Que Sera

My legs falter as I see you approaching in the distance, my cry of welcome dies in my throat as I see you look around determinedly at the florist, the chemist, the game store; anywhere but me. My head hangs and I sink to the floor as you stride into the distance, desperately pretending that you had never seen me, never met me, never knew me.

***
I can feel your eyes on me as I walk past. I look the other way, not wanting to se how I’ve hurt you again – I’m so sick of the guilt, of the recriminations, of your tears. What should I do? What do I say? What can I say? There are no words.

***

I can’t remember when I met you first, when you first walked into my life, all I can remember is finally noticing you were there, realising that I wanted you with the passion that belongs to the forbidden. You weren’t mine, could never be mine – but at times, oh how I wished you could be.

***

“No regrets – never any regrets.”
I take it back – one regret; that I ever told you I liked you. If I’d never spoken, never believed, oh how happy we would be now. None of this pretending, none of these games, where you look away and pretend like I never meant anything to you, like you never held me in your arms and told me how glad you were we were together, like you never whispered to me, hot and hard in the night, that you loved me. If I’d never said anything, if I’d never deluded myself into believing that maybe, just maybe, you could feel the same way about me, if I’d never decided to tell you maybe we could still be friends, not the cold, stilted strangers we’ve become.

***

“There’s someone else”
Something cracks. Is it me? Is it my heart? My life? My hope? Have I anything left to crack?
“I don’t know how I feel – I don’t know how I want to feel. I don’t even know what I felt – but I thought you should know.”
A slow steady noise. Is it my heart still beating on despite all expectations or just a clock’s tick somewhere in the distance? The beating of a drum, perhaps, echoing through the silence, the slow, painful silence; the tear I expected to streak down my cheek doesn’t, and I lift my hand to my face, surprised by its absence. Is this real? Is any of this real? Or just another one of those weird fanciful dreams? I look deep into your eyes as I try and work out if this is goodbye.

***

“It’s over isn’t it?”
“What?”
“You, me, this, us, it’s over.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry – don’t ever be sorry. No regrets.”

***

Your eyes say it all, your arms, your hands, there is no need for words as you hold me close and tell me you love me.

***

So this is what it is like to be loved.

***
You knock on my door and I open it. You’re standing there, oh so beautiful. My breath sticks in my throat, my mouth dries up and as I swallow, frantically, trying to find the words to tell you, you smile nervously. You laugh and threaten me, half jokingly, that I’d better tell you that you look good. Of course I think you do. I always have. I just can never make you believe it. I lean down and brush my lips against yours, wishing I can make it so you never doubt again. Wondering how you can’t see how much I love you every time I look into your eyes, every time I say your name, every time you make me laugh. I wonder what happened to make you feel this doubt, why you never noticed just how special you are.

***
“You made me feel special – like I could do anything, be anything. You made me feel like finally I was someone who mattered, someone important.”
“You are special – you’re amazing. Is there any way I can make you believe me?”
You look sadly into my eyes, tears glisten on your eyelashes and I know your answer even before you smile and shake your head slowly.
“No,” you say. “No.”

***

“There’s something you should know…”
“You’re pregnant.” A laugh.
“No”
“You’re leaving me?” the terror in your voice.
“No”.
You look impatient, worried, confused.
“I think I’m in love with you.”
“Oh.” A slow, dumb grin spreads over your face, and I see your eyes shine with joy. “Oh.”
***

“I still want to be friends.” My hand brushes your face, feeling the stubble newly growing on your cheek, rasping against my hand for the last time.
“I’d like that.” A soft smile as I turn and walk away.

***
“I thought it would be nice if we could try being friends. None of this awkward looking away and pretending like none of this ever happened, or worse, that neither of us exist.”
You pause, and then you don’t smile, but somehow you unfreeze, like something has clicked back into place, and finally you can be you again.
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
“We don’t have to be what we were, but I’d like to stop being what we are.”
“I’d like that too.”
We smile and listen as the cheers being, and the loud bangs tell of fireworks somewhere nearby. We smile as people around us celebrate a new year, a new beginning.
“Que sera, sera…” I sing softly under my breath.
“What’s that?” you ask.
“Oh, nothing,” I reply.
Around us the celebrations continue.

***

I smile as the cheers begin. I catch your eye as you mutter something under your breath.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Oh, nothing,” you reply.
Around us the celebrations continue.
Whatever will be, will be.

***

Cheating Death

A shadowy figure brushed past the hospital curtain and appeared at the end of the bed. A dark hood masked the skeletal face, and a scythe clattered against his bony hands. ‘Death,’ thought the old man, ‘has come for me.’ He considered adding a ‘finally’, but decided that just because he had had numerous near death experiences, it did not mean he was ready to die.

Death looked startled. ‘Of course you are ready to die.’ He looked down at himself, ‘I’m here aren’t I?’ He waited for the old man to nod, somewhat less than enthusiastically. ‘Then you must be ready.’
‘But I’m not!’ the old man continued to protest. ‘I want to get married –‘
‘You have – three times.’
‘Have kids –‘
‘How many more do you want?!’
‘Take a trip around the world –‘
‘Again! Look, you’ve cheated me before. NO MORE!’ Death picked up the old man’s hospital chart and flicked a bony finger over the graphs and comments “…failing heart, low muscle tone, high blood pressure, beginning of cancerous cells in the liver…”
‘I’m afraid, my friend, that you can’t survive for much longer.’
‘I’ll make you a deal!’ the old man flailed wildly for an excuse, any excuse, to continue living.

Death sighed. ‘Every time we go through this, and every time you cheat me. I’m starting to be a laughing stock among the other “Reapers”’
‘This time,’ the old man continued his wild ravings. ‘I’ll let you choose the challenge.

Death looked interested, so interested in fact, he almost missed the fleeting thoughts through the old man’s mind. He looked up startled. ‘No! You will not find a way to stay on this earth longer. If,’ Death stressed the if. ‘If I set a challenge, you will not complete it successfully. It will be, and only be, a chance for me to gain face in the “Other World”.’
‘I am willing to take that chance,’ replied the old man.
‘Good,’ whispered Death, his hollow voice echoing around the room. ‘This, then, is your challenge…’

The old man watched the hour clock tip for the one hundred and twentieth time – not that he was counting mind you, but one did tend to notice when minutes were ticking off one’s life.

He continued his slow, rhythmic plucking of clovers, determined to find that all-important four leafed clover. The one which would save his life, and cheat Death.

“POOF!”
Death appeared beside the old man. He tapped a bony finger on the glass thoughtfully. Only minutes remained.

