Vivika Widow's Blog, page 80
August 3, 2016
My Silly Little Confessions: Coming Soon!
It’s been a very exciting project to work on so far.
Still early days in the creative process but I’m pleased to see it coming together.
The plot follows on from ‘Confessions of an Anatomist’ which featured in ‘Myths and Tales’ volume 1 but it is a book of its own.
My Silly Little Confessions is a full novel which will be available in January. It promises to offer a tone never seen before in any of my books. Grittier than Maestro and more real than Red Snow this novel promises black comedy, thrilling plots and a whole lot of murderous intent…
Can’t wait until January? Check out ‘Confessions of an Anatomist’ in Myths and Tales Volume 1 HERE
July 27, 2016
Rivalry
I had a happy life – to a point. A dedicated husband and two beautiful children, Noah and Violet. The little red head who hung around the house more often than was appropriate seemed a constant reminder that my husband’s dedication wasn’t to me but he was dedicated none the less.
Both of our children should have been set for life as heirs to a great fortune but since they were small they have had this inexplicable need to get rid of each other.
We live in the coastal town of Melway. Our own house – a large, crooked, stand alone structure with three floors – sits on the edge of a cliff. A forty foot drop into the rocks below awaits anyone who takes the wrong steps along the pathway. The house has been in the Regard family for generations. It was probably the most beautiful and grandest house in the area once upon a time but now it is a cold and empty vessel housing the Regard children until came of age to move to somewhere more cosmopolitan or one kills the other.
As a family were were close. We didn’t talk much but when we did we shared everything. Violet told me on more than one occasion she wanted to see her brother dead and as far as Noah was concerned the sentiment was mutual. What little scamps they were.
Violet was the most boisterous of the two. She rarely stayed indoors. She was always running, never walking. She climbed trees and even got into fights with the local boys. Noah was much quieter. He would spend hours in the library reading through volumes and volumes that he could barely understand yet. A great, unquestionable thirst for knowledge had my little Noah. He had many friends but kept them at a distance. He was his own favourite companion. The year or so he had spent as an only child had been a blissful time for him. He had my undivided attention as well as the sole attention of the staff who helped around The Grange. As is the norm with more than one child in a family the attentions were split. Noah probably grew a resentment towards baby Violet from there, growing stronger as they grew up. Violet no doubt felt this from her brother and sowed seeds of her own resentment.
Everything at The Grange must have seemed heavenly to those on the outside looking in. That was until my death and that is where this story begins.
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July 25, 2016
July 24, 2016
Knock, Knock; Episode 9
After my failed attempt to escape the club I kept to the room they had given me. They revered me because I bore the same name as my grandfather who founded their murderous group. I didn’t know how long I could count on their loyalty and I wasn’t prepared to find out. It had fallen to evening. Normally, some of the girls working the club would bring me food and water but not that day. That day I was left alone. My stomach grumbled in protest. I made up my mind. If they hadn’t killed me by the evening show which was about to start I assumed they weren’t planning on killing me period so I might as well eat.
The club was busy so I hoped to scuttle around unnoticed like a mouse in a fancy kitchen. Dennis was stood at the bar watching the stage. The chorus girls were fluttering around in a parade of sequins and feathers. They were preparing for Tabitha – the club’s top act – to take the stage and entertain the evening audience.
Dennis caught my eye. He had been the one to stop me leaving. I got the sense that if he had to be stuck managing the Knock, Knock then I wasn’t allowed to leave either. After all, my family had created the club that caused the disappearance of his wife and child. He knew I had no involvement in that. Up until a few weeks ago I didn’t even know the Knock, Knock club existed. I don’t think he blamed me but he seemed keen on keeping me around all the same.
He smiled with that over familiarity he carried with everyone. He waved at me and ushered me to join him. As I approached he swung a vibrant red bar stool round.
“Take a load off Sam,” Dennis urged but I chose to stand.
“I am hungry,” I whined like a child. My frustrations were beginning to surface. I had remained calm – even after my wife, Theresa, had been murdered. I had decided that I would get the full story, take it to the newspaper I worked for in my previous life and expose the club and all its members. I wouldn’t let Theresa die in vain but it was becoming more difficult with each passing day.
