Wilson's Words

The Norse Legend: Baldur, God of Light dreamed his own death. Odin travels to the Underworld to speak to a long since dead seer called Volva to find out how to stop Baldur’s death. Volva warns him that Baldur will die by the hands of his own brother, Hodur. Odin returns to find that Frigg had asked every living thing not to hurt Baldur in order to prevent his dream coming true. The mistletoe wasn’t asked because it was deemed too unimportant. Loki, the God of Mischief, learned about the forgotten mistletoe and made an arrow out of it. Loki gave the arrow to Hodur, the blind god, Baldur’s twin brother and with the help of Loki guiding his aim, Hodur threw the arrow, hitting Baldur and killing him. Baldur’s soul is taken down to the Underworld.

The Gods:

• Baldur: 17 years old. Had a car crash a few weeks after he passed his driving test involving himself, Hodur, Odin and Loki. Nearly a full year has passed.
• Hodur: Baldur’s twin brother. Is in a wheelchair after severe damage to his lower back paralysing his legs.
• Odin: 18 years old. Boyfriend to Frigg. Survived car crash but lost his left eye after glass and other shrapnel injured him. Now has a fake glass eyeball.
• Frigg: 18 years old, girlfriend to Odin. Motherly over her male friends.
• Loki: 18 years old, was also in car crash. Received several deep cuts to his arms, neck and face that needed many skin grafts to heal properly.

The Chapters:
1. The Dream – Deadly visions.
2. Aftermath Continues – Reflections on impact of the past.
3. The Warning – Message of caution.
4. Evil Thoughts – Private grudges and alternative medication.
5. The Deceit – An accident and betrayal.

1. The Dream

“Can’t we go to the Ida bar instead? They believe me there. This one might suss me out.” Baldur asked nerves vibrating like tiny bells in his voice.
“It’s simple. Show them your ID and walk in.” Odin answered as always surprised by how anxious his friend became when they were committing the smallest of offences.
“It’ll be fine Baldur, just follow us. It’s going to be fun,” Frigg encouraged. “Only if he doesn’t believe you which I doubt will happen. Besides, after next week you both won’t need to lie anymore.” She smiled fondly down towards Hodur as well as Baldur.
“Yeah then you can buy us a drink instead of me.” Odin joked, giving Baldur a grin.
“You’re right. I have done it before. Nothing went wrong then did it? And this is the last time.”
“Now come on, one final time.” Amongst the flash of her golden blonde hair her motherly gaze disappeared to be replaced with a determined and formidable glance towards the one guard standing outside the bar entrance.
“Come on Loki. Let’s see if we can make you into a cheery drunk. Again.” Odin teased taking a few steps forward.
Loki just mumbled in reply, his glare not changing a fraction. He once again tugged the tall neck of his black coat further up so it encircled the lower half of his head and concealed his neck.
The pair of lovers strode towards the guard, flashed their ID cards and waltzed inside, Loki skulked swiftly behind them like an obedient black cloud. Leaving Baldur and his twin hesitating outside the bar.
“Well let’s get going then.” Hodur added impatiently from the wheelchair. “It’ll be easy bro and I can always claim you’re my aid again if you like?”
“It’s easier said than done, each time.” Baldur looked down at the plastic card in his hand, wishing it was the new one due to arrive next week, where the details on it were true like those of his friends. “Ok, here it goes.” He took a deep breath and began pushing the wheelchair towards the entrance and the guard.
But before he even got near the door there came several loud calls from inside, of ‘Sarah’ and ‘Stop!’ which accumulated in two girls rushing out. The first girl out didn’t see or perhaps remember the rail which framed the sloped step of the entrance and went head first over, landing in a heap on the concrete pathway. Her body began to gurgle and writhe, vomit began squirting out of her cut and bleeding mouth. Her breathing was harsh, jagged and irregular. She seemed to be choking and unconscious.
“Shit.” The guard muttered running past the two boys towards the convulsing girl, her friend already standing in tears at the sight, still calling out her name. Once kneeling over Sarah and holding her head off the concrete the guard shouted into his radio on his shoulder, “Carl, code red, front door, we got another one.”
“That poor girl.” Hodur whispered up to Baldur.
“Yeah.” Baldur’s eyes were transfixed on the pitiful sight of another fun night ending in tragedy. “Let’s get in before he notices.”
So the pair of brothers passed the pair of friends, one whose life was quickly fading away into the shadows.

2. Aftermath Continues

“What was that bang?” Baldur stood in his brother’s bedroom doorway, hands on his hips and an extremely concerned gaze, one that Hodur has witnessed many, many times over the past twelve months.
“I’m fine. Just knocked some books over.” Hodur replied honestly, before reaching down from his chair, picking them up and placing them back up against the wall on his desk.
The mirror on the opposite wall showed a curious pair of twins. Baldur on the right had white blonde hair with pale blue eyes but even paler skin. Hodur on the left had the same hair if a bit curly, bright green eyes and healthy pink skin. It seemed odd that the happier and better looking of the pair was the one in the wheelchair. Further signs of the trauma caused by the accident on Baldur both physically and mentally.
“Oh right, do you need help with anything else?”
“No, I can manage thanks.” Hodur looked up at his brother with great affection, aware how Baldur may never fully accept Hodur’s new independence in his wheelchair. Regret and endless sorrow still drove Baldur with the need to repent his brother for the accident by any means necessary, even when help was no longer needed and forgiveness was already granted.
“Oh ok, well, you sure you don’t need anything else? Like a drink or a snack? I can go fetch you it now, I don’t mind.”
“You’re sounding like Mum again.” Hodur added with a weak annoyed tone.
“Ok, ok I’m going. I’m just next door remember?” Baldur gave a timid smile.
“Baldur go! Don’t make me run you over!” he made a short gimmicky charge forwards in his wheelchair.
At that Baldur’s face fell blank. “I am sorry.” He quickly vanished back into his bedroom in turmoil once more.
“Ugh stupid, stupid, stupid boy.” Hodur cursed himself slapping his forehead for being so insensitive. He sat for a few seconds in silence staring at his now vacant doorway, pondering on whether to go in and talk to his brother. Yet when reflecting on past similar conversations on this thorny subject Hodur realised that Baldur has to learn by himself that he is forgiven and no debt needs paying without Hodur having to tell him over and over again.
Hodur pushed himself forward, closed the door quietly and turned around again heading for his desk. He couldn’t help but pause when his eyes caught onto the photo frame beside his computer. It was of him and Baldur, Odin, Frigg and even Loki included, all smiling, laughing and cheering, drink glasses raised high in the air, celebrating the twins seventeenth birthday.
It was only a year ago but so much had changed since then that it felt like ten years. A void of space, a period of time where everything was different to what all of them expected or even wished to have happened that year. No one then realised how much a simply drive could change their lives.
Returning to his computer screen he signed into his MSN. The box opened up showing his twenty four long list of friends.
Loopy Loki is offline.
Odin-the-wise is online.
Frigg-loves-chocolate is offline.
Seeking someone to talk to Hodur opened up a conversation window with ‘Odin The Wise’.
Boy on Wheels says:
Yo Odin
Odin The Wise says:
Hey Hodur, hows things?
Boy on Wheels says:
Same old same old. Managed to upset bro tonight. I think he may need to see a councillor again. He’s still not moving on.
Odin The Wise says:
Sad to hear that mate. He always seems happy when he’s out with us.
Boy on Wheels says:
Yeah I know, he seems ok but I just don’t know if he will ever recover from it.
Odin The Wise says:
Sounds a bit like someone else we know but at least he’s not going down the wrong road to recovery.
Boy on Wheels says:
Why? What’s up with Loki now? He hasn’t left another councillor has he?
Odin The Wise says:
Hell no thank god. He’s managed to stick with this one for at least a month. It’s something else he’s done. One of my mates reckons he saw Loki hanging out with some known drug dealers last week.
Boy on Wheels says:
Shit, drugs is not the way to deal with his problems.
Odin The Wise says:
I know try tellin him that. I asked him out right whether he had taken any, he said some but only once and he won’t do it again. Just says he’s mates with that lot cos they go to the same mosh parties.
Boy on Wheels says:
Do you believe him?
Odin The Wise says:
Kind of, I know they do go these mosh night things so it does make sense but I can’t honestly say whether he is remaining clean or not. I made him swear to remain with his current councillor at least though.
Boy on Wheels says:
Well at least some good will be happening for him if he keeps seeing this dude.
Odin the Wise says:
Well he isn’t openin up to me so I’m glad he’s opening up to someone else. Anyhow tell that brother of yours, from me, that he better buck up cos I’m not having him cry on your birthday. Frigg says she won’t have it either. He’s gonna be happy, preferably drunk and looking ahead not back.
Boy on Wheels says:
I will do, I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. And getting drunk will definitely liven him up a bit. Bring a few packs over before we go out and he’ll be laughing all night long, maybe even get him on the karaoke if he’s excited enough LOL.
Odin The Wise says:
Great! That’s Wednesday night sorted for entertainment. The Ida Bar has karaoke on so we’ll go there.
Boy on Wheels says:
Brilliant. Well I best get on with this history essay, I’ll text ya later. Say hi and bye to Frigg for me. I’ll pass on the message to bro.
Odin The Wise says:
Alrite mate, speak to u later. Frigg says hi and bye back LOL cya
Hodur signed off and closed down the MSN window, a big smirk on his face as he looked forward to his and Baldur’s eighteenth birthday with an even bigger sense of delight.

3. The Warning

Odin signed onto his college email after his conversation ended, eager to find out if anything exciting has happened on his Facebook profile. Instead he found this:

*Student Notices* An important message for all 18 year old students:
To: All Users
From: College Dean [j.norton@york.college.uk]
I have received a very worrying letter from our resident Police Officer, PC Volva here at the college, with regards to drink spiking in local bars, pubs and clubs in the area. Over the past few months there has a been troubling increase in the cases of young people admitted to the local hospital after having their drinks spiked with drugs as well as extra alcohol which can cause serious damage to the drinkers health and in a few unfortunate situations has resulted in tragic deaths.
PC Volva strongly recommends that when drinking from bottles using ‘Spikeys’ which is placed in the neck of the bottle still allowing space for the straw and liquid to pass through but also makes it difficult for drugs to be added to drinks. ‘Spikeys’ can be found at all pubs and bars in the area so please do ask for one next time you order a drink. As for open top drinks such as beer or wine glasses it is simply a matter of constant observation and keeping it close on your person or with friends you can trust. Any one in a busy bar or club could be carrying drugs and lacing drinks, even those who may be ‘chatting you up’ which could lead to date rape etc. Trust no one but those you know personally well.
The rule is simple “Drink and Drugs do not mix. So protect yourself, protect your drink.”

4. Evil Thoughts

‘Slipknot’ was yelling, screaming and swearing loudly through his speakers as he continued to doodle curvy and dagger like images upon paper in red and black ink. His black hair now past ear length swinging in front of his face, appearing almost like horns from his point of view with his head looming above his drawing. His nokia let out an evil laugh. He stopped, put both pens down and looked at its small, dull screen.
New Message: Kat
He selected the ‘read’ option.
From: Kat
Hey Loki wanna come out 2moro nite. Dave knows a mosh bash happening. Interested?
He began typing his reply, his black painted nails seeming like blunted claws.
Cant. Baldurs and Hodurs bday 2moro nite.
Within a few seconds he had a response.
From: Kat
Aw come on plz! You cant miss it. Say your ill or sumthin. We all miss ya. You dont like him anyway
He picked up his mobile and clambered onto his bed.
The others are expectin me to be there. Can’t bale out.
The mobile laughed again in his hands.
From: Kat
We aint seen ya in ages Loki. Fritz even has some more smack for ya.
The mention made him glance over at his gothic calendar. The Friday of that week was circled in red with the word ‘councillor session’ scribbled over it. Then to the biscuit tin on top of his bookcase which he remembered was empty.
I need em before Fridays session with ‘Mr. sensitive’ otherwise mum will make me see psychologist again. Could you like give em to me before you go to the bash?
Her reply was a bit longer coming.
From: Kat
I can’t but Holly can. I gotta be with Dan. Get to meet band ya see. Which bar will ya all be at? Wat time?
He retraced his message inbox back to earlier that afternoon when he had a text from Odin with the birthday night out details on.
We’re at the Ida Bar, from around 8ish. I’ll be there before. Odin still thinks I’m clean. I’ll probly need em just to get through the night with Baldur around anyway.
The photos around his room had familiar faces of the gang, but the odd few that were taken since the last summer had two face shaped holes cut into the photograph. Only Frigg, Hodur and Odin were recognisable.
From: Kat
Cool. I’ll arrange for Holly to drop the stuff off too ya. Shame ya can’t make it. Will I see ya on the weekend?
He sighed to himself already recalling the wave of numbing calmness that sweeps through his body each time he takes a dose of Heroin. It seemed to be the only pain killer which got him through the day.
Yeah I’ll be there. Thank Fritz for the smack. Tell him I’ll pay him on Saturday. See ya soon Loki.
Leaving his mobile on his bed he returned to his desk, carefully removing the red and black pens once more and continued with his sinister looking drawing.

