A few months ago I wrote a short story for a competition and won the competition - here's the story ...
It was not a good day for hunting. The sun was bright and the shadows warned the prey of impending death. Far better a grey and cloudy day for a stalker to listen for footfalls, munching jaws and murmuring beasts. Without the warning shadows to scare the already timid game, the silent predator had more chance. No, not a good day for hunting but there had been a whole moon-turn of bad hunting days and hunger drove the hunter out.
Weakened by lack of food, the silent hunter crept upon padded paws without his usual stealth and awareness. His eyes – slightly blurred and less keen than usual – tried to focus on the movements about, on who had marked the ground and the direction of their goings. Slightly wobbly and determined not to rustle grass or break twigs, the cruising hunter knew that every day without food made it more and more difficult for his body to find nourishment.
In spite of the glare of the sunshine casting shadows across his weakened body, he must find food this day. He forced himself to focus, to be steady and to be deeply aware – more deeply than usual – of the tremors through his feet that told of the goings-on around him. There was the constant rumble of a world on the move and, within that, he must discern and seek out the particular tremors that told of food, precious and juicy food. The earthly rumbling was high as was to be expected – creatures moved more when the sun shone.
And so it was that he found it difficult to hear the close noises, the particular sounds of his patch of earth made by his particular prey. Dulled by lack of food and his senses partially blinded by mass migrations to the sun, he struck out with determination and a little trepidation, for the first time. He had always had his skills, fitness and cloud-cover to his advantage. All he had now was luck and it was only desperation that pulled him forward today. It was not the joy of discovery and the chase – with nourishment as the reward – but a blind need for survival that pushed him out to his accustomed patch in an unaccustomed way.
The grass waved in the sunshine and its shadows rippled around before him, confusing his staring eyes. He moved forward, as he must, and the shadows were soon behind him, as well as in front. He started to feel a little trapped within the swirling play of light and shadow. He wondered, as he darted from spot to spot on this island of giddying shadow-plays, if he was the hunter or the hunted. He soon got a taste of being hunted for the first time. Not a nice taste at all. He faltered, almost darting back to the safety of his lair. For the first time, ever, he tasted fear and he shivered, uncertainly and with his instincts failing him.
He forced himself to stop, to listen, to feel, to focus. What had been so natural, so instinctive, had now to be remembered with intense focus and unrelenting concentration.
As he focused all his weakened senses he felt, within the regular earthly tremors, a particular shudder, a growl, that seemed to be growing and moving towards him. It was not the tremor of a familiar prey and so he faltered again, confused. He listened and felt and looked around cautiously. What was this beast, this potential morsel, that moved with such speed and shaking of the ground?
He turned and felt no more as the lawnmower flipped two halves of the black beetle into its gullet.
So, now, back to the story of Arthur Bayly and Mary Collins, continued from two blogs ago ...
"Yeah, cheers to all the sad bastards of the world!" said Angus raising his glass and leaning over to clink it with hers. "Anyway, I'm here, I've broken out of me little cage, I have no idea where to now and I'm scared and excited but, in a way, I don't really care. Does that make sense?"
"Aye it does - sounds just like I felt when I first left home to come down here … and it all worked out. It's not perfect but I'm alive and reasonably sane, I think," said Mary, cheerfully.
"Yeah, when I moaned about all the reasons not to do something different, Belinda said that the worst that could go wrong is that I could fail and what would that mean? I wouldn't get rabies, my bum wouldn't fall off and I'd still be alive and kicking," said Angus, laughing at the memory of that conversation. "I'll actually survive, no matter what I chose to do."
"Yeah, I guess we all do, don't we," said Mary, musing over the recent dangers she'd survived.
"Not guess, Mary. We absolutely do survive," said Angus with a determination she'd not seen before. "Whatever decision we make, as Belinda put it, we're all looked after so, really, nothing matters. So I did it - took leave from the job, left me home, left me mates and here I am. I can always go back if I want to."