Dennis leaned back over the bar. The girl tending bar lit up as he addressed her. “Have a plate of something brought out for Sam, will you kid?”
The girl abandoned her post immediately and danced off to the kitchens.
“How long are you going to keep me here?” I asked. “What do you want from me?”
Dennis didn’t look at me. His large, doe like gaze remained fixed upon the stage. “It’s not my decision,” he stated. “I just run the place. The order comes from upper management.”
The band had been sent into a flurry, introducing Tabitha to her audience.
“Surely you don’t want to stay here either?” For someone who was overly familiar with everyone Dennis was a bit of a closed book so I tried my luck.
Dennis laughed and finally he did look at me. “Where would I go? Everything I had is gone.” He must have sensed he had said too much because his eyes turned back to the stage. “The club needs someone to lead. The need someone with the Crusow name. Until you are ready to deal with that or they find a replacement both you will be kept here,” he explained.
Tabitha was now on stage. She had been the one to introduce me to Knock, Knock. She had been there at the police station when I was accused of murder. She had done similar for Dennis. She was the reason we both were now in the clutches of the Knock, Knock club. She was an attractive woman with long, flowing brunette hair and a steely grey stare. Her face was soft, round and innocent in appearance but there was an underlying malice. On stage she wore a top hat and tales.Her lips were painted a vibrant shade of purple. Her singing voice was sultry but soft, deep but feminine.
“We could both leave,” I boldly suggested to Dennis. “If we put our heads together they couldn’t stop us.”
Dennis stopped to wave to one of the regular patrons. “Almost eight, Frank. Getting better!” he called over jovially. The man laughed and waved back. He took a seat near the back, adjusting the button on his jacket so they wouldn’t be too strained over his ample stomach.
Dennis didn’t reply to my suggestion. I was almost at the point of repeating it when the bar maid returned with a plate of curling fries. The smell of grease caused my mouth to water. I took the plate from her with a firm thank you and laid it on the bar. I immediately set to digging in, using my fingers instead of waiting for eating irons.
“I promise I will help you find your kid,” I told him.
Dennis suddenly seemed morose so I said nothing more. It was more his loyalty to Tabitha that kept him at the club. Until I found out why that was he was never going to help me.
Those were the unfortunate circumstances I had fallen into. I didn’t like Dennis and I suspected he didn’t like me much either but there we were, stuck together, watching Tabitha entertain.
We stood in silence.I finished the food and the bar maid slid a whiskey over to me to wash it down. One of the door men approached, leaning into Dennis but still speaking loudly over the music.
“There is someone at the door looking for you.”
Dennis was disinterested. He was busy watching Tabitha engage with the audience. “If they don’t have an invite they don’t get in.”
The door man’s goon look made him a natural as bouncer. The goon looked confused as he tried to process too many words at once. “It’s a little kid,” he said.
Dennis straightened up his tall, lean frame. He groaned in frustration. He picked up a whiskey but there was nothing left but the glass. He slid it down to the bar maid. “Fill that, will you?” he instructed. “With the good stuff.”
I didn’t have anything to do. My stomach was now happily swimming in grease and whiskey so I followed him to the club’s main door that led onto the alley. Tabitha watched us from a distance. Dennis pulled open the door. Standing in the alley was a little boy of about nine or ten. He was wearing grey shorts and an oversized black sweatshirt which was made for a man double his size. He face was filthy and his knees scraped.
“I can’t help you, kid,” Dennis said without an introduction. “There’s nothing here for you. Over eighteens only. Try your luck at the Town Hall.”
The boy didn’t flinch. He was a tough little thing. I could see it but Dennis seemed to have overlooked the resemblance.
“Are you Dennis Platt?” he asked.
“Who’s asking?” Dennis was becoming suspicious.
“I’m Milo,” he announced. “I’m your son.”