The sand hissed through the glass, when –
‘I’ve found it!’
‘Impossible!’
‘But I have!’ The old man waved the clover.
‘No!’ cried Death. ‘That’s not how it’s supposed to work!’ Death continued his rant ‘Time is supposed to run out. The glass shatters. You look up at me dejectedly. I laugh triumphantly’ Death practised his unnecessary laugh. ‘Then I cut your life’s breath. I return, a hero among the other “Reapers”. Now, let’s do it how it’s supposed to be done. You put down the clover, and pretend you haven’t seen it, and we’ll take it from there.’ Death crossed his arms expectantly.

The old man looked from the clover in his hand to Death. ‘But I found it.’
‘No, No, No, No, No!!’ Death waved a threatening, bony fist. ‘You can’t find it. You’re not supposed to find it!’
‘But…’ the old man proffered the clover.

Death threw down his scythe. ‘That’s it! – I QUIT!’ Death stormed off the hill, walking into the distance, through to the “Other World”.

The old man cackled, softly, triumphantly. His eyes twinkled, and he thanked his stars that Death had no eyes. He couldn’t see his clover, his lucky clover, the one with only three leaves.

Feelings

‘Tell me you love me.’
‘What?’
‘Tell me you love me.’
‘I love you.’ A startled voice

a resurfacing memory… ‘I dreamt of another girl last night.’

‘Make me feel it. Make me feel you love me.’

…a stolen night, on an empty shore.

‘What did you feel?’
‘I was in two parts….’
‘No! Tell me what you felt. No sugar coating. Don’t be afraid of hurting me…’ I am invincible.
‘I felt neglected.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ shouts, mad ravings.
‘How could I?’
‘How could you not?’
‘But –‘
‘You say, yes I do mind. No, I’d rather do something else. You tell me you feel alone, like an outsider looking in. Don’t patronise me. Don’t lie to me. I hate it when you lie to me.’

…strong, secure arms. Loving arms. The kind you could die it.

‘But you promised.’
‘I know, but –‘
‘You broke a promise.’

…Tears, splashing, on a page. A face. A teddy bears shoulder.

‘I’m so afraid of losing you.’
‘You won’t lose me.’
‘It’s so easy to say it. Words are so easy. So easy to lie by, to lie to. Hide things, from yourself, from others. So easy to believe. I know. I’ve done it.’

…a tidal wave of joy. Of anticipation. Of love.

‘I need to feel that you love me.’
‘I do.’
‘I know you do. But I need to feel it. I need to feel that I’m more important than your games, than your work. I need to feel your arms around me. Holding me. So tight. Holding on like you won’t ever let go. Like I’m life itself.’
‘I want to.’

…a soft, tender kiss. The brush of a dewy rose petal.

‘I need you right now.’
‘I need you too.’
‘Nothing feels like it used to.’
‘I would give anything to take back the past’
‘Ignore the past. Move onto the future.’
‘I do love you.’
‘I know. I love you too.’

…rain, swishing contentedly upon a window pane. Soft droplets of water. So close to tears. Yet so far.

The Aliens Return

“What was that?” A woman sat up suddenly in bed, a flash of light from the house next door lit up her frilly pink nightgown, and the foam curlers she had twisted awkwardly in her hair.

“What was what?” the man lying next to her grunted, rolling over to go back to sleep. The woman prodded him with a bony finger.

“Wake up,” she urged. “Something’s happening next door.”

“Mmmmhmmm,” came the man’s sleepy response.

“I, said, wake, up,” and each word was interspersed with a new jab of her finger.

“All right, all right, I’m awake,” he said, rolling onto his back. “What’s wrong?”

“They’re here!” the woman announced in a mysteriously hushed voice.

“Who’s that, dear?” the man was humouring her now, and she knew it.

“The aliens! I knew they’d come back.”

The man mentally rolled his eyes. He knew better than to do so where she could see him. “And why would they do that?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied, her eyes peering through the darkness to the house next door. “But they were here thirteen years ago, and they’re here again now. Let’s go,” she said, swinging her legs out of the bed.

For the first time that night, the man looked alarmed. “Go where?” he said.

“Why, over there,” she replied, astounded. “We need to see what’s happened. And I think we should call the police. They need to know what’s going on.”

The man was getting out of bed now, his legs tangling awkwardly in the covers as he rushed to his feet. “Now, now, dear,” he said, his voice placating. “How about we wait and see before we call them.”

The woman sniffed impatiently. “Fine!” she answered. “But hurry, before they leave.” And pulling a faded dressing gone on, she rushed from the room.

***

“And say you saw what, ma’am?” a bored official stood, pencil in hand hovering over a small note book, waiting for the woman’s story.

“There was a flash of light,” she said.

“A flash of light,” repeated the bored voice.

“And so I rushed next door, to see what had happened.”

“You rushed next door,” he was writing mechanically.

“Yes, and I knocked on the door, and that man,” she spat the word, “answered the door.”

“The man answered the door…”

“Yes, and so I asked him if everyone was ok. And he said that everyone was fine.”

“Everyone was fine…” repeated the policeman. He stopped, and re-read what he’d written. “He said everyone was fine, ma’am?”

“Yes,” the woman answered defiantly.

“And on this basis you decided to call the police.”

“Yes!” replied the woman.

“And why is that ma’am,”

“Because he didn’t know who Aoife was,” she replied.

“I beg your pardon?” said the official.

“He didn’t know who Aoife was,” she repeated.

"I see,” said the official. “And who is Aoife?”

“Why, his daughter, of course!” replied the woman astounded.

“I see. So that man,” he gestured towards Richard, “didn’t know who his daughter was?”

“Yes,” the woman answered with a firm nod.

“And from this you deduced that…” his voice trailed off encouragingly.

“That she had been abducted by aliens, and his memory had been modified.”

“I see,” said the police officer a third and final time. “Well, thank you very much for your help.” He closed his notebook with a snap. “We’ll be sure to be in contact with you when we know more.”

“No!” cried the woman. “You have to believe me.” A crowd of people had gathered around them by this time, awoken by the flashing lights, and the sounds of voices. “She’s been abducted, tell them!” she turned to her husband. “Tell them!” her voice was desperate, pleading, but her husband was shuffling away from her.

***

Around the corner, Hercules and Achilles looked at each other. There was nothing else that could be done, that much was clear. A wave of their hand, and a white van appeared. Another wave, and they were garbed in dark trousers and white scientists coats.

***

A white van pulled up to the side of the road, and two men wearing white coats, and carrying butterfly nets hurried forward. Held tight in one of their hands was a jacket, with long, trailing sleeves.

“All right, all right,” they called as they approached. “Everything’s under control, move along, now,” and the crowd began to disperse, pitying looks in their eyes. Her husband took a momentary step towards her, before the police officer rested a hand gently on his arm.

