I’m not that sure that it really works as a story but it was worth a shot especially for an evenings work. One real problem is that it doesn’t have an ending as such, I just couldn’t figure out how to wrap up the month, perhaps you good people could give some advice in that regard, or I may leave it open.

Enjoy… if you can

A plausible month from the possible diary of, perhaps, a man

Wednesday 1^st September

Well, I am back writing this again. I never thought I’d put finger to keyboard again and write a personal diary again. Funny how we decide to do such random things. I guess I hope that one day I will look back and laugh at my past exploits and silly fears, or that one day I’ll be dead and famous and these sell for a mint.

One can but dream and hope.

Typically, today was a dull day with work and my friends in the evening for a couple of drinks. S had just been dumped by his girlfriend, of course he had no idea why, it could be that he is an arrogant misogynist of a man and really not many women he has met can put up with him for long, certainly not in a relationship. Needless to say S was well gone by even 10pm, not a good state of affairs, I won’t be surprised if he has to call in sick tomorrow.

Thursday 2^nd September

S called in sick, the boss seemed furious, guess he must have known, or found out, that it was alcohol induced and not a cold.

Arranged to meet up with some friends on Saturday for a meal, a movie, and more than a few drinks. Should be a laugh.

Friday 3^rd September

I need a new job, our bosses boss sent an email round saying that due to a drop in productivity our normal flexi-time system would be temporally suspended until our figures improved! The air turned blue for more than a few minutes. Then came the mass of emails, phone calls, frantic riffling through contracts, not a single piece of work got done the entire day. Some didn’t bother coming back after lunch either as a protest, or more likely as they were already blindly drunk.

You’d think this wouldn’t be a big deal, but our department is very loose almost all of us come in late, take almost no lunch, and leave late a few days in the week so we have most of Friday off. Some even come in earlier so they can leave early to pick up their kids, although that’s the minority in the office.

Needless say I was one of those who took the afternoon off. All for all and one for one, or whatever that stupid musketeers quote is.

Saturday 4^th September

That a good night, seven or my friends and I went to a nice Thai restaurant for tea. Its a nice small place its usually booked up so I was really chuffed we managed to get a booking. The food was to die for, T who has been to Thailand, which made him the brunt of many an ill tasting joke at the office for a week or so after he came back, was even impressed.

The movie was a piece of crap about some lawyers trying to convict a nun, who wasn’t a nun, but it wasn’t really about that it was about one of the jurors! Whoever thought up that crap needs to visit the Bettyy Fords clinic and get clean. At least it was bad enough we could tear it to shreds at the pub.

Its 3am now, time for bed.

Sunday 5^th September:

I saw her again tonight, well, I suppose I can’t really stop seeing her. She is a friend after all and I enjoy being her friend, but why does the merest sight of her seem to leave me hurting for hours afterwards?

Listen to me drivelling on, you would think I could focus my mind on something else, something more productive, but I can’t. Maybe its everything else that is going on at the moment, maybe its just the loneliness finally getting to me. Or perhaps I am at last feeling the lack of any real intimate relationship and she is merely a misplaced focused for my anxieties?

All she did was phone up and arrange a late pub-lunch between a few of us and here I am at night, alone in my flat, brooding like some lame emo wannabe.

Monday 6^th September

First day of the new tyrannical regime. More emails waited us when we arrived from even higher up, the code of conduct was going to be enforced literally and with immediate effect. I haven’t worked without my iPod on for years, it felt wrong.

A completely hellish day.

Tuesday 7^th September

We have worked our way into the second circle of hell, Dante is sending us postcards!

Wednesday 8^th September

Its infuriating.

I consider myself an intellectual man, and on occasion I would like to think I can be wise. Yet I cannot seem to find a conclusion to these thoughts, no matter what scenario I run, no matter what conversations I think through, I cannot find it within myself to take the risk of the negative outcomes happening. Do I love her that much?

What is worse is that these thoughts are all swirling round again and again because I can’t drown them out at work now!

Friday 10^th September

That work week was hell, what little joy there was has disappeared into the mists of long forgotten mythology. As for our productivity? No change, as we may be doing more but more mistakes have been creeping in.

I think this weekend calls for a quiet weekend in watching the telly and a few rounds on Saturday.

Tuesday 14^th September

The powers that be have relaxed a bit, our flexi-time is still a no show, with a couple of exceptions for the child bound few, but we are again allowed “personal music playing devices with appropriate headphone devices”.

This whole diary thing isn’t really working, my life is a bit too dull, too mundane. I need Baron Münchhausen as a friend, THEN I’d have a full and interesting diary… if I survived the experience.

Wednesday 15^th September

Met up with friends for a coffee, she was there, I found myself trying not to look at her when she was looking at me, as if I somehow locked eyes with her should would be able to read my soul!

What is happening to me! Its like I have become a pre-pubescent school boy again, staring forlornly at the girl across the classroom only to look away when she meets my gaze. I can talk to her though, I can have conversations, share a joke, be a friend, but there is always some part of me aching. Hurting. Just wanting to know or way or the other.

Of course the loudest voice from deep within tells me that it would be a disaster, that our friendship would never recover from me even admitting what I think I feel for her, let alone a rejection. Over and over it breaks my will and ambition but never takes away the feeling that perhaps, maybe, I do have more than just feelings for her.

