Intro

A short story about religious belief within the frog community.

Frog Heaven

A very old wrinkled frog stood in front of a group of tiny frogs. Her bulging brown eyes scanned the group. Only two months ago, these youngsters had been no more than black specks in the spawn tanks. Now look at them sitting there, bright young faces alert. 

“Stop catching flies and pay attention!”

Flies were everywhere, hatching out of the trays of heaving white maggots feasting on dead chickens. And hiding in the darkness under a maggot-tray sat Hercules. His eyes swivelled upwards, waiting for delicious creamy snacks to topple over the edges. His shiny green sides already bulged with half-digested maggots, but he crammed even more into his wide mouth. The frog was huge.

“Hercules, come out this instant. What are you doing there?”

He tried to shake his wide head, eyes popping.

“Open your mouth, boy.”

The elderly teacher reached forward with her stick and forced his mouth open. A fat white maggot fell out. There was a shocked intake of breath, then the stick whistled down and Hercules bounded into the class, crouching to try to make himself a smaller target.  A small brown and yellow frog gazed at him with admiration.

The teacher said with a touch of sadness, “Today is your final lesson, and you will learn the answer to two great questions – where have we come from, and where do we go when we leave this world? In the beginning, before our world was created, there was nothing at all. Not even a fly.  Then, the Great One created two angels, one big and one small. Some of you have seen the angels, haven’t you?”

The little frogs agreed they had.

“The Great One told the angels to make the world, and they made it round and tall, just for us. Then the Great One created the first people. Two spawn were made from the tears of the Great One, and they were laid in a tank of tears. When they were growing, the angels brought food for them and they became the first people in the world, and that is where we came from.”

Hercules raised his webbed hand. “Please?”

The old teacher sighed. “Yes?”

“Who made maggots and flies?”

“Anyone?” invited Mrs Wartybottom.

The little frogs chanted the answer. “The Great One.”

“That’s right, because everything was made just for us people, and every one of us, even the naughty ones, will one day go to Frog Heaven.”

There was a great babble of croaks as the frogs took in this amazing thought, until Hercules raised his webbed hand. “Please?”

The old teacher sighed once more. There was always one. “Yes, Hercules.”

“How do we get there? I want to go now.”

“There’s a special doorway. You’ve all seen it, in the grown-ups’ room. Only the strongest and bravest can jump through that doorway. It’s called the Door of Darkness. It opens on the night of the full moon.”

The little frogs cringed at the words. The Door of Darkness.

“Then you must climb the Stairs of Strength. The angels will feed you as you climb. Wonderful worms, marvellous maggots and crunchy crickets. As much as you can eat as long as you climb.”

Hercules raised his webbed hand. “Please?”

The old teacher sighed. “Yes?”

“What happens at the top?”

“Anyone?” invited Mrs Wartybottom.

The other little frogs chanted the answer together. “Frog Heaven.”

“That’s right. At the top, there is the Doorway of Light and on the other side is Frog Heaven, where the world is green and bright, and water and food are everywhere.”

The next full moon, Hercules practised his jumps and they were fantastic. He bunched the huge muscles in his mighty thighs and shot into the air as if fired from a cannon. The other little frogs watched as he sailed overhead.  Hercules left the class and swaggered into the Grown-Ups room to show off. The noise was deafening inside. Huge frogs, some even bigger than Hercules, were leaping and stretching, waiting for the door to open.

The other little frogs followed Mrs Wartybottom to the grown-ups’ room.   Finally, the moment arrived and the little wooden door creaked open. Adult frogs started plopping into the doorway. Hercules leapt high into the air and vanished through the doorway, and the little brown and yellow frog cried.  Before Hercules could jump back down, the door shut and he was in darkness.

It was warm and damp behind the door. Water dripped onto his small head. A cricket chirped and he could hear its rough legs scrape over stone. Other frogs moved past him in the darkness until he was quite alone. Gradually he got used to the dark until he could see faintly. Ahead was a giant step.  Summoning all his strength, Hercules jumped and hung from the edge by his little front legs, but he was not strong enough. He fell back and landed on something squishy. Before it could slither away, he pounced. Hercules had never eaten wonderful worm before. He shoveled it into his huge mouth using his front legs until his head bulged. Down it went.

After a few more tries, Hercules managed to jump up the first step and froze. A long feeler pricked him and he pressed his body down. Chirp. Hercules knew that this was a cricket, but it was so big. Using all his courage and speed, he pounced again, crunching down hard on the cricket’s head. The green goo was the best thing he had ever tasted. By the end of the day and many more crickets, Hercules bounded up to the next step. The more he ate and jumped, the bigger and stronger he became.  He was almost at the top of the stairs when he heard the voice.

“Hello,” it croaked. It was the deepest, saddest sound he had ever heard.

“Hello,” said Hercules. “Can I eat you?”

There was a pause, then a deep chuckle. “You might try,” the voice answered.

Movement. An enormous something was on the step. “Follow me,” it said.

Scared, Hercules followed the shuffling noise, squeezing down a narrow crevice at the edge of the step. He followed and the light grew stronger. Eventually it was so bright that he couldn’t see, and the ground beneath his feet became warm. He narrowed his eyes and gasped. The world went on forever. Above was a ceiling of blue. Cool and delicious air passed over his skin, and in all directions the land was green and brown.

He whispered, “Is this Frog Heaven?