5. The Deceit

Loki once again clung to the bar as if it was his only point of reference and allowed his long dark hair to leave only one eye and half of his nose showing above his up turned collar. He received a few curious looks from the barmen regarding his black disguise but he was beyond caring or even explaining why. He daren’t even look up to the mirrored drinks shelves. Just the thought made his whole body tense and his innards cringe. He hadn’t looked at a mirror since he had had his final skin graft to his face and neck. The glaring red cuts on his face and neck still scarred his mind like the glare of a light bulb when focused on. He bowed his head over his drink, about to take his alternative medication to numb his body and release his mind from the chaos that churned within. Just one small sniff from the powder concealed in his tissue would be all that it takes to make the crowds, the noise and the ever curious gaze upon him bearable. Not forgetting the presence of the one who had reduced him to such a low level.
“Hey stranger, what you still doing over here?”
The happy voice made him jump and insides squirm, his fingers fumbled in slight panic dropping the powder into his drink from the tissue, he watched it begin to dissolve amongst the swirl of alcohol and ice cubes. Inside his mind he cursed as fifty quids worth became wasted. He turned round and found the happy face of Hodur looking up at him.
“Nothing.” Loki answered, a hint of annoyance escaping in his tone.
“Oh right, well Baldur’s decided to have a proper drink now even though he’s already had a couple too many. He told me just to bring him back a surprise. What are you having?”
“Archers peach schnapps.”
“Sounds nice, I’ll get that for him then. I don’t think he’s had it before.”
There was another awkward long silence between the pair as Baldur’s drink was served and paid for.
“Put them both on my lap with that tray then I’ll carry them over to the table. Come on. Odin won’t sing happy birthday without you.”
Loki hesitated for a split second as he placed his glass beside Baldur’s on the tray, noticing the lack of difference between them, before placing it on Hodur’s lap. They both made their way through the crowds to the small table at the back where Frigg, Odin and Baldur were gathered.
“There you are Loki, what kept you?” Odin asked his voice raised over the noise.
“The bar was busy.” Was his simple answer.
Loki allowed Baldur to take one of the two glasses on the tray before claiming the other. His eyes glancing from one to the other. He didn’t drink his own, simply held it in his hands like a precious vase.
“What have you got for me then Hodur?” Baldur asked curiously inspecting his drink with a smirk. “Not a full glass of vodka is it? I’ve already had six shots worth.” He grinned dopily at them all.
“No, it’s Archers Peach Schnapps.”
Baldur took a swig of it into his mouth. “Mmmm not bad. Good choice bro.”
“Well now we’re all together we can finally raise a toast to Hodur and Baldur. Get your drinks ready.” All raised their glasses and bottles high. “Happy eighteenth birthday Hodur and Baldur! Welcome to adulthood!”
“Happy birthday boys.” Frigg chorused brightly.
“Happy birthday.” Was Loki’s contribution without any hint of feeling behind it.
“Cheers guys.”
“And thanks for the presents they were great.” Hodur added with a grateful nod to each in turn, even to Loki whom simply stared into his own glass as if he was able to see through it into the depths of the earth and learn how the universe was made.
Then with a chink of their glasses they all began to drink. Loki didn’t claiming to be no longer thirsty.

***
“Baldur? You alright mate?” Odin asked supporting his friend who was tripping over his own feet in a very feeble attempt to walk forwards.
“I feel dizzy.” Baldur’s whole figure was visibly shaking as he clung to the wall outside at the back of the bar’s building.
“Maybe all that drink’s gone to your head.” Odin tried to make light of the situation.
“He would be very drunk but he shouldn’t be this unsteady on his feet. Look how much his hands are shaking, vodka, cider and schnapps shouldn’t make you shake like that.” Frigg commented seriously standing beside them.
“Who got his drink?” Odin demanded attempting to keep Baldur standing up right with his back against the wall to prevent him falling over.
“Hodur did.” Loki answered simple and to the point. No sign of pity or sympathy for Baldur whose breathing was becoming louder and harsher as if breathing through a metal gauze in his throat.
“I did but I did nothing to it, how could I have done? I can’t reach the bar. Loki passed it down on a tray to me to bring over.” Hodur protested feeling accused.
“Right, did you see anyone put anything in it Loki?”
“Do you think he’s been spiked?” Frigg asked panicking at Odin’s track of thought.
“Perhaps, it’s the only explanation and his eyes are quite dilated. Either way he isn’t very well. He needs a doctor.”
“I’ll go get some help.” Loki spoke before briskly walking back round the corner towards the bar entrance.
“Just sit down Baldur, that’s it and try to calm down. ” Odin kneeled beside his best friend. “Just take deep breaths. That’s it.”
“You’ll be alright soon bro don’t worry.” Hodur added trying to be as much comfort as possible. “He will won’t he Frigg?”
“I’m sure he will be once we have help.” She looked at her watch.
Five minutes passed and Baldur was beginning to wretch violently, fluid came up in squirts and gushes.
“What is Loki doing?” Frigg snapped striding around the corner and stopped still. “That guard’s still there! What the hell is Loki playing at?” she complained out loud receiving only more anxious glances from the others. “Oy! Bouncer! We need some help over here!”
“Baldur!” Hodur yelled making her turn.
“Mate! Come on wake up, don’t go to sleep. Open your eyes.”
Frigg glanced over and saw Baldur slumped on the floor, his breathing still rapid and loud and his eyes fluttering under his eyelids. Odin knelt over him, giving him a shake and tapping his face but getting only quiet mumbles in response. Baldur was still vomiting but with his eyes closed and clearly no more conscious sense within him, his body was struggling to cough it up properly.
“I tell you I don’t deal with the drunks…not again.” The guard cursed charging forward and lifting Baldur’s head onto his lap before grasping his radio once more. “Greg, code red, a lad’s been spiked, left from the door. Hurry.” He looked up at the three troubled friends. “One of you should call his parents. They’ll need to meet us at the hospital.”
“What? Why? He’s going to be ok right? He’s going to be ok?” Hodur pleaded. “It’s alright Hodur, I’ll make the call.” Frigg wiped back her tears, her mouth trembling fighting to control her emotions at the sight and went away to make the worst phone call of her life.
“Ugh where the hell is Loki! I’m going to kill the little git!” Odin yelled into the night hoping the traitor heard him. But his anger vanished as Baldur’s breathing got scarcer and the mechanical wail of ambulance sirens approached through the darkening shadows.

Funeral Note
Dearest brother,
Nothing is the same. You didn’t deserve to go the way you did. We all love you. We all miss you. Be at peace wherever you are. We will meet again, I know it. Your brother in this life and the next. Hodur.
God bless you sweetie, miss you always. Xxx Frigg xxX
You were the best mate I could ever have. Will miss ya always. Odin

Just as the programme on the modern family paused for the regular channel four commercial breaks, there came a loud thud from upstairs.
“What has he done now?” Mum sighed.
“Fallen over by the sounds of it.” Becky answered not the least bit bothered about her awful pun on words. Even though she was studying a degree in the English Language with a nice helping of creative writing on the side which she preferred.
“Go and see if he’s made it back into bed Becks but don’t help him, he doesn’t deserve it.”
She couldn’t disagree with that. Dad was fulfilling the exact opposite of the dictionary meaning of ‘Dad’ and he wasn’t doing anything to change it. So she went upstairs and approached Dad’s bedroom. Although it was more like a hermit’s hovel from the state of his bed, the extremely well worn condition of his clothes not to mention the smell of decay marking his presence firmly in the household.
“Dad?” she asked the darkness shifting sluggishly behind the door.
“Ugh, yeah?” It replied with a grumble.
“You ok?”
“Yeah.” He lied as he always did. Becky knew this and so slowly pushed the door open, wary that he might have easily fallen behind it and didn’t want to make the situation any worse than it already was. As she stepped into the room one hand went for the light switch but with the landing light on behind her, it revealed a thin wrinkly arm stretching out across the far side of the bed as if it was a cliff edge. She turned the light on anyway.
“Turn the damned thing off!” he cried as a balding head with hair as fine as cobwebs emerged in her sight.
“Well how can you tell what you’re doing in the dark?” she complained.
“I know what I’m doing.” Another blatantly obvious lie. He’s been lying so often he doesn’t bother trying to make it sound anything like the truth.
“No you don’t, you haven’t done for the past three years.” Becky turned it off and walked over to him, her eyes already scanning for any sign of blood splattered on bed, carpet or the walls. But she knew that the worst bodily damage has already been done and is still continuing. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Did you fall out of bed?”
“Yes.”
“Do you need help?”
Dad didn’t answer that, he just grumbled some more as he fought hard against himself to sit upright whilst kneeling down, with limited success.
“I think you do Dad, serious medical help. Come here, lean back on me.” Becky fell victim again to the small knot of pity in her heart despite the overwhelming sensation of shame and repulsion thus ignoring her Mum’s suggestion to not help him.
The darkness of his room couldn’t hide the sorry condition of him. He was sixty-three yet if you met him randomly in a street you would say he was in his nineties. His skin is as pale as milk a visible sign of his fading health. His legs are unsteady as a newborn child’s but as stiff as metal joints that hadn’t been moved or oiled in a hundred years and had been overcome with rust. His entire body was decaying like wood rotting on a sunny day and seeing him in this situation, again, convinced Becky that the largest muscle mass left in his body was his brain but even that was showing signs of breaking down.
Despite all this though he still managed to make Becky brace the windowsill to secure herself as he literally fell with his back against her legs.
“Now, we need to turn you around so we can haul you back into bed.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to do but the damned cover keeps moving.”
“Well of course it will Dad, it’s not like attached to the bed is it by nails or anything. Right, I’m gonna try turning you round so I need you lift up a bit on your legs so they will turn. Ok?” Becky did try her best but his legs were acting like they were glued to the floor so not matter how much she spun and twisted the top half of his body his legs remained in the same position.
“You see, this is why you need to be in an old people’s home, at least there a big machine can lift you into bed and not me.” She muttered exasperated now realising she may miss the rest of the programme.
“Ok, can you shuffle forwards at all? We’ll see if you can grab hold of the top of the bed.”
“I can try.” He said as it was the most difficult thing to do in the world although to him it actually was, this fact was more than apparent to Becky.
Dad did try to help himself although most of it was him just falling onto his hands and then Becky pushing him from behind that extra couple of feet on the floor. By the time she had got him in the best position possible Dad was out of breath.
“Right, I’m gonna lift you up by the waist and I need you to reach out for the top of the bed please because I won’t be able to hold you up for long, you’re too heavy.”
“Ok.” He gave a weary sigh, swallowing in preparation for more exertion.
“Ready, go.” She grabbed him around the waist and lifted with all her might. Dad’s hands scuttled across the bed like drunken spiders until finally coming to a halt around the bed edge behind his pillows.
“Have you got it?”
“Yeah.”
“Ok, now pull yourself up whilst I lift your legs round onto the bed.” As soon as she knelt down to do such a thing she regretted it because from her location she could see how thin he truly was. His legs and arms and waist were probably thinner than she was and she was an underweight twenty one year old.
So whilst Dad hauled himself up like a merman with no legs, Becky lifted one after the other and swung it up and over to join the rest of his body which was now roughly on the bed.
“Right, you’re back up. Now please don’t fall out bed again because I really hate doing this Dad.” She admitted for the fourth time in as many months whilst tossing the duvet back over his body. From where she stood he appeared to be what it would look like if humans were born old and not small or young. They would be frail, weak, thin, wrinkly, grey hair and have limited muscle.
“If this doesn’t show you how much trouble you’re in then I don’t know what will. You’ve lost your licence, you may never work again but no one deserves a Dad in the state you’re in.”
“I know, I know.” He muttered sighing with relief now his body was stationary.
“I don’t think you do Dad, I would have thought loosing your licence would be enough to make you sort yourself out but you haven’t. You’re still like this yet you’re not prepared to keep trying. The way you’re going you will not be around to see my graduate let alone get married. Do you honestly want that?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Well please for god’s sake do something about it then Dad. I know it will be tough for you but you have so much to gain from it all afterwards.”
“I would if you Mother would stop yapping at me, it’s all I ever hear from her, not a single word of support.”
“Oh Dad, that’s not true. She nags in the hope of convincing you to change, to take action. And we would all show you support if you did something for us to support you on. We won’t praise you each time you carry on this road. Wouldn’t you pester Mum if she was in this position?”
He didn’t answer, he never did. Something always prevented him from facing the truth be it good or bad.
“You may have lost all hope for your relationship with Mum but you still have a job on this earth as a Father so start acting like one, please? I hate coming home because it means I have to see you like this. I would rather you went far away so I could remember the Dad who was happy and healthy, not the Dad I have now. It’s why I don’t come home as often as I should do and when I do it’s usually for Mum’s benefit more than yours.” She had made her way to the door by this point in her yet again futile plea for repentance in her Dad’s ways.
“Goodnight Dad.”
“Goodnight Rebecca and thank you.”
“Your welcome, just don’t make me save you again. I’m your daughter not your nurse.”
With that she went back downstairs to quiz Mum on what she had missed of the programme giving no explanation as to her prolonged absence because none was needed. Mum knew that her daughter was too kind for her own good and that was shown because it was usually Becky that tried to aid her failing Father. Everyone else who knew about his problem has lost hope he will ever try, let alone, recover at all.

