A glorious Californian Summer.  An oddly designed hotel; the Colonial Palace that resembled the tiers of a huge cake covered in pink icing.  And inside Ivan – our unsuspecting hero, about to meet the love of his life and to find that love like life can have moments of great joy.  But sometimes love doesn’t conquer all; sometimes it can destroy. 

Photo by Kelly Lacy from Pexels

“Ambience, Outdoor Public Pool, A.wav” by InspectorJ (www.jshaw.co.uk) of Freesound.org

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“Ambience, Outdoor Public Pool, A.wav” by InspectorJ (www.jshaw.co.uk) of Freesound.org

It was the late eighties and Andrew and I were on holiday in California – described as a two-center fly drive.  Not our usual type of holiday.  We were more French gite people – quiet, relaxed, good food and drink.  But we were tempted by the glossy ad – an all-inclusive idyllic piece of paradise.  The reality wasn’t like that.  Over a 100 little chalets focused on a rectangular pool packed with kids and their dads.

And around the pool the sun worshippers, creaming themselves with various lotions.  Preening themselves for the benefit of others.  Oblivious to any offence this might cause more reserved residents – like me.

Yes, people like me; more discreet, reserved.  All right; old.  And if I’m honest indulging myself a little.  Glancing around to see just where I lie in the physical attributes pecking order – about the middle.  It was as I considered this unique bit of holiday behaviour that I first saw and became obsessed with Ivan.

Ivan. I knew his name because his doting parents would frequently shout it  around the pool. Ivan must have been nearly thirty, he was attractive, his face a kind of expanded George Michael. But his body was a vast, expanse of flesh. It was compulsive viewing from the moment I saw him.  My mind became a frenzy of silly questions and thoughts.  How did he support all that flesh? What was it like to touch?  What was it like to walk? I felt not disgust but disbelief that anything could have grown so big.  That there could be so much skin.  Skin, the largest organ in the body.  Ivan’s skin; vast, smooth, glistening from a dip in the pool.  Not ugly – more magnificent almost beautiful. 

His parents were quite elderly, yet sprightly, for they were up and down, constantly seeing to Ivan’s needs.  While one smoothed him with sun oil another arranged his reading material, or his head rest, or his drink. At first light they would be out grabbing three loungers from the limited supply. They would then sit on either side of Ivan’s empty lounger and pickle in the early morning rays of the Californian sun. At about ten or sometimes later, Ivan would appear, wearing a light golden dressing robe which would be taken and folded with great care.  Then he would ease himself down ready for another day.

I fantasized about Ivan. His entrance was like a scaled down version of some Hollywood magnate, at home with his underlings.  The more elaborate fantasies surrounded rituals that I imagined Ivan went through at night in his room. I saw him in all his naked glory standing while the elderly servants adorned him with oil and jewels, then retreated like two serpents to lurk in some dark corner watching with lascivious delight.

Into the pool and calm down.  Such thoughts and from me, a magis­trate and creator of a thriving small business. But we all have odd thoughts from time to time, like my thoughts about Ivan. And there he was next to me in the pool. One of the parents had dropped an inflatable into the water for him and then he had descended the steps and with a movement of surprising lightness and balance, had covered the blue plastic and now gently floated near me.  I began to inspect Ivan; to indulge my growing obsession with the man.  I would think about some part of his body and then turn to look at it. I’d think about his feet and turn towards them, and then I would think about his ears and turn towards them. After a while I had seen enough and left the pool, but as I climbed out, I realised that I too had been observed, by his father, who gave a big beaming conspiratorial smile which sent me red faced back to my chair and the covers of my third holiday good-read.

The second week of our holiday meant moving on to the second centre, about a hundred miles down the coast.  The day drew long and our little hired Pontiac had not managed to find the second centre, named, the Colonial Palace. Up and down the coast road we drove without luck until Harry, my husband, pointed out a charming pink building. It was designed in a series of layers rather like a huge baroque wedding cake, covered tier upon tier in pink icing.  It had to, and indeed was the Colonial Palace and of course, you’ve already guessed, Ivan was there, his parents’ navigational skills being more competent than ours.