Ancient, wise eyes blinked in amusement. The toad’s skin was as dry and rough as old stone. “Foolish boy. You live in a tower ruled by a man and a woman, not by angels. You’re looking at the real world, the outside. Look down there. That black water used to be my world. That’s where I was born, one hundred and twenty years ago. Humans did that to it. Now, look up.”

Hercules saw he was sitting on a staircase winding its way up the outside of the tower. He had been climbing a similar staircase on the inside, but these steps were much wider, designed for humans and at the top was a wooden door.

“Is that…”

“Please don’t ask me again.” The toad’s dry voice was cross. “Follow me if you dare, and I’ll show you.”

It took them several hours to reach the top, helping each other over the most difficult bits of the climb. Then Hercules peeped around the door. In the gloom stood the vast angel and the tiny angel.  Smoke filled the air and stung his eyes, making him cough.  The small angel was working on a complicated machine, oiling various parts of it, turning a large handle. The vast one was also busy, lifting something limp and green out of a bucket and feeding it into a hole in the side.

“Try it now, Pierre,” she said in her bubbly voice. The man turned the handle again, and then there was a terrible noise. Wheels span and blades flashed.

“Watch, and don’t make a sound, if you value your life,” hissed the toad.

The big angel waddled to the wall and opened a small door. A ramp connected the doorway to the machine. The doorway reminded Hercules of the Doorway of Darkness, then he realised with wonder that he was looking at the Doorway of Light.  Something small and green hopped out of the door and landed on the ramp. More and more frogs came out, hopping eagerly up it. Hercules could hear their exited voices shouting praises to the Great One. When they reached the top of the ramp, they plunged into the gaping mouth of the machine.

Then something dreadful happened and Hercules wanted to scream, but the toad clamped a webbed hand over his mouth. Frogs’ legs rained down into a basket below, whilst the machine spat the remains of the faithful out of the window and they tumbled into the black pool. Their screams faded as they fell, followed by little splashes.

Hercules turned towards the toad, tears in his eyes. He was about to speak when there was a dreadful cry.

“Look at that big fat one. He’s getting away.”

The angel called Pierre seized a gleaming meat-chopper and jumped towards them. The toad grabbed Hercules and they leaped down the steps, but they couldn’t move quickly enough. The two angels were right behind them and getting nearer. Something made Hercules stop – quickly, he pulled the toad up against the side of the step. A massive shape rumbled past and for a moment it went as dark as night. The angels screamed as they plunged from the stairs, tumbling over and over. The little animals watched in astonishment as they hit the black pond headfirst and stuck fast, legs thrashing, before slowly sinking out of sight. A ghastly brown cloud belched into the air and blew away over the countryside.

One year passed, and it was time for Mrs Wartybottom’s new class to leave school.  They were sitting on a log at the edge of the pond. The green waters smelt wonderful and the air was filled with insects of all kinds. Above, the moon hung in the sky like huge round spawn. “Listen carefully, my dears, whilst I tell you about Frog Heaven.”

A large young frog raised its arm. “Please?”

She sighed. “It’s very simple really. Frog Heaven is where we live now, so be kind to each other, eat crunchy crickets and be happy. Life doesn’t get any better than this.”

Somewhere nearby, bathed in moonlight, Hercules sat next to the little brown and yellow frog and the moment was, at last, quite perfect.

Intro

In this short story about an old mirror, Jonas begins to see the truth about himself and it’s a life-changing experience.

Mirror Mirror

Jonas Hagget made his final offer. “Look, I’ll give you all I’ve left. That’s six quid in your hand, right now, and you won’t have to take this old thing home again. You ain’t going to get a better offer.”

He held out the money and smiled innocently.

The elderly couple glanced at each other with the suggestion of a smile, and the man nodded. Jonas left the car boot sale in triumph. The mirror – his mirror now – must be worth at least two hundred. It was dark when he arrived at the small apartment he shared with his girlfriend Debbie. She was not pleased.

“I haven’t seen you all weekend, Jon. I don’t see any point in going on like this – I’m twenty-nine, and I spend more time alone now than before I moved in.”

Jonas knew what was coming next. He’d heard it before.

“You’ve got no money and no prospects. How can we have children, when I’m the only one that earns any money?” Debbie’s voice started to wobble. “I don’t think you want children, anyway.”

He hated it when she did this. “Look, you knew what I was like when you came here. How can I be someone else?”

Having made his point, he flounced to the spare bedroom to polish his new acquisition. The room, which Debbie had intended for their offspring, was already filled with junk beach-combed from numerous car boot and garage sales. He hammered a nail into the wall and hung the mirror up, stood back and looked at himself. A thirty-something year old man, heavy brows, a scowling, sallow face. Not someone to buy a mobile phone from, and yet that was his occupation. He saw Debbie enter the room and stand behind him. She used to be vivacious and attractive but she now had a permanently wistful expression.

She said, “Where did you get that piece of crap, anyway?”

“I bought it from this old couple. They had no idea how much it’s worth. You can see how ancient it is from the patina at the edges,” he said, caressing the frame.

Debbie was not interested in patina. She was looking at him in a calculating way, as if a decision was being made.

Unaware of the risk, he carried on. “There’s a slight duplication of the image, but it doesn’t matter. Look, you can see two of me.” He waved his arm in the mirror.

“I can’t see anything wrong,” she said, then added ominously, “Look, Jon. We need to talk,” and walked away.

When he entered the living room she was waiting with arms folded, and he felt his stomach lurch. “There has to be a big change, Jon.”

He swallowed. “Or…”

“Or it’s over.”

He looked at the floor between his feet, noticing a lump of chewing gum he had dropped whilst watching the big match. “Well, I’m listening,” he said cautiously, putting his foot on it.