Upstairs in the safety of the dark oblivion in his room an old man lay in his bed now reflecting on all that had happened during his day.
First he had made the unsteady walk to the village bus stop to buy his supplies of tobacco and wine.
Second he had nearly fallen over whilst in the Morrison’s supermarket but thankfully managed to stabilize himself ironically on the wine and spirits shelving unit. A concerned staff member did ask him if he needed help or wanted to sit down but he shrugged them away saying he was fine and hinting to the walking stick he now begrudgingly had to use for this very reason.
When he finally managed to get home he had found one of the two golden Labrador pups, Bailey in particular, had torn apart their new blankets leaving bits of thread all over the stairs which forced him into kneeling down to pick it up. Not doing his back problem any good at all he added to himself.
Yet people would always blame it on the drink he thought. It was never the drink to Richard. It was the fact that he had rheumatoid arthritis in his shoulders, bad wear on his hip joints and simply a very dodgy back that meant he couldn’t walk straight. That’s the truth, in his mind.
Despite the fact that somewhere, deep inside his heart, trapped in a cage the small voice of his conscience whispered ‘the doctor said it’s the drink ninety-nine per cent of the time that makes you unstable’.
Just recalling all the memories of the harsh, angry, tearful and desperate comments said about him both in front of his face and behind his back stirred up the craving again. It smothered his anxious mind with the fake belief that everything was fine, he was fine and that a drink would make him feel a whole lot better. He allowed that false feeling to overpower all his senses and emotions. Letting it once more choke the voice of his conscience as it pleaded for the millionth time for him not to make the same mistake again. When the craving had wrapped around his mentality like a snake it then took over his physical body and sub-consciously guided his hand to the whisky bottle hidden under a pile of clothes beside his bed.
Cradling the bottle in his hand, like it was a vase on the antiques road show with an estimated value of a million pounds, he ever so carefully and slowly twisted the top off and stiffly put it to his mouth and drank. The poisonous liquid running down his throat gave him a temporary sense of feeling alive, like he hadn’t drunken for days and this was his first drink. That tingling sensation only helped to make him want to taste more, to feel more and the deceitful snake of alcohol laughed silently as it ever so slowly hissed his mind to an always troubled sleep. It slithered back to the now blackened depths of Richard’s heart content with having seduced its host to the forbidden liquid which made its power stronger. A power that very few could ever truly escape from until it was too late to go back.

About a hundred miles away in West Yorkshire, in a small flat, Becky and her boyfriend Andy sat down to watch ‘The Simpson’s’ as they usually do most week nights. It was during a scene of Homer sitting down before his TV with a bottle of ‘Buff beer’ in his hands that her mobile let out its cheery ring tone.
Becky got up and picked it up off the ironing board and pressed the button to accept the call already noticing the word ‘Home’ flashing on her screen.
“Hello?”
“Hello darling.”
“Oh hi Mum, you ok?” She asked, a bit surprised her Mum was calling her for once. It was usually the other way around. Becky walked away into the study room and sat at her desk so she could hear better over the sound of the TV.
“Yes I’m fine darling, just doing everything at once as always. Managed to start cutting the lawn this afternoon.”
“Oh Mum, can’t Nick do it for once?”
“Oh no, he’s just like your father. Won’t move a muscle for anyone but himself yet its muggin’s here who drives him to all his mates each weekend.”
“Well just tell him you won’t do anymore for him unless he does something for you?”
“Ha fat chance of that getting him up.”
“Well maybe once he has a job he’ll start pulling his weight a bit more.”
“Perhaps but it’s just the problem of finding a job.”
“Something’s got to turn up sooner or later.”
“Let’s hope so. Oh by the way your father is in hospital.”
“Oh why?” What confused Becky more is that Mum didn’t mention it until now.
“Well he’s spent most of the last three days in bed during the afternoon and been complaining of the trots. I haven’t seen him recently after work so before I left this morning I went to check up on him. Couldn’t wake him up, he just kept mumbling nonsense so I called a doctor round and she then called for an ambulance. Suspected he might be bleeding internally somewhere.”
“Is he awake now?”
“Oh yes, he woke up steadily once we got to York. Only then did he start swearing and cursing at me for causing all this. Right in front of John so now at least he knows what I have to put up with.”
“Well Uncle John has never been much help anyway. And typical of Dad to get all abusive when you may have just saved his life. I’ve always thought this might happen, where he might drink himself into a coma or worse.”
“Yes I know sweet heart. Perhaps this will wake him up a bit more to what he’s doing to himself.”
“Let’s hope so. How long will he be staying in there?”
“Probably for a week, they need to run some tests to find out if and where he was bleeding plus they’re not letting him leave until he’s put some weight back on.”
“Good, I guess we could view this as an emergency detox.”
“Well it will be for him that’s for sure. It will be interesting to see what he does when he comes out though.”
“Do let me know won’t you because I won’t come visit him unless he does something to change, even if it’s just speaking to a councillor again. It is such a shame he won’t talk to Doug anymore I thought he was making progress there.”
“Well he never did visit your father when he was out of detox last time so if that’s the kind of support he gives his clients then your father may be better off without him.”
“I guess but Dad needs help of any kind at the moment.”
“Yes maybe this will make him understand that his body can’t take it anymore. Anyway I can hear the dogs barking outside so I better go.”
“Ok Mum, thanks for letting me know and contact me if anything else happens.”
“Will do darling. Will speak to you tomorrow.”
“Yeah will do. Love you Mum.”
“Love you too Becky. Speak soon. Bye.”
With that the line was cut leaving Becky with a small knot of worry tightening in her stomach. Her mind was already playing scenarios before her of what it might be like to get the call telling her he had died. She quickly closed her eyes and shook away such morbid thoughts. Shocked at how dark and gloomy her imagination could be at times and cursing herself for possibly tempting fate. The truth was that although Dad never acted like a nice Dad, he was still her Dad and despite all he has done she didn’t want to loose him.

“Hello Mummy.” Becky smiled sliding into the car with her rucksack on her knees.
“Hello darling. How was the trip?”
“Cramped as always. What’s for tea?”
“Sausages and mash, how’s that sound?”
“Yummy! Haven’t had sausages in months. How’s Dad been?”
“Not too bad actually, still grumpy as usual but he actually cooked some mince for us last night for tea.”
“Wow that’s a first.”
“Yeah I know.”
“Do you think he’s honestly been off the drink?”
“I can’t say. I’d like to believe he has been, he certainly seems happier than usual.”
“Well that’s a start at least.”
A small glimmer of hope started to sprout weak buds in her heart at the thought of a reformed Dad.

When they finally arrived at home Becky of course was mobbed by two very energetic and excited puppies, Gem and Bailey, who kept jumping up at her and licking her face. Took them at least five minutes to get the message that paws on body weren’t welcome but Becky didn’t mind. She missed her ‘fur balls’ as she fondly called them and gave each vigorous belly rubs and cuddles plus all the silly baby talk over them. Eventually once the dogs were outside chasing each other Becky walked over into the sitting room where as always Dad was sat in his set chair before the TV.
“Hello Dad.” She said noticing with a smile the little bit of colours now in his cheeks.
“Hello darling. Welcome home.” He announced stiffly getting up from his chair.
“Well this is a surprise. First time you got up for me in a while.”
“Oh shush and give your father a hug. I’ve missed you.” The pair hugged and for the first time in a very long time Becky genuinely hugged back. There was a certain sparkle in his eye and a lightness in both his mood and voice, despite how thin and weak he still was, the essence of his former self seemed to have returned. It made Becky feel like she truly had returned home.
“I’ve missed you too Dad. I’m glad to hear you’re finally changing.”
“Yes and I’m trying my best. It’s hard but I am trying.” He replied settling back down against his large bent over cushions. Becky walked around his coffee table and sat beside him on the sofa.
“I’m sure you are Dad and that’s all we’ve ever asked of you. Just to try and keep trying.” Both looked at each other and smiles of fondness shone between them. “I was worried about you when Mum told me what had happened. Did the doctor find what happened to you?”
“Ah I just drank too much, simple as that.”
“I’ve always worried about this happening Dad.”
“I know darling but I promise it won’t happen again.”
“I hope so. How long has it been now?”
“About five days although it’ been two weeks if you count when I went into hospital.”
“Good and how have you found it?”
“Erm, not too bad, I have my weak moments but I get through them.” A hiss came from the now caged addiction in his heart.
She cast a glance around and noticed a familiar looking book on the table. “I see you’re finally getting into reading again.”
“Oh yes, well I needed something to do whilst I was in hospital didn’t I?”
Thus began the slow rebirth of a once broken relationship between father and daughter. Now that change was occurring, Becky hoped and wished with all her heart that this time things could only get better. Perhaps her family may gain the happy ending they all deserve.

Countless human sausages
all lined up in rows
Smothered in sun cream
from their heads to their toes.

All stubbornly guarding
their loungers and deck chairs
Eager for the sun to fry them
whilst they forget about their cares.

Some prefer to simmer in the waters,
being tossed by the waves
Children and adults splish and splosh
until food they start to crave.

A mini army of ice-cream trucks, vans and stalls
stand at the beach top.
Besieged by dry mouths and eager hands,
all wanting that red lollipop.

The beach is being moved around
in all those buckets and spades.
Sandcastle rise and fall,
none will last these summer days.

Boats and dinghies, pedal cruisers and surf boards
litter the inner seashore.
Seagulls harass the chip shops,
swooping and grabbing with their ruckus caw.

Starfish, crabs and limpets are attacked
by curious fingers and probing sticks.
Teenagers whether bored or stupid
‘tomb stone’ for worthless kicks.

Only when the heat has passed
and rain returns does this circus go.
Giving the beach back to the sea
ending Nature’s seaside woe.

Summer is sunny days, sunburnt skin and sizzling barbeques.

Utterly clear blue skies, umbrella used for shade not rain and ultra violet rays.

Millions of people mowing the lawn, money spent at summer sales and mingling on beaches.

