Brilliant Short Stories

by Stan Mason

  ‘You do recall my warning, don’t you?’ questioned the saint, although it was unnecessary for him to do so. Joe nodded with a sad expression on his face. ‘As a result, you have to suffer the punishment meted out to you.’

  He vanished for a moment before reappearing again. This time, he held the wrist of a woman dressed in black clothing. She was a wizened old hag of about ninety five years of age with a hugely distorted ugly face and large bulging eyes. She seemed to be covered with wrinkles, and her body boasted a flat chest while her stomach swelled out like a bubble. Joe shuddered when he saw her because he had never seen such an awful sight in all his life. To his dismay, St. Peter produced a thick chain which was locked onto the arm of the old hag. He then proceeded to grasp Joe’s wrist and locked the other end of the chain to it.

  ‘This is your punishment,’ he told him. ‘You will be locked together with this woman for the whole of eternity.’

  ‘For the whole of eternity,’ complained Joe indignantly. ‘Just because I stepped on a duck!’

  ‘You are well aware of the rules,’ advanced St. Peter sharply. ‘You were warned twice about treading on the ducks. You did so. Now you must suffer the penalty.’

  ‘Cor!’ exploded the young man angrily. ‘I tell you what. I’d do far better if I went to the other place than having to face this monster all the time.’

  ‘That can be arranged,’ retorted the eminent saint. ‘It can be done at any time if you so wish but, if you’ll take my advice, you’ll think about it first.’

  ‘I will,’ muttered Joe sullenly, simmering with rage. ‘Don’t you worry, I will.’ He stared at the old hag who gave him a toothless grin and he rued his situation solemnly. For the whole of eternity! He didn’t think he would be able to cope with it! Sadly, he stared at the chain which seemed to be contracting all the time bringing the old woman close to him. It was intolerable but there was nothing he could do about it.

  John was at a loose end. Having completed his initiation task painting the cloaks of Archangels, he sauntered about the clouds listlessly trying to find something to hold his attention. He liked reading, watching films on television, and listening to his hi-fi but in Heaven there were no books and no electronic equipment. He walked for some time into the distance until he came to a magnificent castle set into a mountain of cloud. Could this be the place where the Almighty lived... if indeed he did live somewhere. After all, John was taught that God existed everywhere and took it to mean just that. Now he might be facing the castle where the Almighty actually lived. He thought about St. Peter’s warning that he was not to search for the supreme entity. However, he was becoming terribly bored with his own existence in Heaven, doing absolutely nothing, and desired something with which to occupy his mind. Throwing caution to the winds, he climbed the mountain of clouds and presented himself at the front door of the castle. Should he knock or simply enter? And if he did enter, what should he do if he came face to face with God? Perhaps the Almighty would strike him dead... but that was impossible because he was already dead. He raised his hand to rap the doorknocker but, for some incomprehensible reason, he changed his mind. Maybe he ought to listen to the words of the eminent saint and return to the place where he had started out. Nothing good could come of his entry into the castle; it would merely satisfy his curiosity. Whatever happened after that, it would be to his disadvantage. Therefore, on the edge of an ostensible historic meeting, he turned tail and climbed down the mountain of cloud to end up where he had started. It was far better that way. However, whilst deep in thought, his concentration lapsed and he trod on one of the ducks. Immediately, all the other ducks began quacking, making a horrendous din, and he stood there quite still in despair waiting for the hammer to fall. Shortly, St. Peter appeared with a very old woman on his arm secured by a chain around her wrist. She was about ninety eight years of age, terribly ugly, with large brown spots all over her wrinkled face and a great bump bulging out on her forehead. Her eyes were drawn in as though she were in the throes of death and she was as thin as a rake almost resembling a skeleton. John stepped back when he saw her because he had never seen a woman quite so horrible in all his life. She appeared to be practically dead... even though in reality she was... yet she was still on her feet.

  ‘What’s going on?’ demanded the young man, reeling backwards as they approached.

  St. Peter took his arm and manacled him with the chain which suddenly began to shrink so that the woman was forced to move extremely close to him. ‘This is your punishment,’ declared the saint calmly. ‘Because you trod on a duck, you are linked to each other for the whole of eternity.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous!’ spat John angrily. ‘Look at the state of her. You don’t expect me to be chained to this creature for all my days in Heaven, do you?’

  ‘The question is entirely rhetoric,’ returned the eminent saint seriously. ‘It’s your punishment for stepping on a duck.’ With that, he turned and disappeared into a cloud.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ muttered the young man angrily, staring at the woman, screwing up his face at the sight of her. How could he possibly continue with a person of that kind chained so closely to him. It was a penalty far greater than he could ever have imagined; one that would remain with him always. He examined the chain to determine whether he could break it. When she realised what he was doing, the old woman shrieked with laughter, her shrill voice cutting across the clouds. He stared once more at her face and cringed. It wasn’t Heaven, he thought, it was sheer Hell!

