The Stranger
I am the stranger you saw when out shopping, the one who knocked you sending milk crashing down, pooling towards me. The stranger who sent a cold silver shiver down your spine when you shied away from me. I am the one you looked for on your way home, to make sure you felt safe knowing I wasn’t there. Did you see me though? I know you did, that black shape out of the corner of your eye. I’m the stranger you talk about over tea to your friends, the one who made you go all uneasy, unsure and kind of alive. I’m here. With you. I can feel the seed of doubt growing around you. When you pull the covers back to settle into bed, I’m that noise that makes you wonder. I’m the memory, that man with dark eyes, seen somewhere before. I know you can’t describe me, you sense me though. I’m here my friend. Your eyes become heavy as dreams begin fighting to be seen unscrambling today’s woolen mess.
Doctors will tell you that jump we all do is just your heart missing a beat getting ready for sleep, we all trip or fall in a mini dream. You think about me and I’m here for you.
Tomorrow when you glimpse me at work you will spread doubt to more friends, oh how gloriously they will back you up with more fear.
Tonight I’m that shadow folded neatly in a corner. I’m seeing what I need, what’s mine. My brittle hand dissolves through your misty aura into your lower back grabbing a marble ball of fear. Devouring it, tasting sweetness, long lasting nectar. Exiting with a THUMP, making you shudder from falling. I’m still the stranger that will rise again when you least expect it. I’m leaving now on a cold breeze, whispering sweet dreams, places to be people to meet.
Time eaters
My name is Mr Shaw, first name Rick, been teased for years about that but its got legs so it will keep on running. I’m writing this hopping that it will never be read, just I need some more fear and excitement in my life. When I’ve finished writing I’ll hide it away knowing by some million to one chance its found, that alone is enough of the fear to keep me happy. I have two stories this little one I’m doing now and of course the big one sitting nicely amongst great books of the 20th century. If you have read it and you most likely have, I thank you for your time it means so much to me. If you can spare me some more time and keep reading I’ll let you in on a secret. It all began when my book arrived on Monday
“Rick, Ricky! Its here, quick come and see”. Those poor stairs creaked shouldering my weight as I ran from the shower.“Finally after all these years its here” I said pulling the loosely wrapped towel over my middle aged fat belly enough not to make her turn away. All those years hunched over a laptop writing will take its toll on you, just how much was not far away now. “where is it?” I asked shaking my head like a wet dog looking for a lost ball. “er in the tea cup you numb nuts, no here on the table, postman’s just dropped it off. She guided me through with one hand across my back perfectly placed to miss all the boils and rashes. “well, c’mon hun open it” I lent forward picking up the book, caressing the dust jacket, traced a finger over my name then the title, feeling the connection begin to form. I’ve done it. Five long years but it was done. I’m in the right here right now moment of my life but all I could think was five long fat bellied boil filled years, I want that time back. I can remember how my callused knuckles grew whiter as my grip strengthened around the book and that’s when a golden thread had its first tiny glow. “well done hun” she leant in with a kiss that crept its way in through my grimy stubble.
Tuesday “I spoke to Ken from the publishers yesterday hun, he said the book hits the shelves today”. She always used to talk to me this way knowing I could barely make out what was been said from in the shower but she continued, “he said there is an App linked up to sales, if any” I continued watching thin blood leave me draining away, god those sores hurt. “I’m off out now to talk about you behind your back, pies a plenty in the fridge waiting for your gut” the door slammed, she was out.
The stairs had less creaks today, I felt good for them. Stuck on the fridge I read a note, App installed, I’m out, eat pies, no kisses. She even wrote no kisses, surely it would have been quicker to put an x. Time was precious for her, time is what we all need. Coffee tasted so good on that morning. Above me a photo montage of our years together spilled truth, no more happiness here. Time had been good to her, me, it had bitten away at my edges. Two mobiles blinking distracted me enough to pick them up, her text was from Zak asking where she is cos he’s ready for it! Mine simply read three copies sold, so not all bad.
Wednesday
Mirrors don’t lie, I was thinner more trim. Checking on that rash and his best mates the boil family seem to be moving out. Today I felt like an author people were buying the book reading my words, today was the one all others would follow. Above me a golden spider thread weaved into my mind.