Friday 17^th September

Its getting annoying, my thoughts in work randomly cycle through, financial data management, her, the weekend, and if you could do one thing, without limit, what would it be, and wither or not it is a sign that something is wrong with you if you find a cartoon character sexy.

My boss actually pulled me in for a meeting today. He had noticed something was up, I was never a stand out employee but he always thought I was stable. I just told him that I had some personal issues that were messing with my head, He offered to listen, I actually thought about it, I really did. Perhaps he could provide some sagely advice.

I said no.

He said the offer remained open but at any rate my work had to improve. Turns out I had sent a grossly incorrect set of data to a client which if they hadn’t noticed would have cost them a few tens of millions. I’ve never had a written warning before, I don’t think I want one again.

Saturday 18^th September

Feel like something that had dragged itself across salt covered broken glass only to find our they’d forgotten something and had to go back.

Never mix your drinks, especially not in the same glass, even if it was for a a hundred quid. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to remember the last few hours of last night, and from what T was saying in his texts today, that is a good thing.

One good thing out of all this is it has galvinised me to do actually do something about my life. All I do is work, drink with my mates at a weekend, and go back to work.

Work, eat, sleep, work, eat, drink, sleep, work, on and on ad infinitum. When I was a kid I had such dreams for myself. I could do anything, be anyone, now look at me a thirty year old working in a dead end job, with nothing to show for his life if I was to suddenly die today.

I always said that when I started earning a decent amount and had paid off my debts I’d at least give to charity, well I haven’t. I wanted to learn a new language, pick up a new hobby, meet new people, but the status-quo and inertia held me back, although if I am honest my own pig headed apathy was also to blame.

God, when I think what I was like when I left uni, if I could have seen this I would have run away in disgust. I hate this life, it stinks and what is worth at the moment, I can’t see any light in that tunnel.

Monday 20^th September

I must have been more than a bit drunk when I wrote last nights entry, then again its honest, and open. Maybe too open, but then again its not as if anyone is really going to see this. It really is just a cathartic process for my own benefit.

Well, one of her friends now knows. I had kept these feelings secret from anyone who may know her just in case but her friend caught me out on a week moment while we were at lunch. It feels good in some ways, but also there is now there fear that even though they promised not to tell that still she will find out.

He said that I should just tell her, our friendship was strong enough to take such an admission, especially one so unsure of its own validity.

Wednesday 22^nd September

Friendship is an important bond, and one I don’t think I take enough time to be thankful for. S phoned me up this evening, he was a mess, I told him to come round. It was a difficult time, I mean we are guys opening up is not a normal thing but tonight S was at a crossroads. He had to let it out, and he chose me to come to.

Its been years since I have seen a grown man cry tears, honest tears, heartfelt tears. Shove your my-team-lost-at-some-sports-event tears. I could tell these were tears he had been building up for years. I want to write what he shared but I can’t that was between S and myself at that time, and that time alone. If he listens to what he said and what we shared then perhaps S could change.

I have known him for years, he has had countless relationships each as hollow and meaningless as the last. No matter the hints, and sometimes direct comments, we all said he never grew up, never changed. I didn’t want to know what had brought on this moment of brokenness, but he told me anyway.

Thursday 23^rd September

I didn’t sleep well last night. Apart from the late night my mind just wouldn’t switch off. I didn’t know what to do about S today, so I left it until the night and dropped a quick text. It took him until a few hours to respond with, “it all ok mate ta:)”, I hope it is.

Bunch of my mates were going out to a film tonight, I didn’t feel like it decided to just stay in a listen to Radiohead. Its amazing how some words can just hit you, and suddenly make sense.

“I jumped in the river and what did I see?
Black-eyed angels swam with me
A moon full of stars and astral cars
All the figures I used to see
All my lovers were there with me
All my past and futures
And we all went to heaven in a little row boat
There was nothing to fear and nothing to doubt “

Friday 24^th September

Those words have haunted me today, every time they came into my head I saw her. During my lunch I started to write a poem, gave up, mainly because she texted me asking me if she wanted to come round to hers on Monday night as she wanted to cook for some select friends. I said yes.

I’m worried, S never showed for work today, and neither T, nor K, have heard from him in a few days. I’ve tried calling him but I don’t get an answer.

Saturday 25^th September

S phoned me this morning, he has taken a few days holiday to go back to his parents and asked me not to tell the others just that he was okay and off somewhere for a days.

The pub felt odd tonight. Probably just me, thinking too much again, probably assigning value to small things which are less than insignificant, but that is what I do well I suppose.

Monday 27^th September

I have decided I should tell her. So tonight will be the night, I will ask to speak to her by herself and I will tell her the truth that for the past year, if not more, I have struggling with my feeling for her. Struggling to figure out if my feelings for her were more than just friendship or just misplaced. IF she does not reciprocate then I know it was not meant and it must just be in my head. I can but hope our friendship is strong enough.

Thursday 30^th September

…

Love Story

I saw her standing on the other shore, it was early in the morning and the dew glistened like amber jewels in the dawning sun’s light. The mist hung tight to the lochs glass surface, the two locked in a gentle care. The sky coloured by the lightest wisps of clouds and the gradation of purple to lightest blue and to deep red.

She stood there, silent. Watching the spectacle of nature, its beauty which has inspired since time immortal, its awe inspiring visage carved deep into the very psyche of humanity. Yet for all this my entire being focused on her. Her presence awakened old memories, she stirred passions, brought the glimmer of light in the darkness.

