Some Untall Stories

Some Untall Stories

J G Chandler

Published by Jim Chandler

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 J G Chandler

Some Untall Stories.

A word from the author

Within these pages; the custodians of some great tales, you will experience excitement, humour, pathos intrigue and fear – if only for a leading character that has won your affection. This is because I believe a good story, long or short, should have a beginning, middle and an end, and hopefully, an unexpected twist or two. It should induce the reader, before turning the page to wonder, 'What is going to happen next' or, 'How are they going to get out of that'?

As the storyteller, I have striven to offer my reader real diversity. For instance, you may dwell in a familiar, or an unfamiliar, environment, or you may experience life in a different era – or the present? However, always, I hope, you will be eager to turn the page.

En route, you will encounter many genres, from Thriller to Romance, Comedy to Gothic, Western to Fantasy, and all studies of the human condition to which we are familiar, albeit in varying situations and circumstances.

Therefore, for your enjoyment, here are ten stories of which it is impossible to describe any two as similar. In addition, there is a five-page description, in verse, of a bullfight – from the bull's viewpoint. Then at the end, you will enjoy 'A little bit of Whimsy'.

All this interesting variety represents many hours of entertainment, that I know you will agree, gives extraordinarily, good value.

I have heard some comment, 'I’m not really into short stories'. If you think you are one of those, just give this compendium a try – I know you will experience an absorbing delight!

J G Chandler

Thank you reader for choosing this book.

Please let me know your thoughts at:

jimchandler@btinternet.com

And please look in at:

http://www.jgchandlerstoryteller.com

CONTENTS

Esmeralda

A Fairy Story

The Devil's Book

Twelve Hour Man

The Orgrie

Nightmare Island

Kit Keller

By any other name

The Bluebird

The Bright House

Art of the Savage

A little bit of Whimsy

Esmeralda

It was late afternoon. He’d been to the club for lunch and was now at home dozing in his favourite chair. The Times crossword slipped from his lap and he awoke with a snuffle and a grunt. He gathered up his newspaper and attempted to refocus his brain on the cryptic clue that had sent him off.

For some reason, and he knew not why, his mind was feeling ill at ease. He looked about him, uneasily, but finding nothing amiss, shrugged off the feeling. He sucked his glass dry and carried on reading.

Within a moment, strange images started flashing through his mind. Each one could have been no more than a mille-second; so fast that he wasn’t even sure what they were. He poured himself another Absinthe and wrestled his concentration back to the crossword.

Again! There they were; mixed up and vague, but he knew they were concerned with all manner of things ghoulish. Then pop! Suddenly, streaming through his mind were visions of vampires, bats, and witches - on broomsticks!

He stood up, and then sat down again. Rubbing his stomach induced a burp. It must have been something he ate, he thought. He remembered that the canard le orange, he’d chosen at lunch, had tasted overly gamey!

Fizzzzzsssst!

Suddenly! Like a firework it came; a green smokey trail that shot through the open window and disappeared through the door into the hall to - who knows where? Maybe it went upstairs, maybe straight out through the back door? What was it, he wondered? But his next more sobering thought came with a guilty utterance: Too much Absinthe? An induced hallucination? he pondered, remembering that Felicity always warned that he would end up with the DT’s. I’d better investigate; see if this phenomenon was - heaven forbid - of my own crapulous doing!

A few minutes later found himself bemoaning his discovered truth. Oh my God, I must have ‘em - the DT’s?

He had arrived at this conclusion because, search as he may, he could find no green vapours lurking about the house. Although, he thought, sniffing deeply, he was sure there was a kind of after-odour; sort of musty, old books kind of smell - or was it perhaps curry? Anyway, the point was, smells cannot be induced by drink. Can they? he muttered, not being at all sure of the answer. No matter. A Havana would soon put paid to that!

The Honourable Mr Justice Fotheringale-Smythe, OBE, still sniffing about him, sat in his arm-chair within an arms reach of the remains of the Absinthe bottle and his cigar box.

He had a sip and a puff and was now feeling very comfortable – and not a state of mind, or body, that he had, hitherto, been permitted to enjoy – before Felicity’s demise, that was.

He could almost hear her: Siegfried! That’s your second cigar and the third drink you’ve had today.

It’s the fourth actually my dear – but whose counting? He countered, exhaling and forming a large cloud of smoke that lingered above his head. He watched, mesmerized, as it billowed and curled. But as he watched, through squinted eyes, he could have sworn the smoke appeared to be taking on a kind of greeny hue.

Then suddenly! Oh my Godfathers! He lurched back in his chair. His jaw dropped - and his cigar with it! There was a face! Its wizened features were bending and swirling within the smoke.

