Arthur's Eyes

Arthur, who was ten years old, could not remember the morning it first happened but now he knew it would be the same every morning he woke up.

When Arthur opened his eyes first thing in a morning he did not see his bedroom. He did not see his curtains, he did not see his poster, he did not even see his dressing gown on the back of his bedroom door. No, Arthur could see a village.

It was the same village very day although never exactly the same view. Sometimes he felt like he was walking through the village, sometimes he was inside of one of the huts. He knew he was moving around the village even though he was lying perfectly still in his bed.

He had to lie perfectly still because the very second he moved in his head the village would disappear and he was back in his bedroom looking at his dressing gown on the back of his bedroom door.

As the days went by Arthur would try to lie as still as he could. In this way he could keep the dream going for as long as possible. His mother was beginning to get annoyed with him. “Why won’t you get up when I shout,” she said. Arthur said nothing, he knew she would only worry.

You see the funny thing about the village was that there were other people in it too. Arthur could tell that he was a child there because he had to look up to see the grown ups faces when they smiled at him or spoke. Over the days Arthur began to recognise people’s faces and particularly a small group of friends that he seemed to play with.

Soon Arthur began to look forward to going to bed so he could wake up in the morning in the village. His mother began to worry. “Why are you so tired,” she would say, “ I have never known you want to go to bed so early. Perhaps we should take you to a Doctor”, but Arthur just told her he felt fine and perhaps it was the excitement of being eleven soon.

Arthur liked his time in the village, he liked his new friends and he liked exploring the area around the huts. One morning a group of them went further out of the village than ever before. Arthur began to feel excited when he saw they were going towards a river. He wanted to run ahead but he knew that if he made the slightest move he would be back in his bedroom.

Arthur looked down and saw that he was carrying a large clay jug. As they neared the edge of the river he bent down to fill it from the water. But there, just before the jug  touched the surface of the water, he saw his reflection.

Arthur sat straight up in bed and he was back in his bedroom. He jumped from his bed and ran to the bathroom and stared into the mirror. He felt relieved when he saw his own face staring at him. His eyes were still blue and his hair was the strange dirty yellow it always was.

All day the image of himself that he had seen in the river haunted him. He was round faced with rich dark brown eyes and a magical smile. He just wanted the day at school to end so that he could get home, go to bed and wake up again the village.

He ate his dinner so fast that his mother thought he would be sick and when he said he wanted to go to bed when it was still daylight she was really worried that something was wrong.

Arthur lay under his duvet and tried to fall asleep. It was worse than Christmas Eve. It didn’t matter what he did he could not stop his brain from thinking. At some point in the night, and Arthur didn’t know when, he finally fell asleep.

When he woke up it was dark, at first Arthur thought there was nothing there but soon his eyes became accustomed to the light. He could see a woman lying on a bed. He must be inside the hut. The woman was moaning gently. He could hear a voice speaking which he began to realise was his. He could not understand what the voice was saying but he knew what it meant.

The woman was ill and he was saying that he would do the chores, he would go and get the water, he would make the food. He went out into the daylight of the village and set off down to the river. Arthur recognized the way they were walking from the day before. Every so often he could see the jug come into his eyesight as it swung on his arm.

Soon he was by the bank of the river bending down. Arthur concentrated as he bent low over the water. Yes, there he was again, that face that was his but yet wasn’t him. As soon as the jug entered the water the face shattered into a thousand lights and was gone.

With the jug filled they walked back to the village. The boy poured water into clay beakers and passed them to some other smaller children before carrying one into the hut for the sick woman.

His mother shaking the bed made Arthur move his head and the hut vanished. It was time for school again.

Over the next few weeks Arthur was fascinated to watch these brief moments of life in the village. It became clear that it was hard. There was not much food and everyone seemed to work almost all the time. The woman in the hut was no longer there and when he sat inside looking at the bed his eyes would fill with tears.

But something else was happening. The view of the village was getting fainter. It was as if a grey mist was descending over the picture. When he caught sight of himself in the river his eyes did not look the same. Sometimes he would fall over something he hadn’t seen.

One morning when he woke up he couldn’t see at all. It was just like a grey fog . That was the last time that Arthur woke in another place.