A sudden splash from landing swan diverted my attention for but the briefest of moments but it was too much and I was alone. It was as if she had melted into the mists of the loch, a ghostly apparition of my solitude. I had come to this place seeking a place to be me, a place where I would be free from the pressures of the life I was expected to live, a life which almost grew too much.

Slowly over the years I lost more and more friends. I was too afraid that when they knew me, truly knew me, I would be cast aside as defective and broken. For years I had tried to be something I wasn’t, I wore a mask, I hid behind what was expected of me by whoever I was with. Slowly, however, the mask crumbled, I became afraid. The world gave me an excuse and I chose to grab it. I withdrew inward, using work, tiredness and such as an excuse. I thought that I wanted to be alone, but no I didn’t, I was just afraid. The phone stopped ringing, the texts stopped arriving, slowly but surely I had got what I thought I wanted. Except that I was more than just alone, I was withdrawn, removed from the world I lived in.

I sat on a large fallen trunk, staring into the disrupted loch. Its ripples slowly decreasing, becoming smooth once more. The sun continued to rise majestically over the imposing landscape while the rush within me continued unabated.

My self imposed solitude was broken a month ago by a friend who never stopped calling, never stopped trying. He broke through my ill conceived fortress and called me to task. He was right and I had finally reached the point I knew he was right. It would have been easy for him to condemn and chide but instead he lifted me up and dusted me off. We decided that I needed a holiday and he booked a cabin he knew off in the Highlands and said I should go, examine myself, do something to exercise the issues within me. He would join me near the end of the week and if I wanted he would talk with me. The part of me that had started this sorry affair was repulsed and wanted to pull away, I almost listened again but I knew I had to take the chance.

So here I was, the first morning, alone in the beauty, or not as alone I had first suspected. I sat for hours, watching not just the unfolding day but also wishing to see her again. If only for a moment. It was not to be. I elected to spend the rest of the day in the hills drinking in the refreshment it was giving me in body, mind, and spirit.

My dreams that evening were haunted, disturbed visions of the way I had treated friends. Deep buried fears and memories flooded back. I found myself awake most of the night my mind unwilling to sleep in case more came to light.

I made my way to the loch side for dawn, hoping she would for some reason be there again. If only to settle myself that she was in fact real. The sun rose, its path virtually unchanged but the entire appearance was different, unique, just for that day. I was so caught up in it that I almost missed the woman across the lake, I saw her as she made her way into the light forest. Then all was still once more.

For the rest of the day I felt alone, but not in the same way as before I came. This was different, this woman, who I knew nothing about, had somehow made a deep connection with me. Her mere presence on the other side of a loch could fill me with joy, and make me feel like the real me again. I saw a small local map under the table in the lounge, I opened it to see that it was marked with a small dot showing where the cabin was. I saw that on the other side of the loch was a small village, nothing else for miles. I have no idea what came over me but I decided to drive to the village and see if I could once again catch sight of the woman.

This was utter madness my mind screamed as I drove, my heart refused to listen eager or again bathe in the warmth. Some small part of me hoped that I was just going mad, as it would make what I was doing more understandable. The village was indeed small, a few houses, no more than twenty, a small shop come post office, and the obligatory pub.

I parked and went to the shop, the kind old woman behind the old till smiled a warming smile and asked the usually polite, and yet searching, questions as to what brought me to their small town and the like. I bought a national and a local paper and answered politely, lying to some degree as to the true reasons behind my visit. It was late enough that the pub was open and serving food, that was the excuse my heart needed to venture in.

As I walked in I was struck by what confronted me, it was like stepping back in time twenty or more years. It did really feel like the dictionary definition of “Small Local Scottish Country Pub� would just have this places picture. I nervously ordered food and a drink and took a seat out of the way. It felt as if the eyes of everyone was on me. The feeling lessened as the food, hot and hearty, arrived. I turned to thank the woman who delivered it, I stumbled out a thank you as I gazed, open mouthed, at her. She was the woman from across the lake, everything was went odd. She smiled at me, and my heart melted, my mind surrendered to its impulses and I was lost.

I finished my meal, all the time trying to think of what to say to her. How could I tell her, should I even tell her? I was reduced to the nervous thoughts of a school boy. I could scarcely believe myself capable of such emotional turmoil and indecision. When she did return for my plate I blurted out, “I… I, eh, erm, was it, eh, you I saw this morning at, eh, oh whats it called, the nearby Loch?â€? Curse myself, I was by no means illiterate or incapable of such conversations but something about her disarmed me so completely I was helpless.

“Yes?â€? Her voice sounded slightly nervous and questioning. “I’m sorry but I didn’t see you.â€?

“Eh, oh no. I was on the other side… I’m staying at the cabin there.â€?

“Oh… that nice.â€? And with that she was gone, I could kick myself. Why did I do that, what was the point. My annoyance was fast becoming anger in the seconds after she left, but then she cast a look back at me. Did she look at me because she was interested? No, it couldn’t be that, it had to be that I had made her nervous, she probably thinks I’m going to be stalking her. I grabbed my stuff and left, not casting a look anywhere else except to the exit.

The whole situation at the pub had sunk me into such a foul mood I went to bed with my mind furious at itself for allowing itself to be so misguided. I did not leave watch the sunrise the next morning. I dared not in case she was there and either she saw me, ro I saw her and done something as stupid as last night.

