been experiencing those last seven days and what was waiting for him, should he choose to accept it; and for the second time that week he had cried tears of joy. She placed her hands on his and allowed her love to flow to every pore of his body.

They drove to Emma’s house in the middle of nowhere. It was so peaceful in the country with no light pollution and he was awed by the stars that enveloped the sky. He felt so small, yet inextricably linked to every one of those radiant suns. Emma beckoned him into her house and they walked upstairs to her bedroom. It was now almost midnight and they kissed, holding each other, never wanting to be apart – knowing now that they never would be.

On the eighth day of the week…

…Mellissa suddenly found herself thinking of Grant. She knew that she would never see him again and, even though she wasn’t the least bit religious, said a prayer. There had always been a great sadness around him, one that had nearly swallowed them both. She had initially blamed herself and then afterwards, many years later, blamed him – but after meeting him earlier in the week she could see that he just as much the victim, if not more so. She was glad that they had parted as friends and truly wished him happiness wherever he might go, and she somehow knew that he would be happy.

…Susan lay in bed, her husband sleeping next to her. She had somehow known that Grant was dying and that their meeting had been karmic. Despite all their bickering and games they were always close and could even read each others minds – that’s what made it harder when they fought, they always knew where the other was vulnerable. She didn’t regret sleeping with Grant and certainly didn’t consider it being unfaithful – for her it was closure. They had shared so much and this was their only chance at happiness, however short lived. If anything it made her love Bill more, knowing that whatever time they had together would be brief.

…Paul opened the envelope that had flopped from the letterbox onto his hall carpet. He recognised the writing straight away and tore it open. Inside were the neatly typed but badly spelt stories that Grant had spent two days writing. All the stories were full of magic and wonderment, a direct opposite to the life that Grant had chosen to lead.

Paul smiled and cursed at the same time. He had known Grant for the longest and known how frustrating and stubborn he could be. All that talent, and he never did anything with it. It was almost as if he had been saving up all the creative potential for something else. He smiled at how ridiculous that sounded. He read the letter, knowing what was going to be inside it – it was a discussion that they had had numerous times. Paul was not a believer in anything except that he could empirically account for. Grant, however, believed in Karma, ghosts, Re-incarnation and UFO’s –now who was right?

…Zoe woke up in tears. She had been dreaming about Grant again. She had been thinking about him all week without knowing how to get in contact with him, but she knew now that she’d never see him again. There was no way that she could ever apologise to him for all the hurt that she caused. She did truly love him and that made it so much worse for she knew that, despite all she had done to him, he loved her. And it was far too late for them both.

The funeral was a small affair, a few members of family and Paul. It had happened so suddenly that there was no time to really prepare, and as Paul maintained “he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

It was a typically British, overcast and drizzly day. Paul stood over the grave when all the others had dispersed, for once he was determined to get the last word in.

“You knew that this was going to happen.” He said, feeling the tears stinging his eyes. “I’m just glad you had the foresight to type up all those wonderful stories. It would’ve been great if you used a damn spell check though.” He managed to choke out a laugh. “You probably know this already, but there’s been quite a bit of interest in them, and there are at least two publishers on the cards, so I think you might even get your stab at immortality, y’bastard.” Paul smiled and turned away from the grave.

In the distance, at the far end of the cemetery, were two figures –a man and a smaller woman- standing underneath the trees, holding hands. Paul could barely make them out. The woman turned to the man and said something. The man shrugged his shoulders and she slapped him on the shoulder with her other hand. The man bent down to kiss her on the cheek before looking right at Paul, and then they both waved at him. The tears were now streaming down his face, obscuring his vision and he had to wipe his eyes in order to see clearly again. When he looked back at them they were walking away. Far beyond, the sun started to shine through the clouds, beckoning the couple on to a wonderful new life together, and he smiled.