On the morning of Arthur’s eleventh birthday he was eating breakfast at the table when the post fell through the letterbox.

“Can you get that Arthur,” his mother shouted.

Arthur wiped the milk from his chin and went up the hall to the front door. He picked up the post and went back to the table munching on his cereal. A he sat down he  flicked through the letters taking out his birthday cards.

He almost choked when he saw on the front of one of the envelopes, a picture of himself. But it wasn’t him as Arthur, it was him as he looked in the village. Arthur suddenly felt cold and sick.

“Anything important?” his mother shouted from the kitchen.

Arthur shoved the letter in his pocket although he didn’t know why. “Nope, just birthday cards” said Arthur in as calm a voice as his body would let out. “I’ll open them later when I get back I’m going off to school now.”

“But you’ll be early, “ said his mum, “And I haven’t given you our present.”

“I know but I’ve got things to do. See you,” he said pulling the door closed at the same time to stop the conversation.

Arthur walked up the path and along the road as fast as he could. He was breathless and feeling slightly dizzy. As soon as he got to a bench he sat down. Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter.

He closed his eyes and held the letter in his hands. He knew that when he opened them that everything would be OK. It would just be a normal letter and he could relax.

Arthur opened his eyes one at a time. Only it was no good. The face staring back at him was his. What was happening? Arthur read the sentence under his photo on the envelope – ‘Will you give the gift of sight to Afram?’

Arthur opened the envelope and took out the letter and began to read it.

Dear Supporter,

Will you give the gift of sight to Afram?

Afram is just twelve years old. Ten months ago his mother fell ill and Afram had to look after his family. Four months ago Afram lost his sight to Juvenile Glaucoma. Now he cannot look after his younger brothers and sisters and struggles to survive.

A simple operation could give Afram his sight again.

Just £15 can fund the operation to help Afram and others like him.

Will you give the gift of sight to Afram?’

Arthur pushed the letter deep into his school bag and walked to school. He was quiet during the morning and his friends began to worry about him. At lunchtime he knew what he was going to do.

“Tomorrow,” he announced, “I am going to hold a toy sale, you can help if you want, because I need to raise £15 to give a boy in Ghana his sight back.” As Arthur explained about Afram the others all agreed.

After lunch they spoke to their class teacher who was only too pleased to help and during the afternoon posters went up in the school windows and letters were sent home.

The next day children brought their old toys and put them on tables in the hall. At first break everyone spent their money buying the things they wanted. Some children were so excited they accidently bought back the toy they had brought in themselves. By the time the sale was over the teacher asked Arthur and others to see the Headteacher.

The Head was very pleased with them and their toy sale had raised over £110. Arthur handed over the envelope from the charity and the teacher put a cheque inside and promised to post it that night.

Later that year, as Arthur was beginning to think about moving on to secondary school, he woke from a scary dream. Lying perfectly frozen in bed he opened his eyes. For a second he was confused and then he could not believe it. It was true. He was back in the village. He could see his brothers and sisters running towards him and some of the older people were grinning and laughing as he walked towards them. 

He could see the huts, he could see the trees, he could see the sky, he could see the woman come out of the hut in tears as she ran to him. He could see.

“Did you have a good sleep?” asked his mother when Arthur came downstairs.

“Not a good sleep,” said Arthur, “but a wonderful waking up,” and with that he smiled so broadly that his mother knew something special had happened

The Tree in the Square

Those of you who know the story of Frendalex will know how the tree in the middle of the market square began to bear fruit. For those of you who don’t, let us just say that the golden fruit that weighed down its branches was as wonderful a sight that your eyes could ever see.

The fruit itself seemed to have life within. They glowed and shone when the sun shined in the square and some said that they glowed even as the sun went down. What is certain however is that the taste of the fruit was so wonderful that when the time came for the golden orbs to drop the whole village would gather to catch the delights.

It was as if the tree knew how much fruit to bear. Each season there was exactly the right amount for everyone in the village to have just enough. The villagers would stay all day and then long into the night talking with each other and sharing in their good fortune and joy

Of course, a wonder like the Tree in the Square can rarely stay a secret. As years passed stories of the wonderful fruit spread into the neighbouring districts and people would come from the surrounding villages to share in the harvest. At first the people of the village were angered by their presence and their ‘greed’ in taking what was rightfully theirs. But the tree seemed to welcome these strangers and there was always enough fruit for everyone and they too would join in the celebrations.

