My name is Francis Cubric, I'm twenty five years old and I'm a nanny by profession. I became a nanny cause I've always wanted to have kids of my own but don't want to have them without the finances to support them or whilst I'm too young. I don't want to ruin my, and their, lives.
I always start my working day at six thirty, the same time I always do five days a week. I get round to the house for half seven and make sure that Harvey is awake, bathed, fed and clothed. I'm essentially this kids parents wrapped into one package, except I get a pay cheque for being it. Plus, being a guy I guess I only fill one of those gender roles . . .
Today started fairly average. We did the usual 'getting up' routine and then I walked with Harvey to his play group first thing in the morning. We always hold hands because I don't want him to run off or fall and hurt himself - not that I think he would, he's a good kid. It's his parents that I'm thinking of. They hold the stick with the carrot attached. Even so I'm worried that Harvey's emotional developement is being strangled by their absence, a kid needs his parents ya know? I mean, I tried to kick up some dead leaves with him in the park but he was having none of it. What kind of kid does not want to kick up autum leaves?
Sorry, I'll stick to the point. So, yeah - it was chilly and clowded over that morning. I'd wrapped Harvey up in his winter coat, hat and scarf. We walked the mile or so through the park past the duck pond and into town to his play group. Here I usually see him to the gate and let him walk on inside and wait untill I know he's gone in. Gives him his own autonomy, right? Most parents walk their kids in but I'm not his parent, so . . .
But today when I tried to let go of his hand at the gate he wouldn't let go of mine. I decided to go in with him. You know, make sure he was alright. So we walked in together. Past reception cause there was no one at the desk and straight into the main hall.
Right. Well. We enter the room and it's full of parents, right? Or child-minders or play support workers. I dunno. Never been in before. But it's full of kids, maybe about half a douzen, with toys running around all over the place and adults, all of them women, and all of them chatting to each other [it was like "Loose Women"] and I don't know if any of them saw me come in but I noticed them. Or, actually, I noticed "her".
I sort of instantly stopped and, I guess, stared. Slipped into a day dream. She stood out a mile. The most beautiful creature I have ever seen. She looked too young to be a mother, could have been some one who worked there but there was a little girl, I think, trying to hide behind her long, lean legs, dressed in black tights and suggested otherwise. She wore a viberent green skirt with a slight crease and darker green swirls, velvet I think, embroided into the fabric that ended just before the knee. A yellow woolen cardigan that hugged her figure just right. No too tight or baggy. And her hair . . . I'm sorry if I'm wittering. I'm just nervous, okay? So. Her hair . . . long, flame red hair that poured from the top of her head like liquid fire and ran down to the centre of her back. It flicked with grace and ease as she turned her head and I saw her eye's for the first time. She looked like the worlds sexiest traffic light. Do you believe in love at first sight? I think I do. I think right that second I fell in love with her. And her eyes . . .wow. A deep crystal blue, yet warm and welcoming like a lagoon. I could feel myself diving into those eye's. Those eyes looking back at mine. Into mine . . .
Thats when I realised that I had been staring and she was staring back at me. Shock plastered across her dainty, pale face. Her eyes had quickly held me in contempt. I was jolted from my day dream back into reality. Thats when I realised that some thing was very wrong. Every one, every women I should say, had stopped chattering. Not only that but they were all looking at me. Some looked disgusted, some shocked but all of them stared with gawping jaws. Apart from the kids in the back ground there was dead silence.
I was starting to panic. I didn't understand what was happening. Had they caught me looking? Was some thing awful on my face, or behind me? I felt like ice cold water had been thrown over my soul.
Then I felt a twinge in my left hand and my arm tug and I realised, as I looked, that Harvey was still there, only I was holding his hand and I hadn't let go. He was pulling away from me. And it was then, out the corner of my own eye that I saw myself. I realised why they were staring and . . oh God. Well. You know what happened. I have to say it? In my own words? Well . . . I had an erection. A really obvious one. Everyone had seen. I think I went white cause I felt faint and in terror I let go of Harvey's hand. I don't know where he went next cause I felt this tap on my shoulder and it startled me. I almost yelped. But I couldn't, I was stiff as a rod you see - no, my whole body not my - anyway, so I turned my head sharply to the right but I couldn't move my body and there was this old women just stood there beside me. She held a form and a pen in her hand, a register, in retrospect, and asked me, I think if I was Harveys father.
[here the suspect goes silent for half a minute]
In terror I blurtered out: No, he's not mine.
