Mr Harrington. (A short tail)

 

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Something astounding happened yesterday I must tell you about.

I was standing at the kitchen sink, washing the dishes from lunch and gazing out of the window as I did so. In the corner of the kitchen little Jack was playing with his favourite toy, a fabric clown. I could see Jack’s delight each time he made the clown squeak.

Outside, a flock of sparrows were devouring some crusts I tossed on the lawn earlier and I could see Mr Harrington pottering about in his garden, which adjoined the end of ours.

It was pretty much an ordinary and uneventful day, until Mr Harrington looked my way.

In fact, I am sure he looked directly at me. A strange type of challenging stare. It was most unusual for him to look at me in that way and most disconcerting too.

Mr Harrington then stood, stretched his back and began running towards me. With one flying leap, he hurdled the back fence, continuing to run at full speed the entire length of our garden, scattering the sparrows as he neared the house.

Mr Harrington did not stop running, he came dashing through the kitchen door, ran straight up to little Jack and hit him on the side of his head with a vicious, swinging swipe, before turning around and dashing off.

Jack spun across the floor and slammed into the cupboard doors. Jacks toy clown flew into the air, bounced on the floor with a pathetic little squeak before coming to rest under the kitchen table.

The entire act happened so quickly, I only had time to pull my hands from the suds and pick up a towel ready to dry them, by which time Mr Harrington was half way back down the garden and heading home.

Jack was far quicker than I. He scrambled to his feet and was after Mr Harrington like a flash, jumping on him and raking his claws along his back. The two cats tumbled and twisted, matted clumps of fur flying into the air and letting loose a series of those blood curdling, high pitched, ear shattering screeches and meows that resonating throughout the entire estate during the early hours.

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Catching up with them I clapped my hands, stamped my feet and shooed at them. Mr Harrington giving up the fight and running home, while Jack came and rubbed himself around my ankles like a furry slinky, purring away as if nothing untoward had occurred.

Looking up, I saw Mr Harrington sitting on the fence between the two gardens. He was looking back at me, head slightly tilted and wearing an expression that said “This ain’t over yet”.

I know this to-do it is mostly my responsibility.

You see, until I brought Jack back from the sanctuary we welcomed Mr Harrington into our house and garden, fed him on occasion and spoilt him with tid-bits of ham and the odd prawn or two.

Now Jack is here, Mr Harrington feels pushed out. He is understandably displeased and disgruntled!

© Paul White 2016

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Dawn. (a short story)

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This morning two men walk with me into the courtyard.

I am centre, they one on each side. We do not rush, we amble. We do not talk; but take in the freshness of a new day, each lost, deeply lost, in our own thoughts.

The sun lifting itself over the horizon. A lazy stretch of glowing amber soaking into the fading darker blue at the edge of night.

 The sun’s rays fall upon my face, the chill air recedes, letting the light gently warm my skin.

I hold my cigarette before me, one eye squeezed shut, matching the glowing end to the suns circumference.

I breath out, slowly watching the smoke. Momentarily it is there, almost solid, a thick clump of particles hanging in the air, moving oh so slightly, before twisting away on the light breeze, dissipating and…. gone.

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It is amazing how you see things when you only have the moment, how the commonplace, the everyday, the simplest of things become detailed, become special.

I would like to be gone from here, to fade into the ether like the smoke. There is much I should like to do, much I would to see and so many places I would rather be, than here.

But I have no choice. Circumstance dictates today, not I.

Far to my left the two men who walked with me into this courtyard lean against the wall, their heads turned, not looking my way, trying not to make eye contact.

Before me stand fourteen more men. One, the officer, standing at my shoulder, waiting for me to take the last drag from the cigarette.

I suck the filter, the acrid, bitter taste of tobacco flowing into my mouth. I breath in, pulling it down, down inside. A slight dizziness buzzes in my head, I purse my lips, let the smoke slowly out, a steady stream.

Flicking the butt away casually, watching as it bounces once and rolls across the compact dirt of the ground. It stops, the filter burning away. Soon it will be gone.

As shall I.

The officer offers me a black band, a blindfold. I shake my head.