The day dragged on, it was tedious, try as hard as I could her image and smile would not leave me. I thought, I’ll go back to the pub tonight and see her again, this time to do nothing more than to get her out of my mind.

That evening I walked in, it felt more comfortable this time. I guess I was not as much of a stranger this time. I took my seat and waited. I was nervous… I began to think I should phone my friend and tell him that I was coming back, then she appeared. My heart skipped a beat, my defences eroded.

“I didn’t see you at the loch this morning.â€?

I paused, shocked at her statement, “No, I slept in.�

“Shame, it was so beautiful this morning, there was a light frost in the air.� My being yearned after her, why? I did not know her, I only just saw her, this was nonsense, stupidity of the highest level.

“I’ll have to make sure I don’t miss it again, I don’t get to see such sights in the city.â€?

“I thought you were a city person. Glasgow?�

“Yes actually.� I smiled nervously.

“I bet you’re some high pressured worker or something?â€?

“Not exactly, I’m just a glorified data entry clerk. I’m just here as I got too stressed.â€? What did I just say? I realised I had said it before I could stop.

“Such a shame, we get a few like you every year. They usually leave feeling much better. Hopefully you will to.�

“I already am, thanks to you.â€? … crap… “… and this places food.â€? I laughed nervously trying to cover up my embarrassment. She just smiled gently and went back to work. I sank in my seat wishing the world would just swallow me whole.

I was about to get ready to leave when she appeared again, “Do you mind if I join you for a bit?�

“No. Please,� I gestured to the seat in front of me. She sat down two drinks in hand, she gave one to me.

“I hope you don’t mind but I bought you a drink, I just looked it up to see what you ordered.â€?

“No, thank you very much.�

We talked. For hours, but it only seemed like a few minutes. We talked about our families, our schools, university, jobs, the city. Before I realised it was closing time and we said out goodbyes. I went home in a state of elation. I could barely sleep I felt so charged and excited. I no longer cared why she made me feel this way, or that I just met her. None of that mattered. I just wanted to see her again.

The next morning I rushed to the loch side, the rain was heavy, but I didn’t care. I waited. The sun rose. The day dawned. She did not come. I put it down to the weather. She wasn’t at the pub that evening either, no one had seen her that day, but they said the weather may be causing problems as it had ruined to full gale force storm that afternoon.

When I did not see her the next morning or evening. I feared the worse. The locals had not seen, or managed to get in contact with her either. They had done all they could they only hoped she was okay. I went back to the cabin, it felt cold and empty. Where there had been light now was chaos. My mind raced creating horrible scenarios and making me fear not just the worst but the statistically improbable.

In the dead of night as I watched the log fire burn I heard a knocking at the door. They had found her, she had been killed on the way home that night we had talked, at least thats what I feared as I opened the door to the dark figure.

“Hi, can I come inâ€? came her voice. I stood and stared. “Well… can I?â€?

“Oh yeah, sorry.� As she came in I explained how no one had seen her since before the storms and I had grown concerned.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to make you worry.â€? Her cold hand rested gently on my cheek. “I just wanted some time to get my head straight.â€? She sighed deeply, and looked confused. I knew what she meant, I pulled her close.

“I know what you mean.�

Our eyes met truly for the first time, and nothing more was needed to be said. We embraced in front of the roaring fire and my brokenness found completeness. We kissed, and the world dissolved into nothingness.

“It is supposed to be nothing more than urban folklore, an old wife’s tale, an analogy to scare bad kids straight, but with the body count rising perhaps there is truth to the legends of ‘The Black Wolf’, or is someone using the sudden popularity of the tale to cover something more sinister?”

Its nothing amazing but its a story, of sorts. I had a limit of between 2000 and 3000 words (in two weeks) which was actually quite a tight limit for what I had written so I feel like its rushed in places I came in at 2442 words.

Anyway, enjoy.

The Black Wolf

The night was cold and crisp, the clouds turned to a multitude of shades of amber. They moved hurriedly over the city awash with neon and fluorescents, the harsh shadows carving the streets into a mosaic of hidden dangers. ~A lone hooded figure walked through an empty car park near the monolithic high rises he called home. His hood was firmly pulled over his face, a scarf covering what little chance anyone could have had to make out any of his features. He walked with an arrogant swagger, confident in his youthfulness and apparent invulnerability to not only danger but of the law.

The night had made way to morning, the sun would soon be rising again. The hope it should bring had long since died in these streets. Gangs were the rule and the authorities seemed impotent to them unable, or unwilling, to do anything to stop the violence and the escalation. The figure was almost home, when something behind him caused a shot of cold primal fear to burn through his body. He picked up his pace. Again another noise, clearer this time, scrapping noise like claw against tarmac. Turning swiftly and pulling a knife in a clean and well rehearsed motion he came face to face with emptiness. Laughing off his nerves he turned back to his route. It was then he felt the multiple sharp points dig into his side.

Morning came, as did the police, to another body on the estate. This was the fifth in as many days. Each killed by what looked like a large dog, or at least made to look that way. After the second one they found it impossible to keep the rumours from hitting the presses. Everything from masked vigilantes, to a serial killer, and even some that said it was the Black Wolf reclaiming its territory. Peter Woods did not prescribe to that theory, a couple of his fellow reporters in his office did, but they also believed in the yeti and the Loch Ness monster.