[here the suspect closes his eyes and goes completely silent]
[[END OF TRANSCRIPT]]
Present: Constable Parkins, Detective Kowul, suspect Francis Cubric and his lawyer Martin Hudge
----------------------------------
The national papers ran the headlines: "Parents Playground Erection Horror", "Nurserys Revolving Door One Stop For Paedo's" and "Perverts in Our Pre-Schools".
It wouldn't be so bad but my mum reads the taboids.
Wednesday, 7 December 2011
Wednesday, 10 August 2011
Immortal
Book 1- Milk and Blood.
Prologue:
And though it was raining, and the sky was thick and black with cloud, any man could see her tears ran rivers over her cheeks. The taste of salt on the crease if her lips were bitter-sweet and never ending. It would be nine months before they would smile, with honesty, again. Nine months between sorrow and happiness, and every thing else in between.
Stood on the path, on the edge of the border between the village and the forest, just behind the way-stone on the tip of the Nymph territory. She stared longingly into the twisted wall of imposing and foreboding trees. In the dark they appeared to grow taller. Occasionally, very occasionally, lightning would strike some where far off in the thick blackness of the forest, illuminating it for a moment before fading fast. The temptation to run, run as fast as she could into the night using the brief flashes as torch light, to follow in his heavy foot prints in the mud and find him again - against the obvious dangers, against the thoughts of the end or judgement of her fellow women, it tugged at her heart constantly as if a spiritual chain had been forged between the two of them. Though they had known each other but for one week yet she knew that he made her feel some thing that no one, not even her husband could make her feel or had felt since she was a little girl. She felt alive.
Is this . . . is this what love feels like?
She grabbed at her garments over her chest, over her heart, and clenched her delicate hand into a tight fist. If she could, she would tear it out of her, tear out the pain and smash it on the stone. But that would be to deny her the longing, desire and absolute joy that she felt when he was with her, holding her . . .
The path that led up into the way-stone, a large and oddly shaped stone sculpture, that as far as she was told had marked the edge of Human to Nymph territory for well a hundred years, and beyond onto the forest was little more then a mud slide marked by stone slabs along the sides. Her long, once new dress was now covered in filth and soaked in rain water.
What harm more could be done, she thought with blind ambition, to further ruin this dress of mine then stain it with the memories of heart-ache?
She knew the tales and she knew the rules of crossing the boundary without a man to protect her. The stories of young naive women or little girls, pure and innocent, whom ventured into the woodland alone come summer or winter, night or day . . . she knew their fate. Of little resemblance remained when the corpse was found upon the way-stone some days later, spare the white rings around the left wrist where a blue ribbon had once been. The blue ribbon is a symbol of joining between two ways of life, like two streams joining to become a river- the ribbon representing the flow and waving nature of life, blue of pure water, tied to the left wrist of the women and right of the man formed the bonds of their life together. The Nymph are jealous of the human women's right to a man and territorial creatures to boot. No women came back alive from the forest, and men didn't come back at all.
[13th August 2011]
Knowing all this, she knew what she had to do.
"Aszrael!"She cried into the growing storm. She grasped at the ribbon on her left wrist and pulled on it. She cried out the name of the man whom had just charged head long into the abyss of the wood.
A flash of light gave her away. Finally she saw her from the bottom of the slope and cried out to the others that followed. Realising the danger of the situation, a man stepped forward from a quickly gathering crowd of currently five people, three women and two men, saw for himself that there was indeed a figure stood on the borders edge. His eye's widened with fear. Crying out her name, though she could not hear it he made to run towards her.
Some one went to fetch the priest.
"Come back! Come back to me!" She tugged at the ribbon but it would not budge. Growing in frustration that she could not shake her bond, she raised her wrist to her moth and began to chew the fabric.
The path was little more then a mud slide, and every step he took was met with increasing resistance against his boots as his feet sank deeper into the earth. He pressed on regardless, without hesitation or thought other then reaching her. He cried out her name as he closed in but it was snatched from her ears in the growing wind.
A tug and the fabric finally tore half way along the seam. She gave one final, mighty yank and it finally snapped. The ribbon flew from her wrist into the night and, at last, she was free to cross the line.
"Aszrael!" One final cry and she hitched up her dress into a bundle to carry and began to run, fixated, beyond the way-stone and towards the trees.
The ribbon flew past his face. He tried to catch it but it slid between his fingers, but he could see her now. When he saw her hitch up her dress his heart ran cold. He didn't even feel the mud now though he was ankle deep, he was almost to her. He charged on, one hand reaching out with a little blue ribbon tied at the wrist. Both of them racing against each other. He passed the way-stone.
Eyes fixed on the matted mess of branches that formed a arch over the forest entrance she cried out his name with a deep and resounding desperation.