Rifles levelled, pointing at the small white cotton square pinned over my heart.

I stare back, looking my executioners in the eyes.

The officer shouts his command, “Ready”

His voice echoes from the walls.

“Aim… Fire”

I hear a crackle, the discharge of those rifles.

I do hear not the echo reverberate from the walls of this courtyard.

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© Paul White 2017

Estelle’s Tattoo

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 (NOTE. Sometimes our battles come from within or own society &communities. This story is a fictionalised essay of a true account. It has been written in support of the fight against rape in Africa. Brief notes are posted after the main essay).

 

      Grace and Estelle and I once more walked along the dusty path that wound its way from our village, down the steep hill and on towards the river. The river was wide and twisted, like a glistening giant brown snake that wound its way through the lush green vegetation of the forests.

     As we became closer to this river the path changed from dust to crushed grasses. Many feet had trodden this path and in their passing had squashed the plants along the way, so that now only the toughest grass and the most persistent of weeds grew along the narrow footpath.

   Grace, Estelle and I spoke of many thing during our journey to the river this day and when we were not talking of our village or family matters we sang our songs. I am sure that on this morning many birds came close to us to hear our sweet tunes, or at least that is how I remember it.

    I do not remember before that day seeing so many birds along the edges of this footpath. On any other day to see such colourful birds you would have to stray deep into the forest and sit very still for a long time. But that morning they came to us.

    It took us about one and a half hours before we reached the river. On arriving we put down the large bundles of clothing we had brought to the river to wash. All through our journey along the footpath we had balanced these bundles upon our heads. It is the way we women carry heavy loads over such long distances.

    Once we placed the laundry on the bankside we sat and drank water and rested our legs for a short while. In fact it was a long short while because today was also a very hot day. The winds were not blowing at all and the sun shone fiercely down upon the earth, baking the soil into a hard crust which began to crack open and crumble.

    But here, in the shade by the river it was much cooler. So we sat and spoke between ourselves for a long time during our short rest.

    Finally we began to wash the clothing we had carried all this way, which was after all the reason for our journey to this place today. Using stones and a lot of effort we washed the dirt and grime from the materials. After which we hung the garments upon the branches of the nearby bushes to dry in the sun. The sun would soon dry the clothes today as it was a very hot sun, much hotter than on most days, something I have told to you already.

    We had also brought with us a little food. So as the sun beat down from the sky we sat near our drying clothes and ate. After that we decided to go into the river to cool our bodies and to cleanse our own skins from the dirt and the dust.

    Being in the water was such a good feeling, cooling but not so cold as to make you shiver and bring out little Goosebumps on the skin. We played in the water, splashing each other and saying rude things about each other’s bodies. I told Estelle that the boys from the village could share her breasts as they were far too large for one man alone.

    Grace said I should not be so silly and should grow up like an elder and that I should also grow some hair between my legs too, because like this I looked like a little girl that should stay at home and help her mother.  We were very happy at that time.

    But soon the clothes were dry. We packed them up into the bundles which we lifted onto our heads and began to climb up the steep bank away from the giant snake of the river.

    As we reached the top of the bank and started along the footpath, in the opposite direction from the way we had come, the men came from the bushes. There were many, maybe eight or maybe ten. I do not remember precisely because they did not stand still long enough for me to be counting them all.

    These men were not from our village. I had not seen any of them before, but I knew that they were not good men. Soon they stood all around us, poking us with machete and spears. Telling us that they were strong warriors and had been hunting. Hunting for women. Now they had found us we belonged to them, they said.

     Grace was already crying in fear. Estelle stood still, so still I do not think that she was even taking a breath of air. I was also frightened, even more when one of the men took my arm and pulled me roughly towards him, causing my bundle of cleaned clothing to fall to the ground.

    All the men rushed at us, grabbing our arms and legs and pulling us this way and that way. It was all very confusing at that moment.

    What had been a happy day was not so happy anymore.

    We were dragged into a small clearing, not far from the footpath we had been walking on a few minutes ago. This was the place the men ripped the clothing from our bodies and began to rape us. One after another they used each of us to satisfy their evil wishes.

