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After spending 40 years of his life serving his country, Arthur Burns moved to the small Gloucester village of Tenbury. It was a small village, consisting of a butcher’s shop, a general shop and around 6 cottages. Arthur’s house was small and homely. Without a wife to guide him, Arthur had furnished his home with a mixture of furniture from various charity shops. It was a mish-mash of Mahogany chairs and plastic tables. Bare floorboards supported white walls with old wooden beams, where Arthur rested all manner of trinkets he had picked up during his 68-year life. There was a small, unmarked road running in front of the house, and an overgrown dirt lane winding past his back gate and into the forest which surrounded Tenbury. The only vehicles which passed over the road were either the Rovers of businessmen taking a shortcut to Howes, which hurtled past at a great speed, disturbing the leaves which littered the road in late September, or small mini Coopers, which pootled along at a slow pace, carrying old women back from the daily market in Siren. Arthur often wondered if the people in these cars even realised his cottage was there. No one ever stopped by, except the milkman and the son of the newsagent, who dropped the telegraph on Arthur’s porch every morning.
It was because of his isolation that Arthur was so surprised the first time he saw the man selling candles on the lane behind his house. Arthur was sweeping up the leaves which had gathered on his back lawn over the past few days, when he looked up over his back gate and saw a small old man standing in the lane. He was holding a tray of something. Arthur presumed he was waiting for someone, as walkers often used the lane as part of their country walks in the summer months. He realised later that it was early October the first time he saw the man, and rarely did walkers appear after the summer heat had passed.
It was the next day, when Arthur was working in his study, that he was aroused by suspicion. He wrote small articles for the local Newspaper, the Howes Register, on various subjects, but mostly on vegetables. He had become something of an expert on vegetables since he had started his own carrot patch shortly after moving in to his cottage. The rain was pelting down heavily outside, and Arthur was typing up his article ‘Advice to growers of squashes during the winter months’ on his old 1934 Typewriter, when he saw a dark shadow in the corner of his eye. He looked over to the spot that had awoken his old military instincts. Through the pouring rain on the windowpane, Arthur saw the same small, elderly man standing in the same spot in the lane behind his house, holding the same small tray of candles. Arthur could not make out any of the man’s features, but he was alarmed by his lack of motion. Arthur was not a kindly man. He had never had a woman in his life to soften his heart, and so he felt no sympathy towards this man. If he wanted to stand out in the rain all day, then that was his right. Arthur closed the curtain and continued with his work. However, he could not as easily block out the thoughts that filled his head. Why was the man there? Why was he selling candles? Surely he would get more trade if he stood in the village, or at least in the road in front of the house.
It disturbed Arthur’s sleep that night, and as a result he could not just switch off as he had been taught to do in the armed services. He lay awake for what seemed to be hours, just contemplating the man. He wondered if he was still standing out there. The rain had stopped, after all, but surely the man went home to sleep and eat. Arthur finally decided to allay his worries. He climbed out of bed, and moved through the twilight of his house, to the scullery. The scullery, he thought, would have the best view of the man, looking, as it did, straight out onto the lane. Arthur moved his face close the grimy window. He searched the nighttime landscape for the ghostly figure of the man among the bare twigs of the forest. He was there. Standing there. Mocking him. Standing there in the same spot, holding his candles. It was obvious to Arthur that this man’s only purpose was to annoy him. The man did not threaten him; after all, he was very old and frail. No, he was not threatening, just annoying. Mocking; he was laughing at Arthur. He could feel it. It was time to take action.
Arthur moved swiftly over the creaky floorboards to the back door. As he stepped onto the wet grass outside the house, he was aware that he was not wearing his slippers. The cold ground was making the soles of his feet numb with pain. He blamed the man. As he approached the back gate, he was suddenly aware that he was alone. The man had gone, vanished. Arthur was not sure whether he was relieved or frustrated. The man had gone, but it also meant that Arthur’s questions would not be asked. He pulled his dressing gown close around himself, and walked over the damp blades of grass towards his back door. As Arthur closed the back door behind him, he felt a cold chill descend upon the area. Arthur’s house was always toasty warm. Arthur had learned to appreciate central heating after his days in the Army, and he kept it on constantly. But the kitchen had suddenly become very chilly. Arthur checked the door to make sure there was no draft. Arthur moved up the staircase. He watched his step as he moved, as the stairs were placed rather steeply, and Arthur always watched where he trod. But something made him look up. What he saw almost made him lose his footing. He grabbed the banister tightly with his hand to steady himself. The figure of the elderly man was silhouetted at the top of the stairs. He was holding his tray of candles. Arthur was shocked, but not frightened. As he gained his composure, he looked into the steely eyes of the man.