Men buy sunglasses and women buy hats, melting ice-cream over hands, fingers and faces and meals eaten outside on a cool evening.

Excitable children splashing into the sea, energetic families go to centre parks and expenses are paid for those day time events that keep the children busy.

River trips upon the canal in a longboat, relaxing by pool or in the garden and rest in general to help keep you smiling through the damp and windy months ahead.

Beneath this golden sand lies buried treasure left by pirates.
That is if you don’t count Dad once you’ve buried him up to his neck.

Deep in this pool is a giant octopus that guards a giant pearl.
Beware the crab as they can snap your fingers or toes off.

Somewhere along the large rocks of the shore,
Mermaids frolic, playing with the dolphins.

On a stormy night great Neptune can be seen riding his chariot.
His arms stretched out holding his pronged sceptre commanding the seas.

Trapped within the white cliffs are dinosaur bones and even whole eggs!
Take one home, keep it warm and you can hatch a baby T-rex before tea.

At the top of the beach is King Arthur’s castle. Many buckets high.
It has four flags flying at its four towers and a water filled moat to guard it.

All of this and much more can be seen.
You must only seek the seaside of your childhood dreams.

Petals of white and blue
Form clusters of colour.
Golden hue insects buzz and hum
From one pot to another.

Blackbirds forage for grubs, ants
And worms beneath the topiary.
Finches in mixed tones
Twit and chat amongst its greenery.

Fern slumbers below the crab apple tree.
Her paws twitch in the rush of dreams.
Her fur shines like jet fresh from the sea.
Her tongue is lolling across her teeth.

Blossom from the cherry tree has decorated
The grass by the artistic wind.
From the nearby field I can hear
The pheasant call and a starling sing.

Sitting still and quiet, admiring all
I wonder on such pleasant day as this
How much longer will it stay?
If only summer wasn’t as fleeting as a kiss.

The shimmering shade
And shafts of sunlight
Slide across bark and grass.

Bluebells bob and bounce
As the wind blows
Beneath bough and branch.

Twitters and chatters chime
Together from the canopy
Of trees converging on the sky.

Short yips and yaps herald
The playful circus
Of the fox cubs discovering the outside.

Watching with a smile
And bursts of fond laughter
You sit in this peaceful bliss.

Your watch reminds you
Of the spinning world.
For once you wish
If it could just stop
And leave this summer as it is.

From the counter Sarah could survey The Coffee Pot café. Now that the lunch time rush had finished only people who enjoyed their afternoon tea came in. Either side of the door the three lattice-framed windows let in the early summer sunshine. Watching the odd dust mote float in its golden rays caused her to wonder about her daughter and whether she had enjoyed her break time that day, playing in such wonderful light. Sarah heard a sweet giggle from across the room and noticed how a young mother was playing the food train game with her toddler, who waved her hands in the air excitedly. Both were smiling. How long ago it was that I did that, Sarah thought, memories of years past replayed before her eyes in the beams of light cast on the empty tables.
Sarah checked her watch, it was ten to three. Making sure that no customers needed her immediate attention she popped her head around the kitchen door. There was Rachel busy scouring pans, utensils and baking trays in the giant sink, Johnny was stripping away the used baking parchment and putting it in the rubbish bags as well as wiping the surfaces. The kitchen was closing for the day. Her husband was wrapping up the day’s cooking in cling film and putting it in the two large fridges at the back.
“Michael, it’s ten to three,” she called to him from the door.
The man with mousy brown hair and sea blue eyes turned to face her with a tender smile. “Right you are, my love. I’ll just change and then I’ll go and pick up Amy.”
“She should have received a report from Mrs Norris today so double check she has it.”
“Will do,” he replied ripping off his apron at the neck by the Velcro tabs.
“Bye, Mike.”
“See ya tomorrow, Mike,” chorused Rachel and Johnny.
“Bye, guys, good work today,” Michael hung his apron on the side wall, put on his coat and headed towards the door. “I’ll see you at home, love. I’m making spag bol for tea,” he briefly explained as he met his wife at the counter. He did a quick mental count of the few small groups of customers whilst his hand sightlessly sought the car keys in a drawer beneath the till.
“Okay. Drive safely. I should be done by five so I’ll wait for you outside.” Sarah kissed him goodbye and watched him leave the café for the school run.
***
After the family managed to fill themselves on Michael’s delicious spaghetti Bolognese each took to their regular activities. Michael took care of the washing up, Amy went to her room to finish homework and Sarah took to the accounts of the day as well as organising future stock orders.
Michael remembered he hadn’t got Amy’s final primary school report and so he went upstairs to retrieve it. He met her pink flower and blue star decorated bedroom door and gave a gentle tap.
“Mum?”
“No, darling, it’s your Dad.”
“Oh.” Even from behind the door she sounded disappointed. “What is it Dad?”
“Erm, do you want reason one, two or three?” Michael replied playfully.
“Ugh, come on in then.” There before him sat Amy at her desk, hunched over a paper booklet full of questions and images; her pencil was already being chewed upon.
“So, how’s it going?”
“Okay. Just maths homework.”
“Good, no problems then?”
“Just a few with division but I managed to work it out.”
“Good girl. Now, your Mum says you should have a report from Mrs Norris?”
“Oh yeah, it’s in my bag.” Amy put her pencil down and went to her bag behind her bedside and pulled out a yellow sheet of paper. “Here it is,” handing it to her Dad.
“Thank you, your Mum and I will look over this tonight. So…are you looking forward to big school?” he asked sitting on the end of her bed.
“I guess so.”
“That didn’t sound very convincing Amy. You want to tell me anything?”
Amy looked up, worry in her eyes. “It’s just…well, I hardly ever see Mum any more. I know I see her at tea and in the mornings but…she hasn’t even taken me shopping for my new uniform yet and…well, it was you who took me for the open day not her. It’s always you taking me down to Brownies. Mum’s always busy.”
Michael felt a sense of relief not to hear the word bullying. “Oh, darling, come here, let me explain something to you.” He opened his arms and lifted her gently up onto his knees. “Listen, Amy, you know Mum and I run the café, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Well it’s actually quite complicated to run, it’s not just about making food and selling it to customers. We have to control money, stock orders, calculate everyone’s wages at the end of each week, ring people up about orders and all sorts. The café can’t work unless either I or your Mum does the more complicated stuff. Also your Mum can do it a lot better than I can. As for the open day you know your Mum wanted to come with you, she really did. But Diane, fell ill at the last minute so your Mum had no choice. It was an unfortunate one off. If she didn’t go in, the café wouldn’t open and that café is what earns the pennies to pay for all your pretty clothes and things.” Michael paused, rethinking his discussion plan. “Look, I’ll have a word with your Mum and see if she can at least pick you up from Brownies each week, hey? And I will remind her about taking you shopping for your new school uniform. Would you like that?”
“Yeah, thanks Dad.” Amy gave him a big rewarding hug.
“Just remember, darling, that your Mum and Dad do love you, very much, even when we’re not around.”
***
Later on, when Amy was in bed, Michael rejoined Sarah in the kitchen.
“How’s it going, love?”
“Erm, do you want the good news or the bad news?”
“Good news.”
“Well, we’ve made a slight increase on our income since last month.”
“Okay, and the bad news?”
“With the rising cost of eggs, flour, milk and so forth it just about manages to cover the cost of our next order. I think we may have to consider raising our service price next month if we’re going to cover costs of ingredients. I haven’t even considered our energy bills in all this yet until I receive them through the post.”
“Okay, so what does this mean in the long term?”
“Well, we either raise service prices, lower wages or simply become unable to make enough food each week to cater for the numbers we serve.”
“Sounds to me like we need an extra small income to cover the costs you’re talking about.”
“I can’t think of what other services we could offer. We don’t have enough staff to operate a delivery service let alone a spare car and that would bring in fuel costs which have already gone up.”
“Don’t worry love, we’ll think of something.” Michael laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Oh, by the way, would you mind picking up Amy from Brownies tomorrow night? It’s just, you’re starting to spend more time with these figures than her and she’s feeling a bit neglected.”
Sarah gave a weary sigh, resting her head in her hands. “I know, I know, but someone has to do them otherwise nothing works. But you’re right; I’ll try and make a bit more of an effort.”
“Good, well you can start now whilst we see how our daughter has done in her school report,” Michael offered with a pleased smile waving the yellow paper in front of her.
***
Standing by the family car the following evening Sarah waited with other parents for the Brownie group to finish. Beside her was Kim, whose daughter Fiona, also a Brownie, was best friends with Amy. Just as a pause began to evolve in the conversation the town hall doors opened and both mums looked out across the small car park. A group of young girls emerged wearing yellow jumpers and brown body banners, most coated with badges for completing tasks. Amy and Fiona were deep in conversation when they made it across.
“It’s just so awful,” Fiona whined openly as each girl hugged their parent, Amy more animatedly than usual and with a big proud smile on her face.
“What is?” Kim asked, slightly dubious.
“The council, they’re a bunch of big meanies.”
“Why what have the council done?”
“They’re closing down the hall. They’re going to renovate it totally which means no Brownies over the summer. It means no Brownie camp!” Amy answered miserably.
Sarah began to cuddle Amy closer in an attempt to hug away her sadness at this loss and agreed that the council were meanies chucking out such a favoured and popular local group.
***
“Right girls, let’s all welcome the latest member of our group, Amy’s Mum, who will be known as Snowy Owl. She has kindly offered to host us in her café throughout the summer. This means that we may yet be able to prepare for our summer camp in August. A round of applause please for Snowy Owl.” Everyone gave an excited clap towards Sarah who stood quite timidly behind the counter.
“Thank you all so much. Now, tonight girls I am going to teach you how to make a fruit smoothie.” Amy beamed a big smile at her Mum who grinned back, equally happy.
So the Brownies were held at The Coffee Pot and when autumn came agreed to remain there even after the town hall renovations had finished. The café was safe from financial difficulty and so was the relationship between a daughter and a mother, who was lucky enough to find that balance between family life and business.

The home I had been called to belonged to one of our elderly residents in Sherwood Forest. It was seven pm and even the flowers set beneath the latticed window were still awake. They were the first sign something wasn’t right. I gestured for the flowers to be quiet as I approached the door. I twisted the door open and placed my other hand on my water pistol before taking a step forward. Twenty years in the Ladybird Squad I had yet to use it, I was hoping tonight wouldn’t break that record.
The kitchen was immaculate and simple. Everything a small country kitchen can be expected to be. Except a broken basket once containing flowers on the floor. The flowers were too late to be saved They had been absent from water and soil too long. Dainty petals revealing the trail of their fall. I heard a noise in the next room of the small bungalow.
“Hello? This is the police. Whose there?” I shouted, quietly drawing my water pistol ready to fire. A mixture of moans and sobs answered me.
“Hello?” I approached the door cautious of the flickers of movement against the light underneath. One hand was slowly reaching towards the small packet of faerie dust in my waterproof waistcoat just in case it turned out that Peeves had wandered from Hogwarts again. More sobs and moans then a sharp voice cried out.
“Well are you going to come in or not?”
I entered and lowered my pistol. I looked around the room once and addressed the station on my walkie talkie requesting assistance.

