Midwinter Mystery - " The Town of No Return " Chapter Ten

" A Police Car By Any Other Name”

      _{John pushed the bar door open and was immediately engulfed by an escaping cloud of smoke, fueled by exotic infusion of charred logs, nightshade ( tobacco ) and an assortment of other burnt offerings. Rubbing his stinging eyes clear the overall inebriated condition of it's patrons became self evident to him. Although he couldn't be sure if this self-induced state was down to recent exposure or as a result of prolonged exposure. He skirted his way around the small tables and their residents, scouring the room as he went for any sign of a menu, but all he could find was a weak spot in the line of hangers on at the bar. Easing his way through he was greeted by the sight of Wendy, supplying another undiscerning soul a pint of her 'illicit' ale. She stood there, almost to attention, like some proud defiant Celtic warrior queen defending her battlements from any and all advances. One arm extended fully out firmly grasping a pump handle while her other hand hung down by her side, slowly twirling a damp tea towel around as if preparing it for action. The scene was suddenly broken by her unrestrained laugh,}

_{"Ha, Ha, I may not know much about sheep dog calling, but I can still tell the difference between a dog and a wolf whistle, thank you very much !” Her body was still convulsing with laughter as she started to serve another customer, relieving him of his glass tankard she asked the age old question, “ Same again, Albert ?” The lean elderly gentleman, with a peaked flat cap slightly too big for him, hunted around some loose change in the palm of his hand, “ Aye, go on then love, I might as well. It ain't killed me yet, 'as it !” a faint smile breaking across his hollow cheeked leathery face. “ No, but you've had a coupla close calls though, ain't cha ?” jibed a nearby drinking companion, gently patting Albert on the shoulder. “ Best not push your luck, eh ! 'Ere, I'll tell you what, why don't I drink it for ya, jus' to be on the safe side, like ?” he jokingly offered.}

_{"Oh no you don't, you both know the 'house' rules: He who orders it, drinks it ! Whether he likes it or not !” reminded Wendy before glancing over at John. “ Hello there, I see you're still alive, then,” she greeted, strolling over to him. “ What do you mean by that ?” John replied slightly disconcertedly. “ Just that I didn't murder you on your first day on the job, that's all,” she explained with a cheeky smile. “ Hmm, well not for the want of trying, I'm sure,” he replied sardonically. “ Anyway, that must make me rather a glutton for punishment, as I'm here to give you another chance, not at murdering me that this ! I meant more in the sense of food, I'd like to order something lunch, please.” Wendy pursed her lips, which empathised her cupid's bow, and frowned, as if giving the matter serious consideration, then, “ Well, for you I would have to recommend today's special... Mistry Hotpot !” she declared.}

_{"A 'special' hotpot, eh ! Okay, I'll bite what's it made of ? John was compelled to enquire.}

_{"Do you really want to know ?” returned Wendy.}

_{"Probably not,” John was beginning to resign himself to the fact that his stay in Mistry was rather like the seven stages of grief, which by his current reckoning put him somewhere around stage 3: Bargaining – his need for food outweighing sense of taste. “Alright, I'll take a bowl of that, and a pint of whatever comes out the pump ,” he requested, nodding towards the row of brass pump handles adorning the counter top.}

_{"Steady now, you almost ordered that like a regular. And there you were the other night saying you weren't going to settle in here,” Wendy teased, before stretching up on tiptoes in front of him, her tight white blouse threatening to impede any progress by her generous form, to retrieve a glass tankard from a narrow shelf over the bar. “ I assure you that I'm NOT 'settling in' as you put it, merely accepting my... short comings,” John clarified, temporarily caught off guard by her action and proximity. Before averting his eyes, conscious that they may have lingered slightly longer than the statute of limitations permitted under such circumstances.}

_{"So, how's the detecting job going ?” Wendy asked, steadily pulling down on one of the pump handles, to encourage the reddish brown liquid into the glass below. “Slow and steady,” came the short answer.}

_{"That doesn't sound so bad.”}

_{"It could be better,” John reviewed. “ But so far nobody seems to know anything, about anyone,” he continued frustratedly. “ You know, you should try the ' Black Museum', it's just a little further on passed your station,” Wendy suggested.}

_{"'Black Museum' ? That's rather a macabre name for a museum, isn't it ?”}

_{"Not really ! It's named after the owner, Ebediah Black,” “ I see, but why would any of this be of interest to me, exactly ?”}

_{"Because, he and Sergeant Keel, used to drink and play draughts together when they were in here.”}

_{"Huh! That's actually quite helpful. I'll make a note to drop in there sometime.”}

_{"Well, you don't have to sound so surprised about it ! I happen to be a very helpful person, I'll have you know,” said Wendy indignantly, placing his drink in front of him.}

_{"Sorry , I didn't mean to sound ungrateful or anything. Thank you,” returned John earnestly, taking a deep quick gulp of his ale – the theory being it was probably better to down it as fast as possible, like the removal of a sticky plaster, a short, sharp unpleasant feeling then you can relax. “ Would you put this all on my account, along with the room for last night, please,” he requested. “ And I'll settle up with you at the end of the month, if that's okay ?”}

_{"You're leaving ?” Wendy asked, taking note of his order.}

_{"Yes, I'll be staying over at the station, for the time being,”}

_{"Mmm, how cosy for you ! It's getting to be quite the bachelor pad over there, isn't it ?” she smirked.} 

_{“Hardly !” replied John curtly, downing the remains of his drink at the very thought of the notion. “ I'll have another one of these, please,” he requested pushing his empty glass back across the bar. Wendy obliged before being called away to serve someone else, but remembered to tell him that food was only served in the back room, as she left.}

_{To John's surprise there were only two diners in the small room, a semi-comatose gentleman with a semi-digestive meal and the other was a thin, well turned out buttoned up spinsterish looking elderly lady who was busy picking over the bones of her meal like a small bird. Both parties seemed completely disinterested in John's entrance, which suited him just fine. Since the death of his wife he preferred to dine on his own, undisturbed, alone with only his haunted thoughts for company. In fact most of his solitary moments recently were given to replaying old conversations, memories and feelings of Cathy over and over again in his mind's eye – a psychological long-playing record of refection, heartache and loss.} 

      _{It was late afternoon by the time John returned to the station, in a much more gentler state of mind after the third and final pint – it's taste may have been questionable but there was certainly no doubt about it's effectiveness. Upon entering he found Buster and George in a relaxed state of their own, collapsed into armchairs, shoes off, warming their toes by the fire, the young PC was the first one to acknowledge John's arrival, “ 'Ullo, Chief ! You've timed it well, there's a fresh brew in the pot if you want one ! Oh, and that job wot you asked us to do… we couldn't do it !”}

_{"WHY NOT ?” John asked slightly perturbed.}

_{"The old boy at the station said something about a ' holding charge' or other, what with it being a Sunday an' all, and as we're both brassic, we couldn't pay it,” George explained.}

_{"WHAT ! Why that little... extortionist !” replied John through gritted teeth, while he scoured around the sink area for a clean mug, “ I take it he wouldn't trust you for it, then ?” he continued, as he poured tea into a cup, through a strainer.}

_{"Nah, I think we must have caught him at a bad moment or somethin'.” reflected George.}

_{"You mean AWAKE ! ” observed John caustically. “ It seems that I'm doomed to chase one bad 'case' after another,” he concluded drawing a chair up to the fireplace.}

_{Sitting silently for a moment, a faint impression of concentration sketched across his face, George leaned closer in to John, to confess his quandary.}

_{“Y'know, Chief, I've been thinking about this whole ' Mad Monk' thing,” he paused in mid-thought conducting his musing, “ and if it had anythin' to do with what happened to me and Peggy the other night ?” John stared stared expressionless at the Police Constable and wondered if this was one of those ' better off not knowing' situations, but eventually succumbed to professional curiosity, “ That depends. What are you talking about exactly ?”}

_{"Well, we were jus' on our way back from the pictures, we'd been to see ' The Bride of Frankenstein ', have you seen it ?”}

_{“ No I haven't, go on with the story.” pressed John}

_{“ Right, well there was this mad scientist fella, see, an' he created this woman monster from...” George elucidated.}

_{"YOUR STORY MAN ! Not the film's ! Just confine yourself to what happened to you and the young lady, please ! ” John requested, becoming slightly frustrated.}

_{"Got'cha ! Well we'd only jus' passed ' Dead Man's Gallow ', when suddenly this strange figure appeared right in front of us ! We must have missed 'im and the trees by inches ! ”}

