down from the ceiling.
She laughed; Martha laughed at the silly man, lying there on his back, with ten rubber tubes dangling annoyingly into his face, trying to avoid them, but unable.
“I thought you were supposed to lie on your side?” she said.
“That’s correct,” he replied. “I was just thinking…”
“You were? I’m impressed,” she said, “that you were able to do anything with those silly things dangling in your face. What were you thinking about?”
“I was thinking that if this is a success,” he took hold of the tubes and jiggled them about, “I could go into business manufacturing it as my patented cure for snoring. What do you think of that?” he asked.”
“I think,” she said lovingly to him, “that we should find out if it actually works, before getting carried away with such fanciful ideas.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he said, rolling onto his side, settling down for a sleep. Sitting up again, he cried out in alarm, “But I don’t snore! This won’t prove anything!”
“Never?”
“No, at least I don’t think so.”
“Go to sleep, let me decide on that,” she ordered.
Lying down, allowing the dangling rubber tubes to rest over the left-hand side of his head, George prepared himself for a trial run. Opening her Mills and Boon book, Martha settled down for a nice read.
Having ten rubber tubes resting on the side of your head is not an ideal way of trying to fall asleep, but George had faith in his invention; he was certain that despite this distraction, this annoyance, his brain was capable of cancelling it out. Having said that, they almost drove him mad, tickling his ear. He persisted, though, because he was utterly convinced as to the soundness of his invention.
“Are you all right, dear?” Martha asked, as her husband brushed away the tubes for the umpteenth time. The tubes, however, soon returned to their original position.
“Yes, let me go to sleep, will you?” he replied grumpily. “I need some peace!” Martha turned the page of her book and continued reading.
Twisting and turning, George struggled with the demons in his head, the imps that were doing their utmost to keep him awake. Half-awake and half-asleep, he rolled over, onto his back. The ends of the tubes, having a new target – his face, covered his nose and mouth with their annoyance.
Coughing and spluttering, George awoke with a start. Sitting upright in the bed, with the tubes fanning around him, he asked, “What happened?”
Turning the page of her book, Martha offered him no reply. Remembering that he had told her to leave him in peace, George lay down, rolling onto his side once again, trying to get back to sleep, to continue with the experiment. Shooting him a quick glance, Martha smiled mischievously.
The same thing, George rolling onto his back and then waking up, repeated itself repeatedly, so many times Martha began to doubt that his lumbering brain might ever come to accept the presence of the tubes, and so stop him from choosing this position. It was only when she had reached the end of a particularly long chapter did she realise that her husband was sleeping quite contentedly on his side, showing no signs whatsoever that he wished to roll onto his back. “It’s a success,” she whispered, “a success.”
That’s it, my friends, that’s how George finally got a good night’s sleep. Yes, of course it took Martha a while to get used to sleeping underneath the dangling contraption, but in the end she did, and they both lived (and slept) happily ever after.
THE END.
A Scary Night
I found it so hard to go to sleep last night, twisting and turning under the tremendous weight of the quilt. Moreover, it was so hot, so incredibly hot, I just could not understand how it was so.
It must have been well past one a.m. before I finally dozed off, only to awaken soon after, by a fear, a terrible sensation that something was in the room along with us, something skulking, ready to get me, to snuff out my miserable existence.
I tried to shout, to scream, to let my wife, Breda, know the danger I was in, but I could not make a sound, I was not able to make even the slightest of utterances. Then I began rising, floating out and away from the bed. It was not far, mind you, no more than a few feet, but more than enough to send my already frightened mind racing into startled convulsions.
Shouting, sweating, shaking, trembling with fear I awoke, having somehow escaped from this terrifying dream.
“It was only a dream, Breda?” I asked.
Breda insisted that it was only a dream. She told me not to be silly, to go to sleep, that everything would be all right. I tried; I really tried to get back to sleep, to the good pattern of slumber that I am fortunate to enjoy, but I was so uncomfortable, where neither my right nor left-hand side was an option upon which I might lie. The only way that I could find any degree of comfort was lying on my back. That was when it started again...
