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Contents

Poetry
When the Yanks Raced Whippets in Salford : Stanley Worthington
The Reason of Age : Mark Johnson
Wild Things : Peter Bancroft
Haiku : Neca Stoller
Some Fear Sleep : Marc Awodey
The Haunting (Themed): Alison Greensill
The Nature of the Beast : Shaun Allan

Fiction and Prose
Yesterday : Nikki Coffee
Temple Street Night Market : Stanley Worthington
Dark Maiden's Prayer (Themed) : Barry Blackmore

Serial
Down by the River - Part 4 : Karen Mossman

When the Yanks Raced Whippets in Salford

There's a tale they tell in this city,
That'll make your heart skip a beat.
Its a story deceitful and cunning,
And dogs running wild through the street.

It started they say in the "Woolpack,"
An alehouse of world wide acclaim.
When a loud mouthed Yank in a corner,
Told 'em Salford was backward and tame.

"There's nothing worthwhile in Salford,"
He said in a challenging tone.
Then an angry voice at the bar shouted out,
"You'll not walk from here on your own."

The voice was Sam Sneller, a miner,
A fighter of fearsome repute.
"If you'd care to step outside this bar-room my lad."
"I'll fill up thee mouth with me boot."

But this Yank was a real cunning feller,
Who had held off from many a fight.
He decided to throw down a challenge,
And give the big miner a fright.

"I challenge you, Sam Sneller,"
He shouted with grinning delight,
"To race around Salford with Whippets,
Tomorrow, as soon as it's light."

As the mist rose over Moore's bakery,
The Whippets coughed phlegm in the dawn,
As the miners gathered on foggy, wet streets,
The Yank stood alone and forlorn.

He'd borrowed a Whippet called Elroy,
And whispered dog-talk of his plan.
But the dog could not understand him,
'Cause he came from Pie eatin' land

The crowd began to get restless,
They were sensing the tension and fear.
But Sam Sneller, calmly ate Barm cakes,
And fed Nancy,his Whippet, draught beer.

The starter pulled out his stop-watch,
And wearily laid down his beer.
"Are you right?" he said raising his pistol,
Then he shot himself clean through the ear.

Off along Broad street like lighting,
Down to Ford lane like a shot.
As they crossed o'er the cobbles of Duchy,
Nancy was holding first spot.

Round the bend came Nancy in first place,
with poor Elroy strugglin' to gain,
And every time Elroy got close to her tail,
He'd struggle to mount her, in vain.

Hotly approaching the finishing line,
Nancy now starting to tire.
Elroy, sensing that victory was his,
Jumped on her with lust and desire.

As Elroy sated his animal lust,
He suddenly yelped out in pain.
Then turned and fled hot-foot to Wigan
and never sired puppies again

Well the Yank swore his dog had been nobbled,
He threatened to welsh on his bet.
So they threw him head-first in a Horse trough,
And rolled him, though sodden and wet.

Sam smiles as he tells how he won it
And shows the lead weight in his hand.
"That there Yank's dog had gigantic bollocks
I had this and a long rubber band."

Stanley Worthington ~

The Reason of Age

Standing in the open garage doorway
Behind my office building,
Smoking my pipe and watching the street,
I can think of nowhere else I want to be,
No other place to go or thing to do.
Years ago this would not have been so.
I would have thought of all the paths not taken,
Doors still unopened,
Dreams still calling me.
But now in this morning moment
I am rapt and simply content
To stand and smoke and watch cars
And slow rain in small puddles by the curb.

Mark Johnson ~

Wild Things

Air. Clean and clear save for
Heather fragrance
Fresh from fell and ghyll
And singing beck
Carrying life

Trees. Chattering leaves talk
of bygone times
Scarred and bent; moving
In scarecrow dance.
Recording life

Boulders. Resting from lawless
Ice melt torrents
Inscribed with lovers dead
And seasons wild
Observing life

Walkers. Stag horned sticks
And booted feet
On selfish owners' guarded land
Trespass by stealth.
Refreshing life

Peter Bancroft ~

Haiku

winter morning
no shadow
to walk with

Neca Stoller ~

Some Fear Sleep

Devils play to disquiet the mind
with hexichord lyres and gypsy violins
nefarious visions ascend in halide
licks of melody bent by pain.

Splendid twilight alights with a shear
to cut the chords of conscious
fear, to snap infernal chains
intertwined
into rondeaux rosettes of doom.