Not another drop! I swear, Fel’, my love - not another drop! he whimpered, as he fumbled for the cigar that had, by now, burned a neat little hole in his trousers. That is you, Felicity? He nervously questioned the manifestation. The smoke was clearing and within the misty, green hue a bony face, with deep-set eyes and long, grey, straggly hair, was now stabilizing, and peering straight back at him.

As he sat there, transfixed, with frozen eyes-balls, he saw that the face was now materializing a body. It spoke with a scratchy, thin voice...

Felicity, huh? Your dead wife, I presume!

He remained speechless and unable to move.

Well, if she looked anything like me – I pity you both!

The rest of her body had now arrived and, to Siegfried’s horror, was sitting on a besom broom!

A…a…witch? He stumbled. You’re a damn witch! But you’re not real…your not here!

Go away…you…you alcoholic apparition…go away, damn you!"

Yes, I’m a witch! But I am definitely not your intemperate hallucination! Neither am I the incarnation of your departed wife! The fact is I’m looking for a place…a home…a new coven, you might say. Then, adding quickly, A temporary residence, that is! And I was thinking… her head hung to one side as she smiled a very gappy smile. Her voice was becoming decidedly cat-like, as she purred, …and this will suit me very nicely, Siegfried.

Well you can just bugger off, woman…witch…or whatever you are…er… call yourself. So you can un-perch yourself from that, that…thing…that…er…broom affair… he said, waggling a dismissive fore-finger at her, …and just disappear as quickly as you came! I’m afraid there’s simply no room for you here madam! Off you go now!

Suddenly she was standing in front of him and he noticed that she was now minus her garden-tool conveyance. She waved a bony finger at his Absinthe bottle. Poof! It had now become the head of his late wife, Felicity.

Siegfried! The unattached head was glaring at him. Put out that cigar this minute!

He recoiled. Felicity! What…I mean…are you all right old gel…I mean…Hell woman, you’re dead! Stoppit! Groaning, and holding his head in despair, he crumpled back into his chair.

The witch leaned towards him and cackled, Now listen well my man, it’s her or me! Please yourself, her or me! Her voice raised a few decibels and green smoke curled from her mouth. H-e-e-e-e-r, or m-e-e-e-e-e?" She screeched with her beaky nose, warts and all, inches from his face. Her crackly voice was demanding an answer that Siegfried, with gaping mouth and twitching face, was unable to render.

Slowly, she withdrew. Her voice and expression softened. Okay, Siegfried, I know it’s a bit of a shock but we’ll get along fine. Firstly, let me tell you how it will be.

He realized he was about to lose this case. Suddenly he found that his years of experience on the bench, was coming to his aid. He sat upright in the chair and braced his shoulders.

Clearing his throat and mustering a modicum of self-assertiveness, he said, authoritatively, Madam, your assumptions appear to be very much misguided as to how it will be! This building is my property – has been for forty years or more – and its deeds, being irrefutable evidence of such, will, without contradiction, testify to this fact.

Therefore I will allow no lodgers or, in your case, free-loading fly-by-nights to squat here! Do you hear me woman? Now clear…OUT!" He thought he’d summed that up pretty well.

She leaned backwards, with eyeballs large and white, as she glared at him. She drew in a large breath, sucking in her lips until her mouth almost disappeared. Then she leaned forward and her mouth became a large black hole as, with a rasping, roaring sound, she breathed out a blast of more green vapour.

The force of it pushed Siegfried hard against the chair-back. His cigar disintegrated, sending sparks and hot fragments of tobacco-leaf into the air and over his head.

Now listen to me, Fotheringale-Smythe! You overindulged, overweight…

But suddenly, she stopped! Her harsh, loud voice had given way to a soft, gentle whine. She laid her head to one side, her thin, mauve lips stretched into a wide smile and she purred, Or would you prefer me to call you Siegfried? That sounds friendlier, doesn’t it…eh? Or what about Sigi? That’s even friendlier.

He felt himself mellowing to her soft, mesmeric tones. He began to, ever so slightly, smile as euphoria wafted about him.

SIEGFRIED! She screamed. His body lurched as he jumped out of his skin! Her grisly glare returned. Let me tell you exactly how it will be! You can keep this house; this whole bourgeois, soulless pile of bricks and mortar…

Once more she suddenly composed herself and in the cat-like seductive voice that Siegfried was now finding, although creepy - even sinister, was also inducing a strange feeling of well-being.

She continued, her head lying to the side, again. Yeeesssss… she said, affectatiously, her bony fingers flitting about in front of his face like licking flames. Her features contorted into something resembling a dried prune, as she said, My reconnoitre of only minutes ago, decided that I quite liked your en-suite guest bedroom…Oooh, how I positively just lo-o-o-ve green!