“You don’t pay me any attention. You don’t make any money. And you go out and spend mine, drinking with your stupid mates or buying this – this junk. This crappy old mirror.”

That was going too far.

“It’s not crap. I work just as hard as you, and you should try selling mobiles, instead of giving lectures to a bunch of teenagers. You don’t know what work is.” He stood up aggressively. “You go out with your friends and now I’m going out to meet mine. I don’t want to hear any more about this, okay?”

Before she could reply, he banged out of the flat.

When he got up the next day, Debbie had already left without saying goodbye. He dressed carefully, adjusting his tie in the old mirror, and kissed his reflection. Today he would show her. The mobile phone store was located in the new, characterless shopping plaza that dominated the town centre. Jonas tried to look knowledgeable and welcoming but as always, the customers headed for his colleagues. Mr Adams the store manager looked at him and frowned. By eleven, Jonas was having a crisis of confidence, and so he slipped out to the Boots store opposite for some deodorant. He re-entered the store via the rear exit, but at the top of the stairs he ran into Adams.

“Jonas – I don’t know how you did it.”

Jonas flushed, and fumbled for an excuse. “Well, I…”

“Selling four mobiles in thirty minutes- it’s unheard of. I was going to let you go, then you do this.” Adams punched him on the shoulder.

Jonas entered the store, sensing the respectful glances. Although he had no more successes that morning, he still felt lucky. So at lunchtime he visited a betting shop to invest some of Debbie’s earnings. On return from lunch, he discovered that had sold another three mobiles. He felt proud, confused and a little scared. However, the afternoon passed quietly with no further sales. He arrived home feeling self-important, until he saw a vase of red roses.

Debbie came up to him, smiling. “Oh Jon, they’re lovely. I do love you too.”

She kissed him passionately and he responded, whilst trying to read the greeting card. As soon as she had left the room, he snatched it up. The message read, ‘To my darling Debbie, I’ll love you always, Jon. xxx’.

Jonas squeezed his eyes closed and tried to remember, but could not recollect buying the flowers. Besides, it was simply not something that he would do. Encouraged by the kiss, He helped to prepare supper and even opened a bottle of his vintage wine (£1.35p from Blackbushe market). Later that night, Debbie was feeling passionate and Jonas did his best, but he was tormented by the written message. before he went to sleep, he went to gaze into the mirror.

The next day, there was another surprise. To get back from the betting shop to the phone store, Jonas walked along the far side of the piazza, looking into the shop windows to avoid being seen. When he was opposite the phone store, he caught its reflection in a shop window. Someone that looked identical to him was working there, but this person was chatting eagerly to two customers. He turned slowly and looked again, but the man had already moved out of sight. When Jonas re-entered the store, he had miraculously sold not just three mobiles, but an incredible five, two of which had extended guarantees. He looked around, but there was no one that looked like him.

Adams shouted, “My god, man. We’ll have to order more stock just for you.”

However, Jonas did not sell a single phone that afternoon.

When he arrived home, Debbie was looking pleased with herself. She was wearing an extremely short skirt and looked flushed. “I didn’t hear you go out, Jon. Christ, you excelled yourself this time. In fact, how about another quickie before we eat?”

Jonas flopped onto the sofa. “Sure, I’ll have a gin and tonic. You look like you could do with a drink too. What you been doing, jumping up and down?”

She laughed uncertainly. “That’s one way of putting it, tiger. I didn’t mean a drink.” She sat beside him, throwing a slim, bare leg over his lap.

Tiger? Jonas felt annoyed. First, the roses. Not from him. Then, this flirtatious behaviour. She was making fun of him. These were mind-games. After all, she taught psychology, didn’t she? Maybe she really was having an affair and using these tricks to confuse him. His head pounded. Before she could make another move, he stood up abruptly.
“Sorry, but I’ve got to nip out again. The lads are expecting me at the Greyhound. You know how it is.”

He checked himself in the mirror, then walked up the road with hands in pockets and shoulders hunched, mind in turmoil. However, after spending the evening discussing women with his friends, Jonas concluded sadly that Debbie was indeed having an affair. As he looked up at their apartment, her revealing silhouette slid across the blind and when he entered the room, Debbie was lying on the rug naked, other than stilettos. Two glasses of champagne stood on the table.

“All right, where is he?” Jonas demanded, pale and angry.

Debbie was bewildered. “What?”

He stepped towards her. “I go out for a couple of hours, and you get up to this. What’s going on?”

She sat up and sniffed as a tear trickled down her cheek. “You’re frightening me, Jon. You only went out for a minute. You said that your friends were less important than us – you undressed me.” She faltered.

Jonas felt deflated. He felt that she was telling the truth, so what exactly was going on? He was either loosing his memory or his mind. “I’m going to bed. I’ve got a headache,” he snapped accusingly. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Debbie, but I’m going to find out.”

As he lay in bed trying to sleep, his brain would not be still. Someone else must be selling the phones. Someone else must also be shagging his girlfriend, because she had never looked like that after doing it with him. He would set a trap the next evening. Behave as normal all day, then catch them at it. That would do it. Jonas left work early in a foul mood.

As soon as he got home that evening, he shouted to Debbie, “I left something at work. Back in an hour.”