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July 20, 2016
The Prisoner
RED SNOWSonya couldn’t count the days she had been held behind bars. the sun had risen and fallen countless times but since her prison allowed no light she couldn’t tell what time of day it was. what had been her crime? the beloved King Roman had fallen ill. Since then the kingdom of Navaria had fallen into anarchy. Cries of witchcraft spread panic throughout the snow covered land like untamed fires blazing through a dry forest. General Drenisov of the Navarian guard had taken a firm grasp of the kingdom. He held them in fear. He allowed the rumours of the cursed kingdom to circulate unhindered because the more frightened the people were, the easier they were to control. The sick king had been falling further and further into madness. His second wife, Annabelle, had retired from public view without explanation.
Sonya had been expressing her views.
“We’re being treated like animals,” she had began. At first she had only being saying this to a few friends in the marketplace but before long many more had gathered to hear what she had to say. She stood on top of a box to voice her opinion further. She lifted her skirts as she climbed to the new height. The hem was muddied from the ground where the snow had been trodden into filthy slush.
“We are stronger than they and they know it. We have had no word from the castle because they don’t deem us important enough.”
A merchant cried, “Here, here!” from behind his stall. Some of the gathering nodded in agreement with a firm shade of anger across their brows. There were others who hunched their shoulders and cowed away for fear that they would be seen listening to such thoughts.
“We demand to know what ails our beloved king. There are no such things as witches in Navaria, merely a symbol of fear designed to keep us under the control of the Navarian guard.”
As she said this, the crowd began to part. Through the ragged clothing of sombre peasant colours charged a group of tall, young guards wearing the vibrant red and gold that was their signature uniform. Word of her malcontent must have the general at the grey, brooding castle that sat high on the mountain looking down on its subjects below.
Two guards snatched Sonya by the ruffled collar of her dress. She fell onto her knees in the mud. No one moved to help her, not even the grey haired, doe eyed merchant who had been cheering her on moments before.
“Don’t let them silence you!” she shrieked. “We are stronger than they.”
From then Sonya was locked away in the dungeon. Word reached her that King Roman had been murdered. She heard two guards discuss it as they brought in a new prisoner. She even heard the voice of the general himself.
“You have murdered the king and doomed this land with your witchcraft,” Drenisov had barked. She heard heavy footsteps on the stone floor. She pressed herself against the small window to the outside corridor her cage allowed. She could only see the red of the general’s coat. There was no reply from the prisoner. The guards departed and all fell silent.
“Stay strong, comrade,” she said, not sure if her fellow prisoner would hear her.
“Is someone there?” The voice that returned to her was that of an adolescent boy. Sonya guessed him to be young enough to be her son.
“They can’t keep us here forever,” she assured.
The boy’s voice was eerily calm for the horror that he had no doubt just endured at the hands of Drenisov. “The king is dead,” he stated. Although youthful, the voice carried the wisdom of several ages. It’s owner must have been well educated, a noble’s son.
A deep motherly instinct that Sonya possessed looked past the obvious maturity of the boy and laid comfort at his young feet.
“It’s a terrible tragedy. I heard Drenisov say you are the murderer but I don’t think that is so. When the eldest prince, James, is granted the throne Drenisov will have no choice but to release us.”
The boy gave a laugh, the kind that just borders on hysterical but holds no real humour.
“I salute your optimism, my dear woman, I truly do but I fear that here in this darkness is where we will live out our last days.”
Sonya was chilled by the youth’s acceptance of fate. “Prince James…” she began.
“The prince can do nothing to help,” the boy interjected.
Sonya could feel tears on her brittle eyelashes. “He will …” Now it was she who was needing comfort.
“Take solace in knowing that soon it will all be over,” said the boy softly.
“I will get word to the Prince,” Sonya offered. “He is much like his father. He will help us.”
“He already knows your plight. My lady, I am Prince James and any chance I ever had of helping my people died with my father.”
