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WRITINGS ON THE WALL
Every month a topic or theme is set for a voluntary assignment of about 800 words prose or 40 lines of poetry. Writers may choose not to use the prompt if they wish. The following month, writers receive general feedback. All writings can be emailed to [email protected] to be placed onto the website for reading between meetings, and submissions earn points towards our year end awards.
Our writers appreciate receiving feedback on their writings. You can comment or provide constructive criticism on a story in the form below.
Our writers appreciate receiving feedback on their writings. You can comment or provide constructive criticism on a story in the form below.
March 2024 - Prompt: Down the Rabbit Hole
I STILL MISS APRIL
Mzi Mngqibisa
Diving deep under the sea is like going down the rabbit hole. One moment you’re surfing the tides on
a ski boat loaded with oxygen tanks and under water cameras, looking for the right depth to descend.
The cool sea breeze caresses your hair backwards while the sulphuric smell of sea water beckons you deeper and deeper. The next moment you plunge head first into the water with great white sharks
lurking, salivating for the taste of your limbs. This time the only thing you can smell no matter what
you encounter is the odourless oxygen. All you can see are endless paths to take leading to who knows where. It’s definitely not for everyone and I wouldn’t do it again either.
I was in love with a girl I’ll call April, that’s the month of the year we broke up. We were two
agreeable people, we never fought and the one time we did, we never made up. When things were
good though, we were inseparable, sitting together for lunch and walking together back to our
student rooms. There was always so much to talk about. We would talk about our childhoods, our
fear and our dreams. I didn’t have any sibling or real friends, so all my affection went to my girlfriend,
April.
Both of my parents loved April, “She’s so respectful and dutiful, this one. Something you can’t say about young girls these days,” my mother would say. I think April gave my parents a sense of having another child that they didn’t have to raise by themselves. She would visit them sometimes when I wasn’t around and on some Sundays she went jogging with my mother in the morning. But the main reason I loved spending time with April was that she was such a sweet pure-hearted girl. She loved taking care of others around her, when we came back from campus she would prepare us a cooked meal. I was always fed and she liked reading my stories and poems. It was a fair exchange I think.
My parents worked long hours and felt that having another child would come between them and their career ambitions. So I became a lone wolf mostly surviving on bakery bread wrapped in plastic.
As a lone wolf I developed a liking for visiting nature and parks by myself. I would locate a hiking spot
and wonder there for hours. I loved going to the beach but I couldn’t swim to save my life. So I would
walk until water reached my chest and that would be my signal to hold my horses. I eventually took
lessons on the campus swimming pool during the summer of the year I first met April, she insisted. I
wasn’t looking for anything in particular in the places I visited but I always had a feeling that
something was missing in my life. That maybe it might reside in some hole where ever that would be.
And if I looked hard enough, I would find it. When I fell in love with April I was convinced that I had
found it. But, however warm her inner thighs were, I couldn’t help but feel like something was
missing, still.
One day, while surfing the internet, a snorkelling advert convinced me to book us a session to explore
marine life on the following Saturday morning. Early that Saturday morning, April packed us
sandwiches and snacks and we drove to the beach listening to music on the radio. A count down of
the week’s hottest jams kept the music rolling and we were singing along. The warm smell of fried
beckon and eggs tantalised my appetite and so I grabbed a slice. The sandwiches were wrapped in
tinfoil, so ask April to grab the steering wheel while I unwrap them and took a bite.
I miss April’s cooking sometimes, especially on special occasions where she would prepare her special oxtail recipe. “My mother’s health deteriorated after my parents’ divorce,” she told me, “and I was left to take care of my siblings by myself. So cooking duties fell on me and I found it soothing in a therapeutic sort of way,” she said while holding the steering wheel. “I talk to myself when I cook and voices in my head answer back. They never leave, unlike men,” she continued.
I grabbed a hold of the steering wheel and didn’t say anything back. She took a perfunctory glance at me, turned and rolled back the passenger seat window all the way down. She leaned out of the window with her chin resting on her folded arms gazing the scenery. The sky was overcast and there weren’t as many people as usual but a handful of fishermen. Waves were splashing on the sea stacks in intervals like clockwork, rolling pebbles along the beach.
Our snorkelling guide lead us to a changing room and gave us snorkelling gear to put on. Seeing the wet suit on April, I was reminded of the first day we met. She had on black tights that traced her curvy
thighs and a crop top vest leaving her abdominal and cleavage exposed. When I was close to her
about an arm’s length I was greeted by the smell of warm sweat mixed cocoa butter.
“The clouds have just cleared, you should be able to take some beautiful pictures,” said the guide leading us to the ski boat. When we found the perfect spot to dive, one of the guides anchored the ski boat and tied us all up with a single rope so that we didn’t lose each other. April was thrilled, this was her kind of thing. I on the other hand was hopeful that maybe I might find it.
“We should take a selfie with an octopus,” she said and laughed.
“Before or after the octopus gives you a smooch,” I asked.
“After!” she replied and smiled.
First dived the guide, April followed and the other guide that remain on the boat gave me a gentle shove of encouragement into the water.
THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR
Roy Cheek.
“Beth, I swear I’m gonna kill that rooster someday!”
“PJ, what do you expect? You live on a farm!!”
They both laughed and rolled over to start a new day. Sleepily PJ Wolhuter pulled on his Khaki shorts and slipped a tee shirt over his head. He looked over at Beth and said:
”That was such a close call last night, thank God that lion was partly sedated by the time I bundled him into the van. He sure ripped it apart when he came to.” He looked through the bedroom window. The Toyota was a sorry sight indeed. “Mind if I take your jeep? Van Staden wants me to help track that lion, and we need to find the gap in the boundary fence and close it quickly.”
“OK, but get back soon, no dawdling please!” She blew him a kiss and shooed him through the doorway. Then he was gone.
The Wollies, as the family was affectionately known by the community, lived on a farm in the Crocodile River Valley bordering on the Kruger National Park and close to the Malelane Gate entrance. Their 3 children attended school in Nelspruit, and today the designated taxi driver
was Marie Van Der Merwe from the farm next door. Beth bundled them aboard, waved them goodbye, and immediately set out on the myriad tasks of a farmer's wife.
Minutes later, crossing from a barn to the main farmhouse, she looked up to the sound of an engine in trouble. To her astonishment, she saw a helicopter, rotor blades swirling wildly, directly above her. It dropped like a stone, then crashed into the vegetable garden, smoke billowing from the engine.
All was quiet. Then excited staff ran from all directions. Beth was handed a fire extinguisher but it was not needed. Willing hands reached in through the twisted metal and pulled out the still form of the pilot. She looked on in amazement. Was this a child? He looked about 1 metre tall. He was alone.
Beth called out, “Take him inside to the spare bedroom Josiah.” Then she restored order, the crowded yard emptied rapidly.
Going inside, she soaked a strip of bandage in a warm water basin and laid it on the man’s forehead. As if by a signal the figure sat up and stared at her. He didn't speak. He didn't need to... the gun in his hand spoke volumes. Seated at his side, Beth froze. He spoke with an accent... Portuguese ?
”There is a brown leather bag behind the seat in the helicopter, please bring it to me.” His voice was low, but firm… he meant business. Beth stood up
“I’ll be right back” and she hurried out.
Minutes later she had climbed into the wreck and found the bag. She carried it back to the room.
He was standing, showing little stress from his ordeal. Taking the bag from her, he laid down the gun and the bag on the bed and indicated the chair. Beth sat down.
He asked, ”What is your name?”
“Beth.” And with beating heart, she sat rigidly on the wooden chair wondering what the next few minutes would hold, her mind racing.
“Beth, my name is Ricardo, thank you for saving me.”
She nodded her head, uncertainty swirling in her mind. Then he opened the bag and tipped the contents onto the bed. Diamonds sparkled in the sunlight that poured through the window. Beth waited for him to speak.
“My business is moving diamonds from your country to mine- I live in Maputo. The journey is often dangerous, as you have just seen. If you help me... perhaps become part of my business, I would make you very wealthy. What do you say?”
At that moment, PJ walked into the room.
“Beth, they cancelled on me, problem solved, and... what’s going on here?”
He stared at the stranger… at Beth sitting awkwardly in the chair… at the gun lying on the bed, and finally took in the diamonds lying in profusion next to the open bag. He’d come straight through the front door and had not seen the defunct helicopter at the back of the house. ”What the heck!”
He tensed as Ricardo reached for the gun. Beth jumped into action.
“PJ, thank goodness you’re home! This is Ricardo, he dropped in... by accident!” Her eyes twinkled as she indicated the smouldering wreck in her backyard. “He’s in the diamond business and has offered to make us wealthy... well, really really rich. Ricardo, would you put that gun away please?” The little man gently placed the gun on the bed. “Thank you. Now PJ, shall we give it some thought?”
Her eyes bored into his, and somehow, call it mental telepathy, or perhaps a shared vision of what their future should be, he knew exactly what to say.
“Ricardo, here's what we’re going to do. That helicopter sitting in our garden is gonna take some explaining but I’ll handle it. Getting you to the border safely is something we can do, but taking up your offer would be like going down a rabbit hole for Beth and me, and that’s a definite no! Can you handle that?”
The room was quiet. No one spoke... then, with studied dignity, the little man leaned over and carefully replaced the gemstones in the brown bag. The small gun disappeared into a back pocket.
“Thank you both. I am ready to leave now.”
They followed him through the passage to the jeep parked at the front door. PJ got behind the wheel,
and Ricardo turned and briefly held both of Beth’s hands in his, and clenched them tight. He looked up and smiled at her, and she watched as the sound of the motor faded. Beth unclenched her hands. In the left palm was a small diamond.
“What an unusual day!” she thought. “An unexpected visitor, and an unexpected gift. Now what am I going to do with this?”
As she ran towards the orange and lemon groves she tossed the gem in the air, then caught it deftly with a giggle. It was indeed going to be a lovely day.