I stood transfixed. From the cool cavernous entrance hall of the palace I could see another blue rectangular pool, adorned on all sides with palm trees. At its farthest edge there were three loungers. Two were occupied by the familiar forms of Ivan’s parents, but the centre lounger was empty. Ivan was in the pool bobbing and dipping in the water, launching himself up into the air, crashing down into the deep blueness accompanied by another person of only fractionally smaller stature. Like dolphins they swam together in perfect unison. Ivan had a partner, resplendently large with long dark hair, whose name I heard from Ivan, drifting down towards me – Veronica.

Ivan and Veronica were on the lips of everyone, They were known throughout the motel by both staff and patrons. People introduced themselves to other guests solely to talk about them. Indeed, that evening I talked with numerous people well into the morning about my prior knowledge of Ivan. I exchanged opinions, views and fantasies with a group of young men who found the spectacle as much an obsession as I did. They were able to tell me that Ivan had reached the motel perhaps only an hour or so before me; that he had settled down beside the pool to catch the remaining hours of sunlight; had closed his eyes for only a minute and then had opened them to discover Veronica smiling down at him. The rest was very recent history. They were almost immediately buddies, talking together, and then laughing, later swimming and now no doubt…. loving?  What a strange thought.

If I found the thought of Ivan and Veronica entangled somewhere in the pink layers of the palace a little odd it was as nothing to the horror it generated within the circle of young men around me. They had an aversion to the very thought of the two together, to such an extent that they became rude and abusive and began calling out to Ivan. Fortunately, the motel management quelled their high spirits, and with my limited assistance, managed to get them to their own rooms.

But a seed had been sown in the minds of the young men. They were disturbed by the sight, and thought, of Ivan and Veronica. Perhaps they were embarrassed. I often find myself thinking about their motives, could it possibly have been jealousy or simply a fear of the irregular. Irregular in the sense that they did not see the relationship in terms of the acceptable norm. Perhaps it was aesthetically displeasing, although I had not found it so. Together Ivan and Veronica were complete, their skins vast but smooth, glimmering in the water. They were not unattractive, indeed they were both handsome with clear bright, eyes and now, because they were together, lips smiling and conversation apparently sparkling.  And I don’t think they touched or messed about any more than any other young couple.

Unfortunately, even this limited contact brought out the worst in those who continued during the early part of that second week to be captivated by the relationship.

The holiday was drawing to an end and that particular day was also nearing its end. I lay reading, at peace with the holiday, the sun, and a creator who still believed in fairy stories. Ivan and Veronica would take something special away from this holiday: memories, feelings, perhaps more, perhaps they would take each other away.

I must have seen something first. I could not have sensed that something was wrong. But it felt that way, like a dark cloud or that feeling in the morning waking from an unpleasant dream, not remembering the story just the feelings. So it was then, perhaps there had been a temporary smothering of the sun making the water suddenly chilly to look at. It was written on Ivan’s face. Strange that I had not noticed him earlier. I noticed him now simply because he was noticeable, he was back reclining between his parents, but his face was dark, his eyes wide, some shadowy thing lurked in him.

Veronica wasn’t there. Silly the things that come to have great meaning. There was something here which needed exploration. I hardly remembered getting out of the chair, of moving indoors in search of the girl. She was in a dark corner alive and well and in deep conversation with someone else. The enormity of her crime hit me like my own emotional pain. How could she do this? And what of Ivan? This was destruction on a scale unprecedented and sent me determinedly to the bar not just for a drink but for a space to review what was happening.

At that time I believed that I could do something about the problem. But what was the problem? Was it really what I imagined? Amazing that I should have reacted so quickly. It was perfectly conceivable that Ivan and Veronica were still together, but that as independent prople they could, and indeed should circulate more widely. Yet it did not ring true, for they both looked untogether and besides, people who have just met and like each other do stay together to the exclusion of all others. So there it was and back I came to the awful reality that something that I thought should, must, work, was not or had not worked. And the worst of it all was my impotence – older and distant, English and reserved, past it and away from it.

The events of the evening confirmed earlier suspicions.

Veronica had someone else.

It was one of the young men I’d noticed earlier castigating the relationship; here he was destroying it. If his motives were honourable then the result was very sad for Ivan. If his motives were dishonourable, if he was motivated by a desire to destroy something he considered distasteful, then the consequences for Ivan and Veronica were a tragedy whose depth I could not permit myself to consider. It had become unreal, the large girl, pretty but outside convention. The dark handsome youth, a perfect partner. It was impossible to believe that it would work. It was a certain bet that it would end in tears. Confirmation came from the whispering and muffled giggles, prods and jokes coming from the young man’s camp.