“Best not, sir,” he said. “It’s all for the best, really.” And the man nodded once, and moved back away from his wife, who was shrieking now, that there were aliens, and that they had come again, and that if they didn’t stop, and listen to her, they’d come again, and they’d all be taken, one by one! The man stood and watched as she was loaded into the car, her cries ringing in his ears, as it slowly drove away.

The Explanation

“Richard, darling,” Marigold knocked on the door to the garage. There was no answer. “Richard, sweetie, I need to talk to you.” There was a shuffling noise, a few bangs, as though items were being hurriedly put away. Light, quick footsteps, and then the door was eased back, showing a pale face.

“Yes?” Richard blinked at the visitor for a few moments, waiting for his thoughts to clear. Marigold waited patiently. Richard’s face cleared in recognition, before covering over in confusion again. “Marigold, dear, what is it you want?”

“I think it’s time we told her.”

“Who?”

“Aoife.”

“Who?”

Marigold smiled patiently. She was used to Richard and his ways, they made him unique, and loveable. “Our daughter, dear.”

“Our daughter…” Richard continued to sound flummoxed.

“Yes, dear. Small, brown hair, blue eyes, often present at the dinner table when you eat.”

“Oh. Aoife.”

“Yes, dear.”

“What about her?”

“I think it’s time we told her.”

“Told her what, dear.”

“About how she was born.”

“And how was that, dear?”

Marigold lifted her hand, running it across Richard’s cheek.

“You remember, dear. It was January 7^th, thirteen years ago. It was a warm night, almost unnaturally so. All those mosquitoes and flies, and barely a breeze to stir the air. Muffy, our cat, had just left us, run over in the street, poor dear, but she’s doing better now, I talk to her often, she has a number of other cat friends with whom she spends time…” Marigold noticed Richard shifting uneasily, as if he wanted to close the door, and drift back to his work. “But anyway, dear, that was the day that she came to us. I so longed for a child, especially with the pain if losing Muffy, and so I opened my arms to Mother Earth, and she came to us. The most gorgeous little girl, just lying there on the door step. All pink and wriggly, with those big blue eyes that looked up at you like she could see your very soul. Not a peep out of her. Oh she was a beautiful baby, my baby.” Richard nodded, if he thought very carefully, he could remember being told this story before. But almost as if it had been acted out…as though, he’d actually seen it. “You were there dear, you saw her on the doorstep, how she looked at you, before she closed her eyes and slept.” Richard nodded again, he had a vague memory of something like that happening. That was the night he’d discovered Extranium, an exciting new by-product of the solar energy process. He’d despaired of ever finding it, and then his assistant, Jeremy, had come into his office with this jar of unknown fuel, seeking an answer. It was almost as if it was a gift from the gods.

“I think she should be told, Richard. Every child should know about their birth, where they come from. It is time.” Richard just nodded. Thinking about the Extranium had reminded him of some promising research he’d meant to pursue. “Whatever you think is best, dear,” he replied. Marigold smiled and nodded her head softly at him. “Tonight, then.” And running her finger tips along his cheek once more, she drifted back to her parlour, to prepare for the event.

A knock at the door startled Aoife out of her thoughts. She pushed the book off her lap, as her mother poked her head through the open door. “Dinner is almost ready, Aoife,” she said. Aoife nodded. “But come down with me now, darling, there is something I must tell you. Something you must know.” And with that announcement she disappeared again in a click of beads, footsteps pressing down the hall. Aoife stood uncertainly, not sure what her parents knew, or should have known, or what they were to tell her. She left the book lying on her bed, and headed downstairs.

Aoife started slightly as she entered the room and saw her father sitting at the table. Not only was he present, but he was looking at her, with a determined expression, as if he was ensuring that he didn’t forget who she was and why she was here. He was holding Marigold’s hand, loosely, but holding it nonetheless. Aoife must have looked surprised, because Richard blushed slightly and looked away.

“Come in, darling,” beckoned Marigold. “We wanted to talk to you.” She squeezed Richard’s hand, and stood up, floating towards Aoife, with her arms outstretched. She grasps her shoulders and looked down into her face. “My Aoife,” she said, and kissed her on the forehead. “Sit, sit.” And she guided Aoife to a chair.

“I think it’s time for us to tell you about where you came from,” Marigold began. Aoife began to blush. Now I know why Dad was so uncomfortable, she thought.

“Ummm, Mum, Dad, I really sorta know all this already. You don’t have to go through this with me. They explained at school, you know, about sex and that.” Aoife ducked her head, cheeks burning.

“Oh my darling, no,” said Marigold. No? thought Aoife. What does she mean, ‘no’?

“Sex is important, and you should know about that, but what we need to talk you about is where you came from.”

“Uh, Mum? I’m not sure I understand. I know where I came from, that’s what happens when…when two people have sex.” Aoife was so embarrassed all her words were blurring together, rushing out of her mouth in their haste to be said and done.

“Yes, darling, ordinarily that is where children come from. But you are not ordinary. Sit down, darling, it’s time for you to hear about your arrival into this world…”

Whereunto Aoife explains her Name

Aoife hated her name. She could always tell when a new teacher had reached her name in the roll: there was a pause, a frantic working of lips, mouth silently working over undetermined letters, the hesitant uttering of vowels before Aoife would give in “EVA!” she would yell. “It’s pronounced Eva!” She never had worked out why she had it; she wasn’t named after any relatives that she could think of. She’d asked her parents about it one time. Her father, Richard, had stared at her blankly, like he couldn’t even remember who she was, let alone what or why her name was. Her mother, Marigold, had smiled mystically, running her hands through her hair, and telling her that her name was given with love, and that it had come with her. Aoife never could quite work out what that had meant.

In the Beginning

“Psst! Aoife!” the voice boomed through Aoife, like a thunderstorm taking place in her veins. She was mildly surprised. She didn’t recognise the voice, but it obviously recognised her. And it could say her name correctly. She looked around. “Achem. Aoife. Over here.” Again, the booming that thundered through her, commanding her. Again Aoife looked around. “Up here!” the voice demanded, insisted. Aoife looked up. And saw, in the break between the clouds, a face. “Aoife, I…there’s something….” “No.” Aoife said. “You’re not real. It’s not possible that there’s a face in the clouds talking to me, therefore it’s not happening. Good day.” And she nodded politely to the non-existent face, and kept walking. In the clouds, God looked confused.

***

Floating on a nearby cloud, a bard sighed, and flipped back several pages of a large, leather bound book. Gripping several at a time, he yanked the pages from the book. He tucked them carelessly into an old urn he was using as a rubbish bin. He would dispose of it later. Muttering curses beneath his breath, he began this section again.

In the beginning, he wrote, there was a word and the word was Psst.