He went down the stairs, opened and closed the door, and hid in the cloakroom. After a little while, he heard laughter from upstairs. Since when had Debbie laughed with him like that? He continued to listen. He could hear music, a crash and more laughter. It was the little laugh she used in bed. Jonas crept up the stairs with a snarl. Now he could hear something bumping rhythmically and he knew what that meant. He pushed open the living room door and stopped in horror. His girlfriend was straddling a naked man, her bare back towards him and thrusting enthusiastically. The man saw him in the doorway, raised his head and grinned.

Jonas felt his world spin and collapse around him. Clutching his head and moaning, he ran down the stairs and left the house. He staggered down the street into the pub at the corner and ordered a double scotch. As the alcohol did its work, he tried desperately to understand what was happening to him.

It started after I brought the old mirror. That bastard shagging Debbie was my double. Where do you find doubles? In mirrors. It’s something to do with that fucking mirror.

Jonas realised that the pub had gone quiet. He’d been talking to himself. Loudly. Before the barman asked him to leave, Jonas sidled out and wandered home. Without thinking, he let himself in and climbed the stairs, then went into the spare room. He walked up to the mirror. There was nothing special about it until he looked more closely. Now he could see that the double reflection had gone and the image was sharply defined. He sat down in an old armchair behind the door and waited. After about an hour, the door swung open, partially hiding him. Footsteps crossed the room as a shadowy figure approached the mirror. As he watched, the stranger climbed into it as if the glass was a pool of liquid. Jonas switched on the light and confronted his reflection.

“I know what you’re up to. Let’s see you,” he said as firmly as he could manage.

Nothing happened at first. Then the double image separated, and from behind his true reflection the other Jonas appeared. Jonas resisted the urge to look behind himself. The three of them stared at each other – Jonas, his reflection, and the mirror Jonas. Jonas touched his head and so did his reflection, but the mirror Jonas laughed. Jonas could hear it clearly.

“What are you?” he asked quietly.

“Well, let me see. I’m what you should be. Better at work, kinder to Debbie, much better in bed. And in the living room. Who are you?”

Jonas ground his teeth. “I may be a failure at all those things matey, but at least I’m real. Now, tell me this. How did you get in there, and how come you look like me?”

The other looked at Jonas through slitted eyes. How did I get in here? That’s a secret. You need to move closer so I can tell you.”

Jonas stepped nearer and an arm shot out, grabbing his shirtfront. He felt as if he was plunging into water, and then the illusion passed and he was once more in the room, looking at the mirror, and the reflection was as before. To his surprise, the fake Jonas reached forward and took hold of the mirror’s wooden frame, and lifted it. The room Jonas was in span wildly and he fell back into empty darkness. He shouted and screamed, but there was no sound. Jonas found that he could assume any position and float, as if in space. Some distance away, he could see a rectangle of light. He tried to swim but he could not get any nearer to it, and so he closed his eyes and slept fitfully.

Jonas was awoken by the sound of his own voice. He could hear himself talking to Debbie.

“Let’s get rid of all this junk. I’ve asked someone to come round to collect it. We want to use this room for the baby, don’t we?”

“Oh, Jon, I’m so pleased. I can’t wait to get started.”

There was the sound of kissing and then panting. Jonas sat, floating in darkness, gritting his teeth. Then without warning, he felt himself propelled towards the light, where his double was standing. Jonas pressed his hands to the glass, even kicked it, but it made no difference.

“I just wanted to say goodbye,” was all his double said.

Before Jonas could reply, there was a massive shockwave that felt like an earthquake and the image in front of him shattered into hundreds of shapes. He felt himself falling and pulling apart, but there was no pain. When he opened his eyes, he was looking at the ceiling through a tiny triangular window, and he could see part of Debbie’s face looking down at him. Next to her, the new Jonas was smiling.

“Whoops,” she laughed, then swept up the shards of mirror and dumped them in the bin.

Intro

Trees aways fascinate me – almost as if they possess different personalities. This short story concerns a man who falls under the influence of a malign willow tree containing the spirit of Ceridwen, and the blowhole which is her cauldron. If you missed your geography lessons, a blowhole is a sea cave where waves can explode upwards through a hole in the roof…

Willow Tree

Crumbling granite scrunched under his boots as Gavin climbed hard. He kept his head down to protect his face from the stinging spray, spitting out the saltiness. Briefly, he glanced down the windswept hillside to where the sea bellowed furiously through the blowhole. He could feel it hammering into the cave below his feet and the ground heaving in protest. The blowhole was an ancient cauldron trapped below molten lava now cooled and worn away. And this cauldron was filled with many secrets. lost in his thoughts, Gavin kept walking, until the rhythms of effort and breathing calmed his troubled mind. After a while, the angry voice of the blowhole faded to a grumble.

The cliff-top wind whipped at him viciously, awaking buried memories. Janine tanding in front of the fire, the brightness making her fair hair glow red, shining through her short dress. He recalled how her eyes had been filled with love, but not for him. And he’d wanted her badly at that moment, misreading her parted lips and flushed skin, until she spoke.

“I’ve been seeing someone else. For over two months – he works at the hotel. I think I’m in love with him – he says he loves me, so I’m leaving you. He’s picking me up tonight.”

With hindsight, he should have exploded with passion, seized her roughly, told her that she was his world, that he couldn’t live without her, made love to her, anything. Instead, he had somehow ended on the path he was now climbing. Heading up past the blowhole’s evil eye. Hearing the eternal pulsing of the waves as they shattered against the rocks, the roar of seas plunging into the cave below. Even the ground beneath his feet was alive.

And on the way, he’d called in the see the old willow.

But something else happened before you left the cottage. Can’t you remember? Won’t you remember?

