Porch Stories-Calling Mr Wells.

Thursday 24th April 2014.

Now part of my Campnanowrimo participation.


clip_image002 part 4.

Gaa/C 2014©

Part 4 continued from The Old Lady Reveals. Watch for the next installment to follow. Can they help.

Two days had passed when I started thinking of the old woman. Why? I do not know. I was rocking gently in my chair, the sun shining brightly and my guitar in hand. The song I was playing brought the vision of the old woman to mind and the last words she said. ‘I am the daughter my father seeks’

Wondering how I could help, not wanting to experience the probable appearance of him or what might happen. This thought had scared me a little. Only a couple of days to go to the anniversary and I needed to come up with some idea, or leave the house for a few days. Not knowing if this will do any good either way. I went to the book shelves and found the book Mr Wells left me, and sat myself back on the porch. I opened the book to the last page to read the hand written message until now I had taken no real notice. But now it had meaning.

‘In the nearby wood you will find a large oak. Inside its trunk you will find a golden watch like instrument. Open it and carefully read the inscription inside and it will guide you to me in my time.’

On reading it again and again I got the distinct impression that Mr Wells knew that this had happened and that I would seek his help. Not even realising or believing that this could actually happen.

Due to the lateness of the day I decided to make preparations and leave at first light in the morning.

At first light my backpack was packed and I was walking towards the park in hope to find the oak and no one else. This early morning with a chill in the summer morning air made me have a lively step in my walk to the park. Hoping that when I arrived there would be no people nearby, I needed the solitude. On finding the tree I quickly looked about and found the crevice within its trunk. Excitement was getting the better of me, shaking a little and wondering why I was here. Only way to find out, I put my hand inside and searched the space by feel. Several attempts reaped no rewards and I was beginning to think that there was nothing here. Still no success when I noticed another split higher up the trunk at the junction of a branch. Climbing the tree to reach it, I put my hand in and search this hole. I pulled out a leather wrapped package and jumped to the ground. I quickly unwrapped the package and was surprised to find exactly what the message in the book said I would.

Clicking open the instrument to find two dials, each had three hands and eight buttons. The left hand side the hands were gold and silver bronze and on the right they were blue, green and red, also with eight buttons set on the circumference edge of the dials. On the right dial there was a larger button with the word ‘Home’ beneath. Further inspection I found an inscription on the back casing. It was the instructions as the message read. I sat down against the tree and read the instructions and checking the dials at intervals. It all seemed pretty straight forward if a little unbelievable, so my next move was whether I should actually follow the instruction.

After a short while I said to myself, quietly, ‘Go for it, lets see what happens’ I then set the dial on the right as per the instructions and then paused. Taking a last look around I pressed the ‘Home’ button.

All around me started turning, like a fairground ride, spinning slowly at first then speeding up. All the countryside around me started mixing and my vision began to blur, like mixing paints all the colours morphing into streaks at first then becoming one. I was standing in the middle of a small tornado, everything around me spinning and turning. All the greens and browns with blues and whites mixing and gradually disappearing and turning into an opaque white. My feet were stuck rigid to the ground, unable to move except to twist and watch the spinning colours. Dizziness started to come over me with a feeling of nausea. Closing my eyes and taking my thoughts away, thinking of good things trying not to show my fright, everything out of hand and out of control. Not knowing how to stop what I have started even if I wanted to. Pressure against my head and the noise reverberating in and out of my ears, losing my balance with hands clenching my temples. Realising I had to go with the flow and wait for this to run its course.

As quickly as it started it stopped, the haziness clearing and my vision returned, what I could now see shook me. With this shock I fumbled and fell forward and knelt not knowing what to do or say or think. I could see I was no longer in the park next to the oak.

Gaa/C April 17th 2014 [Thursday]©

The Old Lady Reveals (continuation)

Thursday 10th April 2014.

Porch Stories Series 


Gaa/C© (680 Words)

Face to face with the old woman again, she gestured me forward, waving me towards her. Cautiously and slowly I moved forward, recognising the room I was in, the shape and old furniture within. It was my living room, but from many years ago. It was three months past this old woman appeared on my porch and told me history of the house.

