blog battle
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Mess, money and corruption
Mess
Walking into the house, the smell hit her, Rachel wondered what had happened here. Dirty dishes piled on the table; clothes thrown on the floor and Milk left out of the fridge. Walking into his office she was confronted by a sea of paper. She could no longer see the pattern on the carpet. This was not like Mike, he was a man who took pride in his appearance and was highly organised. How could his house be in such a mess?
She had last visited months ago. She had sat in his office drinking tea and had admired the colours and swirls in the carpet. Everything had been tidy then, certainly not the mess it was now.
Having been contacted by his neighbour as concerned, Rachel was not sure what to think. Reggie had not seen him for over a week and having let himself into the house had been taken aback by the state of the place. The only number he had was Rachel’s. Phoning the police had seemed extreme.
Now stood here, Rachel did just that. This was not like her brother, where was he?
Police
As Detective George Smith read through the scattered paperwork, photos were taken of the state of the house. It appeared that Mike was involved in finance and large sums of it. Trying to work out what had happened here. Judging by the mess it was obvious that there had been a disturbance and Mike had possibly been taken. Running client names through the police database they were drawing a blank.
His work appeared legitimate, what were they missing? Or had the perpetrator found what he wanted, taking all evidence. He thought about Densmead Finance, he wondered if the answer might lie with his employees.
Densmead Finance
George noted how nervous the receptionist appeared. He introduced himself not wanting to intimidate her.
“Is this about Mike? He’s been missing days.”
“Lizzie, can you go and check on Beth?”
He noted the large man walking towards him and was immediately suspicious.
Reggie
Sat in Reggie’s garden, she could see the police at work in Mike’s house. She had not been allowed to stay but had been advised that they might need her and Reggie for questioning later. Listening to his chatter she had dismissed it as just chatter, nothing important. Until she realised that his observations could be crucial to this case. However, she then wondered what this meant for her brother.
Over the last few months, he had often had visitors and had rarely left his house. He had always remained friendly with Reggie on the odd occasions when he had seen him. Apologising for the noise and then complaining about lack of sleep. So, what did this mean? Who were the visitors? What mess had her brother got himself into?
Densmead Finance
“Has that pesky Policeman gone Bill?”
“Yes, he’s gone. We need to get this cleaned up before they work us out. There’s to much at stake to lose out now”.
“And Lizzie, how did she fair?”
“Ted, that woman is a liability and needs to go, Mike should’ve never hired her”
“We needed a front, we needed a receptionist”.
Lizzie
She had watched the Detective leave. Knowing that something was not right she decided to approach Bill Page, one of the managers. Hesitating at his door she heard her name mentioned.
“There’s not much going on between Lizzie’s ears. She would’ve dropped us all in it if I hadn’t stopped her. She needs to go!”
The tone on his voice was not friendly. She was not as stupid as Bill might think. Walking quickly back to her desk she grabbed her bag and coat and walked out. She didn’t need this job, certainly not one where the boss vanishes and then the staff seem to be in on something. The companies business was finance, she could only imagine that large sums of money were involved.
Heading for the police station she would find the detective again and then possibly take herself on a long holiday. She was not staying around to find out what, she needs to go, actually meant.
Mike Densmead
Sitting in his hotel room, he had fooled the police and his sister. The old guy next door didn’t know anything, and his offices and staff gave the perfect front. Shifting large sums of cash all day had made him a very wealthy man and now he was sat on the heist of the century. Soon they would find his car, burnt out with a body inside and they would assume that he had a nasty accident. The house had been left in a state to give the impression that he was in danger and all-important incriminating paperwork was with him. Not on any hard drive for the police to find.
He smiled as he thought of the office, of the staff who had trusted him, he now didn’t care. He had a new life, and they would all soon not be his concern, he lived by the motto to trust no one.
Densmead Finance
As Bill pushed the button on the photocopier, he heard the familiar whirr and then ticking started. Unsure what was happening he shouted, but it was too late. Set on a timer for this day there was a loud bang as it caught fire along with everything in its wake. Bill was thrown back violently, and the alarms started to sound.
A month later
Not many had survived the Densmead Finance fire. Lizzie had shared what she knew, before leaving to spend time with friends in Edinburgh. Police had found Mike’s car but had not been convinced that it was him inside. Going round in merry circles for a perpetrator they had finally found Mike alive in Spain, he was found on cameras at the airport and then the police had liaised with the local authorities.