Thursday
I love the mirror now, I have time for it, with that a six year old dry smile cracked its way through. She put a new shirt out for me, it fitted, tight around the arms and chest but I looked good so good she looked at me with a hhmm noise. “its you but a better you, like times been good to you, anyway I’m off out people to meet for breakfast” She left with her mobile this time so I checked mine thirty sales and rising. I watched those numbers rise and could feel those boils blink away like dying stars.
Friday
Rumours spread fast and with Ken calling this early more good news had to be here. “are you sitting down?” Kens raspy voice had a lighter tone. “yes, just got in from a run, so I’ll stand for now” as hundreds of tiny threads glowed around me. Ken continued “well your second print has already been set, its selling by the thousand now!” Kens voice trailed off as I kept an eye on the App, then a message came through. I read it left Ken and the house headed for city book store.
She crossed the road to meet me, she looked good, real good. “hi hun, off to the book store?” “yeah how did you know?” I replied “well its about time and speaking of time I’ve been waiting years to give you this” I remember how absurd this situation was, me stood there with people walking past, cars rushing by and my wife handing me a novelty Daffy Duck watch, fastening it on tight. “er what” I said feeling the cheap leather strap. “its to let you know no matter what happens today, time is so precious and this watch is to remind you to look after time and keep it feeding” Then Caroline left with a sexy smile and a gesture not seen by me for ten years.
Friday pm
Inside books oozed words, over in the corner a middle aged well set man looked calm sipping coffee, like he had all the time in the world. I pulled up a chair opposite him and waited. He looked polished, clean lines, all a man is. “ hello Rick” soft soothing words, words to be trusted, “glad you found me, I never doubted you from day one” I knew it was time for me to listen and why wouldn’t I, he continued. “ her fathers watch looks good on you, I had trust in Caroline like she trusted you” I began to shuffle feeling uneasy. “she was good for you, still is. I like to be fair Rick its 50/50 all the way from now on, no compromise” I nodded “good now here is the secret”. He lent forward touched my temple just where I first saw that flash of golden thread days ago then the room exploded in a golden aura. Tiny threads of beautiful spider webs criss crossed the room, out of windows up through ceilings, each one alive pulsing back and forth. My own thread had become bigger I could see it so clear now leaving above my right eye splitting off in all directions. “are you having fun Ricky?” “amazing” was my lame reply. Inside I had never felt so alive. The Technician talked more and I soaked up his words. “you write they read, you take their time through the golden threads you see all around us and I, well I share it with you 50/50, for every minute or hour they read you receive half that time back to do with as you please” I only took a second to answer “as I please, really that simple” “yes Rick that simple, some writers bank their time and pass it onto their children so they can lead full long lives or some like your beautiful wife Caroline wait it out and take their time” He stood up to leave looking like carved diamonds as I tried to make sense of it all. From over my shoulder he said “don’t worry the threads will disappear as I do, when you fully understand my friend I’ll be here to see you again” A door clicked shut and I cast an eye outward, far off in the corner behind a laptop screen fingers typed furiously above this a golden thread a foot wide fed time continuously in from thousands of individual people all over the world.
Saturday
Back home I began a new story that would eclipse the first. Strange though because it wasn’t for the money, some writers like me are worth millions and what do we do? Spend Saturdays alone in a quiet room blocking out all others and so I begin again.
Sunday
Caroline placed the pregnancy test carefully on my bedside table next to the book and went to make my breakfast. I woke looked, thought, ate, kissed, wrote and kept on writing.
Everyday
mattwilliams3003@hotmail.com
A walk down King street
Upstairs mum is asleep, had been for hours, while I’m watching the last golden glow of sunlight filter through cracks onto the patterned carpet before the urge happened. Now the urge pushed me out of a house into the evening, just after sunset. Last week when the Dr saw me saying get some sleep old man, sleep I replied not so easy when insomnia lives on a crowded shelf. I take another step forward pockets full of things I needed where the shadows had eaten away half the daylight.
The urge pulls me out further up the street, looking, listening, thinking, thinking always thinking, the doctors used to say I had a marvellous mind, good with numbers that boy, just what every woman wants a man who can count.
