Guest author, Greg Rochlin, writes chapter 4 of 'The Fayre,' one of four serials currently running on The Story Mint. If you want to read the rest of this serial so far or any of the current or past serials just click on the link below then go to Serials and enjoy.
"Brian,” Rose said, with a colourless sort
of voice.
“What?” I asked, still attending to the leg
of the stall. I could see Cal chatting to Norman Croft, who was dressed in a
tight-fitting short black jacket and a bowler hat. Marg his wife was wearing a
rather ridiculous frilly bonnet.
“Brian Coleman, your nephew.” I stood up
slowly, the tack-hammer still in my hand, and followed Rose’s hard gaze.
There he was indeed, over the other side of
the Green, in conversation with Vicar Johnson, and looking as casual as you
please. As before, a suede jacket and casual slacks. The same black hair
falling over one eye, the wide face with a boyish fragility. Five years older,
but with the same cockiness, as I could see from fifty yards away.
The image of the ceramic statuette came
before my eyes. An heirloom from my grandfather, and from his grandfather
before him.
He had been twenty-six at the time we
accepted him into our house. He had been a lost soul, needing a steady base for
a while. His mother, Jenny, with whom I am on very good terms, lives in Devon.
Brian had had an unhappy affair with a girl from Hamburg, and had dropped out
of his studies in mediaeval history. We suggested he stay with us for a while,
until he could get it together.
“Well I’m damned,” I said turning to Rose.
“What an absolute nerve, after what he did. And after all we did for him.”
I had tried to get him involved in the
business, and he had quickly become adept at cleaning a carburettor, but had
said after a week it was not for him. He had then surprisingly started spending
most of his time in our local library. It seems it has a collection of
historical books.
Rose had by this time retrieved the box and
was finishing laying out the table.
“Well,” she said without looking up, “are
you going to go and ask him about it.”
The white ceramic statue. A shepherd at the
feet of a shepherdess, with shrubs and flowers.
We had had to take it out of its case, and he would stare at it for an
hour at a time. I think he would have liked to take it to bed with him. So when he shot off to Paris, and it was
missing, it was clear as day he had it. Our statue!
And here he was, in all his brashness,
suddenly standing before me.
“Hello Jack, how are you? Hello Rose.”
The same easy smile. I shook his hand, perfunctorily.
“So when did you get in,” I said shortly.
“Just yesterday. Staying at the Bull and
Bear.”
There was something otherworldly about his
eyes, and a stillness in the air. Suddenly I had a premonition. “Was Brian’s
arrival connected somehow with the white hawk?” I pondered. “Is that ceramic
statuette somehow involved with all that happened this morning?”
Greg Rochlin (AUS) copyright gprochlin
A hint of historical influence; perhaps
something medieval. Here comes a premonition and perhaps a dark secret from the
village's 17th century past. Who knows but Greg has planted the seeds of
something that could be sinister and ghostly. This whole chapter is to do with
setting and getting into the 'meat' of the story. The last paragraph certainly
gives us a clue and leaves the next author the opportunity to lay bare the
bones of the story. Nice work, Greg.
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