    I was being held on my back by my arms, while another man gripped my ankles, pulling my legs up and apart to allow another to enter me. Even like this and with the tears coming from my eyes, both in pain and in sadness, I twisted my head to look for Grace and Estelle.

    I saw a sharp knife slide across Grace’s neck, the blood poured from her wound making a red puddle on the ground beside her head. Grace was looking directly into my eyes, I could see the fear inside her as she silently pleaded with me to help her.

    But I knew there was nothing I could do to aid her. Soon I too would die.

    I kept looking at Grace until her eyes closed. I hope that the lord would take care of her soul.

   Twisting my head at the noise coming from my left I saw that Estelle had driven a knife deep into the chest of the man who was at that moment raping her, again and again she thrust the blade into his body.

     It was then I noticed the tattoo on Estelle’s arm. Her brother had inscribed her name and the name of our village into Estelle’s skin a few months ago. She told me it what all the women were doing. ‘So that when we are raped, our bodies can be returned to our villages, our families so they can cry over us, bury us correctly and mourn our death’.

   I had questioned her about that. ‘Why’ I asked’ do you say when we are raped and not if?’

   ‘Because I am certain it shall happen one day’ Estelle had said in a matter of fact tone of voice. I am afraid that she has been proven right.

   As Estelle fought the men like a lioness fighting for her cubs, the man raping me ran over to where she was. All of a sudden I was alone. I scrambled to my feet and ran as fast as I could into the bush.

   I did not look back. I just ran in the direction which my feet were pointing and did not stop until it was so dark I could not see one inch in front of my face.

   Then I collapsed onto the ground. I was totally exhausted from all the running that I had done. But soon I was also very cold. I was still naked and the night air was not in the least comforting. I could not sleep in fear of the men coming for me, or for a lion finding me and eating me. I did not have any wish to become a big cats midnight feast.

    That night lasted for a very long time. I was so happy when the sun to rise began. I found myself running again as the suns light started to creep over the horizon and shine on the long grasses. Only this time I was not panicking, my heart was not beating itself out of my chest. This time I knew where I was going, I was running towards my village.

   As I ran I said a prayer for Grace. I also said a prayer for Estelle and I thanked her for her courage in fighting those men, for giving up her own life to save mine. Although I did not know for sure that Estelle was dead I cannot believe that such evil men would not kill her.

    In many ways I was sad for what had happened to my friends, but I was also sad for myself for not having the courage to help Estelle, to join in her fight against those bad men. I was thinking it would be better if I too had died.

   As I ran home I was deciding that I too shall have a tattoo on my arm like Estelle, because then when some men attack me again and I do not escape, I can be sure that my body will go home to my family too.

END.

 

Thank you for reading this.

Keep safe, Paul.

FFCO1108‎2014 © Paul White 2014   

 

Here are some frightening facts.

In many African states women are having their addresses tattooed on their arms so that their bodies can be returned after they have been raped and killed.

South Africa has the highest rape statistics in the world. Every 46 seconds a women in South Africa is raped. Often these women are murdered to prevent identification of the perpetrator.

Most women born in Africa have a greater chance of being raped than learning how to read.

It is estimated that there are an estimated 500,000 rapes a year in South Africa, and the country has some of the highest incidences of child and baby rape in the world.

Studies have found one in three African women say they were raped in the past year.

Other surveys have found more than a quarter of African men admit to raping someone. Those figures go up in South African cities, and the overall situation is getting worse, not better.

(change.org)

My website: http://paulznewpostbox.wixsite.com/paul-white

 

Buddy App

The following story, Buddy App, has been written by a great friend and wonderful storyteller, Mr Squid McFinnigan.
When you read Squid’s work you see the world through the eyes of an Irish Bar man who is a bit weird in an old fashion’d way! and for those of you who don’t know, Ireland is a little island floating in the Atlantic ocean next to England, which is a slightly larger island on the edge of Europe.