As time passed more people heard of the tree and the wealthy would plan their time at their country homes to coincide with the glorious harvest. Soon richly decorated coaches and horses would come into the small village and fill the square. Soon there was little room for the villagers to have their celebration. Yet still the Tree in the Square would drop enough fruit for all.

Now some of the villagers seeing how much extra wealth the tree brought to their businesses built coaching inns and guesthouses for the rich visitors to stay in. The older shops that the villagers used were forced to shut to make way for the new properties. Finally, the little old Inn that Frendalex had sat in all those many years before was knocked down to make way for a fancy hotel.

It was not long after that the villagers began to feel unwelcome in their own Market Square. Their rough clothes and country ways were not wanted by the new business people who populated the squares shops, inns and hotel.

It was probably around then that more observant people would have seen that the leaves on the tree that had once shined with a verdant green were losing that vibrant colour. But it was not noticed as greedy eyes could only see the wondrous fruit.

So anxious did the traders, shopkeepers and business people become to protect the fruit they erected metal railings around the Tree in the Square so no one could get near until they decided to open the big gates.

It was soon after that the people saw the Tree in the Square was changing. No longer was it guaranteed that there was enough fruit for everyone. At the harvest the villagers were kept to the back to ensure that the wealthy and the ‘well to do’ could get their share, and sometimes more than their share. 

More often than not the poor villagers would leave with nothing. In fact after a few years many of them stopped going. There was little point and they did not enjoy the sight of the rich gorging on the fruit, taking a few bites before throwing the rest to the ground to start again on a fresh fruit.

But the business keepers in the Square did not care about the villagers for money was ringing through their tills. They did not notice that the village no longer gathered together and celebrated. They did not notice that the people were becoming more isolated and lonely. They did not even notice the number of dead leaves that were settling at the base of the Tree in the Square. No, their eyes were focused on a new glorious golden fruit that filled the trays of their tills.

They would sit in the snug of the hotel with their feet up and say to each other. “We deserve our riches for it us that have made this Market Square so profitable. It is us that have improved the buildings and businesses that fill the square and driven out those awful tatty shops. We now have a very high class of customer and our town’s name is known far and wide.”

They even began to think that it was them and not the Tree in the Square that had made the village special. They formed themselves into a council and elected the Hotelkeeper their Mayor. They knew that what was good for them was good for the town. “When we have made enough money then we shall help the poor who used to live in and around the square,” they would say

Sometimes they would whisper to each other, “it’s only an old tatty tree, this town was nothing until we took over” and then they would glance nervously at its branches as if it could hear.

Now the Mayor was gazing out of one of his hotel windows one day when he noticed how few fruit there were on the branches of the tree. Indeed he realized he could see through the branches and leaves to the other side of the square. Normally the rich green leaves had obscured the view and shaded the Square.

He sat on the edge of his bed and thought, ‘if there are that few fruit on the tree I can’t guarantee that my guests will get enough for breakfast, lunch and dinner’. If he didn’t get enough fruit he certainly couldn’t charge the ridiculously large prices he asked for his rooms for he knew in his true heart that it was the wonderful taste of the fruit that intoxicated his guests.

He sat for a few moments and then quietly walked down the staircase to the back yard and picked up the large wooden ladder.

In the morning the Square was filled with people talking quietly and pointing at the tree. Even the villagers who no longer felt welcome in the Square had come to see the disaster. For the tree that had shone bright green and had been covered on every branch, bough and twig with radiant golden fruit stood bare. Not a single fruit was to be seen. People were so concerned that no one troubled to look down to notice a few tell tale marks at the base of the tree.

It was as if the Tree in the Square had just been waiting for everyone to gather before its final act. 

As the Mayor, Aldermen, business people and villagers looked on, the tree suddenly dropped all its leaves. They did not fall as Autumn trees leaves fall, one by one. No they fell together and as they hit the ground a gasp was followed by a tremendous silence that fell over the town.

Some of the elder villagers began to say how they knew that this would happen one day. That the tree had been there as a blessing for all and not just for a few. Soon others began to take up the cry and the Aldermen and business people began to get nervous.