A Simple Summoning

The five of them sat in a circle on the floor in Dianna and Fey’s room. In front of them lay a piece of paper and …

“Is that a pen holder?” asked Nathaniel.

“Oh be quiet,” answered Fey. “It was all we could find.”

“Ok,” said Charlie. “How are we meant to do this?”

Dianna consulted the book. “It says here we should…” her brow wrinkled. “Place the paper inside the cup.” She spoke hesitantly. “Does this sound weird to anyone else?” she asked.

“A bit,” Fey answered. “Let me see.” She flicked through the pages in the book. “Here,” she looked up from one of the pages. “Let’s try this instead.” She moved the pen holder and paper aside. “Now,” she said. “We each need to sit so that we’re in a star formation.” She waited as Aoife, Nathaniel and Charlie shifted their positions. “Ok, now we need to link hands.” She held out her hands to each side of her, and watched as everyone clasped everyone else’s hands. She looked down at the book on her lap. “Ok, now we need to summon the spirit by calling it forth and offering it something. I’ll go first so that you know what I mean.

“I call upon the spirits to come forth, and in return I offer you hope.”

She nodded to Charlie, who sat to her left, indicating that he should go next.

“I call upon the spirits to come forth, and in return I offer you love.”

They both looked at Dianna.

“I call upon the spirits to come forth, and in return I offer you acceptance.”

Nathaniel was next.

“I call upon the spirits to come forth, and in return I offer you life.”

Finally, it was Aoife’s turn.

“I call upon the spirits to come forth, and in return I offer you power.”

Everyone turned and looked at Fey. She looked around the room. “We should be able to hear the spirits speaking, now,” she said. She leant down to look at the book again when:

“What have you summoned me for?” A demon stood in the centre of the ring of hands, skin fiery red, hair pointed and black.

“Ummm,” said Fey. “We’re not really sure. It was sort of an accident.”

“I see,” replied the demon. He shrugged and sat down, making himself comfortable. “Well, since I am here, anything you want to know?”

Everyone looked awkwardly at each other. They weren’t really sure how one was meant to treat an inappropriately summoned demon, but they’re pretty sure this wasn’t it.

“Aren’t there meant to be like incantations, and stuff?” asked Nathaniel.

“Only if you absolutely insist,” replied the demon. “This is much more fun, you know.” He looked around the room. “Anyone got a light?” he asked.

“We’re thirteen,” said Dianna, outraged.

“Oh,” said the demon. “So that’s a no, then? Shame.” He flicked his fingers, and the cigarette he had been rolling between them disappeared.

“Actually,” said Charlie. “There is something we wanted to know.”

“Oh yes,” the demon stopped examining his fingernails and looked up. “Ask away,” he prompted.

“We were practicing summoning earlier,” began Charlie.

“Oh, so that was you lot causing all those disturbances earlier. Quite annoying, really, spirits zipping in and out. Interrupted my game of Doom no end, lucky I can hit the save button in a hurry, let me tell you!”

“Yes,” tried Charlie again. “Anyway, the first spirit that was summoned said something interesting. Something about not following a path, because it would lead them to danger. We wanted to know what that was about.”

“I see,” said the demon. “Well, I don’t think I’m meant to tell you, but there’s nothing on tv, and Zieke is hogging the computer tonight. Listen carefully,” he said. “I’m about to give you An Important Clue”.

“The spirits are unhappy down below. Some spirits are talking of overthrowing Lucifer. He seems to have some sort of plan to quell the masses, but he cannot do it alone. He has enlisted help.” He looked around the ring, his eyes stopping on Aoife. “I can’t say more.” His voice had dropped to an eerie low. Suddenly he stood up. “Well, must dash,” he said, his voice chirpy once more. And with a sudden motion that called up the ideas of smoke and flashes, without ever actually producing any, he was gone.

The novices looked at each other.

“Someone is planning something,” Nathaniel said slowly.

“They have enlisted aid,” added Charlie.

“And the path that they walk down is dangerous,” finished Aoife.

The Lure of Chocolate

The five of them sat in a circle on the floor in Dianna and Fey’s room. In front of them lay a piece of paper and …

“Is that a pen holder?” asked Nathaniel.

“Oh be quiet,” answered Fey. “It was all we could find.”

“Ok,” said Charlie. “How are we meant to do this?”

Dianna consulted the book. “It says here we should…” her brow wrinkled. “Place the paper inside the cup.” She spoke hesitantly. “Does this sound weird to anyone else?” she asked.

“A bit,” Fey answered. “Let me see.” She flicked through the pages in the book. “Here,” she looked up from one of the pages. “Let’s try this instead.” She moved the pen holder and paper aside. “Now,” she said. “We each need to sit so that we’re in a star formation.” She waited as Aoife, Nathaniel and Charlie shifted their positions. “Ok, now we need to link hands.” She held out her hands to each side of her, and watched as everyone clasped everyone else’s hands. She looked down at the book on her lap. “Ok, now we need to summon the spirit by calling it forth and offering it something. I’ll go first so that you know what I mean.

“I call upon the spirits to come forth, and in return I offer you hope.”

She nodded to Nathaniel, who sat to her left, indicating that he should go next.

“I call upon the spirits to come forth, and in return I offer you love.”

They both looked at Dianna.

“I call upon the spirits to come forth, and in return I offer you acceptance.”

Charlie was next.

“I call upon the spirits to come forth, and in return I offer you chocolate.”

Dianna and Fey glared at him, Dianna squeezing his hand tightly in warning. “Be serious!” she warned. “Otherwise you’ll wreck it!”

“What?” said Charlie, feigning indignation. “You guys are always going on about how great chocolate is, maybe the spirits want some.”

“Charlie!” The twins yelled again.

“Oh all right,” he said. “I call upon the spirits to come forth, and in return I offer you life.” He turned to look at Dianna. “Happy now?” he asked.

“Better,” she agreed.

Finally, it was Aoife’s turn.

“I call upon the spirits to come forth, and in return I offer you power.”

Everyone turned and looked at Fey. She looked around the room. “We should be able to hear the spirits speaking, now,” she said. She leant down to look at the book again when:

“What have you summoned me for?” A demon stood in the centre of the ring of hands, skin fiery red, hair pointed and black.

“Ummm,” said Fey. “We’re not really sure. It was sort of an accident.” She glared at Charlie, who blushed slightly.

“I see,” replied the demon. He shrugged and sat down, making himself comfortable. “Well, since I am here, anything you want to know?”

Everyone looked awkwardly at each other. They weren’t really sure how one was meant to treat an inappropriately summoned demon, but they’re pretty sure this wasn’t it.

“Aren’t there meant to be like incantations, and stuff?” asked Nathaniel.