“I must admit to you sir that I did not tell you truth. Well actually I avoided the real events.”

“Oh is that so,” I said, “so why is it so important for you to return to tell me the truth as you know it to be?” I said in a disguised puzzled voice.

“Because it is nearing the anniversary and because of this alone, and the possible sightings or occurrences and visions that you may experience. If I tell you then you may understand the reasons as to why more clearly. When I appeared to you before this was my full intention but I avoided the main part. And since that day my conscience tells me otherwise.”

I looked at the old woman, not really knowing what say, but feeling annoyed. So with this emotion I sat back in my chair and said, “Okay I am all ears, tell me more.”

“You might remember me saying that Carol Marsh was found dead and no sign of her baby or blood anywhere, as if she was never pregnant. Well this is true but her husband Robert did not spend the next year trying to discover why or how she was killed and the loss of their baby. Well that was partly true apart from a little time difference. He did spend a couple of weeks trying to find an answer, but the locals believed it to be some sort of devil worship. Some thought she was taken by the devil, thinking that Robert was a devil or possessed by the devil. The pressure started to build on him, he ignored all advice from friends and stayed and continued his search. He was possessed, but only by trying to seek an answer. However with the local pressure the law arrested him and was eventually convicted of devil worship and murder of his wife and child. Even though there was no evidence or proof, he was later hanged from the tree just outside, from which the eagle can often be seen. Every ten years he reappears, he is looking for his daughter, and seeking revenge on whoever killed his wife. There has been strange deaths and disappearances at these times. For three days during this occurrence he uses this house as his base, his home. What I am saying is that you are likely to see his appearances, it may be as an eagle or as himself. He is obviously a very angry man, and his revenge will not cease until he finds his daughter.”

“How will he do that, is he likely to try and harm me or anyone else within the house?”

“I cannot answer that, but the deaths from his past appearances were  people related to those who were involved in his hanging. Apart from going back in time to his hanging I do not know how to solve the problem.” After a short break she finally spoke her last words, “I am going to move on and let you wake from your sleep, you will note all that was said and I wish you well dear kind sir.”

“Wait, please madam, tell me your name, or who you are, I wish to know who I am talking with.”

“I have no name,” she said as she was fading into the night, “I am the daughter my father Robert seeks.”

I quickly jumped up fully awake, she is the daughter, then why can’t they meet. I need to help them if I can. She said going back in time, maybe not so daft as it sounds, when suddenly I had an idea.


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Pop over to this blog….Enjoy these tunes, plus all its other wonderful musical posts.

Originally posted on Brocks Music Shed:

Saturday 22nd March 2014.

A new batch of tunes for you to enjoy, all with the same subject line.  One of these tunes is me and my own composition. Taking a big chance on posting it. Tell me what you think, you will know which one when you hear it.  Enjoy.


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Elven Story Writing Comp..

Originally posted on Restawyle:

Wednesday 19th March 2014.

12 Days Left!! 4 Entries In… “Tell Us Your Elven Story” Writing Contest


Tell Us Your Elven Story



Dark Jade over at Legendary Post  is holding a writing contest. It only a short story of approx 1000 words and has to be Elven related. I know there are many of you that enjoy writing. So come on guys send your entry in via the links supplied.

You must have that idea in your head, about little elves running about the woods and killing goblins and dwarfs. All their magic coming to save their world and put the life back into the earth.

‘Go on you know you wanna.’


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He Awoke?

Wednesday 26th March 2014


He Awoke? 2014© Words 898

After my neighbour left I sat back in my rocker and dozed in the sunshine.

He awoke, to rise from his bed, exactly the same as yesterday, and the day before. Not knowing or remembering and seeing the world as he had never seen it before. Not recognising anything or anyone. Stuck in his own world, inside his head, and no means of escape.

