Two Men

The lounge room was spacious, with a view of the city. The tall man, Oliver, stepped into the kitchen and took some notes, ‘small oven’ and ‘new dishwasher’. He inspected the bedroom which, despite a few marks on the wall, had heating ducts and lots of closet space. Overall the apartment was satisfactory considering the price. 



The grass outside was wet; it had rained in the afternoon. A short man named Frank wore a soft brown coat. His hair was grey and messy. People looked at him from time to time but he didn’t mind, he was old and didn’t see the point in keeping up appearances. He noticed the park sign had been knocked over again. That was the third time this month. Teenagers in this city were getting wilder every day. He walked over to the sign and propped it back up. 
'That’s better' He thought. Just then, the breeze started to get cool and Frank rugged up his coat and moved along.



Oliver checked his watch; new with a leather strap, it had been a gift from his wife. He waited impatiently behind a line of prospective renters as they asked the real estate agents inane questions. 
'Does the building offer private storage containers?', 'Would our German shepherd be allowed to live in the apartment?' He wanted to be able to push in front so he could just grab an application but he knew it would be uncivil so he let out an audible sigh and checked his watch again.



Frank stood, hunched over, and watched as the sun set over the park. He wandered through the expansive landscape, past his favourite bench, which had now been occupied by a couple of business men enjoying some quick takeout. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crinkled cigarette, in his other pocket he had a lighter. It took a few tries to get the cigarette 
lit with his shaky hands, but once lit, the tobacco calmed his nerves. With a groan, he crouched down at the base of a tall tree, bunching the bottom of his jacket up underneath him as he tried to stay dry. 
People hurried past, 
'The park gets really dangerous at night' a mother murmured to her son. She ushered her son across the grass, avoiding eye contact with the short man.



Oliver reached into his suit pocket and checked his phone. There were two new messages; he would check them as soon as he could get out of there. He finally reached the front of the line and swiftly took an application form from the blonde real estate agent. 

Despite the apartment’s flaws, he was pretty sure his wife would like it. She always wanted to live somewhere with a view. Since they moved to the city, they had been staying in his mother’s spare room and were looking for a place to call home.



As it started to get dark, the short man hoisted himself back up again. He shambled through the park for a safe place to sleep. Past the shady guy in the hooded jumper and away from the public toilets which were known to be a popular spot for vandals. Eventually he found a bench on the edge of the park, close enough to the police station for him to feel safe. The park was a dangerous place at night but it was also home.

The Witch's House.

My old stairs creak. The banisters don’t have the same shine they used to, my varnish is wearing away. My windows are my eyes to the world; I can see her back yard surrounding me. The ground is covered mostly with cold, dead dirt. There are patches of green grass which taper to a point underneath the only life in her garden. A modest patch filled with her herbs and flowers, sage to cleanse the spirits, white lilies for protection and saffron for prosperity.

I can hear her waking up, she groans as her feet hit my cool wooden floors. She will want me to warm the place soon. I watch her every morning as she slings her black silk robe over her night dress and sits at her vanity table brushing her raven hair.

I’ve known her for a very long time. We were children together, we were friends, and we were lovers. She was always my protector and now I am hers. Her face is radiant this morning, she looks as young and beautiful as ever. I watch her climb down the stairs, I try not to creak too loudly for her.

She commands me to light my open fireplace. I do. I see her reach for ground coffee and so I heat up the stove in anticipation. She doesn’t notice me doing this and so places her hand on the plate. She slams her fist onto my counter top in frustration. The shriek she lets out shakes my foundations and I feel the impact. The throbbing pain serves as a reminder to not surprise her again.

She curses under her breath and commands me to turn on the cold tap. I do. Then I watch as she uses her gift to remove the scar from her palm.

‘Tactus Aliquam.’ She whispers, massaging the muscles in her hand. Seconds later, she stretches her fingers out and the burn has completely disappeared.

 I want to say sorry. I want to reach out and give her physical comfort so she may know the love I bare for her. But this shell that she trapped me in, so many years ago, denies me. I will never again hear her words of love nor feel her warm embrace. I will never know the body I once lived in again, as it lies beneath the earth in her garden.