_{"Anything broken ?” John asked concerned.}

_{"No, only a coupla of scratches on the chassis, as far as I could see.”}

_{"Please tell me you're talking about the car,” John asked wryly, from over the top of his cup. “ What about people, were there any human casualties in all this ?”}

_{"Oh no ! Peggy was a bit shaken up by it all, more than she was about the film, and I ripped me best trousers. But that was it.”}

_{"What about that 'apparition' of yours ?”}

_{"That's jus' it, when I got out an' had a look around for him, he'd vanished into thin air !”}

_{"So he did a vanishing act, eh ! Is that the only reason you suspect that there's some sort of connection between this itinerant pedestrian of yours and the ' Mad Monk' then ?”}

_{"No, 'course not ! He was glowing ghostly white all over, and was wearing one of them hooded robe things !”}

_{"Did you get a look at it's face ?”}

_{"Nah, his hood was pulled right down over his 'ead,”}

_{"If you didn't get a look at him, how can you be so sure that it was a man, then ?”}

_{"On account of his size, he was a giant fella with dirty big hands !” George held up his two hands, fingers wide apart, as if to demonstrate.}

_{"I see, and your young lady be able to corroborate all this, will she ?”}

_{" Yeah, of course ! She was sittin' next to me the whole time and saw the lot !” George answered confidently. “ Hmm, I suppose it does fit in with the way the rest of the investigation is shaping up … wild speculation and over-active imagination, with holes big enough to drive a truck through !” John massaged his temple and rested his head back on the chair. “ Still, I guess it couldn't hurt to take a look around out there, besides it's not as if I have anything else to go on right now, ” he conceded through half closed eyes. “ You'd better show me where all this happened tomorrow morning. Can we take your car out there ?”}

_{"MY CAR ? It's NOT my car !” George revealed in surprise.}

_{"Really ? Whose is it then ?” John asked even more surprised.}

_{"The station's !”}

_{"WHAT, THIS STATION ? You mean, the car you've been driving around in, conducting all your private affairs out of, that's actually a police vehicle ?” queried John making his way back over to the sink. “ Er, well..yeah, y'know the locals needed help, and the car wasn't doing much, it was just a classic case of supply an' demand. I guess I must be one of them entrée-manure types, providing a central service to the community,” George responded, defensively.}

_{Y"You mean, you're a 'entrepeneur', providing an 'essential' service !” corrected John.}

_{"Exactly ! I knew you'd understand !”}

_{"Not quite ! Since when did taking your girlfriend to the cinema constitute as an essential service ? challenged John rinsing his mug out under the tap.}

_{"Ha ! He's caught you good there, you would've been better sayin' it was one of them whatchamacallit's... emergency call outs !” interjected Buster jokingly.}

_{"NO, HE WOULDN'T HAVE ! And you're one to talk, Mister ! You're just as complicit in all this too, you know !” said John disapprovingly, waving a judgmental wet finger at him.}

_{"Don't go thinking I've forgotten about your little 'sleeping arrangements', either” reminded John, “ that's a far from ideal situation, as well !”}

_{"HEY ! I know, why don't you both come along with us next week, there's a Abbott and Costello film playing, ' Abbott and Costello meet the Wolfman',” offered George in a classic conciliatory/distraction pincer movement. “ Er, no thanks, I'm more of a Marx Brothers man, myself. But you and I really need to sit down and talk about the whole Status Quo of things around here, especially about the misuse of police property !” said John placing his cup down on the draining board. “ Well, I'd better look-over this car for myself, shouldn't I ? An informal identification, so to speak. Where is it ?”}

_{"It's parked in the yard, around the back,” explained George. “ I was goin' to give it a bit of a wash this weekend, honestly Chief ! But, things have been kinda busy here recently,” he confessed.} 

_{“ Hmmm, tell me about it !” agreed John, retrieving his overcoat from a wooden coatstand. “ Come on then, lets take a look at this thing,” he said over his shoulder as he headed towards the door.}

_{The evening was drawing steadily in as the three of them traipsed into the open yard behind the station, but even in the diminishing light John could clearly make out the distinctive features of the big black vehicle parked within. They stopped a few feet away from the motor, John gazing in disbelief, “ No, no it can't be, tell me that isn't our car, please” he asked. George looked from John to the motor, and then back to John, “ Why, wot's wrong with it ?”}

_{"WHAT'S WRONG WITH IT ?” answered John incredulously. “Well for one thing it's.... NOT A POLICE CAR !”}

_{"Yes it is, we've had it for almost 3 years now, I know you're not seeing it at it's best, but...”}

_{"IT'S BEST ?” John cut George off in mid-sentence. “ It's going to take a hell of a lot more than a ' spot of cleaning' to sort that thing out !”}

_{"Ah, you're talkin' about it looking a bit like a...”}

_{"A HEARSE ! GO ON, SAY IT ! IT'S A HEARSE ! It's designed to transport the dead to their final resting ground !” interrupted John impatiently.}

_{"NO IT DON'T ! Well not anymore, anyway... 'cept maybe for the odd body, now and again, but's that's all !” assured George.}

_{"I'm not sure what bothers me the most about that last statement, the frequency or the 'odd' bit ?”}

_{"I'd say it wasn't more than three times, tops, if that helps any. And they ain't been any trouble !”}

_{"I SHOULD HOPE NOT ! “ declared John. “ I have enough on my hands with the live ones, as it is !” he said glaring at the sorrowful pair in front of him. Then moved away from them and slowly walked around the massive mausoleum on wheels.} 

_{“ I can't ride around in this thing !”}

_{"Why not ? Everyone else does ?”}

_{"I'm sure they do... EVENTUALLY !” John continued his resistance. “ I guess I'm just a traditional sort of chap when it comes to travelling, I like the simple things like.... sitting in an upright position ! Besides, the way things are going for me so far, I don't want to push my luck anymore than I have to !”}

_{"It's been very handy, Chief ! Buster an' me, cleared all the fixtures 'n' fittings and other things out of it's back, you'd never believe what we've had in there !” explained George, mounting the case for defence, trailing behind John.}

_{"One, can only imagine, let's just leave leave things there, shall we !” grimaced John, his attention increasingly being drawn to the condition of the bodywork.}

_{"We've 'elped a lot of people with it, and like I said we had to do something to make ends meet, what with not bein' paid an' all,” George concluded his closing argument, trying to justify his actions and lay down the groundwork for any possible plea bargaining. He shared a conspiratory glance at Buster, who returned a dumbfounded expression followed by a shrug of the shoulders in response.}

_{John's attention was drawn to a series of dents and scratches in the nearside front wing, “ Hello, what do we have here then ?” he said crouching down and running a hand lightly over them. “ Ah, those are me driving lessons, I taught meself, y'know !” George answered proudly, sticking his chest out and pointing to himself with a protruding thumb. “ By the look of things, you must have graduated via the 'school of hard knocks' … with honours !” postulated John, examing the extent of the damage.}

_{"Ha, ha ! I see your sense of humour hasn't improved any, then. Still, you always managed to make me laugh, didn't you ?” came the soft reassuringly voice from somewhere over his left shoulder, which John recognised immediately. Partially turning his head, he saw the translucent figure of his late wife, drifting in and out of focus, seemingly peering at the car's wing, too. “ Hmmm, right... well I guess it's just another thing I'm stuck with … for now !” John said resignedly without acknowledging her presence, and placed a hand on the bonnet to steady himself as he stood back up. His unexpected capitulation caught Buster and George by surprise, but nonetheless they were quick to take advantage of the situation, “ Okay, Chief ! Well, me an' Buster better head back inside now, and see about rustlin' something up for supper,” said George, rubbing his hands together in expectation. Buster stood between his two companions, the continual confused expression still remaining, “ Is that it then ? Didn't he want to know about the other...” he started up before being sharply closed down by George.}

_{"Shuddup, Whiskers !” he blurted, grabbing Buster by the arm and dragging him out of the yard with him. “ C'mon, before you drop us right in it !” Fortunately, for them, John was more concerned with the unannounced arrival of the late Mrs Fox than anything his ageing sergeant had to say. Once the two officers were safely out of earshot he confronted her head on, “ What do you think you're doing ? Can't you see I'm in the middle of something here ?” he blurted, gesticulating with an open hand towards the departed pair. “ I just don't have the time for this..” he explained frustratedly, “ whatever this is !”}

_{"Don't take that tone with me ! It's not my fault I'm here !” Cathy answered back indignity. “ You're the one whose undergoing an adverse reaction to change, you just won't accept your current situation or even let me go !”}

_{"What are you talking about ?” John snapped, his brow furrowed deeply and the tone of voice became slightly manic. “ I'm trying to do my best, but it's not easy – everyone around here is crazy !”}

