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A FEAST OF UNLIKELY STORIES
A FEAST OF<br />
UNLIKELY STORIES<br />
STORIES BY<br />
TOM GIRLING<br />
ILLUSTRATIONS BY<br />
MATT GIRLING<br />
2017
SHE & THE MOONLIGHT LION<br />
2<br />
THE ROUGH DIAMOND<br />
8<br />
THE FEAST<br />
20<br />
GEORGE PRICE<br />
& HIS MILLIONS<br />
26<br />
SNAKE<br />
36
She had the same dream every night - a lion,<br />
with eyes that sparkled, dancing in the<br />
moonlight. For a long time she wasn’t sure<br />
what it meant; for a while she thought that maybe<br />
she did, but mostly it was just part <strong>of</strong> her life.<br />
Her life was normal, if there is such a thing as a<br />
normal life. She was happy; she met a man and they<br />
2
were happy together. She became pregnant and late<br />
one August gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. They<br />
named her Eila.<br />
The first thing she noticed about her baby girl as<br />
the midwife passed her over were her eyes. She had<br />
exactly the same eyes as the Moonlight Lion from<br />
her dream. They were dark, a deep grey, but not at<br />
all dull, like a bright full moon with a twinkle from<br />
the surrounding stars. From that day on she would<br />
never dream <strong>of</strong> the Moonlight Lion again, but she<br />
would forever see him in the eyes <strong>of</strong> her daughter.<br />
Eila grew up; turning from a girl into a young woman,<br />
all the while she was unaware <strong>of</strong> how special she<br />
was; there was no way <strong>of</strong> her knowing.<br />
At sixteen she started seeing a boy. He was skinny<br />
with dark features and although not conventionally<br />
good looking had something about him which<br />
appealed to people. They were inseparable and<br />
spent every available moment together, giggling<br />
together in their own little world.<br />
One morning they were lying in bed. The delicate<br />
spring sun was flooding through the windows and<br />
dancing over Eila’s s<strong>of</strong>t hazel coloured hair, when<br />
the boy looked up into her dark, round eyes and<br />
began telling her about the dream he had just woken<br />
from.<br />
He described how vivid and lucid it was. He had<br />
dreamt <strong>of</strong> a lion, a lion that was wonderfully<br />
3
majestic, powerful but at the same time peaceful.<br />
What exactly it was he wasn’t sure, but somehow<br />
the lion seemed to possess human characteristics. He<br />
also talked about the way it moved with such grace<br />
and beauty, as if it was weightless. She told him it<br />
was a silly dream and to go back to sleep, but the boy<br />
continued, describing in great detail the scene from<br />
his dream: a clearing in a wood, which was s<strong>of</strong>t and<br />
mossy underfoot. Moonlight poured down in shafts<br />
through the trees from a canvas <strong>of</strong> dark sky that held<br />
uncountable pinprick stars. Although still sleepy he<br />
seemed almost possessed in his recollection <strong>of</strong> the<br />
dream. He continued telling Eila how, although there<br />
was no colour in the dream, the whole scene seemed<br />
to glow, and the lion had such an aura. The lion was<br />
dancing he told her. Even though he had never seen<br />
a lion dance that was the only way he could describe<br />
the movement <strong>of</strong> the lion. Its flowing body leaving<br />
glowing trails in the moonlit clearing.<br />
In time Eila and the boy grew apart; they had loved<br />
each other, but somethings aren’t meant to be. Of<br />
course Eila fell in love again, this time with a young<br />
man she met at university. Their relationship grew<br />
and then one morning Eila was woken by mumbling<br />
from beside her. ‘Lion, a Lion,’ he was repeating,<br />
s<strong>of</strong>tly under his breath while still asleep. Later, when<br />
he had properly woken up, he told her more about<br />
the dream. The way he described the lion with such<br />
exact detail took her back to her first love all those<br />
years ago. She was shocked when he told her that<br />
the lion was dancing. Dancing isn’t a word people<br />
commonly use to describe the movement <strong>of</strong> animals.<br />
4
Yet both the boy who she had so dearly loved and<br />
now this man, who she suspected she might be falling<br />
in love with, had been adamant that that’s what the<br />
lion was doing. Eila listened carefully while he spoke<br />
about the lion. He had never told her about a dream<br />
before and he seemed quite shaken by how clear and<br />
ethereal it had been. He had a slightly glazed look,<br />
but as he focused and looked round he noticed her<br />
eyes. They were exactly the same as the lion’s from<br />
his dream. He told her this and she couldn’t help but<br />
smile, and that in turn made her eyes sparkle all the<br />
brighter. She decided not to tell him that this wasn’t<br />
the first time this dream had been dreamt. It was all<br />
strange enough without that added detail.<br />
Eila finished university and moved away from<br />
England, leaving the second love behind. While on<br />
her travels she met the man she would finally settle<br />
on. He was like the first two men Eila had loved<br />
rolled into one and more. The morning after the<br />
night he proposed to her he woke looking startled.<br />
‘What a strange dream.’ he said, ‘About a lion’ she<br />
replied which came out as both a question and a<br />
statement. They went through the dream together,<br />
and this time Eila did explain how she knew about<br />
the dream with the Moonlight Lion.<br />
That night when she called her mother to tell her<br />
<strong>of</strong> her engagement, she mentioned the lion who had<br />
danced so vividly in her lovers’ dreams; but only<br />
<strong>of</strong> those men she had truly loved she realised. She<br />
could hear her mother smiling down the phone. ‘Oh,<br />
I know that lion,’ she told her daughter, ‘l haven’t<br />
5
seen him for a while now, but let me tell you he is<br />
so graceful and so beautiful.’ She explained that she<br />
had had a recurring dream before Eila was born.<br />
The Moonlight Lion had danced through her dreams<br />
more times than she could remember. They agreed<br />
