Scrapbook

by Michael White

  “Who is that there?” called out Popu, and the figure did not turn but stayed crouched at the doorway as if it was looking through the keyhole. Popu drew a little nearer, slowly walking towards the figure. The story the children had told him came to his mind but he laughed and walked a little faster to approach the crouched figure who was, as Popu had suspected, looking through the keyhole into the house. The house itself was all lit up and as he approached he saw one of his neighbours pass by the window inside, oblivious to both him and the strange figure stooped on his step.

  “Who is that there?” repeated Popu and without turning the figure answered him. Its voice was dark and deep, like stones rolling over each other in a mine.

  “I am the Karamon.” it said, “And I come looking for a meal.” With that Popu drew alongside the creature and he saw that the creature was not looking through the keyhole to the main door of his neighbour’s house at all. Quite the opposite. The creature was sniffing loudly at the hole in the door, making a small satisfied sound as if it liked what it smelt.

  “My neighbours are poor people and cannot afford to feed you.” said Popu.

  “Oh I think poor or not they can provide a meal.” laughed the Karamon, and Popu looked at the creature directly now. It was swathed in a long black or brown cloak, yet it looked spindly; thin, and moved oddly, as if the cloak contained more than just two arms and legs. Popu shivered.

  The creature paused and glanced towards him. Its head was cowled but in the growing dark two red eyes were clearly visible; but no more than that. Popu took a small step backwards, feeling suddenly very uncomfortable indeed. The creature did not notice however, as it had turned its attention back to the keyhole and was inhaling loudly as if sniffing at a plate of food or a banquet.

  “A mother and child.” it sighed, making a sound as if it was licking lips that Popu could not see. “A husband and … what is this....” The creature sniffed long and loud for a short time before again making a sound as if it was smacking its lips in anticipation. “Ah yes. A small baby too. How delicious.”

  “I am going to fetch my father.” said Popu, but it was an idle threat for he was now frozen in fear and could not move at all. The creature showed no sign that it had heard him at all, and it began making a loud inhaling noise, and as he did so the keyhole began to glow red. From within there was a small cry and what looked like smoke began to funnel out of the keyhole, the Karamon snapping at it and chewing at it almost, inhaling the fumes. There was a baby's cry from within then and a small puff of smoke rattled through the keyhole that was now glowing red. The Karamon fell on the smoke greedily, inhaling it, chewing at the fumes.

  The next two puffs of smoke were of different sizes, but the creature lapped them up eagerly, and then as quick as it had started it had finished. The creature wiped its face in the gloom and stood away from the keyhole that was now glowing red hot.

  “Nobody will believe you, child.” said the Karamon, and it began to slowly fade until in less than a minute it had disappeared.

  Popu stood shaking, the dark growing cold around him, the keyhole still glowing a dark red colour and as he approached the door handle and turned it he could feel the heat still rolling off the keyhole in sickly waves.

  He went inside and shouted for his neighbours, but they were not there and they would never be seen again. There was a pot boiling over with water on the stove, and he turned it off, noticing a pair of hastily discarded slippers on the floor as he did so.

  Popu never told of what he saw that night, for he knew none would believe him, though from time to time as he grew older he would read in the newspaper stories of suddenly abandoned houses, empty of the residents who lived there, and when he read them he shuddered and tried not to remember, but on each occasion that he did read such a story he always went to his front door and checked that the wood he had nailed over the keyhole was still in place. It always was.”

  Kevin lowered his notes and smiling returned to his seat, taking his pint with him, thunderous applause following him as he did so. From behind the bar Charlie nodded his head to Tom and the head judge raise this pint to him.

  The result was of course a foregone conclusion. Kevin was champion tall story teller for the sixth year running, and when he was handed his trophy Charlie was extremely pleased to see him come to the bar and have it filled with the finest beer. He was pleased for the cup held round about six pints, and of course, Kevin was paying.

  ***

  Kevin staggered across the road a few hours later, trophy still in hand, heading for home. He giggled to himself, because he had dropped the cup at least three times and each time that he had done so the cup had been dented each time. It now looked considerably worse for wear. He laughed aloud. he would have to get Uncle Tom to get that sorted for when he won it again next year!

  He staggered on, turning into the cul de sac where he lived, thinking now of the national final for the story telling competition that would be held in London in about three months’ time. It was all expenses paid of course, and it was always a really good bash. Plenty of food, free drink and some of the ladies there were more than taken with his talents for making things up. Still, what the wife didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, eh? He snorted aloud and staggered towards his house.

  He knew Dorothy, his wife, would not wait up for him, and that Billy, their three-year-old would have been long in bed, but he may just possibly put his head around the door to wish him a good night. Well, if Dorothy didn’t catch him doing it anyway, because he was almost bound to wake the child up, what with his coordination being more than a little affected by the amount of beer he had drunk.

  He got his keys out of his pocket and went to open the door, but as he did so he saw that the keyhole looked hot; smoke coming from it, and as he gave a small gasp the door swung open and he fell inside, the door slamming shut behind him.