He pressed his hands to his ears and shook his head, shutting out the old willow’s laughter. No! She left me, that’s all.

A little while later, Gavin made his way back to the willow tree, walking in a dream. The old tree was massive and gnarled, but able to out-dance the youngsters when storm-music played. It felt like time stopped as he talked to the old tree and touched the age-roughened bark. Later, he returned to the cottage long past dark, his problems shared and his heart at peace for a little while. That evening, he toyed some more with his half-finished novel, writing the same page over endlessly in search for the perfect sentence. The whisky did not help – each time he closed his eyes for inspiration, he heard the old willow and this time, it was laughing.

“Henry? Where the fuck are you?” Rebecca Hudson was more worried than angry as she searched for her dog. It had been well over an hour and she did not know the woods. Eventually, she caught a glimpse of a cottage through the trees, and decided she needed help. When she finally arrived, the animal was lying down in the doorway, being pampered by a gaunt weather-beaten man with long silver hair.  His clothes were work-worn, the waxed cotton jacket the colour of damp autumn leaves. He glanced up at her approach and smiled shyly.

“Your dog, I assume.”

“Thank God you found him. I don’t know how to thank you.” She tried to keep the wobble out of her voice.

“He found me. He’s had a drink and he’s fine. Red Setters are such beautiful dogs.”  He stroked its head gently.

She liked his slow voice and the clear Welsh accent, and he seemed kind. “They look nice – but they’re a bit brainless, aren’t they? Come on, Henry.”

The dog glanced at her but remained. Gavin caught her eye then and they laughed together.

“I’m Gavin Longfellow. You have leaves in your hair, by the way.”

Rebecca combed her fingers through the tangle, aware of her shapeless anorak. She smoothed it against herself instinctively.

“What an unusual name. I’m Rebecca. Rebecca Hudson.”

His reached up and his handshake was firm and confident. He seemed shy.

“Are you – do you live in this area?” he said awkwardly.

She nodded.  “I’m moving into the village. I’m an artist. I sell paintings on the web – or try to – so I can live anywhere as long as there’s WIFI, and it’s cheap. Somewhere I like.”

He kicked off his mud-encrusted boots and stepped into the cottage. “Why don’t you stay for tea? I’m not doing anything else and it looks like rain’s coming. And I do have WIFI.”

Rebecca paused. The place was isolated. Thunder rumbled on cue. There was something about him – an air of secrecy. She got the impression it had been an effort for him to ask.

He was smiling at her. “I don’t bite – unless it’s full moon.”

She paused. “Okay – but I can’t stay long. I’m not even sure where I am.”

Inside, the cottage was simplicity. Oak floorboards, white walls and ceiling. Water from the well, candlelight. The rough walls were a metre thick and the blackened fireplace must have seen five hundred winters. The man and the old house belonged to the wild landscape. Rebecca handed him her coat and pushed back her long dark hair before sitting at the table. He hung her coat next to his on the back of the door. Henry lay down beneath the table and stretched out.

“What do you do out here?”

As he filled the kettle, he explained. “I mostly write bland magazine articles, but I’m also working on a novel.”

She studied him. “What about?”

He sat down opposite, and she saw something in his face momentarily. Sadness? Or wariness. He seemed to find it difficult to explain.

“It’s set here, in Devon – and it’s about a group of people re-living a Celtic myth about Ceridwen and her magical cauldron. Anyway – towards the end, the main characters understand what’s happening to them and they try to change their fate, but of course they can’t. It’s supposed to be romantic, exciting and a little sad.”

“So, do they live happily ever after?”

He got up to make the tea, and served it with scones, jam and cream. The cream smelled off. “I haven’t decided. Can people change their fate, do you think?”

“They must be able to. I have to beleive that.”

After tea, Gavin took her to see his willow, tree and she was touched by his affection for it. Yet at the same time, the old tree disturbed her. She could almost imagine a face etched into the crevices and whorls, and it was not a pleasant one. “What’s the deal with the willow – if you don’t mind me asking?”

“This old woman’s my friend. I come here to share my problems. She listens and accepts who I am. We usually find the answer, between us.”

“She?”

“I imagine the willow tree is Ceridwen, from an old Welsh legend. She was mother to a hideous son, Morfran, and a beautiful daughter called Creirwy. Her cauldron created life. “

She said, “Ceridwen’s a long way from home, then.”

He gave her a curious look. These are all Celtic lands, Rebecca. Maybe the tale came from here. There’s something else you should see. I like to think it’s her cauldron.”

Rebecca found the blowhole awe-inspiring and evil. A vast, grass-lined funnel narrowing to a small black orifice that breathed in and out as the waves pulsed underneath. To her, it was a pursed wet mouth inhaling the living world, rather than creating. She held his arm as she peered into it.

“What is it?”

“Under the blowhole there’s a big cave. It was made by waves throwing boulders and stones. Sometimes, you can see waves jet through the blowhole – like a whale spouting. You can enter the cave from the bottom of the cliff, but it’s really dangerous. No one goes near it.”

She shivered and crossed her arms. “Why, what would happen?”

“You’d most likely be pounded to bits. The boulders get tossed around like a grinding machine. You can even feel the vibrations through the ground.”

“It’s horrible. I think it’s alive and wants to eat me.”

He laughed, although she had not been entirely joking. “They used to sacrifice people, in times gone by. Usually virgins, according to the local vicar.”

He almost seemed angry as he spoke. She moved back from the danger, but the blowhole seemed to pull at her. They walked on further, finding a place to watch the sun slide into the smooth red ocean before heading back together to the cottage, and she stayed much longer than she had intended.