_{"As a student of philosopher and an innocent bystander to your life I have to challenge you there,” Cathy responded, folding her arms she adopted a more skeptical attitude. “ So now you're the only sane person in a mad world, is that how you see it ?” she continued arching an eyebrow. “ Look, it was obvious you were about to get over heated about your..” she paused looking at the four wheeled behemoth next to them, “ .. travel arrangements ! And something tells me that would be extremely unhealthy, given your current condition.”}

_{"What are you saying ?” he queried, confusion and frustration vying for equal attention. “ Well, simply put my darling, these last few months have taken their toll on you, emotionally and physically, whether you accept it or not. And now all the little corners of your life that you've been secretly hiding away in have been finally stripped away.”}

_{"That's ridiculous ! There's nothing wrong with me ! All I need is to get to bottom of things around here, and then I get my life back, that's all !” clarified John, a slight nervous edge to his voice as he leaned back against the motor.}

_{"Okay, if that's how you want to play it, John. But deep down, darling, you know something isn't right, don't you ? I'm afraid that if you don't change your ways and continue along the path your set on, then there's a real danger that you simply won't be able to find your way back again,” Cathy warned, a concerned tone in her pitch. The couple stood staring at each other in silence for what seemed an eternity, only the cold and their thoughts hung in the air between them. The last light of day flickered out and darkness fell heavily behind it, leaving John all alone once more. Eventually he pushed himself away from the motor and started to make his way to the station, nursing the ironic thought that if he disappeared while looking for the Sergeant who would know or even care about him.} 

_{lifeandfunnies.blogspot.com}

_{if you've enjoyed this why not visit my site of amusing stories and - hopefully - humourous cartoons - re: coming attractions}

Love Your Garden - The Sandbach Challenge !

     I'm not so much a 'Constant Gardener' as more as a ' resistant' one, this I freely admit – being of sound mind and meager body. I lean towards the flotsam and jetsom of life than the flora and fauna of me backyard. But, every now and then I throw myself at the mercy of garden life,and take up a shovel against a sea of herbaceous borders. This weekend I have spent hours of blood, sweat and toil, digging up and turning over an area of soil at the end of the garden. Was I rewarded for my efforts by the discovery of a horde of old gold coins, a long lost family piece of jewelry perchance or even unearthing a Roman mosaic flooring, the answer to this is ….NO ! What I DID find however – beyond the fact my garden was laid over an old cat repository site a sort of crap version of a pet cemetery, and still seemingly fairly active - was a ton and a half of stone sleeper blocks, a selection of floor tiles and a mass of knotted fibrous roots.

I only continued out of scientific research, I wanted to see how far down I had to go before I struck actual... SOIL !

    It seems to me that anyone who believes they can tend to their garden armed with just their trusty spade and rake are sorely misguided, and are doomed to disappointment. For the modern gardener now needs pneumatic drills, excavation diggers and in extreme cases high explosives. He also needs to be fully aware of protecting his borders – re fencing – archaeology and most importantly have a good medical plan !

   I finally retired from green duty for the day, my green fingers now red with blood, sustained from a nasty run-in from a thorn bush,and numb with an over enthusiastic handling of nettles. So, in conclusion until I venture out-back once more I say, “ Don't give me all this ' Love Your Garden' malarkey,” and if Alan Titmarsh ever came to MY HOUSE I'll tell him just where he can....DIG IT !

Midwinter Mystery - " The Town of No Return " - Chapter Nine

_{Midwinter Mystery – Chapter Nine}

_{"Wayward Souls"}

"Wheee ..” George whistled in astonishment, 

_{“.. no wonder he's barmy !” he leant over the small table and gently dropped the book back down. John's brow furrowed as he considered the more somewhat fanciful facets of the strange ecclesiastical tale. Struggling to see the relevance, if any, this had with the curious disappearance of Sergeant Keel and the lost time with the 'outside world'. He ran his fingers slowly over the surface of the books, occasionally moving one aside to view the ones beneath, taking stock of their titles along the way, ' Folklore, Myths and Legends', ' Mysticism in Mistry' and ' Tales of Mystery and Imagination' were ones that stood out as being of particular interest. “ It appears that your Sergerant is quite the prolific reader, but these are all fairytales and superstitions without any basis in truth or reality.” he announced reassuringly. John was concerned that this morbid little library might be more an indication of a unstable mind, than an interest in the supernatural. His thoughts drifted back to the room as he caught sight of an old suitcase pushed far back under the bed and then became aware of the wall with it's faded photographs, obviously of a young Sergeant Keel, accompanied by family, friends and other such acquaintances. With all this he added the recent discoveries of the wardrobe with it's collection of clothes still occupying hanging spaces, and the chest of drawers which had given up it's hidden treasures: a silver plated, full hunter pocket watch, with the engraving inside that read 'To David, Happy 21st Birthday ! May you always find time to enjoy life, love Mum and Dad', and a WW2 medal. John felt compelled to mention it to others, with a growing sense of admiration for the unaccounted sergant, “I found a medal in the drawer,” he explained pointing towards the chest, “ it was presented to 'Petty Officer David Keel' for 'Conspicuous Gallantry in 1942. Looks like he was quite the war hero, did you know that ?”}

_{"Yeah, he was in the navy during the war, saw quite a bit of action by all accounts,” volunteered Buster. “He seems like a good man, someone you could rely on, someone I'd like to have around,” John said, with a growing sense of respect for his absent Sergeant, making a conscious effort not be too obvious about his feelings about the rest of 'team'. “Well we now have a full name and confirmation of a war record, I'm starting to build quite a picture of the man, all that's left to do... is find him !”}

_{Taking everything into consideration, the personal effects - the man may have left but his life was still very much present - and the condition of the room, beyond it's general state of disorder, convinced John that there was no evidence of any struggle taking place, Indeed, he surmised that whatever happened to Sgt.Keel he had probably departed of his own volition, and in all likelihood had expected to return the same way. The fact that he hadn't suggested that he had been prevented from doing so by someone... or something. The preliminary search of the room gave rise to his belief that there may be more to be gained from within it's old walls, that missing lives and hidden secrets were still lurking, waiting to tell their own story.}

_{John gave the situation his deepest consideration, before reaching an inescapable conclusion, “ I think it's best if I move in here, in this room..” he announced, not that he was seeking their approval more as if he was justifying the action to himself, “.. until we find the Sergeant, that is.” John looked at one and then at the other to gauge their reactions at this unexpected revelation, but they seemed only mildly uncomfortable with the prospect of having to share a 'full house' with him.}

_{"As the highest ranking officer present I should be here at the center of things, offering my guidance and support to you both and indeed to anyone in need of help in a time of emergency,” stated John with a congenial smile to lighten the move.} 

_{“Wot about all the sergeants clobber, then ?” George asked boldly.”} 

_{“Leave that to me, I'll make sure everything's stored away safely, AND take full responsibility for it until he comes back, fair enough ?”} 

_{“ 'Ere if you're gonna stay with us yer gonna have to pay yer way, you know !” Buster chimed already grappling with the complex fiscal practicalities of it all. “ Don't worry about me, I'd rather take care of care of myself anyway, if that's all right with everyone ?” John confirmed as he commenced tidying the books into some sort of order.}

_{"If that's how you want it, but it were always good enough fer the Sergeant,” Buster excepted.} 

 _{“Well, I'm not the Sergeant, and I prefer to do things my own way, thank you very much,” John leaned down with both hands on a small stack of books as he pressed home his intention. “ Actually, all this talk of belongings reminds me that I still have some luggage of my own at the train station that requires picking up.” He thought for a moment and then looked at George, “ As the owner of the only vehicle around here, I'd appreciate it if you'd drive over there and collect it for me,”} 

_{“Yeah, course I will, I was heading over that way this aft'rnoon, anyway,” agreed George. “Good ! that's settled then, I'll make a start on clearing things up in here, you'll run out to the station and you..” John's train of thought derailed slightly as he looked at Buster, “ ..you, just go somewhere, ANYWHERE, PLEASE !” “ He can come with me, if you like, I could do with another body to move some stuff,” offered George.} 

_{“ A BODY, HIM ! I'm not sure if he qualifies for that position. I mean look at him, he can barely move himself let alone anything else !” John shook his head slightly at the situation.} 

_{“ Just what do you expect of him ?”} 

_{“ Well, Ballast you could say !” replied George. “Ballast ?”} 

_{“ Yeah, y'know like weighing me down,”} 

_{“ Well, that I CAN believe,”} 

_{“ No, it's the car's suspension see, it's shot on the driver's side, probably 'cos of that near run in I 'ad the other night, anyway I need something to balance things out,”} 