it was very odd, but there was nothing sinister about<br />
it; if anything it had a certain romance to it. Eila and<br />
her Mother were both so full <strong>of</strong> love and happiness<br />
that they just let it be.<br />
A few more years passed and it was Eila’s turn to<br />
become pregnant. When her child did arrive he was<br />
such a handsome baby. The midwife remarked that<br />
his little grip was much stronger than most babies’<br />
and how unusual it was to be born with such a full<br />
head <strong>of</strong> strawberry blond hair, like the mane <strong>of</strong> a<br />
little lion, she said. Eila, her husband and her mother<br />
looked at each other with a knowing smile and then<br />
back at the baby with his bright locks and twinkling<br />
grey eyes. ‘I think we will call him Leo’ said Eila.<br />
6
7
I<br />
saw him <strong>of</strong>ten enough, on the little bridge just<br />
past St. George’s crypt. It was unusual if you<br />
didn’t come across someone sitting, looking<br />
dejected on that bridge, but somehow he looked like<br />
he shouldn’t be there, didn’t belong, so far as anyone<br />
can belong, sat on a cardboard box, on a bridge, in<br />
the rain.<br />
8
Tonight however was different. It was one <strong>of</strong> those<br />
evenings in late May when the sun seems to linger<br />
in the sky for an extra half hour, and a warm breeze<br />
signals Summer might finally be on its way. I had<br />
been to The Angel for a few on my way home and it<br />
had put a smile across my face. As I crossed the little<br />
bridge, there he was. When I got closer he looked up<br />
from the newspaper he was reading. He didn’t say<br />
anything, but for some reason I felt drawn to him.<br />
“Evening” I said.<br />
“Evening” he responded.<br />
He didn’t smile. I don’t think I ever saw him smile.<br />
But there was a sparkle in his placid pale blue eyes,<br />
which meant that he never looked miserable either.<br />
He was wearing a large waxed overcoat, which<br />
you would think was much too hot for the warm<br />
weather we were having. Under it he had a tatty<br />
shirt with tired looking jeans and scuffed boots. His<br />
face, however, didn’t look nearly as grubby as a lot<br />
<strong>of</strong> other homeless folks do. His hair was unkempt,<br />
light brown and came down just past his ears. He<br />
had stubble but not so much that you’d call it a<br />
beard. His cheeks were almost hollow and looked as<br />
if they’d previously held a lot more weight. I would<br />
have found it hard to put an age to him. I would have<br />
believed him if he’d said thirty right up to fifty.<br />
“Lovely weather” I <strong>of</strong>fered, which is a desperately<br />
dull way to start a conversation but I didn’t know<br />
what else to say.<br />
9
“Not bad” his voice was s<strong>of</strong>t, with a slight accent,<br />
but one that I couldn’t place; and with that he looked<br />
back down at his paper. For some reason I felt<br />
compelled to know who this man was. I must have<br />
walked past him a hundred times before without<br />
stopping, but this evening my curiosity overcame<br />
me. Maybe it was the couple <strong>of</strong> ales I’d had but I<br />
decided to ask him if he would like a beer. I only<br />
lived over the road in Hanover Square, not even two<br />
minutes away.<br />
“If you’re buying”, he almost broke into a smile.<br />
Moments later I was back with two cans <strong>of</strong> lager,<br />
and as I handed one down to him, out <strong>of</strong> nowhere<br />
he said<br />
“So, you want to hear my story?”<br />
I was slightly taken aback as it was exactly what I<br />
wanted, but I didn’t known how to phrase it. Before<br />
I could answer, he started.<br />
“About fifteen years ago I was in London, on the<br />
streets. Back then I didn’t know how it worked. I<br />
was new to this life” A fly landed on his hand and<br />
he flicked it away into the fading light as an endless<br />
stream <strong>of</strong> glowing red tail lights dragged trails into<br />
the tunnel beneath us.<br />
“I was sleeping rough round the side <strong>of</strong> this Indian<br />
place. Not the nicest place, but not the worst. I had<br />
already been told to bugger <strong>of</strong>f by the owner a few<br />
times, but it was a good spot so I kept going back.<br />
10
Then one night one <strong>of</strong> the younger waiters comes<br />
out for a fag and sees me. I make a move to go but<br />
before I do he holds his hand up and says ‘Wait there<br />
a second.’ A couple <strong>of</strong> minutes later he comes back<br />
with a curry in one <strong>of</strong> those silver take away trays.<br />
As he hands it to me he says “Look, the owner’s not<br />
about for a few days and I know it’s him who tells<br />
you not to hang around here. So why don’t you sleep<br />
round the alley for a couple <strong>of</strong> nights and I’Il make<br />
sure I bring you a curry, as long as you keep quiet<br />
and don’t disturb anyone.”<br />
I was sitting with my back against the wall <strong>of</strong> the<br />
bridge and I shifted my weight to stop the pins and<br />
needles in my foot as he continued.<br />
“I’d only been on the streets a couple <strong>of</strong> months<br />
then and I hadn’t had much luck. And this is the<br />
first time anyone had given me anything more than<br />
a couple <strong>of</strong> quid or so. To know where I would be<br />
for a couple <strong>of</strong> nights and to have a warm meal was<br />
the best thing to happen to me for a while. And this<br />
kid’s kindness had come out <strong>of</strong> nowhere. So on the<br />
second night, this kid, Raj was his name, comes and<br />
sits with me while I eat. And tells me about how<br />
he had slept on the streets himself in Delhi when he<br />
was younger and knows what it’s like. It meant a lot,<br />
that conversation, and that night, that’s when it first<br />
happened. As I was falling asleep, I felt a tickle in<br />
the bottom <strong>of</strong> my belly. And it rose up like a hiccup,<br />
it felt scratchy around my throat and all <strong>of</strong> a sudden<br />
I was spluttering and choking. I put my hand over<br />
my mouth to try and block the noise, but I couldn’t. I<br />
11