As she spoke her face also turned green and her countenance changed back to just ordinary ugly, as she continued, And I need running water, of course – and that very useful, large fire place – yes, I also need fire. Yes that will make a perfect temporary coven.

I say, hold on there a minute old gel! Siegfried’s was not about to let this old hag take up residence in his home and was about to let rip with another string of stronger expletives. But his forehead was still stinging from the fragments of hot tobacco and not wanting to incur her wrath, again, decided it would be prudent on this occasion to behave a little more subserviently.

I mean…do you think you could see your way clear to…well…I mean…don’t you people live in caves…lofts…belfries - places like that?

Sigi, how many times in the last forty years have you actually looked in your loft? she paused, and continued with her creepy, tormenting voice.

Her bony fingers wriggled in front of his face again. I mean, luvvy, during the da-a-a-rk hours?

What do you mean, woman, the dark hours?

"What I mean is…

When little bats fly and black cats scream,

When wolves do howl and witches scheme.

She was accompanying her little rhyme by jigging about in front of him.

Unamused, he answered, sarcastically, Oh, I see…you mean when was the last time I got up in the middle of the night and clambered up into the roof just to examine the darkness? Er…d’you know, I actually can’t remember?

Her dried prune face and scratchy voice returned. "Well, if you had visited your loft during these hours – and if you had the all-seeing eye – which, of course, you do not! You could have seen some amazing, unbelievable and most beautiful things! The night is simply the most enchanting and atmospherically, bewitching time of all. It is the sum of all things sorcerous, and one day, very soon, I shall be the mistress –nay - the absolute Qu-e-e-e-n of the Darkness!." Her black, beady eyes had turned to emerald; her bony fingers were playing with strands of her straggly grey hair as her head swayed from side to side.

She seemed to have entered into a different dimension and quite oblivious to the current scenario – including Siegfried’s presence. He in turn, was oblivious to the euphoric and sensuous mood in which the witch was wallowing.

He said, quite indifferently, I usually reserve, and much prefer, the night times for sleeping and in the comfort of my own bed, thank you!

His statement changed her demeanour and she became more business-like. Right, who else uses this house?

Nobody else! I live on my own - have done since Felicity went - and that’s how I intend… He stopped short. She had started to draw in her mouth again! The fragments of cigar and ash that still lie in his lap were a reminder of the unpleasant experience of a few minutes ago. Oh…er…I mean Mrs Barrington, he answered obediently. She comes in at about ten o’clock each day.

Is that all? No gardeners, cleaners, cooks, people like that?

Well yes…er…no…I mean…the gardener - he just comes and goes. Mrs Barrington cleans and shops and leaves me my supper…

Hold it she cried. No cleaners! Do you hear! Not in my room! So you had better give your Mrs Barrington a good reason why the guest room is now out of bounds!

But look here, old gel…

Fine! She interjected, ignoring his objection. "We’re going to get along just fine! Take note Sigi, my name is not woman…witch…or old gel! It is Esmeralda, and I would be grateful if you would use it! And I will be living here, for a while."

When you say, ‘for a while’, how long does that mean, exactly…are we talking…hours, or perhaps… His expression changed to that of a Cocker Spaniel as he whimpered. Even…perhaps… do you mean…a whole day?

Again, ignoring his bleating question she stated, As I said, we will get along just fine. Her eyes screwed up and her voice became crackly again as she added, As long as we know our place and we don’t interfere, I’m sure you understand, Sigi? Her final words were accompanied by a sound like bubbling water - and in a swirl of green smoke, she was gone!

* * *

Darkness had fallen and Siegfried rubbed his eyes, muttering, My God! What a strange dream – no, a nightmare, more like! Yes, that’s what it was…a nightmare! Think I’ll lay off the Absinthe for a few days. He turned and nervously peered at the bottle. He sighed with relief as he saw it was, of course, just an inanimate, empty bottle.

Time for bed! He grunted. He stood up and saw a shower of ash fall from his lap accompanied by a cigar end. Rather shamefully he also noticed a burn-hole in his trousers. Sorry Fel, old love…must have dropped off!.

Slowly, he climbed the stairs making his way to bed. Shuffling to the bathroom he was smiling, being quietly pleased that life was, after all, quite normal. Damned nasty dream, that! he muttered, scratching his head. Ouch! He peered in the mirror and saw little red marks on his bald patch. Must have picked something up? Food poisoning! I knew that bloody duck was off!" Then his heart missed a beat and his stomach churned.

He was horror struck! He could see the unmistakable fragments