Nefarious visions ascend in halide;
on my bed engrams pluck the eye,
devils illuminate each step through
clouds of dust fomented by pitched
hours to snap infernal chains
intertwined like accordion formed
two headed paper dolls deal out
afflictions born by all and drape
quiet cornices into Ash Wednesday;

devils come forth upon every step
within the Gethsemane of this
slaughterhouse.

Some fear sleep will steal their
breath as if it were a house cat
on an infant's chest,

to deal out afflictions born by all
with the logic of compunction's night
bayonet.

Some fear tomorrow on each midnight
slept but they explain away irrational
fears. Some fear sleep will steal
their breath;

I fear my breath will steal my sleep.
As splendid twilight alights with a shear
bejeweled in zodiacs and light years

some fear tomorrow on each midnight slept.
Nefarious visions ascend in halide
mummeries convivial along pathways
to morning;
as devils play a glorious noise
to disquiet the mind.

Marc Awodey ~

The Haunting

You think of me, your ageless lover
for the first time in many years.
I am still young and fresh
you are old and with another

Remember me, your willing pupil
listening to the words you said.
Gothic monuments of the Necropolis
wait for you to return to me.

I have laid in wait for this moment
yet she lies near him in his chamber.
You dream of me, you first lover
and I persuade you to walk with me.

The firmament bright and full of stars
I warm your cold hand in mine.
Together we leave and you walk with me
my beloved belongs only to me eternally.

Alison Greensill ~

The Nature of the Beast

The questions we ask
The answers we need
We dredge up the past
Our dark side to feed
Carefree but trapped
By all we hold dear
While our dreams are mere scraps
And our smiles but a sneer
Not alone but so lonely
Surrounded by life
But dying inside
As we twist our own knife.

Shaun Allan ~

Yesterday

With the basket of freshly folded clothes in her hand, Ronnie began humming along with the song on the radio. She started down the hallway dancing rhythmically to the steady thump of the bass. Outside the sun was brightly beaming making the hazy city smolder. The constant chirp of the birds on the tree near her four story high window didn't annoy her as it usually did, nor did the audible pitter patter of little feet on the pavement below. She went to put Ty's clothes away and opened her brother's top dresser drawer and spotted it, the green bandanna.

Ronnie's smile quickly faded. She hesitated, then timidly reached her hand in and slowly picked up the bandanna, when out fell a note scribbled in green ink - "This is what it means to be a Celtix." Ronnie fell back onto Ty's bed from the shock, as puzzlement and disappointment took over her body. Was her brother involved with a gang? She could feel her heart sinking to her feet. She didn't need this trouble now. Things were beginning to look up, and she was feeling good about her life, and Ty's too.

Ty flung the door open and rushed into the apartment. He hoped Ronnie hadn't seen him as he breezed past the kitchen where she was standing the stove. But she heard his footsteps.

"Ty, Ty...you wait. Where do ya think you goin'?" Ronnie asked following him through the hallway to his room.

"I gotta go sis, I needed to get somethn' 'n go give it to JoJo. I'll be right back. Chill, 'kay?"

"No. I don't think you'll be goin' anywhere lil' dude. You lookin' for this?" She pulled the green bandanna out of her pocket and waved it in the air.

Ty stopped abruptly and turned to look at Ronnie, almost stumbling as his eyes caught her waving the bandanna. "Ron, man, why you diss'n me like dat? Man, why you go through my junk? Gimmie it, come on." He reached over to grab it out of her hand.

"Not so fast Ty." Ronnie teased pulling away her hand. "What's this about? You trying to be a gangsta?"

Ty smirked and rolled his eyes. "A gangsta? A gangsta? Is you crazy? I ain't 'bout no gang bang'n girl. You know me better 'n dat."

"Ty, I don't know what to think. All's I know is I went to put your stuff away and I found this thing plus a note about the...the Celtix and I know that's a wannabe gang - don't JoJo hang wit 'em?"

"Naw, don't hang wit no one."

"Ty, look, since mama and daddy died I've been your parents. I've tried to do good for you and raise you like they would have wanted. I don't need no aggravation from you being in no gang. I can't have nuttin' happenin' to you too. I couldn't take it, let alone let mama and daddy down. Please tell me you ain't gonna get in no trouble."