Across the street a midnight cafe is about to open. Four minutes late though according to a thin man tapping his watch. Please don’t ask me for assistance runs through my mind on a constant loop. I’ve always tried to avoid people for safety reasons and that rancid smell that flows around their words. The thin man sees me, above him the traffic lights turn from red to green shinning the way forward for my last mile or so. He is next to me. My gaze never left the Café’s swinging sign with a little black house and moon rising above it. He stands closer, he speaks “The names Chris but most people call me teen cos of my haggard young looks, how come the cafe is closed?” He keeps talking, breathing, living. My ears start to bleed as the rotten words scrape their way through. Quickly my eyes look at him, all bones with a large bag looped over his left shoulder. I could answer him how long he would wait is a different matter, might even be winter. Then IT happened, he touched me prodded my shoulder. Nobody else heard the heard the earthquake fire into my head sending shock waves to every nerve ending, riding the tsunamis of fear to my dead zone. Now I’m solid. I thaw a little to click my medicine bottle three times pop out a tablet taste its sickly sweetness with love from Duma pharmaceuticals its the key to all your problems said Dr number 11, 22 tabs gone, 63 to go, so alls good. Inside the Richter scales had dropped only the plates of my mind had shifted, so had the thin man.
I feel hunger so the urge keeps pushing. On past Pete’s cemetery where I notice two letters have rusted away and finally fell off. I noticed the first speck of rust six years ago and the missing bolt. I notice everything. Past cars lined up like obedient pets waiting for their masters, a Mercedes that looks out of place sending my brilliant mind crunching thousands of scenarios, churning out endless what ifs until my legs finally stop outside a pizza shop.
A young girl races towards me black hair flowing talking with words of love into her cell phone, is she pretty, I only notice the shiny details. Jacket pocket with steady red stitching, gold concert tickets hanging loosely, Tuesday at Joyland, a revival band from the 90’s. She brushes past me setting off static tremors. Three clicks another tablet now I can order.
A person serves me T.G on his name tag, I pay, I eat, I leave. Pizza mixes with the sickly sweet tablet easing pain.
The person now serves the girl, he winks, she laughs patting her golden pocket, he answers the shop phone, she sees the warm glow of his cell phone, she reads, looks, notices, she cries, a name, Carrie with a x.
Urge pushes me out past ripped up tickets that lay heartbroken into cool night air.
With night ticking onwards heavy legs carry me on autopilot past empty buildings towards where dark tower blocks lay ahead. A flicker of light causes distraction, its pulse quickens more than last night and six weeks ago only a shimmer of a fault. The world is quickly falling apart. Warm white light comforts an old Buik in need of eightension.
I’m halfway on my walk with Mr salems car lot a white distant star on the horizon having a final blaze of glory. Ahead is darkness with peace, just black silence. I wait here listening to an empty mind until a cars headlights sniff me out like eyes of a dragon searching out a feast. It passes and I’ve made into noise and detailed information of bus station number two. My mind processes tiny changes that happen every night with me being a constant golden thread stitching up these imperfections. Two people sit waiting for the last bus playing games on phones. Are they friends, lovers, strangers or enemies, I’ll never know the whole picture. As I weave past them a name floats past clawing its way in, Gerald.
Over cracked pavements towards a house where I stay. Doctors tell me its a home where I live, especially Dr rose she had a way of making me mad and madder until I shut down. Others said she was pretty, I only see information forming into people.
A shiny coin almost hidden urges me to pick it up with bony fingers it sits safe in full pockets. I’ll offer it tomorrow in a bid of desperation tipping the kid at Salems car lot, have him fix that light to keep the world from collapsing.
Back in through a cracked door where I stay, three clicks for last tablet some dreams might be worth catching. Earphones on, click CD player listen to Prodigy’s 1996 hit to feel blood. Mother creeps downstairs. “Have you finished looking at the front door son, looks like you’ve been up all night reading those books again” “Yeah its the end of watching” I reply “So what now son, same as yesterday?” she says with a warm hand on my shoulder.
A snake creeps into my mind from where the plates have shifted hissing dark ideas. “Maybe” I say taking the coin out and tossing it upwards “Heads or fails”
mattwilliams3003@hotmail.com
I know I’m not a writer by any means but here are the books I own by Stephen King. Hope you enjoy finding them as much as I did writing it.
11.22.63, Salems lot, bag of bones,black house,Carrie, cell,Christine, the dark half, dark tower series, dead zone, desperation, doctor sleep, dream catcher, Duma key, end of watch, eyes of the dragon, firestarter, a Buik 8, Geralds game, the girl who loved Tom Gorden, the green mile, insomnia, It, Joyland, Mr Mercedes, needful things, pet cemetery, revival, rose madder, the shinning, the stand, just after sunset, blaze, four past midnight, different seasons.
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