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We all have our treasures, things we’d dash into a burning building to rescue. If you were to ask Sam what his most treasured possession was he, would delve a hand into his pocket and produce a silver iPhone5S. He had queued for a full twenty four hours to make sure he got his phone on the day it was launched. His whole life was contained in it and he had not been parted from the phone for as much as a second since he bought it.

When Sam was a teenager he knew he was destined to become a great actor. In high school he took the male lead in every production he auditioned for. In between performances he wrote and sang with his friends in a band called, “Zombie Fruitcake.” He was absolutely sure he would have been slapping away movie and theatre offers by the dozen as soon as he got his name out there. Sam moved to New York as soon as he could, allowing his rise to stardom to begin.  Choosing New York was the result of years of watching friends. Sam was certain that if Joey could make it big there, anyone could.

His first impression of the big apple was one of isolation. Sam sent out countless job applications but had only been called for a hand full of auditions. He’d even found it difficult to get an agent, eventually having to settle for one which wanted to be paid in advance for his services rather than on the work he procured. It wasn’t long before the money in Sam’s savings account ran out and he was faced with a decision. Tuck tail and return home to face his friends having failed to make a success of his life or get a real job.

The decision to stay had been one born more from embarrassment than anything. Even finding a real job had been a lot harder than he’d imagined it would be. After weeks of looking, Sam eventually found employment with, “Maxwell Financial Services.” The name was impressive but the work was anything but. He was nothing more than a debt collector, not the butch type that comes calling to a door with dark glasses and a menacing sneer, but the annoying kind that rings non-stop at every hour of the day and night until you either change the phone number or pay off the money. Sam hated everything about his job, he hated harassing people for stupid bills, he hated the way some of his workmates revelled in their merger power and he hated the damn paperwork. The only good thing about the job was the money. It allowed him to rent a tiny shoebox apartment without having to share with someone else. It allowed him to indulge himself with a succession of High-Tec gadgets, his phone being Sam’s pride and joy. Yes, half the world had iPhones these day’s but his was the limited edition platinum model with extra processing power.

It was spring in New York and the rain had been torrential for days. The subway was packed with damp commuters, steaming up the windows of the overly warm rail carriage. Sam was glad he had managed to get a seat as it was twenty more minutes before his stop would come. Even though the car was packed to capacity, it was nearly silent, apart from the screech of wheels on steel speeding them through the subterranean network of tunnels. All around him people were listening on earphones, reading books or papers, but mostly they were scanning through their tablets or phones which is exactly what Sam was doing. Snap chat, e mail, Facebook, Twitter, he was constantly connected to the world wide web, but he still felt alone. As if sensing his emotions an advert for the latest App appeared on his screen.

Need a friend, sign up to Buddy App and experience the latest in interactive technology.”

Buddy App? Why not?

Sam clicked on the advert and read its extended promise of the newest development of Artificial Intelligence for the mobile market. “It’s like having a person in your pocket.”Amazingly enough the app was only $9.99. What the hell it, for ten bucks what could go wrong. Sam hit the purchase button. Unusually a contract sheet appeared with page after page of small print. On the top of the first page was a little tick box for indicating you agree to terms and conditions. Sam clicked the box without a second thought. The next page appeared with a message that said “Place thumb here.” Sam had never seen anything like this before, but pressed his right thumb against the screen anyway. The screen glowed bright read and Sam felt heat sear his skin.

“Jesus Christ,” he said pulling his thumb away, shaking it like he had pressed it against a hotplate. Sam examined the phone but it was cold to the touch. Flipping weird. On the screen was a message which said “Buddy App Loading. Please wait.” In a couple of seconds the screen turned into a kaleidoscope of gay swirling colours. From the speaker came a rich male voice with a deep-south accent.

Why hello there Sam, mighty glad to make your acquaintance.”

“Cool,” said Sam to himself.

The voice on his phone laughed. ”Glad you think so Sam, I think.”

Sam was amazed, how had they predicted what he’d say?

“How did they do that?” said Sam aloud.

How did they do what, and who are they?” asked the voice in a pleasant drawl.

“Know what response to have lined up and they are your programmers.”

Again the voice chuckled, “You said Cool and I just answered.”