THE OTHER SIDE
Glynis Goyns
It felt like I was falling through time and space. Images flashed by in a blur of colour, sound and
texture: memories of times past and future dreams, familiar places and imaginary scenes
populated by people, known and unknown, in a cacophony of sound and kaleidoscopic colour.
Then I drifted into a place of intense silence and impenetrable darkness, my limbs heavily
weighted, my mind numbed into oblivion.
How long I lay in this state of torpor I do not know. Eventually a pin prick of light flickered at the
end of what seemed a long tunnel. I heard muffled whispers fingering the edges of the silence. My
body remained trapped in immobility, but my mind began to scuttle frantically as it explored
boundaries and gnawed convulsively at the constraints holding me static and silent. Then the light
flickered and died, the whispers strangled in cotton wool. Once again, I was consumed by
darkness and silence.
After what seemed an eternity, the nothingness vomited my remains in a quivering heap
exposed to bright sunlight, an overwhelming clamour of sound, and a macabre dance of
movement. I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut against the piercing light. Blissful silence fell briefly
like rain on my parched soul, then a familiar voice softly spoke my name.
“Cassie?”
I whimpered and tears squeezed from the corners of my tightly clenched eyes to trickle down my cheeks.
“Close the curtains,” someone said. “The light’s too bright.”
“Yes! And give her space. Just clear the room; leave her with her family.”
Footsteps receded. Shadows fell like a balm on my hot eyelids. A soft hand stroked my
forehead and mopped the tears from my cheeks.
“It’s Mom, Cassie,” came the gentle voice once again. “Can you see me?”
I opened my eyes. Her lined face smiled anxiously into mine. I tried to nod, but my head was
frozen; to lift my hand to her face, but my arm was shackled. A guttural sound emerged from my
cracked lips as I tried to speak. It sounded nothing like the word “Mom” I thought I’d spoken. Again,
I whimpered in fear and distress.
“Just lie still,” she whispered. “You need rest. Get strong first. There’ll be lots of time to think
about moving later. You’ve been in a coma for so long, but you’re back with us. That’s enough for
now,” she assured me, and I could see my tears mirrored in her face.
Exhausted, I drifted off to sleep, a much lighter space than the dark silence that held me in its clutches before.
That was the beginning of my marathon journey down the rabbit hole, through a topsy turvy
world filled with insurmountable obstacles and herculean challenges, back to normality on the other
side.
THE CLIFF-HANGER PROJECT - an initiative begun in 2023 with different people writing a section of the same story, max 500 words per chapter and each must end on a cliff hanger. The 2024 project is underway. The genre is steampunk (which some of us had no idea about and had to research LOL!) We hope you enjoy the story.
THE HOUSE AT THE END OF THE ROAD
Chapter One (Feb 2024 - Janice Gardiner-Atkinson)
The House at the end of the road was facing due west. It had turned like a stone flower to follow the light.
The fiery glow from the city behind me was just as red as the sunset and I hoped the House wouldn’t get confused. I knew I couldn’t stay long: the acid would begin to eat into the soles of my boots and I’d already walked a long way from the dirigible shelter, holding my despised skirt frills out of the muck.
I knew I had to go back to that city conflagration. After all, I’d been instrumental in starting it, hadn’t I?
The House opened the door as I approached. I dropped my sodden cloak, gloves and boots on the protective sheeting. A well-functioning low-level sentient House provides power, warmth, cleanliness and security. There are four entrances to our House, like all Houses that have the capacity to turn, four doors, four halls for dealing with polluted outer layers, four inner doors that lead to warmth, light and family living.
I touched the wall to thank the House, and went into the living room, which was the centre of the House, literally. It encircled the huge central rod, comprising ratchets, gears and levers, that drives our House on its daily journey, following the sun. The room smelled of cooking from the kitchen area where Hope, my sister, stood at the stove, stirring something fragrant. The only thing the House couldn’t do was cook.
‘I’m back!’ I called to her. ‘Who’s driving?’
Hope grinned, waving the ladle. ‘Mother’s up there,’ she said. I crossed the room and opened the door that led to the drivers’ cabin, looking up the winding metal steps to the platform above.
‘Hallo,’ I called. ‘Do you need any help?’
Her voice came back over the rumble of well-greased metal, the hiss of compressed steam escaping in little bursts. ‘No thanks, just letting off the accumulated energy.’ Her voice was sharp-edged with concentration. ‘You are late. And the House says the city is on fire again.’
‘It’s not too bad,’ I called hoping she wouldn’t question me to closely, ‘Hope says dinner’s ready. Put the House on reflex-drive and come down.’ I heard the House change pitch as the huge, lowest gears slotted into place in the engine room deep below.
Hope served stew into bowls. I was taking the pins out of my feathered hat when there was a thunderous banging on the street door I’d come in through. The House reverberated ominously. I put my hand on the wall to steady it then concealed a long hatpin against my arm.
‘I’ll go,’ I said.
It was the Jacks. Four of them in intimidating, cloaked uniforms, metal armour and jackboots heavily soled so the acid wouldn’t reach their feet as they stamped the night streets, searching for miscreants.
‘Yes?’ I managed calmly.