Ty's face softened, "Ronnie, I ain't no gangsta nor is I gonna be one. I know you trying to do the best you can wit mama and daddy gone and I do appreciates all you've done for me. I ain't gonna git in no trouble but I do gotta go."

At the sound of the car horn he dashed out of the door. Ronnie ran over to the window and watched as Ty climbed into the back seat of JoJo's car. There were a bunch of other guys crammed in there as well. She prayed out loud that Ty wouldn't be getting into anything with that crew of JoJo's.

Ty and the crew pulled up to Mikey's house and they piled into his basement.

The room was dark with the stench of stale smoke leaving a lingering hazy film. Old furniture was haphazardly placed around the room. They plopped on the old, torn furniture and JoJo put in a Dr. Dre CD as heads bobbed to the beat. The guys didn't do anything particular when they hung out at Mikey's. They'd play pool, other's would play cards or they'd just hang out.

Suddenly, in the midst of the vibrating music, laughter rising in the air and excited playful shouting, the door flew open slamming against the wall behind it, and Davey stumbled across the threshold looking pale and panting heavily.

"They... they iced Marcus, man. I saw it with my own eyes! He wasn't doin' nuttn' just walkin' down the street 'n the car came outta nowhere, caps blasted, and when I looked, there Marcus was lyin' in the street dead." The excitement and animation in his voice and body gesturing tapered off to a near whisper as he finished his sentence. He stood with his head hanging down.

Marcus had been a friend to them all. He was older than most of them, he didn't hang with them much since the job he had just started at the hospital came through for him. But they had all grown up together and kept in touch as time went on. Marcus was like a big brother to them all and they looked up to him.

Mikey shouted above all the noise. "They ain't gett'n way wit that. Naw, we gotta get revenge for Marcus. He ain't bothered nobody and there ain't no reason they had to go n' do dat to him. Marcus was our boy. We gotta get 'em. Wasn't nobody but TomTom and 'em."

"Man, is you sure? We can't go round capp'n on folks when we ain't sure. Davey didn't see the car. It could have been anybody. We don't know all what Marcus was into."

"Don't care man, Marcus was my boy!" Mikey finished, shaking his head as a tear found its way down his cheek. He tried to hide it by putting his head down, then remembering his friend, he proudly held it high, not caring if the others saw his pain. He stood up and looked around the room at each face. "If you down, you down. If you ain't, get to stepp'n. Ty," His roving eye stopped at Ty with a cold calculation. "This is your chance to show if you wit it or not. If you have what it takes to be a Celtix."

Ty said nothing initially. He shrugged his shoulders and stared at the ceiling. Mikey took his eyes off of him and Ty felt like a branding iron had been lifted off from his skin. Mikey and a few of the others walked to the other side of the room to try and get more details from Davey.

Ty remained seated in the dim corner. All he could think of was getting home to tell Ronnie but he was afraid to leave. He didn't want the guys to think he was chicken and trying to get out of the plan. He finally found the courage to say he had to go and tell his sister the news. Ty jumped up from the couch and ran towards the door.

The trek home seemed longer than usual. The hazy film overhead caused by the sun was rapidly melting to a light amber-peach glow as the bright daylight was setting and dusk was descending, enveloping the city. After what Ty had just heard, he was growing fearful walking the five blocks back to Briargreen Housing Development. As he passed a row of bushes, he jumped when the crickets started singing their nightly lullaby. Mr. Whendal's faltering shadow in the alleyway made Ty panic, a sight he was more than use to. When he finally made it home, Ronnie was in the apartment cowered in a corner. All that could be heard was the scratching of the turn table having come to the end of an old album. With the aid of the straining moonlight peering through the closed Venetian blinds, Ty found his way over to Ronnie.

"Ron," Ty started slowly as he placed a quivering arm around her, kneeling beside her. "what'cha doin' sittin' here in the dark, baby?" The filtered moonlight gave him just enough light to notice the tear tracks on her face.

"Ty, I don't know what's going on anymore." Ronnie sniffed. "This world is just crumbling. It ain't safe to do anything anymore."

"You heard 'bout Marcus, huh?"

Ronnie nodded her head as she wiped her nose and sobbed. "Marcus didn't hurt nobody. He was tryn' so hard to make something of himself. He got the job at the hospital and was doing good," she whined. "He asked me to marry him ya know?" Ronnie half smiled as she wiped her eyes and looked past Ty. "Yeah, he asked me to marry him. Said we'd, we'd get outta this rat hole 'n get a nice place in Southview Terrace. He was like... the last of the good guys. He finished school, hadn't been to jail, didn't have no kids, he was respectful. Now...he's gone." Her voice faded to a faint whisper.