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July 14, 2016
Extract from Vivika Widow’s ‘The Grip’
Jessica McElroy had been preparing her evening meal at precisely six o’clock as she did every evening. As the pot bubbled on the stove she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window. She had reached her middle age without the grey becoming too evident through her blonde hair. Her skin was soft and pale like it had been in her youth. Only the slight lines of crows feet were telling of her age. Yet, she couldn’t smile. She couldn’t seem to affix any kind of emotion. That horrified her the most. She looked back towards her stove. The television in the parlour was playing a comedy show. The comedian was throwing himself around like a clown to an appreciative live audience. The laughter from the screen drew her attention, finally she smiled. How dazzling that smile had been twenty years before. ‘You could be a model,’ she had been told more than once. She chose instead to marry Walter and bear their son.
The telephone began to ring. She ran to answer it. When she lifted the receiver her heart began to beat a little faster.
“Mrs. McElroy?” asked the voice on the other line, a deep resonant tone of an ageing professional. “My name is Jack Farther. I’m the head of student services here at Filton College.”
Jessica’s heart began to beat faster still. Her son, Dorian, was a student at Filton College. When his father left them it seemed Dorian could be no more interested in her than Walter. He left for college and in the beginning there were regular phone calls, sometimes twice a day. Those calls became twice a week, then twice a month until eventually they stopped altogether. Jessica had written him several letters and after a trickle of replies they finally ceased too. Dorian was set on becoming a teacher. He had had his nose in a book ever since he was a little boy. He was nineteen now and in a few short years he would make a confident, encouraging English teacher for young people like himself. The phone call from Mr Farther had come out of the blue. The college had never contacted her for anything. Jessica couldn’t help but wonder what trouble Dorian had found himself in.
“This is Mrs. McElroy,” replied Jessica after a few moments contemplative silence. “What’s wrong? What has happened? Is Dorian okay?”
Mr. Farther breathed a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry Mrs. McElroy. Can you come to the college right away?”
Jessica shook her head, as little good as it would do over the phone. Her body tensing was evident in the tones of her voice. “The not knowing will drive me crazy. It is a long trip to Filton and it will only torture me. Please tell me what has happened.”
Mr. Farther pulled the receiver away from his mouth. Jessica could still hear his voice speaking to someone else but it was muffled and faint. When he returned to her clearer he said, “Please Mrs. McElroy, I really shouldn’t do this over the phone.”
Jessica insisted, “If Dorian has found himself in trouble please tell me what I can do to fix it.”
Mr. Farther sniffed. “Earlier this evening, Dorian’s room-mate found him,” he stuttered; hesitated. “Dorian had taken pills. Dorian is dead.”
The receiver fell from her hand. Tears immediately began to stream from her eyes as the words dropped into her ears like a deadly poison clouding her brain. She caught her reflection in the window again and this time it was filled with emotion. The pots on the stove were beginning to bubble over.
“Mrs. McElroy? Mrs. McElroy?” Mr. Farther continued to call over the phone as the other end fell away.
Jessica managed to pick up the telephone again. “Why?” was all she could mutter.
Mr. Farther adopted a more soothing voice. “I’m so sorry Mrs McElroy. I had known Dorian his whole time here at Filton. He was a good boy. Please can you come down here?”
“Yes, yes of course. I’ll leave right away.”
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July 13, 2016
Diaries of a Cursed Kingdom
Dearest Brother,
Since boyhood I have enjoyed taking the horses and hounds into Mendelov woods. The bounty of animals to hunt there is wide and varied. It is a tradition passed to me by my father that the meat and fur we find there be shared amongst the people as much as possible. The nights can be long and cold so Navaria appreciates the warmth.
Today was different though. There were scarcely any animals to be found save one rabbit which the hounds slaughtered for their own supper. There was a fire in the distance. Some celebration of sorts seemed to be happening in the nearby village of Milliard. Singing and chanting filled the air. I had just about given up hope of ever finding a deer or elk. The noise had most likely scared them off. I was preparing to turn away when I stumbled across a clearance. My bow was prepared. My straining arms had all but fired a shot. I was startled. Before me was the most beautiful woman my eyes had ever beheld. She was seated upon a white horse. Her long black locks were so dark they almost shone blue in the fading light. Her skin was as white as the freshly fallen snow.