‘We’re here for you, Mary Broster!’ the biggest Jack rumbled, grinning. ‘You’re to come with us. Now!’
CLIFF HANGER No.1 (2023)
The tale below is the first in this project and, as you can see, the writers had fun with it.
Episode One (Don Sheasby - Feb 2023)
Nicholas woke up next to the octopus. The fishy smell assailed his nostrils, while his teeth gritted on the grains of beach sand in his mouth. He squinted at the harsh glare of the early sun, ricocheting off the glittering sea. What had happened ? He sat up, stared around him. Where was Madeleine? And where was Angelikus?
The previous afternoon the drowsing sun had slipped towards the horizon, casting a red glow on the
calm sea. Nicholas and Madeleine had anchored half a kilometre off the beach and shared marguerites. In the bow cabin of the luxury yacht, carefully secreted by Angelikus in a locker, the bomb’s timer inexorably marked off the time...
“C'mon lazy bones,” Nicholas said to Madeleine, nudging her foot, “let’s get in a last dip.”
“Oh no,” she grudged, “do we really have to? I’m so comfortable!”
Scooping up his spear gun, he grinned. “Maybe we can bag fresh supper,” and he headed for the side. Madeleine stood, stretched, then charged past him.
“Last one in’s a jellyfish!” she laughed, and plunged into the warm water.
In the dappled underwater light, fish darted away from them. A swift flash of movement to one side
caused Nicholas’s reflexes to point and fire the spear gun, piercing the small octopus. At the same moment a shockwave buffeted them, as the bomb detonated. They surfaced to see the ruined yacht blazing furiously, turned to each other, and almost simultaneously exclaimed, “Angelikus !”
Angelikus, on Nicholas’s advice, had also invested in the Bitcoin phenomenon, but he had miscalculated and lost his millions. A smouldering hatred had replaced the warm friendship he had previously felt towards the still-wealthy Nicholas.
Nicholas and Madeleine struck out for the shore, where Angelikus, deprived of his objective, stood
watching the burning boat. When the exhausted couple dragged themselves out of the surf, the foiled
Angelikus darted forward, snatched the spear gun from Nicholas’s hand, pulled the spear free from the octopus clutched in Nicholas's other hand and reloaded the gun. Nicholas staggered to his feet.
“I WILL kill you !” Angelikus snarled, pointing the pneumatic spear gun at Nicholas's heart, and pulling the trigger. The phhhht as the spear left the barrel was dwarfed by Madeleine’s shrill scream of horror.
Defensively, Nicholas threw up his left hand, still holding the forgotten octopus. The spear pierced the
flaccid body, which absorbed the momentum and only the point exited, just nicking Nicholas’s chest.
Hurling aside the spear gun, the enraged Angelikus launched himself at Nicholas, aiming an expert karate kick at Nicholas's head. Nicholas, slumping unconscious, didn't hear the solid thump as Madeleine's blow with the discarded spear gun connected with the back of Angelikus's head.
Nicholas woke up next to the octopus. Where was Madeleine? And where was Angelikus?
There was a crunching of feet in the sand behind him. Nicholas whirled around...
Episode Two (Daniell Schutte - March 2023)
Nicholas whirled around and saw a beast like no other. Its skin was red and instead of toes and fingers it had tentacles, each about 30cms long. Its head was a replica of the little octopus that had just been slayed – only much bigger. Nicholas looked at the beast and saw a tear drop run down its red, uneven cheek. Out of nowhere the octopus pulled out a spear gun and shot it at Nicholas, who watched in horror as his white tank top turned red.
Nicholas opened his eyes. He was still on the beach, but in a different area, the red sky – caused by the setting sun – was relaxing, but Nicholas was far from relaxed. He tried to speak but couldn’t. He tried yelling but couldn’t because he had a piece of cloth in his mouth, which tasted of sweat and seawater. He looked to his right and saw Madeleine and Angelikus, gagged and tied up to a pole, just like himself.
He set his eyes on the beast that had shot him earlier, and noticed the monster facing away from them, staring into the crashing waves. Nicholas strained as he reached for his back pocket and managed to pull out his Swiss Army Knife – the one Madeleine had given to him as a gift. He quietly cut through the ropes. He plopped onto the soft sand before sneaking behind Madeleine’s pole and freed her but left Angelikus dangling.
Without saying a word, Madeleine ran to the creature, lunging at it with the shimmering blade of her
matching pocketknife, but without breaking a sweat, the creature raised its arm, wrapped its slimy
tentacles around her waist, and flung her into the ocean. The octopus-thing turned its head to Nicholas, its eyes filled with vengeance, but with hints of distress and misery as well. Nicholas realized that he could not win this fight on his own – he had no choice but to also free Angelikus.
Once freed, he picked up a sharp shell and ran towards the Octopus, who snatched Angelikus, squeezed the life out of him, and carelessly threw him into the depths of the salty seawater.