"Ronnie, I didn't even know you two were really dating. I mean, I knew he hung out here a few times but I didn't know it was anything serious. Why didn't you tell me you wanted to marry him?"

"Ty, I was gonna wait till you finished school. You had one more year and I could go ahead and finish my last year at Community College and transfer to State after I got married. I told mama that I would take care of you and I have to hold to my promise. You're my responsibility. So I wanted to wait and get you started on your life before I did what I had to do."

"But I can't stand in the way of your being happy, Ronnie. You should've told me, Ron. You don't need to keep stuff from me. I know you need a life to." Ty cupped Ronnie's chin in his hand.

"You don't stand in my way lil' bro but I do need to see you finish school and stay alive. That's why I hope you ain't messing around wit JoJo, Mikey, and 'em." The tone in her voice was serious and a stern-looking face stared at Ty. "They ain't nothing but trouble and I don't need to be losing you too." She grabbed Ty's shoulders and shook him a little "I mean first it was mama and daddy, now Marcus. I don't need nothing happening to you." Her voice cracked and she broke into tears again.

Ty stood and drew Ronnie to his chest. He wiped her tears and kissed her cheek. "You don't need to worry 'bout me. Ain't nuttn' gonna happen. It's my turn to take care of you now."

Ty didn't realize how much Marcus' death affected Ronnie. As the next few days passed, Ronnie seemed to drop out of life. She left her school books in a pile in a corner and didn't touch them. She usually was very meticulous about her apartment, making sure the dishes were done right after dinner and constantly picking up after Ty and straightening up in the living room. But now she rarely cooked and she didn't care how the apartment looked. Her face was always tight and drawn, no more the kind and warm smile that made people feel at ease. Continuously, Ty would try to cheer her up but she wouldn't laugh regardless of what he did.

She would just say how senseless it was to be killing each other. How the black race would soon be extinct if they didn't come to their senses. She talked about the fact that there are almost more black men in jail or dead than there are on the streets.

Ty had been with the crew many times during this period and was thinking heavily about whether or not to go along with the plans they had for retaliation. JoJo and he were walking home from school as they passed a vacant lot that was cluttered with papers, old pieces of cars, broken TV's, and other disgarded junk people in the area didn't use. There were children there playing whiffle ball opposite the junk piles. The boys paused for a moment and watched.

"'Member we used to play that junk when we was kids? Seems like so long ago, huh?" remarked JoJo.

"Yeah and remember we was gonna play with the orchestra? You and your piano and that stupid trumpet, me and my used clarinet. Mom got it fixed but it still didn't play right. What was that song we used to play all the time? Wasn't it that dumb Beatle's song? Do you still remember how to play?" Ty laughed.

"I fiddle 'round with the ivories when I get a minute." JoJo punched Ty playfully in the arm. "Ty, remember staying out late in the night during summer? We thought we was so hard 'cause we got to stay out past nine. We didn't have a care in the world, man, 'cept getting change for when the ice cream truck came round."

"Man, those were the days. Where'd those days go, man? Now we gotta be watching our backs. Mugs try'n to cap ya 'cause you got on the wrong colors and junk. I don't get it. JoJo, what is we doing messin' round wit Mikey 'n 'em? They ain't nutting but trouble. We got too much going for us and I wanna get my sister outta here and do sum'n with my life."

"Fool", JoJo laughed. "what'ca gonna do, play that clarinet? Make it big wit the symphony?"

"It'd be better than scraping in this jungle. Don't you have any dreams, JoJo? Is this all you know, hustln', scraping, jack'n and all that crap? There's more to life ya know. Remember man, we had plans when we was little? Man, what happened to that?" Ty complained almost in tears.

"We grew up." JoJo started in a half whisper. "Yeah, we grew up and realized that life ain't what we thought it was when we was little, man. It ain't no fairy tail like what our mamas read us. It's a struggle to live day to day here." JoJo had a far away look in his eyes.

"Yeah, but it ain't gotta be, Jo."

"Mikey and 'em is cool. They got our backs. They ain't gonna let nuttn' happen to us. What you gonna do 'bout tomorrow, you down?"

"I dunno."

They started walking again, leaving the innocence behind at the lot.