It was ten o clock when all were assembled in the interview room. It was tough interviewing the two witnesses at this time on the same night as the incident but I didn’t want to give their memories time to fade and exaggerate things. My partner on this case was Detective Locks (herself a former famous house-breaker turned good.) She pressed the record button on our pink Barbie stereo.
“If you wouldn’t mind Mrs Granny would you please explain the events that occurred at your house?” Locks asked gently, giving a warm comforting smile towards the old lady. Who fiddled with her red spotted hanky before beginning.
“Well my day was fairly normal before this evening Detective. It was when Mr Wolf came to visit for tea as usual that all this happened.”
“And what exactly happened?” she continued.
“Mr Wolf appeared not to be his self at all. He knocked my basket of flowers right off the table. He usually likes talking to my Buttercups. Poor things never had a chance.” Sadness shone deep within her grey eyes.
“In a normal situation he would have spoken with your flowers?” It all seemed very strange for a wolf.
“Usually yes, he was quite a keen gardener. Has such a wonderful vegetable patch growing behind his cottage. He would often bring me some ripe cucumbers or aubergines, tomatoes, carrots, you name it he grew it. I was always telling him to try selling them at market but he wouldn’t because of all the prejudice towards him.”
“Were you aware of his shady background as a former outlaw? As a member of the Paw Pack?” I asked intrigued.
“Oh yes, he told me all about his past with that horrid gang. But I truly believed he had changed and especially for his turn to vegetarianism. Ever since those three naughty pigs tricked him down a chimney. He even showed me the scars.”
That surprised me.
“What scars?” Locks asked, again ever so soft and gentle. She really could charm anything with those sky blue eyes of hers and sweet fragile voice. She had a long list of lovers as evidence for it, probably longer than all the girls Charming went out with before he met Cinders. But then again you could say that was all down to the Fairy Godmother dating agency actually getting a match for once.
“His burn scars from when he fell upon the fire that those pigs lit.”
“Can you describe them to us please Mrs Granny? Where about on his body were they?” I had paper and crayon ready.
The elderly woman paused, her hands yet again playing with the hanky between her fingers.
“Quite gruesome they were if I remember correctly. I think they were underneath the base of his tail and on the soles of both his back paws. They were the first parts of his body that made contact with the fire. It is a wonder to me how he escaped so lightly from those mean little pigs.”
I scribbled it all down and went outside handing it over to Sergeant Rapunzel to take downstairs to the morgue. Her once mile long hair now mere shoulder length since she no longer lived in a tower.
This was the information we needed to formally identify the body. The Paw Pack had expelled Mr Wolf since his turn to vegetarianism and they were refusing to co-operate in order to identify the lone wolf we have. They had as much trust of the squad as we did for them. That was one rule I learnt early on, never trust a wolf. If you give them a titbit they will go for the whole bone.
“What else made him seem out of character this evening Mrs Granny?” Locks continued when I had sat back down at the table.
“Everything. He was not polite. He wouldn’t drink the herbal tea I had made him. He even spat out the vegetarian sausage I cooked him. He had never behaved that way towards me before.”
“Could you possibly think why this sudden change in behaviour?”
“No I honestly can’t. I have known Mr Wolf for fifteen years and he has always been a perfect gentleman underneath all that rugged fur. Helping me around the garden and the house. Offering advice on looking after my flowers. All my plants adored him. It makes no sense as to why he would suddenly attack me. Or my poor Buttercups.”
That was when Sergeant Rapunzel tapped on the door beckoning me outside.
“What’s the matter?” I asked concerned by her worried expression.
“The wolf body downstairs has no such scars on either tail or feet.”
Those words stunned and confused me. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. The dwarves have been over every last inch of fur, found a few small scars from many years ago but no such scars that correspond with any contact with fire.”
“So we have a dead wolf that actually isn’t Mr Wolf?”
“Seems that way Big Red.”
“Well it doesn’t make any sense for Granny to lie. Something strange is happening here.”
“What do you want the team to do?”
I paused to think. “Have someone try and speak to the Pack again, see if they are acting at all suspiciously. Remind them how lenient we’ve been recently. Have a few also go up to Mr Wolf’s house search for anything unusual and out of the ordinary. Remember he is claimed to have been a strict vegetarian for fifteen years if you find anything that looks like meat send it down to the lab as evidence and have it analysed for meat content.”
“As you wish.” She agreed turning around.
“Oh bring me and Goldie another cup of cola would you, I feel its going to be a longer night than I thought. We need a sugar rush to keep awake.”
“Right on it.”
With that I entered the interview room once more, looking puzzled at the two witnesses who looked nervously back.
“It seems,” I began. “That the wolf body down in the morgue is in fact not Mr Wolf. The body bares no such scars that indicate burning. Either under his tail or under his back paws. Could either of you tell me why?”
“That’s impossible. It has to be Mr Wolf. He was wearing his usual dinner suit and hat. His tie was a bit out of place because he wouldn’t usually wear a red tie with a green suit but I have known him for so long, if anyone was to recognise him it would be me.” The old woman exclaimed.
“What about you Mr Cutter? Did you recognise the deceased as Mr Wolf?” Locks queried the rather frightened man sitting beside the old woman.
“Oh yes Ma’m I did. He is the only wolf I know but I didn’t spend a great deal looking at him when I was trying to get him off Granny.” He replied.
“Ah yes, you appeared on the scene upon hearing screams from Granny. You were walking home after work up at the logging plant. You entered the house. Saw the deceased apparently attempting to eat Granny and so hit him at the back of the head with your axe. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes Ma’m that’s correct.”
“Mr Cutter isn’t going to be charged with murder is he Detective?” Granny asked turning to me.
“So far I don’t know what we can charge him with Mrs Granny. We have a wolf attacker who appeared to be Mr Wolf, but is now proven not to be. Who was then however killed by Mr Cutter. Don’t worry about the charges yet however, we can’t do anything legal until we know exactly happened tonight and why.”
“All I know is that I was nearly eaten alive and this brave lad here saved me.”
“Indeed he did but until we can establish the identity of the deceased wolf and a logical motive for this attack then we can not move forward with this investigation.”
“Does that mean I have to spend the night here Miss?” A pair of anxious eyes looked at me.
“Perhaps, hopefully my team can establish some more evidence together to solve this puzzle and give us all a happy ending.”
For the third time that night Sergeant Rapunzel tapped on the door this time with a big grin on her face. I went outside. She immediately passed me two plastic cups filled with cola complete with curly straws.
“I’m going to guess you have some good news for me Rapunzel?” I took a greedy slurp of the fizzy brown liquid and sighed as sugar woke my brain up.
“Mr Wolf has been found. Alive and well. Tied up within his cellar. It seems the body downstairs is a member of the Pack. He and some others tied up Mr Wolf, dressed one up in his clothes and went to meet Granny at the usual time planning to kill her and bring back her body to share. He was their newest member and they classed this attack as his initiation. However as you already know their plan went wrong.”
“Good, good, this story is starting to make a lot more sense. Is Mr Wolf well enough to give a statement?”
“Yes, he is on his way over now. He also wishes to inform Granny of his deepest sympathies and is relieved to know she is well.”
“Good work Rapunzel we can finally tidy up this mess.”
I walked back into the interview room and took my place passing Goldie her drink. “There has just been an interesting development which I think will please everyone involved.” I gave a wink at Locks who smiled contentedly back taking a big swig of cola. “First off the real Mr Wolf has been found bound and gagged in his home cellar and he sends his deepest apologies to you Mrs Granny for this set of events. It seems his former gang has decided to use his guise for some rite of passage for their newest and probably last member.”
“Does that mean I’m free Ma’m?” Mr Cutter asked quickly.
“Yes, you’re both free to go as the true culprit has taken the big sleep as his punishment so we do in the end have a lot to thank you for Mr Cutter.”
“Thank you Ma’m.” An essence of pride appeared in his now smiling face.
“Oh thank you indeed my dear Marvin.” Granny cheered grasping the surprised man in a hug. “You must come over for tea tomorrow and I will give you a nice slice of apple pie as a thank you.” Granny blurted out her aged voice crackling like fireworks with delight.
Locks and I escorted the pair out, sending them both back to their homes in squad cars. When all the paper work was coloured in and handed to the bookworms to file away I retrieved my red coat from the rack and made my way out into the car park. My humble red mini waiting for me.
“Hey Big Red, me and Rapunzel are going over to Robin’s Nest tomorrow night want to come along for a milkshake?” Locks called out catching me up wearing her blue jacket and Rapunzel wearing her golden one. “Checked it with Guinevere and we have the night off duty.”
“Sure why not, they owe me a few anyway after all the times I let him off the hook.”
“Aren’t we all owed some?” Goldie added with a cunning smirk of mischief.
“You got to love those rascals though.” Rapunzel noted cheekily. “They’re just big kids really. Always getting into trouble.”
“True and there is nothing wrong with annoying Nottingham now and again. I have yet to find a case where he didn’t deserve it.” I smiled at all the fond memories. “Ok I’ll be there.”
“Great see you tomorrow.”
“Night Big Red!”
“Bye girls!” I waved back as I drove down dewberry lane to my little abode at the base of a big oak tree and lived to tell another fairytale.