A drenched Madeleine emerged from the water and stabbed the octopus with a jagged rock she had
found. The octopus and Madeleine tossed and turned and rumbled in the murky waters as Nicholas
picked up his sand-jammed spear gun and shot the octopus. It, as well as its tentacles, went limp as it
sunk into the depths of Neptune’s oceans. Nicholas then exclaimed “No matter what beast, no matter
the feat, under a blood red sky, the beast shall always die”.
This was the quote that 19-year-old Jack read in his fantasy book ‘Nicholas and the Octopus’. His eyes were heavy and droopy as he switched off his light, when a fiery explosion shook his apartment, and out of the disastrous flames, walked…
Episode Three (Harper Landsell - April 2023)
At first, the figure was obscured by ash and flame, but as the smoke cleared, Jack could start to make out details – a long dark jacket hanging around slim shoulders, black boots crushing debris as they stepped towards him, and on top of it all: the face of his childhood friend, Jason, whom he thought had died years ago.
Jack gripped the book, his hands trembling as he watched Jason inspect the room. He brushed a finger along the cabinet, examining it. “You really need to clean up more often. It’s dusty.”
“You just blew a hole in my apartment!”
“The door was locked,” Jason stated plainly.
“You didn’t even -” Jack shook his head, righting his thoughts. “How are you here?”
“Well, that’s a bit rude. Not even a hello for your old friend?” A mocking sad expression settled on Jason’s face.
“You’re supposed to be dead! I’m not saying hello to a corpse!”
“Please. You really thought I was gone for good?” Jason said with a flourish, looking down at Jack.
His friend had always been resilient, and determined. But there had been a funeral and everything… I suppose the casket was closed… but we were nine, why would a nine year old fake their death ?! Seemingly encouraged by his silence, Jason resumed his speech.
“You never saw my body, did you? That’s because I never really died. Remember those stories of vampires rising from the grave we’d read as kids?” He leaned close, his voice dropping low. Jack inched back, his gaze fixed on Jason, in both fear and confusion. “They were real, Jack. And I’m, well, un-living proof.” He opened his mouth, showing off a pair of shiny fangs. “All those years ago, when I was supposed to have died, I was bitten. While I technically died that day, it was short-lived. But when I awoke, I wasn’t at home anymore. I was in a secret government facility, and while agents told my parents their darling son had been found dead, I was tested on.”
With a flourish of his cape, Jason turned, giving a dramatic pause. “But I escaped!”
“Well, obviously. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here,” Jack answered. He’d calmed down a bit after realizing his friend somehow had barely changed. But shouldn’t he still look nine? “And I thought vampires didn’t age.”
“Well, you thought wrong,” Jason pouted. “Apparently the government figured out how to un-immortalise me.”
Jack raised an eyebrow.
“Irrelevant! Anyway, where was I…” Jason turned around for a moment, looking at something. “Right!” He turned back to Jack, a devilish grin on his face. “I just have one question for you, my old friend. Will you join me?”
Episode Four (Maryke de Witt - May 2023)
Jack followed Jason’s gaze and saw a blue rock glowing in his hand. “Where are we going? And
what is that?”
Jason smiled coyly, “Well I had to use something to blow this door down; I don’t have superpowers, yet. It’s Lamarine, a special mineral the government was using for their experiments. Not sure what it really does, but it makes a great explosive when slightly heated.” Jason grinned as he twirled a red lighter in his other hand. “As for where we’re going, you’ll just have to trust me.”
“Trust you? My dead vampire friend that uses explosive rocks? Are you kidding?”
But Jason was already out the door, looking over his shoulder, “Dude, that’s the least of our worries if we don’t leave right now—” but a flash of light and a loud snap stopped him in his tracks. Right in front of them, a figure appeared, like a broken television flickering to life.
Jack’s mouth hung open. “Nicolas?” A man with a white shirt and blue jeans shook sand out of his hair and gaped around him. “What the—”
“Who’s that?” Jason exclaimed.
“Nicolas—from my book—but how?”
Nicholas narrowed his eyes, “Who are you? And where am I?”
“I’m, Jack. We’re in Boston.” Jack could barely form the words, realising his entire belief of the world had just crumbled.
“Boston? No, that’s impossible,” Nicolas protested, “I was on the beach just seconds ago!”
“Oh no.”
Jack looked at Jason, “What?”
Jason rolled the blue rock in his hand, “I fear it was the Lamarine. I’ve heard rumours but didn’t believe it. It must have happened with the blast—”
“Jason, tell me that thing didn’t bring the characters in my book to life!”
“It might have?” Jason gave an apologetic shrug.
“Excuse me, are you saying I come from a book? Ridiculous! Where’s Madeleine!”
Jack frowned, “Good question. She might be here as well.”
“Well, then I have to find her!”
“We don’t have time for this,” Jason said with gritted teeth.
“He’ll have to come with us. We can’t leave him here. This is your mess!” Jack snapped.
Jason rolled his eyes, “Fine, but no detours! There is a very important place we must go to.”
Once outside, Jack sighed with relief. “Thank goodness the octopus is dead. Imagine.”
Nicolas stopped dead in his tracks, “Oh dear.”
Jack stared at him, “He is dead, isn’t he? That’s how the story ended! You speared it and it sank
into the ocean!”
