Short Stories to Entertain

Archibald Delaney was always a very snappily dressed person. Today he is wearing an expensive grey suit, white shirt and blue tie with one white diagonal stripe. Highly polished black Church’s shoes with heels clicking on the slabs as he manoeuvres his way along the congested pavement. An upright six foot two and a commanding figure. In his early forties but his face showed no signs of wear. A good-looking confident man . He spoke with a smile in a very appealing way. The smile extending to his dar k eyes added to an overall impression of trust and dependability that people immediately felt when meeting Archibald Delaney for the first time.  

The blue car screeched around the bend, flew past the cyclist and disappeared up the road at more than enough speed. Dust kicked up off the country road. Dried mud from all those tractors. It pooled in the air in a long stream and followed in a trail blanketing the distance in a kind of haze. The road was narrow. The car passing close made the cyclist wobble, stop , and get off his bike. He looked along the road following the passage of the car until i t disappeared over a slight rise in the long straight section j ust before the sharp bend that was out of sight, but he knew was there. He heard a loud screeching of brakes, a rolling bashing noise ending in a very loud crash. Silence except for a stuttering half-hearted horn that struggled t o continuously sound.  

The aluminium ladder banged against the wall with a rattling crash resting just below the large first floor window. The window to the main bedroom at the back of the house. Diamond pattern leaded lights fixed into old Crittall metal frames mounted in dark oak frames. The glass shapes distorted, slightly buckled where hot summer sun expands the tightly fixed panels. The fanlight was open. The curtains were closed. The sound of running water and sploshing. A bucket was being filled from the outside tap. The changing pitch indicated that it was nearing capacity . A whistling as the man picked up the bucket and started to climb the ladder. The curtains were open. The fanlight shut. He reached window height standing near the top rung and proceeded to clean the window. Inside there was movement as the husband and wife, both up and dressed, were going out the door and down the stairs.  

The time was exactly four in the afternoon and the front doorbell rang four times. That was all, not because the ringer only rang four times, but because the bell ran out of energy. It was clockwork. The contraption secured to the front door just above the lock and consisted of a bell about four inches across fixed to a winder on a metal plate that was screwed to the woodwork. To encourage the bell to work it was simply turned clockwise several times compressing the spring. Winding it up. The activating but ton on the outside was attached to the mechanism via a push rod. When pushed the spring was released and the bell revolved at pace causing ringing. When released the bell stopped. In this instance the ringer had pressed the button five times. 

He was sick to death of all the quips. All the snotty nosed little kids rushing up, poking, taunting and generally being obnoxious. And boy could they be obnoxious. Without much effort. Not needing too much encouragement. The six- to ten-year-olds were the worst. Running after him shouting “Long Leg Lenny, Long Leg Lenny don’t trip over Long Leg Lenny it’s a long way down.” Things like that.  And worse. Such language for an eight-year-old . Young Bobby Stumpings needed an extended appointment with a bar of soap.

  He was on top of the world. Felt he was flying. The air whistled through his hair. Swept out behind him. Long brown and slightly wavy. Black leather jacket flapping, slapping against his chest the zip partially undone. Blue tinted goggles prevented his eyes from watering. The girl behind clinging, tight arms around his waist. Her blonde hair skipped around partially protected. Her head turned to one side, the left side, and moulded into his back. He was exhilarated. She was petrified. The second hand 1968 N orton Commando 750cc sped along the dual carriageway close to its top speed of around 110mph. Anyway going at least a ton. The road was quiet but there were cars that needed avoiding. A bit of weaving here and there. No crash helmets. Not illegal in those days. The deep throaty roar of the twin four stroke added to the sheer excitement he felt. 

If most people thought it was quite a nice day he thought it a rubbish day. “Looks likely to rain.” Was a probable response. Most people thought a nice relaxing holiday was worth every penny but he thought it a waste. “Better things for money .” Normally said. Most people thought being happy and cheerful was a nice way to be but he thought it stupid. “What is there to be cheerful about?” Was the unhappy response. As you can tell, Totally Strange was quite a miserable person. Always seemed to think the worst of everything. The opposite of the natural consensus. There was no reason. It was just his way.  

Nobody knows the man’s name. He just appears from time to time. Anywhere. It could be anywhere. Anywhere he is needed. He is a tall man. Very thin with extremely long unkempt blond hair. His clothes are very casual. Slacks, shirt and a very long coat reaching down to below his knees. Everything is colourful. Could be any colour at any time. Always happy. In fact, he is always very happy . Laughs and smiles enormously. His world is so bright. So colourful. If you imagine you can collect a bucket full of all th e brightest colours and throw them into the air, you would quickly appreciate the view of the world through his eyes. He has happiness in abundance. Has the whole essence of the world flowing through his body filling him with a vibrancy that just simply exudes pleasure. There is no need to describe his face. Simply picture a face showing pure joy and there you have it.    He greets people with a rousing flourish, slapping them on the back and leaving them with a fee...

“Hello Matey, how's it all going?”   “Beezer, absolutely bloody beezer Joe. Got myself a girlfriend. Lucy. Really nice.”   “Lucy , eh. Do I know her?”   “ Naw , I wouldn't think so. Lives down by the church over in Lower Lane.”   “ Don’t know anyone down there. Nice spot though.”   “Yeah, really up market. She’s quite posh. Dad's well to do but not sure what he does. Got a big Jag.”   “Hey Dave want a beer? You as well Joe?”   “ Yeah, why not. Thanks Chris. Didn’t see Chris here. Got a loud voice, hasn't he. So busy today. Lucky he was at the bar.”   “Been here a while. Had a few as well. Think he’s had a windfall or something.”   “Here you go lads. Two of the best. Here’s to happy days.”   “ What’s up then Chris. Why all the cheer?”   “Got some real readies . Proper folding money. A right good result. Wouldn’t believe it would you. Old Chrissy boy finally having it away.”   “What you've nicked it?”   “ Naw ...

“Hello, is that May? This is Dave. No, David Thomas we met at Michael’s the other day. Yes, that's the launch meeting. I said I’d call you. Don’t you remember. Lunch. Yes, that’s right, lunch. I said I’d call to arrange lunch. So how about it? Do you fancy it? Ok, so what about tomorrow at twelve thirty at Gino’s. Good, I'll see you there.”