by Loui Downing
‘Please would everyone leave the building at the nearest fire exit’ repeated an automated voice as Lensa and Eric were holding each other, along with Jessica and Alexandra who was tucked up in her body carrier now attached to Eric. They watched as people left the museum near the green lit doors to the left next to collection of 19th century coins and notes, along with interesting facts and figures which Lensa was encouraging Jessica to read earlier. Lensa nudged everyone as they stood up and left the building, following three flights of stairs to then be finally greeted by army squadrons and police officials that escorted them to safety and outside the museum. The press had cornered the people leaving the museum asking questions, when a police official informed them that the operation and the safety of the people in this vicinity were as yet insecure, as he directed them to a safe distance with a distasteful gratitude. The family were escorted further to a team of medics and physiological examination which they refused right away and insisted they were told what was going on, to be only told it was an intruder and that they should go back to their homes away from the incident. Eric really was puzzled from the lack of professionalism and transparency within the squadrons to provide them with adequate help and assistance.
The family left in a hurry trying to forget what had just happened. They headed for the tube station where they ended up in Camden town where they walked along the jingly road towards the Camden Bridge, black in colour set in a location that really is quite Italian with houses, shops and walkways presented either side of the river, running beneath them all. Eric compiled his umbrella and fastened it back into its holster as the family stopped for a short breather on the bridge, overlooking the water and surroundings. Eric and Lensa never paid much attention to Camden as they felt it was quite expensive and just generally not to their tastes, although Eric did feel comforted from coming here. The family felt a glimmer of hope in the scary tales of ten minutes ago.
The four walked casually through the chaotic streets to reach the underground station where they caught several trains back to their home in Islington. Jessica looked especially happy about the prospects of bumping into Mr Biggles and his wild sweet shop. The train journey seemed like it had taken the life out of Jessica, even though it was only around eleven minutes until they were walking down the same street they paraded down yesterday. Jessica wondered off ahead that worried Lensa considerably.
‘Jessica dovn go to var’ announced Lensa with extreme caution.
‘Ok mummy I won’t. I just vant to get to Mr Biggles’ sweet shop in time to get the question right this time’ replied Jessica in her usual groaning voice; one that Lensa hears far too often when she is telling her off.
Jessica was disappointed to find that Mr Biggles’ sweet shop was closed, only his shadow was visible from the window; he appeared to be emptying something through the secret door. Jessica turned around whilst skipping, recalling her happy visit the other day and as her head turned and she paused still as a post. Her eyes were locked on Mr Biggles (Arthur); looking very suspicious in the shop window, as he felt prying eyes on his back he turned to face her and made sudden eye contact with her, as quick as a flash he closed the curtains and disappeared. Jessica told her parents, to be only fobbed off with the excuses like maybe he is making a special batch of sweets for all of the children that gets the questions correct and that maybe one day that could be her. She waved this away and protested that something odd going on in the shop involving the owner and that they should go back to see what he is up to. Lensa instructed that is has been a long day and that we maybe are a little delirious. Jessica sighed and ploughed on into the night with an eerie churn in the mist of her stomach that made her restless that night.
Henry lurked around in front of the empty road, filled only by a gentle breeze and the distant sounds of late activity. The figure was tall with mousy hair, although this was not visible for he was wearing a flat hat that matured him greatly. He was holding some scrolls of documents, carrying a computer bag slung over his shoulder that was going to fall off at any moment, or rather his arm for the deadening strain. Henry’s face lit as he let out a tiny smile as the old man hobbled towards the back-to-front mirrors, which was installed for the children and adults he assured himself. The old man reached for his pockets quickly and pulled out the biggest collection of keys, bolts and gadgets, all attached to a sharp metal key-ring that swung delicately as he searched for what he thought was the correct key. He is frantically loveable although he does act silly sometimes, losing his keys and cracking jokes at the most inappropriate of times. The children are amazed by his inventions, revealing the latest gadget he’s been working on, such as the miracle height expander that allows people to reach another level, then there are others like the natural sweet that made from pure earth’s minerals, and the all senses at once sweet called the five forces which contains the juiciest and the sourest ingredients you can think of that stimulates every sense.
There once was an invention that caused a young girl named Stephanie that lived around a five-minute walk from the shop. She had taken the crazy drink formed by Mr Biggles, who had not properly tested it yet and left it in the same room as the most inquisitive girl he had met, especially for her age. She was a very pretty girl and well-spoken although she loved to get into mischief and adventures that scared her parents dearly. The girl drank the purple fizzy liquid down as if she hadn’t had fluid intake for a long time and she started to feel funny. She felt a pain in one side of her face as she screamed Mr Biggles and a few of his assistants around eight or nine years older came rushing over to her. When they asked her what she had swallowed she could barely talk. The drink was supposed to make you confident, although Mr Biggles had mixed up the contents and instead made the users head expand to an unusually large state; reaching almost three sizes bigger than normal. This incident nearly cost Mr Biggles his job and his home, due to the parents of Stephanie suing Mr Biggles, taking a lot of his earnings, which left him with barely anything to survive on. Being like he is, he didn’t want to give in so easily so he had the will power and business techniques to gradually make his way back to a good standard of living, which meant his inventions, could start again. He made sure that he was going to be extra careful from now on and not take any risks and start with little inventions, which over time became complex and huge projects. The girl still suffers from what happened to her, being nicknamed and bullied which upset Mr Biggles who was currently in search for a cure so that maybe he could obtain his money and his reputation back.