“Aren’t you frightened?” she asked me. Why, in all my heart and soul, would I be frightened by a ghostly mirage that was so fair? That was when she did the strangest thing. She threw to me a trinket, a macabre symbol. I held the skull of a cat in my hands. It will help aid success in your hunts,” she explained. Her voice trailed from her lips like fine silk threads.
Her name was Francesca of Vorelia. Vorelia is a village far from here and had never entered my travels. I would scour the known map to find her again. I know nothing of this woman and yet I know I will have none other as my queen. I can’t erase her presence from my mind, nor her voice from my ears. I can’t explain it. We have met only once and yet I will offer her everything I have.
King Roman Von Garr
My Dearest,
It has been done my darling. I have left it all behind. The last sight I had of my kin was of them burning, begging for the pain to be ended. Still pleading with me to stay with them. It was disgusting.
Oldonio still claimed be me to as his love until I removed his heart from his chest. The blood was still warm as I devoured it. Great was my fury that they tried to stop me and greater was my horror at what the love of Roman has made me see.
Contessa, the eternal child, was the last to speak. A curse she warned me of. That was laughable. Her power could never match mine for I was Queen of our people and only an immense power could hold them in check – a power only I amongst us held. She quipped about a plague that would follow me to Navaria and infect all those who crossed my path. My husband would be driven insane as images of my deeds flooded his fragile mind. Any children produced from the marriage would suffer from cradle until they begged for death. Contessa doesn’t frighten me. She is forever in the form of a child because of the power I possess over her.
Vorelia was reduced to ashes in my wake. The evil of its people banished. Annabella followed me. My first reaction was to kill her too. She stared at me with those pitiful grey eyes of hers. I’m not one to hold sympathy but she had been loyal to me my entire life. She is the one of my people who could rival me and yet she is too dim to realise.
It may have seemed strange to my new people if I arrived with nothing so I brought her with me, perhaps as a reminder of my former self. She was surprised by the changes in me. Her loyalty gave her cause to make changes of her own.
On our way to Navaria, I on horseback, she on foot beside me, we came across one of the strangest creatures known in my black circles. We were met by a Hangram. It was creeping to the water, gasping for whatever pity the world could spare it. They are fierce yet wretched creatures. It’s finger tips flame with the heat of redemption.
Annabelle and I knew the Hangram immediately but a ‘dweller’ may have been alarmed. Not many are seen by the dweller folk and fewer leave the unfortunate alive to tell the tale. It looked up at us from its contemplation over life and death. It approached. It recognised the blackness within me that had been calmed since meeting Roman but still burned in my chest. Of course the Hangram was drawn to the malevolence that Annabella still carried with her.
“You are evil, quite unlike any I have known and yet you have been allowed to roam this land unimpeded. Today is the day you answer for your crimes,” it said to us.
“I am sorry for all I have committed!” I said knowing the proper way to address a Hangram.
“I’m not,” Annabelle interjected.
The flames from the Hangram raged. It’s eyes began to glow. Annabella showed no fear. Truthfully she had little patience for such creatures and I merely wasn’t wishing for my path to be hindered.
“Francesca!” the Hangram raged. “There is a special place in Hell reserved for you.”
“If you are waiting on my repentance I will not give it to you,” I told it.
The Hangram closed in on us. “I don’t expect contrition from the likes of you.” it’s burned face contorted into an unsettling smile. “You will have to find comfort on a bed of blades if you do not appease your conscience.”
