Not Quite Normal - Free Edition Read online

  Belle led Red up several sets of stairs. Whilst walking along the long, bland hallways that made up every floor of the building, Red noticed something else that was off with Belle this evening. She hasn’t said ‘like’ at all since the park, Red thought. Something’s not right...

  Eventually the pair stopped outside a blue door. Red was panting for breath, but Belle seemed to take the Everest-like climb in her stride. The paint was chipping off the door, probably due simply to being so old, but it could’ve easily been through years of sonic abuse from the other side. Belle knocked. They’ll never hear that, Red thought. Nevertheless, a man soon answered.

  His face was very small, almost shrivelled, covered with wrinkles and imperfections. Acne scars created a mountain range of nicks and crevices across his cheeks. A straggly beard and moustache combo covered the lower part of his face, but petered out as it scaled his scarred cheeks. His hair was a complete mess, scruffy and brown (more through grease than anything), and hanging liberally over his eyes.

  His eyes... Red thought. They’re the same as Belle’s!

  “Ah, Belle! I knew you’d be back!” the man shouted in Belle’s direction.

  “Oh, of course,” Belle replied. “And look, I’ve brought Red along!”

  He adjusted his gaze. “So this is the famous Red, eh? A pleasure to meet you, young lady, I’ve heard so much. My name is Walter.”

  He held out his hand to shake, and Red, somewhat reluctantly, did the same.

  “Well,” continued Walter, “now we’ve got the formalities out of the way...” He stepped back from the door, opening it wider as he did so, to reveal a living room. The music was coming from a large stereo in the corner, which was in pristine condition. The same could not be said, however, for the rest of the room. The floor was filthy, a broken TV set adorned a wall above a cracked hearth, what little furniture there was had several holes, pictures were broken, piles of rubbish and clothes were strewn in random heaps...the place looked more like a dump than a home. There was only one small window, a tiny kitchen area over the far side, and a closed red door leading to some other room.

  It seemed like there were hundreds of people in the room, making things very cramped. Most were dancing to the tuneless music, but there were a few asleep, making out or just standing. One of the standing people, a tall guy with black hair, seemed to stare at Red, which unnerved her a bit. He was dressed out of time, in quite old-fashioned clothes. But, somehow, he didn’t seem out of place at all.

  Walter and Belle, though, seemed to completely blank everyone as they crossed the room and went to the kitchen’s worktop. It was less cramped over here, in terms of people, but hundreds of bottles, cans, glasses and so on were scattered about, while dirty crockery and cutlery was languishing in the sink.

  “Now,” shouted Walter, “How much has Belle told you, Red?”

  “Um...nothing,” said Red in reply, “Listen, what’s this all about? I assumed it was a birthday party.”

  “You know what they say about assumption, Red. Though I’m sure that someone, somewhere is celebrating a birthday. It might even be you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Walter smirked, tensing the muscles in his right cheek to smile viciously. “For all we know, couldn’t it be the first day of the rest of your life? What’s in the box?”

  Red was thrown by the sudden change of subject. She’d almost forgotten the biscuits. “Oh, um...nothing.” She clutched the tin as close to her as she could manage.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Walter said.

  “Yeah OK,” Red said without a hint of the worry she was feeling in her voice. “A Coke please.”

  Walter prepared the drink, his back turned. Belle stood by his side. She smiled at Walter and then giggled a little under her breath as she turned back to Red. She walked over and as good as dragged her to the dance floor. Walter sauntered over to the pair of them soon after, holding a glass of Coke which was bubbling heavily.

  * * * * *

  It wasn’t long before Red, along with Belle, were in the lounge area, jumping in bad harmony with the music. The box of biscuits had been left in the kitchen, but no-one had bothered to eat any. Red was having a good time, but she couldn’t really remember why. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that for the first time since arriving in this town, she was having fun. Walter had disappeared somewhere, and Belle kept going off too. After her third trip in a couple of hours, Red finally asked.