"It was wrong for them to ice Marcus."

"But who are we to take their lives? Besides, we don't know for sure if they's the right ones or not."

"Ain't like we's gonna be pulling the trigger."

"But we can do the same amount of time. And we's just as guilty for knowing and going along wit it."

That night while Ty lie awake in bed he pictured Marcus lying lifeless in the street. He remembered Marcus playing with him and being a big brother to him when he had problems as a young child. He saw Ronnie's face the night he got killed. Ty saw his mother and heard her telling him "The Bible says vengeance belongs to God." He saw JoJo and himself playing their instruments as children. All types of scenes flashed through Ty's head. He lie awake for hours.

Ty couldn't get away from Ronnie. He heard JoJo's car horn but Ronnie kept asking questions and trying to find out what he was about to do. JoJo's car horn could be heard again and Ty hurried to the door.

"Don't be doing something you shouldn't Ty." Ronnie cried out as Ty let the heavy metal door slam behind him.

"Man, what took you so long?" Davey asked frowning and loosing his balance as the car sped off.

"Had to get past my sister, man." Ty responded as a sick feeling began to envelop him.

JoJo asked him if he was okay. Ty shook his head and stared out of the window. "I don't know 'bout this." He whispered to JoJo hoping no one else heard.

"Man, is you down or what?" JoJo asked puzzled, forgetting to keep his voice down.

Ty didn't answer. Again he visioned his mother, "Ty, I know you're gonna do me proud. You're gonna make something of yourself." He saw Marcus lying in the casket, stagnant, numb, dead. He saw JoJo and him at age six playing innocently. Suddenly, Ty reached for the door. "Man I can't do this. Ya'll can call me what you wants to but I ain't down. I can't do this." He kicked open the door and jumped out while the car was still in motion. He hear JoJo screaming, begging him to stay, to wait.

Ty rolled up onto the sidewalk. He stood and watched the car fading. The rat-a-tat-tat of gun shots rang out and the screech of tires blared, leaving dust and the stench of burnt rubber. People screamed and scattered. Glass shattered, belongings and papers floated in the air and then landed on the pavement. When all the dust and noise cleared, Ty lay still on the sidewalk. JoJo saw the action from the back of Mikey's car. He jumped out, running back to where Ty lay. He gently picked up his head and laid it in his lap. A pool of blood had formed underneath Ty's limp body.

"Ty-Ty, open your eyes, wake up Ty. Naw man, you can't leave me here." Tears found their way down JoJo's cheeks. "Hey, you and me, we's gonna do sum'n wit our lives remember? Ty-Ty, come on man, come back... hold on Ty, hold on. Hey remember we was gonna be musicians, you and me, play for that dumb symphony. Remember the song we used to always play? I'll sing it for you. Yesterday...."

Nikki Coffee ~

Temple Street Night Market

If Hong Kong is the palace of the Asian shopping world, then Temple Street night market must be its treasure-house.

Hidden away from the main shopping area it could be easily missed as you travel the seemingly endless Nathan Road, bewitched by the dazzling array of goods on offer.

On a humid, sticky summer's night the first indication that you are close to the market is the variety of smells that reach from the night air, musty, fragrant ginseng root mixes with aromatic yet unknown odours turning the evening into an exotic perfume.

Blazing lights dance in the night and instinctively you shield your eyes. Music pulsates, sweeping you into the claustrophobic stream of humanity. Endless rows of stalls bound together in twos, stretching as far the eye can see, span the width of the streets, flanked by small shops whose gaily coloured lamps attract you like moths from the night.

Tailors flutter round customers like sparrows at a window. Shirts and suits, will be measured, made and delivered before the morning sun has reached its height.

Rainbow-coloured denim hangs along-side multi-coloured T-shirts, each carrying a hopeful slogan to lure you from the crowd. An ageless man sits scooping rice with plastic chopsticks, eyes riveted to his small china bowl, oblivious to all around him. Jewellery in silver and gold and green-tinged jade, all inviting the touch, digital watches that last twenty years or twenty days, hang in rows, defying you to spot the fake. Leather belts, wallets, handbags, large buckles, silver buckles, ornate buckles- the mind struggles to accept all it sees. Records, cassettes, televisions, fridges, lamps, shoe's, toys captivate the eye and empty the wallet.