As Peter began to look into the murders the more he became convinced that it was a vigilante, or a group of them, using the folk tales of the Black Wolf to clean up the estate. In an interview he had carried out a month or two back with Michael Denver, the leader of the most vocal residents rights group in the estate, Peter had jokingly said, “Perhaps the Black Wolf will come back and get rid of them for you?â€? Mr Denver had smiled and said that the Black Wolf was nothing more than a piece of folklore from before the city came and since the Wolf has found peace it couldn’t possibly return. Something about the way Mr Denver said that sounded warning bells in Peter’s mind when the killings started.

After the third gang member was found dead, his throat ripped out and his chest torn open by what looked like a huge dog, he knew something was amiss. For once thing wolves had been extinct in this country for about a hundred years. Peter then decided to do some investigation, that was after all that is what he was supposed to do.

He spent two days looking through the legends and myths of the area to see what all the different versions of the legend said. Almost all of them, from the multitude of sources were frighteningly similar and only the smallest and most seemingly unimportant of details failed to match up. What he did find out was the base thread of the legend was always the same.

A man loses his family and everything to evil men who have terrorised the land, broken and distraught he cries out for vengeance under the light of the full moon near the winter equinox, the spirits of the land hear his cries and the cries from all the spilt innocent blood and grant him vengeance as The Black Wolf. A huge wolf the larger than a man, darker than midnight, and faster than the human eye. The Black Wolf would take its vengeance and then disappear, presumably taken away by the spirits.

Peter had just finished digesting all this when the call came in about the fifth body, Al “Terry� Terrence, a known trouble maker who had repeatedly managed to get away with major jail time usually by lack of evidence. In fact his most recent was a near fatal attack on a young kid in the estate who had tried to stand up for himself. So Terry and a few of his mates decided to teach him a lesson. The kid is still in intensive care in a coma, but “no one saw anything� and there was not enough evidence to convict him or his mates.

Rather than trying to force his way to get a look at the body, or to get some pitiful statement from the police he instead quietly listened, trying his best to catch little piece of information. He couldn’t get much as the Police had made sure the cordon was large enough that it was almost impossible to overhear anything. It was a bust, none of the other reporters were getting much either so like a few others he decided to start interviewing the growing crowd of onlookers.

It was the usual tale, no one saw anything, “it couldn’t of happened to a better personâ€?, those comments always rubbed Peter the wrong way. He had been a tearaway when he was younger and got into some serious trouble but cleaned up his act and now has a good job and a relatively happy family life. He always held that no one, no matter who they were or what they did deserved to have their life ended by another. He was about to give up when he saw at the edge of the crowd was Mr Denver.

“Morning Mr Denver.�

“Ah, Mr Woods, another tragic waste of life, isn’t it?â€? His mouth said sorrow but Peter was sure his eyes were telling a different tale.

“It always is. I presume you saw and heard nothing?�

“I was away at a conference about renewing urban trouble spots.�

“Was it interesting?�

“Why yes, it was good to hear of ways we could try and change this estate and turn it from a place where darkness thrives to a glorious beacon in the city.�

“I’m sure…â€? Before Peter could continue Mr Denver’s phone rang and so he excused himself walking off a distance. He seemed agitated and annoyed by the call but covered it well. He then walked away phoning someone else. The wind changed direction briefly and Peter caught the phrase, “five for five.â€?

“Mr Wood. I am now prepared to issue a statement if you want one?� The plain clothes policeman waited for Peter to turn round and take the prepared statement which basically said the normal things, that they were investigating, possible gang war casualty, following leads. Peter could almost write it down before the office said it.

Peter decided that tonight he would prowl the estate and see what he could see. He knew the Police would be doing something similar but he just knew they had less motive to catch someone killing gang members as long as normal people were not involved. Although if the rumours were true then they would have to do something quick before the rival gangs in the are either turned on each other in suspicion igniting a bloody gang war or worse united themselves against everyone else.

When night came he saw that a number of others had the same idea. Peter sighed and wrapped his cost around him and found a good spot in the middle of the estate in pitch darkness, he knew from his years of covering the troubles in the estate that no one used this area now, except as a dumping ground. As he waited in the cold, the sky clear and the moon bright and almost full, it looked like his hunches had not paid off this time. Then just as he was about to call it a night at around 2am he heard something approaching. He quickly concealed himself between two rusting seven foot bins and switched his video and voice recorder on.

A pair of hooded figures walked past, muttering to each other about something, then from behind them a shadowed figure crept quickly up on them with surprising stealth and quickness. In a flash the two boys had been knocked cold as the figure pulled a glove from under his jacket and put it on. He was joined by two other figures, and they proceeded to start beating up the youths, Peter didn’t know what to do, if he challenged them he would likely be killed, if he didn’t the two boys would be killed.

Inside his pocket, to try and deaden any light, he opened his mobile and dialled 999, muffling the speaker he tried to make sure that the sounds of the beating were heard, as he did so one of the two youths tried to fight back screaming his head off that he was going to kill them. Peter just stood motionless hoping that somehow the police would arrive in time.

The moments passed slowly every moment caught on film and recorder, every kick, every punch, every slash. It seemed as if an eternity had passed when suddenly the police sprang out wrestling the men and the bleeding youths to the ground. Peter stepped out his hands raised, explaining to the officers what had happened. As he did so he saw that one of the men was Mr Denver, the other were two squadies who used to live in the area but were on leave.