I found myself awake through till the early hours of the morning once more. Thoughts, memories, visions and dreams whirling round my mind but never truly settling, always teasing my mind with the prospect of rest but never giving. I lay there still and quiet, listening to my own breathe, listening to the silence of the house as everyone else slept on. Occasionally I would hear the family dog whimper or bark in its own reverie of dreams out in the hearth area, sometimes interrupted with the loud bear like snore echoing from my parent’s chamber at the other end of the longhouse. The only noise that remained constant was the gentle dying rumble of the hearth embers like a swirling current upon small pebbles.
An owl hooted.
I hadn’t heard that owl for nearly over a week and I already believed it to have flown away from me to some place I could not follow.
It hooted again, closer this time.
I leaped out of my bed, grabbed my cloak off the wall and crept out after making sure the dog stayed in his bed by giving him a piece of meat to content his curiosity. Drawing out a candle, I kept hidden in a pocket I had sewn into my cloak; I put it to the brier torch outside the door and ventured into the stable shack. The horses blinked mindlessly at me whilst others merely swished their tails, I looked around and found the small milking stool I used for the cows and placed my candle in the small circular hole on its lid. Casting my eyes around I noticed a more prominent darkness against the hay pile on the floor near the back.
“Kennari?” I whispered my hand was already reaching for a pitchfork leaning against the wall. My mind was wary of thieves or raiders in the night but my heart desperately wished that the owl call was not a trick from a lack of sleep.
A groan came out of the gloom in reply. “Kennari? Is that you?”
“Aemilia…” the voice that had enchanted me so many times sounded so unfamiliar, so unlike him almost unnatural. Fear and worry quickly clawed their way up my spine and into my heart, filling my mind with imagined possibilities of all the injuries that had been inflicted on past outlaws when caught on lands, once home but now forbidden to them.
I grasped the stool and carried it in a rush to the dark mass before me. Only when I set the candles light against his body did my worst fears confirm themselves. The patch of darkness was Kennari lying milk white and his blood draining in a torrent around him. The source was a clogged black rag held tight by his trembling hands on his chest just above his waist. On instinct and vain hope my hands went to the rough piece of jet carved into a hare that I wore round my neck as a follower of Freya.
“Ken what has happened to you?” I whispered, swallowing hard in an attempt to control the wave of tears that longed to pour from my eyes at such a sight.
“Got caught…didn’t I?” He muttered back, his voice so weak and hoarse.
“When? By who?” As I asked I untied my cloak from my shoulders and began tearing strips from the bottom seam without a moment’s hesitation or thought.
“Uncle…Sven… I was trying to…steal some cheese…from pantry.”
“Oh Ken! Why didn’t you come to me? Why didn’t you come here for food if you were going hungry?” The frustration and disappointment acted as a firm barrier in my throat to the sorrow I felt inside. From the wincing look in his eyes it was hard for me to decide whether he was wincing at my anger or the pain.
“I couldn’t…you said your father noticed…the bread missing…last time. Didn’t want…to get you…into trouble.” At that response I bit my bottom lip hard trying to contain the growing number of emotions that tossed and turned in a vicious current within me.
“We’ll argue about this later. First you must let me put a clean swab of cloth in that wound.” He nodded slowly, swallowing hard himself as I gently prized his chilled trembling hand away from his chest. In doing so a fresh river of blood began flowing but as soon as I had gotten most of the rags out of it I pushed in my ball of stripped cloth, fixing his hand back on top. I didn’t want to leave any already soiled material in there in case the wound began to fester and become infected. “I can’t believe Sven did this to you. How did he do this?”
“His dogs…”
“Those two big black mongrels? How did you escape?”
“Dragged myself up…a tree. Sat there…till morning…then made my way here.”
“Was the wound this bad then?”
“No, only a small…wound. Opened up…when I fell on some rocks crossing the fjord.”
“Is this why you took so long to visit? I hope Frey curses Sven’s flock with disease for this.”
“Not his fault.” That remark surprised me because I was boiling over with frustration at this unfortunate situation.
“It is his fault Ken; I doubt you would set your dogs upon your own nephew like this. Families should support each other not…treat others with such dishonourable behaviour.”
“I’m an outlaw Aemilia, I have…no family.”
I groaned to myself. “Don’t you start this talk again Ken, you do have a family but due to your own foolish actions they are forbidden from supporting you when you need it most. Your poor mother would faint at the sight of you now. Just thank Odin you have me at least.”
A smile appeared within his eyes even though his own mouth was chattering with the cold. Very little of clothing was left upon him now. “I do…every day.” For that moment he seemed like the cheeky rogue I knew before.
“Right, you need proper medical help for this would Ken; it needs cleaning out and patching up. I can’t provide that care here in the stables. We’re going to have to take you into the house. Away from all this…”
“NO!” his voice bellowed out in a short burst before immediately collapsing deeper into the hay with the strain causing fresh agony upon his body.
“Why in Hel’s name not? Ken you will die if you stay here and do not get that wound treated.”
“Your family…”
“My family will just have to either help or keep out of it. I’m old enough now to make my own decision and make my own mistakes. Personally I do not view you as a mistake Ken. Beside, if we’re quiet they will never know.”
“I don’t want…you to be…punished…”
“Ken shush! One thing at a time hey? First we need to clean you up and tend to that wound. Mother should have the right herbs to do such a thing. Can you stand or walk?” I demanded more than asked whilst staring deep within his eyes pushing my feelings of worry and determination to the front in hope that he could see I’m serious about my actions with no hesitation or regret. He nodded weakly. “I’ll get a pitchfork for you to lean on whilst I lift you under your other arm.”
With great struggle I managed to haul him to his now unreliable feet, locked the pitchfork under his arm and with me at his other side, stumbled and dragged him into the house. Carefully lowering him upon a bench against the wall before raking the fires ashes up for warmth and light. He had not uttered a word or groan since the stables, the only noise that came from his pale face was his chattering teeth.
“Do not worry; once the fire is alive you will get warmer. Here rest your head on this.” I whispered softly, wrapping my cloak into a rough pillow and placing his head upon it. “Just try and get some sleep. I’m just going into the pantry to find some of those herbs and pieces of clean cloth. I will return never fear.” I gave him a kiss upon his forehead as he closed his eyes, the weariness and pain of his travels sweeping sleep across his mind.
Walking away from him gave chance to the rush of tears I had controlled before but I only wept once I was in the pantry and alone. I had brought the family dog with me for fear of it becoming curious and licking Kennari’s wounds which would not do him any good. When inside the small back chamber of the house I felt my spirit crumble and allowed myself to slide down to the floor. I do not know how long I knelt there crying. During those moments of despair I felt lost to all time and place, an oblivion of darkness and emotion. I only woke from the nightmare to the warm touch of my dogs tongue licking my face of tears.
Looking into the dogs shimmering eyes ignited a feeling of resolve and vigorous determination inside me with which I quickly searched and found the herbs and cloth I needed before striding smooth and quietly away from the pantry. When I stepped into the living area once more I stopped still as if I’d been hit on the head from a blow of Thor’s great hammer Mjöllnir. A figure in white was kneeling beside Kennari and ever so silently covering his body in wool blankets. Only when they turned did I realise it was my mother in her nightdress but I still did not move.
“Did you bring some of the dried dock leaves?” She asked, holding out her hand as the power in her voice bid my legs to move towards her and placed the small pot jar into her hands.
“You’re not angry with me?” I asked my voice seemed distant with shock and a strange mix of surprise.
She raised her free hand and cupped my chin in it lightly, my eyes were transfixed in her own that shone ocean blue in the fire. I noticed that it was quickly devouring kindling wood that wasn’t there before. “Shush now, you’ll wake him up.” Was her only reply. Although I could not tell whether she meant father or Kennari.
I didn’t know what to say, to do, and to think. I just stood there, watching her as if I had never seen her before. Something in the way she acted didn’t seem true. There was a clear sense of determination in her posture as she ground the dock leaf and other herbs into a pulp. There was no anger, no fear no great worry or concern at Kennari’s presence. “You knew.” I simple stated my body felt numb as all the emotion of the past hour merged into one, overpowering all my senses.
“Yes, I knew.” She approached Kennari once more and gently pulled back the blankets to reveal his bloody chest, the cloth strips I had inserted into his body earlier already a dark red. “We can discuss this another time, for now I will need your help to stop the bleeding. He has lost too much already.”
“What do you need me to do?” With a stalemate silently agreed my focus returned to real situation at hand.
“Get a bowl from the kitchen and place it on the floor here, that way any blood that comes out will be caught in the bowl and not stain the floor. Otherwise I don’t know how we will explain it to your father in the morning.”
To begin our work we needed Kennari awake and he jolted upwards with fear as if Hel had run her corpse hand along his back when he noticed the presence of my mother but she told him he was safe and after a nod from me he surrendered to our care.
We unplugged my ball of rags from the wound, dabbed it with clean cloth and hot water, causing Kennari to groan behind closed lips several times yet from some hidden strength he managed to control it. Once the wound was clean I held a thick piece of leather over the gouge in his skin whilst mother spread with her finger tips the paste out of herbs and fat around the edge of the wound. Next came the difficult part. We had to lift Kennari up into a sitting position so whilst I held a mixed pad of leather and cloth over the wound mother used long strips of wool, cloth and string to wrap the bandage over and around his body before fastening it tight with an apron broach.
Once that was done we laid him to rest upon the bench once more, covering him in a thick layer of woven wool blankets and stoked up the fire some more. Mother and I cleaned up any mess as silently as possible, my father was only at the other end of the longhouse sleeping, as of yet unaware of mother’s presence being absent beside him.
“He is a brave young man. He dealt with his pain nobly.” She commented to me as we both knelt by the fire watching Kennari breathing in his sleep, a lot more relaxed than before.
“He is.” I agreed without question. A problem suddenly skittered over my mind. “His blood’s all over the hay stack in the stable. Don’t know how we’re going to explain that to father.”
“Don’t you worry about that Aemilia I will tell your father I was just doing a midnight offering to Freya, he has no reason not to believe me. He does not know a woman’s ways.”
“It will have to be a big offering to leave such a lot of blood behind.”
“I’ll say I killed several of the chickens.”
“How will you make our chickens disappear then?”
“Kill them and give them to Kennari. That way at least he need not risk his life again for food.”
“Why are you helping us?”
“I too know what it’s like to be in love.” I looked down into the fire overcome with a gush of embarrassment and guilt.
“Then you must now why I could not tell you about him.” I replied, looking at her once more sitting opposite me, her eyes sparkling in the light and her black hair glistening like jet brought up fresh from the sea.
“I know. But do not always presume I will be in the same frame of mind and thought as your father would be in this situation.”
“Then there is no chance Father will accept it?”
“I’m sorry Aemilia but no. Your father does not dislike or hate Kennari even though stealing sheep is not an honorable thing to do despite his good intentions. He would never want you to be unhappy my child but your father is a well respected farmer and friend to many within this community. If your relationship with Kennari were to be made public your father would not only suffer great humiliation but you also would be punished equal to Kennari’s sentence. You must understand it is not the humiliation and shame your father fears the most but loosing you.”
“Then what are we to do but meet in secret mother? How else are we to be together? I will not reject him.”
Mother was about to reply but she paused then stood up and went and collected something from a shelf nearby on the opposite wall. “Do you remember my brother Ragnar?”
“Yes but…” The male mirror image of my mother appeared in my mind, set against the backdrop of Black Sands beach and harbor with his fine trade vessel bobbing with the tide. He had only harbored in Black Sands the day before in order to deliver trade as well as visit family and friends here in Iceland.
“You know he has set up a fine farming estate in Norway and is always eager for more workers. I am sure that if we explain to him the situation then he would gladly welcome Kennari to his folds. If Kennari were to go with Ragnar to Norway he would have a job immediately once his wound has recovered and in doing so he will stay out of trouble and be well cared for until all this has passed.”
“He would be so far away though. Father would never let me travel to Norway on my own. If he went to Uncle Ragnar it would be impossible for me to see him again.”
“Yes Aemilia but if Kennari were to work with Ragnar he would earn a good reputation and maybe earn enough money worthy of your bride price so when his sentence is over he can travel back here and propose to your properly without the stigma of his crime and having worked close to the family your Father would welcome him most easily..”
“But Mother…”
“I know it means spending time so far apart but wouldn’t it be worth the chance to spend the rest of your lives together at the end of this year? You know as well as I that if he stays in Iceland it will only be a matter of time before he is caught and suffers injuries far worse than this. As well as the risk that you both will eventually be caught. Lies can only take you so far Aemilia. Love is too big a thing to hide. It is a choice you must both make.”
Considering mothers proposal I glanced over at Kennari who lay so still and peaceful, his chest raising in jagged breathes as each stretch of his muscles still caused him pain. Memories of the past nights we met fluttered past my eyes, of all the chances we were nearly caught in the stables or myself stealing food from the pantry. Deep down inside I knew that our love wouldn’t last long in such trapped conditions.

The following morning before dawn mother and I helped lift Kennari, who seemed to have much more colour in his skin, into our cart, hitch a horse to it and set off at a brisk trot to Black Sands.
Along the way I explained my mother’s idea to Kennari as he lay there still wrapped in many furs and a bleeding sack of the three chickens my mother beheaded for him in order to conceal the nights events. Once I had finished he closed his eyes for a time, at first I thought he may have fallen back to sleep until he finally turned and stared up at me.
“Do I have to leave my home?” he asked, no hint of emotion or motive behind such a question reminding me so much of his cold stone like face when he appeared at the Althing last month and received his sentence for his crime. I looked down at my hands which were cradling one of his own.
“No you don’t, but there is no other way we can keep seeing each other under such conditions Ken, you know this. Last night is fate reminding us of the problem. I would like it if you could stay here, with me, but I know that if you do it will only be a matter of time before you return to me with another injury or…not at all.”
He squeezed my hand warmly with understanding. “What if you come away with me?”
“You know I can not leave my family. Both you and my family are the most important people to me and I love you all the same so please do not ask me to choose. Mother’s idea is the only true chance we have Ken. I do not think my mother is trying to honestly keep us apart if she was she would have let you die last night but she helped. She is a wise woman Ken, she wants to help and her advice is sound. But it means…”
“Being apart.” He finished the line for me for tears were already bursting from my eyes again. “If I go to Norway with your Uncle, Aemilia, you know that during that time your father may push you towards marrying other men. I will not be there to stop him.”
“He can try Ken but I won’t allow it. I won’t agree to it. I’m twenty years old, old enough to have the right to choose a man of my own on my own terms. But the same can be said for you, we must both swear to be loyal to each other and only each other. Until we can be untied again.”
“Then I swear it Aemilia, I owe you at least that much for all you have done for me.”
“I swear the same but you must promise me you will come back, promise me?”
“I promise. I will come back.”
“Good because I will only be able to put off my fathers intentions for so long Ken. There will be a point where I can not refuse anymore. So you must come back, you must.”
“I will for as long as you can wait for me.”
With no more words to say to each other we lay together in the back of the cart, shielded by a leather covering, hiding from the rest of the world, from time itself and like so many nights before, wishing that things were different and hoping for the impossible.
As with all goods things our short time together to the port ended too soon. My mother drove the wagon carefully down the streets of the town directly towards the harbor and before my Uncle’s ship where he was summoned. Uncle Ragnar proved as understanding and sympathetic as my mother was about the situation and promised to take good care of him until he was fit enough to work.
I surprised myself for no tears came when we said our farewells. A gentle, tender kiss, a warm, comforting hug, those three powerful words ‘I love you’ and then he was gone, being led away aboard my Uncle’s ship, out of sight, out of reach but never out of mind.
So it is that I find myself, nearly six months on from that silent night, walking alone along the harbor’s sands, throwing sticks for my dog to catch. My eyes look to the distant horizon across the flowing and ebbing waters of the sea, waiting and hoping for that vessel to appear in the not too distant future and imagining being in his arms, feeling his lips on my neck and his breath on my skin. My mother’s final words of that day echo in my mind as those memories fade to my hearts depths once more, “true love comes to those who wait.”