A bloodstained knife glints on a bright red chopping block, surrounded by severed chicken heads and loose entrails. Quail and pigeons embrace like long-lost brothers. Orange-glazed ducks hang along-side square red chunks of meat and large fat sausage with unknown fillings attract black-bellied flies like a magnate. Round barrows brim with water spinach, sweet potato and Kale, all carefully laid out for inspection. Perfumed snap dragons and dahlias mingle with peach blossoms and bamboo palm, richly scenting the night air. Lychees, rich ripe melon and bright orange tangerines turn the stalls into a slimmer's paradise.

Freshly-caught fish in giant glass tanks can be admired or eaten at one of the numerous street-side restaurants, such delicacies as shark's fin soup and fillet of snake can be consumed. Small, unshod waiters in string vests and black trousers scurry from kitchen to table with large trays of steaming lobster, clearing the remains of an earlier meal, oysters and Pepsi-Cola. In the unseen kitchen, black-haired men in oily blue shorts ladle rice from copper vats, heated by huge hissing paraffin burners. A stray cat searches for food. Now it is safe, in winter it might not be so lucky.

The shops that line each side of the market seem strangely quiet after the bustle and harrying, a mixture of wood and concrete, neither old nor new, smelling of cooking oil, teak and sandalwood. Here the sights and sounds seldom experienced by the tourist. From in the warren of small crowded rooms comes the incessant clicking of the mah-jong games, fortunes are won and lost in a single night. In the small dank rooms people sleep six to a bed, each room holding six beds. The atmosphere is filled with sour perspiration and the stench of stale urine. Sanitation is for the lucky few.

At four o'clock in the morning, the last stall is dismantled, packed away on barrows and disappear into the morning sunlight. Soon the hawkers and the beggars will appear to fight the law for survival, and another cycle begins in the life of Hong Kong.

Stanley Worthington ~

Dark Maiden's Prayer

The night sky glowed city orange, but my streets added nothing to that; where I walked even the graffiti was swathed in vandal enhanced blackness. Only a fool walked here after dark, they said, but this fool had left these streets years before, it's just that occasionally one needed reminding of the squalid place where dreams are born. Gradually the drizzle became a respectable downpour, but still I didn't hurry, I simply turned up my collar and strolled through the gloom.

Only a mile distant and forty stories above me was my penthouse, the observatory of all that I had acquired, but somehow it wasn't enough, something was missing, a heart maybe, or a soul, or perhaps I was simply one dream short of a life worth living: but increasingly on veranda'd evenings I'd find myself turning away from all those bubbly, champagne personalities and my eyes would be drawn, aching with need to this black hole; this dark place where somewhere a long time ago I'd mistaken distant lights for something worth coveting, the dark place where first I'd dreamed of her.

My heels echoed empty as yearning and suddenly I felt so cold. Shivering I turned as my flesh seemed touched by dark unseen eyes - she was out there somewhere, I knew; whoever she was, she was out there and yet she was inside my head, always.

Suddenly I was angry with myself, really angry; I cursed myself for the worst kind of lovesick fool, hitched my collar even higher and lengthened my stride. I turned down an alley to take the short cut home, but after just a few steps I was stopped dead in my tracks.

She stepped silently from the shadows, to stand before me where the dying beam of the last unvandalised street lamp reached into the blackness. At first she seemed unaware of me, more intent on staring about her with wide fearful eyes.

It's strange how that should put me at a disadvantage, make me awkward. But these are awkward times, unsafe, violent times and it was late, the streets dark and deserted. I cursed silently as the scene was set for every woman's nightmare...in which I was forced to play the man!

Normally, when walking dark streets, I'd cross to the other side if a woman approached or walked ahead of me at a slower pace than my own. But this one looked lost. It would be very wrong of me to leave her.

"Excuse me...." I began in a voice that was meant to be quiet and reassuring, but the brittle acoustics of that high-walled place perverted my words into a new shape, more closely resembling the lust crazed rattle of a rampant bullfrog; hardly reassuring to a woman in a nightmare.

My senses raced in panic so that when she turned she seemed to do so in slow-motion. Then her eyes were on me, focusing me into a sharpness of reality more acute than anything I'd ever known. I watched as her hand flew to the gasping O formed by her mouth. Quickly, I stuttered, "Oh...I'm really, terribly sorry, I never meant to frighten you!"