“Only if you absolutely insist,” replied the demon. “This is much more fun, you know.” He looked around the room. “Anyone got a light?” he asked.

“We’re thirteen,” said Dianna, outraged.

“Oh,” said the demon. “So that’s a no, then? Shame.” He flicked his fingers, and the cigarette he had been rolling between them disappeared.

“Actually,” said Charlie. “There is something we wanted to know.”

“Oh yes,” the demon stopped examining his fingernails and looked up. “Ask away,” he prompted.

“We were practicing summoning earlier,” began Charlie.

“Oh, so that was you lot causing all those disturbances earlier. Quite annoying, really, spirits zipping in and out. Interrupted my game of Doom no end, lucky I can hit the save button in a hurry, let me tell you!”

“Yes,” tried Charlie again. “Anyway, the first spirit that was summoned said something interesting. Something about not following a path, because it would lead them to danger. We wanted to know what that was about.”

“I see,” said the demon. “Well, I don’t think I’m meant to tell you, but there’s nothing on tv, and Zieke is hogging the computer tonight. Listen carefully,” he said. “I’m about to give you An Important Clue”.

“The spirits are unhappy. There is talk of an uprising, of a plan to re-gain entry to Mt Olympus. They feel a wrong needs to be righted.” He looked around the ring, his eyes stopping on Aoife. “I can’t say more.” His voice had dropped to an eerie low. Suddenly he stood up. “Well, must dash,” he said, his voice chirpy once more. "Never mind about the chocolate." He winked, and with a sudden motion that called up th ideas of smoke and flashes, without ever actually producing any, he was gone.

The novices looked at each other.

“Someone is planning something,” Nathaniel said slowly.

“An uprising,” added Charlie.

“Here,” Aoife agreed. We have to stop them!" The others nodded. "But how?" she finished contemplatively.

The Tomb of Socrates

Aoife stepped away from Socrates, walking towards a small alcove she could see dipping into the distance. She was surrounded by shelves ad shelves of books and parchments, as far as the eye could see. Which wasn’t really that far, because there were walls in the way. Walls which were covered in books and parchments. Scattered along the floor at random intervals between the walls were tables, with what looked to be glass covers. Have they even invented glass yet, pondered Aoife. She paused next to one. Inside it were a number of small pieces of jewellery. She walked to the next, and saw a collection of small urns. Turning around she looked more carefully around the room. She noticed that there were urns and statues interspersed between the parchment and books. Some paintings and tapestries even hung along the few bits of bare wall which poked through the clamour.

It looks more like a museum than a library, Aoife thought to herself. I wonder what else they have through here…She had finally reached the small alcove she had seen earlier. She pushed aside the tapestry which shielded the entrance from prying eyes, and stepped through. She gasped.

It’s a tomb, she thought. An open sarcophagus lay on a raised dais before her. Gold carved states and masks adorned the floors and walls. Hieroglyphs coated the bases of the walls. Aoife looked around slowly. I wonder who’s tomb it is, she thought to herself, which she noticed a small painting lying to one side. She looked at it, then started, and moved in to examine it more closely. She looked from the painting, to the tapestry which led to the rest of the library. It can’t be, she said. She crept to the sarcophagus, peering inside. It was empty. She moved deeper into the alcove, moving aside cups and jars of unguent, searching for another painting. Finally she found one. Again she examined it, taking in the detail with great care. There was no doubting it. This was Socrates’s tomb.

“Ah, I see you’ve find my resting place,” Socrates’ voice came from behind Aoife.

Aoife turned around, startled. “I didn’t mean to— ” she began. “I just…you said…”

Socrates laughed at her confusion. “It’s ok,” he said. “If I wanted this place to be secret, I would have done a slightly better job at hiding it than placing it behind an easily removable tapestry.”

Aoife blushed slightly. “I guess I didn’t really think,” she said.

“It’s ok,” Socrates comforted her. “I guess this is the first time you’ve visited a tomb.”

“Yeah,” said Aoife. “It’s not really that common, back home. Especially tombs that aren’t actually occupied. Why do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Have a tomb when you’re not dead?”

“Do you remember Jesus telling you that I am immortal, though I am not a god?” Socrates asked.

“Yeah,” said Aoife. “Kinda hard to forget something like that.”

“True enough, true enough.” He stopped, and walked towards the sarcophagus, sitting on the edge, irreverently. “Story time!” he announced happily. “Would you like to sit down?”

Aoife looked around her for a chair. Socrates tsked sadly. “One of the most powerful gods of her time, and she can’t even create something to sit on. It’s so sad.” He wiped a mock tear from his cheek. Aoife shot him a dirty look before waving a hand and settling down in an extravagantly lavish chair. “You may begin,” she declared, imperiously.

“How very generous of you,” said Socrates, mock deferentially. “Are you comfy?” Aoife nodded. “Are you sure?” Aoife looked at Socrates. “Really sure?”

"Oh just get on with it, already,” she said.

“Very well,” said Socrates. “In Ancient Egypt—”

“Wait,” interrupted Aoife. “You’re living here now, so why are you calling it Ancient Egypt. Surely it’s just Egypt.”

“One part of being immortal,” explained Socrates, “is that time becomes meaningless. I have seen millennia into the past, and into the future. This time is known by you, and by countless others, as Ancient Egypt, therefore, it is Ancient Egypt.”

“You’ve seen the future,” Aoife asked, astonishment in her tone.

“Indeed I have,” said Socrates.

“Then you could tell me what is going to happen, what all of this means,” said Aoife, beginning to get excited.

“The answer to your question is yes, and no,” replied Socrates. “I could tell you what I have seen, but there are two problems inherent in such an action. The first is that I may inadvertently alter the future by doing so. The second is that the future that I have seen may not be the future which arises. The future which I experience is the one which at the time that I shift forward has the greatest probability of occurring. The closer I am to that moment in time, the greater the probability of the future I see occurring being the one that occurs.”

“Have you ever seen the future come true?” asked Aoife.

"Only once,” answered Socrates, his eyes going distant and dreamy. He mentally shook himself. “But that is a story for another time!” his voice returned to its formerly cheery tone. “To return to my original tale:” he cleared his throat theatrically. “In Ancient Egypt there is a belief that when one dies, one merely ceases to occupy this plane of existence. The spirit of one’s body and one’s possessions moves onto the next plane, and their life continues there. That is why the Pharaohs are buried with so much treasure. I have managed to find a way to manipulate this time continuum such that my life on the next plane is looped through to my life here. But part of that requires this,” he gestured around the tomb. “It is this that generates my next plane life. Without it, I would cease to be, either on this plane, or the next.”

Aoife looked stunned. “And yet, you make no effort to hide it? Or protect it?” she asked.