Looking out of his kitchen window, seeing a garden, but not knowing whose garden. The apple trees and vegetable plots of potato’s, carrots, brussel sprouts, all once tenderly and lovingly cared for by him. Now just a dying piece of land, but he could still see all the glory that was once blossoming on the land.

A cup in hand, why was he standing here, with a cup in hand, no recollection of even how got to the kitchen or why he was there. Turning round on hearing the noise behind him he saw a lady putting bread into a toaster. Taking butter out of the fridge and getting a knife from the drawer. But why, who was she what was she doing in his house. It was his house, looking about himself, see the room, the table, the cupboards, sink, the curtains, is this his house he thought. Recognising nothing, a strange place, a place unknown to him. Why was here, what was he doing in a strange house.

“I want to go home, please take me home.” he said without even realising he was saying it.

“Now come on George you are home, now sit down I am doing some toast and marmalade, your favourite.” said the strange woman.

Looking at the woman and wondering who she was and what was she doing here with him, and making him toast, why who is she. “Who are you, and what are you doing?”

The woman was pulling the toast from the toaster, “Don’t lets start that again George love, you know who I am, I am Marjorie your wife.” she continued to butter the toast, spread some marmalade on one piece, cut it in half and placed the plate with toast in front of George, “Here love, eat this, keep your energy up.”

They both sat at the kitchen table eating toast and drinking tea. All the while Marjorie was looking at George, she was wondering what he was thinking. Knowing he could be unpredictable and at times very cold with his words she still and always looked over him and cared for him. She was told to take no notice of his words because he did not always know what he said or meant what he said. That mattered not to her, because her love for him remained constant and she would always care for him, as long as he needed her she would be there, by his side.

George was found ambling about in his garden, the sun was shining and the day was warm. Marjorie called out to him, she knew she would not get an answer, but she caught up to him at the end of the garden in the strawberry patch. Happily picking strawberries, eating as many as he put in the small basket he was filling. “George, love, I am popping into the village to pick up some groceries. Shouldn’t be long, is there anything you would like me to pick up for you?” She asked standing in front of him grabbing his attention.

“A bar of chocolate please, yes I think I would like a bar of chocolate, a plain one, not this milk thingy stuff.” George said with a huge confused smile across his face. Marjorie patted him on his shoulder and walking away she said “Wont be long love.”

Marjorie enjoyed these moments on her own, just a little bit of relaxing in between a normal tense filled day. She would meet up with other ladies and have a chat and maybe pop round ones house for a tea and biscuit. Her piece of heaven, a quiet snippet in what can be a hectic world. She had already phoned her neighbour who lived across the road and they were to go together.

Back in the garden George left his strawberry patch and walked amongst the gooseberry bushes., filling his basket with gooseberries. He knew that Marjorie would make his favourite fruit crumble. His garden was a fully enclosed plot with a four foot high hedge of blackberry bramble and ivy with some privet. Over the many years it had grown into a thick hedge, containing birds nests and is now home for many other small creatures, George and Marjorie had trimmed and clipped, manicured it into a nicely shaped and flat squared off hedge. This time of year it produced a large quantity of fruit.

Just for the briefest of moments he remembered, his and Marjorie’s working in the garden, and talking to their next door neighbour over this hedge. The summer days, like today, planting and picking the fruits of their labour.

Looking at his gooseberry bush, a smile came across his face, this little piece of daylight, it would not last long, as quick as his memory remembered he was as quickly back in the dark room, the place where nothing or no one but him was allowed. His haven, his safety, everybody and everything was locked out. It required a special key to enter, this key yet to be found.

I was jerked awake from my dream by the sounds of laughing children passing my porch.

Gaa/C© ..March 2014

The Race?? [Porch Story #3]

Friday 14th March 2014.



Words 889

The sun was rising in the distance, starting a new fresh and bright day, casting long fingering shadows across the heath and grass land. The vision it was casting was misleading, it pulled at ones eyes to look harder to see the real image. The impression was very different to the reality, but beautiful either way one would see it.