I waited for a response, any response, but she just stared at me, looking like one of those sacrificial maidens in an old engraving, waiting in chains, for the dragon to breathe her last and thus save the kingdom. God, how I wanted to be her knight in shining armour, but my late curry turned to dragon-fire in my throat.

Uncertainly, I persevered, "Are you alright?!"

And when she spoke, her words only served to deepen her mystery.

"Have you come for me?" She asked, raising her head and closing her eyes like a brave little martyr. I swear I could see the turmoil of her heart pounding in her exposed alabaster throat.

At first I took her strange reaction for defiance and then I saw it for what it was... resignation. She pressed the palm of her right hand into the valley of her breasts. "Is it my....time?"

I shrugged in an attempt to show that I was as harmless as I was gormless. "Please, Ma'am, believe me, I.. I just wanted to help, I mean, you looked... I thought you were lost!"

She lowered her head then and like a little girl peered from under her eyebrows. "Am I not lost then?"

For a moment I wondered if she might be drunk, or perhaps she was challenged in some way, but no, her eyes, so sharply intelligent, excised my doubts.

I opened my hands in a gesture of defeat and shook my head. "I have no idea... are you lost?!"

She cocked her head to one side, studying me intently. "My Lord, you are playing with me."

"My Lord....?!" I almost choked, and then I realised that she must be an actress playing truant from some itinerant Shakespearean company. She was certainly dressed the part in her theatrically flowing gown, and she did "my Lord" so exquisitely.

"Yes my Lord, but it is not right to pretend that I am free when we both...."

"...But you are free.!" I broke in, eager to put an end to this tragedy. "I fear it is you playing with me!" Oh God, now I was beginning to speak like her, I'd almost said 'tis you.

"Truly, my Lord....I can walk away and you will not follow?!"

I sighed in despair. I had to agree, but if I did I might never see her again. I tried to delay, "What is your name?" I asked, before immediately wishing I hadn't.

"Oh no! Please Lord no! You have me, and all that I am, but please, I beg of you, leave my name for the righteous to adorn with flowers."

She seemed desperate - not defiant, not resigned, just desperate. Tears flowed from her eyes and she raised her hands, palms together, to her lips. I watched in paralysed enchantment as her perfect little teeth chewed on that damnation-induced prayer.

Something gurgled somewhere inside my suit, I thought it might have been my stomach retreating, with my good sense in hot pursuit, but I hung in there like a man in love, or the proverbial moth aflame with fatal attraction. "Okay, okay, you can keep your name...."

"Oh, my Lord! Thank you!"

"....look, you can keep everything....!"

"No, no! You are just seducing me with promises of salvation. Oh God, I should have known!"

And so should I. This was crazy....or, at least, someone around here was crazy, and if it wasn't her - God help her - she was alone in the dark with a stark raving looney. It was time to follow the excellent example set by my stomach and good sense.

There was a police station not far away, I'd report the beautiful mad-woman, show them where she was, then I could go home to bed. Tomorrow I would call and find out everything I wanted to know about her, then I would find out everything there was to know about psychiatry. I'd invest in a couch...

"Okay, you win." I told her. "I'm going now. You are free to do as you wish."

"I don't believe you." she said tightly, but I saw just the faintest glimmer of hope blunt the needle-points of fear in her eyes. Oh God, what was I to do with her? It was obvious she was ill, and yet it seemed that I had no choice but to leave her.

I laughed quietly without humour. "The irony is that you are probably safer now than you have ever been in your life. I love you, how can't you see that?" I shook my head despairingly. "I could never harm you or allow harm to come to you."

As I turned away, the final glimpse of her dark loveliness ached in my head, so that I was forced to put up my hand to quell the rising fever of my obsessive enchantment. I rubbed crazily at my eyes, creating weird flashing patterns of light in an effort to wipe clean the windows to my soul, but too late, she was in my heart, coursing with the fire of need through my veins. I trembled with the intimacy of her possession and when I again opened my eyes, I realised I had turned a complete circle.

"Back so soon, my Lord!" she scoffed.

I was beginning to fear this terrible love. "You're so beautiful..." I told her,"...so very, very beautiful. I am the lost one.... why do you make me leave?!"

"I do not make you leave, my Lord; I defy you!" Suddenly she stood up very straight and weak fingers of light moved rhythmically on indignant breasts. I saw her hand reach for the chain at her neck, she pulled at it until there in her palm lay a cross. She picked it up between first finger and thumb then held it out to me- no, I realised, not to me... at me! The incarnation of my life-long dream was warding me off as though I were a vampire. Her eyes, sharp as stakes, threatened me from above the holy symbol.