He was almost upon her. He could almost touch her . . .
She was grabbed by the elbow, she screamed and jerked her arm away from him as she turned to face him. His footing slipped from under him and he went down. She saw him fall and land face down into the ground. For a moment she hesitated in surprise, then saw the ribbon. A memory struck her for a half-second, one that made her forget where she was and why she was running and whom after. A memory of happiness. He raised his head and caught her eye's. A great warmth washed over and through her as a wave . . . but it was a fleeting emotion that departed almost instantly. She came back to her senses and whatever had just infused her being with this warmth was gone and forgotten. Her body turned and went to run, but all she could do was fall. Her pursuer had grabbed her by the ankle.
"I've got you, Marie."
[18th Aug. 2001]
She sank her fingers into the ground and gripped with all her might.
"No! I want to go to him! I WANT this!" She thrashed at him with both her legs but he covered his face with his free arm and grabbed her by the other ankle. He quickly got up to one knee and pulled her towards him. Mud slid between her fingers, she put up a better resistance then he imagined for a women her size.
"No you don't. You don't know what your saying, Marie." He grabbed hold of her dress now she was closer and clenched his grip into a tight fist and stood up to full height.
"I do!"
"No. You. DONT!" He pulled her, sternly, through the dirt to between his legs. She cried in protest. He reached down and grabbed her under the arms and pulled her to her feet. She dragged her feet and let herself become dead weight in stubborn resistance.
"Daniel." Her voice became almost calm and rational sounding, yet with a light whimper of pleading. As if she was trying to convince him, not herself, Daniel thought later, that he should let her go because it was right! "Daniel, please. Don't do this to me."
He pulled her closer to him and wrapped his arms firmly around her waist. There was no way she could escape his clutches now.
"Daniel. Please. This isn't right! This is not -" But suddenly she broke off as he lifted her up, turned her and slung her over his shoulder. She kicked and thrashed and screamed so loud that even though it was pouring down with heavy rain, it was dark in the midnight hour and he knew that this is what was best, he felt embarrassed. She was showing him up in front of the growing crowd of spectators. He could feel their judgemental eyes upon him. His male pride had taken a very stern blow this day and though he tried to reserve a compassionate and gentle position, the love he felt for this women was causing his heart to slowly break apart. He knew he should feel pity for her. She had obviously lost her mind, there was no two ways about it. And yet . . .
He took a long, hard look into the dark woods for ten to twenty seconds. He was searching for any sign of movement. For him. It. Finally he turned and began the walk of shame back down the hill towards the village and the voyeurs gathered to watch his pain. The crowd had grown significantly since he left the small search party and he was thankful that he could not see the faces of those before him, yet he could feel the piercing eyes of something inhuman upon him from behind. She continued to struggle, plead, bargain, swear like a wild-folk. The walk was long and agonising on his soul. Mud on his face masking his disgrace. He carried the love of his life through the sea of faces without focusing on any of them and towards the centre of their village and onwards towards the windmill near the farm land on the opposite side of hamlet near the farm land.
Her cries could be heard through out the night.
Inside the windmill there was enough room for a single bed pile, tucked up against the far wall, furthest away from the door. In the middle of the room the mighty mechanism for grinding cereals slowly turned anti-clockwise, creaking as it turned. White powder sat in the large wooden basin and occasionally scattered onto the floor around the base. A small wooden table and a single chair sat along the walls rim. Upon the table was a candle with a flickering flame from the draft gave an eire ambience to usually lifeless room casting distorted shadows that juddered up the rough, curved wall. A second candle was being held by a young girl whom was kneeling over the bed, which was occupied by a now calmer yet tearful Marie. An elderly women, in her late thirties, was inspecting her thoroughly.
[Mon 26th Sep, 2011 02:05]
Time dragged its heels when under duress.
Daniel stared into space between everyplace and nowhere. The grinding stone turned, turning corn to dust. He was numb with cold and worry. His poor beloved was terribly sick . . .
After some time, how ever long Daniel could not tell. the elder women rose and motioned towards a small pouch that had been laid by the young girls knee. The elder women instructed the girl to do some thing. The girl acknowledged with a honouring nod, reached over to the pouch and began to produce tiny glass vials, one by one, and stand them upon the table. Each was labelled with a tag which was tied with a piece of string around the bottle neck and scribed in black ink. Daniel's mind snapped back to the light "clink" sound of glass on glass. He blinked, slightly frowning his brow, confused as to where he had been and where he was now.
"Breathe, Daniel" The elder women told him firmly yet comfortingly and he instinctively did as he was told "Almost lost you once to that bad habit of yours."