Suddenly a sound made me look about, lots of sounds made me look up to see where it was coming from. Cyclists, many of them pedalling past my porch, stirring the dust from the track. Speeding past me and my porch, racing each other, the trail of cyclists went on for several minutes until the last cyclist went by. Surprised by this event I stood looking up the dusty track watching after them until the last one disappeared from view.

Now back to the normal serenity and silence, I tuned my guitar and started playing a few tunes. The heat of the day was starting to be felt on my hands and face. Considering my guitar I decided to stop playing and put it out of the sun by taking inside and placing it back onto its stand. After a couple of hours the silence was broken, the sounds started again, cyclists racing by once again, I rushed out to the porch to watch this surprising event. Suddenly there was an accident, two made contact and both crashed to the ground. One of the cyclists got to his feet shouting obscenities at the other, he then promptly checked his cycle and then mounted it and raced off. I looked at the one cyclist sitting on the ground. He was different to the others, his cycle was different also. I stood watching him, was he hurt, surprised that no support had arrived to assist him. After a minute or two realising no help was coming I assisted him onto my porch and sat him a chair. “I’ll just get you a drink, wont be a minute.” I said rushing into the house.

When I returned he was fiddling with his cycle, talking to himself or the cycle. when he heard me he stood up and smiled, came up the steps with his hand held out, “Hi I am Herbert I am a time traveller.”

I shook his hand, handed him his drink, “Oh right, ..from when?” I stupidly asked. “I had noticed that your clothes are different to the other cyclists and as for your cycle it would not win a walking race.” I quickly said before he could say anything.

“Ah! a disbeliever, you are not the first. I come from 1892. I am trying to get back to before this accident.”

“How come you are in the cycle race then?” I queried.

“It was purely accidental, on arrival to your time, I took my cycle and left my time machine to explore. But I came upon your law officers, and they did not believe me either. At first they were quite polite with their questions, and like you they did not believe my story. Shortly they became abrupt and rough and tried to man handle into their motorised vehicles. But I could not allow this, I could not interfere with your time as much as this. I am aware of the possible disasters that can be caused if I change things or interfere with routine events. So I struggled and managed to get away from them, quickly pedalled away, it was shortly after along the road I came upon all these other cyclists. So I just followed them, trying very hard to keep up, and stay out of sight….. your cycles are very fast. Oh! of course I camouflaged my machine.”

“Of course you did.” I said rather sarcastically. “Sorry sir, but your story does seem rather inflated, and unbelievable.”

“That is alright sir, I am used to people being disbelieving, apart from taking you to my time machine, .. well I cannot do that anyway. I really must be going I think the law will still be looking for me and I cannot afford being caught.”

“Hang on!” I said and disappeared inside. I returned with some food and a bottle of water. “Here, in case you get hungry or thirsty on your travels.” Herbert took my offerings and mounted his cycle, just as we both heard the sound of the racing cycles nearing. Herbert looked behind and could see a group of cyclists nearing the porch. “Before you go, what is your name, proper name I mean.”

As I asked there was another sound in the distance, a siren, a police car siren. the first of the cyclists started to pass the porch, Herbert started to pedal away, and mixed in with the group. He looked back and shouted, “Herbert George……” I did not hear his last name.

A few minutes after they were gone, out of sight a police car came to a halt in front of the porch, “Excuse us sir, but we are looking for a rather strange man, we think he is dangerous. He has short well groomed dark brushed back hair and has a full moustache, and dressed in what we would call old style fashion, brown tweed looking pantaloons and matching jacket. He says his name is Herbert Wells.

Gaa/C- March 2014.©

thank you09

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Story-Tellers. {Porch Tales #2.}

Friday 7th March 2014.


1031 words.

I had just finished playing my guitar, placing it onto its stand, I turned round to see two middle aged men standing at the porch steps. Strange because I did not see them arrive and they were dressed in rather strange clothing and wearing old style flat hats, with loose fitting trousers and long black coats.

“Excuse us sir, but could you please direct us to the nearest place we can get a drink and a bite to eat?”

“I am afraid it is a long way, about four miles down the main road.” I said pointing down the road.