He finally grabbed and inserted the correct key to the creaky old door that was as old as him. Mr Biggles’ rugged grey beard blew as he opened the door, along with the last few strands of hair that he is clinging onto in a state of despair as he despised getting older. He stood in full view of the door ready to greet his son on return from University that day, which worried Arthur as he expected him back earlier. The scrunched up humorous face of Mr Biggles, accompanied by a checked flat cap, a worn cardigan and an expensive pare of considerable wacky maroon pointy shoes that his son brought for him last Christmas loomed around the windows. Arthur's shoes impressed him as he is always on his feet and these have hardly worn out, sparking an idea for an invention of changeable soles for shoes meaning they would last forever.
‘Working late I see’ said a squeaky and crooked voice as Henry stepped into the doorway whose expression gave that of being absolutely exhausted.
‘Yeah, the library was quiet tonight so I thought I might as well start some work early and look at artefacts I was given’ replied Henry sounding intoxicated with the historical symbols, meanings and mythology and not in a good way. Henry took off his coat and hung it in the back through a curtained doorway and placed it onto a hat and coat rack. Henry is a well-educated boy that Mr Biggles is very proud of. The atmosphere when they are together is that of tranquillity, although to observe you may leave with a severe headache from their extensive vocabulary and the complexity of history, science and tec
hnology along with the perils of scientific mysteries such as the universe’s creation. Sometimes due to Arthur’s age he just talks about sweets and crazy ideas when he’s not feeling up to chatting about topics in such an audacious manner; making Henry laugh with his outrageously preposterous suggestions for his latest invention.
‘Are you hungry?’ claimed Arthur from the small lounge a few doors down from the area where Henry had recently placed his coat. Arthur was perched in his comfy chair that had imprints where he had sat.
The lounge was very dark, only a small window at the very top of the wall was letting a miniscule amount of light in; Arthur usually having to place a few lamps on to read the morning newspaper. The room is petit but big enough for them as Henry hardly used it, he normally resides in the study room or in the attic conversion; working hard and long into the night.
‘No thanks I’ve eaten out today. Oh by the way I spoke to Eva, she’s well and teaching again’ replied Henry talking about a teacher that his father has had close affiliations with for the past few years. Henry encouraged their friendship as he hoped that one day his father would be able to share his work with someone. Henry's mother always loved to see his latest inventions; sadly, she passed away when Henry was eleven from inoperable cancer. Arthur hated it when Henry discussed trying to rebuild his love life; he found it utterly woeful and a lack of respect to his mother. However, Henry’s intentions were purely for the sake of making him happy, not replacing his mother but just even to have a close friend occasionally.
‘Hmm…that’s fantastic news then Henry. You’ll be able to get proper assistance now with your field projects, instead of that horrible Dr Thomas, the strict, sour faced mule of a lecturer’ said Arthur murmuring to himself, which Henry couldn’t hear. His lecturer had chosen to be Henry’s second marker had to take over from Eva in her absence; resulting in agonising late conversations that would leave Henry feeling like nothing had been achieved. His forceful and pressuring application of voice seemed to have a lasting impression.
‘Yeah, He rambled on at me again today about aiming to finish quadrant 4.6 on the behaviour of transcripts and it has to be deciphered within three weeks! That involves over a hundred pieces of data which is impossible. I would have to work constantly with around the clock, only having one hour of sleep per night for three weeks to have it finished’ added Henry, although he was interrupted purely for exaggerating.
‘Ignore him and set your own goals. Wait for Eva to return and you’ll be right on track’ replied Arthur believing his son’s methods were far superior.
‘I’m going to look at these artefacts and then I’ll have an early night tonight, it’s advanced studies on mythology tomorrow so I had better be raring to go’ spoke Henry after the brief silence, which was followed by Arthur wishing him a good night sleep; as he reached for the television remote control.
Henry lent over to the rear of his thick wooden desk and clicked a black plastic switch that controlled a lamp to his right, giving a mediocre amount of light for him to work with. He turned to his papers and opened them to reveal that they were covered with charts, languages, encryptions and diagrams that looked ancient based on its transcript; constructed in a unique and classic format with a perfected slant.
Henry had a few globes in his room; he loved anything to do with history, space, nature, science and technology, ever since he was a young boy. He is also is a master of poems, although this is a secret hobby of his that he would rather keep to himself; he saw being discovered as something as wacky as his father's inventions.
His bedroom window overlooked the street which rose to his right as they were situated on an incline that Henry used to freewheel down on his bike; the feeling of the air lapping against his ears and hair on a particular sunny afternoon was a consistent reminder every time he gazed outside. The room directly above his bedroom is the study area which he uses for revision and when he needs inspiration. There is a window in the roof for viewing the stars, surrounded by telescopes and opened astronomy books; covering the room’s décor.