Relaxing, I fell asleep. It was a restful sleep, a nice sleep, but an incredibly short sleep. I had barely lost consciousness when I heard something, something so close to my ear I could hear every word it uttered, speaking, mumbling, gurgling. I awoke with a start. For a moment, a brief instant, I thought I saw a figure, a dark figure, a form skulking away from our bed into the shadows, in the darkest corner of the room. Putting it down to my imagination, I closed my eyes and relaxed, returning to my slumbers.
However, it returned, the voice speaking, mumbling, gurgling in my ear awoke me again, as for a second time I thought I saw the shadowy figure disappearing into the corner of the room.
This torturous process went on for the remainder of the night, until the sun heralding a new morn allowed me to sleep normally.
It rang; the alarm ringing told me that I had rested enough, that a brand-new day awaited me. Yawning, I dragged myself out of bed. Donning my dressing gown and slippers, I wandered across to the bedroom window, where I opened the blinds. Yawning again, I inspected the day. It was a cold, dark, grey winter’s morning. I wanted to return to my bed, to catch up on my sleep, oh how I wished it were possible...
Something on the floor in the darkest part of the room, where I had seen the figure disappearing into the shadows caught my attention. Bending down, I picked it up. It was a book, the book I had enjoyed reading in bed. Placing it on my bedside locker, I glanced at its title. It read; Scary Stories.
Ali – Bonkers
It happened two days before Halloween, when Alison – everyone calls her Ali – was at home, helping her mother to prepare the evening meal.
“Mum,” said Ali, tugging at her mother’s blouse sleeve. “Mum, now that Harry Potter has finally gone, you know, I mean how all the books have been finished, I feel like I’ve, somehow, grown up… Does that make any sense to you?”
It does, and I’m happy to hear it, Ali,” her mother replied giving her a big hug. “But don’t be in too much of a hurry to grow up; these are the best years of your life.”
“Argh!” Ali groaned. “Why does everyone tell me that, when all that I want to do, above everything else, is grow up?” When she had calmed down, Ali said, “I am a big girl now, mum. I know there is no such thing as magic or witches or anything like that. Sure, Harry Potter was just a great big fairy tale.”
Her mum smiled lovingly at Ali.
After the meal, a light tea, Ali’s parents went to their bedroom, to get ready for their evening out. It seemed to take forever, with so many comings and goings into and out from the adjoining bathroom. Finally, they were ready, and they entered the sitting room where Ali was already watching the television with her brother Paul and her sister Laura.
“Ali,” said her mother, “are you sure you will be okay babysitting for us this evening?”
It was Ali’s first time to baby-sit, so she wanted to make a good impression. Speaking confidently, she said, “Yes, I’ll be fine. We’re going to have a nice time watching The Simpsons’ Halloween Specials five, six and eight – they’re the best ones.”
“If
Laura and Paul get frightened, you will turn it off?”
“Yes, yes I promise,” Ali replied, crossing her fingers beneath a large cushion perched upon her lap.
With that, the parents opened the door, got into their car – a huge white Lexus – and drove off down the road to the Italian restaurant.
The Simpsons’ Halloween specials frightened neither Laura nor Paul, they had seen them far too many times before to be in anyway scared. Happily watching the seasonal antics of their favourite characters, the three children relaxed in front of the television, munching crisps and biscuits, chewing wine gums and drinking lashings of Fizzing Fruit Juice drink – it was lovely.
To begin with, the evening went surprisingly well for Ali, she really enjoyed it. Her mother phoned up at nine o’clock, just to check that everything was okay. Ali was proud to tell her that everything was fine, and not to worry. That piece of advice, however, was a mistake, a mistake that Ali was soon going to regret…
You see, at precisely nine thirty someone knocked the front door. “Now who could that possibly be?” said Ali, as she got up from her wonderfully comfortable leather armchair, to see. However, after she had opened the front door, Ali’s question remained unanswered, because there was nobody there.”
Slamming the door closed, Ali said, “Children playing silly Halloween pranks, I’d guess. Don’t they know there are still two days left to go?”
Opening another packet of crisps, an
Tales of the Extraordinary Page 5