“It is only while we are waiting for our vehicle to be repaired.”

I watched the two men and felt comfortable in their company, “I can give you a drink and sandwich if you wish.” I offered, and made a welcoming gesture with my hands and offering them a chair each. I adjusted the chairs and table, “I wont be a minute while I get your refreshments.”

After their refreshments they introduced themselves as Jake and Will, “We are storytellers and entertainers. We travel the country and earn our living by telling stories.” Jake said who was the smaller of the two.

We have a short tale we can tell you while waiting and in return for your hospitality.” said Will. I nodded in reply, “That would be good.”

Jake started the story off, “There were two young children, a bother and sister, lived long ago in a small house in the wood. Their father a lowly woodsman. The time was hard for them, as a famine had set in across the land. His wife was an abusive woman, and decided that he must get rid of his children by taking them into the woods and leaving them there, so that she and her husband would not starve.”

Then Will continued, “She pressured him and reluctantly, submits to his wife’s scheme. However the two children had overheard their plans, and after the parents had gone to bed, the boy sneaks out of the house and collects as many small white pebbles as he could carry in his pockets. On returning to their bedroom the boy reassures his sister that God will not forsake them.

The next day the father led them deep into the woods, and the boy lays a trail of white pebbles.”

It was now Jake who continued, “And after the father abandoned them the children wait for the moon to rise and proceeded to follow the trail of white pebbles back home. They eventually return home safely, much to abusive wife’s horror. Once again as provisions got scarce the wife again demanded that the children be taken further into the woods and leave them to die. Both children attempted to gather more white pebbles, but found their doors locked and unable to leave the house. The following morning once again the children were led into the woods. The boy had taken some bread and was leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for them to follow home. But after they were left alone the children found that birds had eaten the crumbs and they are now lost in the woods. After a few long days of wandering they discover a large cottage made of gingerbread and cakes. The windows were made of sugar, and the roof was of coloured candy. Being so hungry they started to eat the candy, when suddenly the door opens and an old woman appears. With the promise of a warm soft bed and plenty of nice food the children were led inside. The children were unaware their hostess was a wicked and evil witch, who eats small young children.” Jake stopped to take a sip of his drink letting Will to continue their story. I was listening very intently and enjoying their story including all the gestures while they were narrating.

“The next morning the witch locked the boy in a cage in the garden and forces his sister to become a slave. The witch feeds the boy regularly hoping to fatten him up, but he was clever and offers a bone he found and lets the witch feel it. She was thinking it is his finger.

She was easily fooled because of her blindness, and she kept thinking he was too thin to eat. After weeks of trying the witch became impatient and decides to eat the boy ‘be fat or lean’ she would say.

She prepared the oven for the boy but decides her hunger is so that she will eat the girl also.”

Will paused, looked at Jake and it was him who took his turn. “So she coaxed the girl to open the oven and then prods her to lean over in front of it to check if the fire is hot enough. The girl sensing the witch’s evil, pretends she does not understand what she means. The witch so angry, demonstrates what she wants, and the girl instantly pushes the witch into the oven, slams and bolts the oven door shut. She left the witch screaming in pain. The girl frees her brother from his cage and the pair discover a vase full of treasure and precious jewels. Hiding the jewels in their clothes, they both head off for home. Whilst trying to find their way home a swan ferries them across a large expanse of water. Then at home they only find their father, his wife died from unknown causes. The father showed his delight in seeing his children again, and with the witch’s wealth they all lived happily ever after. Jake smiled and it was Will who spoke, “We must be going I think our wagon should be done by now.”

“Wagon!” I said in surprise.

“For your kindness I leave you this book of ours, it is our stories recorded in one book.” Jake laid a leather bound book on the table. I shook their hands and bid them farewell. They headed off up the track leading out to the main road. They were gone as quick as they appeared.

I picked up their book and read the title. ‘GRIMMS FAIRY TALES’ by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm.

1031 words.

Based on the Grimm’s tale of Hansel and Gretel.

Gaa/C March 3rd 2014.

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