I was convinced that this was a deliberate attempt to destroy a perfectly decent relationship. And for what? To protect the sensibilities of a bunch of young louts.

Throughout the next day my anger grew into a seething hatred for what they were doing. If at any time it began to calm down,  I would look at Ivan, look at the face of someone experiencing loss, quite likely a loss he never envisaged. Tomorrow we would all leave, drive to airports, towns, cities, work and beyond. And what would happen to Ivan and Veronica? It was the only time in my life I’d ever done something rash.  It lasted just a few seconds.  Rushing up to the young men I blurted out. “I think you lot are disgusting, filth, animals.” Their expressions were startled. They didn’t seem to know what I was talking about.

The sun was barely up yet the motel was a hive of activity with everyone making an early start. Ivan sat surrounded by cases in the lobby waiting. Veronica was nowhere to be seen. I walked slowly round to the carpark. The young men were gathered around three cars. The picture was strange. Something was wrong. Beyond them I could see Veronica’s boy; he appeared deep in conversation with Ivan’s father.  He was holding something, laughing, shaking hands, transferring something from one hand to the other to do this. It might have been money but I couldn’t see clearly. But it looked for all the world that the young man had been paid.

Later we were pulling away from the car park. I was to drive the first leg of our return journey.  Turning the corner we saw the bus queue. There was Veronica. On an impulse I stopped the car. What did I think I might do? Rush out, commiserate over the ghastly affair, take her hand, drag her bodily back to Ivan before it was too late, explain, press them together, repair their hearts. Harry was looking confused, he muttered something about waving to those people who were just passing us in their car. I turned to see a glimpse of Ivan and family, the happy parents waving, driving their son back to security. Could I bear one final look at Veronica? I slowly accelerated looking straight ahead. There are some things that should not be seen by strangers.

 

ZOMBIE WORLD

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‘So what is a nanosecond?’

‘It’s a billionth of a second.’

‘And that makes a difference?’

‘It makes all the difference in the world.’

Tanya and Andy Adasina were travelling back to earth at many times the speed of light thanks to the wonders of Ion propulsion.  For those of you interested in the technical side of space travel  Ion propulsion creates a bubble around a simple spacecraft.  It then takes space and bends it – forming space propulsion behind the craft while dissipating space in front of the craft enabling unimaginable speed, many times faster than light.  Because of this they had visited the mysterious planet of Xola on the far side of the galaxy.  They’d been away from Earth for six months.  But as Andy pointed out, having spent many hours in front of his ‘do everything’ console, ‘when we return we will have been away for exactly 6 months and seven nanoseconds.’

‘That’s no big deal,’ said Tanya.

‘It’s 7000 picoseconds – that’s a bloody big deal.  We will be returning at a different time to when we left.’

‘And what does that mean?’ said Tanya.

‘Fuck knows.’ said Andy.

After they landed and had endured the expected debriefing they wandered out to their skycar relishing the joy of home.  Their planet.  Their Earth.  And what a beautiful place it was.  It was 2090.  And any thoughts about extra nanoseconds were erased as they saw that their land was exactly as it had been.  But was it?  Somehow it seemed brighter, cleaner, warmer.

The planet Xola was special for Tanya and Andy for two reasons.  First, Xola was a disappearing planet.  Small in size, tiny by contrast to the planets of Earth’s galaxy.  But a few years earlier they’d noticed a strange phenomenon:  Every now and then, Xola disappeared.  It disappeared Andy calculated by exactly 7 nanoseconds.  Many would ignore this tiny variation in time: a glitch, a warp across the universe, a blink in the history of time.  But not Andy Adasina.  ‘It disappeared, doesn’t matter by a day, a year, a lifetime, or a nanosecond – it disappeared.’

But their journey to Xola had been special in a much more intimate way.  Tanya and Andy Adesina were in a legitimised ongoing duo person relationship with child rearing status.  Their plan, not revealed to anyone else at the time, was to conceive their first child in space; preferably in the space left by Xola’s disappearance.  They both agreed that this would be unlikely since the eyes of the scientific world would be scrutinising their every move and, of course, seven nanoseconds was a remarkably short time for even the most premature of men to rattle off a conception.  But they would give it their best shot.  Which in due course they did.  And though they didn’t know it at the time, they were successful; a little girl to be named Xola would appear some months later.