_{“Oh, you mean like a - dead-weight,” followed John.} 

_{“ Yeah, I guess yer could say that,”} 

_{“Well, in that case you definitely have the right man, take him with my blessing …. you'll need it,” John looked between the two of them, and then as an after thought. ”Oh, and I advise you to get those springs checked over as soon as you can, before matters get any worse,”} 

_{“ Will do, chief !”} 

_{“ Well then, don't just stand there get going, the pair of you. I want to get this all finished by tonight !” They dawdled their way - almost in concert - towards the door only just avoiding a mid-door collision at one point.}

_{As the door closed behind them, an air of serenity descended upon John and he allowed a small sigh of relief to escape. He was pleased to be alone once more, and the opportunity to begin his investigation in earnest, in the orderly and professional manner that he was accustomed to. Where would the investigation take him ? Was there an ulterior motive to Sergeant Keel's interest in folklore ? Were his two officers trustworthy - they were certainly hiding something ? And had a crime even be committed here, or was it simply a case of incompetency ? Ironically, the one person whose word John felt he could trust right now, was the man he was investigating ! But until he knew more about things, this was his station, and he was going to be run it his way, with his rules, and from here on in he was going to be watching everybody, very closely.}

   _{It was a chilly dreary afternoon, not unlike the inside of the station, when John finally stepped outside. He pulled on a pair of black leather gloves, as far as they would go, over a set of blue tinged hands numb with the cold, and proceeded along the short front path towards the street beyond it's gate. After a time consuming and questionably productive morning he had succumbed to a call of nature, and ventured out in search of something to eat, or at least whatever semi-hot, mildly-digestible – or semi-digestible, mildly hot - offering he could track down on this desolate excuse of a Sunday.}

_{He walked leisurely towards the Crow Inn, or 'the scene of the crime' as he preferred to call it, which was guilty of passing food off as being edible, but he didn't have much choice in the matter as it appeared to be the ONLY place in the village that was open. And since he needed to check out of his room there and collect his belongings, it seemed an open and shut case of ' two birds with one stone' or perhaps more aptly ' one crow on two accounts'. As he approached the pub, from the other side of the road, he noticed that it was almost directly opposite a church with a strangely looking twisted spire, a fact that he'd missed when he passed it by earlier that day. Slowing to a virtual standstill, as his curiosity was roused by some wild flowers, sheltering under a rampant hedge that supported the wooden stake fencing skirting the cemetery grounds. He had just crouched down to get a closer look at them when, “ Ahh, there you are ! You little devil !” came a voice from out of nowhere. “Who's there ?” John called out, spinning his head around to isolate it's invisible source. Although he had been startled by the unexpected interruption, part of him questioned if anyone was really there at all, or if it was just another of his mental aberrations. “Come on now, show yourself !” he demanded, becoming increasingly agitated with the continual surprises, the darker aspects of the case, and feeling the outsider to everything and everyone, all these factors were taking a toll on his nerves.     “ Oh, I am sorry. I didn't know any anyone was standing there ,” a clean shaven middle-aged gentleman with short receding grey hair, swept back to one side, which currently was in a state of disarray, rose from behind the hedge. “I suppose I was too taken with my 'big game hunt'... MOLES !” he explained holding up a curious little contraption. “They play havoc with the stones, you know,” he pushed a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses back from the brink of his nose.} 

_{“ Right, so you're setting traps for them, then?” John asked.} 

_{“ Yes, well I don't wish them any harm you understand, we are all god's children after all. No, I'll just capture them and release the lot into the arms of mother nature,” replied the stranger, gently dropping the trap to the ground. “ Well, it's good to have a hobby, ” John mused. “ Ha ! I'm not sure it's so much a hobby, more a necessary evil,” the slim would-be trapper replied, a twinkle in his eyes revealing the humour in the situation. “ Actually, this rather reminds me of an account in France, many years ago, where a church actually resorted to issuing an excommunication order on their mice population, forbidding them from attending services.” 
“ I take it, that it didn't work ?” surmised John. 
“ Heavens, no ! Don't you know... rodents are terrible at Latin, ” the stranger replied, with a mischievous smile.} “Personally, I think I'd prefer mice in the chapel to... bats in the belfry !” he finished, extending an invitation to meet him at the cemetery gates for a friendly rendezvous.

_{"You must be that Inspector fellow, the one everyone's talking about,” he assumed.} 

_{“ Yes, I am that DETECTIVE. Inspector fellow ! So, who 'must' you be then ?” John returned, scrutinizing his challenger's appearance for any tell-tale signs of his profession, but none were apparent. His attire was garden casual in theme, a pair of well worn denim dungarees, with a cream, checked twill shirt under a light green, corduroy overcoat. “ Lord, how amiss of me, I do apologise. I'm obviously a bit out of practice meeting new people,” the stranger dismissed his oversight, removing one of the garden gloves from his left hand he extended it towards John. “ Father James, pleased to meet you,” came the introduction, as they shook hands. “ Detective. Inspector John Foxe, how do you do, “ John replied.} 

_{“ My goodness, that's quite some moniker you have there. Why, it's almost as long as one of my sermons,” the vicar quipped. John stared blankly at the vicar, it seemed everyone had something to say about his title, which he was determined to keep, as it had taken most of his adult life to achieve it,} 

_{“ Hmm, quite,” he responded. “ That's an unusual looking church you have there. It's not Catholic, is it ?”} 

_{“ No, we're a non-denominational church, I'd be rather surprised if you've heard of it – The Sacred Order of Wayward Souls.”}

_{“ You're right, that's a new one on me.”} 

_{“ Actually, it's a very old one, Inspector. Old and decaying, I'm afraid to say. We face imminent extinction in these changing times of ours. We're spread few and far between the coastal lines of this fair isle, but what we lack in numbers we more than make up for in devotion, I can assure you.”} 

_{“ Why only the coastal towns ?” John found the notion of a regional religion somewhat of an oddity. “ Ah, well it's a belief that was borne by the villagers who lived and worked in the areas that were dependent on the sea for their livelihood. They banded together seeking what little solace or comfort they could, in the darkness of adversity. Sunken ships, the loss of precious cargo's and their poor unfortunate crews, consigned to the watery depths for all eternity,” responded Father James. 
“ 'Wayward Souls', huh ! Tell me, is everything different around here ?”} 

_{“ Do you mean different or unfamiliar, Inspector ? I admit that Mistry life requires a certain period of... readjustment, shall we say,” empathized the Father.}

_{"That's something of an understatement, Father,” agreed John. “ It's just that things seem rather backward around here, I guess"} said John, looking beyond the vicar at the cemetery behind, and it's collection of unusual, semi-subsided headstones. 

“ 'Backward', no I wouldn't say that, exactly” the vicar spoke in a soft reverent tone in defense of the village's reputation. “ You must appreciate, Inspector, that this place has a long and intriguing history, one that almost predates sense or reason, as we know it, an existence forged from the fires of superstition and fear. If anything I'd say it was the world that moved and simply left Mistry behind. We seem to attract the lost and forlorn, those who are either running away or searching for something. And some just feel- for whatever reason - abandoned by society and it's modern ways. So, perhaps you can hardly blame them for their little foibles or 'eccentricities', they are as much trapped here as... you or I, in a way.” 

“ I'm NOT trapped here ! “ John denied vigorously. 

“ I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause you any distress, I was merely demonstrating a point that you were unable to leave here right now, even though you so wished to ! ” 

“ I'll leave when I'm ready, and not before, Father.”          

“Yes, of course, Inspector,” said the vicar, allaying Johns's stance while he cleaned his eyeglasses with an old handkerchief. “ Well, I hope you'll join me for a drink and a friendly game of draughts sometime. We have to make a our own entertainment here most nights, except on Thursday's,” offered the vicar returning his glasses to their original position.                         “ Why, what happens on Thursdays ?” “ Ah, we have the pleasure of, 'Jay, and his organ', over at the Crow Inn.”  