Seven hours later, after hours of interviews, interrogations, watching the footage, Peter was eventually released and allowed to go home. He found out that Mr Denver used to be in the army and the Police thought he cracked after the recent rise attack on the boy, who was his nephew. He recruited the two squadies into helping him, they even had managed to track down that he was at their base the previous night. Mr Denver supposedly denied the other killings saying he would only admit being involved in the one he was caught at and that it was not attempted murder but self defence.

Although some part of Peter was glad the deaths would now hopefully stop, there was something that just didn’t seem to be right. As he tried to get to sleep he went over the night again, it was then he began to think that the others were not beat up they were quickly and savagely cut and torn into. Peter dismissed this as it just being different because they tried to go for two instead of one.

The next evening Peter was woken by his phone going off, his boss wanted him to go to the Police station as they had reports someone had been murdered. Peter tried to get his boss to send someone else but he lost and headed down, moaning all the way about not getting a good nights sleep.

It was only 4am and when he got to the station a crowd of reporters were already there, talking excitedly, Peter was tired he couldn’t focus, he just wanted to sleep. Then the Chief Inspector came out to a flurry of camera flashes and questions, he silenced the crowd and read from the prepared statement. An ageing, thin man, every flash of a camera accented the sharp edges of his face.

“It has been decided that in the interest of openness with the public that the following statement should be given.

This morning at 2am Mr Michael Denver, Private Alistair Carmichael, and Private John Williams, were found dead in their cells. Their throats and arms had been severely slashed. The nature of their deaths and the manner in which they were found is being treated as suspicious as it does echo an on-going investigation.

We are currently investigating and have at the moment no further comments.�

With that he left, the gathered crowd stunned into a virtual silence. Peter walked away, his mind beginning at how the prime suspects in a serial killing case all died in police care in the same way as their victims.

His mind swimming with theories, plans of action, who he needed to talk to, and what sources and favours he could use. As he realised that he had been walking without looking where he was heading he looked around to see himself in the main square of the estate. It was deserted, as he looked around to get his bearings he thought he saw someone in the corner of his eye. As he turned to face them all he saw was a dark underpass with what seemed to be two piercing yellow eyes looking at him. Then as they blinked they disappeared, and only shadow remained.

The killings stopped. The investigation placed the blame of the three deaths in the prison on an inmate who had found his cell door unlocked. The police officer responsible was sacked and a revue of procedures was carried out. Everything seemed neatly tidied up, except for what Peter had seen. He could not explain it away, he had tried, but every night since when he closed his eyes all he saw was the eyes.

Peter became obsessed with the legend and if was true then why did the killing stop and why was Mr Denver and squadies killed as well as five hoodies. It was as he tried to do other work that the answer came. On his desk he saw a report that the kid who got beaten up by the hoodies had died. Peter sank in his chair, then he saw the date, he died the night after the deaths in the prison. Surely he thought this was no coincidence, the five people suspected of beating him almost to death all killed, but as for Mr Denver and the squadies he had no answer perhaps they were judged because they tried to take “credit� for the vengeance by attacking those not marked.

There was no easy answer, no solid clues, it was all myths and legends. Perhaps he was had gone too deep, had become so desperate for an answer to the growing madness in the estate that he was swept along and allowed it all to make a nice simple package, yeah, that was it, it was all just stress and coincidence playing off each other, and nothing more.

::@::

I still see the darkness with its arms outstretched across my land. A land that once teamed with life and those I loved. In the shadows I can see their fallen spirits litter the land, their hollow souls now nothing. The wind is stale and warm, the sun has long since left these shores yet the air is a hot as the hottest summer days. The once mighty rivers of the land, now are black pits devoid of life. I am alone in this land, yet, that is not true, there are the others.

They are creatures, beasts that rose up at the time of the darkness, hideous monsters that devoured those who survived in the shadows. I however endured, not because I am blessed, but rather because I am cursed. I should have died many years ago, long before the darkness took this land but I did not. Ever since that day I have lived in the knowledge of my curse that I shall not age, nor can I die until the fate I am destined to in accomplished. I thought for many seasons that this curse was in fact a blessing that was until my wife grew old and died. The village had grown to fear me and they welled up in anger against me and cast me out. Ever since I have wondered these lands living where I can but always moving on before other became wary of me.

Eventually however I fell in love again, she did not care about my curse, we grew close and even had a family. We lived in the wilds near enough larger towns that many would not notice me. Then the darkness came and the towns burned to ash. The wilds and woods reduced to barren rock and scorched dirt. I had to watch as my family was taken from me by the shadows, their bodies destroyed in a moment of darkness and flame. The darkness came for me, its evil trying to consume me, destroy me, my body and mind burned in hellish agony and yet was not consumed.

It seemed like months passed in the darkness, in truth I have no idea how long it was I was in the shadows. Eventually however I was left, alive as always, left in the cinders of my home, my family dead. It was then that I saw their spirits, ethereal, almost invisible. I tried to call to them, to gain their attention, but they could not see, nor hear me. I wondered the lands for what seemed like an eternity being regularly attacked by the beasts of this scorched land. After a while they grew to fear me as they could not kill me nor taste my flesh.

Alone I sit and wait, the maidens who cursed me into this hell have abandoned me to a personal eternal torment. I tried to use my time, I have tried to find out about the darkness, what it was, why it did what it did. I have no answers yet, but I have an eternity to seek the answers and watch as this land starts again. I sit beside what remains of the oldest and largest tree I once knew. I sit and in the darkness, in the death, there is life. For if one green sprouting plant can survive then perhaps one day this land will live again.