coughed something the size <strong>of</strong> a penny into my palm.<br />
It looked like a stone or something, but unusual,<br />
with sharp edges. It was covered in gob and black<br />
spit, and it smelt all wrong. So I go to throw this<br />
lump on the ground, but as it hits the concrete it<br />
makes a funny sound. And then the light from the<br />
take away’s window hits it in a such a peculiar way<br />
with colours coming <strong>of</strong>f it like a dull rainbow. So I<br />
grab a serviette from the remains <strong>of</strong> my meal and<br />
go over to where I had thrown it, and start wiping<br />
the surface <strong>of</strong> this lump, this stone. And there it was,<br />
what looked like a shard <strong>of</strong> glass, but more than that,<br />
like a diamond....”<br />
I crushed my empty lager can in my hand and stood<br />
up.<br />
“A diamond?”<br />
“Well” he replied “obviously I knew it couldn’t be a<br />
diamond. I just coughed it up. But it certainly looked<br />
like one. The next day I tried to smarten myself up<br />
the best I could. Which wasn’t very smart, mind<br />
you. And I wandered round Bethnal Green for a bit<br />
looking for a jewellers. Not a smart one but one that<br />
looked like it would take anything. After a while<br />
I found one, can’t remember the name now. All I<br />
remember is it had a red and gold door and a name<br />
in large letters across the window. As I walk up to<br />
the counter, the little man behind the desk looks<br />
through his little round spectacles down his nose at<br />
me.<br />
12
“Can I help you?” He says with disdain. I fish out the<br />
stone from my coat pocket and lay it on the counter.<br />
I’d cleaned it up good and proper that morning.<br />
“Would you be interested in buying this Sir?” I said.<br />
I see the little man’s beady eyes widen. He picks it<br />
up and takes a quick look through his magnifying<br />
glass.<br />
“And where did you acquire this?” he asks.<br />
“Found it”<br />
The man stops looking at the diamond and places it<br />
back in my hand and begins shouting<br />
“I want you to get out <strong>of</strong> my shop right now. You’re<br />
lucky I don’t call the police. Now get out!” I was<br />
young back then and a bit jumpy. The way this man<br />
spoke to me unsettled me. I can clearly remember<br />
turning and running out. I step out onto the pavement<br />
and look down at the stone in my palm, and as I do<br />
a man in a suit charges past, reading a newspaper<br />
while he walks and bumps right into me. The stone<br />
flies from my hand, skids across the pavement and<br />
disappears down a drain by the curb”<br />
“Well that’s quite some story. But I think I should be<br />
getting <strong>of</strong>f now.”<br />
I needed the toilet quite badly; the beers adding up<br />
in my bladder and I was keen to get home. As much<br />
as the story amused and entertained me, I wasn’t<br />
13
sure what it meant and he had clearly dreamt it up<br />
on one <strong>of</strong> his lonely nights.<br />
“That’s just the beginning” said my new friend.<br />
“I’ll tell you what”, my curiosity (and possibly my<br />
kindness) getting the better <strong>of</strong> me “Why don’t we<br />
have the next beers in my backyard, ey?”<br />
He didn’t say anything. Just got to his feet and walked<br />
along side me. He was taller than I had expected and<br />
took long strides. Moments later we were sitting in<br />
my back yard with a second can <strong>of</strong> lager each.<br />
“So, your story?”<br />
“A couple <strong>of</strong> years on from that last incident, I’m in<br />
a different part <strong>of</strong> London, but in the same situation.<br />
Sleeping rough and with no money. It’s the weekend,<br />
and I have just managed to get to sleep in the middle<br />
<strong>of</strong> the night. It’s quite hard to sleep with the cars and<br />
drunks. I’m just dozing <strong>of</strong>f when all <strong>of</strong> a sudden I’m<br />
woken up by a group <strong>of</strong> lads, about three <strong>of</strong> ‘em. One<br />
<strong>of</strong> them is pouring beer over my head. I get up and<br />
another kicks me hard in the stomach and knocks<br />
the wind right out <strong>of</strong> me. I’m all dazed and groggy<br />
and then I get another kick. And just as I’m thinking<br />
this is gonna end really badly, a fella from across<br />
the road runs over and starts pushing the lads, grips<br />
one up against the wall and they scurry <strong>of</strong>f into the<br />
night. So this bloke sits down with me and makes<br />
sure I’m okay. Stays with me for half an hour or so.<br />
Don’t know what I would have done without him.<br />
14
I must have drifted <strong>of</strong>f because suddenly I was<br />
coughing myself awake and he wasn’t there. The<br />
coughing got worse and there it was again. A stone<br />
in my hand. Just like before, a beautiful translucent<br />
stone, I clean it up and put it in my pocket and try to<br />
think what I can do with this one.<br />
He pauses and looks around at my yard like he’s<br />
only just sat down and is taking in his surroundings<br />
for the first time.<br />
“I knew that if I wanted to make some money I<br />
needed a different plan, which is all very well<br />
saying, but it’s not like I have any contacts in the<br />
diamond trade”<br />
“So what did you do?” I urge him to continue. The<br />
night has drawn in and a sea <strong>of</strong> stars are glimmering<br />
in the pale city fog like silver fish in a net.<br />
“I asked around the streets but no one was interested,<br />
or trusted me, but after a while I manage to sell it to<br />
this dodgy bloke I knew for twenty quid, which was<br />
a lot to me”<br />
He scratches his nose again and continues,<br />
“Thing is that the bloke who bought it <strong>of</strong>f me got<br />
hit by a car the next day, crossing the road and not<br />
looking. He was ok in the end but I don’t know what<br />
happened to the diamond. And I lost the twenty<br />
quid. Just couldn’t find it next time I went to my<br />
pocket for it.”<br />
15
“Has this happened again since then?” I ask, not<br />
sure if I believe any <strong>of</strong> it anyway.<br />
“More than once, in fact it’s happened seven<br />
times in total, and every time I’ve tried to sell the<br />