“I fear that’s not how the story ended.”
“Please tell me there isn’t a giant octopus loose in the city!” But Nicolas’s eyes grew larger as he stared at something behind Jack. A shadow fell over the sidewalk and Jack closed his eyes, knowing exactly who it was.
“Hello Nicolas,” a rough voice sliced through the night, “I told you I will kill you, didn’t I?”
Episode Five (Dawn Rae – June 2023)
“Angelikus,” Nicolas said, “but you’re dead! The octopus killed you…”
“What octopus?” Angelikus sneered, shoving past Jack as Nicolas backed away. “You’ve had too much sun. Stand still so I can kill you once and for all.”
Jason grabbed Jack’s sleeve. “Get your buddy out of here,” he muttered. “I’ll handle this jerk.” He lifted the glowing blue Lamarine and sparked the lighter in his other hand.
“Well now,” Angelikus’s eyes fixed on the stone. “What have we got here?” He grabbed it from Jason.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Jason smirked. “Powerful too.” He sparked the lighter a few times. “It’s even stronger if you heat it up - here, try it.” Jason tossed the lighter over and Angelikus flicked it a few times under the stone. Jason yelled, “Run!” as the explosion rocked the sidewalk.
The three men found a dark alley to catch their breath as they listened to sirens in the distance.
“We can’t stay here,” Jason said. “We’ve gotta go, now.”
“I must find Madelaine,” Nicolas replied, “she’s the love of my life...”
“Rubbish,” Jack scoffed. “You only hooked up with her to spite Angelikus.”
“No! I love her, I always have.” Nicolas looked ready to duke it out.
“Oh yeah? You didn’t even know her before Chapter 4. She’s engaged to Angelikus.”
Nicolas dropped his fists. “I think I remember something about that… could be why he wants to kill me.”
“But,” Jack mused, “the octopus killed Angelikus, I read it just before Jason arrived. Yet this Angelikus didn’t remember that.” He turned to where Jason was peering around the corner at the street. “Jason, could the Lamarine be bringing characters from different parts of the book?”
“Damned if I know. Coast’s clear, come on.”
“Where are we going?” Nicolas called, running after Jason. “And how?”
“Yeah, Count Jason,” Jack added as he caught up, “are you going to airlift us to your castle in Transylvania?”
“Grow up, Jack. We’re going back to the secret lab. We have to rescue someone.”
“Slow down!” Jack could feel a stitch starting. “Who? Why?” He stopped to lean against a wall. “And why me?”
In a flash Jason was at his side, grabbing his arm, marching him on to where Nicolas waited.
“Because you were always good with numbers,” he muttered, “and I’m not. Getting her out will be a numbers game.”
He led them down into an unused subway tunnel, pushing cobwebs aside as rats scattered.
“A woman?” Jack said, freeing his arm. “You’re risking our lives going back there for a woman?”
Jason turned to face him. “Not just any woman,” he said, “a very special woman-”
“Like Madelaine,” Nicolas said.
“Will you shut up about Madelaine?” Jack growled.
“No, not like Madelaine. This woman is alive – or was when I left – and she holds the fate of the world in her hands.”
There was movement ahead, and a subtle shift in the atmosphere.
“Oh shit,” Jack mumbled. “Now what?”
Episode Six - Conclusion (Stefan Schutte – July 2023)
The trio froze in their tracks. A deathly silence fell as their eyes locked on the harrowing apparition
standing with its back to them. The creature was about three meters tall with a squid-like head. Its
tentacle-like fingers tightened their grip onto a grey-haired woman.
“The giant octopus!” yelled Jack and Nicholas in perfect unison.
“Esmeralda!” cried Jason in a ghoulish voice that drew a hollow echo from the interconnected tunnels.
A rat scurried between the three men and the hostage-taking octopus-headed thing, disappearing into the blackness. Esmeralda clutched a beautiful red stone in her hand. Jack recognized the shape - it was exactly the same as the blue stone Jason had used to blast through his apartment wall.
“The crimsonite stone,” said Jason in a trembling voice. “It’s the lamarine’s counter-balance. They need
to be fused together, to reverse the inter-dimensional effects caused by the lamarine.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” asked Jack. Jason never answered, for at that very moment,
they heard a trembling lady-like voice behind them.
“I thought I’d never find you,” said the lady. In her one hand, she held a sand-jammed spear gun, and in the other, she gripped the most beautiful blue stone.
“Madeleine! You’re alive…” said Nicholas, starting towards her.
“You’re… you’re real too,” said Jack as he swallowed dryly.
Jason said nothing. He quietly grabbed the inside of his cape and covered his face with it. With a barely
audible 'poof' he turned into a bat.
Madeleine looked at Nicholas: “I’m not sure what happened - one minute I was swinging the spear gun
at Angelikus’ head, and the next… there was this flash of light, and I stood in some strange apartment. I started searching for you immediately, Nicky. But all I found was this blue stone. But… but where’s
Angelikus?”
“Angelikus is dead,” said Nicholas as everyone watched Madeleine drop the spear gun with a fearful
expression.