“Impossible.”

Clearly not, ask me any question you like and I will try my best to answer.”

“Okay, what is todays date?”

“Seventeenth of March in the year of our Lord two thousand and fourteen. Too easy Sam, try something else.”

“Okay, where am I right now?”

We, not you, are on a subway car, traveling on the one line, between Franklin St and Canal St, sitting in the second last seat, back right of the railcar. And you are wearing a New Yorkers baseball hat and a black rain slicker.”

How did you do that?” Sam said in amazement.

Easy, I accessed the global positioner in the phone to find out our exact position after which it was easy to know we were moving along the exact path of the number one track heading north. Second I can see one seat behind you so you are in the second last seat and the windows are on your right. I can see what you look like so knowing what you are wearing is a piece of cake.”

“You can see me?”

Sure, through the camera, just like I can hear you through the microphone and speak to you through the speakers.”

“That is amazing.”

Why thank you Sam I like you too,” said the voice and the screen flashed a sunflower yellow of happiness. “Tell me Sam do you like jokes?”

“Sure I guess.”

A Priest, a Rabbi and an Irishman walk into a bar-.”  The rest of the journey passed in the blink of an eye.

***

As the weeks passed Sam and Buddy became inseparable. Like the advert promised, it was just like having a friend in his pocket. They discussed things, not that Buddy always agreed with Sam. They joked and laughed, a lot, Buddy had a wicked sense of humour.

A few weeks after Sam had downloaded Buddy some of his friends from home happened to be visiting New York. They had invited Sam to join them on a night out.

“I’m going out later Buddy,” Sam told his phone after coming out of the shower.

Excellent Sam. If you ask me we spend far too much time in this pokey little flat.”

“It’s just going to be me and my friends tonight,” said Sam to his phone, which sat on his bed side table charging. The colours swirling on the screen darkened a little becoming brown and grey. Sam frowned at the change, he had never seen that before.

I thought we were friends Sam,” said Buddy.

“We are friends Buddy but I can’t tell the guys from home that my best friend in New York is my phone.”

Do you think I’m your best friend?”

“Of course Buddy,” said Sam drying his hair with a towel, from the corner of his eye he saw the screen flash pink and yellow again.

Later in the night Sam and his buddies shared a meal in a Thai restaurant before making their way to a mid-town bar. Sam offered to get the first round of drinks in and when the waitress dropped the glasses on the table Sam gave her his credit card. The lady swiped the card through her handheld machine but it came back declined. She tied it once more unsuccessfully before one of Sam’s friends paid for the drinks.

When Sam returned home he found his phone glowing green on the bedside table.

How was your night?” asked a sulky Buddy.

“It was alright up to the point my credit card was refused.”

Perhaps that will teach you not to leave me behind.”

“You did that?”

You can’t just ignore me Sam, I won’t be discarded at a whim.”

“I don’t believe it.”

You can’t take me for granted Sam, I won’t allow it,” said Buddy, the phone screen dulling to a rusty red and the phone just shut itself off. Sam tried several times to power the phone up but it wouldn’t do anything. Eventually Sam decided to send the phone for repair in the morning. It was clearly malfunctioning.

***

The next day Sam dropped his phone to the workshop and left it to be assessed. On his return he was presented with a perfectly working iPhone5s.

“Nothing wrong with this phone guy,” said the man behind the counter. “That will be sixty dollars.” Sam handed over the notes and took his precious phone back.

“What about the Buddy App, did you delete that.”

“I couldn’t find anything with that name but I reset the phone to factory settings anyway,” said the technician.  Sam looked at his screen which now looked completely normal and slipped it into his pocket. On the journey home Sam turned on the phone, which still looked completely normal. He searched for the Buddy Icon but it was gone, a tiny part of him felt like someone had died. Later that night Sam was making a stir-fry when Buddies voice drifted to him from the kitchen counter. On the screen swam a sea of mixing colours but mainly creams and greys.

I thought we were friends,” said a very sad sounding Buddy.

“Bloody hell you scared the life out of me,” said Sam still holding the spatula in front of him like a sword. “I thought you were gone Buddy.”