  “Come on, I’ll show you!” Belle said.

  Belle led Red back into the bedroom. Walter was there, handing a small packet of something to one of the other party-goers. “Ah Red,” he said as he completed his transaction, “How are you enjoying the party?”

  Red started to feel woozy now that she’d stopped moving. While the drink had left her full of energy, it was starting to take its toll. “Yeah, it’s good. I’m not feeling so good though.”

  Walter smiled his wicked smirk again. “I’ve got something that can make that go away.”

  “Painkillers?”

  “Yes. Exactly.” He removed a pillbox from his jeans, opened it, and pulled out a tablet. “Just take this, and you’ll be right back out there on the dancefloor. The party never has to end, Red.”

  Red grabbed the pill eagerly. It was white and had an engraved line on one side, the letter ‘E’ on the other. “What’s the ‘E’ for?” Red asked.

  Walter continued to smirk. “It’ll make you feel...excited. Entertained. It’ll take you to the point of ecstasy.”

  She wanted the headache to go away and get back to the party. She put the pill in her mouth while Walter handed her another drink to wash it down.

  Just as the tablet was about to disappear down her gullet in a tsunami of soda, the door into the bedroom burst open. The man who had been staring at Red when she’d arrived was the culprit. He quickly slapped Red on the back, propelling what seemed to be gallons of Coke and the tiny pill across the room.

  Walter made a dash for the door, but the man was stood in his way. The guy wrestled Walter to the ground. Everything happened very quickly after that. Belle made a run for it, along with everyone else at the party. Red hadn’t noticed before, but the music had been switched off.

  “You’re beginning to get good at this!” Walter said in a surprisingly jovial manner.

  “At what?” the man asked.

  “Catching me.”

  Red passed out.

  * * * * *

  Red woke up several hours later in hospital. The man was sat next to her bed. “Hello Rachel,” he said.

  “How do you know my name?” Red asked.

  “Your mother told me. She’s just gone to get a coffee.”

  “What happened...?” Red could barely remember a thing.

  “A man, Walter O’Hare, spiked your drink at the party. Then he offered you a tablet. If you’d have taken that, anything could’ve happened. Literally anything. O’Hare doesn’t work like a normal human being. I’ve been chasing him for months. Years now, mayhap.”

  Red was thankful, but remained silent.

  “Anyway, don’t get led down that path again, no matter what your friends say.”

  “Belle’s not really my friend. And neither was that guy, Walter. I’d never met him before tonight. What happened to Belle anyway?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m sure she’ll show up eventually. These things happen sometimes, Rachel. I should know. The fact remains, though, that I could only get you and O’Hare.”

  “What’ll happen to him now?”

  The man was silent for a moment. “I had to let him go.”

  “What?! But I thought you said-”

  “I know what I said. But I got what I needed from him. We talked long into the night, and now I know what must be done. Don’t worry; he’ll not bother you again.”

  There was silence for a moment. “You’re not a policeman, are you?” Red asked somewhat cautiously.

  The man smiled. Red sensed
it was a rare occurrence, but it made his blue eyes, which bore a kind of ageless wisdom, shine. “Is it really that obvious?”

  Red’s mum came in at this point, holding a cup of coffee, which she immediately dropped when she saw that Red was conscious. The man got up to leave. Red noticed that he was holding a metal tin that looked very familiar to her. “I found these in the kitchen. I thought you might want them back. Goodbye, Rachel. I hope I never have to see you again.” He placed the box of biscuits on Red’s beside table and walked out without another word.

  The End

  * * * * *

  Not Quite Normal

  Gareth opened his eyes. Nothing but darkness greeted him, not even a light in the cracks of his bedroom curtains. That was normal, but tonight something was awry. He looked all around him, but could see absolutely nothing. Gareth had gone blind.

  A wave of panic washed over him. He felt around for his bedside cabinet, then swung his legs onto the floor. It felt different beneath his naked feet: his room had thick shag carpet, but this was hard and cold like a milk bottle.