I wonder what it must have felt like to be the first person
That dipped sounds in ink or pigment and trapped them upon rock or parchment.
Which clever mind then chose to call those confined sounds letters?
Was it the same person, who after shuffling those noises around together,
Like hand-picking chocolates for a selection box,
Goes on to name them words?
Forever binding them to man’s growing intelligence.
To be continuously defined, categorised and studied.
Pressing the true nature of sounds deeper and deeper into the ink black, blue or red.

Yet I laugh with what is called irony
For however much man strives to contain and control those words, letters and sounds
They will always be released and escape our dominance in the end.
Our mind, tongue and voice are eternal keys to set such communication free.
We will always long to taste those vocal treats.
Words are indeed the chocolates that are so delicious to taste
And feel smooth as they flow into our ears.
Such is the reason why oral tales of adventure, horror and laughter around the fire were born.
Such is the reason why young men serenade their love to fair maidens trapped in towers.

When sounds are freed from our mouths they flit and flutter like butterflies.
So delicate at first upon our tongue in their unvoiced cocoon
Yet with the will of our mind they grow, get stronger and fly.
Their wings beating with meaning.
Their vibrant colours displaying the power and emotion behind your voice.
As they fly on your breath from one ear to the other.

What we call language is the graceful dance of countless butterflies.
We attempt to keep them with us
Dipped in ink, pressed onto paper and bound in hardback.
Yet we can only ever truly enjoy them when set free.
To continue the great noise that is life.

Life is a buffet when most of the good food has been eaten.
You are left with a selection of childhood sausage rolls
That may be hollow with neglect.
A bowl of mixed crinkle cut crisps
Those are the lovers you have and have yet to meet.
You do not know if you will like their flavour
Until you give them a taste.
Adult sized portions of quiche
Often containing many gruelling years in education
Or an endless struggle to get a decent job without one.
Then there are the sandwiches no one likes
Usually containing shredded cheese.
That falls out like the greying hair on your head
And the base of your bank balance.

Yet if you’re lucky; and are not too distracted
By the commercially cheap chicken legs of sour contentment.
You may just spot the last remaining slice of happiness
Topped with fresh strawberries and lined with cream.
You must grab it, taste it, and savour it.
And save a piece forever in your heart and mind.

God or some other great being of creation
Must have been having a sugar rush
When they made the first golden Labradors.

They gave them eyes 36% cocoa chocolate brown.
Glazed with mischief and innocence.
Turned their fur the pale gold of a Caramac bar.
They used a chewed up piece of black liquorice for a nose.
Implanted a flap of candy floss pink as a tongue.
And gave a tail that can wag faster than sherbet fizzes in your mouth.

They made a creature that can melt hearts
Tougher than Scarborough Rock.
A vision of delicious cuteness.

The stab of the screw causes the cork to jettison with a pop.
The crystal ring and slosh as the poison is poured into the glass.
A colour deeper than blood.
He licks his pale lips eager for the taste on his tongue, to feel it in his mouth and body.
The tense raging hunger, need, desire and longing is finally quenched,
For another hour or more.

He returns to his chair before the TV, turning it on
With a determined press of a button on the controller that never leaves his table.
It is the only sense of sane order left to him, the one thing he still has control over.
The wide screen jumps into life with the vibrant colour and vigorous energy of fireworks.
That force reminds him of his lost and wasted youth.
The news and weather again and again and again and again. News 24 rules his attention.
The global disasters, famines, bombings and corrupt politics flicker
Over his glazed grey eyes, watching the world spin and change.
A world he no longer feels part of, a world he thinks no longer needs him.
All are excuses, reasons, motives,
as feeble as the hand that lifts the poison to his mouth once more.
To take one more sip, one more mouthful,
One more glass, one more bottle
Empty.

This is what it has come to. His days spent slumped before the TV.
His body crumbling and withering like a tree split apart by lightening. Beyond saving.
The poison that is so delightful claiming more of his soul, his spirit, his mind, his body and his life.
A life he will not fight for even though he has everything to die for.
Erasing the person he once was. Without any sign of defiance, just simple surrender.
The poison makes his heart, mind, and eyes blind to what he has. What he’s losing.
It has washed his heart black, making it as hollow and cold as each bottle he drains.

He appears oblivious to the pleading looks of his children,
The tears in his wife’s eyes.
All hoping, praying, wishing, waiting,
For him to change.
To be the father that used to laugh, his eyes once filled with happiness.
To be the husband that used to smile, a heart once filled with love.
That man has long since left their home and their hearts.
His soul leaves them contained in the empty bottles they put out to recycle.

That man now sits in my father’s chair but is not my father.
Just a reflection, a look alike, bitter and resentful towards everything.
A ghost that haunts us with misery, shame and pain.
A perfect stranger that we simply call Dad but acts nothing like him.

The Life and Death of Mrs Red.

I return on the path home through the meadow fields
And cattle herds.
Once the trees throw a blanket of shade over me
I relax.
Dead autumn leaves crunch and shatter where I walk.
Many are twice the size of my mud brown shoes.
The odd white feather floats lazily behind
From the chicken I am bringing home for tea.
Caught only a few hours ago from a local farm.
A crisp autumn breeze urges me on.
My thick red coat keeps me warm.

At home I call out to my children.
In a rush of happiness, a tumble of excitement
and a mass of whirling limbs
They greet me.
Five pairs of rustic red, eager and hungry eyes
Stare up at me.
I immediately pluck the chicken bare
revealing its moon pale flesh.
After my nod I let the children feast.
I laugh as my two boys play
Tug-of-war with a leg bone.
One of my three girls rolls in the white feathers
Spotted with blood and dirt.

They stop.
Dead still.
I hear the noises too.
They whimper in fear of the dangerous world outside.
I approach the door cautiously.
I hide within the darkness of the entrance.
The love of a mother strengthening my movements.
A circle of light harsher than the sun skims the shrubs and ground left and right.
I catch a smell of unnatural power and dominance tainted with hatred and anger.
It reminds me of the dog packs, their teeth and claws, their calls echoing after me
as I run.

You see her eyes reflected in the torch light.
You remember coming home to find your chicken shed
In chaos and ruins,
A mass of soiled feathers and blood.
You finger the trigger.
You take the shot.

Love and lust,
Two sides of the same coin,
Two ends of the same rope
That in the middle ties two people.
Or three depending on
Who loves whom?

Love is the blanket you held close
When a child
Shielding you from fear
And loneliness.
Love, the need to belong.
A happiness so rare and fine,
Which only one person can bring.
It’s the gold needle in a million haystacks.

Lust is a tornado,
A raging bull, charging you
Into the arms of others.
Often the arms of those
That your heart does not belong.
Lust is driving drunk on a mud track,
Wearing no seat belt,
With no brakes to stop you
Before it’s not just your heart
That you break.

One day the Gods went hunting.
Loki slew an otter with a sling.
A farmer came a yelling.
“That’s my son you’re about to skin.”

Odin asked what could be done.
“Cover his fur with gold from tail to tongue.”
The farmer asked in payment for his son.
So the Gods searched for gold all day long.

A pile was made from what they had borrowed and sold.
Yet they needed one more small piece of gold.
Loki ran far away and begged and pleaded,
A dwarf for a gold ring he had just completed.

“This ring bears a curse.” The dwarf told Loki.
“To wear it makes you greedy and unlucky.”
Loki took the ring besides,
And managed to cover the last piece of hide.

After the Gods had paid and gone.
The farmer split the gold between his last two sons.
The youngest got coins, the eldest jewels and the ring.
And so my most cursed and tragic tale begins.

The eldest was called Fafnir who became greedy and scary.
He told his younger brother; in a well he saw a fairy.
So when his brother went to look into this.=
With a quick push and a shove all the gold became his.

The next victim was father, already in despair.
For he had now lost two sons, what a terrible scare.
Murdered in his sleep he was, oh what a fright.
Now Fafnir had everything including birth right.

Still clutching the ring Fafnir stole away,
Dragging all his gold into a cave, avoiding the day.
His greed began to churn deep inside,
Turning him in to a dragon, with a jet black hide.

Many years passed as Fafnir slept upon his gold.
Until one day a man rode in, both strong and bold.
“I slay you in honour of the King.” He cried.
And so the fight began. The man won and it was Fafnir who died.

The next part of my story is of heartache and woe.
Yet if you still truly wish to listen and to know.
Return to this spot by the fire when the moon is round.
And I shall continue my tale of great treasures lost and found.

The earth is overcome with frost,
The winds blow harsh ice over the fields
And fire seems no longer good at keeping the wolves at bay.
The Storm Giants are becoming bold and brave.

The sky is dark with chaos, it churns
The high shadows of clouds.
Thor’s hammer Mjöllnir can be seen
And heard as lightening whips and
Snaps the shrouded mountain tops.

Both Sun and Moon are dead, eaten
By Skoli and Hati, two giant wolves
That has ever chased those bright
Heavenly orbs. The darkness seems
More cold without their light.

The sounds of angry battles can
Be heard above the thunder
As Odin and the Glorious Dead
March to finish their eternal war.

Even the seas twist and rage
As if battling the land yet
It is from the depths that Loki
And Hel’s horde of Unworthy
Dead shall rise.

Slaughter and Madness now
Reigns in each and every town.
Man battles man in a
Vicious and bloody war. Nothing
Is safe or sacred anymore.

Even Bitfrost, that mighty rainbow bridge
Will crack and crumble. Unable to
Withstand the strength and numbers as
The Fire Giants of the south join
The Godly fray.

When Gods have slain Giants and
Giants killed Gods. Fire will purge the
Earth and water wash it clean.
A new dawn will rise, Balder, god of Light
Will help the remaining sons of Odin
And sons of Thor create new life on the
Green earth and clear seashore.

I am one of Odin’s Shield Maidens
I carry his mark of the Golden Spear.
I am what drives men in battle and
Makes them quake with fear.

I am the one who knocks and taps
But each time you see no-one there.
I am merely testing your bravery
Seeing if true fear is too much for your to bare.

The end of October is when my fun truly begins.
I accompany my lord on his Wild Hunt,
We ride on horses with silent wings.
Our hound’s teeth are anything but blunt.

I am the glorious and beautiful Death Bringer.
I select the bravest and most deserving of you all.
I am a Valkyrie. And if you see me now,
It may be your turn to enter Odin’s golden hall.

“Randi! It’s father!” Len called against the questions and whispering of the crowd. He knelt closer to Bernard, trying to find any injury but found none. Bernard was breathing but only just and with each breath it got shallower and shallower. Len knew that if the Healers didn’t arrive soon it would be too late. “Father its ok, I’m here and Randi is coming too. The Healers will be here soon and take care of you. Just keep breathing.” Tears were fighting to come out but he would not let them, his hands trembled as he tried to rub some heat back into his father’s shivering body. It hurt him deep to see his father so weak and fragile, fighting for his life with every breath.
Bernard’s blood shot and glazed eyes struggled to open. “Len?”
The sound of his father’s voice being strangled by water chilled Len to his heart. “Yes father I’m here.”
“Len…take this…take it.” A feeble hand revealed a golden key attached to a leather lace around his neck. With some hidden strength Bernard snapped it off with one tug and forced it into Len’s hands. “Don’t tell anyone. No one can be trusted with it.” For a moment there was a determined and dangerous glare in his eyes which quickly closed again his strength fading just as he bent Len’s hand over the key hiding it from sight. His head jerked in a vain struggle to cough the water out of his lungs. “Take it to Conrad…tell him what’s happened…find him…warn him… Hekla Wood.”
“Father! Father! I’m here!” Randi cried out having pushed his way through the crowd towards the two on the beach. He grasped Bernard’s hands and held them close breathing on them, anything he thought would help keep his father alive. “Come on father, stay awake. Don’t go to sleep. Stay with us. The Healers will be here soon. You just got to stay awake.”
“My sons…my sons…I’m so proud…both of you…” Bernard went unconscious; his voice would not speak despite the pleas of the two brothers.
“Get out of the way! Go away! All of you! Let us through!” a strong female voice demanded as a group of Healers arrived. Some were carrying large cloth sheets and others brought a wooden stretcher. The Head Healer took a quick glance at the two brothers before sitting down at Bernard’s head. “Is he your father?”
“Yes.” Len replied. Randi merely nodded his eyes fixed upon his father’s chest and its weakening rise. Len had already tucked away the golden key within his satchel. The key at that moment was not his prime concern.
“There is a strong resemblance. Come, lift him onto the stretcher and we will see what help we can give him.” Two men stepped forward with the stretched and helped Randi lift Bernard onto it which was quickly taken away with Len and Randi following anxiously behind. The crowd looked on with sorrow as the sons accompanied their dying father. All feared the worst.