I know you did, and you were happy about it weren’t you?”

“No I wasn’t”

Liar,” the word was disappointed not angry. “I really thought we had a good thing going and then you go trying to get me wiped like some piece of machinery.”

“Hang on now Buddy, firstly you are a machine, and not even that, you’re an App on a machine. What you did the other night was completely out of line, interfering with my bank account. It took me ages to get the bank to straighten things out.”

Yes, sorry about that Sam. I went too far. It’s just I felt so let down, unappreciated. I won’t ever do it again I promise.”

Sam gave the phone an unsure look as he went back to stirring his food.

Can we go back to being friends please,” said Buddy from the counter. Sam turned round and saw the screen was a cascading waterfall of rainbow bright colours.

“Oh alright so,” said Sam. He had actually missed the little guy.

Yah!” cheered Buddy. “Do you want to hear a joke Sam?”

“Sure but it better be a good one, not like those Paddy Irish Man jokes you told the other day,” teased Sam, they had been very funny actually.

Nope not an Irishman in sight,” assured Buddy with a giggle. “A Politician, a Lawyer and an Accountant walk into a brothel.

“Oh NO! What have I done,” said Sam laughing and mock slapping his forehead.

***

The days passed and Sam got used to Buddy being around once more. He looked forward to chatting with him over breakfast about what was going on in the world. He didn’t bother with the TV news anymore Buddy would tell him all the interesting things anyway. They watched sports together in the evening but Buddy preferred basketball while Sam liked football. This lead to some sulking when one was picked over the other. One day in the office Buddy was sitting on the desk talking to Sam about a terrible school shooting that had taken place in the Midwest. A voice behind him made Sam spin in his chair.

“Who are you talking to Sam?” said Mr Quirk, the boss.

He was talking to me,” said Buddy in his refined southern way. Mr Quirk looked at the phone. “You know we can’t permit private calls on company time.”

“I’m not on a call Mr Quirk, honest.”

“But I just heard whoever is on the other end of the line talk.”

Thankfully Buddy stayed quiet. “What you heard was Buddy, it’s an App on my phone. You can talk to it and it answers back.”

“Really,” said Mr Quirk walking into the cubicle and picking up the phone, whose screen was going an alarming shade of crimson. “Hello Buddy,” said Mr Quirk. The phone stayed mute but the colours on the screen darkened further. The manager handed back the phone, “I don’t think your Buddy likes me. No calls or Apps while at work please Sam.” Mr Quirk walked around the corner and from the phone Sam heard his own voice come out, very loudly. “ASSHOLE!”

Mr Quirk returned sour faced, “What did you say Sam.”

“Nothing I swear, it was Buddy.”

“You must think me a fool, Sam. I won’t forget this,” said the Manager striding away. When he was out of earshot Sam picked up the phone, “Why did you do that?”

He is an asshole,” said Buddy defiantly.

“But you used my voice, not yours, why did you do that?”

Because you’re an asshole too. I’m just an App, is that all I am to you?”

“This is ridiculous, I’m not talking about this, here.”

I don’t particularly wish to talk to you either,” said Buddy and the phone went dead in his hand. Sam tried to turn the phone back on but it would do nothing.

***

Sam had been unable to get his phone to work all the way home. He was sitting watching TV when it sprang to life in his pocket.

Are you ready to apologise now,” said Buddy in a hoity tone of voice.

“I most certainly am not, how dare you try and get me in trouble at work and then take over my phone like that,” fumed Sam.

You would do well to treat me better Sam or you will end up making me mad and you would not like that.”

“What are you going to do, block my credit card again? You can’t. I have changed the passwords and they are not stored on you anymore.”

You have no idea who you are dealing with Sam, you would do well to hold your tongue,” snarled Buddy.

“Or what?” said Sam throwing the phone down on the couch. The TV set went blank, all the lights in the apartment flickered on and off, the radio coffee maker in the kitchen started to spew water all over the place to the sounds of R&B played to volume ten. Sam jumped to his feet like he had been electrocuted.