The journey to and from Xola had been largely uneventful.  Their arrival after three months of travel coincided with the planet’s disappearance but for such a fraction of a moment in time it was not visually possible to witness.  Neither was there any significant effect at as it happened.

‘Well I’d call that a damp squib,’ said Andy.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Tanya.  ‘I felt a stirring you know, down below.’

‘Was that before or after we, you know had…’

‘…sex,’ cut in Tanya.  ‘I’m not good on nanoseconds but I reckon at the same time.  I think this baby’s going to be special.  Anyway, tell me more about these nanoseconds.  What use is a trillionth of a second.’

‘It’s a billionth actually.  They needed them about a hundred years ago.  They could measure electrical impulses to do with these little devices they used to speak to each other – some kind of communication gizmo.  They’re antiquated now; you’ll find them in museums.  Anyway we use this kind of measurement to keep track on Black Hole volitivity.’

‘Smashing,’ was all Tanya could manage.

So they soon settled down to life back home.  Andy working on information from their six month journey and Tanya observing and recording  physical space and time.  The job that had initially led to the discovery of Xola and its ability to disappear.  After a few weeks they decided to take a trip out to the countryside.  It was there that they spotted an intriguing sign; it was in fact a huge electronic holographic screen – something which irritated the life out of eco aware couples like Tanya and Andy.  But this one interested them.  Flashing ZOMBIE WORLD.  and underneath, directions.

‘What the hell is Zombie World? asked Tanya.

‘We could go and find out.  It’s a couple of hundred miles due north; it’ll only take a few minutes,’ said Andy.

‘No, let’s not bother, it’ll be some cyber theme park for kids.’

‘Well let’s see.  I’m interested now.  If it’s rubbish we’ll carry on to our favourite picnic spot.’

Tanya was pleased to agree; she actually was quite keen for some silly distraction.  They flipped the craft into a new slip stream and ended up outside the park five minutes later.

How to describe the park?  Crowded, thousands of visitors climbing on to shuttle craft, lifting off to explore.  Not knowing what to expect Andy approached a uniformed assistant explaining who they were – famous – and were quickly introduced to Jackson Monarch; executive director of the park.  ‘Special treatment for special people.  I’ll show you the park, you tell me all about Ion3 travel and Xola.’

The tour was Jackson Monarch’s one man show, clearly rehearsed many times.  Andy and Tanya sat in horrified silence as the craft moved from one enclosure to the next.  Flying alongside horrifically disfigured birds circled before the shuttle plunged deep into a green lake filled with equally hideously deformed fish and other aquatic creatures.  As they sped around the park even the vegetation seemed warped and angry.  That was a key word.  Everything was anger and aggression.  Especially in the human compounds. 

True, Zombies had fired the imagination of film makes and public alike – they couldn’t get enough of them.  And here there were plenty to get enough of.  The lasting impression, as they made their way back, was the sheer horror of what they had seen.  Creatures and humans attacking each other, sometimes thrown together.  Not just the classic throat tearing and stomach ripping of helpless confined non zombies.  But larger more hideous beasts clearly able to rip limbs from bodies.  This was the most vile aspect of the spectacle where non-zombies entering a den ran screaming before the inevitable carnage.  Blood spraying, in pools, gushing from limbs and heads.  Gore, the almighty god of this travesty.  And wardens with sophisticated weapons quelling and provoking in equal measure. 

Sick to their stomachs Andy and Tanya descended from the shuttle.

Jackson unaware of just how bad they were feeling continued his commentary taking them into a small reception area and trying to ply them with drinks.  ‘Now, tell me all about Xola.’

In time, having become a little composed, they questioned Jackson.  ‘I can’t believe you’ve managed to create all of this in six months.  It’s incredible,’ said Andy

‘Six months!’ said Jackson.  It’s taken the best part of 20 years.  Since we found them.’

‘But this wasn’t here…’

Andy cut Tanya off.  He’d had an uneasy feeling ever since they saw the scale of Zombie World.  It covered acres and contained creatures that not even the best CGI could create.  ‘Sorry, remind me where the first group came from.’