The man was looking straight ahead. He looked like he could not see Arthur, as he made no movement whatsoever. Arthur piped up
“Hello there. My name is Arthur. I have seen you standing on the lane back there. You must be frozen. Do come downstairs, I will make us some Cocoa”,
The man replied with no sound or movement of any kind. Arthur turned around and proceeded to climb down the stairs
“Do come along. You can’t possibly stand there all night. Come on now”
Arthur was aware of movement behind him, but there were no sounds apart from his own feet bending the old wood on the stairs. Arthur entered the kitchen. The shadows cast by the moonlight shining through the window created an eerie twilight. Arthur’s shadow fell onto the stove. He turned around to see the man standing in the doorway. He was shivering. Suddenly, the man dropped the tray. Arthur jumped towards him, but the tray made no sound as it hit the floor. The man collapsed into Arthur’s arms. He was not heavy, and as Arthur held him he realised that the man was no longer alive. He could feel no breath in his body. His skin was leathery and ice cold. Arthur lay his frame down on the kitchen floor, and picked up the telephone. It took a lot to shake Arthur, and he had seen his comrades die in his arms before, but this was different. As he explained to the local operator what had happened, there was shakiness to his voice. He had broken out in a cold sweat, and was shivering. As he placed the receiver down, he looked to the spot where the main was laying. The kitchen was empty. Arthur was alone. The moonlight cast dancing shadows all around the kitchen, and Arthur was alone.
It was a sunny Monday morning. Reginald was settling nicely into his new home. He has heard rumors that the last inhabitant of this fine cottage had disappeared. Reginald was not one to listen to gossip though, and he had taken advantage of this wonderful, fully furnished house.
As he awoke to the sound of the trees swaying in the wind, he looked out of his window. In his garden, he saw a man standing, holding a tray. He was in what appeared to be an army uniform, and his tray seemed to contain small white sticks. Reginald put on his dressing gown and went down the stairs to greet this stranger.
It was because of his isolation that Arthur was so surprised the first time he saw the man selling candles on the lane behind his house. Arthur was sweeping up the leaves which had gathered on his back lawn over the past few days, when he looked up over his back gate and saw a small old man standing in the lane. He was holding a tray of something. Arthur presumed he was waiting for someone, as walkers often used the lane as part of their country walks in the summer months. He realised later that it was early October the first time he saw the man, and rarely did walkers appear after the summer heat had passed.
It was the next day, when Arthur was working in his study, that he was aroused by suspicion. He wrote small articles for the local Newspaper, the Howes Register, on various subjects, but mostly on vegetables. He had become something of an expert on vegetables since he had started his own carrot patch shortly after moving in to his cottage. The rain was pelting down heavily outside, and Arthur was typing up his article ‘Advice to growers of squashes during the winter months’ on his old 1934 Typewriter, when he saw a dark shadow in the corner of his eye. He looked over to the spot that had awoken his old military instincts. Through the pouring rain on the windowpane, Arthur saw the same small, elderly man standing in the same spot in the lane behind his house, holding the same small tray of candles. Arthur could not make out any of the man’s features, but he was alarmed by his lack of motion. Arthur was not a kindly man. He had never had a woman in his life to soften his heart, and so he felt no sympathy towards this man. If he wanted to stand out in the rain all day, then that was his right. Arthur closed the curtain and continued with his work. However, he could not as easily block out the thoughts that filled his head. Why was the man there? Why was he selling candles? Surely he would get more trade if he stood in the village, or at least in the road in front of the house.