Fifteen

Laura Lovegrove

Most disappointing birthday ever. I wake up around 8am, It’s a tradition in our family that on birthdays, Father’s Day and Mother’s day, the person who’s day it is, gets breakfast in bed. So, usually, on my birthday I tend to wake up pretty early, probably because I am so excited.

I open the presents, then Mum wants a picture of me in bed with breakfast and the unwrapped gifts and I flatly refuse. “I look disgusting, mum, no chance” I say.

Then Mum, Dad and Claire all rush around getting ready to leave. Claire has a Calisthenics Competition and Mum and Dad are going to watch. I hate calisthenics so I decide to stay home for my birthday. As I get to the kitchen in my pyjamas, Dad ushers me to the pantry and points to a ‘Green’s Chocolate Cake Mix’ packet.

 'You like baking' He says. 'Happy Birthday'

Great. I ask him what I get to have for dinner on, you know, my birthday.

'There are sausages in the fridge.'

Brilliant. After they leave I put on ‘Win a Date With Tad Hamilton’ which I got for my birthday and bake my cake. I was pretty chuffed with the end result. I decide to put it in the fridge and wait till everyone else is home before I try a piece. We always sing happy birthday and then do the cutting of the cake, even when it is just us.

Mum, Dad and Claire get home several hours later and a small part of me secretly hoped they had brought me home something special, like Goodberry’s or Chinese Takeout to make up for my, otherwise, boring birthday.

They stampede in, dumping stuff on the table, Caterwauling about the calisthenics results.

'That adjudicator was an idiot!' Claire says. Mum agrees and they continue to agree on a long list of things that seem to outrage them. Dad asks how my day was. I say it was fine.

'Well I’m off to bed.' He announces to everyone, Mum and Claire are in agreement that it is time for them to head to bed too. After all that I get back into bed and reflect on my incredibly average birthday.

Didn’t even cut the cake.

Awake

Laura Lovegrove

00:00 A.M

Wake up. Hearing that weird noise again. Scratch scratch scratch. Something is in the closet. Every night like clockwork it emerges. It sounds like it’s headed under my bed. The irrational part of my brain thinks it is a ghost or demon. The rational part of my brain is being very quiet. I am lying in bed with a strange sense of fear. After over analysing this feeling for a few minutes I realise it's not fear. It's paranoia.

00:10 A.M

I look at the digital clock. It’s after midnight. I need my sleep but that scratching noise will not desist. I am staring at the slightly open closet. In my sleepy paranoia, I imagine a large man with an axe coming out of it. I have to stop thinking about scary stuff and get some rest.

00:15 A.M

I close my eyes for a few minutes and all I can see are monsters, demons and murderers. That’s it. I’m going crazy. I have to wake myself up completely and then try to sleep again. I open my eyes wide and rub them until I feel awake. It doesn’t take long. This is going to be a long night.

00:30 A.M

The second I start to fall asleep I hear it. Scratch Scratch Scratch .It is right under the chair now. I dare not look down for fear of catching a glimpse of the thing which haunts me. I lie staring at the ceiling just waiting for the axe to swing down. Thoughts are madly rushing around my head on how I would escape, should I need to.

00:45 A.M

There is a packet of Easter eggs on the chair by the bed. I know this because I can hear the plastic rustling. Whatever that thing is must be hungry. I lie, frozen. My body tenses when I hear one of the little eggs hit the floor and begin to roll skittishly back into the closet. Then I hear nothing.

01:25 A.M

Lying here in the dark I wait. I wait for what feels like the inevitable. I listen for another scratching sound. But the silence persists and my tense paranoia begins to calm. I tell myself that it is ok. I tell myself it is time to sleep. I close my eyes and force myself to physically relax my body so that I might be able to get some rest. But now there is something else keeping me awake. It is something which is out of my control and more pressing than paranoia. It’s unfortunate because I was just starting to drift off. Sigh. I have to pee.