Henry reached for his satchel and unzipped it as he started to place artefacts on his desk; making room where necessary. The artefacts ranged in size and weight, with Henry’s face turning to a beetroot colour on the heavy items. Once all of the artefacts were sitting patiently on the desk he threw his satchel to one side and opened his text book and clicked a pen top as he started to jot down a few headings and what he had to do with the artefacts. The usual he thought, noting down details such as era, usage, mythological representation and generally the spiritual beliefs and symbolic meanings. Henry sighed and buried his head deep into the documents; delving in deeper as they time sped by. After around an hour and a half Henry lent back on his chair onto the back two legs whilst twiddling his pen around his fingers; in the process of analysis for a symbol that has been bugging him now for the past twenty minutes. Henry found it difficult to stay awake so he decided to head for a drink to refresh his mind. As he got up he mundanely threw himself together and headed for the kitchen.
Arthur was a light sleeper and could hear the rustling sounds of a wandering person, fidgeting around in the kitchen, accidentally being noisy. Arthur decided after closing his eyes once or twice that he would go and get a drink of milk or tea, secretly wanting to find out what the interesting artefacts meant that they were discussing earlier.
Arthur walked into the kitchen he saw Henry spread out on the floor; his leg only visible for the fridge was in the way. Arthur’s hair deserted his back and stood to attention as he moved closer to his son, and as he did he noticed the light in the front area of the shop had become darker. Apprehensively, Arthur walked slowly towards the front of the shop, peering around every which way to ensure maximum safety. He finally reached the shop and looked over towards the door where the light beamed. What he saw made him freeze as he saw the doors open and then close again, representing a presence that made a shiver so cold fluctuate throughout the whole of his body.
Joseph entered the Fitzroy wheat beer bar in London, a small but popular place that sells predominantly wheat beers from around the world. Little did Joseph know that on his entry he would be faced with the blinding brass edges on a mass of mahogany. He walked up to the bar where he was greeted by an Australian bartender working part-time whilst studying in the city. As Joseph’s Samuel Smith beer arrived he took a sip, mostly tasting the soft bubbly head of the beer. Joseph retreated to a small corner of the pub facing an old-fashioned wall decoration of men enjoying a drink. The bartender in the black and white photo was attending to his knife to slice a gathering of fruit; the punters casually leaning on the bar top, looking directly at Joseph which made him feel a bit anxious.
A man entered through the side of the pub bearing that of wild hair with a bowler hat; escorting an umbrella by his ulna. As the tall man entered, he shook his umbrella to relieve the rain drops from the navy material; dripping onto the wax looking floorboards. He placed his order at the bar, speaking clearly and quietly as if he wanted to blend into the background. Joseph repositioned himself on the chair, turning around and looking at the man who had just entered. He moved away quite quickly just as the man made eye contact. Joseph reached for his pocket and extracted his phone where bore a message that made him hurry his drink and wish to exit the bar as quickly as possible.
The underground atmosphere amazed Joseph, as he hated the silence, making him feel nervous to interlock with the already present eerie humid air. The archway lights tinkled like eyelashes as Joseph casually entered the dome shaped tunnels, tilled from head to toe. Joseph waited a short while before the train came thundering through the once blackened hole, stopping immediately which frightened some passengers. With a hiss the doors opened to release a variety of passengers. Joseph, being southern person, was well accustomed to the underground and gladly assisting a young woman asking for directions on where her train was designated.
Joseph stood in the carriageway so h
e could jump off the train quickly; he appeared to be in a rush. The doors opened as he briskly walked across the platform; promptly arriving at Kings Cross station. Joseph looked around for the nearest exit sign that would lead him to the surface. Moments later he found himself in a café with only a small number of people in; all relaxing with caffeine boost. A tired lady in a black shirt and tights asked him what he would like to drink, he replied asking nicely for tonic water; agreeing to the slice of fruit with a delightful nod. The lady walked away, attending to his order. She returned immediately, accompanied by the bill, which pleased him. The phone rang violently in Joseph’s trouser pocket. It was home calling but just as he was about to answer, a voice bellowed at him from nowhere.
‘Joey! How are you, your looking well’ said Dr Russio as he lifted a chrome chair to take a seat. Joseph greeted whilst cancelling the telephone call, he was really eager to hear the story of Eloise as he opened his black notepad and began to write.
‘Doctor, when was the last time you had contact with Eloise?’ questioned Joseph, waiting to write and ounce of detail he found compelling or of interest.
‘Please Joey, call me Evanan. I would feel more relaxed if this was informal. I’ve had a stressful week, what with her and the legal advisor, especially the police department who find neurological studies difficult to comprehend’ replied Evanan in a profoundly clear voice. Joseph found himself distracted again to his mobile phone, which flashed, and vibrated ‘Home’ repeatedly, he frowned, as he really was suspicious at why they would be calling. Evanan was still talking to him but Joseph wasn't paying attention and answered spontaneously; hoping that he didn’t ask a question, unfortunately he did as Evanan glared at him.