‘Same place where they all came from.  The Badlands.  I think your space adventure has addled your brain.’

‘I think your right,’ said Andy.  ‘Well thanks for the tour.’

‘Well you all come back soon,’ smiled Jackson.

They said goodbye and Tanya and Andy walked back towards their craft.

‘Seven nanoseconds.  You asked me once what difference would that make,’ said Andy.  ‘The fucking difference is just behind us.’

They never reached their special picnic spot by Lake Kosovo.  A massive stretch of pure blue water that historically had once been a whole country.  ‘Let’s at least fly over it,’ said Tanya.  They did.  In fact they missed it twice because good old Lake Kosovo wasn’t there.  Andy flew lower the next time.  What might have been the lake was more a desert now  In the centre a set of tower blocks.  Sheer alumina or perhaps silver, gleaming in the bright midday sun.  Suddenly a voice came through there communications console.  This is a no fly zone.  You have precisely 25 seconds to leave the area before your craft is destroyed.  They made the journey in 20 seconds.  Landing safely outside the no fly zone they sat in silence staring at each other.

‘There are three things we are going to explore.  But we are going to do it covertly.  No one must know that we don’t know anything about what’s going on here.’

‘Agreed,’ said Tanya.  ‘So I think I’ve got the three things.  Obviously the history of that fucking nightmare, zombie hell.  Secondly, what the hell are the Badlands and where are they and thirdly where’s our fucking lake gone and what’s that top secret edifice in the middle of it?’ 

Tanya and Andy reviewed their research.  They could find no reference to any Badlands and descriptions about Zombie World made it sound like a high tech adventure playground.  As to be expected the mysterious building at the centre of the former lake Kosovo produced no results.

Over the next week Andy worked on their craft making it invisible to any form of scan.  Because of these modifications they were standing outside the central silver block at the centre of their dried up lake.  Unfortunately there was one form of scan Andy hadn’t bargained on.  Jackson Monarch’s eyes.

What did Tanya and Andy expect to achieve – to unravel the mystery of the building?  Hidden from view all was quiet for well over an hour and then they spotted lights from an incoming craft.  Landing, about 50 people disembarked and were roughly herded into the building.  This was their chance.  They followed at a safe distance.  The ‘visitors’ appeared heavily drugged.  Tanya and Andy were surprised at the lack of security.  They would soon understand why.

Could there be anything worse that Zombie World itself?  Tanya and Andy found out there could be.  50 regular looking people; men, women, children, entered the building and were processed through a series of chambers  – a holding area, anaesthetic room and eventually into the operating theatres themselves.  And it was there that the most depraved activities took place.  Brains were neutralised, injections induced terrible ruptures and sores.  Limbs were disfigured and broken.  And by the end of the process, though it was a contradiction in terms, perfect zombies were created.

It was when they attempted to leave, to alert an unknowing world of this atrocity that they once again met up with Jackson Monarch, the true king of this travesty.

‘Curiosity is a wonderful thing,’ he said taking them up to a viewing platform.  ‘I’ve been observing you as you followed our latest recruits through processing. As I observed you flying towards us earlier on.  And we don’t worry too much about security.  Anyone who wanders in here, ends up like them.  But you two can be very helpful to my enterprise.’  Tanya was about to protest but a knowing look from Andy stopped her.

‘Possibly,’ said Andy. ‘But we need to know more.’

‘Of course.  It’s hard to stomach at first.  But you know yourselves how bad things were getting.  Homelessness was at epidemic proportions; prisons were bursting at the seams, abuse amongst the population especially in families was rife.  Something had to be done.  Zombie world holds on average 17,000 people.  We have dozens of sites across Eurasia.  Society is far better off.  Criminality is at an all-time low and income an all-time high.  But you don’t know any of this do you?  Something happened on Xola to wipe this from your memories.  And there will be something about you; some distortion that I can tap into; utilize to expand and improve on this enterprise.  The planet itself – perhaps a new colony of many tens of thousands roaming free.’