After a few weeks, Gavin invited Rebecca to move in until she found a place of her own and she duly agreed. Later, when she was unpacking her few things, she had a surprise.

“Gavin, whose are these clothes, in the wardrobe?”

When he came into the room, she was holding a leather miniskirt against herself. “Look at these boots, too. Red stilettos. Not my style.”

He seemed confused. “I forgot all about those. They were Janine’s. She liked to wear that kind of thing. Her clubbing gear, she called it. I should take it to a charity shop – thanks for reminding me.”

“Not much clubbing around here, is there? Were you, was she…”

“My girlfriend. She left over a year ago. We weren’t compatible. Actually, she found someone younger and more exciting. Someone who liked clubbing.”

She laughed to hide her embarassment. “She must have left in a hurry then. How long was she with you?”

“About six months – look, she just took everything she needed and went off with him. Spain or somewhere. She was like that, impulsive, crazy. Look – I don’t want to talk about her, now that you’re here. But you can wear the clothes if you want.” He grinned.

As the months passed, Rebecca grew accustomed to Gavin. She appreciated his small signals of affection and decided she was comfortable with understatement.  One evening they sat on the beach, talking, watching the gentle waves suck and nudge the pebbles. He gazed out to sea and sighed. It was the sound of a heavy burden.

“Penny for them?”

“I’m not someone who can show his emotions easily – sometimes I feel so tight, like nothing can get out. Like the old willow tree.”

She stroked his hand. “Some people are like that. Your feelings swim deep and surface rarely – like a whale. That doesn’t mean that you feel any less. Others are like the Flying Fish, skimming along, letting off little bursts of emotion for everyone to see. Does that mean that they feel more than you?”

“I don’t know. I hope not. Whale, eh? I suppose that’s better than a Flying Fish.” He attempted a smile.

Only then, finally, did she understand. “You loved Janine, didn’t you?”

He cast a stone into the sea. “I can’t remember. It’s like she was never here.”

“But she was.”

He turned to her. “I love you, Rebecca.” The words struggled out. “And the past doesn’t matter.”

She said quietly, “I love you too.” But she suspected he was wrong about the past.

A few weeks later, Rebecca opened a small art studio down by the harbour, but it was her new friends that visited the cottage, not his. He told her he was content simply to watch her paint. He said he liked the way her neck curved. The way that the light caught the transparent blueness of her eyes and turned them the colour of the sea. Rebecca was increasingly unsettled, and could not tell him why. Once, Gavin found her weeping but they were tears of anger. After, she mused how Janine was still there in so many ways. Not just the clothes. His sad glances, and the small, personal things a woman would not leave behind. Eventually, Rebecca could bear no more. She had to know, even if it killed her.

Gavin was with the search party when they found Rebecca on the shore at first light, spat from the cave in the cliffs by the retreating tide. Henry was by her side, whining anxiously. For days afterwards, Gavin sat by her hospital bed, holding her unfeeling hand and watching the respirator puff in and out, sighing like the willow tree.

“She will wake up, won’t she?” Gavin asked her mother, a brusque, stocky woman.

She looked at him curiously and for a moment, he felt he was looking back in time. He caught a glimpse of long black hair, her face a pale oval, her eyes commanding.

She said, “Only the power of love can save her now. Call to her, Gavin.”

Gavin found himself studying the monitors with detached interest, sometimes almost unaware of Rebecca lying in front of him. He told her that he needed her, he begged her to come back, but his heart felt dead.  But when the wind blew, he heard the sighing of the willow tree and within, a woman’s voice and warmth grew within his heart. He reached for Rebecca’s hand and his skin was burning.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, at first so quietly that the words were invisible. “I love you. I need you. Please come back.”

Nothing changed. When Gavin finally returned to the cottage, he found her letter and it was a hammer blow. It read, ‘I know you killed Janine. I think you put her body down the blowhole. I have to know.’

All the terrible memories he had hidden flooded back. He felt he could not breathe. He staggered outside and took gasping breaths, even tried beating his fists on his chest. A little while later, he found himself walking through the aspen groves once more until he found the old willow tree. It alone seemed to listen and understand. Gavin stood for hours, moving backwards and forwards in time with the swaying branches, until the singing wind soothed away his pain. He worked his bare feet into the cool soil, letting it ooze between his toes and the smell of the decaying leaves was sweet. Then he rubbed his hands over the cracked bark and then laid his face against its coolness. Slowly, he fell to his knees.

“Ceridwen, I know you can hear me. I hear you talking to the others when the air is quiet. Ceridwen make her well, give her life and I will do what you want..”

He didn’t remember going back to the cottage, and the next two days passed in high fever. On the third day he awoke clear-headed. He managed to walk barefoot to the clearing in the woods, and he did not return.

When spring finally broke, the aspens burst into silvery leaf.

“Find him, Henry. Find him for me.”

Rebecca walked between the trees whilst the red setter jogged and zigzagged, snuffling the ground. It was as if the very land had swallowed Gavin up, but she had to find him, she had to. All the time she had lain in the coma, he had been in her dreams. Sometimes she heard his voice, and felt the hot wetness of his tears. The day she awoke seemed as only yesterday, but later, she learned that two years had passed in a second as she lay in the hospital bed.

Now, Gavin’s cottage was a dusty ruin and her love long gone, although she had seen him only a little while ago in her mind. Gavin the lover, Gavin the murderer. She did not believe he could kill. She walked into the aspen grove, finding her way to the old willow tree. When she touched it, she knew the tree did not want her there.