_{“ I'll bare that in mind for the future, thank you,” said John, wincing slightly.} 

 _{“Actually that reminds me, I have to get over there now, before they stop serving food for the day. Otherwise my stomach will never forgive me !” he explained.} 

_{“ Of course, Inspector. Go in peace, so don't order the game pie,” the vicar mockingly advised. With that John took his leave, and set off across the road towards the Inn. Father James watched the policeman's progress with curious interest, not even distracted by the mysterious gruff voice from the hedge, “ He sounds like trouble, to me !”}    

_{“ Yes, I fear you may be right, Edward. In which case..” the vicar answered without turning around, “.. he's come to the right place, hasn't he !”}

_{lifeandfunnies.blogspot.com}

Midwinter Mystery - Chapter Eight - " The Tale of the Mad Monk of Mistry"

  They sat in an irregular semi -circle around the fire engaged in their respective brews – united by consumption, separated in their own worlds. John discreetly studied his two new 'comrades' continuing to assess if he could really truly on their support and just how much, if at all, they were implicated in this affair. “ I suppose you have your own questions about me, but first of all just answer my question first. Why hasn't divisional H.Q received any reports from this station in the last three years ?”  John pressed his inquiry. Buster returned a blank look and then passed it over to George when he had finished with it, “ I don't know nothin' about no reports, Sergeant Keel was in charge of all that stuff weren't he, Buster ? “ George explained. “ Aye that's right “ He did all them 'ficial things, “ Buster piped up, “ always writin' things down on bits 'o paper, he were, Buster recalled. “ Wait, are you're saying that he DID fill in all the reports ? So, where are they now, then ?”  John asked disbelievingly. The pair looked briefly at each other and then back to John, speaking almost in unison they delivered the same verdict, “ Dunno ! “                                                                  “ I'm beginning to come to the conclusion that it might be easier to ask you two, just what DO YOU KNOW !” John regrouped his thoughts and proceeded. “ Well if we work on the assumption that Sergeant Keel was indeed responsible in his duties, then what would he have done with the paperwork, once it was completed ?” he reasoned. The small pendulum clock hanging over the fireplace didn't tick as loudly as the stony silence from the confounded officers, John waited in anticipation for the reply, before his impatience finally got the better of him, “ Let me guess, you ' duuno' anything about such matters ?”                                                                                                      “ That's right ! But, we're not stupid you know, we jus' never handled those things, that's all.  The only one who can answer your questions is Sergeant Keel, 'imself ! ” George stated .                             “ Believe me, I wish I could ask him !” John inhaled deeply, and slowly released it along with some of his frustration. “ Look, it's honestly not my intention to make anyone feel stupid, however I do need to find out what's been happening here these last few years, and for that I need answers longer than two syllables, that's all.” John endeavored to be more compassionate. Turning in his chair he looked around the small forlorn chaotic room in search of any possible clue, “ Just where do you file all your paperwork and records,” he paused in thought for a second, “ CRIMINAL records that is, NOT THE  L.P VARIETY !” he added.
“ It's jus' like we keep trying to tell you, Guv'nor, we don't know nothin' abou' things like that. You'll just 'ave to go up to his room and have a butcher's at it yerself !” George declared, swallowing the last dregs of tea.                                                                                                                                               “ WHAT ! HIS ROOM ? YOU MEAN TO SAY HE ACTUALLY LIVES HERE ! WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE. MAN ? WHERE IS IT ? “ John exclaimed, catapulting out of his chair.                                                                                                                      ” Upstairs, where else would a bedroom be ? Buster responded with a slight air of superiority, pointing to a door in the far corner. “ Follow them stairs up and you'll find two rooms, take care to go in the door on the left. Whatev'r you do, don't venture into the other one.” he cautioned.                      " REALLY ! Why, what's wrong with it ? John challenged.                                                                      “ IT'S MY ROOM !” declared George jumping to his feet in defence.                                                    “ I see ...” John viewed his young constable's rather disheveled attire and unkempt grooming , “ .. thanks for the warning, I'll try to give it as wide a birth as I can. So, you and Sergeant Keel both live here in the station, then ?”                                                                                                                        “ And Buster  ! “ George concluded.                                                                                                       “ SO, ALL OF YOU LIVE IN ! That's absurd, there's hardly a place for the prisoners !” applied John making his way over to the door.                                                                                                                “ Yeah, well we have to, don't we ! Neither of us have been paid any wages now for the past three years,” Buster followed.                                                                                                                               “ Yeah, that's right enough, Guv'nor ! We've had to take care of ourselves all this time, one way or another, ” finished George, bringing up the rear.                                                                                        “ Hmm, so from what you're saying the files and the wages went astray roundabout the same time, interesting, ” considered John standing up. “ But, what about the telephones, surely at least one of you  have tried calling and reporting the situation to the branch station ?” he questioned stepping onto the first step of the stairs.                                                                                                                            “ Yeah, course we did !” protested George. “ But it didn't do any good, the line was down, weren't it, Buster ?”                                                                                                                                                      “ Well, that's not entirely unsurprising I suppose, given the unusually hilly terrain around here. But you have to keep trying at these sort of things, you know !” concluded John, continuing his assent of the stairs.                                                                                                                                                   ” No you don't get it, the line is ALWAYS DOWN no matter where or when we call. I swear it's  like the main line is cursed or somethin' !” George trailed a few steps behind Buster, with John leading the way and about to enter Sergeant Keel's room.                                                                                           “ Let's put the cursing to one side for a moment, shall we. I'm only interested in the facts, and not your local colour, thank you very much. So, what excuse were you given about this line then ?” John pushed the bedroom door slowly open and cautiously entered.                                                                  “ The big pole won't stay up !” Buster jumped in.                                                                                          At this stage John was only half listening as he was more pre-occupied with entering the room than listening to Buster's ramblings, but he felt compelled to challenge what he thought he'd just heard, “ The WHAT, won't stand up ?”                                                                                                      “ The main line that connects Mistry to the exchange, keeps gettin' knocked over. It's keeps gettin' hit by  cars or struck by lighting, caught fire.. a couple of times, chopped down by accident once and … oh yes, it's had dry rot too !” Buster kept a tally on his fingers itemizing the various calamities.          “ Then there were all those poles they had to be replace on accoun' of that big landslide the other year, ” prompted George, peering over Buster's shoulders to watch John at work.    
         The atmosphere in the room was slightly stuffy, a mix of stale air and old socks, the single bed looked clean and well made, it's corners tucked tightly underneath, but the rest of the room was in a state of disarray, heavily decorated with cobwebs around it's corners, light fitting and other areas that invited such activity. The solitary window was closed and it's curtains drawn, John circumnavigated his way round a small high table and chairs in the middle of the room on his way over to it. Pulling back the thin brown curtains he turned a catch unlocking the window and dropped it down on it's old wooden sashed frame admitting long needed fresh air and light. “ Huh, so basically the mail, payroll and ...any other form of communication has been discontinued for all this time, correct ?” John surmised still semi-distracted by the room and the possible secrets it may contain.                                 “ Yeah, that sounds abou' right, Guv'nor !” agreed George, nodding to secure the fact.                          “ I see, well it seems a visit to your Post Office may be called for, if only to corroborate stories, ” John  confided with his fellow officers.                                                                                                   “ Wot'cha mean ?” George looked more than usually puzzled.                                                               “ I mean, that I need to secure the details before I start forming any opinions or theories. It's what is commonly known in police circles as 'conducting an investigation',” John answered with a hint of derision. He continued to scour the room for any indication of what may have befallen it's resident. His eyes fell immediately upon a number of opened books and sheets of papers strewn across and around the table. Picking up a handful of the papers he commenced to sift through them, a  cursory glance revealing they were covered with a collection of scribbles, symbols, passages of text - probably taken from one of the surrounding books – and rough sketches. Diverting his attention to the books he noted that they had either been bookmarked or had corners turned over, a clear indication that Sgt. Keel had obviously found something of interest or importance contained within their pages. “ Is this everything ?” John asked searching the remaining part of the room, peering into the large door-mirrored wardrobe and fumbling through the small chest of drawers. “ Yeah, this is the lot, we ain't touched a thing. In fact, we ain't even been in 'ere since he left, 'ave we, Buster ?” George confirmed proudly.
 “ Aye, there weren't nothing worth having in here !” Buster volunteered all to truthfully.                      “ I'm sure Sergeant Keel appreciates your warm sentiments  … wherever he is, ” John gave Buster a judgmental frown. “ So, no files, no reports, no clue ! Just a fistful of ramblings,” John returned to the table and the written pages, drumming his fingers across their surface. “ We're no further along now than when we started. Look, surely there must be something else, something he may have said or did that seemed out of character at the time ?” he pressed with mounting frustration.                                    “ Nah, he kept pretty much kept to hisself , 'specially the last few times I saw him” Buster explained joining them by the table.                                                                                                                           “Yeah, he was always takin' himself off into the woods, I reckon'd he must be one of them bird fanciers, or somethin' !” George revealed.                                                                                                  ” An ornithologist ? What made you think that ?” John queried.                                                           “ Well, he would spend a lot of nights up in the woods all alone with jus' a thermos, a round of sandwiches and a pair of old binoculars. Then he'd creep back in 'ere in the early hours of the mornin' upto his neck in mud, lookin' even worse than, Buster ! ” George lifted one of the books from the table, and started to casually run his eyes over one of it's opened pages.                                                “ Wait, did he own a camera at all ?” a sudden idea flicking a switch of hope.” If he did then there may be some photographs under this little lot or perhaps there's an undeveloped film lying around here somewhere !” John grasped desperately at the prospect.                                                                   “ I don't think so, besides there's nowhere around 'ere to develop it,” George replied in an apologetic tone. “ Hmm, that's too bad,”  John accepted disappointingly, he picked up the top sheet of paper from a pile of other loose papers, and raised it closer to to his face for further examination, “ There appears to be a sketch of a hooded figure on this one, does that mean anything to either of you ?”                                                                                                                                                                           “ That's odd, this book 'ere 'appens to be open on the legend of 'The Mad Monk of Mistry'. Y'know, I bet that's who's the picture's of !” George's deducted.                                                                                “ The Mad Monk of Mistry, eh ! I suppose it could be some kind of religious garment at that,” concurred John studying the drawing more closely. “ So, what's the story on this misguided monk then ?”                                                                                                                                                       “ Ah, it be a dark tale from Mistry's past, it's long forgotten past” Buster stared strangely into the distance as if he were reliving the account himself. “ But now it's returned to carry out it's ghostly ways on us all !”                                                                                                                                        “ All right there Jack-a-nory, that's quite enough story telling for now, thank you very much. I prefer to hear the unvarnished account if you don't mind,” John gestured to George to commence reading from the old book.      
         'The Tale of the Mad Monk of Mistry,' George read the chapter title slowly and deliberately, before finding himself completely immersed in the account.