The Mayor, seeing what was happening, stepped up onto a bench and addressed the crowd. “It is clear for all to see what has happened here.”

“You,” he said pointing at the crowd, “have been overusing this tree and its fruit. It needs a rest from your abuse. We the town committee will take what steps are necessary to help our beloved tree recover. But this will not come lightly. We will need to raise a tax to cover the costs of caring for our Tree in the Square which all shall pay as the tree belongs to us all.” 

And with that he stood down and walked back to his hotel pausing only to wink at his fellow Aldermen so that they would understand that the tax would fall lightly on them.

Walking alone the Mayor went to the back of his darkest shed and lifted the lid on a large wooden barrel. He picked out one of the fruit and closed his eyes in anticipation as he bit into soft flesh. Tears sprung into his eyes as the violent sour bitterness filled his mouth. He spat out what remained and threw the core to the floor. He put the lid back on the barrel and nailed it shut. Without looking back he walked into his fine hotel.

As night began to fall on the empty square and the skeleton shadow of the tree stretched across the ground a young village boy stared at the setting sun. He was too young to have seen the tree at it finest but his grandparents had often told him of its wonder and of the story of Frendalex.

His eyes fell upon the tree and he rubbed them but he could still see something. There, sitting on the edge of the Square, were two magnificent golden hares more beautiful than any he had ever seen. It was then he saw they were weeping, their tears dropping from their eyes and onto the soil.

As he looked upon this astonishing sight the hares looked over at him and seemed to nod. Although no words were spoken he somehow knew what they wanted him to do. As the glorious golden hares sprung away the young boy walked over to where they had sat and saw the tiny green shoot.

Bending down he scooped up the still moist soil and carried it and its seed in his cupped hands to the poor farm where he lived with his family. Carefully he placed the soil in the middle of his little garden. 

And here is there story of Frendalex http://spiritofseething.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/the-story-of-frendalex.html

Strange Happening with the W o O

He gathered his officers in the room and pulled the door to. They all stared at the photographs on the board. Some looked away. From somewhere came the sound of retching.

“OK,” he said, “Settle down and let’s go through what we’ve got. She was found, well bits of her were found, on the road leaving the small town.”

There were a few mutterings in the ranks.

“All right, all right, calm down. We’ve not got much to go on and there hasn’t been anything like this in my time so we’re all new to this. So, let’s play it by the book and go through what we have, crime scene first.” He turned to the board. “She was found surrounded by straw, odd bits of scrap metal and the marks on what’s left of her suggest an attack by a massive wild cat.”

“What about the shoe?” asked a young detective.

“I was coming to that,” said the weary DI. “We found one shoe at the scene.” He lifted the plastic evidence bag. Even the cloudy plastic couldn’t hide the brightness of the red reflecting the neon lights above.

“OK, that’s all we’ve got at the moment. We need to find the other shoe and whatever other bits of her we can find so I want you to comb the area working out from the yellow line on the map. You lot,” he turned to younger ones at the side. “Door to door, starting with the little town. We have to find this killer quick.”

As the officers filed out of the door stunned to silence with the horror of what they had seen the DI whispered, “Janks, can you stay behind a minute.”

Janks turned and walked towards the desk, “Yes Sir?”

“I want you to do me a favour, I don’t know, it’s just a hunch, but I think things might just be kicking off. So, can you get one of our technical team to check the structural robustness of all the chimneys in the area.”

“All of them Sir?”

“That's right. Just trust me on this one Sargeant.”

“OK. I’ll get started right away.”

“Good man,” said the DI, as Janks walked through the door and out towards the Tech team’s offices. “Good man,” he said under his breath. Picking up his hat and reaching for his coat he paused to look at one of the photographs. It showed a big green mansion in the distance.

“Right, let’s go and see what Wizard knows about this mess.”

A Christmas Poem

Crack

Shout

Laugh

Two parts

Not halves

One third

Two thirds

Hat

Puzzle

Joke

Crack

Shout

Laugh

Two parts

Not halves

One third

Two thirds

One wish

More drink

Crack

Shout

Slap

Punch

Two hearts

Now halved

One unheard

Two fight

One hurt

"Please help

..... Me"