  Billy was in his element with nothing to do except to laze about. He had never been an energetic person but this kind of life... if one could call it that... was right up his street. He sang the words of an old song as he lay comfortably on a cloud with his hands behind his head. Busily doing nothing, working the whole day through, trying to find lots of things not to do. This was the life for as long as it went on. No worries, no concerns, not having to get up early in the morning to go to work, no wife to nag him whenever he was home. On the other hand there was no beer, no women... not that any were ever attracted to him, quite the contrary... and no special comforts like sweets, chocolate and cakes. He missed his two friends quite a lot but this was compensated well with the freedom of relaxation. He made up songs in his mind that he could play on a harp, if he ever got his hands on one again, and played out a few scenes from pantomimes in his mind that he had seen in the local theatre close to Christmas time. Then he ventured out into the main highway for a walk. Suddenly, the air was ringing with quacks as the whole host of ducks began their cacophony. Billy stood quite still and looked around him. He didn’t think he had trodden on a duck so why had all the others set off the alarm. Even though he hadn’t committed an act of disharmony he had a distinct feeling that he was about to be punished. St. Peter appeared shortly with a most beautiful woman of about twenty years of age on his arm. She was exactly like a model he had seen on television with long blonde hair, blue eyes, a remarkably slim figure and wonderful long legs that made the young man lick his lips in anticipation. The eminent saint manacled Billy to the woman and the chain shrank to bring them close to each other.

  ‘Your punishment is that you will remained chained together for the whole of eternity,’ stated St. Peter curtly before disappearing into one of the clouds.

  ‘Well I’ve no objection to that,’ declared the young man, staring lustfully into the eyes of the blonde bombshell. ‘Wow, this is what I expected Heaven to be like. What have I done to deserve you?’

  The young woman looked at him in disgust, her face screwing up tightly as she stared at him. ‘I don’t know about you,’ she said miserably, ‘but I trod on a duck!’

  The Sands of Time

  The act of assumption relates to a statement accepted or supposed to be true without proof or demonstration. It refers to a degree of arrogance in which a person firmly believes something to be correct but it does not necessaril
y mean it is so. Assumption can be quite critical at times yet it continues to be used regularly in the field of human nature. One simple illustration occurred in a film shown at cinemas in which a policeman and an old man arrive at the door of an apartment. A woman opens it, expressing her thanks for bringing home her drunken husband. To the surprise and amusement of the audience, the policeman is led drunkenly into his home and the old man goes on his way. Everyone assumed that the policeman had brought the drunken old man home but it was the other way around. It was a normal assumption... but everyone was wrong! Another illustration was the commercial advertisement on television in which a normal white man sits in the kitchen facing a wild-looking African with a mop of unkempt hair. After a brief discussion, a white woman enters the room, mutters something about being tired, and then says: ‘Okay, hubby, let’s go to bed.’ The audience looks to the white man to rise and go upstairs. Instead, her husband is the wild African who accompanies her. It was another case of assumption which proves to be wrong! And so it goes on throughout the world, day by day. People assume situations about other people, their private matters and their love lives, which they gossip about freely. Inevitably, their comments prove to be wrong. And it continues into the field of personal finance and business. They assume that details told to them relating to contracts, insurance, mortgages, borrowing money, investments and purchases, are all standard features that will not go wrong. If that assumption is correct, why are the Courts so full of cases? Why are lawyers and barristers so busy with full schedules? It is because someone assumed something which was not true. It wasn’t included in the contract but they assumed it was there. It wasn’t told to them when they borrowed the money but now they find it there. It wasn’t mentioned when they took out the insurance but now it is there in black and white. It was an assumed condition when they bought the vacuum cleaner but now they find it is not. They invested their money in a business assuming many details which turn out to be adverse to making profit. The list goes on and on. It happens every day to thousands of individuals. And perhaps the police are among those to make the wildest assumptions where, for example, a murder has taken place. They theorise the situation and assume that one person or another is the killer when the suspect may be perfectly innocent. So what conclusion does one arrive at? The axiom perhaps is never to gossip or tell tales about other people, and to make certain every contract is exactly what one desires to the final clause. Certainly there is a need to question everything which could cause misinterpretation or uncertainty, and to pray to God that nothing one does is ever undesirable or faulty or can be misinterpreted. In other words... never assume anything!

  Mariana Ffoulkes was on holiday in Portugal. Since the death of her husband, who passed away through lung cancer at the early age of sixty, she decided to spend a great deal of time abroad lapping up the sunshine on foreign soil which she clearly enjoyed immensely. The money she received from her husband’s employer plus two assurance policies on his life allowed her to do so comfortably. After all, she perceived, a person had only one life to live therefore it was practically obligatory for them to use it or lose it... and that’s exactly what she intended to do. She sympathised with so many of her friends who had become bogged down in marriages which eventually turned out to be relatively dull, burdened intolerably by insolent or uncaring children and other remote members of the family who made demands on them. In fact, they gave so much priority to their homes, their husbands, their brothers and sisters, and sometimes their jobs that they lost all logic and reason relating to the enjoyment and fun one could get out of life. Not Mariana Ffoulkes! Not her! She had worked out a specific plan of campaign to spend six months abroad each year between October and the beginning of April. It kept her well away from the cold winter climate at home, allowing her to enjoy life each day sitting on a sunlit beach or sunbathing beside a large hotel pool in a beautiful foreign location. In her opinion, the mode of life of this kind was absolutely essential!