                                          ' When the bell doth toll from yon abbey's tower                                                                                              spectres long past will soon be found.
                                                Take heed tales of woe or deathly power,
                                             as cold bones will rise from hallowed ground
                                                 fingers reaching out for souls hell bound '

         In the middle of the seventeenth century at a time of great civil and religious unrest under Cromwell's Commonwealth England, many people found the changing political and social landscape hard to accept. Never more so than at the sleepy abbey of Mistry which was forced to seek alternative areas of revenue to address the dramatic change in their fortune, the continuing loss of wealth and lands threatening to ruin their very existence, in order to address this situation the Abbot finally succumbed to looking outside the Abbey's walls for it's salvation.
       Brother Nathaniel, a young naive novice, fresh from vows of obedience, celibacy and virtue, was also struggling with changes of his own, adapting to his new surroundings and the enforced strict disciplines of life in a Medieval Monastery. Among his many duties was the procurement of new sources of income within the village and the offering of his services for private tuition among it's locals. Over the year the monk took on a number of students from various backgrounds and ages, and became a highly regarded and respected figure within the community, but to one pupil he was something more.
       A wealthy trading merchant, Ezekiel Smallbone, long since widowed, employed Nathaniel to instruct his youthful, high~spirited and beautiful daughter, Grace, further in her studies of art and religious matters, with hopes that his presence might provide the much needed peace and serenity that she so sadly lacked. At first her contempt for the new tutor was plain for all to see, and she could constantly be heard challenging his authority and teachings. Slowly over the course of time a degree of understanding and mutual respect seemed to develop between them, much to her father's joy, growing srtonger and steadier with each passing day. Seasons passed, the days grew shorter whilst the nights became longer, darker, and somewhere amidst all this the two became one – and fate interceded spiraling their lives together hopelessly out of their control.
       With the summers final breath Grace, fell with child, bringing with it conflicting times for them all.  She was delighted at the prospect of motherhood, but distraught at the thought of confessing all to her father, whereas Nathaniel, was torn between his devotion to the church and his all consuming love. Ezekiel, a deeply proud man was bitterly ashamed and disgraced to hear his daughter's story, and struggled with the loss of face within the village. As Grace's pregnancy approached ever nearer it became impossible for her to conceal it anymore, just as her father couldn't hide his disapproval, they could only wait and bide their time until fate showed it's hand.  But Ezekiel knew, deep down, that an inescapable dilemma was drawing nigh and that  eventually he would have to make the hardest of choices - family or honour, love or loneliness – with a heavy heart his decision fell and he disowned his own flesh and blood, casting her out into the streets. With no means of support, she was forced to beg on the streets for alms, and sought refuge in a ramshackled old barn on the outskirts of the village. Ezekiel incensed beyond reason screamed out at the abbey's gate exposing the monk's behaviour and the illegitimate child to all inside, denouncing him and demanding retribution. The church could ill afford to defend the strayed member of their order, fearing reprisals for any incidents of sin or stigma during these perilous times, so sided with the locals to assuage their already troubling overtures. The Abbott bathed Ezekiel in platitudes and assurances that Brother Nathaniel would face expulsion, excommunication and be held accountable for his actions by a higher power.        
      The night of the birth fell on a stormy desolate evening, the couple held each other tightly in their arms, hearts full of love but weak of  pocket, they could not afford the services of a physician or the much needed medicines. Complications arose and a slow arduous labour followed dragging on into the early hours of the morning, but come first light both mother and newborn child had sadly perished.
      The great loss of love and faith finally took it's toll on Nathaniel's fragile state of mind sending him into a deep spell of despondency, from which a darker spirit re-emerged, twisted and damned beyond recognition. His soul was forged from denial and rejection, vilifying all that he had once believed in, some say he'd made a blood oath with Beelzebub himself to preach the innate virtues of evil and the dark arcane practices that existed unseen by the ignorant or the self-righteous. He spread the word wherever to whoever would listen, but they were few and far between and in the end the villagers became fearful of him and everything he stood for. The Abbott rallied a small group of citizens together and confronted the fallen monk in an attempt to dissuade him from this twisted path, but to no avail, he did not falter from his course nor take heed of their plea to recant his ways. Instead the encounter seemed only to exasperate Nathaniel's fevered conditioned pushing him deeper into his malaise, he turned away from them and surrendered himself to powerful demonic thoughts.
        That night, grim clouds massed releasing a torrent of rain upon the earth, while thunder and lightening danced across the sky as if heaven itself was voicing it's disapproval of his conduct. The monk had scaled the abbey's high walls and paraded across it's walkway shouting, screaming out words of blasphemy and heresy against the world and it's elements, he was nothing more now than just an instrument of hate and anger. The hard rain lashed at his face, the thunder threatened to drown out his words and the lighting struck down faster and furiouser. From the abbey's high bell tower came it's haunting toll punctuating the howling storm along with Brother Nathaniel's delirious rantings. Twelve times it rang out, twelve long chimes, midnight had fallen. At the zenith of the monk's frenzied calling for followers and the damning of all things that represent love and hope, a spear of lightening struck at the wall beneath him. Crumbling, disintegrating the wall collapsed and his body dropped like a child's toy crashing to the ground buried under the ensuing cascading stones of the old wall. The storm slowly subsided, the clouds eventually cleared, the full moon glowed, all was silent, all was peace once more.
      And so there he lays to this day, so folklore says, a forgotten spirit in an unmarked grave in unhallowed ground. It's said that under the light of a full moon, on the final srtike of the witching hour the monk rises again scouring the abbey's grounds still searching for followers or for those who no longer knew how to live, souls he could claim for his masters bidding.'
        The story told, George slowly lowered the book sporting a slightly paler complexion from when he began, there followed a brief moment of silent reflection between the unlikely trio. John had listened to the tale, but his thoughts were more haunted that this, for the time being, was to be Mistry's police force -the young, the old and the … lost.

Lifeandfunnies.blogspot.com

ELECTION DAY 2017 - ELECTION DAY JITTERS ANYONE ?

                                                          ELECTION DAY JITTERS !

     

 I'm not a political animal, just a humble and very simple working class guy, but it seems to me that this election is the most lack luster, saddest one I can recall.

       None of the leaders seem to  possess any degree of charisma and with no discernible backbone or courage - I know what's new there - perhaps I've just become weary of the whole predictable show over the years. Old promises, old cliches, the kissing of babies/minors ( provided a parent or legal guardian is present ) or failing that any opportunity that permits the wearing of a hard hat and the complete inability ( paralysis of facts ) to give a straight answer to any question posed to them directly, plausible deniability I believe it's called. Some parties even seem to find it hard to provide concise facts and details concerning their own manifesto's and lastly the eternal spin machine that dictates that polls are NEVER accurate  ... unless of course their swaying in YOUR PARTY'S favour ! 