  Using landmarks, like his cupboard and desk, he felt his way around to the door. He rested his hand on the iron handle, and swung it open. A burst of light exploded into his face, pushing him backwards and forcing his eyes shut.

  It took a long while for his eyes to adjust. He stepped out the door and looked both ways. Rather than a red and cream wallpapered corridor, a long white one greeted him, beaming as brightly as the summer sun. It was almost perfectly circular, as though he were standing in the middle of a tube. There were no more doors that he could see, despite the corridor stretching on infinitely.

  Gareth didn’t give himself time to think about what was going on and just started walking. He travelled maybe 100 yards down the corridor, but there were still no noticeable doorways, and it kept on going, a never-ending path into the distance. He stopped and started to head back.

  As he twisted, a loud pulsing alarm sounded, much like an air raid siren. Large blue and silver metal panels appeared on either side of the corridor. They rose vertically, and slid into place with a slight hiss. Gareth started to run down the corridor back towards his room.

  Two men, dressed in plastic silver suits and black masks, awaited him. Gareth could see himself reflected in the fencing-style visors. They moved in on him, and before he could evade them, both placed their hands on his scalp. Gareth was suddenly overcome with a burning headache that got steadily worse. He struggled to get away, but it wasn’t long before the pain had become unbearable, and he could stand no more. He fell unconscious.

  * * * * *

  Gareth opened his eyes. This time, he was in a domed silver chamber, like the inside of an upturned steel bowl. He tried to move, but he was tied down. One of the suited men leaned over his head, causing Gareth to jump with fright. It started to talk.

  At first, it was incomprehensible, just a series of random, foreign words that Gareth could not recognise, but a few seconds later, English seemed to overpower these noises, almost drowning the first language out.

  “You shouldn’t have left your room,” said a sweet woman’s voice. Her intonations were not quite normal - she put emphasis on random words. “You should have stayed there until we could complete the test. Now we have had to bring forward our schedule.”

  “What’s going on?” asked Gareth in his posh English accent. “Who are you people? Gerries?”

  There was a forced sound that Gareth presumed to be laughter but sounded more like a belch. “Humans,” the ‘woman’ said with mock despair. “It is funny how even in the most abstract circumstances you still attempt to draw comparisons with what is most natural to you. No, we are not ‘Gerries’.”

  “Then what?”

  “You couldn’t understand. Suffice to say that you are needed for some investigations of ours. You can be of great assistance to us. Once we are finished, we will return you home.”

  Then, without another word, the ‘woman’ walked off. Gareth tried to move his head to follow her, but could not. He was lying alone in the room for quite some time before any more figures arrived. One of them looked over Gareth’s head, while another was standing at his midriff.

  The one over his head said, in an identical female voice, “You will now go to sleep. When you awake, you will be back home, and may not even remember a thing. Goodbye.”

  Gareth felt his eyelids being forced shut by some invisible hand. He tried to resist, but it was futile. He once again fell unconscious.

  * * * * *

  Gareth opened his eyes. He was lying in what was most certainly his bed, and looked out onto what was most certainly his bedroom. The morning light was dim. What a queer dream, he thought. So...vivid.

  He opened his blackout curtains onto the city of London. It looked like his area had been spared from the Blitz once more. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the Germans got to his road. It was inevitable. The war could stretch on and on.

  He went about his morning routine as normal. He lived alone: his wife had died before the war and his children had been evacuated. He got letters from them every week, but still got lonely.

  Everything seemed usual, until he took his bath. He noticed a long red rash on his side, easily a foot long. It wasn’t painful at all, but it started to itch a bit when he noticed it. He rubbed it gently, making it itch even more. Perhaps I slept awkwardly last night.

  He thought nothing of it. Shortly after, he left his house and began to make his way to the office. But as soon as he stepped through the door, he noticed that something was wrong. Different.