Now been put in the Pages Section under “Stories “

Darkness can be such a strange thing, in our youth it gives rise to the fears of the evil creatures, in our adult hood it becomes out fears and dreads, in our final years it becomes the unknown future, the veil that divides the worlds. I find myself in darkness, I can feel no ground, no air, no light. I have finally persuaded myself that my eyes are open and still functioning yet the darkness is so powerful here I cannot see the anything, not even myself, or any part of me.

As the small rays of hope within, and even the fears, begin to die to cold ember, I am left in the limbo, stuck in that somewhere that is nowhere. Just as the madness builds to its consuming crescendo a blinding light pierces the now almost comfortable darkness, suddenly everything illuminates and I am freed. My mother stands over me, my quilt in her hands, she is telling me off for ruining her nicely made guest bed, I hug her, my saviour, my rescuer. As she reaches down to pick me from the floor I wake up with a jolt, the city outside illuminates the star less night sky which mutated shades of red, green, and blues, a cold sweat runs down my back. I’m alone, very much alone.

Come the morning I feel as if I have never slept. The dreams have been getting more intense, more abstract, my doctor tried medication and that only resulted in me being admitted to the hospital for three nights stuck in some nightmare that I am glad I cannot recall. I have tried meditation, natural remedies, counselling, tai-chi, alternative therapies, and even religion. Nothing has worked, some seemed to work but only resulted in worse nights than before, and others had no effect. One doctor said it was al related to some trauma I suffered, as a child but could not, or rather would not, say what his theory was leading him to. I had a girlfriend, we were so much in love, but what with the violent movements that occurred in my episodes and my slow withdrawal and frantic search for a cure we grew apart, we still talk, were still friends, its just, well, I’m alone now.

Thankfully, in some ways, I work for myself. I sit alone in my office, my computer gently humming, a net-radio station burbling some chill out noise, which blends itself into the sound-scape from the city beneath. The disadvantages which normally come with living where you work have long since evaporated even long before these dreams began. In some ways it helped my creativity and designs to be where I felt most comfortable, most at home. Since the dreams however it became a different sort of muse, it allowed me to channel the emotional chaos that ad become my life into my works. Ironically my work has never sold, at least until my life started to turn to raging flash flood river of pain and despair. Listen to me, I’m sounding like one of those self-obsessed neo-Goths. I can’t help it though, I just wish I had some answers. For now, I’ll immerse myself and release myself through my work. I pick up the stylus, brushing off the non-existent dust in the same ritualistic way I have done since I was a student at college and started to paint.

A good number of hours, and many various sources of caffeine, later I stand back and look at my computers display the digital artwork glowing slightly from the large high definition screen. It was then I saw it. I looked closer at the swirling coloured myriad of synthesised oil paint brush strokes and clean computer generated ink strokes, slowly I could see a form in amongst the jungle of strokes and dark hues of purple, red. A solitary female figure, rough, unintended, yet unmistakable. Her hair formed from a single stroke of purple, her figure the creation of the intersection of various lines and colours. Surely just an accident i thought, but as I put it on the site as a new creation for sale, I looked at the others I had recently created, in everyone, somewhere and in some form was this silhouetted female.

As I pondered this anomaly my phone rang, my friends where heading to a pub for a meal and a few drinks. I decided that I would join them, I had cut back on the number of time I went out since this all started nine months ago but I knew better than to sever all the ties to my friends. Yet, all the way to the pub all I could see was this female, I couldn’t place her, perhaps it was just my yearning to be together with Louise again.

The night was fun, Louise was there, radiant as always, we chatted a bit, but things were still a bit off between us, but usually only when we were with other people. We had food, a few drinks, exchanged news and views and even laughed at quite a lot. I hadn’t felt this relaxed in many months. It felt good, but deep down I knew it wouldn’t last.

I was right, that night the dreams where worse than ever. I was again in the darkness but this time I knew I wasn’t floating but rather standing in a room, and that she was ahead of me. She, how did I know that they were a “she”? I was walking towards her, the ground hard, and almost metallic. As I got closer I heard her voice, her voice was more beautiful than the most passionate aria, stiller than a lake at moon rise. “Alan, why do you deny me, free me, free us, free us all.” Suddenly, the walls within my mind started to fall, and it began to come back to me. I knew that in this dream, in this realm, I now stood before her, as I looked a sudden flash of light illuminated between us. I saw her. Her beauty hurt, the perfection of her, crushed my very spirit.

Abruptly I found myself awake in my room, again alone and shivering, but this time it was different, I knew. I knew who she was, what she was. It was many years ago when I was but a teenager, I killed her, I had to. I was a stupid boy and I was playing with forces I did not comprehend, she had to be stopped, I had to do it, but I thought she was to be destroyed, but now she was back. It began to make sense and yet raised many more questions than it would ever answer. At last I believed I knew the truth, I was not alone, in no way was I alone. She was here, and she wants it all. I had convinced myself over the years she was a fantasy, a made up tale, she never really existed and so I buried it all deep in my mind so I’d never be confronted with what I had done. Now that luxury was gone, the memories had been brought back, there was no hiding, I was no longer alone.

