Monday, February 23, 2015

House Of D

Once there was a cozy little house that wanted nothing more than to be lived in and loved. By a family, a couple, or bachelor, it didn't matter to the house, as long as it could fulfill its purpose; to give warmth and shelter to those that would love and appreciate it in turn.

Yet, for all its quaintness and charm, the little house could never keep an owner for very long. For you see, through no fault of its own, the cozy little house was haunted.

Over the years, the spirits of those that had once lived and died within its walls, came back to the house that they had called home and now filled its rooms with a cold dread that anyone who stepped foot inside could feel; an icy chill up and down their spines.

Whispering voices, flickering lights, phantasmagorical furniture moving on its own, and spectral images in the dark, all driving any new, living, owners away in a fright; leaving the little house sad and alone.

Over the years, the neglect of not having any owners had left the once pristine little house run-down and dilapidated. So much so, that after going so long being unloved and uninhabited, the house gave up any hope of ever again having anyone to call it home.

That is, until the day a well-groomed man in a dark suit came one evening with the realtor to look over the property.

The house became anxious as the saleswoman nervously took the man through its dust-filled rooms; all the time hoping that none of the ghouls and ghosts would manifest themselves and scare him off.

Just as the house thought nothing was going to happen and it might potentially find a new owner, the walls began to bleed and a troupe of the nastier spirits started to wail and knock shelves and chairs about.

The poor house's hopes fell before they even started to rise, yet, even though the young realtor screamed in terror and ran out into the street, the handsome yet pale young man stood stoically inspecting the finely-made valour valances above the bedroom window.

Continuing to walk through the rest of the house on his own, the man finally exited through the front doors, all manner of paranormal activities happening inside behind him as he stood on the creaking wood of the porch's floorboards; none of it fazing him even slightly.

The realtor called to him from the other side of the street that she would show him some other houses, but he simply regarded the house itself; a slight flash of embarrassed heat came over the house as the man looked it over and a tiny sliver of hope started to build.

Then man turned quickly to face the realtor, flourishing the tailored cape around his shoulders dramatically.

"No, madam," Said the man with a thick accent. "I believe I will quite, at home here."

A smile slid across his face, showing a flash of white fangs that caused the realtor to run screaming once again, throwing the deed paperwork into the air; presumably for him to sign later.

But the house took no notice of the horror on the fleeing saleswoman's face; it was filled with so much exuberance that the spirits and their blood within nearly bust through its rafters.

It was going to have an owner again; a handsome, foreign young owner with a full and wonderful laugh that filled the air as lightning streaked across the darkening night sky, and would hopefully fill the house with life for many, many years to come.

Thursday, February 12, 2015


The knocking came again; whoever was at the door was not going away.

Franklyn got up reluctantly from the sofa and walked across the living room to the front door where he stood listening for a moment in the silence between knocks.

Another barrage came and he sighed to himself as he opened the door, letting in the freezing cold air of the night.

"It won't help." He said to the startled young man standing on the snowy steps.

The stranger stared into the darkened doorway, straining to see who it was that had answered, but Franklyn kept just out of the light of the street lamp's glow.

"Sorry?" The young man queried in a shivering voice. "Are you..."

"Whatever it is you want me to do, it won't help." Franklyn cut him off. "It never does. Not in the end."

The confusion in the young man's eyes melted away into desperation.

"You have to help!" He pleaded. "They said that you could help! They said you could..."

"Whatever they told you," Franklyn continued steadily. "It won't fix things, not how you think it..."

"Please, mister!" his voice now quivering with the same desperation within the man's eyes. "My daughter. My baby girl. You have to help! She... I have money."

He thrust his bare, red-raw fist out, filled with a bunch of crumpled bills; mostly ones.

Franklyn sighed to himself again, and then opened the door to let the light fall upon his gaunt, stubbled face.

"It's not about money, kid." He looked back into the living room as his cat looked up at him from its spot on the chair and then curled up tighter against the cold air he was letting in. "Look, go home. Sometimes things can't be fixed."

"Please." Tears welled up in the younger man's eyes as he clenched the meagre wad tighter.

Franklyn bent his head down with another long sigh, and then motioned for the stranger to come in as he walked back into the dimly lit living room.

The young man bustled in quickly as if Franklyn might change his mind before he could get through the doorway. With a loud bang, the door shut as he leaned back against it, catching his breath from the freezing cold outside.

Franklyn turned to regard the distressed young man standing in his living room, shaking his head at himself.

"My name is Dav..."

"It doesn't matter. I don't need to know who you are." Franklyn interrupted. "I don't want to know how you found me, or who told you about me. I just want to be left alone. People think that I can help them, but sometimes, some things can't be fixed. Sometimes, they shouldn't be."

The stranger stood silent, and then shrugged while his face twisted in hopelessness.

"I have to try." His voice cracked. "I have..." his arms fell limp at his sides as he began to sob.

Franklyn closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

It would end badly, it always did.