  Although Monte Gordo, on the south coast of the Algarve, boasted a plethora of large buildings, most of them were apartments inhabited by local people and holiday-makers. There were only three hotels at the resort but they laid themselves open to a magnificent beach some thirty metres wide which ran on for many miles. To serve the tourists who came during the summer months there were a number of small cafes perched at the point where the sand began. A little further on, where they ended, there existed a series of high sand dunes at the back end of the beach sloping upwards where one could climb to reach a small forest leading on to the main road which ran through the centre of the town. Mariana trekked daily out of the hotel along the beach to her favourite spot which was a dip between two sand dunes a short way past the last cafe. She always took a small fold-up chair with her as well as the daily newspaper expecting to read it for the next two hours while absorbing the gentle heat of the sun. It was the very end of October and she was pleased by the fact that at this time of the year few tourists came to the resort. Consequently, the beach was relatively empty and she knew he could relax in peace and quietness. However, when she arrived at her favourite sand dune, she found a strange woman sitting there on her leather jacket reading a newspaper. Mariana was quite annoyed that she had been usurped. She considered that this spot on the beach belonged to her and yet someone else had taken it. She stared hard at the woman for a while who looked boldly up at her as if to enquire the reason for the attention.

  ‘Damned cheek!’ thought Mariana angrily. ‘Fancy taking my place on the beach.’ She stared at the woman’s face again before recognition filtered through her mind. ‘Just a moment,’ she continued to herself. ‘I know that face! It’s Raines. Alice Raines... the school bully.’ Her mind flashed back to her old schooldays at Rossingham Major as she thought about a number of incidents whereby she had suffered extremely severely under the bully’s hand. She scanned the woman’s face and body gaining an element of satisfaction that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Consequently, the woman either hadn’t married or she had been divorced. ‘You’re Alice Raines, aren’t you?’ she blurted out suddenly. ‘Alice Raines!’ She uttered the woman’s name in a low voice almost in condemnation.

  The stranger raised her eyes from her newspaper and stared quizzically at the intruder without speaking.

  ‘I know who you are! You’re the bully who nearly drove me out of my mind at Rossingham Major! You know, you and I have got quite a few things to sort out. All those incidents where you browbeat me at school. I’m not sure how long it takes for a grudge to settle but it’s still as fresh in my mind as if it happened yesterday. And just because forty years have passed by means absolutely nothing! I’m putting you on notice that I intend to get my own back!’

  The woman raised her eyebrows slightly. ‘Rossingham what?’ she returned slowly. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about?’

  ‘You can’t fool me!’ Mariana’s lip curled in anger. ‘I remember you, Alice Raines. Oh, how I remember you!’

  ‘Go away,’ insisted the woman tiredly. ‘You’re beginning to get on my nerves. I came to the Algarve for some peace and quiet. The last thing I need is some witch to confront me on the beach shouting a load of nonsense.’

  ‘A witch, eh? Oh, yes! Crawl out of it in any way you can, Raines! That was your method of dealing with problems, wasn’t it. I recall you being called up in front of the Head one day but your oily tongue got you out of it. Well not now. It won’t happen that way this time! I assure you!’

  She paused for a moment to watch the woman’s face but it remained impassive. Surprised at the lack of effect or any visible shock from her taunts, she stalked off angrily to find an alternative sand dune in which to rest. However, she was unable to suppress the anger. It remained with her all the time. Who would believe that the past would return to haunt her sub-conscious fears so unwittingly on foreign soil? There was no doubt that Alice Raines had made her life hell at school, bullying her at every break, as w
ell as before and after school lessons started. The onslaught continued relentlessly for over two years. Mariana had told her parents about the anguish and pain she suffered at the other girl’s hands but they disregarded her complaints, scoffing that she was a teenager magnifying the trauma. However, when she pressed them even harder, they visited the school on one occasion to speak to her form teacher about the incidents she claimed were making her life a misery but there was never any obvious evidence to show that she was being bullied. Alice Raines was far too clever to be seen undertaking the torture she meted out to other pupils smaller than herself. Consequently, Mariana was forced to suffer the indignation, the humiliation and the pain. Well this time the boot was on the other foot. Over forty years had passed by since she had left Rossingham Major and now she was a woman quite capable of defending herself against a cowardly bully. It was time to get her own back! Her mind reached into the past to recall some of the incidents. Every bully was afraid of something. What did Alice Raines detest the most? Damn! It was such a long time ago that her mind failed to function clearly. She simply couldn’t remember! What did they do? They either played games or talked to each other in the school playground before the lessons started. They played tic-tac-toe, hopscotch, or rounders. Alice Raines never played games. Perhaps that was the reason she was so bitter towards other pupils... she hated games. Unfortunately there wasn’t anything sufficient in that fact for Mariana to find a way of getting revenge. There had to be something else... something significant.