Socrates laughed. “It’s not as poorly protected as you think,” he said. “There are a number of complex charms which ensure it’s continued protection, the most powerful of which is one which actually locates this tomb in an alternate dimension, so that if something happens in our world, the tomb will remain.”

Aoife’s eyes boggled at such a thought. “That’s…incredible,” she said slowly.

“Indeed it is,” replied Socrates. “Indeed it is. And all of my design, of course.”

“Now, now, Socrates,” came Jesus’s voice from the doorway. “Don’t go putting ideas into Aoife’s head which don’t belong. You and I know full well that it is not you who protects the tomb.” Their eyes met, and Socrates dropped his.

“True enough,” he conceded.

“Come, Aoife,” said Jesus, turning to address her. “It is time for us to return to Mt Olympus. You have seen what you need to see here.”

Aoife jumped up from her chair, and moved towards Jesus.

"Wait,” called Socrates. “Before you go….” He turned and rummaged behind a pile of statues. “I want you to have this. Let’s call it a memento of your trip.” And he handed Aoife a small pottery scarab, its wings covered in complex hieroglyphics, and its eyes two uneven chips of lapis lazuli.

“Thank you,” said Aoife. “I shall treasure it.”

“I know you will,” said Socrates. “I have seen it.”

Aoife clutched the scarab tightly in her hand, and walked through the tapestry behind Jesus.

NaNoWriMo Drifts to a Close

Well, my Nano is finished, and in celebration, I purchased this nifty t-shirt!

Now I'll be the envy of all my friends :)

Unshelved & NaNoWriMo

Image courtesy of 'Unshelved'.

See http://www.unshelved.com/ for more great comics!

Behold, a Demon

“What have you summoned me for?” A demon stood in the centre of the ring of hands, skin fiery red, hair pointed and black.

“Ummm,” said Fey. “We’re not really sure. It was sort of an accident.”

“I see,” replied the demon. He shrugged and sat down, making himself comfortable. “Well, since I am here, anything you want to know?”

Everyone looked awkwardly at each other. They weren’t really sure how one was meant to treat an inappropriately summoned demon, but they’re pretty sure this wasn’t it.

“Aren’t there meant to be like incantations, and stuff?” asked Nathaniel.

“Only if you absolutely insist,” replied the demon. “This is much more fun, you know.” He looked around the room. “Anyone got a light?” he asked.

“We’re thirteen,” said Dianna, outraged.

“Oh,” said the demon. “So that’s a no, then? Pity.” He flicked his fingers, and the cigarette he had been rolling between them disappeared.

“Actually,” said Charlie. “There is something we wanted to know.”

“Oh yes,” the demon stopped examining his fingernails and looked up. “Ask away,” he prompted.

“We were practicing summoning earlier,” began Charlie.

“Oh, so that was you lot causing all those disturbances earlier. Quite annoying, really, spirits zipping in and out. Interrupted my game of Doom no end, lucky I can hit the save button in a hurry, let me tell you!”

“Yes,” tried Charlie again. “Anyway, the first spirit that was summoned said something interesting. Something about not following a path, because it would lead them to danger. We wanted to know what that was about.”

“I see,” said the demon. “Well, I don’t think I’m meant to tell you, but there’s nothing on tv, and Zieke is hogging the computer tonight. Listen carefully,” he said. “I’m about to give you An Important Clue”. He leaned in conspiratorially.

“The spirits are unhappy down below. Some spirits are talking of overthrowing Lucifer. He seems to have some sort of plan to quell the masses, but he cannot do it alone. He has enlisted help.” He looked around the ring, his eyes stopping on Aoife. “I can’t say more.” His voice had dropped to an eerie low. Suddenly he stood up. “Well, must dash,” he said, his voice chirpy once more. And with a sudden motion that called up the idea of smoke and flashes, without ever actually producing any, he was gone.

The novices looked at each other.

“Someone is planning something,” Nathaniel said slowly.

“They have enlisted aid,” added Charlie.

“And the path that they walk down is dangerous,” finished Aoife.

The Introduction of Socrates

“This is the Great Library of Alexandria,” replied Jesus.

Aoife wrinkled her brow. “Alexandria?” she repeated. “I thought we were in Memphis.”

“We are,” confirmed Jesus. “But in 10AD Memphis was taken by the Greeks, and renamed Alexandria. The library was founded by Socrates, a famous Greek philosopher.”

“I think I know him. Didn’t he teach Aristotle? Who then taught Plato?”

A chuckle sounded from behind Aoife and Jesus. Aoife whirled around.
“You make me sound like I belong in the bible,” commented Socrates.

Aoife turned accusingly to Jesus. “You said they wouldn’t be able to see us!”

“Most people here cannot. Socrates is not like most people. He is not a god, but he has crossed the line into immortality. He has been alive for more years than I know.”

“You could try a little harder to not make me sound so…old,” said Socrates with a mock shudder. “The white hair is just for show, you know, makes me look all knowledgeable and wise. It’s almost a requirement if you want to be a philosopher.” He Aoife up and down. “So,” he said. “You’re Aoife. Kinda small aren’t you?”

“I’m thirteen,” said Aoife. “How big do you want me to be?”

“Big enough,” said Socrates, mystically.

“Big enough for what?” asked Aoife.

Socrates looked at Jesus. “So you haven’t told her,” he commented.

Jesus looked meaningfully at Socrates. “We’re not even sure yet,” he said. “And I’m still not sure how you know.”

Socrates waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, I have my ways,” he says. “That’s part of what being a philosopher is about. Knowing things that others don’t.”

Jesus sent A Look in Socrates’s direction. “Yes, well,” he said. “Be that as it may, we are not here to discuss how and whether you know things. We’re here so that Aoife can see the Great Library.”

“Of course, of course,” said Socrates. “Right this way.” And he led them to a small door some way to the right of the steps.

“Where are we going?” asked Aoife.

“Why, to the library of course!” replied Socrates.

Aoife was almost running alongside Socrates, panting slightly with the effort. “But isn’t the library up there?” she gestured back towards the steps.

“Well, of course it is,” said Socrates. “Why would I build the steps so people could get to the library if the library wasn’t there? Such silly questions they’re asking these days,” he said as an aside to Jesus.

Aoife was getting slightly impatient now. “What I meant was: if the library is up there, then why are we walking over here?” She tried again.

“Well, then, why didn’t you say so!” remarked Socrates.

Aoife waited a few moments before saying “Well?”

“Well what?” replied Socrates.

Aoife sighed audibly, impatience tinging her words, “If the library is up there, then why are we walking over here?”

“You don’t think I’m going to walk up all those steps do you?” asked Socrates. “And risk a heart attack? Don’t you have any brains, girl?”

Aoife gave up and turned to Jesus. “How are we going to get to the library?” she asked.