Mike had now swapped comfortable living for a police cell. With murder charges, theft and money laundering he would be inside for many years. His smug happiness had not lasted long and now he wanted to be back in his small house with his annoying nosey elderly neighbour and infrequent visits from his sister.
How things change. Looking at the four walls of his cell, he reflected on his life. What a mess he had made of it. Things couldn’t get any worse, or could they? What could be worse than this?
Written for Blog battle -Messy
For more see A perfect ending to a painful day – Blog Battle- Perfect
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A perfect ending to a painful day
A perfect disaster
What had he just said? Julie stood shaking, why was she not good enough? Why was she never good enough? Julie had aspired for more, but she had ended up in a back street restaurant waiting dirty tables. As Richard’s words filled her head, the tears started. Why was she upset? She hated this job, Maybe the whining customer had done her a favour. Not good enough to wait his table, Julie threw her apron down and walked out.
As she reached the high street with its fancy shops, she told herself to pull herself together. She couldn’t pay this months rent but she no longer had to worry about ‘Richards grill bar’. What now? Job centre tomorrow? Internet search tonight? What did she really want to do with her life?
At twelve she had wanted to work with dogs, at fourteen with children, then at fifteen she thought about teaching. After failing Maths GCSE she considered that maybe teaching was not her vocation. At seventeen she considered working in a shop, then at nineteen she thought about A levels and University. This had led her down a rabbit hole of studying the wrong course and graduating with a history degree. Julie had thought about becoming an Historian, but was not sure if this was the perfect career for her.
Job search
Not knowing what she wanted to do with her life had meant she had gone from dead end job to dead end job and lived in a grotty one bed bedsit. Life was far from perfect. She was also single, twenty-five and now living the life of a jobless single girl, maybe soon to be homeless.
Telling herself not to think like that she kept walking, Bright lights and happy voices surrounded her. The posh restaurants with their expensive menus, no point in going there for work, wouldn’t be long before she would tip gravy down a wealthy man’s business suit. Though, she thought, that could lead to something more, get herself noticed by a wealthy man, maybe not a bad career decision. She smiled to herself and kept walking. Through the laughing people she went, wishing she was already home.
As her pocket vibrated, she knew who it was, glancing at the screen she hit the end button. She was not in the mood for a long conversation with Rachel. Rachel with her perfect life, perfect boyfriend, perfect job. Julie knew she needed to do something about her situation but didn’t know where to start.
The homeless man
Seeing the man sat in his usual place by the subway she wondered what his story was. Sitting alone on a cold night wrapped in his sleeping bag, she asked herself if he had once had a grotty bed sit. What had put him here? Homeless and now sat in front of her on the pavement, she reached into her pocket for some change. Finding just a £5 note she thought for a fleeting moment of taking change from his tray, no she wouldn’t do that. Placing the money down in front of him she asked if she could sit down. The man nodded, maybe grateful for the company.
Smelling the man next to her, she realised that he hadn’t bathed in days, she thought of the homeless shelter and again wondered what happened that had brought him here. Trying to start a conversation she told him how she had been fired tonight. How her life was far from perfect. The homeless man looked at her and nodded and said,
“Perfection is what you believe it to be. I’m perfect sat here. No bills, no stress, people bring me food or put money in my bowl, I’m doing alright.” He smiled at her with a handsome grin on his young grimy face.
Julie was surprised, how could he be alright?
“Aren’t you cold and lonely? What brought you here?”
No family
“I have no family and after I lost my job my wife threw me out the house. She kept all the money and my car, I was a terrible to live with and she said that I made her miserable. I’ve been sat here six months now. Very few people make the time to talk with me, but you have,”
“What was your job?”
“I worked at the University, I was a support worker and I loved it. I helped out in the history department, but due to cutbacks they are no longer teaching history degrees anymore. Hence, I am now out of work and now I’m on the street, it’s impossible to get a job.”
“My degree is history but somehow tonight I was sacked from ‘Richards Grill’.”
“The dirty restaurant down the Sea Road?”.
“Yes, that’s it.”
“Well, I can see you are worth more than that. Do you know what some of our students ended up doing with a history degree?”
“Historian, but I’ve always fancied working with kids. Can’t be a teacher though as I failed maths?”
A career idea
“Some of our students went on to be tour guides at the museum, you could be perfect for it, Young, attractive and educated, worth a try.”
Julie hadn’t thought of the museum, she looked at her new friend.
“What is your name? I’m Julie.”
“I’m Peter.”