Holding his hands up as though someone was pointing a pistol at him, Franklyn breathed deeper and deeper. With each breath his chest moved up and out at a steady rate and the young man's sobs quieted as he watched with curiosity.

An undertone hum began to build that reverberated around Franklyn's outstretched hands as the space around his fingers and palms seem to become distorted in pulsating waves.

The hum grew in volume and the already dimly lit room became darker as the lights flickered.

The slumbering cat jumped up and bolted out of the room as everything started to shake with the reverberating hum.

All the while, Franklyn stood, calming breathing as the waves of distortion around his hands shimmered with a silver-flashing light.

The young man started to grope panic-stricken for the door as the whole house now felt as it was shaking to its foundations, but as he grabbed hold and turned the knob, the hum stopped. The room became steady and the lights levelled out to their previously dimmed state.

The stranger stared as Franklyn lowered his arms and stood normally again; eyes still closed, he breathed less deeply until his chest was barely noticeably moving.

Calmly, he opened his eyes, though he seemed to look right through the frightened young man in front of him.

"It's fixed." Franklyn said stoically.

"What the..." the young man breathed."What was that? What did you do?"

"I fixed things." He answered. "Though, as I said, it won't help. Sometimes, things aren't supposed to be fixed."

"But, I mean," the young man stammers. "What the fuck just happened? Waves..."

A buzzing came from his front coat pocket and the stranger pulled out his phone to answer it.

His eyes began to fill with tears once more as he listened to the caller on the other end. Yet, his face brightened with a euphoric light as the joyful tears began to roll down his smiling cheeks.

Franklyn sat back down on the sofa after the young man had giddily thanked him and ran off into the snowy night to rush back to wherever home was.

They were all like that, at first. Everyone that had come to him asking for help; asking for him to fix things.

All kinds of things; help with becoming smarter, prettier, stronger, richer; help overcoming all of life's hardships and obstacles that people are supposed to face on their own; to grow and learn from them.

Not things to have fixed for them.

But they always find out in the end, Franklyn thought to himself as the cat jumped back up onto his lap and began to purr. Sometimes things aren't meant to be fixed.

Especially death.

Saturday, February 7, 2015


There is a theory, that there is theory behind all things.

That there is a force, a pattern which guides everything in the universe along a set of rules; governing the behaviour of it all.

The behaviour of the planets, the stars, the motions of the waves in the ocean; which way a summer breeze blows a woman's hair so that her scent carries through the air and into the olfactory of the man's nose standing next to her on the street corner as they await the changing of the traffic light. The scent of her causing him to look over and become distracted by the beautiful way the morning light reflects off of her tanned skin; so that he steps out too early, and into the path of a passing bus, that strikes and kills him instantly.

Every aspect of every action and reaction, adhering to the laws set out in the theory that controls our lives; our universe.

Yet, what if there is no such set of rules; that there is no unified theory of all things.

And instead, at the center of all there is, was, and ever will be, there is just a room; a room full of break-dancing, robot cheetahs, snorting cocaine and staying up all night playing Super Bomberman on their old-school Super Nintendo.

But that is just a theory.

Sunday, February 1, 2015

Tunnel Trains

Charles looked at the dark reflection of himself in the subway car's window as it sped through the grimy subterranean tunnels. After a long, tiring day, he just wanted to be at home with a cup of tea and the new mystery novel he had just purchased. In the dim distance, he could see the other subway train flash silver on its way in the opposite direction.

For a moment, he thought about the passengers on that train; on their way home to their varied lives. How different were theirs from his life; more exciting; less interesting; not that much different?

Another train flashed in the tunnel across the void and the noticed it was not travelling in the opposite direct as the one he rode, but in tandem with it.

Leaning in closer, Charles tried to get a better look as the two trains ran parallel to each other. He could see the other passengers in the brightly lit windows, sitting and standing just as the ones in his cart; equally unaware of each other's presence, save for one figure pressed up against the window's glass trying to get a better look.

Charles could see the other figure was wearing a similar suit to his own except the other gentleman wore a fine, grey fedora. A strange compulsion enacted Charles to wave to his fellow rider and at the same time, the other gentleman waved his greeting back.

Both of them were taken aback at the sight of each other's waving. Charles cocked his head in disbelief, for he could have sworn that the other rider had waved with a red and white fur-covered paw.

Putting his hands up against the window to cut out the glare of the lights, Charles squinted and tried in earnest to make out what his companion commuter really looked like.

However, the trains started to move further away from each other in the tunnels and as it passed out of sight into another passageway, he told himself he must have imagined what he thought he had seen.

It was impossible that there had been a well-suited fox riding a subway train full of other animals dressed like people on their way home from work.

Sitting back down in his seat, Mr Renard shook his head and scratched at his furry ear with his clawed paw, then readjusted his fedora so it wasn't pushed so far back.

No, thought the handsome little fox, he could not have seen a train full of humans, clothed and acting like civilized animals; must have been a trick of the shadows.

Trying to put the bizarre image out of his head, Mr Renard thought of which type of tea he would enjoy when he finally arrive home to his den.