This particular Hangram was not to be fooled. It knew me, although in its form I couldn’t quite place the haggard frame. I had seen so many Hangram over the years. “Navaria will fair you well,” it said. “The King’s love will save you but only if you accept the punishment you deserve. Edn your life here and now, save the kingdom and the generations to follow. There is not a sin so great that a single act of selfless sacrifice can’t save you from,”
Before I could make my response Annabella had stepped forward. She threw dust at the Hangram’s feet. The Hangram emitted a high pitched, pained shriek. The form began change in a swirl of black and red energy. The colours cleared. The body of a little boy of nine years old lay where the Hangram had been. I remembered him. His name was Dale and he had come from the village of Caster, deep in Mendelov woods. My brother Julian loved to toy with Hangram. There were countless of them wandering the land because of him. The soul purpose of these creatures was to seek out sin and evil and vanquish it. The people Vorelia – my people – would absorb the energy left behind, strengthening our own macarbe magic. This was our way. When the Hangram had fulfilled its duty it would be disposed of. Formidable to the ‘dwellers’ but a mere pet – a blood hound in many ways – to us. To create a Hangram required the body of an innocent, someone who had led a pure life. This was often difficult to find in an adult so most of the time children served the purpose. Julian sought them out like an avid hunter. With his handsome face and bright, kindly eyes they flocked to him. Dale had been one such trusting soul.
Annabella removed a dagger from her boot. She meant to cut his throat while he lay asleep on the forest floor.
“No wait,” I stopped her. I had been thinking of what the Hangram had said. I left him. When he awoke from his slumber he would have enough provisions to keep him until he found a way back to his family. When I left Vorelia Julian had burned with all the others so Dale needn’t fear him any more.
So here I am in the arms of the King, in the beautiful land of Navaria. Contessa, her curse and all the others have been left behind. I will defy them, to be happy, to live.
Francesca
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July 7, 2016
Whispers In the Woods
Deep in the heart of Mendelov woods lies an evil more voracious than you could possibly imagine. Edele – an unschooled, naive girl wandered in search of the Gladerilla plant which only blooms in the shadiest, darkest parts of the forest where civilised men rarely venture. Edele was skipping along a path, singing to herself. The eyes of the nastier forest creatures watched her from the shadows but she wasn’t frightened. Mother had sent her for a Gladerilla and that is what she would find.
She didn’t stop singing until a mighty flutter of wings caught her attention, causing her to look back over her shoulder. When she turned back round she almost slammed into the tall, slim frame of a young man. He reached out and clasped her hand to stop her falling over.
“So sorry,” she gasped, clutching her chest and trying to catch her breath.
The man smiled. His skin was so incredibly pale it almost glowed in the darkened surroundings. The little light that the thick forest canopy above allowed showed a soft face with perfect features. Edele blushed and began to fidget with her auburn ringlets.
“You’re a long way from home,” he said. His voice was as smooth as butter. His eyes were electric. The cobalt colour of his gaze was reddened like he had been recently sick or upset.
“Are you ill?” Edele wondered.
The man laughed. “All the better for meeting you,” was his reply.
“Edele. My name is Edele,” she giggled. She could feel her energy burn so she swayed from foot to foot. “You are very handsome,” she admitted with a blush.
The man’s smile widened. “Thank you. My name is Julien.”
Edele clasped her hands behind her back. “I’m looking for flowers,” she explained.
Julien raised his black eyebrows. “Of course you are. I must warn you though, most of the plants here are poisonous.”
Edele laughed, shaking her head. “My mummy is sick. She says she needs the Gladerilla. It will cure her.”
Julien surveyed the perpetual child, trapped inside the body of a young woman. “Can I tell you a secret?” he asked.
At first Edele met his gaze but then she looked away shyly. She leaned forward to let him whisper in her ear. She felt one hand draw slowly across her back. His breath was cold on her neck.
“Mummy is already dead,” he whispered.
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July 6, 2016
Stand and Grow Tall
Timothy Hardship is my name. With that you would think I’ve had a hard life but its really the opposite. The truth is I was a bright and happy boy. That was until I accidentally made myself as tall as a house. Now, simple things like going to school, playing with my friends and other regular kid things present more of a challenge.
Grandad always used to tell me that little kids should give up their seats for adults because they need to stand and grow tall. I was one of the smallest boys in my class so I took my grandad’s advice and kept on my feet as much as possible, thinking it would stretch me out.
Tiny Tim they called me. Well, one day I had had enough.
I was looking through a catalogue that had been lying around the house for years. It was one of those useless things that for some reason my mum wouldn’t throw away. My finger stopped on a very eye catching, star shaped ad. ‘Make yourself as tall as a house!’ it read. A lot of hoodwink and pish posh I thought but since it claimed it was free and all you had to do was call a toll free number I thought ‘why not?’