   As I said, maybe I've become too cynical about it all, how can one party promise the earth without expecting to plunge our economy into the red or another party asking us to vote for them simply to stop another party's path - surely the weakest argument ever to gain a seat in power. 

     There's certainly no denying that we're living in a changing political world, one where one countries president can rise to power from out of nowhere or assigned to one of the main political party's. A new world order that rejects actors as world leader for a more extreme outspoken entrepreneur. It's a fearful time for us all, a fragmented Europe, fragile global economies, climate change, splintered countries and radical ideologies, I don't believe any of the candidates have offered us any clear message on how they hope to address these issues.      

 ... oh well, thank god it will soon be over, unless some idiot calls for another referendum to confirm the merits of the original referendum because it didn't suit their own political agenda.

Anon

Midwinter Mystery - Chapter Seven - A Supernatural Thriller series

_{Midwinter Mystery – Chapter Seven}

 _{"Hail, Hail, the Gang's All Here"}

_{Morning crept it's way in to John's small room, it's cold sobering early light finding him strewn across the bed staring up at the white uneven and cracked ceiling. The day had begun where the night had finished, having moved little since passing out a few hours earlier, only the occasional shifting of the hips to alleviate the pain in the lower back caused by the weight of his legs hanging over the side of the bed. Gently raising himself into an upright position he wiped away the last remnants of sleep from his eyes, and concentrated on restoring sound and vision for a new day. He sat motionless for a while, his thoughts slowly coalescing as he submerged under a wave of questions: why was he really here, did he even want to do his job anymore, was this all some sort of disturbing dream or a hind of midnight madness, but to these, and more, no answer came - there never was. His new world was populated by secret fears and doubts, with only the inhabitants of routine and habit offering any hope of normality or solace.}

_{He also drew a certain amount of solace from his ritual ablutions, the purification of body, in action if nothing else, with all it's various components the splash of water, the application of cool shaving cream, the scraping of steel razor against skin and the stinging kiss of cologne, which currently was supplied by a bottle of Penhaligon's Blenheim Bouquet Aftershave, a present from Cathy on his last birthday – he'd often find himself smiling into the mirror as he recalled her saying how much it suited him, the fragrance was discreet, sensual and dry - like his sense of humour. Cathy always had a way of making John laugh, particularly about himself, as if she somehow knew how important it was not to let him take work or life too serious.}

_{After washing away the previous evenings hangover a degree of humanity and consciousness had been restored, allowing John to turn his attention to dressing, an act hampered by the fact that most of his shirts and ties were in his other suitcase – the one still siting at the train station. He finished shaping the dark navy silk tie, with a full Windsor knot, which rested atop a crisp white shirt and then slipped into a finely pinstriped charcoal three piece suite, shoe horned on a pair of black leather slip-on shoes and grabbed up his single breasted herringbone tweed overcoat from the back of the chair as he strode confidently towards the door.}

_{A light breakfast of tea and toast, assisted by a choice of preserves awaited him downstairs courtesy of a large burly woman named Janet, the Inn's chief - see only - cook, bottle-washer, waitress, chambermaid and all round busy body. John noted her warm refined accent and was not too surprised to hear, during their brief exchange, that she wasn't exactly a 'natural native' to the area, he also admired her ability to weave in and out of the tightly packed tables of the small back room, swaying her hips around them like a human pendulum, a testimony of stature over service. Janet revealed the station's location, but couldn't shed any light on the rest of his enquiries, as she had never heard of anyone needing their help. Downing the last dregs of his brew he got up from the table and thanked her politely for the assistance, the irony of the situation, a member of the public giving directions to a policeman was not entirely wasted on him.}

_{John stepped out into the main street - as far as he could surmise – where a new morning refused to reveal any more of Mistry's identity than the previous night. A murky sun diffused sky descended upon the little village seemingly merging with the dank hanging mist that rested upon the rooftops, threatening to engulf another day. He walked through the heart of the village, under the large ominously dark tree rooted in it's center, now dead for the winter, and carried on to the other side upon which he then turned promptly left and followed the curving road around, he passed a string of terraced cottages, several passageways and two derelict houses, in truth only the first building actually merited this classification, the other on closer inspection was more a borderline civil case, or to give it's official designation... police station. The main distinguishing features for such a conclusion were the iron bars covering the downstairs windows on the outside - whether to stop somebody from getting out or to prevent anyone trying to get in was debatable – and the blue glass lantern hanging above the doorway, with the word ' POLICE' inscribed in white capital letters. A short overgrown garden path led up to the entrance and an open door, whereas normally this wouldn't be an issue for John, he decided to err on the side of caution on this occasion, after all he still didn't have any idea of what he might be walking into. ” HELLO ! HELLO ! IS ANYBODY THERE ?” he called out, but if there were then his words had fallen on deaf ears.}

_{Starting to cross the threshold he suddenly became aware how clammy his hands felt, he rubbed them dry down the sides of his trousers, as his heart began to beat faster and faster, running a hand over a fevered brow and unbuttoning his shirt collar was all he could do to manage the worsening condition. But, it was to no avail, John was already deep in the grip of a powerful force unlike anything he'd known before, one that grew stronger and stronger, rapidly surging through his body and onward to his head, overwhelming feelings of … anxiety and panic ! The tsunami like emotional wave that flooded his brain along with the disturbance to his blood pressure, caused him to almost blackout as he staggered back against the door-frame. Remaining motionless, suspended by the doorway, John found himself too weak to do anything but wait for the palpitations to subside, wait and desperately struggle with whys and wherefores and any rationalization of his state of mind, but it was impossible to control his own wild chaotic thoughts anymore.}

_{Slowly as his composure and strength of purpose returned he forced himself away from the sanctuary of the doorway and took the first few tentative steps forward into the deserted looking charge room. The main room was divided into two sections by a 4' ft counter, on John's side there were only three shabby looking table chairs sitting under a noticeboard adorned with old public service posters, advocating everything from the benefits of buying war bonds to drives for blood donors, and one wanted poster for an escaped mongrel called 'Digby'. Raising the counter-top flap he passed though it and finally entered the AWOL office, which more resembled someone's living quarters than an actual working police office, with two deep armchairs seated in front of a fireplace, a small round heavily stained coffee type table, a larger fold-down dining table and a gas stove. John noted the hint of fried bacon hanging in the air and steam escaping from a boiled kettle on the hob, all indications of recent life but no sign of a corpus delicti, it was a veritable public servant's Marie Celeste.}

_{On the opposite side to the fireplace there was another doorway, this one shut, he wondered if behind this closed door were some of the answers he was searching for. Turning the handle John cautiously pushed it open, his body tense with the anticipation for whatever lie ahead. It gave way without argument revealing a room with two iron bar cells, neither without doors, one of which appeared to be engaged already, it's resident lying seemingly dead to the world buried beneath a pile of blankets, only a pair of twitching mismatched socks protruding from out of them betraying any living presence . The 'mystery guest' had left their muddy old boots propped up against the outside of the cell and an assortment of garments hanging from a tall elaborate looking coat stand next to the bed.}