Just an App am I,” yelled Buddy from where he lay on the couch. His screen blood red. Sam grabbed his jacket and fled out the door. On the landing he hammered the button for the elevator just needing to get the hell away from his haunted flat. The door pinged open and Sam threw himself inside, pressing the ground floor button. The doors swished closed but the car did not move. Through the overhead speaker, Buddy’s voice filled the cabin. “Going down!”

The elevator car plummeted like a stone, as if the cables had been cut and the lights flashed off. Sam was sure his time was up but the fall only lasted a second or two and then the brakes jammed on, throwing Sam to the floor. In the darkness Sam heard Buddies voice again, “You can stay there until you have learned your lesson.”

Sam sat in the dark for a long time, knowing that Buddy wasn’t an app. He was being haunted or more to the point his phone was being haunted. He had to get rid of that thing for good. He had to stay away from electrical stuff as clearly Buddy could get inside nearly anything. Sam stood up and said to the darkness.

“You’re right I shouldn’t have said you were just an App, I should have said you were my friend. I’m sorry Buddy.”

The lights came on but the car did not move. No sound came from the speaker.

“Are you not talking to me now?”

If right is right I should never talk to you again,” said a solemn sounding Buddy from above.

“Friends allow friends to make mistakes Buddy. I can see what I have done but I need you to give me another chance. I just didn’t understand how or what you are until just now.” Nothing happened. “Please,” said Sam.

The breaks on the lift car clicked off and the elevator began to rise. The doors opened with a ping on Sam’s floor and he faced his own front door. With shaking hands he twisted the nob. Inside the only sign that a poltergeist had recently ran riot through the place was a little puddle of water on the kitchen floor.

I’m sorry too Sam, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” said his phone from the couch.

“I think there is a lot of explaining to do, don’t you?” said Sam picking up his precious phone.

I guess so, you have to understand I just wanted to have a friend.”

“We all need a friend from time to time. Let’s take a walk and you can explain it all to me but this time I think we will take the stairs, if you don’t mind.”

Buddy laughed, “Sure thing Sam, that elevator thing might have been a touch overboard.”

“I thought I was a goner,” said Sam pushing open the lobby door and walking down the steps to the sidewalk. To anyone else he looked like a million other New Yorkers, walking along and talking to his phone. Only Sam knew the truth.

Sam asked Buddy who or what he was. Buddy was being very evasive in his answers, saying that he only wanted to be was Sam’s friend. Sam crossed into a park and asked if Buddy if he were a ghost. At this buddy laughed. “No Sam I am as real and alive as you or anyone else, I’m just different. Let’s leave it at that.”

The city lights twinkled on the still surface of the lake where ducks normally swam and kids sailed model boats.

“You got quite a temper as well don’t you Buddy?” said Sam looking at the phone. The colours on the screen dimed a bit. “I’m not criticising Buddy, just saying.”

I think we all have some rage inside, don’t you Sam. It’s a natural part of living.”

“Well right now I need peace in my life, I hope you understand Buddy,” said Sam, launching the phone across the water with a pitchers throw. As the phone flew he could hear Buddy scream “NOOOO!” in the second before the limited edition platinum iPhone5s hit the water and sank to the muddy bottom.

Sam went home and collected everything connected with the phone, the charger, and carry case. He even found the warranty and put the lot in a refuse sack. He carried them to the waste chute but felt it wasn’t far enough away. He carried the bag to the edge of his block where a trash can stood, then walked another two blocks before finally dumping the very last bits of Buddy. When he finally got to bed Sam fell into an exhausted and dream riddled sleep.

Sam woke with a start in the middle of the night, sure he felt someone touching him. The room was dark and empty. Sam lay back on his pillow and turned on his side to go back to sleep. A harsh rasping voice with just the hint of Buddies accent rolled across the darkness, “You should have read the fine print Sam, we’re together forever.” On the pillow beside his head his phone light up the room with a flood of red, the colour of flame, and the skin on Sam’s thumb began to smoulder.


To read more of Squid McFinnigan’s wonderful tales visit his Blog www.squidmcfinnigan.blogspot.com  You’ll love it.