It disturbed Arthur’s sleep that night, and as a result he could not just switch off as he had been taught to do in the armed services. He lay awake for what seemed to be hours, just contemplating the man. He wondered if he was still standing out there. The rain had stopped, after all, but surely the man went home to sleep and eat. Arthur finally decided to allay his worries. He climbed out of bed, and moved through the twilight of his house, to the scullery. The scullery, he thought, would have the best view of the man, looking, as it did, straight out onto the lane. Arthur moved his face close the grimy window. He searched the nighttime landscape for the ghostly figure of the man among the bare twigs of the forest. He was there. Standing there. Mocking him. Standing there in the same spot, holding his candles. It was obvious to Arthur that this man’s only purpose was to annoy him. The man did not threaten him; after all, he was very old and frail. No, he was not threatening, just annoying. Mocking; he was laughing at Arthur. He could feel it. It was time to take action.
Arthur moved swiftly over the creaky floorboards to the back door. As he stepped onto the wet grass outside the house, he was aware that he was not wearing his slippers. The cold ground was making the soles of his feet numb with pain. He blamed the man. As he approached the back gate, he was suddenly aware that he was alone. The man had gone, vanished. Arthur was not sure whether he was relieved or frustrated. The man had gone, but it also meant that Arthur’s questions would not be asked. He pulled his dressing gown close around himself, and walked over the damp blades of grass towards his back door. As Arthur closed the back door behind him, he felt a cold chill descend upon the area. Arthur’s house was always toasty warm. Arthur had learned to appreciate central heating after his days in the Army, and he kept it on constantly. But the kitchen had suddenly become very chilly. Arthur checked the door to make sure there was no draft. Arthur moved up the staircase. He watched his step as he moved, as the stairs were placed rather steeply, and Arthur always watched where he trod. But something made him look up. What he saw almost made him lose his footing. He grabbed the banister tightly with his hand to steady himself. The figure of the elderly man was silhouetted at the top of the stairs. He was holding his tray of candles. Arthur was shocked, but not frightened. As he gained his composure, he looked into the steely eyes of the man.
The man was looking straight ahead. He looked like he could not see Arthur, as he made no movement whatsoever. Arthur piped up
“Hello there. My name is Arthur. I have seen you standing on the lane back there. You must be frozen. Do come downstairs, I will make us some Cocoa”,
The man replied with no sound or movement of any kind. Arthur turned around and proceeded to climb down the stairs
“Do come along. You can’t possibly stand there all night. Come on now”
Arthur was aware of movement behind him, but there were no sounds apart from his own feet bending the old wood on the stairs. Arthur entered the kitchen. The shadows cast by the moonlight shining through the window created an eerie twilight. Arthur’s shadow fell onto the stove. He turned around to see the man standing in the doorway. He was shivering. Suddenly, the man dropped the tray. Arthur jumped towards him, but the tray made no sound as it hit the floor. The man collapsed into Arthur’s arms. He was not heavy, and as Arthur held him he realised that the man was no longer alive. He could feel no breath in his body. His skin was leathery and ice cold. Arthur lay his frame down on the kitchen floor, and picked up the telephone. It took a lot to shake Arthur, and he had seen his comrades die in his arms before, but this was different. As he explained to the local operator what had happened, there was shakiness to his voice. He had broken out in a cold sweat, and was shivering. As he placed the receiver down, he looked to the spot where the main was laying. The kitchen was empty. Arthur was alone. The moonlight cast dancing shadows all around the kitchen, and Arthur was alone.
It was a sunny Monday morning. Reginald was settling nicely into his new home. He has heard rumors that the last inhabitant of this fine cottage had disappeared. Reginald was not one to listen to gossip though, and he had taken advantage of this wonderful, fully furnished house.
As he awoke to the sound of the trees swaying in the wind, he looked out of his window. In his garden, he saw a man standing, holding a tray. He was in what appeared to be an army uniform, and his tray seemed to contain small white sticks. Reginald put on his dressing gown and went down the stairs to greet this stranger.
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Eh?
This is my third GAD son...
This is my third GAD son...
wahoooo go gerrid go go go gerrid u get 1 gad or 2
Thanks, er... Big G.
seriously though, well done big G
I told you you'd win with this piece of poo! :D
Sounds good Kyz, Sounds good.
I look forward to reading it.
But you should all read Tribute's story, Riches to Rags...
I look forward to reading it.
But you should all read Tribute's story, Riches to Rags...
Im going to post my story in here, its called the cell, its about a guy who escapes from a german prison during the war.
Hurru!
Thanks guys. I'm glad you liked it. But what should I get?!
Thanks guys. I'm glad you liked it. But what should I get?!
Well done boyo
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