“Peter, have you considered working at the museum too? I’m sure you have learnt a lot from the university”.
“I’m homeless, I’m stuck here.”
“I have an idea, I don’t know you, but I could give you some clothes. How about I meet you at the homeless shelter tomorrow at 11.00 am, you get a shower, wash your hair, I will bring you clothes, shampoo and shower gel. Then we will go to the museum together, maybe they will be sympathetic to your situation. Would give you something to motivate you and hopefully get you off the street”.
“Okay, it’s a deal, I will meet you, its worth a try”.
The museum
The next day after showering and smelling now of fresh flowers and dressed in a smart grey suit, Julie and Peter arrived at the museum. Asking to speak with the Curator they then explained their situations. Listening to Julie he could see she would be a perfect tour guide, perfect for the school visitors. With Peter he was more hesitant, no fixed address but full of relevant experience. He sat for a while and realised that at any time any of us could end up like Peter. He didn’t always get on with his wife, but hoped she would be empathetic if he was made redundant, not put him on the street.
“I’m going to help you both. Julie you can start tomorrow. Peter I’m trusting that you still have a bank account, so we can pay you. I’m going to talk to a mate of mine who rents out properties, I know he has a one bed flat near here, so he can give you somewhere to live and get you off the street.”
Peter looked at him, this was incredible. He had only just met the museum curator and he had offered him a job and sorted him somewhere to live. He looked at Julie smiling back at him, a perfect day, a perfect woman and hopefully a supportive boss.
Six months later
As Peter stood organising the leaflets, he could hear Julie. He knew he had to somehow make her his. Newly divorced it was time to move on. They had been out together a few times now as friends, but he knew that he wanted more. She was perfect and all he could think about. Tonight, he was going to tell her.
The sea front
Sat by the sea, Julie looked at the man next to her. She saw his handsome smile and knew that he was someone special. They had discussed many subjects and walked many hours together, but tonight as she stared at him, she realised he was going to kiss her. As he put his hand on hers and then lent in, she moved towards him too to reciprocate.
Finding this man on the street had changed her life. Usually, she would have just walked on past, but that night something had made her stop. Meeting him must have been destiny and now she had the perfect job and possibly perfect boyfriend, and she was happy.
Written for Blog Battle – word prompt – Perfect
for more see – Snow, Cold and the Old Farmhouse – written for Blog Battle – Axiomatic
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Snow, Cold and the Old Farmhouse
A snow day
Lying in bed, I can hear the wind howling outside. Thinking through what I need to do today I pull the covers up and shut my eyes, attempting to ignore the day, and shut the world out. Hearing a happy scream, I realise that sleep is not going to happen as my daughter Betsy comes flying into the room and jumps on my bed. Pretending to not hear, she starts screaming louder.
“Snow, snow, it’s snowing, Mummy it’s snowing.”
Rolling over, I groan, I hate snow. It’s cold and wet and my car can’t hold traction to the road in it. Forcing myself to sit up, I know I can’t put the day off any longer. Glancing at the window, the garden is white, and the trees are swaying. Snow is always exciting for a child, but they don’t have to worry about getting about in it. For a child it often means, school is closed so out with the sleigh. As my table starts vibrating and my phone does a dance, my day has well and truly started.
Work crisis
As the doctor in a small rural community, it is always me that gets the call when someone is hurt. Battling through the snow I’ve known for months that I need to replace my car. I need a four-wheel drive for the country roads and today I need snow tyres. Slipping and sliding around the country lanes in my old Ford I pray that I get to my patients safely.
Reaching the derelict farm, I see the police, and an ambulance. Pulling on my wellies, I started walking towards the commotion. Greeted by the paramedic, he wished me luck, I wondered why. Walking in, old Mrs Masters pulled my arm. Tears were pouring down her face, I knew that she had not told me everything when she had called me out. “Doctor, please come”, did not cover Mr Masters lying on the living room floor dead and their son sat nursing a bleeding wound.
Looking up at the police man, I enquired what had happened. He informed me that during the night an intruder had entered the farmhouse. Mr Masters had threatened them with his shot gun, but the stranger had disarmed him and then turned the gun on him. He was long gone into the snow, leaving devastation behind him. Asking what he had wanted, Mrs Masters now through tears asked me to sit down. As the doctor I have known this family many years and did not expect to hear this story.