“Socrates has always been somewhat…lazy,” he began.

“Hey, I heard that,” interrupted Socrates, but more out of habit than out of real indignation.

“You were meant to,” replied Jesus calmly. “So, when he built the library, he made sure that he had an access point that was far easier to use. That is where we’re going.”

“But why didn’t he just build the library at ground level, if he didn’t want to walk up all those steps?” asked Aoife.

“Why didn’t I? Build the library at ground level?” Socrates spluttered. “What’s the point of having an amazingly incredible building if it’s not going to look impressive? No one’s going to want to go to it if it looks boring and mundane! No! The trick is to make it look really important, then everyone thinks they need to go there. It’s all about the psychology,” he tapped the side of his head knowingly.

“But if there are all those steps,” argued Aoife. “Then no one wants to go because it’s too hard to get to. It’s all about the physical exertion,” she mimicked Socrates.

He looked at her appraisingly. “Well, well,” he commented to Jesus. “Maybe they do have some brains after all.” He stopped before a small dark door. “But enough of that,” he said cheerfully. “We’re here!” and he opened the door.

“Everybody in,” he ordered. Once they had all entered the small, dark room, he reached past them to a door on the other side. He opened it. “Everybody out,” he ordered again. And Aoife stepped into the library.

To Hypnotise, or Not To Hypnotise

“I want you to hypnotise me,” said Matthew.

“You want us to what?!” screeched Alice, outraged.

James looked at her in distaste. “Was that really a necessary reaction?” he asked. “He only asked us to hypnotise him. He didn’t ask us to murder puppies and then dance around with their corpses.”

Alice looked at him with disdain. “Do you have any idea how dangerous hypnotism can be? You could implant all sorts of ideas, make him do –” she broke off. “Hypnotism,” she said brightly. “What a wonderful idea.”

Matthew stared icily at her. “I don’t want you to make me do anything,” he said. “What I want is to find out what Clio was teaching us, and why she didn’t want us to know.”

“You think she told us why she couldn’t tell us?” Alice raised her eyebrows in polite disbelief. She paused, tilting her head to one side in consideration. “Did that even make sense?”

"No,” Matthew replied ignoring her last question and speaking slowly, as if to a particularly dense child. “But I think that if I work out what she was telling us, I can also work out why she didn’t want us to know.”

“I still say hypnotism is dangerous,” said Alice. “You’re placing yourself in an incredibly vulnerable state for this knowledge, are you sure it’s worth it?”

“It’s worth it,” said Matthew, grimly.

Deciphering the Cipher

Aoife sat in the library. She had abandoned the Research Desk when it failed to provide any more information about the scarab. She rested it on the table in front of her, then leant her head on her arms, which were crossed on the table. She stared the beetle in the eye, willing it to yield more information.

“I don’t think you’re going to win,” said Nathaniel as he approached.

“Hmmm?” Aoife said distractedly, raising her eyes to look at Nathaniel.

He nodded towards the statue. “The staring contest, I don’t think you’re going to win.”

“Oh, right,” she laughed slightly. She went back to staring at the scarab.

“Whatcha doing, anyway?” Nathaniel asked, sitting down next to Aoife, and lounging against the table, hand in head.

Aoife sighed. “Trying to work out what this scarab is for,” she said.

“Still?” asked Nathaniel.

“Still,” she sighed resignedly.

“Research Desk couldn’t help?” now Nathaniel was staring at the scarab.

“Nope,” Aoife replied. “It’s obviously some sort of message, but I don’t even know what language it’s in.”

Nathaniel looked at her as though she’d gone mad. “Aren’t those hieroglyphics?” he asked.

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” she replied. “But no. Or at least, they’re hieroglyphics of some guide, but not the kind traditionally used by the Ancient Egyptians. Which only leaves just about every possibility out there except perhaps for English. How marvellous, simply marvellous,” she imitated sarcastically.

“Oh don’t be such a sook,” said Nathaniel. “You’ve already narrowed it down from English and Egyptian hieroglyphs. How many more languages could there be?”

Aoife pushed a stack of papers over to him, roughly 5 centimetres thick. He opened it up, in a tiny scrawl on double sided pages, was a list of every language known to the gods.

“Ok, then,” he said. “Two down, three hundred and ninety four thousand, seven hundred and sixty-two to go.” And he laughed. Aoife joined in.

“You’re such a nut,” she said.

“It’s true, it’s all true,” said Nathaniel, as he flipped through the pages. “Ok,” he said, closing the bound papers with a dull thud, and pushed it away from him slightly. “Let’s do it.”

Aoife looked up, startled. “Do what?”

“Try and work out what that language is, of course,” said Nathaniel, a determined gleam in his eye.

Aoife looked at him as though he’d gone mad. “Didn’t we just have this conversation?” she said. “We don’t know what the language is, and it could be any one of three hundred and ninety four thousand, seven hundred and sixty-two languages.”

Nathaniel’s eyes continued to gleam. “Precisely,” he said.

Aoife thudded her head to the desk. “I give up,” she said, her voice muffled. “You’ve gone mad. There’s no hope. I’ll have to just kill you now to put you out of your misery. Hope you don’t mind too much.”

Nathaniel just laughed. “Oh, don’t be like that,” he said. “All we have to do is compare the hieroglyphs on the back of the scarab to the languages named on the parchments.”

Aoife looked up at him in disbelief. “Yep, mad,” she said.

Nathaniel laughed again. “It’s not like we’ve got any ideas, except for your plans to stare it outta the scarab. Come on,” he said, and he stood up.

“Where are you going,” Aoife didn’t move.

“Back to the Research Desk,” he said. “I want examples of all these languages, so we can compare them to the scarab.”

“I still say you’re mad,” said Aoife, but she stood up this time.

"Maybe," said Nathaniel. "But you're going to do it anyway."

Wherein Aoife debates Reality and Existence with Jesus

Aoife stared at her nachos. She was alone in the kitchen, her mother was in her lounge, communing with the spirit world, and her father was in the garage, doing whatever it was he did in there. There was something about the way the cheese was sitting, pooling in the middle, wrinkling at the sides. It almost looked familiar, like… a face? Maybe she could sell it on e-bay…She peered closer. The cheese blinked. No, that couldn't be right, Aoife thought. It must have just wrinkled as it cooled. Cheese didn't blink. Even cheese that had a face. It blinked again. Aoife shook her head and sniffed the air. No, she couldn't smell anything that would suggest that her mother had been burning the grass scented incense. She looked back at the cheese, and then jumped back surprised. The cheese writhed and wriggled, stretching and flexing until, quite suddenly there before her was the face of… "Jesus?" "Aoife!" the voice was cheery, friendly and yet somehow reproachful.