  In confusion he walked into the kitchen. As he had expected Dorothy had gone to bed, and so he turned the living room light and having done so he sat on the couch and took off his shoes. He thought perhaps he would make himself a sandwich, but first he had to pee, and so he staggered noisily up the stairs and went to the toilet.

  After he finished he popped his head around the door of the nursery and was surprised to see that Billy’s bed was empty. He remembered that they had initially had problems with Billy leaving his bed and climbing into their bed, but that had not happened for a long time, and so he made his way to where Dorothy and Billy must be sleeping, but as he opened the door he saw the bed was empty.

  Panicking, he checked the spare room. Nothing. His bed had had the sheets all tossed and strewn, as Billy’s had been, as if they had been sleeping but then had left. He clattered down the stairs, nearly tripping as he did so, but he managed to make it into the kitchen in one piece, but as he did so he came to a sudden stop. On the worktop in front of him stood two things he knew had not been there when he had left the house earlier. The first item was a large pineapple, its skin dotted with thousands of small eyes. Besides it sat a small pretty flower, but as he looked at it the plant almost seemed to notice and the leaves abruptly snapped shut.

  “What the…?” uttered Kevin, entering the hall and stopping dead in his tracks, for in front of him the keyhole in the now closed door glowed a bright red and seemed to be getting redder as he watched.

  He felt as if it was drawing him towards the hole, and he staggered forward, feeling himself being sucked towards the door and the evilly glowing keyhole.

  “Karamon.” was the only word he had time left to say, and then he felt himself dissolve through the keyhole and everything turned to smoke.

  Where The Bloody Hell Are You?

  I sat looking at the woman across the table from me: late twenties I knew, not a bad looker when all was said and done. She was smiling now as we both had a quick peruse of the menu, each examining it for something light that fitted the mid-morning time that we had arranged to meet. We were going al fresco; the day
warm and bright and so we were sat outside the cafe’, quite a few other tables occupied, some not. They would soon fill up as lunchtime approached I figured, but I would be long gone by then. I saw her take her bag off the table and then carefully place it between her feet on the ground. Cautious, I thought, and so she should be, for what it was that she had in that bag, what it was that she had brought me here for, I was here to steal it.

  “Just a coffee for me.” I said, placing the menu back on the table and leaning back in the chair. She smiled nervously and nodded.

  “Same for me too.” Her menu joined mine on the table.

  “Waiter!” I called and the tall young man approached, pulling a small pad and pencil from his waistcoat pocket and nodding his head to me as if he was asking for my order; waiting for me to speak.

  Midwestern American waiters irritated me. Quite a lot. If they weren’t busy being a complete jackass, chewing gum or just being plain disinterested, they were like this guy now. I decided to wait and let him speak first and so just stared at him for a while. Eventually he got the idea.

  “You ready to order?” he asked and finally I smiled.

  “Coffee for me.” I said, and nodded at the woman I had just met on the other side of the table. I suppressed a smile. It could have been a blind date. It most definitely however was not.

  “Same for me.” she smiled, “With cream.”

  “I take mine black.” I said and the waiter nodded once, removing the menus from the table and heading back across the patio and through a pair of open French doors that led towards the kitchens.

  “Jack McFarland.” I said, rising from my seat slightly and holding my hand out to her. She smiled and did likewise, and we shook hands. She had a limp handshake but it didn’t really matter. As I said, it wasn’t a date.

  “Cynthia Pascoe.” she said and we slipped back into our seats smiling, the pleasantries dispensed with and we both looked around the cafe’ for a few seconds, taking in the surroundings. It looked just like any upmarket Midwest American bistro to me to be honest. There was nothing to distinguish it from any of the others in any way whatsoever.

  I wasn’t Jack McFarland of course. The real Jack McFarland was already dead, his body going cold in a garbage skip a couple of blocks from here. He hadn’t put up much of a fight really. One quick punch to the Adam’s apple and it was all over for him.

  “Nice decor.” I said and she smiled.

  “I have never been in here before.” she smiled, looking around, “Strange really. I only live a few blocks west of here. Just never seemed to have noticed it before. Strange really, when you mentioned it on the phone I knew where you meant straight away, but I have never been in.”

  I knew where she lived of course. In fact I knew everything about her. Twenty-seven. No boyfriend. Science Major from UT Michigan. Quite a good track record in physics too. Lives alone, no pets. Parents live out of state but she takes the red eye once a month to go and visit. A good family girl. In short, a bit of a brain box. Nice smile though.

  But it was what she had in the bag that I was interested in. As far as I was concerned that was the one and only reason I was here, and soon as I had stolen it then I was out of here as fast as I could go.

  “So is it interesting working for Startup Corp?” she asked. This was the work that the poor recently dead real Jack McFarland did, and so I nodded enthusiastically. I had to research Jack quite intensively too, but that wasn’t so difficult. Startup after all was the most recent entry to the top one hundred Fortune 100 companies and every financial rag in the country was talking about them.