  He strolled down the road. People who walked past started staring at him, like he were a creature from another world. He stared back; they were all dressed very strangely. Most of them wore denim trousers and colourful cotton shirts with short sleeves. He was dressed in his regular tweed suit and fedora hat, just as he did every day, just as all his colleagues did every day. As he walked on, motorcars drove past, shaped more unusually and in a greater number than he had ever seen before.

  Gareth got to the office. But even this looked different. He walked in the doors, which had miraculously been replaced by pure glass overnight. The lobby had been redecorated, bright and colourful where there once was beige and cream. Margie wasn’t sat at the desk. She’d been replaced by a woman half her age who had bright pink hair and a too-tight, low-cut dress. Gareth turned away in embarrassment. He couldn’t believe lady as young as her - and with such a revealing garment - was allowed to work here. “Can I ‘elp you sir?” the young woman asked.

  Gareth, stood some feet away and looking vaguely to the side, said, “Uh…I don’t know. I work here. Or…I’m supposed to. I…”

  The woman stemmed a laugh. “You dunt look the type to work ‘ere mate. ‘Ave you got the right office?”

  “YES!” said Gareth, nearly shouting. “This is most certainly my office. I’ve worked here every day since before the War. Now, I’d appreciate it if you could tell me exactly what on Earth is going on?”

  The woman seemed even more confused than Gareth was. She picked up a device from the desk and began to talk into it. “Dave, there’s a luna’ic in recepshun, can you come dahn and sort ‘im aht. Ta love.” A few seconds later, a burly man in dark spectacles emerged from a door behind the desk.

  “I think it’s time you scarpered, mate.”

  “But…this is…”

  “I said get out. Do you want me to ‘elp you?” He began to saunter towards Gareth, fists clenched. Gareth decided he ought to do as the gentleman said and ran for the door.

  Nothing was the same. His head spun with questions. Gareth looked agitated outside the building, as if he were an officer escaping a PoW camp. A businessman walked up to him. “Are you alright, mate? You look a bit ill, wanna sit down?”

  “No, I do not want to sit down, I want things to go back to the way they were!”

  “The way things were?”

  “The way they were yesterda
y! The War, man, the War, don’t you remember? Why don’t you remember?!” The other man smiled politely before slipping off, obviously thinking Gareth mad. Agitated, with tears beginning to well in the corner of his eyes, he ran in the direction of home. However, he did not look where he was going, and moved directly into the path of a Volkswagen Beetle. He rolled over the bonnet and hit the tarmac with a thud. He lost consciousness instantly.

  * * * * *

  Gareth opened his eyes. He was back in the bowl room, struggling for breath. “Calm down,” said one of the suits in the same sweet female voice. “The experiment has been a success. You were very informative. Thank you.”

  “I...I...I thought you were sending me home...”

  “We had to tell you that. We had to make the test seem…believable. We sent you to the future. That is what your world will be like in sixty years. We wanted to see how humans would react to alien cultures. If you passed, we would have revealed ourselves to your race. But you failed. You did not react in the way we hoped. Humans are not yet ready to see the beauty of the stars. We will return you to your real life and leave your planet in peace. Goodbye.”

  That feeling of eyes being forced shut once more.

  The End

  * * * * *

  The Well Of Wisdom

  Long ago, there was a young farm boy. Though he was kind of heart, he and his parents had nary two copper pieces to rub together.

  One winter was particularly hard on the family’s farm. Much of their livestock died in the cold and their crops had not grown, despite other farms in Illisah having a good harvest. Not a single neighbour offered charity, however, and the family faced starvation.

  The boy’s parents decided to take drastic action: they had not enough money to even feed two, let alone three. So it was with heavy heart that the boy’s father took him out deep into Grand Forest one night while he was sleeping, and left him there.

  When the boy awoke, he soon realised he was alone. He began to cry with deep despair and call out for his parents. But there was no response except his own echo. He attempted to find his way home, but it was useless – no matter which direction he travelled, he found only more forest. A cave near an ancient statue of a one-armed hunter became his home that night. It was the only place that could protect him from the winter weather.