The police had found two shattered skeletons in the cave below the blowhole, belonging to a man and a woman. They told her the man was Gavin, but she had refused to accept it. Standing beside the ancient tree, she wondered if she had somehow deserved what came to pass. Finally, she wiped her eyes and called to Henry. He remained where he was, pawing at the base of a small new willow tree and whining. The young tree swayed and whispered with the aspens, sharing its feelings with earth, sea and sky. Only then did she believe she would not see him again.

Intro

A short story about a girl with tattoos who is not what she seems.

The girl with tattoos

Jason was strictly nocturnal, his life an endless round of night clubs, dark streets and immorality. Until one year ago, he had been studying philosophy at a London university and if you asked Jason why he dropped out, he would find it hard to explain, but it was to do with taste and the pursuit of truth.

Not any more.

After he had lived life on the other side, he could never go back. The other side was like diving into cool water on a scorching day. An initial shock, but afterwards everything so clear and real. Living on the other side had initially sated his primeval urges, but drugs and women no longer kept the devouring hunger at bay. He needed more, and something about his look betrayed his insatiable need.

“Your name Jason?” Her voice was rough from too many cigarettes and hard living.

He could only see her outline against the garish lights, but the little he could make out was enough. The nightclub music pounded through his body, exciting his senses to snapping point.

“Who wants to know?” he shouted back, moving up close.

Instead of replying, she walked towards the exit. The blasts of red light offered her silhouette to him until the excitement grew unbearable. He followed, a dog after a bitch in heat, curious, hungry. Outside, the air was a cool damp caress, soft on his fevered skin. He was about to call out to her, telling to stop when a man spoke.

“I’ll pay you five hundred.”

The man stood in front of car headlights, but Jason could see that he was big and well spoken, the voice authoritative.

“Legal?” Jason asked, his face screwed up against the light. He hoped it would not be.

“You don’t need to know.”

“What’s the job?”

A pause. “I want you to follow someone. She works nights, like you. I want to know what she’s up to. That’s all, to start with.”

“Half now,” Jason said, testing.

The man held out a brown envelope. “There’s two hundred and fifty and everything you need to know. Be here tomorrow, same time. If you do well, I’ve got a bigger job.”

“Wait – is it dangerous?”

The man smiled. He climbed in the car and reversed fast down the alleyway. Jason caught a glimpse of something lean, expensive and silver under the streetlights. Tyres shrieked.

He left the club a couple of hours later and walked back to his apartment through deserted alleyways, kicking at empty cans and takeaway boxes. Once inside, safe behind the deadbolts he lay back in the cream leather recliner and tore open the envelope. He tossed the bundle of notes on the glass table without bothering to count, and looked at the two sheets of paper. One of them was a list of locations and he knew most of them well. Nightclubs and bars the inexperienced would be wise to avoid.

The other was a photograph of a girl with tattoos.

She looked to be in her early twenties, with features that were almost Asian, her eyes almond-shaped and slanted, pale skin, many tattoos. Silvery hair, dark streaks. Those lips – they set his pulse racing. Poutingly full, with an enticing gap full of promise. The photograph looked like it had been taken in a nightclub. The girl with tattoos was wearing a skimpy mini-skirt and top, not much else that he could see. Her eyes had caught the flashlight and gleamed red. He stared at the photograph, memorised the face, tossed the paper on top of the money. The sun was beginning to rise and a grey light crept across the room. Jason was asleep before the first bird began to sing.

Jason awoke in the early evening, spending an hour on the phone setting up illicit deals for the night, put on his leather jacket, checked his stubble was the right length and set off. He did not find her until late. He leaned against the bar, watching the way she moved on the dance floor. A space had developed around her as the other dancers stopped to watch. She danced as if the music was not just inside her, but part of her being. She seemed to be wired up to the speakers, and every move made him want her more. Her sexuality was like a disease, spreading to every man around and eyes gleamed with a feral light as they stared.

The girl with tattoos turned, shaking her body seductively, and he could feel energy lance between them. Her eyes momentarily caught his but Jason turned away, glancing at her in the mirror over the bar, and she knew he was watching. She was dancing for him now but he said nothing, made no move. He followed her around three clubs watching her toy with men, teasing and rejecting them, shopping. At three a.m. she clicked her heels from the last nightclub and headed for a taxi, accompanied by a tall black man with a shaved head. Jason made his way to the meeting place and waited.

“Hello, Jason.”  The car headlights cut into Jason’s eyes as he turned to look at the man. “What did she do?”

Jason told him.

“That’s unfortunate. Do you want to do some more work for me?”

Jason’s instincts warned him against it, but he needed the money and he wanted the girl more. “Sure.”

Jason walked to his apartment, fixed himself a coffee and tore open the envelope. This time there was a lot of money and he did not need to count it. He put his hand back into the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper, on which was written ‘Take her home. Do not let her go with anyone. Don’t touch her. Do not go into her apartment. She will ask you.”

The girl with tattoos was already at the club when Jason arrived, and so he settled down with a vodka coke, watching her in the mirrors on the wall. She drew a lot of attention, dancing suggestively in a black skin-tight body suit – latex or similar – the light reflecting off her curves, laughing as she moved between couples, drawing hostile stares from the other women.  Jason turned away to order another drink and when he turned back she was next to him. A breast brushed against him and it felt electric.

“He asked you to watch me.” Her voice was soft, not English. “What did he say?”