Tanya looked down over the parapet some two meters high, glass fronted.  Yes she knew they could help.  There was something, some small thing they could do.  Andy looked on at amazement.  She’d bent down to the floor as if to retrieve something but coming back up she had Monarch by the lower legs hoisting him up.  ‘Don’t just stand there Andy, help.’ As Monarch screamed Andy dropped down and assisted in getting the man up to the top of the parapet and then, with a smiling nod to Tanya, hoisted him over the top.

Andy felt they should leave.  Tanya wanted to stay a little longer and watch.  Watch while the creatures that this monster had created advanced on the creator. And rapidly, satisfyingly tore him limb from  limb.

As security rushed to save their boss Andy and Tanya made their escape.  Safely away from the Zombie manufacturing building creating this hideous form of entertainment they considered the situation.

‘What gets me is not just the Zombie making business but the fact that people, ordinary people like us, pay good money to watch this horror story,’ said Andy.

‘Like they did in Roman times with gladiators and lions and stuff.’

Andy thought for a moment. ‘The point is how has this happened?’

‘You think that when we visited Xola it sort bounced us back to a different world.  What’s that theory that was all the rage once?’ asked Tanya.

‘Multiverses.’

‘That’s it.  Like there’s different versions of the universe that’s basically but maybe different things sometimes happen,’ said Tanya.

‘Like we start operating on people and tuning them into Zombies?’

‘And if there’s this world which is different from the one we left how many others are there?’

‘Could be hundreds, more,’ said Andy.

‘How do we find the one we left?’

‘Guess we go back to Xola.’

Andy powered up the Skycar.  He set a course not for home but for the Ion space craft.

‘You thinking what I’m thinking?’ said Tanya.  ‘We need a different seven nanoseconds.’

[EXPLICIT CONTENT] Neale and Jack were lovers; happy enough, until Neale proposed and Jack said no. The end of a beautiful relationship? Not quite. Maybe there was still a chance for a future together, especially when Jack left a very special gift on Neale’s doorstep.

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Something Left On The Doorstep

The Wedding Present

‘I’ve been wondering,’ said Neale.  ‘Who carries who over the threshold once we’re married.  I’m taller so I’m probably heavier.’

‘And I’m shorter and fatter is what you’re getting at,’ said Jack.

‘No I wasn’t.  It was more the principle of the thing.  You know when two guys get married.  Is there a precedent?  Like this is your house so you should really carry me.’

‘It’s our house now and all that stuff is irrelevant because we’re living in it.  The threshold nonsense was to do with the macho man bringing his women into his house for the first time.’

‘Just asking,’ said Neale.

Jack and Neale had met at University and had fallen madly in love.  From the beginning they studied together, relaxed together and pretty quickly slept together.  It had been a magical time.  And later they worked together.

When they’d been together for five years, Neale tool Jack out to a fancy restaurant.  Everything had been planned in advance.  At the end of the meal with a fanfare from the staff and fizzing indoor fireworks he had got down on bended knee and proposed to Jack.  And Jack, though adored Neale, had said no.

The problem for Jack had always been his mother.  His father died when he was a teenager.  He’d been a successful businessman leaving his wife with a small fortune including an extremely palatial house in Richmond.  It was a very prestigious address.  Close enough to the city to work but far enough away to be an idyllic retreat.  Jack and his Ma were happy enough but there was one thing that Ma would not countenance; Jack’s homosexuality.  It was not spoken of.  It, as far as Ma was concerned, did not exist. 

To be fair another son might have managed the situation better than Jack did.  The problem with Jack was twofold.  He loved his Ma; he would do anything to protect her, to keep her happy.  The death of his father had been a harrowing affair.  His dying was one thing.  That was bad enough but to have died in the arms of his personal secretary.  Johnny McConway was quite another.

And the second thing?  Basically Jack was a coward and could not manage confrontations.  He was weak and wholly unwilling to upset Ma; so the idea of marriage to another man was out of the question.

For years this had been the situation for Neale and Jack.  They spent days together building up a small but successful retail business.  Eventually it expanded; they took on staff, they made a good bit of money.  They were happy.  Well, almost happy.  For years Neale accepted that Jack was too weak to manage his Ma.  But eventually he’d had enough.  That is when he decided to propose and that was when Jack said no.

They’d met in the carpark a short while later.   ‘I’m sorry.  I can’t go through with it.  We can’t live together.  It would kill my mother.’