In the kitchen I could hear the sound of the glass cabinet doors smashing, I could just see the mirror in the bathroom buckling, warping and breaking. Then came a sound I had long since thought I had forgotten the sound of their sharpened claws on floorboards. They were here and I didn’t have long.

I chucked on my jeans and jacket that I had unceremoniously dumped on the floor. The noises were growing louder, more pronounced and more real. I ran from the room, the scarping noises coming from all around me, I could see the wallpaper ripping as an unseen predator moved across the walls, its invisible claws sinking deep through the stone wall. My keys were lying on the table beside the door along with my mobile and various other gadgets and stuff I carried wherever I went. I stopped to stuff my pockets with them. On the wall a shadow materialised, gaining density and form. As I fumbled with my the door I could feel the hot, sulphurous breath of the creature behind me. I dared not look and flung open the door slamming it behind me not caring how late it was. I ran, I kept on running, down the stairs, and out the building. I stopped, foolishly, to look behind me, I gazed upwards to the window of my flat, in the shadows I could see her, looking at me, looking through and into me.

With all of my will I pulled my eyes away from her dark and still translucent form and again ran. I realised quickly that I had forgotten to put any shoes on and the pavement was cold and wet. I could not think, I had to run, I needed time to figure it all out, remember who she was, why she wanted me, why I had killed her. I knew there was a homeless shelter a mile or so away so I headed there, not an ideal place I thought but it should be safe enough. At least I hoped it would be.

I arrived at the shelters doors which were shut, I rang the buzzer and a man asked who I was and what I wanted, I explained I had suddenly found myself homeless and needed somewhere to crash for one night. The door clicked open, as multitudes of bolts were unlocked. The man was a burly, rather overweight individual with various tattoos up his arms and what looked like heavy scaring across with partly bared chest. He said I didn’t look homeless and I again explained it was a temporary problem and one I couldn’t solve until tomorrow, after some discussion he let me in telling me that breakfast was at 7.30am and I needed to leave by 9am.

As I was thanking him, I noticed that behind him was a glass covered notice board that contained various notices about support groups, drug workers, advice services. The glass shimmered slightly and started to melt, buckle and deform, and suddenly shattered. The man spun round instinctively only to be greeted by an unseen claw eviscerating him. As he feel to the ground screaming in agony the blood the creature began to become increasingly solid. Over the screaming of this unfortunate victim I could here more glass breaking inside the shelter followed by more screams and the sound of tearing flesh and fabric.

The creature in front of me, stared me straight at me, it sleek, chitin body glinting in the yellowish glow of the single light bulb lighting the entrance vestibule. Its claws, black as obsidian and just as glassy sank into the ground, their sharpness only outdone by the glistening teeth. It had been a long time since these creatures, which I had relegated to imaginations of horrific nightmares, rather than real, deadly, assailants. Its four slender legs slowly moved towards me. Its long snake like tail slowly swaying, its six black eyes staring at me seemed to be wreathed in black flame, its panther like maw was blood splattered from the kill.

A homeless man burst through the doors screaming, his clothes torn, his back bleeding and his eyes empty and hollow. He had seen them, seen them feast, flesh was a mere aperitif to the real feast. He ran straight into the waiting jaws of the creature before me, I took the opportunity and ran. I could hear the dying screams of the poor man echoing through the streets, the sound of his body being torn open and feasted upon.

A few moments later a police car sped by me I wanted to warn them but I knew they would not believe me, or worse I would get the blame, and that would seal my fate. I could only hope that either the creatures would have gone or that the police would be able to stop them. Deep down I knew this to be a false hope and that nothing human would stop them once they were sent out by their mistress. Who was she, why did I know her, what did I know, why did I kill her? Why would I do such a thing? I began to remember more, the final blow, the one that crushed her skull and as she died, her blood staining my clothes and covering my face, she said something in her dying breath, what did she say? Who was she?

I had been running for what seemed like an eternity, I found myself in familiar surroundings, Louise’s house. No, I shouldn’t have come here, it’s not right, why did I come here? Screams echoed from the house, I suddenly lost my fear and charged the door to see Louise standing over the mutilated body of her housemates, her dressing gown torn and one of the creatures pacing towards her. She didn’t see me, her entire focus was on the creature and the horror in front of her. I grabbed her arm pulling her towards me, I held her tight to me as I turned and fled. She wasn’t running fast enough so I picked her up, carrying her away from the carnage. More screams from more houses. Soon they would be able to follow me away from the mirrors, away from their power. Why was the mirror so important?

Louise suddenly realised what was happening and started screaming at me to let her go, her mind was racing in circles, she was trying to rationalise seeing her friends being torn apart by a creature which broke its way from a mirror and seemed to form itself from the shadows. She failed, it was getting too much, she demanded to know what I was doing at her house. I told her I didn’t know I just found myself there. I dared not tell her that these creatures were after me, not just now, not yet. Not until I knew more.

She abruptly stopped yelling at me; her face drained of colour, and became rigid with fear. I looked behind me to see what had stopped her. The creatures stood in the streets their claws and teeth dripping with fresh blood, behind them however were her friends, the homeless people, and the man from the centre and other who I did not recognise. Their clothes were torn and bloodied, their bodies however looked, healed and restored, except that they walked as if on marionette strings controlled by some unseen puppeteer. Their faces were for the most part blank and expressionless, their eyes, however, still seemed to be staring into oblivion us at some unseen horror.

… TBC? …