"Have I gone mad?" Aoif asked.

"Oh Aoife, no," replied Jesus.

"Why should I believe you?" Aoife asked. "I mean, if I have gone mad, and you're a figment of my imagination, you're hardly going to be admitting I've lost the plot, that would suggest you're not there, which means that you can't be answering me, so I haven't gone mad. And yet you are there, which means I must have."

"But even if you don't believe me, don't you believe in me?"

"Perhaps," replied Aoife. "But that doesn't mean you exist."

"But for you to believe in me, there must be something for you to believe in, and therefore I must exist," Jesus insisted.

"Ok, so I won't believe in you." Aoife turned away from the nachos.

"But you've been talking to me, you can't just pretend that that hasn't happened. If I didn't exist, this conversation wouldn't have happened, but it did, so I do."

"So you're suggesting that all illusions are in fact, reality, and that because someone perceives something to have occurred, it must have?"

"What other solution could there be? The only way we have to determine what is real and what is false is our own experiences. We have no way of independently verifying anything which is told to us by another person, to ensure that they processed and received the information in the same way we did. We are limited by our own experiences, and by our ability to convey those experiences. Who are we to put a limit on the reality in which we live?"

Aoife shoved the nachos away in frustration. "Ok, fine, so you exist! Now what? What do you want with me?!"

"We need to talk with you, Aoife. There's something you need to know."

Wherein Jesus's Appearance in the Nachos is Revealed

The five of them made themselves comfortable in Aoife’s room, before Dianna prompted, “Well? Where have you been?”

“Well, I guess you figured out that I was in Ancient Egypt after the trick with the crickets,” replied Aoife. The others grinned and nodded. “Well, I went there with Jesus. He—”

“You met Jesus?!” interrupted Fey.

“That’s so cool!” exclaimed Charlie.

“Well, I’d already met him before,” said Aoife.

“What?”“When?”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I thought I had,” replied Aoife. “He appeared in my bowl of nachos, trying to talk me into becoming a God.”

“Jesus appeared…”
“In your bowl of nachos…”
“To tell you you were a god…” Fey and Dianna spoke in tandem.

“Well, yeah,” said Aoife.

They rolled their eyes at each other. “You really have the most amazing stories,” they said.

The Anthropomorphication of Awe

Aoife stepped into the library.

She was immediately struck still by awe. “Ow,” she said. “That hurt.”

“Sorry,” replied Awe.

Socrates hurried out of the room. “I’m so sorry about that, Aoife,” he said. He turned to Awe. “What have I told you about anthropomorphising in here?”

“Sorry,” said Awe, beginning to look crestfallen. “I just wanted to meet your new friend.”

Aoife began to feel sorry for her. “Hey, that’s ok,” she spoke softly, soothingly, trying to creep forward to have a better look at the creature.
“Stop that,” said Socrates crossly, swiping at Awe.

“What are you doing?!” cried Aoife, distressed.

“Trying to get her to de-anthropomorphise,” Socrates replied as he waved his arms in the air, as if swatting a particularly enthusiastic fly. “If she doesn’t go back to normal, then she’ll be stuck like that.”

“But she’s so cute,” said Aoife, following Awe around with her eyes. “Can’t we keep her?”

“We? What we? You’ll be going back to your time, soon, and then I’ll be stuck here with a miniature fairy who periodically attacks people. No, no, forcing her back to her own form is the only way!” and with a particularly vicious swipe, he startled Awe back into a non-entity. He wiped a drop of sweat from his brow. He looked back at Aoife. “Perhaps you could just give me a minute,” he requested. “Just to get this place cleaned up a bit?” and he gestured towards the bits of parchment and quills on the floor, and broken bits of pottery which he had damaged while fighting with Awe.

“Oh, sure, no probs,” said Aoife. “I’ll just go look around?”

The Plague of Locusts

Charlie, Nathaniel, Fey and Dianna stood crowded around the door to the Observation Deck.

“Did it work?” Dianna asked, anxiously.

Charlie reached a hand out to the door, nervously, and pushed at it with a finger. The door swung inwards.

“Yessss,” he celebrated, fist pumped in excitement.

“Now do you believe me,” said Fey, her hands on her hips, and a triumphant, knowing look in her eye.

“Yes, Fey,” said Nathaniel patiently. “We’ll never doubt your ability to read a book again.”

“You needn’t make it sound so easy,” said Fey. “You certainly weren’t all that keen on believing me last night when we were casting the charm.”

“Yeah, well,” said Charlie. “It seems hard to believe that no one else has tried this charm before.”

“Maybe no one had thought of it before,” suggested Fey. “I did get it from the Research Desk. I mean, how many people would think to charm the door to the Observation Deck to prevent it from realising that the person who opened it last hadn’t left.”

"Yeah, yeah,” said Charlie. “We get it, you’re brilliant. Can we go in already? I’m worried about Aoife, she’s been gone for two days.”

Fey lent forward and pushed the door open the rest of the way. “After you,” she gestured, and the four of them crowded into the Observation Room.

“Ok,” said Fey. “I think we’re all going to have to join in here. Everyone put your hand on the glass, and focus on Aoife and locating her. And remember no one step too close – we don’t need to fall through again!”

The four of them placed their hands on the dome, and concentrated. After a while the mist cleared to show… “Is that Ancient Egypt?” asked Dianna.

“It looks like it,” said Nathaniel. “I wonder what she’s doing there?”

They all leant a little closer, chests bending forward when: “Watch out!” yelled Fey.

“What?!” they all stepped back, startled. A smallish insect had leapt out of Charlie’s pocket as he had leant forward to look at the scene inside the Dome.

“Something jumped out of Charlie’s pocket,” said Fey.

“Oh that,” said Charlie. “That’s just my pet cricket, Jimminy.”

"You have a pet cricket called Jimminy that you carry around in your pocket?” Fey asked, in disbelief.

Charlie gave Fey a strange look, like she was the strange one for not carrying around a pet cricket. Especially one named Jimminy. “Of course,” he said. “Don’t you?”

“Guys! Leave it for a second!” called Dianna. “Your cricket has some how gotten into the Dome!” She pointed at the cricket squirming under the top of the Dome. Fey and Charlie stopped arguing, and looked to the Dome.

Nathaniel turned to Charlie. “How many crickets did you say you had?” he asked.

“Just the one,” replied Charlie.

“’Coz there isn’t just one now,” Nathaniel pointed to the dome, where thousands upon thousands of crickets rained from the sky.

***

Aoife and Jesus walked out of the library, in time to see millions of crickets pour from the sky.

“Is that a plague of locusts,” Aoife said, turning to Jesus in confusion.

“Looks more like…crickets,” he answered, no less confused.

Somewhere in time, the history books were re-written.

***