“I wasn’t going to hit him that hard, I swear,” said Madeleine.
“Of course you weren’t,” said Jack. “You see, in the book… in the book, that thing squeezed the life out
of our dear friend.” He pointed at the octopus, which still had its slimy tentacles around Esmeralda’s
throat. Jack’s hostility made it squeeze her throat even tighter.
Suddenly, a bat flapped clumsily into the octopus’ face. The monster swatted at it with one of its
tentacles but failed to rid itself of the little mammal’s attentions. The bat's fangs sank into the jelly-like head, drawing two tiny drops of blood as it pierced the rubbery membrane. The octopus loosened its grip on Esmeralda as it eventually managed to rip the bat away from its face. The bat crashed against the tunnel wall and instantly transformed into a human-like shape - or more specifically, into the shape of a vampire.
Esmeralda kicked the octopus in its groin and freed herself from his clutches as he doubled over. She
raced to Madeleine.
“Quick, hand her the stone,” ordered the stricken Jason.
“Do it, Maddy!” shouted Nicholas.
Madeleine obliged and tossed the blue stone to Esmeralda. Esmeralda caught the blue stone with her
left hand. She held the red stone in her right and raised both arms by her sides, looking like she had
been nailed to some invisible crucifix. Esmeralda closed her eyes and cocked her head backwards. Her
lips began to move as she mouthed some weird enchantment.
She slowly lifted both hands upwards until the two stones touched. A blinding white light emanated
from above her head, accompanied by a massive boom that reverberated around the city’s subway
system. An eerie silence fell over the tunnel. Jack slowly opened his eyes, realizing he was all alone. Gone were the octopus, the mysterious woman, and even Nicholas and Madeleine.
“What happened?” asked a child-like voice behind Jack.
Jack swirled around. He could not believe his eyes. Standing right behind him was Jason, his nine-year-old childhood friend. Jason was wearing the exact same clothes he had on when he tragically died ten years ago.
“What was all that ‘I need you because it will be a numbers game’ all about?” asked Jack.
The boy said nothing. He just smiled and took Jack’s hand.
THE END
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AMBASSADOR OF SOLITUDE
Marianna Pieterse
Gertrude, the self-proclaimed Ambassador of Solitude, had a secret. She was a FOMO in disguise. Whenever she got invited to some or other fun event, she had her excuses ready. “I can’t today. My sock drawer needs sorting.” Or, “I had pizza last week, so I can’t have it again this week.”
She’d spend the next few hours with her eyes fixed on her Facebook page to see what the others were up to, wishing they’d put in more effort to convince her to join. She’d busy herself with actually sorting her sock drawer or polishing the cutlery. If nothing else, then at least she made her mom happy. As much as she wished that she could join, she knew that it was too late. One cannot possibly be an Ambassador of Solitude and join social events. She’d lose all credibility.
***
“Hey, Gertrude, we are throwing the biggest Murder Mystery Carnival you’ve ever seen! Please say you’ll be there. Just this once,” asked Betty.
Gertrude felt her heart rate increase. She loved reading murder mysteries and always imagined herself to be better than any fictional character—even a certain consulting detective—at solving the murder mysteries. Maybe she could go this once, but she wondered how she would look to the others.
They’d think I’m weak and can’t stand by my own principles. But they’d be so impressed by my mystery-solving skills.
Her conflicting thoughts fought for first place. Her throat closed up, and her breathing became shallower. She turned away from Betty and paced the small room.
“Why is the window closed?” With an exaggerated movement, she pushed it open. Crossing her arms, she turned back to face Betty, who was watching her from across the room.
Betty’s eyes narrowed. She wondered whether Gertrude was actually considering her invitation.
“Please?” she added for effect. Gertrude swallowed hard.
“Er… You know I’m an expert in murder mysteries.” She waved her hand in the direction of the gazillion books on the shelf next to her recliner. “None of you’d stand a chance to solve anything.”
“That’s okay; maybe we need someone to show us how it’s done,” smiled Betty. “So, you’ll come?”
Gertrude pretended to sigh louder than was necessary. The corner of Betty’s mouth lifted into a smile.
“Fine, but this is so not my thing,” she lied.
Betty embraced her in a bear hug. “You won’t regret this!”
Gertrude couldn’t help thinking that she might have made a grave mistake. Her reputation as the Queen of Alone-Time was at risk.
That Saturday, Gertrude stared at her array of clothes in disbelief. Has she really been out of social circles for so long that her collection of attire resembled pop queens of the 80’s? She pulled the sleeve of a bright pink top closer. There’ll be no staying incognito wearing that. People still wear ripped jeans, don’t they? she asked herself and took the blue jeans from the shelf. It’ll have to do.
She grabbed a black shirt from a hanger, ignoring the shoulder pads.
“Maybe no one’ll notice those,” she muttered, worrying more and more that she should have declined.
The large barn doors swung open. The spotlight fell on her as she stepped inside. “So much for not being noticed,” she mumbled. Her eyes darted across the room like a puppy’s watching a piece of sausage waved in front of their face, but with less affection.