Jason pushed back his streaked hair. “Only to make sure you were okay, to get you home.”

The girl with tattoos laughed. “Alone.”

“Yeah. Alone,” he agreed.

She ran her hand around his neck. He could feel her long nails crease his skin, then her lips brushed his ear. “OK, Jason. That’s your name, isn’t it? Come and dance with me, then you can take me home.”

Any contact with her made him burn up. He followed her onto the dance floor. At first it was intoxicating, but he soon became self conscious as the other dancers stopped to look. When he stepped back from her, she continued to dance alone until a man stepped forward and moved against her. Jason warned him. The man looked tough, but the girl pushed him away and turned to Jason.

“Come on. Do your job.” She took his hand and he led her from the club.

Outside, it had been raining and wet pavements flickered under the neon. He waved down a cab and they jumped inside. As soon as they were seated together, she was upon him in frenzy and he lost all sense of time. When the cab arrived at her address, Jason fought to calm himself and control the lust hazing his mind.

“Are you coming in?”

He shook his head. “Sorry.”

The girl with tattoos drew back her top lip in an animal snarl. “Bastard. Useless bastard.”

Jason recoiled in surprise at her fury. “Look, I get paid for this. At least tell me your name.”

“Carla.” She almost spat the words at him and ran to the door.

Jason felt tired. It was three a.m. again and the rain was coming down hard. He took the cab back to the club, and was already waiting in the alley when the long silver sports car glided in. The lights were left on as usual, pinning Jason against the wall. He heard the door slam, steps approached then the man spoke.

“You passed the first test. Here’s the final assignment.”

He held out the brown envelope, and Jason took it reluctantly. It was heavy this time. Before the man turned to leave, Jason stopped him.

“Who is she?”

The seconds ticked by. “She’s death.”

Before Jason could ask him more, the man turned away, walked to the car.  Jason dragged himself back to his apartment. He looked at the brown envelope and contemplated throwing it away, but the bulk of it told him that there was a lot of money this time. He threw the envelope unopened on his coffee table. It landed with a dull clunk.

Jason woke up at midday, and watched the news over coffee, but then he saw a face that he recognised.  “…was found murdered last night,” droned the newsreader.

Curious, he picked up the brown envelope and emptied the contents on the floor. The gun seemed strangely light in his hand. He released the magazine. It was loaded with bullets tipped with black. He ejected one and tapped it with his nail. The weapon was slim, made of some lightweight grey alloy.  He studied the sheet of paper. Six words.

Kill her. Or we kill you.

Jason poured himself a whisky, and looked out the window. It was dusk, streetlights a dingy orange. A storm was brewing, the skyline flickering with distant lightning, thumps of thunder.  He started to count the money.  £5000 this time, half now, half later.  Jason lay back and toyed with the possibilities, wondering how much a life was worth. He had been seen with the girl, but so had others. If he did the job quickly at her place, no one would know. He could be back at his own apartment in good time.  His conscience was overwhelmed by hunger. He realised that he wanted to kill and he wanted blood. He had no choice.

Breaking into her apartment proved to be easier than expected. A ground floor window was not closed properly. Jason climbed in quickly and shut the window behind him. Inside, the rooms were unusual. They looked almost unlived in, apart from the bed with its black satin sheets. The bathroom was empty, nothing in the medicine cabinet, no make-up, no towels. In the kitchen, same story. Empty fridge, empty larder. He sat down in the living room, wondering about what kind of person she could be, and waited. The sound of a key in the lock woke him.  He moved silently, taking position behind the door but the girl with tattoos did not enter the room. He cursed and peered around it. She was following someone into the bedroom – a man. He waited, his palms slippery with sweat, wondering what to do.  What difference would another killing make?

Then he heard it.

The sound was halfway between pain and pleasure, somehow animal. Jason smiled appreciatively but the smile froze when he heard the other sound – the hiss of a snake, but too loud. Not human. The moan was changing to something liquid. Without thinking, Jason ran into the room, gun raised.

Carla was sitting with her narrow back to him, long legs astride a naked man, head lowered, thrusting. The man’s limbs dangled lifelessly. This was not making love. It was feeding.

As he squeezed the trigger, she was inexplicably in front of him, her hand a band of fire around his wrist. He could feel her nails drawing blood as he looked at her.

“Hello, Jason. Come to kill me?” The girl with tattoos let go of him, laughing.

He looked into her eyes and they were mesmerising, drawing him close, her touch burning hot. She pushed him on top of the dead stranger and was on him, ripping open his trousers. Her breath panted against the skin of his neck and then the hissing began and when she sucked the warm liquid from him it was better than sex. He closed his eyes and gave himself to her.

When Jason awoke, everything was changed. He had no appetite for food or drink. The tiled floor was not cold against his bare feet, he could not feel himself breathing. At the same time, he could hear a barrage of noise coming from all directions. It was if the walls separating the apartment from the others had been dissolved away, and he even could smell the body warmth of the inhabitants. Only then did he start to feel the hunger and it ate at his insides like acid as saliva gushed into his mouth.  He walked into the living room to find her sitting in front of the fire and she was still naked.

“How do you feel?”

“I feel alive.”

The girl with tattoos laughed, mouth wide. Eyes slitted, cat-faced. “That’s amusing,” she replied, purring.

“I have a job to do. The man-”

She stroked his face. “I want you to kill him, for me. Use the gun.”

“Who is he?”

“He pays the weak and foolish – dispensable people – to kill my kind.”

“Your kind?” She rose, and kissed him on the mouth. “Our kind.”