‘I know,’ said Neale, ‘It would.  But sadly something is going to die.  That’s you and me.  Are relationship is going to die.’

Jack had tried to get Neale back but Neale had decided it was over and eventually Jack accepted that Neale was gone forever.

Neale bought out Jack from the business and set about finding another life partner.  He joined online dating agencies but that led to lust rather than love and Neale’s only relationships had no strings attached and never reached the following morning. 

Jack, though he had lots of money, had lost the will to try again either with a business or with another man.  He stayed at home and looked after Ma who was failing.

While Jack languished in Richmond with his mother and only the memories of his lover, Neale continued his weekly attempts to find a new Jack only to fail miserably.  And then one night there was a knock at the door.  For a moment Neale considered ignoring it, most likely it would be one of those bi-curious guys he’d met up with who fancied a quickie before wandering back home to the wife.  But curiosity got the better of him and he made his way do the door.  There was no one there.  But then he noticed a large bundle of clothes on the doorstep.  He bent down and carefully lifted away a rather expensive looking fur hat knowing that this was surely a dummy, a bundle of assorted clothes to look like a body or he smiled to himself, maybe it is a body.  And it was.

Neale crashed back through his front door unable to rid his mind of the grotesque face that he’d just revealed.  It was ashen, it was made up with rouge and eyeliner and deep red lipstick.  It was old, it was cold, it smelled a little.  And it was Ma.  Jack’s Ma.  And then smiling broadly, looking in the very best of health, Jack appeared.  ‘I brought you a little gift,’ he said, as Neale moved quickly in the direction of the under stairs lavatory.

Neale sat silently across the room from Jack who was still smiling.  They each had a small whisky in their hands.  Jack for once perfectly in control and Neale using his free hand to steady the shaking whisky glass hand.  Jack was telling his story.  But adding rather too often one might have thought the words. ‘I didn’t kill her, honest.’ And then ending his long winded explanation of how his beloved mother had simply passed away and how amusing it would be to bring her here now that everything was alright – he moved across to Neale, this time he was bending at the knee and saying those words that Neale never expected to hear.  ‘Neale Bradley – will you marry me?’

Neale didn’t agree that day, or the next, or the day after.  He didn’t agree until they’d taken Ma back to Richmond and phoned the family doctor and then the undertaker.  He didn’t agree until the body had been moved and buried some days later.  Then sitting again opposite each other with another whisky and a slightly less shaky hand he agreed and they went to bed.

It was a cold February.  It’s a dreadful month, not just the extending cold but the pointlessness of the month with nothing really to look forward to.  But Jack and Neale did have something to look forward to.  June 1st, their wedding day.  They sat happily, Jack with a laptop on his knee while Neale continued his wedding list – they’d covered guests, (about 150) flowers, cars, reception, cake, bridesmen. 

‘Bridesmen?’ said Jack.  

‘Well you know what I mean, hired hunks in tight waistcoats and tighter shorts, who can dance.’

‘You’re joking of course.’

‘Just a bit of a fantasy really.  Now parents, oh sorry…’

‘That’s right,’ smiled Jack.  ‘I’m an orphan.   I’m an orphan and here we are.  Dear Ma died.  Left me everything; house, car and loads of money and honestly, I didn’t kill her.’

‘It might be best if you stopped saying…’  And Neale stopped saying because there’d been a small knock at the door.  ‘I’ll go,’ said Jack.  And off he went.  Neale for no reason he could bring to mind felt worried and noticed that suddenly there was a chill in the room.  Moments later Jack returned.  ‘It’s a wedding gift, I think.’  He was holding a large cast iron cooking dish.  ‘And there’s something in it.’

While Jack held the very heavy pot Neale removed the lid.  Steam and a delightful meaty smell wafted up.  ‘Well would you ever,’ said Jack.  ‘What nice neighbours.’

‘We’ve been here a few weeks said Neale, bit late in the day for a welcoming present.’

‘It’s a wedding present, sort of.  I think.  Whatever it is it looks and smells delicious.  I think we should have some, now.’

‘’I think you’re right.  Me first.’ And Neale dipped his hand into the hot stew bringing out a lump of well cooked meat. ‘Delicious.’