Almost instantly his vision and sense of self came back into focus.
"Yes. Father told me that story before . . . "
The women gripped his shoulder lightly then patted the same spot.
"There is no mistake. She has the taint."
Prologue:
And though it was raining, and the sky was thick and black with cloud, any man could see her tears ran rivers over her cheeks. The taste of salt on the crease if her lips were bitter-sweet and never ending. It would be nine months before they would smile, with honesty, again. Nine months between sorrow and happiness, and every thing else in between.
Stood on the path, on the edge of the border between the village and the forest, just behind the way-stone on the tip of the Nymph territory. She stared longingly into the twisted wall of imposing and foreboding trees. In the dark they appeared to grow taller. Occasionally, very occasionally, lightning would strike some where far off in the thick blackness of the forest, illuminating it for a moment before fading fast. The temptation to run, run as fast as she could into the night using the brief flashes as torch light, to follow in his heavy foot prints in the mud and find him again - against the obvious dangers, against the thoughts of the end or judgement of her fellow women, it tugged at her heart constantly as if a spiritual chain had been forged between the two of them. Though they had known each other but for one week yet she knew that he made her feel some thing that no one, not even her husband could make her feel or had felt since she was a little girl. She felt alive.
Is this . . . is this what love feels like?
She grabbed at her garments over her chest, over her heart, and clenched her delicate hand into a tight fist. If she could, she would tear it out of her, tear out the pain and smash it on the stone. But that would be to deny her the longing, desire and absolute joy that she felt when he was with her, holding her . . .
The path that led up into the way-stone, a large and oddly shaped stone sculpture, that as far as she was told had marked the edge of Human to Nymph territory for well a hundred years, and beyond onto the forest was little more then a mud slide marked by stone slabs along the sides. Her long, once new dress was now covered in filth and soaked in rain water.
What harm more could be done, she thought with blind ambition, to further ruin this dress of mine then stain it with the memories of heart-ache?
She knew the tales and she knew the rules of crossing the boundary without a man to protect her. The stories of young naive women or little girls, pure and innocent, whom ventured into the woodland alone come summer or winter, night or day . . . she knew their fate. Of little resemblance remained when the corpse was found upon the way-stone some days later, spare the white rings around the left wrist where a blue ribbon had once been. The blue ribbon is a symbol of joining between two ways of life, like two streams joining to become a river- the ribbon representing the flow and waving nature of life, blue of pure water, tied to the left wrist of the women and right of the man formed the bonds of their life together. The Nymph are jealous of the human women's right to a man and territorial creatures to boot. No women came back alive from the forest, and men didn't come back at all.
[13th August 2011]
Knowing all this, she knew what she had to do.
"Aszrael!"She cried into the growing storm. She grasped at the ribbon on her left wrist and pulled on it. She cried out the name of the man whom had just charged head long into the abyss of the wood.
A flash of light gave her away. Finally she saw her from the bottom of the slope and cried out to the others that followed. Realising the danger of the situation, a man stepped forward from a quickly gathering crowd of currently five people, three women and two men, saw for himself that there was indeed a figure stood on the borders edge. His eye's widened with fear. Crying out her name, though she could not hear it he made to run towards her.
Some one went to fetch the priest.
"Come back! Come back to me!" She tugged at the ribbon but it would not budge. Growing in frustration that she could not shake her bond, she raised her wrist to her moth and began to chew the fabric.
The path was little more then a mud slide, and every step he took was met with increasing resistance against his boots as his feet sank deeper into the earth. He pressed on regardless, without hesitation or thought other then reaching her. He cried out her name as he closed in but it was snatched from her ears in the growing wind.
A tug and the fabric finally tore half way along the seam. She gave one final, mighty yank and it finally snapped. The ribbon flew from her wrist into the night and, at last, she was free to cross the line.
"Aszrael!" One final cry and she hitched up her dress into a bundle to carry and began to run, fixated, beyond the way-stone and towards the trees.
The ribbon flew past his face. He tried to catch it but it slid between his fingers, but he could see her now. When he saw her hitch up her dress his heart ran cold. He didn't even feel the mud now though he was ankle deep, he was almost to her. He charged on, one hand reaching out with a little blue ribbon tied at the wrist. Both of them racing against each other. He passed the way-stone.
Eyes fixed on the matted mess of branches that formed a arch over the forest entrance she cried out his name with a deep and resounding desperation.
He was almost upon her. He could almost touch her . . .