My parents had been visiting a neighbour who had just had a new baby so I was home alone. I picked up the phone and dialled 0800 – GET – TALL. The ad was so old that I had expected the number to have been disconnected but to my surprise an automated voice came on the other end.
“One moment please,” it said in its computerised, honeyed tones. Then there was a click and the line went dead.
‘Well I don’t feel taller,” I said to myself, putting the phone down with just a little disappointment.
***
I went to the bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face. I was starting to feel really hot. I hoped I was coming down with something so I could have a day or two off school.
I felt dizzy. I looked down at the sink. It looked a lot smaller and a lot further away than it had a moment ago. I felt something bump against my head. It was the roof! I climbed out of the bathroom and charged downstairs like a stilt walker and squeezed out the front door.
I waved my arms like great boat sails. I could now see in my bedroom window on the top floor.
My tiny mum and miniscule dad came walking down the pathway. Mum shrieked and fell faint. Dad gave a very firm, “Oh my!” and twitched his moustache.
After mum finally recovered I explained to them what had happened. Dad opened the window so I could tlk to them, hunching down and peeping in. Dad tried calling the maker of the ad but they had closed business. It seems there wasn’t much call for people wanting to be as big as houses.
***
I’ve had to make a few adjustments. A sky high house has been built for me to live in. I have to sit in the school yard and listen to my lessons through the window, even when its raining. Mum was shocked at first but she says she loves me no matter my size. I’ll be big until dad can track downthe owner of ‘Getting Tall’. At least they don’t call me Tiny Tim anymore.
Stand and Grow Big
Timothy Hardship is my name. With that you would think I’ve had a hard life but its really the opposite. The truth is I was a bright and happy boy. That was until I accidentally made myself as tall as a house. Now, simple things like going to school, playing with my friends and other regular kid things present more of a challenge.
Grandad always used to tell me that little kids should give up their seats for adults because they need to stand and grow big. I was one of the smallest boys in my class so I took my grandad’s advice and kept on my feet as much as possible, thinking it would stretch me out.
Tiny Tim they called me. Well, one day I had had enough.
I was looking through a catalogue that had been lying around the house for years. It was one of those useless things that for some reason my mum wouldn’t throw away. My finger stopped on a very eye catching, star shaped ad. ‘Make yourself as tall as a house!’ it read. A lot of hoodwink and pish posh I thought but since it claimed it was free and all you had to do was call a toll free number I thought ‘why not?’
My parents had been visiting a neighbour who had just had a new baby so I was home alone. I picked up the phone and dialled 0800 – GET – TALL. The ad was so old that I had expected the number to have been disconnected but to my surprise an automated voice came on the other end.
“One moment please,” it said in its computerised, honeyed tones. Then there was a click and the line went dead.
‘Well I don’t feel taller,” I said to myself, putting the phone down with just a little disappointment.
***
I went to the bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face. I was starting to feel really hot. I hoped I was coming down with something so I could have a day or two off school.
I felt dizzy. I looked down at the sink. It looked a lot smaller and a lot further away than it had a moment ago. I felt something bump against my head. It was the roof! I climbed out of the bathroom and charged downstairs like a stilt walker and squeezed out the front door.
I waved my arms like great boat sails. I could now see in my bedroom window on the top floor.
My tiny mum and miniscule dad came walking down the pathway. Mum shrieked and fell faint. Dad gave a very firm, “Oh my!” and twitched his moustache.
After mum finally recovered I explained to them what had happened. Dad opened the window so I could tlk to them, hunching down and peeping in. Dad tried calling the maker of the ad but they had closed business. It seems there wasn’t much call for people wanting to be as big as houses.
***
I’ve had to make a few adjustments. A sky high house has been built for me to live in. I have to sit in the school yard and listen to my lessons through the window, even when its raining. Mum was shocked at first but she says she loves me no matter my size. I’ll be big until dad can track downthe owner of ‘Getting Tall’. At least they don’t call me Tiny Tim anymore.