Later that evening safe and warm within the Healers large longhouse, Len and Randi nervously waited within a separate room from the ill. Neither said a word as they sat around the large hearth fire, both reflecting on how and why it had gone so wrong for them that day.
Time passed slowly for them inside that candle lit room. A few Healers entered and left through other doors that went into the kitchens or medicine rooms. Each time Randi asked for news about their father but was given nothing in return.
Luther had visited earlier after hearing the news to offer his support in anything but left having his tavern to tend to. Ragnar and Sven had also come to see if Randi was well and said they would stay with the Seadog that night to keep it under careful guard.
“Would either of you like something to eat?” a young woman offered reminding both that neither had eaten since midday.
“Could I have a little piece of meat please?” Len replied politely but remained by the fire. “How about you Randi?”
“No thanks. I don’t have the stomach for eating right now.” His voice was oddly calm and cold.
“Very well, we only have chicken stew at the moment so that will have to do. I will bring it to you shortly.”
“That will be fine thanks.” Len got up and stretched, moving his hands restlessly up and down his arms as if he was cold. He paused to look into the fire, his gaze distant with thought. “Randi…do you think father will live through this?”
The question appeared like an invisible weight upon the eldest shoulders which slumped with despair, his own eyes fixed upon the burning embers.
“I don’t know Len. We just have to trust the Healers and the Gods will give him the strength he needs. We all know that this is not the death of a warrior that our father deserves. He should be joining his fathers proudly in Valhalla not sinking into the depths of Hel’s foul Underworld through such a death as this. But…if the time is called upon his life then he can hold my sword. Maybe Odin will still accept him even if the blade isn’t his own.”
Len nodded with understanding. “Mother is going to be devastated if he doesn’t survive. Do you think she will be sad enough to join with him in death?” He was remembering his late uncle’s wife, who upon hearing the news of his death was so distraught and had thrown herself off a cliff.
“I don’t know Len. She might do, she might not. We must pray she is given no such opportunity.” The thought of loosing both parents was painful.
With the worrying conversation clearly going no where with answers and not helping either understand, Len continued to walk around the room in silence. Inspecting the pots of dried flower petals which decorated one shelf and arrived at the engraving of the Goddess Eira, who embodied the knowledge of medicine and healing. The engraving was on a small plank of precious and holy Ash wood pinned up against the south facing wall where a small table of candles were alight giving a comforting fragrance to the room.
The kitchen door opened and the girl brought some cooked chicken stew in a wooden bowl with bread on the side to eat it with. Randi eyed it for a few seconds before rubbing his arms and returned to watching the fire. Len sat down and slowly ate the stew, he was hungry but the situation was still too tense and uncertain to truly enjoy it.
Another door opened but this time Guy entered quietly and sat opposite the two brothers.
“How are you both doing?”
“Ok, we’re more concerned about how father is but none of the Healers will tell us anything.”
“All we get is blank looks. That is never a good sign.” Randi commented bluntly, his face as blank as stone. His hand caressed his silver hammer amulet tightly whilst the other used a stick to play with the embers.
“Have some hope both of you, Bernard wouldn’t let a little thing such as water force him down.” The words sounded empty, all three had seen the true extent the water had done to Bernard. His chances of a full recovery were draining by the minute. “Anyway, your father’s cart is safely stored in my workshop for tonight. But the real reason I came is to tell you what information I have gathered as to how Bernard got himself into this mess.”
“Tell us what you have found.” Randi asked in a sinister undertone.
“Well, apparently some traders claim they saw him running into the water pointing out to sea, shouting for help, that someone was drowning just outside the harbour in the deeps. There was someone there, others say they saw them too but no one could tell who it was. Bernard bravely swam out to the person, whilst others boarded a small fishing boat. Bernard reached the person first but then things got confusing as your father started calling for help himself. The people in the fishing boat knew someone was in trouble either way so rowed out as planned by the time they got there your father was floating face down in the water. It was then you two arrived to find him missing.”
“What about the person he tried to save?”
“That’s the odd part, because the fishermen in the boat looked but could not find anyone. Already there are rumours that Bernard was tricked into the rescue by a Siren. Which may explain why there is no other body in the area, others have searched below the water and around the bottom of the cliffs encase that body was caught by a current and swept away. Still they found nothing.”
“Could they have survived and got to shore by themselves?” Len suggested confused by the mysterious events.
“It is possible but some people can’t imagine it because of the clear distress they were in. No one else has come forward saying they were that person and when they reached your father there was no one else visible in need of help.”
“The miserable dog has run away that’s why. Their probably scared they will be outlawed if Father dies and we accuse him of his murder in the Althing this autumn.” Randi cursed gloomily. “I hope they have drowned because if their alive and I find them they will think drowning to be a blessing from the pain I will put them through. No law the Althing will ever make will stop me from avenging father if he dies.” His voice had become a growl of rage and pain; he stabbed angrily at the embers within the hearth breaking them into smaller and smaller pieces.
“At the moment we don’t know what has happened to that person but for now the most important thing is that your father survives. Once he is well we shall probably know more about what happened today.”
“Even if father does live he will never be the same. The water will have reduced him to the old man he is afraid of becoming.”
“What are you talking about Randi? Father will be fine once he has recovered. It will just take a few days before he can handle the farm again that’s all.”
“You don’t realise what drowning can do to a man Len!” Randi stood up abruptly and skulked away to the engraving and stared at the burning candles, his back to the other two. “Water is an element to be feared and respected. We can sail across vast expanses of it but even then we are never in full control as we are when tilling earth of feeding a fire. Why do you think the sea God Aegir is so feared amongst us sailors? Because he can cause so many deaths when you least expect it, he can turn on you at any time, day or night. Like a dog biting its master. Even God Njord can’t keep him tame enough to give us mortal’s easy passage all the time. Aegir is the one God whose will can never be tamed. I have seen his seven daughters come crashing down upon ship and man like Thor’s hammer itself; turning fit young sailors and warriors into babbling shells of themselves from being swept under them. If father lives he will never be as strong as he once was. The sea killed three of my fleet and now…is slowly claiming my father. I must have severely angered Aegir to deserve such punishment.”
“Randi, come and sit down, have some support for the work the Healers can do.” Len beckoned slowly to his brother.
Randi turned towards Len, his face gaunt and drawn. His eyes dim with hope amongst the darkness of pain. He took one last look at the engraving before taking his seat once more without a word. All three became silent, thoughts focusing their gazing into the hypnotic dance of the flames. Len and Luther shared a weak comforting smile every so often but Randi had retreated back into his mind. A short while later the door to the sick room opened.
The Head Healer had come, wiping her hands with a white cotton cloth but she shared the same signs of tiredness as they did. All three looked at her with yearning for news but all she did was place the cloth on the shelf and sit at the head of the fire.
“He’s dead isn’t he?” Randi demanded harshly, the anger and emotions finally bursting through the defensive wall he had constructed in his mind.
The Head Healer merely nodded revealing the small ceremonial dagger that was before hidden in the cloth. It was only ever used upon men who were mortally wounded or injured to send them up to Valhalla with a full warrior status. There was more honour gained in the death of a blade instead of injury or illness. No true Norseman wanted to die of old age, a straw death as it was called. For those who died weak without a weapon in their hands was sent to the Underworld where their soul would be eaten by Hel, the half corpse half woman Goddess of death. It could have only been used in two ways, to end his suffering through a stab to the chest or neck or if he was able to choose to hold whilst death claimed him.
The room instantly seemed darker as Randi let out a long mournful cry before both brothers fell into each others arms and cried. All cradled their Thor Hammer amulets, seeking some form of strength to accept the loss of a father as well as a friend.

The two brothers drank heavily that night, bitterly enjoying the mead Luther allowed them to drink free. They and another crowd of friends drank to Bernard’s memory and good health in Valhalla, the golden hall of holy warriors recruited by Odin’s Valkyrie’s. The friends that joined them agreed that night to join the brothers for Bernard’s cremation and burial set for the following evening when they journey with the body home. For now though it was all about drinking, sharing fond memories and wishing that Bernard was happy fighting alongside his forefathers even though he didn’t die a true warriors death. They drank well into the morning eventually drinking so much it became like a natural anaesthetic making all collapse where they were and sleep until midday.
Len was one of the first to stir from the deep sleep. Looking around him he noted that all but two of the women who had joined the drinking party had left. Those two were awake and already splashing cold water onto the men who lay scattered on the floors, stools and tables. He rummaged through his satchel looking for some of the dried scraps of meat Matilda, his mother, had given him the previous morning. There he came across the golden key, not stolen thankfully, and his father’s last words came haunting back. He pulled up an over turned stool and sat down to look at it. The mysterious, almost threatening, message his father left him with repeating over and over in his mind. He struggled to understand what his father had meant as well as why his father had kept such a key a secret. He was still inspecting the key itself when he realised that something was missing. There was a shallow indentation at the top end of the key. A gap that was remarkably the shape of some kind of jewel or precious stone that was now gone. For the moment he presumed it had come off when his father struggled to save the stranger which had led to his death.
“You could buy a few fine swords with that kind of gold.” Luther commented behind him making Len jump. He quickly hid the key away again, his father’s advice on not trusting anyone with it shouting in his thoughts.
Luther had made the wise decision and not drunk too much last night. So he was up and awake much better than everyone else who still lay huddled on the floor, cradling their pounding heads.
“Maybe you could but I’m not. Besides this key is special, it was my father’s until yesterday.”
“What are you going to do with it then?”
“Don’t know, try and find out what it unlocks I suppose. Mother might know about this because I have never seen it before. Father kept it a secret for some reason.”
“Knowing your luck it will just belong to his chest of clothes.”
“Knowing my luck you’re probably right friend.”
Little did Len know that the possibility of it was far from the truth for such an intricately crafted golden key.

***
The sun was just rising when the stranger finally reached the cave in the volcano’s side. His precious cargo held tight against his chest. He looked like a thief with his rags, dirt and bruises when carrying such an ornately carved wooden box. Upon the cave entrance he showed his mark and was able to pass through the many spells and enchantments set up against unwelcome visitors.
Entering the make shift hall, which was a cave with the one high backed chair and a small long table, he knelt before the high seat offering up the ash wood box to his master who lurked within shadows. His appearance was no longer rugged and worn through; he now wore a deep black suit embroidered with white thread and glass beads. His hair no longer dishevelled but tied back in a pony tail, it seemed tinged with purple against the limited candle light.
“I bring the first Bloodstone and the three bone keys as promised by the dwarves my lord.”
A pair of bony and long fingered hands took the box swiftly but gently. He opened the box and let out a long sigh of relief and awe. Carefully taking out each key in turn, marvelling at its craftsmanship, admiring the dwarven skill. He finally held a small glistening jewel in his palm. It cast blood red shades across his weary but cruel face.
“Yes, yes this is good. Very good.” Quickly placing the precious stone back within the box. “The first one is ours and your fellow brethren are currently hunting the others. Once we have all of them, bonded together with these Dreki bone keys, we will be able to over power the Aesir-gods once and for all!” he let out a loud merciless laugh which made even the stone walls of the cave shudder in fear. “Your next task is to wait here for them. Take on the guise of a hermit as before then no one will question your residence here. Tell them of my next location when they arrive and all three of you join me as swiftly as you can. So far the Aesir-gods know I am capable of murder, but they do not yet realise my true intentions. Very soon my friend, very soon the mortals will realise what it is to be ruled by a true god!”
They both laughed. A laugh full of cruelty and vengeance soon to be fulfilled.