stone something happened” he continues “There<br />
is something that connects all the different times<br />
though, someone has always been genuinely kind to<br />
me. The thing about living on the streets is people<br />
treat you differently. Not many people treat you<br />
with respect. Some people will look at you and smile<br />
and then look away again. There are other people<br />
that will throw you a quid or 50p but don’t even look<br />
at you. Most people just completely ignore you. But<br />
do you know what you realise after a while?”<br />
He takes a long glug <strong>of</strong> his beer.<br />
“That people aren’t being nice to you because they<br />
like you. They’re being nice to you to make them<br />
feel better about themselves. They might sort <strong>of</strong> care<br />
about you, but not really. They just want good karma<br />
and to be that guy who gives money to homeless<br />
people. But then there are a few who do it because<br />
they actually care. There was one guy I knew who<br />
used to save up his coppers and give them to me.<br />
Normally about thirty quid. That goes a long way<br />
when you’re on the street. And there’s one lady who<br />
walks past here who gives me a cup <strong>of</strong> c<strong>of</strong>fee three<br />
times a week. Now those people care. They’re doing<br />
it for me. Not for themselves”<br />
16
I check my watch and see that it’s past ten and he<br />
catches me checking.<br />
“Well every time it’s happened, coughing the<br />
diamond I mean, it’s been just after someone<br />
has been genuinely kind to me, not just to make<br />
themselves feel better”.<br />
He stops talking and lowers his eyes and then raises<br />
them again is if willing me to question him further.<br />
“Well what’s happened to all these stones?” I ask.<br />
“That’s the thing. Every time I try to sell one it never<br />
works out, and it never works out for anyone else<br />
either, just like I told you earlier. That’s just the way<br />
it is and here I am, still on the streets”.<br />
I’m getting tired now, and could tell there wasn’t<br />
much left <strong>of</strong> his story. I didn’t really know how to<br />
tell him he’d better go, but before I could tell him I<br />
was going to bed and he needed to leave, he got up.<br />
“I better be <strong>of</strong>f” he says.<br />
There was something in the tone <strong>of</strong> his voice that<br />
caught me, and without really meaning to I <strong>of</strong>fer him<br />
the s<strong>of</strong>a, just for tonight. I get him an old sleeping bag<br />
from under the stairs and let him in through the door<br />
from the back yard. I go to bed hoping that I haven’t<br />
made a huge mistake, imagining going down the<br />
next morning to find that this man I hardly know<br />
has stripped my flat <strong>of</strong> everything I own.<br />
17
When I did wake the next day, the man, I still don’t<br />
know his name, has gone and the sleeping bag was<br />
back under the stairs. All that’s left, sparkling in the<br />
morning sun, sitting on the low living room table is<br />
the most perfect diamond I’ve ever seen, not large<br />
but so, so pretty, throwing rainbow shafts <strong>of</strong> light<br />
across the ceiling. It was just as he had described.<br />
It’s beautiful, I still have it. That night was years ago<br />
now, but whenever I feel down or have a bad day I<br />
look at that stone and wonder where he is now, and<br />
I’m thankful for what I have.<br />
18
19
hey step <strong>of</strong>f the bus into the darkness, and it’s<br />
already there waiting for them; a feast laid<br />
out on a long table by the side <strong>of</strong> the road. The<br />
bus, which is a long, old, colourless vehicle pulls<br />
away with flapping doors and a low rumble in its<br />
engine. The three <strong>of</strong> them look around at the eerie<br />
scene. Although there is no obvious light source, the<br />
table seems well illuminated, as if lit by streetlights.<br />
Mist rises up around the group’s knees, as if they’re<br />
in a corny horror film. The whole place is damp,<br />
20
and apart from the table, dark. The road, which is<br />
surrounded by trees, and the feast are all they can<br />
make out.<br />
The centre piece <strong>of</strong> the feast is a moose. A whole<br />
moose; horns and all, matted fur with dull eyes.<br />
Flies circle its cavernous nostrils. It looks far too<br />
heavy for the table it’s lying on, which is one <strong>of</strong><br />
those flimsy ones that you might see at a school fête<br />
or church bake sale. There are also several bowls <strong>of</strong><br />
bright yellow jelly which must be either lemon or<br />
pineapple flavour. The rest <strong>of</strong> the feast is made up<br />
<strong>of</strong> what looked like cheap, stale bread rolls. It’s all<br />
sat on a red & white check paper tablecloth. There is<br />
a sickly sweet stench rising from the feast; a rotten<br />
twang which must be coming from the moose’s<br />
corpse.<br />
The three <strong>of</strong> them make up an unusual looking group,<br />
all in waterpro<strong>of</strong> tops with hoods, caps and Adidas<br />
tracksuit bottoms. There is no way to tell their age in<br />
the darkness, but it’s safe to say they are teenagers.<br />
The first one towers over the others but is skinny,<br />
the third one is very much the opposite-short and<br />
wide, and the middle one doesn’t have much worth<br />
describing about him.<br />
This isn’t the feast they had been expecting. They<br />
had been hesitant to get <strong>of</strong>f the bus when the driver<br />
had announced their stop. That hesitancy has now<br />
changed into apprehension and fear, though they<br />
didn’t want to admit that to each other. They move<br />
closer to the feast, which in itself isn’t at all appealing,<br />
21
ut at least it’s light, and none <strong>of</strong> them want to stand<br />
on the edge <strong>of</strong> the darkness.<br />
Plastic cutlery in plastic wrappers litter the table.<br />
The tallest <strong>of</strong> the three unwraps a set and prods at<br />
one <strong>of</strong> the bright lemon yellow jellies. Still no one<br />
says anything.<br />
Now that the boys are in the light they can make<br />