Across the room stood Alisha. Her nemesis, who forced her into JOMO-mode in the first place. She stole the Senior Dance Queen crown after falsely accusing Gertrude of bribing the judges. She had no proof, but flashed her pearly white smile, and the judges were like putty in her hands. Alisha stared back at her, with an amused smile on her face. Gertrude’s palms felt damp. The urge to turn and run was overwhelming, but her legs were glued to the spot. The spotlight still hovered over the entrance.
When life returned to her legs and reasoning to her mind, she turned, cleared her throat, and excused herself as she brushed past Betty.
That night, she watched the Facebook posts pouring in about the ‘event of a lifetime’, which she missed again. Betty’s post popped up with the heading “Carnival turned into an epic disaster’,
followed by photos of a figure of a person who must have slipped on someone’s spilled drink and was now wearing it on her designer dress. The subsequent photos showed the food fight that ensued.
She looked closer, and her mouth lifted into a smile. The juice-wearer was none other than Alisha! Although she’d have loved to see her face, she was really relieved that this time she missed out.
THE CURFEW
Marianna Pieterse
Midnight. Blake had missed his curfew again. This time he’d gone too far, John thought when the gate opened.
The next morning, John left for his ‘security job’. Or at least, that’s what they thought he was doing.
He stilled his conscience, ‘In a sense, I carry a gun, and I wear security-like clothing. Just like a security guard.’ He pushed the gaming-room doors open.
“Tortoise, hey!” greeted Mark, known in the gaming world as Ginger Boy. His grandfather gave him the name Tortoise when he was a child because he loved the reptiles.
“Have you practiced? This is cutting-edge!”
“Relax. The meeting’s at 11 to discuss the mastery of hand-to-hand combat,” said Ginger Boy. “It’s another week before the contest. We only need to worry about Tadpole. He’s been #1 for three weeks straight!”
That night, John felt that the excitement of the upcoming tournament was too much to bear. He excused himself from the supper table and walked in the direction of his study. He mumbled gibberish about having to research the latest security laws. A light from his son’s computer screen caught his attention. It wasn’t the neon lights that startled him, but the name reflecting in the column on the left.
Tadpole? Blake? It can’t be!
He felt his heart race. He’s been playing and losing against his own son. After years in the gaming industry, a 16-year-old was beating him.
He closed the study door and set to work on a plan to teach his son a lesson about keeping to his curfew and not messing with his dad on the gaming front. He couldn’t march up to him and tell him he knew what he’d been up to. No, he needed to think of something better than that. The corners of his mouth lifted into a smile as a plan started to form in his head. “He has pushed my patience over the limit.”
“How was work today, honey?” Jenny, his devoted wife for the past 18 years, asked at supper the next evening.
“I’ve been on the grind today,” he said. “I was tempted to rage-quit this morning’s meeting when someone started yapping about an unbeatable gamer. What that has to do with security, I don’t know. Perhaps because of the contest coming up where they want us to guard the arcade.”
He looked at Blake to see his reaction when he used the gaming slang and mentioned the contest, resisting the urge to smile when Blake’s brows furrowed.
Blake tapped with his finger on the edge of the table. He wondered how his dad all of a sudden understood gaming terminology. His friends’ parents’ eyes glaze over at the mention of it. Why is Dad looking at me like that?
“Fancy a game of cards, Blake?”
“Er, sure,” he said. The next half an hour, they spent trying to outwit each other. Blake was worried about what his dad said earlier about him guarding the arcade. He was sure to be caught out gaming all night, then.
“You won again. One would think I’m a Noob!” said John when Blake put down his cards.
“What’s going on with you? What’s with the gaming talk, Dad?” he barked.
“Just getting into character. I should at least sound like I know what I’m talking about if I’m going to guard the arcade!” he winked. “Are you going out again? Be sure to be home by 11.”
“Yeah, okay.” Blake grabbed his blazer and heard his dad say ‘GG’ as he pulled the door closed.
Blake felt rattled. Something’s up with Dad, and he was not buying the ‘getting into character’ story.
Does he know I’m gaming and missing my curfew? How? I’ve been careful not to be seen coming in late. The rest of the night, a nagging feeling played in the back of his mind. Dad was up to
something.
The night of the contest arrived. Gamers were streaming in. Blake’s eyes darted across the room to see where his dad might be stationed, so he could avoid him. Hopefully, he won’t be near the gamers. He sighed, relieved, when he didn’t see him near the doors.
A gaming seat with the name ‘Tadpole’ overhead was reserved for him. He was up against ‘Ginger Boy’ and ‘Tortoise’. They hadn’t taken their seats yet. He took his seat. He looked up as Ginger Boy and Tortoise approached. His jaw dropped.
“Fancy seeing you here,” said Tortoise.
“How… bu… Da...” Tadpole couldn’t form one intelligible word.
“Chill!” said Tortoise. “I won’t tell if you don’t. If I win, you stick to your curfew. If you do, we move it to midnight, and not a word is to be said as to why.”
“Deal!” said Tadpole, more determined than ever to keep his first place.