She was grabbed by the elbow, she screamed and jerked her arm away from him as she turned to face him. His footing slipped from under him and he went down. She saw him fall and land face down into the ground. For a moment she hesitated in surprise, then saw the ribbon. A memory struck her for a half-second, one that made her forget where she was and why she was running and whom after. A memory of happiness. He raised his head and caught her eye's. A great warmth washed over and through her as a wave . . . but it was a fleeting emotion that departed almost instantly. She came back to her senses and whatever had just infused her being with this warmth was gone and forgotten. Her body turned and went to run, but all she could do was fall. Her pursuer had grabbed her by the ankle.
"I've got you, Marie."
[18th Aug. 2001]
She sank her fingers into the ground and gripped with all her might.
"No! I want to go to him! I WANT this!" She thrashed at him with both her legs but he covered his face with his free arm and grabbed her by the other ankle. He quickly got up to one knee and pulled her towards him. Mud slid between her fingers, she put up a better resistance then he imagined for a women her size.
"No you don't. You don't know what your saying, Marie." He grabbed hold of her dress now she was closer and clenched his grip into a tight fist and stood up to full height.
"I do!"
"No. You. DONT!" He pulled her, sternly, through the dirt to between his legs. She cried in protest. He reached down and grabbed her under the arms and pulled her to her feet. She dragged her feet and let herself become dead weight in stubborn resistance.
"Daniel." Her voice became almost calm and rational sounding, yet with a light whimper of pleading. As if she was trying to convince him, not herself, Daniel thought later, that he should let her go because it was right! "Daniel, please. Don't do this to me."
He pulled her closer to him and wrapped his arms firmly around her waist. There was no way she could escape his clutches now.
"Daniel. Please. This isn't right! This is not -" But suddenly she broke off as he lifted her up, turned her and slung her over his shoulder. She kicked and thrashed and screamed so loud that even though it was pouring down with heavy rain, it was dark in the midnight hour and he knew that this is what was best, he felt embarrassed. She was showing him up in front of the growing crowd of spectators. He could feel their judgemental eyes upon him. His male pride had taken a very stern blow this day and though he tried to reserve a compassionate and gentle position, the love he felt for this women was causing his heart to slowly break apart. He knew he should feel pity for her. She had obviously lost her mind, there was no two ways about it. And yet . . .
He took a long, hard look into the dark woods for ten to twenty seconds. He was searching for any sign of movement. For him. It. Finally he turned and began the walk of shame back down the hill towards the village and the voyeurs gathered to watch his pain. The crowd had grown significantly since he left the small search party and he was thankful that he could not see the faces of those before him, yet he could feel the piercing eyes of something inhuman upon him from behind. She continued to struggle, plead, bargain, swear like a wild-folk. The walk was long and agonising on his soul. Mud on his face masking his disgrace. He carried the love of his life through the sea of faces without focusing on any of them and towards the centre of their village and onwards towards the windmill near the farm land on the opposite side of hamlet near the farm land.
Her cries could be heard through out the night.
Inside the windmill there was enough room for a single bed pile, tucked up against the far wall, furthest away from the door. In the middle of the room the mighty mechanism for grinding cereals slowly turned anti-clockwise, creaking as it turned. White powder sat in the large wooden basin and occasionally scattered onto the floor around the base. A small wooden table and a single chair sat along the walls rim. Upon the table was a candle with a flickering flame from the draft gave an eire ambience to usually lifeless room casting distorted shadows that juddered up the rough, curved wall. A second candle was being held by a young girl whom was kneeling over the bed, which was occupied by a now calmer yet tearful Marie. An elderly women, in her late thirties, was inspecting her thoroughly.
[Mon 26th Sep, 2011 02:05]
Time dragged its heels when under duress.
Daniel stared into space between everyplace and nowhere. The grinding stone turned, turning corn to dust. He was numb with cold and worry. His poor beloved was terribly sick . . .
After some time, how ever long Daniel could not tell. the elder women rose and motioned towards a small pouch that had been laid by the young girls knee. The elder women instructed the girl to do some thing. The girl acknowledged with a honouring nod, reached over to the pouch and began to produce tiny glass vials, one by one, and stand them upon the table. Each was labelled with a tag which was tied with a piece of string around the bottle neck and scribed in black ink. Daniel's mind snapped back to the light "clink" sound of glass on glass. He blinked, slightly frowning his brow, confused as to where he had been and where he was now.
"Breathe, Daniel" The elder women told him firmly yet comfortingly and he instinctively did as he was told "Almost lost you once to that bad habit of yours."
Almost instantly his vision and sense of self came back into focus.
"Yes. Father told me that story before . . . "
The women gripped his shoulder lightly then patted the same spot.
"There is no mistake. She has the taint."
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