out the trees on the other side <strong>of</strong> the table. They’re<br />
covered in a thick translucent resin that hangs from<br />
the gnarled branches. This goo is dripping in long<br />
icicles, and they realise that it is the unlikely source<br />
<strong>of</strong> the light. In silence they watch the goo flow from<br />
the trees, so slowly that you can hardly see it move.<br />
The icicles are already the length <strong>of</strong> the boys’ arms<br />
and hover above the table, laden with its strange<br />
and macabre feast.<br />
As the substance grows it seems to get brighter, and<br />
in turn the rest <strong>of</strong> the scene seems darker; beyond the<br />
trees behind the table is almost pitch black. When<br />
they look down the road to where the bus left them,<br />
the darkness seems to be closer, the night penning<br />
them into the table and the few trees that surround<br />
it. The boys want to move away from the table and<br />
the glowing goo, but at the same time they feel drawn<br />
to it, and they don’t want to face the alternative <strong>of</strong><br />
the unknown, unrelenting darkness. This isn’t what<br />
they expected at all.<br />
The goo has made its way to the table, forming in<br />
puddles <strong>of</strong> thick, viscous sap, swirls <strong>of</strong> air enclosed<br />
22
within. The moose has globules running through<br />
its stale matted fur. As the rotting body is slowly<br />
engulfed by the goo it magnifies and distorts the<br />
form <strong>of</strong> the moose twisting its lifeless features into<br />
gruesome unsettling bulges.<br />
Closer towards the edge <strong>of</strong> the table it creeps, and<br />
although this has taken a few minutes the boys still<br />
haven’t moved, or even said anything, only worried<br />
nervous glances are shared between the teenagers.<br />
They can’t seem to move from where they’re standing,<br />
an arms length from the table. They are transfixed<br />
by the slow movement <strong>of</strong> the substance, which is<br />
now starting to drip to the floor. Its progression is<br />
mesmerising and the flow seemingly endless from<br />
it’s unknown source above them in the trees.<br />
As the sap builds at the boys scuffed trainers they<br />
turn to go but the darkness is so close and thick<br />
behind them that they can’t bring themselves to<br />
move into it, to be swallowed by its nothingness. The<br />
scene seems to be shrinking, focusing in on the three<br />
boys, the feast and the ever expanding substance.<br />
Stuck between the feast and the darkness the boys<br />
have nowhere to turn. Finally the tall one tries to<br />
break the silence and call out but no sound comes<br />
from his open mouth. The realisation that he can<br />
no longer talk sets a panic upon him, the light from<br />
the goo reflects against his pale skin, and flashes<br />
in his dark eyes. The other two boys are caught in<br />
his distress and turn to run, but the night is pushing<br />
against them. As soon as they take a step away from<br />
the feast and the table they become immediately<br />
23
disoriented and are forced to step back into the light.<br />
The flow seems faster now and the boys can hear, it<br />
squelching and bubbling over itself, the noise isn’t<br />
loud, but being the only sound they can hear it is<br />
magnified and accentuated; it fills them with further<br />
discomfort and dread. The boys are now ankle deep<br />
in the substance as it rises above the bottom <strong>of</strong> their<br />
track suit bottoms, having already engulfed their<br />
trainers.<br />
By now they are all trying to scream, to call out, to just<br />
make a sound, but none <strong>of</strong> them can, their faces are<br />
twisted in horror and glisten with sweat in the cold,<br />
damp night. They resemble startled horses; wild eyes<br />
and flared nostrils, panic spreading through their<br />
writhing bodies. It’s only a few minutes before it’s<br />
at the boy’s knees. It’s as if they’re in quicksand; the<br />
harder they struggle, the more stuck they become.<br />
By now they are clutching at each other as tears roll<br />
down their silent contorted faces. This wasn’t what<br />
they were expecting at all.<br />
It’s all over in less than fifteen minutes, the boys<br />
are swallowed up by the faceless pulsating mass <strong>of</strong><br />
sap. The feast had eaten. It was satisfied for now, but<br />
soon it would be hungry again. Until then it would<br />
wait for the bus and its driver to bring along some<br />
more greedy little treats for it to devour.<br />
24
25
eorge Price had always been a slightly strange<br />
man. He liked to do things in particular<br />
ways and was fond <strong>of</strong> lists and regimes. He<br />
was partial to the finer things in life and had many<br />
acquaintances, but not so many friends.<br />
George was tall and thin. He looked slightly<br />
26
awkward, as if his skin was stretched too tightly over<br />
his face, so that he seemed to be perpetually sucking<br />
a lemon. He wore his greasy dark hair in an out <strong>of</strong><br />
fashion, side parting. He considered his clothes to be<br />
smart casual but others would call them drab.<br />
On the eve <strong>of</strong> his 34th birthday, he decided on a whim<br />
to buy a lottery ticket. The next day was Saturday,<br />
his birthday, and it just so happened that he was the<br />
sole winner <strong>of</strong> the jackpot, 13 million pounds.<br />
The first thing George did was to move out <strong>of</strong> his<br />
small house in North London and into a grand<br />
mansion in Oxfordshire. Next, he took great pleasure<br />
in employing a butler named Forbes, who was a<br />
plump little man with a well groomed moustache,<br />
who didn’t say much, but was very direct when he<br />
did. After that, he immediately became bored.<br />
George had more money than he could ever spend.<br />
But somehow he still wanted more. He wasn’t<br />
concerned with charities or investments; they<br />
simply didn’t interest him. Instead he decided he<br />
would use his fortune dreaming up over-the-top<br />
ways <strong>of</strong> selecting numbers for the lottery each and<br />
every week.<br />
The more ridiculous, expensive and ludicrous the<br />