‘My turn,’ said Jack passing the pot over to Neale.  ‘Funny shapes these pieces of beef.  Not beef,  I think more like pork.  Funny shape as well.  Seen that shape somewhere before.’  Neale gasped and dropped the pot on Jack’s foot.  Jack screamed.  Not just from the pain but rather more from the sight of a bunch of well-cooked penises floating in a sea of rich dark gravy coating his legs and shoes.

‘Who would leave us a panful of cooked cocks,’ said Neale shaking his head.  He’d been sick, most of the night in fact.

‘Surprised you’re that bothered,’ said Jack.  ‘Considering your usual taste in men.’ 

‘Uncooked men.’  Neither of them could face going to the police.  The story would be too ludicrous.  They would forget all about it though neither couldn’t quite forget it.  The who was worrying, the how was horrific.

It was about three weeks later when they heard another knock on the door.  Neale went this time.  Sitting on the doorstep was the cutest little puppy anyone could imagine. ‘Jack come and see this.’  Jack emerged and his face lit up at the sight of the pretty young dog.  He moved forward intending to caress it.  As he leaned in to hold the puppy its mouth opened and it spewed out a gob full of phlegm, blood and bile all over Jack’s face.  Neale screamed and dropped the puppy.  It lay between them unmoving, clearly dead.

This time they did go to the police.  Who called in the help of a local Vet.  The story was pieced together.   ‘It’s clear that whoever did this is a fucking nasty cruel bastard,’ said police sergeant, Andy Draper.  Moments before you opened the door person or persons unknown squirted a large amount of rat poison down its throat.  The timing is critical.’

‘And it worked,’ said Jack.  ‘Just enough time for Neale to pick it up,  and then offer the dying little chap to me only to be baptised in its death vomit.’ 

‘You must find out who did this.  It’s the second nasty gift to arrive on our doorstep,’ said Jack.

And Neale wondered for just a moment if it wasn’t in fact the third nasty gift to arrive on a doorstep.

The police found nothing.  And still the unwanted gifts kept arriving.  A bottle of Champagne containing only pigs urine.  A wedding cake filled with dead maggots, flies and about 50 colourful wasps.  They weren’t dead unfortunately.

‘Someone doesn’t like us.’

‘You don’t say,’ said Jack.

‘And I know who it is.  And you know too,’ said Neale.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Jack.

‘It’s your Ma.  I know she’s dead.  But she’s haunting us with these vile wedding gifts.  We’re getting married in two week’s time.  What the fuck will end up on our doorstep before then?’

‘How come the ghost of my mother can be doing these things.  Ghosts can’t cook penises and cakes, and poison dogs and collect pig’s urine,’ said Jack.

‘Why not?  Who says they can’t?  Ghosts in stories can’t.  But they’re made up.  Phantoms in bed sheets.  What about Jason in Elm Street, he could whip off quite a few fucking penises.   She could be occupying one of these houses, cooking up all sorts of nasty things.  And I’ll guarantee she’s got something very special for our wedding night.’

Reluctantly Jack agreed.  Were she alive, Jack would know for a fact that his mother was behind these hideous presents.  So why shouldn’t she be doing the same thing in the afterlife.  They both pondered the best way to deal with this situation.  It was Jack who eventually had the brightest idea.  ‘We’ll dig the old bugger up and burn her.’

Neale felt that this was an imperfect solution but as he couldn’t think of anything else he agreed it was worth a try.  And this decision brought them to her graveside as it happens on the night before their wedding.

They dug down – took nearly four hours until they reached the coffin.  Then they heard the voice behind them.  Startled they spun round.  There was Ma still in her funeral finery.  Bizarrely, she was sitting in the cab of a bulldozer.  Strange they hadn’t heard it. 

They were too stunned to react to the fact that they were seeing a ghost; a dead person risen and operating a massive machine. 

‘She’s going to bury us here, said Jack clinging on to Neale.  But Jack was only half right.  Ma was nothing if not thorough.  She deftly lifted up the bulldozer’s blade and then releasing the pneumatic clutch allowed it to fall quickly and effectively on the heads of the two lovers.  And then she used the machine for its intended purpose pushing the mound of grass and dirt over their dead bodies.

Jack found himself standing by the side of the grave watching Neale hightailing it out of the cemetery.  Then he heard why.  ‘There you are son.  We’re back together.  Together, forever,’ said Ma, jumping down from the bulldozer.