Snow and the farm
When the snow comes to the farm and the wind blows a cold chill, something in the house is wakened. Years ago, Mr Masters had been in the basement when he found an old box. Left by previous owners who were rumoured to have fled the house one night and never returned. Inside the box was paperwork and photographs detailing how dangerous the farmhouse is when the weather turns cold and it snows. The ice formed creates dangerous patterns on the windows and tells tales of what has happened before.
Tonight, the intruder had stolen the box. Mrs Masters had lost her husband to a box that told secrets about their home. Why would a stranger want the box? What business is this to anyone, other than the Masters family?
As Geoff, the policeman sat down next to me, I knew I was about to find out. Two months ago, a stranger had appeared in town. We get many tourists, but this one had made himself known by asking questions that had raised suspicions. I’d shrugged him off as just friendly but now I remember him asking about the Masters farmhouse. Geoff then advised that the stranger was possibly Bill Arnold, the son of the previous owners who had fled.
This needed investigating further, we needed to find him. What is in the box that can help Bill? What are we missing here? How dangerous is the Farmhouse?
The Arnold family
“Geoff, we need to find the Arnold Family, we need to know why they fled? What the real reason was. We then might know why he took that box tonight and why it was so important that he killed Mr Masters for it.”
“Truth is Doc, the Arnold family didn’t go too far away. From what I’ve been told they are about thirty miles away in Peace River.”
Thirty miles, in this weather. “Do you have four-wheel drive and snow tyres?”
“Yes, why what are you suggesting?”
“We need to talk with the Arnolds and possibly find the box. Ted Masters died for a reason, and the Arnolds fled for a reason. The story of this house in the snow, sure sounds creepy, especially when pictures are formed in the ice on the windows.”
Peace River
On reaching the town, everything was silent, where was everyone? Passing the pub, we could see the door open, so stopped the car and parked. Walking into the bar, this place was quiet but not empty. Seeing a familiar face I hoped we might find the people we were looking for.
“Hey Doc, what brings you to Peace River?”
“A mysterious house and a family who ran.”
“How do you mean.”
“Ed, do you happen to know someone with the name Arnold?”
As the pub went quiet, I knew I had been heard. As a little lady appeared and grabbed my arm,
“Not here, come with me.” Nodding at Geoff I motioned for him to follow. Walking into the pub kitchen I could see more blood. Why all the blood?
“I know why you have come. The Masters Farmhouse is dangerous, and they need to get out.”
“You know Mr Masters is dead don’t you.”
“What did the disease get him too.”
“Disease, no, he was shot, shot for a box full of paperwork and secrets.”
Disease
This was becoming quite a day. I could now see two people lying on beds in a little room off the kitchen. A young man, Brian, was tending to them and reading, The box was not just any box, and the farmhouse was not just a farmhouse. As the little lady started to talk, I learnt that the Arnolds had fled the farmhouse after learning about an incurable illness, caused by the house. In their panic they had left the box behind.
As the years had past, they had gone from fit and well to bedbound to now coughing up blood. Their son had broken in for the box in the hope for an answer to cure his parents. Brian had tried to explain about the curse, but Mr Masters had refused to listen and just aimed his gun. On disarming him he had accidentally shot him and then his son, he then ran.
Phoning Mrs Masters I advised her to leave the Farmhouse immediately and stay with family, it wasn’t safe. Looking at the paperwork in the box I could now see formulas. This was quite ingenious, the box contents told of a curse on the house and the illness borne upon its inhabitants. It also told that the curse is alive when it is snowing and the stories of past pain will be displayed on the windows. The formulas were a guide to the cure. Pulling out my phone again I photographed the formulas. Emailing them to a scientist I know I asked if she could help.
A cure
Months later, the university created a vaccine and a medicine to help anyone affected by Curse-a-poxy. Unfortunately, it was too slow to save the Arnolds, but Mrs Masters and her son were grateful for the vaccine. The Farmhouse is now empty and boarded up. Too many stories and no one wanted to live with the curse. The Farmhouse is now being researched by the university with many questions needing answers, like who invented the curse and why? A sad story made worse by the cold and snow. When it snows it is always cold, The two are an axiom, they don’t need to be proven it is a fact. My daughter loves the snow, for the Masters and the Arnolds it certainly did not bring happiness, just fear and sadness.
Driving home in my old Ford, I know that I need to be grateful for what I’ve got. Maybe if the snow stays, I should get out the sleigh and try and enjoy it with my daughter. As my mobile rings I know duty is calling and a snow day will just have to wait.
Written for Blog Battle Axiomatic
For more see – Blog Battle Creep
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