scheme, the more it appealed to George. The idea<br />
had come to him when he remembered how, at a<br />
village fete years earlier, they had run a competition<br />
by marking a grid in a field and setting a cow loose<br />
to see which square it would eventually pat in, the<br />
owner <strong>of</strong> that particular square taking the grand<br />
27
prize.<br />
So that was exactly how he started. He ordered<br />
Forbes to acquire six <strong>of</strong> the finest Kobe calves<br />
money could buy. Next he instructed his recently<br />
employed groundsmen to mark out a 7 by 7 metre<br />
grid surrounded by a fence in the grounds, and to<br />
number the squares 1 to 49. Then one by one he let<br />
the cows loose in the enclosure and waited for them<br />
to do their business, thus giving him the six numbers<br />
for the next week’s lottery.<br />
George was the kind <strong>of</strong> man who liked to make the<br />
most <strong>of</strong> his money and he wanted more from these<br />
extremely expensive beasts. He was rather proud <strong>of</strong><br />
the following idea. He would have the cows butchered<br />
and then throw the most extravagant barbecue for<br />
49 <strong>of</strong> his closest acquaintances, the fatter the better.<br />
Forbes was to allocate each <strong>of</strong> the guests a number<br />
from 1 to 49, though they wouldn’t know it. Then he<br />
told Forbes to note down every time one <strong>of</strong> the guests<br />
came up to the barbecue, which was being run by a<br />
famous Michelin starred chef who he had privately<br />
employed for the event. At the end <strong>of</strong> what everyone<br />
told him was the finest barbecue they had ever been<br />
to he had his next six numbers by simply checking<br />
which 6 <strong>of</strong> his 49 guests had eaten the largest amount<br />
<strong>of</strong> his prized beef.<br />
It was in fact number 23, Charlie Figg, who ate the<br />
most; a whopping four burgers, five steaks and a plate<br />
<strong>of</strong> ribs over the course <strong>of</strong> the afternoon and evening.<br />
Kobe beef costs almost £100 a pound; George’s first<br />
28
event had been a roaring success but it set him back<br />
the best part <strong>of</strong> a million pounds!<br />
Not all <strong>of</strong> George’s ideas were quite so extravagant.<br />
He did enjoy a day <strong>of</strong> sport watched from the most<br />
expensive seat or box money could buy. One <strong>of</strong> his<br />
favourites was a day at Lord’s with a slap up lunch<br />
and as much Pimms as he could guzzle. He would<br />
bring Forbes along for company and collect his<br />
numbers from the scores <strong>of</strong> England’s top 6 batsmen.<br />
If anyone scored a duck or made a half century, he<br />
simply skipped their score. He had similar ploys<br />
for the football, golf, rugby and baseball, <strong>of</strong>ten<br />
chartering private flights over to the States. The only<br />
thing that mattered to him was that he was there, it<br />
was expensive and he got his precious numbers.<br />
One <strong>of</strong> his more wonderful and exciting ideas<br />
was to put on a hot air balloon race across the<br />
English channel. He <strong>of</strong> course allotted 49 places<br />
and personally put up the prize money <strong>of</strong> £200,000<br />
pounds. Teams came from across the world and<br />
George himself received a good deal <strong>of</strong> media<br />
coverage; it was a marvellous event. The winning<br />
team, “Sky High”, came from Holland and were<br />
numbered 21. His other numbers were 5,8,28,40,44<br />
with teams from Colombia, New Zealand and Wales<br />
also taking prizes.<br />
A few years had passed and although George hadn’t<br />
won serious money again he wasn’t fazed, remaining<br />
determined to continue. Even the knowledge that he<br />
had spent over half his money in two years didn’t<br />
29
put him <strong>of</strong>f. He was truly addicted to his own sport.<br />
George’s life wasn’t perfect though; he was lonely,<br />
having never been much <strong>of</strong> a hit with the ladies. But<br />
his wealth allowed him to overcome this problem,<br />
so he decided to buy himself some affection. Every<br />
Saturday night for six weeks he chose himself an<br />
extremely beautiful and highly expensive escort<br />
from a much respected and discreet agency. Don’t<br />
think for a second though that George was going to<br />
spend such large sums <strong>of</strong> money without somehow<br />
getting his six random numbers. It was simple. All<br />
he did was at some stage during the evening casually<br />
ask when the girl’s birthday was, normally under<br />
some corny pretence such as finding her star sign.<br />
By adding the two numbers <strong>of</strong> that date together he<br />
got his number. So Holly whose birthday was the<br />
5th <strong>of</strong> May gave him a 10, and Layla who was born<br />
on the 20th <strong>of</strong> November made a 31.<br />
Although all this makes George out to be a rather<br />
horrible character he did have occasional flashes <strong>of</strong><br />
generosity. One example was the Easter Egg hunt<br />
he gave in his own resplendent gardens. Forbes<br />
constructed a list <strong>of</strong> 49 children from the surrounding<br />
areas who were in some way underprivileged or<br />
had unfortunate lives. He then sent them all formal<br />
letters inviting them to his Easter Egg hunt where<br />
each gold-plated egg was worth £1,000. He enjoyed<br />
overseeing the whole process immensely and came<br />
to think <strong>of</strong> himself as a sort <strong>of</strong> Willy Wonka figure.<br />
The golden eggs which his groundsmen distributed<br />
around the garden were each numbered, as were<br />
30
the children. So that when the first six children came<br />
running back up the steps <strong>of</strong> his grand house, each<br />
with a shiny golden egg in their hands he had not<br />
one but two sets <strong>of</strong> new lottery numbers. He quickly<br />
lost interest in the hunt after that, as he didn’t really<br />
care for the children. What he really wanted were<br />
his numbers and a bit more public recognition to<br />
add to his air balloon competition notoriety.<br />