I couldn't help laughing. I tried not to, but that was the final straw which broke credibility's back. Beauty ceases to be beauty when it is inelegant; when it is farce it becomes grotesque. I laughed with the mad intensity of abruptly restored sanity. I was free again.

"In the name of God I defy thee, Satan!" she intoned gravely.

I laughed even louder, until my stomach hurt and the tears streamed from my eyes.

"In the name of God I order you to leave this innocent child!"

I stopped.... cold. That was a man's voice.... now chanting in... Latin?!!

I looked up and there behind the girl I saw a large man in a dark sackcloth robe. He held a candle in his hand and in its guttering flame he seemed to flicker like something insubstantial, a faded image on a cinema screen.

Slowly, but inexorably, he advanced, like the constant drone of the prayer he uttered. He stopped alongside my beautiful faithless dream.

I couldn't believe this. Just a smidgen from the year 2,000 and I found myself in a candle-lit alley being sprayed with medeieval superstition by a mad-woman and her pet priest. It had to be a joke... but a joke which left me feeling strangely weak.

Then an astonishingly real agony in my head made my legs sag and I doubled up like an exclamation punched into a question mark. Despairingly I looked up into her wonderful face only to find myself cringing from the terrible radiance of her joy at this destruction of my soul....

"NNNNOOooooooooo.......!!" I screamed, even though I knew this wasn't happening.....it couldn't be.

It couldn't........

It....could.............

Barry Blackmore ~

Down By The River

Later as Shelby walked home, her shoulders ached. The feeling of foreboding was strong and she knew it was more than the death of her friend.

What had happened between Ricky and Mary-Jo? Why was her Pa sober and what had Rawden meant? Could he have tried to blackmail Mary-Jo after she had left? Had they argued? Why was Mary-Jo in trouble? So many questions whirled around in her mind. She felt dizzy.

It was growing dark when she arrived home. Her Pa was banging about upstairs. The coffee pot was still warm, she was pouring a cup when something came crashing down the stairs. Rushing through, she found him lying at the bottom. He let out a string of obscenities. He was drunk, very drunk.

"You!" he accused shaking off her offer of help. "What are you doing here?"

"Pa! What's the matter?"

"You should never have come back, you little whore! Did you really think I didn't know about you and the Sheriff? Get out! Go back to whatever little hole you buried yourself in!" He staggered through to the kitchen.

Shelby stared at him with shock and disbelief. "W-what do you mean?"

He laughed as he poured himself another glass of whisky. "The whole town knows you were screwing Rawden. I'm a laughing stock!" He slumped into the chair.

"You didn't need me to make people laugh at you!" she cried feeling humiliation burning inside her. "Anyway, it ain't true!"

He pointed his finger in her face. "Did you think it was easy for me after Annie-Clare died? I brung you up."

"You didn't bring me up! she shouted back. I brought myself up, you were always too goddamn drunk!"

"Enough!" he roared rising from the chair. Shelby stepped back frightened. He poked two fingers into her shoulder painfully. "You wanna get out of here before Mary-Jo's fate becomes yours, too., eh?

"Pa..." Hot tears ran down her cheeks.

"Get the hell out!" he roared. Turning, she fled out of the door.

Darkness was descending quickly as she walked back towards town. She kept to the road and away from the embankment. Finally a car drew up beside her. Rawden Hughes got out.

"Can I give you a lift somewhere?" he asked.

"No, leave me alone." She did not stop. With her arms folded in front of her she strode purposely on.

"Don't walk away while I'm talking to you, Shelb." She lost her footing then and slipped down the embankment. Rawden came down to her as she got to her feet dusting herself off.

"Now that wouldn't have happened if you hadn't have run. I'm just offering you a lift, that's all."

"I don't want one," she said turning away from him.

"Why? Am I not good enough for you?"

"You never were, Rawden," she said boldly. "You took advantage of me." She tried to side-step him.

"You knew what you were doing," he said blocking her. "Besides you owed me."

"Not for the rest of my life, I didn't!" she cried.

"It's never too late for the truth to come out. I could make up a good story, my word against yours, eh? Is that what you want?" He had his hand on her shoulder.

She was crying now, he was winning again. Annie-Clare's death had been no accident. Only four people knew that.

Karen Mossman ~