"And what did Mum and Dad think of their rebel son, off on his adventures to unknown lands?" asked Mary.
"Well, Mum didn't say much, just grumbled as usual," said Angus. "Dad was dead against me going. Said I'd regret it and predicted all sorts of painful and immoral things. I actually think he'll be missing me but couldn't say so."
"You'll be right, Angus, for you've always been there," said Mary. "It'll be a wrench for them. And now I've finished me whisky, Angus, I really do need some sleep." She got up and pulled the bed clothes back. "We can talk more in the morning."
"Aye lass, lots more to talk about," said Angus, finishing his drink. "Good night, Mary."
An Inside Job
Tuesday, 13th March 2012, 4.33 p.m.
As the shadows of late afternoon stretched their darkening fingers across the expansive lawns and solid walls, the house was quiet. Unusually quiet. Deathly quiet.
Two men were unconscious and the plump bodyguard was standing over them, as if wondering what the heck to do next. He'd never actually hit anybody before and he wondered, in panic, if he'd gone too far. He stood and gazed at the prone figures, uncertainly.
In the kitchen the six had been stopped by the yelling, crashing, grunting and thumping in the corridor through the wall. They looked at one another and seemed to have the same confused mind. Do they rush out and help Arthur and be injured themselves? Do they creep out to find a band of thugs waiting for them? Do they continue through to the office and find the thugs there? The unknown, as always, posed a greater threat than the known and they didn't know much - where they were, who they were saving, why they were saving him/her/them and who was waiting round dark corners for them all.
"Time to move!" whispered Amanda decisively, taking out her pistol.
"Amanda! You can't go shooting people!" pleaded Martin in a hoarse whisper, his eyes nearly popping out.
"And your idea is?" Amanda asked quietly.
"Oh, ah, yes, I see …" said Martin. "But we can't have guns … they kill."
"And someone's not dead already?" whispered Amanda, pushing past Martin. "And who's going to be next?"
"Oh, gosh, but we can't just … let's talk about this," pleaded Martin, going quite pale.
"Dominik, you take the rest through to the office and around," whispered Amanda. "I'll go this way."
"But you can't just go … you know … shooting people," whispered Martin, grabbing Amanda's arm.
"So, you come with me, mate," said Amanda, shaking off his grip. "You can keep me from killing someone." She continued out the door to the corner.
"I'll come with you two," said Toby, launching himself out of indecision mode.
Joan held up her hands and smiled to Dottie as if to say, 'whatever we do, it's a mess'. Dottie nodded and smiled back, grimly, and they followed Dominik to the back of the kitchen, to a door that must have remained closed for many years. Dominik grimaced as the door creaked and groaned, despite his efforts to open it quietly. He opened it enough for them to slip through, one by one. The three found themselves in the dark, but for light sneaking through the half-opened door from the kitchen. The uneven cobbles and the cobwebs impaired their progress in the shoulder-width passage. They scrambled along sideways and it was soon obvious that Dominik had no idea where to find the door into the office.
"There's got to be a torch somewhere," said Joan, awkwardly squeezing herself back into the kitchen. Dottie followed her and they rummaged through drawers and cupboards as quietly as they could. In the corridor they heard a man's shout, Amanda's yell, a thud and then silence. Joan's instinct was to rush out to help Arthur but her logical mind told her to leave it to the professionals who would help him more than she could. Her prayers went out to him as she returned to their search for light. They found candles and an old box of matches.
Back in their dark, dank passage, they fumbled with matches, lit three candles and handed one to Dominik. It was good to see a little more till Joan spied a large spider, then another, then another and she desperately tried to hold back a rising bile as she saw this space between walls was overrun by insects of all kinds. She would have leant back against the wall to steady herself but realised she'd be leaning into nests of spiders and other unmentionable critters. It was only Dominik's sigh of relief - she hoped it was relief - as he was scratching around the wall, ahead of her. There was a rattle of metal - a chain? - and bumping on wood.
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