George again became bored and decided to go<br />
travelling. Forbes booked a round the world trip<br />
stopping in all seven continents, with no expense<br />
spared. He then noted the temperature upon<br />
landing in each destination and this provided him<br />
with another precious set <strong>of</strong> numbers: Istanbul-24,<br />
Kenya-21, Tokyo-20, Melbourne-16 and Buenos<br />
Aires-13. Antarctica was below zero so he ignored<br />
that and just felt rather gloomy and cold for the few<br />
days he was there.<br />
His stop in North America was New York City and<br />
he had thought up a particularly satisfying method <strong>of</strong><br />
procuring his numbers while in The Big Apple. He<br />
made Forbes book a suite in the 6 most expensive<br />
and exclusive hotels that were situated between 1st<br />
and 49th street in Manhattan, so long as none <strong>of</strong><br />
them were on the same street. The street numbers<br />
provided the first set <strong>of</strong> numbers. His stay at the<br />
Four Seasons cost him $45,000 for his one night in<br />
the penthouse suite.<br />
While dining at these high class establishments,<br />
he instructed the sommelier to bring him what<br />
31
he considered to be the finest bottle <strong>of</strong> red in the<br />
building and the vintage <strong>of</strong> the wine provided him<br />
with his second set <strong>of</strong> numbers. For example, a 1945<br />
Bordeaux would simply be 45 but for anything from<br />
the second half <strong>of</strong> the century he would subtract 50,<br />
so a ’78 would give him number 28.<br />
Still, none <strong>of</strong> these ridiculous methods provided<br />
George with another win. Deep down he didn’t<br />
really expect them to. He just loved the sport <strong>of</strong><br />
it: the alligator racing, the pheasant shooting, the<br />
emu breeding, the chilli eating contests, the ale<br />
drinking tournaments, the destruction derbies, the<br />
human bingo, the naked mud wrestling, the poker<br />
tournaments, not to mention the endless horse races<br />
and camel relays. It was all a lot <strong>of</strong> good fun. But<br />
his money was starting to run out. Forbes’ wage<br />
along with the ground staff’s came to hundreds <strong>of</strong><br />
thousands a year. And a normal day out for George<br />
picking his numbers normally reached tens <strong>of</strong><br />
thousands <strong>of</strong> pounds. So by the time George’s 40th<br />
birthday came around he had not only spent all his<br />
fortune, but had in fact accrued quite a significant<br />
debt. He decided enough was enough. He must stop<br />
playing the lottery and go back to a normal, everyday<br />
life with a normal boring job.<br />
The day after George had made his big decision<br />
he was crossing the road when he looked down to<br />
see a lottery slip. Instinctively he picked it up and<br />
checked its date. He would never know that this<br />
in fact was another jackpot winning ticket because<br />
as he straightened up to step onto the pavement,<br />
32
he was hit head on by the number 7 bus. In the<br />
ambulance on the way to hospital drifting in and<br />
out <strong>of</strong> consciousness he looked up at the paramedic<br />
and saw across her identification badge the number<br />
12 22 16 27 38 37. What wonderful numbers for the<br />
lottery he thought as he quietly slipped away.<br />
33
ou ever hear that urban legend about a woman<br />
who has a pet snake that starts sleeping next<br />
to her? And when she asks the vet about it she<br />
is told that the snake is sizing her up to eat her...<br />
34
1999<br />
A green light illuminates my eyes, projecting creepy<br />
shadows up across my face. I’m sat in the shadows<br />
at the back <strong>of</strong> the bus on the way home from school.<br />
It’s early December and it’s already dark, even<br />
though it’s barely four o’clock. My eyes don’t move<br />
from the screen <strong>of</strong> my 5110 as my snake creeps<br />
closer and closer to its high score. A dull beep is<br />
uttered every time the snake gobbles up another set<br />
<strong>of</strong> black pixels. I can’t hear that though, as I have<br />
my headphones in, listening to “The Slim Shady LP”<br />
on my Sony Discman for the third time that day.<br />
Beep……...Beep……..almost there. Here comes my<br />
stop, I hit the virtual black wall. Game Over, 1,548.<br />
Top Score.<br />
2041<br />
My new device should be arriving any minute now.<br />
I ordered it almost an hour ago so why isn’t it here<br />
yet? Just as I’m thinking this my current, now out <strong>of</strong><br />
date, device buzzes my insert. That must be it now. I<br />
walk to the door and open it to a drone with a cargo<br />
box that must contain my new device. As I step<br />
closer it automatically reads my insert and releases<br />
the box. A quick double beep signals it’s about to<br />
leave, and then it’s <strong>of</strong>f into the smog laden sky, out<br />
<strong>of</strong> sight in a matter <strong>of</strong> seconds.<br />
I take the box inside. There doesn’t seem to be much<br />
new about the device, it looks much like my current<br />
one. Some people think I’m pretty old school for<br />
35
even having a device these day; a lot <strong>of</strong> younger<br />
people don’t bother and just use an insert paired<br />
with a lens. Not me, I still like something I can touch.<br />
There are no paper instructions, those haven’t been<br />
around for at least fifteen years. My current device<br />
has connected to the new one. A message flashes up<br />
on the screen<br />
READY FOR REGENERATION.<br />
CONNECT TO NEW DEVICE.<br />
I already know what to do. I may be getting on a<br />
bit now, but I’ve done this with the last couple <strong>of</strong><br />
devices; I lay my old device next to my new device<br />
so they are just touching at the tips. A short dull beep<br />
and the new device opens and swallows the old<br />
one; it remains the same size, and immediately has<br />
all my data uploaded to it. I remember when they<br />
first brought in the regeneration series <strong>of</strong> devices,<br />
it seemed incredible that one device could consume<br />
another just like that, no change in size, no wires,<br />