_{John approached the slumbering cadaver, shoved it carefully a few times and then withdrew to a respectable distance awaiting the expected fallout. The mass rose, undulated and collapsed several times before finally expelling it's elderly captive to the hard floor, “ Huh ! Eh ! Is it breakfast time already ?” came a confused mumble. John relaxed his guard slightly as the new arrival didn't appear to pose any immediate danger to him, and given his current state of undress, a long washed out nightshirt, a bobble hat and woolly scarf , he wasn't exactly a flight risk either. The wizened gentleman was also wearing a rather confused and dazed expression beneath a beard as thick and as grey and as it was long and wiry, he stood, well more stooped, in front of John, his mouth held ajar in awe. “ BREAKFAST TIME ! WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, THE RITZ ? ” John started up. “ Come on with you, get up now, and would you please put some clothes on while I'm talking to you. It's a personal rule of mine about questioning naked people before mid-day,” he continued. The skinny man of the cloth nodded his head slightly as if acknowledging the request, then bending over grabbed the bottom of his night shirt between both hands and proceeded to lift it off over his head. “ NOT NOW, MAN ! I meant wait until I've left the room, turned my back, or something !” John interfered promptly, fearing the repercussions. “ 'OLD YOUR 'ORSES THERE YOUNG FELLA ! You can't jus' come in 'ere and start bossing people around in their sleep whenever you feels like it, y'know. There are laws for that sort o' thing... “ the old timer regained some of his spirit as hopped around the cell trying to slip his boots on, “ ...' DISTURBIN' THE PEACEFUL', that's wot it's called ! ” ” NO, IT'S NOT ! Besides, in your case it's more like ' WAKING THE DEAD' ! ” John remarked caustically, eyeing up the would-be protagonist. “ Look, let's start from the beginning shall we ? What's your name old-timer ?” ” William Wilberforce Burke the Third !” came the proud, defiant answer. ” THE THIRD ! And people say you can have too much of a good thing !” John remarked sardonically, while watching his cell mate struggling like a second rate escapologist trying to pull his trousers up - over his shoes. “ Aye, well it's a bit much, so folk around 'ere just call me … Buster !” ” BUSTER ? Huh, that does surprise me, I thought they'd have gone another way with that one. Still, a curious choice where did it come from ? ” John resignedly enquired. ” I dunno, they jus' started callin' me it one day and it kinda stuck” and with this he toppled sideways, knocking the coat stand over, which landed heavily on a nearby jug of water smashing it to bits. ” Well, I guess that solves that little mystery,” John muttered proceeding to grasp the semi-decent suspect by his upper arm and guided him into the main ofice. “ Come on, let's do things by the book, the due course of the law in action and all that ! THEN, I can find you guilty and put you back in your nice snug little cell, all official like !” John pointed to one of the armchairs by the fireplace. ” GUILTY ! ME ?” choked the old boy. ” Ahh, a confession already. Excellent ! “ ” WOT ! I'M NOT CONFESSUN TO ANYTHING ! LOOK, JUS' WHO THE HECK ARE YOU ?” the ageing jail bird squawked loudly at the end of his tether. ” Sorry, perhaps I should have formally introduced myself from the beginning. Would it help at all if I showed you my credentials ?” John offered. ” Why would I want to look at YOUR DENTURES ? “ ” CREDENTIALS, YOU DEAF FOOL ! ! AS IN PROOF OF IDENTIFICATION ! ” John drew out his wallet and presented a warrant card to Buster.. “ 'Ere, this says that you're a policeman ?” came the reaction to this shock revelation. “ Yes, that's right, and you're in a P-0-L-I-C-E station, Buster. Do you remember where you are now ?” John spoke purposely slow and deliberate to allow for the age delay. “ OF COURSE I DO ! I'M THE ….” Buster was cut dead before finishing.}

_{“ HEY, BUSTER, SHAKE A LEG THERE MATE ! Some stranger arrived in the vilage last night and people are sayin' that he's fixin' to come over 'ere this mornin' to see us ! ” a young red faced man bounded through the doorway, his arms laden with farm produce, dressed to a fashion as a police constable. He collided with the dropped down counter before running into the arms of John, “ Well, well, who do we have here then, another uninvited guest ? Does this station operate some kind of ' Open House ' policy, or is there an amnesty on waifs and strays today ?” John lifted the flap, beckoning the newcomer to join them. “ So I take it from what I've overheard, the pair of you are in cahoots with each other, and if that's so then I have only ONE QUESTION to ask ! Which one of you is going to tell me... WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN THIS PLACE ?”}

_{The two suspects glanced at each other furtively, a moment of guilt and a secret shared passed between them. “ HEY, NOT SO FAST THERE, MISTER ! WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO COME IN 'ERE ALL COCKSURE OF YERSELF AND START THROWIN' QUESTIONS AROUND ? ” the chubby youth responded in an act of bravado, slyly pushing a carton of eggs along with a suspiciously wrapped piece of uncooked bacon under a pile of papers on the desktop. John briefly studied the features of this new ' rebel without a cause', noting the way his thick mop of unruly black hair flopped over the forehead, the short snub nose and the dark beady eyes. “ Well, for your information, we,” John waved an open hand in the direction of Buster, “ were already in the middle of introductions when YOU BARGED YOUR WAY IN HERE, ON US ! Still while I have the attention of you both, allow me to clarify my position.” He produced his warrant card once more and handed it over to the youth, “ I believe this should help to clear matters up. I'm Det. Inspector. John Foxe, and ... I'M IN CHARGE OF THIS POLICE STATION - SUCH AS IT IS ! NOW, I TRUST THAT ANSWERS YOUR QUESTION SATISFACTORILY ? “}

_{The pair shared the same stunned expression, caught in the aftermath of this revelation. John scoured the desktop in search of some paper and pen, to press home his advantage, “ Okay, now it's your turn. Who are you lad, and what's your business here ?” ” George Clemens, P. C. 49, Guv'nor !” he stated, puffing his chest out, to the best of his ability. “ P.C 49 ! Oh no, please tell me you're joking, you can't be an actual member of the constabulary.” John looked incredulously at the would-be-lawman. “ Wait a minute did you say your name is George ? That wouldn't be THE George, the one who runs a taxi service by any chance ? ” John asked curiously . ” Yeah ! That's me ! Wot of it ?” “ Huh ! So you're not only a taxi driver but you're a police constable too, eh ! Remind me to have a word with you sometime about the forces policy on 'moonlighting'.” ” OH NO, GUV'NOR ! I never work after midnight,” ” That's not what I meant,” the throbbing vein over John's right eye, indicated that one of his blinding migraines was close at hand. He exhaled deeply, trying to relax the tension in his shoulders and ease the mounting stress, ” Never mind, it'll keep. Right now, P.C. 49, you and I need to have a serious talk,” John became aware of a small shifting shape edging it's way closer to them. “ Look, take this chap's particulars down will you, and then .. oh, just send him on his way with a caution this time. I think he's merely a confused simple citizen, or something, ” John turned to face Buster. “ We're going to let you off with a warning for now, Buster. But if we catch you in here abusing this station's facilities again, then you will be arrested do you understand ?” ” THERE HE GOES AGAIN, TRYING TO ARREST ME ! WOT'S WRONG WITH 'IM ?” exploded Buster. ” NAH ! You can't arrest 'im, Guv'nor !” George chimed in. ” WHY EVER NOT ?” demanded John indignantly. ” COS, HE'S YOUR SERGEANT ! ” George declared. ” HIM ? NO, HE CAN'T BE ! I WAS TOLD THE SERGEANT'S NAME WAS 'KEEL' ! “ John was visibly taken back by this revelation. ” Aye, he is ! I'm one of those... wot you call … . 'acting sergeants', that's it ! ” explained Buster.}

_{John stared in disbelief at the shambolic figure standing infront of him. “An 'acting sergeant', you ? I'm not sure if that falls under farce or tragedy, “ he concluded, shaking his head in denial. “ So, where's this Sergeant Keel fellow, then ?” his perplexity with the situation reaching it's limits. “ Dunno,” answered George, shrugging his shoulders. “ Hmm, okay, well when do you expect him back,” John asked changing tack. “ Haven't a clue, ” admitted Buster. “ Why doesn't that doesn't surprise me ? I take it that neither of you are particularly familiar with the notion of 'police work' are you ?” John's hope of a fast resolution to this case was slowly, painfully, ebbing away from him. He stood still and silent, looking not so much at them but through them, rubbing his chin, pondering life's injustices before finally speaking again, ” Let me see if I fully understand my position, I'm in charge of station without bars, run by two 'Keystone Cops', and a Burke for a sergeant, is that about the size of it ? ” Without waiting for a reply John crossed over to the fireplace and collapsed into one of the armchairs, temporarily incapacitated by a form of mental fatigue. ” 'Ere, he looks a bit pasty, don't he ? “ said Buster leaning over the fallen inspector. “ D'yer think it was somethin' he ate ?” “ More likely somefink he drunk,” came George's second opinion. ” You're both wrong ! It was something I heard ...YOU TWO ! “ he murmered, leaning forward, head buried deep in his hands.}

_{George and Buster loitered nervously by the fireside awaiting John's re-emergence from his self-inflicted solitude, maintaining a respectful silence until suddenly, “ Who's up for a cup of char then ?” George offered with a clap of his hands. “ Oooh yes, and throw a couple of them biscuits in with it too ! “ Buster perked up. John raised his head, if not his spirit, and turned to look at the stove, “ If you've got any coffee back there I'll have one – black, one sugar, please.” he requested returning to the back of his chair. John watched George performing his ancient tea making ceremony, with an ancient looking tea set, while also keeping vigil on Buster as he stoked some more life into the log fire. They seemed harmless enough he thought, but could they be trusted and how much did they really know ? John decided he would have to play this one close to his chest for time being, friends or foe, he was going to have to keep his guard up around them for time being. Until he could be sure of who he could trust, he was going to have to continue being alone, an outsider looking in, conducting a man private investigation into the disappearance of Sergeant Keel.}

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