  It all started with Kickstart of course. Many people sponsored projects in return for being early adopters of whatever it was they were pitching. Startup went one step further, offering government money for more science based projects. It really was quite surprising some of the things they were working on, though in truth you could probably make up a checklist yourself for the things that they would be interested in: energy from waste, solutions to tidal erosion, clean power and so on. To me it sounded like a goons gathering of airy fairy nonsense, but hey - science was not my strongpoint. The way I looked at it, if I push a light switch then the light comes on I don’t need to know how the damned thing works. Suddenly it gets light, and that’s good enough for me.

  “Sure.” I said, “Though we do get some strange ideas coming our way quite a bit. It’s a serious job of course, deciding what to sponsor and what not to. Especially when the government funds start hitting the projects.”

  “Serious money?” she asked, and I could almost smell the hunger on her.

  “Yeah. Serious money.” I smiled, “Enough to make anyone’s hare brained scheme a runner. My boss says that Startup Corp is a little bit Kickstart but without the dickwads.”

  Cynthia laughed aloud as the waiter arrived with the coffees and made a great show of putting them on the table. I decided I had been a little too upfront before and spent the time while he was doing the coffee thing staring at my shoes. It wouldn’t do for him to remember my face after all, would it now? Still, with the waiter now departed I decided to get to the nitty gritty.

  “Which brings us to your project.”

  “Yes.” she said, a brief tic in her cheek revealing how nervous she was. She was a scientist I suppose. Not a money person. But she needed Startup money, and that was where I came in. Or Jack McFarland did, anyway. I am just a thief remember. McFarland was the money guy.

  “Tell me again what it is.” I smiled, and leaned back in my chair, taking my cup with me and sipping at it slowly.

  She picked up her cup and I noticed her lip trembling as she sipped at the coffee. Mine wasn’t warm at all, and she had cream so it wasn’t as if the drink was hot or not. She looked as if she had made a decision and she reached down into her handbag and pulled out and placed on the table what looked to all the world, and to me in particular, to be a small Tupperware box. I leaned forward slightly. It looked like some kind of circuit board in there; wires too. I stopped looking. As I say, I am not a technical guy. Not at all.

  “Don’t put it out on show.” I said quietly. “Do you know there are government satellites that can read the label on a tin of soup from orbit?” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a Walmart carrier bag and threw it across the table at her. “Cover it up with that.” I said testily, and she hastily complied.

  “Sorry.” she said. “But surely it’s government money anyway.” she frowned, “I don’t get what’s with all of the secrecy.”

  “There’s government and then there’s government.” I said mysteriously. It was a nonsense phrase of course, but she seemed to swallow it, nodding slowly. In truth I just didn’t want anyone nearby remembering that she had put a strange little box on the table.

  “So what is it then?” I repeated and she looked at the Walmart carrier bag with the box inside it and gulped silently.

  “I believe that my studies have led to the discovery of this device that will revolutionise the life of every person on the planet.” she said pompously.

  “They said that about sugar free Cola.” I laughed, “And look how that little idea panned out.” She frowned. “Sorry.” I said, holding my hands up. “Just my sense of humour. Continue, but cut to the chase Cynthia. It’s not a sales pitch. I’m just the guy who sets up the finance meetings with the board.”

  “Okay.” she said. “The device will, I believe when connected to a sufficient power source allow the user to distort chronological events on an ongoing and selectable basis. I also believe it has a dual chronological event line capability. Backwards and forwards as they say.”

  “They say that do they?” I smiled sarcastically and she looked as if she had been caught with her hand in the till for a brief second.

  “I guess so, yes.” she said and looked nervously about her.

  “I haven’t the faintest idea what any of that actually means.” I said, lying through my teeth. I knew exactly what it was that she had in front of
her. I wasn’t going to admit it though. “Look Cynthia. It is quite straightforward. I am not the science guy, or the man with all the cash. I am the enabler. I am the people person. You give me the details of what you have and then I put it in front of the board and my job is done. Beyond that it’s up to you.” I paused, tapping my spoon on the side of the coffee saucer as if irritated, “And of course whether the bastard chrono whatever it is or whatever business plan that is put in front of me actually works in the first fucking place. You understand?”

  “Sure.” she said, watching me continue to tap the spoon on the saucer nervously.

  “So what is it then?” I smiled.

  “It’s a time machine.” she spat and I smiled even wider.

  “Right.” I said. “Oh Okay.” and I made to stand.

  “Wait.” she said. “It will work. I know it will. All it needs is a power source.”

  “Go get a couple of dry cells then.” I said, trying to catch the attention of the waiter. It was all a show of course, but she wasn’t to know that.

  “The power that is needed to make the device functional only government funding can help with. Government cash and access to the amount of power needed to test the device.” She paused slightly, watching me standing as if ready to leave. “Look. Just sit down.” she almost pleaded, “I know it sounds ridiculous, but equally I know it works. Every test I have run that I am able to do… well the theory holds out.”

  “How many of you worked on this?” I asked. This was important, but I didn’t give her any indication of letting her know that.

  “Just me.” she said. I sat back down.

  “So just one science major and a Tupperware box of wires. Perhaps I should just call the men in the little white coats and let them be done with you.”

  “Do what you want.” she said angrily, “As you said, you are not the science man. Put me in front of the board and they will be able to see the value of what I have here.”

  “A time machine.” I said flatly.