no waste. People would gather round to watch when<br />
people got a new device - to watch the old one be<br />
engulfed by the new. Of course the novelty wore<br />
<strong>of</strong>f pretty quickly and now people regenerate their<br />
devices all the time.<br />
2052<br />
Even I’ve stopped using a mobile device now, just<br />
an insert with a lens. I still have a device at home<br />
though; it’s almost up to date, I regenerated it last<br />
month or so. I should really get the update morphed<br />
36
and let it regenerate my old device, swallowing it<br />
and its precious data and hardware in a matter <strong>of</strong><br />
seconds, but I’ve been busy and haven’t found the<br />
time. My device hovers around my house after me,<br />
digitally tethered to my insert. It’s right there if I<br />
need to upload any information to my insert or lens.<br />
It’s become a constant presence, silently shadowing<br />
me, until I leave the house and it returns to its<br />
charge dock. It also returns to the dock while I sleep.<br />
My insert can sense the change in brain waves and<br />
just like that it returns to the dock in the kitchen. As<br />
soon as my alarm goes <strong>of</strong>f in the morning (which is<br />
my insert sending a s<strong>of</strong>t vibration to my insert) my<br />
device is there again, hovering by my bed ready to<br />
upload any news <strong>of</strong> interest to my insert and lens.<br />
The only time my device isn’t following me in my<br />
peripherals is if I get up to go to the toilet in the night.<br />
I finally get round to morphing myself a new device.<br />
I think back to when morphing first started around<br />
thirty five years ago, it was called 3D printing back<br />
then. I download the data for the upgrade for my<br />
new device to my morpher and in less than five<br />
minutes it’s built the upgrade. My existing device is<br />
notified and hovers over to the new one. Although<br />
a lot has changed in technology in the last ten years,<br />
the regeneration process remains pretty much the<br />
same. The new device devouring the old one, the<br />
materials and data being too precious to waste or<br />
fall into the wrong hands. Devour might sound like<br />
a strange word to use but I’ve always thought there<br />
was something quite animalistic about the process. I<br />
know they’re just machines but the way they open up<br />
and take on something the same size as themselves<br />
37
eminds me <strong>of</strong> watching old wildlife documentaries<br />
where a lion or maybe a python would easily<br />
consume something their own size. It’s a shame,<br />
you don’t see so many wildlife documentaries<br />
these days though.<br />
A few nights later I wake in the night to go to the<br />
bathroom. Although I’m slightly drowsy I notice<br />
that my new device is hovering in my room and<br />
not at its dock. Its strikes me as slightly strange,<br />
but maybe it’s a new feature <strong>of</strong> this device. I think<br />
nothing <strong>of</strong> it and I’m asleep again the moment I get<br />
back into bed. The next morning I remember my<br />
device being <strong>of</strong>f its dock in the night and I go to pull<br />
the data on the new features onto my lens, but on<br />
second thoughts those data files go on for ages and<br />
there’s just too much to take in.<br />
A week later and again I wake in the night. This<br />
time my device isn’t just in my room it’s hovering<br />
close enough to my bed to almost reach out and<br />
touch. It’s so quiet though, I can’t help but wonder<br />
if it’s always there in the night. These new devices<br />
must need less charge time than the last generation.<br />
Younger people were getting so dependent on their<br />
devices, they probably like the idea that their device<br />
is at arm’s length if they wake in the night.<br />
The next day I ask an old friend, while we’re<br />
connected through our lens, if he has noticed the<br />
new generation <strong>of</strong> devices leaving their docks more,.<br />
He says he hasn’t, though I’m not sure if he’s really<br />
listening, I have a suspicion he might be watching<br />
something else on his lens at the same time. Ok,<br />
38
never mind, see you soon I tell him. I realise as I<br />
disconnect my lens that I can’t remember the last<br />
time I actually saw him properly, in the flesh I mean,<br />
rather than on our lens.<br />
I’m sure my device is getting bigger, but I’ve had<br />
so many over the years that I could just be getting<br />
confused. It’s not impossible that it’s morphed<br />
itself to a new generation either, I really can’t keep<br />
up these days. I thought I’d never lose track <strong>of</strong><br />
technology. Back in the twenties I had such a grasp<br />
on everything, but it’s moving so fast now that it<br />
could be common for a device to change size and I<br />
wouldn’t know.<br />
Again in the night my device is there, hovering above<br />
me, tracking back and forth. Was that a dream? Was<br />
my device really there last night silently watching<br />
me, monitoring me?<br />
I wake, there’s a funny sensation in my feet, what is<br />
it? I struggle to see in the darkness <strong>of</strong> my room. Its<br />
my device, I sense its low hum, I can see it there at<br />
the end <strong>of</strong> my bed. I can’t move, there is a numbness<br />
climbing up my legs, I can see my device, it’s big,<br />
sinister, are my feet in it? What’s happening? My<br />
head is going fuzzy, my knees feel like they’re being<br />
electrocuted, is this a nightmare? My device is fully<br />
open, there’s a low light coming from it, it must be<br />
ten times its normal size. Am I getting swallowed<br />
by my device? This can’t be happening. I can’t think<br />
anymore, I feel weak, my arms are floppy at my<br />
side, the light is all I can see, it’s consuming me and…<br />
Beep…Beep. Game Over.
NOTHING CONNECTS THESE FIVE SHORT STORIES,<br />
SAVE FOR THEIR UNLIKELY NATURE.<br />
FROM A CAUTIONARY TALE OF THE DIGITAL AGE,<br />
TO A HOMELESS MAN’S STORY OF UNEXPECTED KINDNESS;<br />
FROM THE DREAMY LYRICISM OF THE MOONLIGHT LION,<br />
THROUGH THE MISCHIEVOUS TALE OF THE ODIOUS GEORGE<br />
TO THE UNMITIGATED HORROR OF THE FEAST.