Fear Of Darkness (novella)

Fear Of Darkness   A serial novel by Joe Lake.

(So far: Julie meets Susan, the social worker, who says that she is from five hundred years in the future and gives Julie a ring to travel in different parallel universes. Susan warns Julie not to turn the ring by herself. Then Julie’s husband, John, sees a person in an Obama mask running away. Back in the van, the hologram of a man’s face appears and tells them that Susan gave the ring illegally and it is to be given back. John tells the image to get lost.)

          

 The door to the Winnebago was still open and when John tried to step out, the solid glass-like barrier was still there. He shook his head with annoyance, then halted a moment and as it was still early morning, he felt tired and cuddled in next to Susan and went to sleep almost instantly.

        He woke to Susan’s clattering in the kitchen area. He could smell bacon and eggs and the intense aroma of the espresso machine. He sat up in bed, stretched his arms way up and yawned deeply.

        “Good morning, sweetheart,” said Susan. “Brekkie is nearly ready. Did you sleep well?”

        “I did, except for that idiotic apparition that appears in here now and then. It wants your ring back. I told it to get lost.”

        “Well, maybe we should throw it in the ocean, as the image demands.”

“Don’t be silly. Before we do that, I’d love to fly once more through the air like superman with the help of the ring. Maybe we could contact Susan somehow. I mean, she must have some control. She could come and get the ring herself and at the same time tell us what that silly hologram has to do with anything and why there is a ridiculous energy barrier at our door.”

“We can’t stay here at Cooee much longer,” said Julie. “The water tank is nearly empty and we need another gas bottle.” She tried to step through the door but the barrier was still solid. When she looked outside, it was daylight but they weren’t at Cooee beach any longer. There were huge, rainforest-like trees outside and it looked like an impenetrable jungle. “Come have a look at this. Pull the blinds up!”

John saw the van was surrounded by a wall of tropical vegetation. “I don’t believe it,” he said. “We’ve gone from the sublime to the ridiculous. Turn the ring quickly before something catastrophic happens.”

Julie sat down on the bed and turned the ring. This time the hologram appeared as Susan’s face.

(To be continued next month)

(To be continued next month.)

Joe Lake

Gustav Weindorfer No. I

There was a man from Austria

Who came to see Australia.

He came by steamer from a town called Genoa

To start a new life in a far off land.

With interest in the native plant.

Field Naturalists, in Melbourne,

Made sure he wasn’t desolate.

                     He made a new herbarium in 1901.

        And walked in the bush towards Mt Buffalo,

        Where he met Kate, to be his Tassie wife.

        They settled then at Kindred in Tasmania

        Where the Dorfer bought a farm.

Kate played the piano and the Dorfer

Sang Carinthian songs.

He gave German lessons and was naturalised.

A bushfire burnt the church

As they were ready to be married.

The wedding guests put out the fire.

They married at her brother’s place

And soon they built a house

And farmed.

But not before a honeymoon

Atop Mt Roland where they stayed in tents,

Collecting plants to press and catalogue.

His parents came from Austria in 1908

and helped with the farm and taught music.

Kate and his parents worked the farm

As Dorfer went exploring in the bush.

He loved the forests of King Billy pines

And birches and all native plants.

But most of all he loved the miner’s cradle,

Cradle Mountain

That reminded him of his native Alps.

The Dorfer then went prospecting to hunt and trap.

In January 1910 they went towards The Cradle

With Ronnie Smith, the later major, of Forth,

And Dr Sutton, whom Dorfer knew

From Melbourne as Field Naturalist,

And Dorfer’s wife, his Kate.

All camped near Cradle Mountain

Where one day, Waldheim would be built.

They climbed the Cradle on the fourth of January.

Kate was the first woman to do this.

The Dorfer saw this paradise,

The Cradle, that God had made

And on the peak he said to Ron,

“This treasure must be everyone’s

 For all times and forever.”

The Dorfer had not long to wait.

Soon came the people’s rallying call,

That this must be a nation’s park for all.

It was the Dorfer who had the initial spark

That created Cradle Mountain, National Park.

© Joe Lake

Michael Garrad's View

Are we “together”? Are we happy?

“We’ve been married 20 years…”

Are we happy, though?

“We’re still husband and wife.” (Or partners, or companions, or two people who happen to know each other! Connected!)

Right then! So, where does that leave us? Passionate for each other? Tolerant of each other? Comfortable with each other? Bored brainless?

Very few  of us want to admit that it’s perhaps just a little bit ordinary. Just a little bit! Children (did the right thing), home, car(s), caravan, boat, holiday home – you name the financial commitment. That’s what’s expected.

Then, again, we can be “happily divorced”, or “happily widowed”, or “happily single”. Or “happily” not much at all! Happily “existing”.

It’s a question of pretence. Nobody wants to admit their life is not what everyone else wants it to be! How they are perceived. Society shapes that.

And when the hard question is put – “Will you, won’t you, would you, might you?”, the answer invariably is “never say never”, usually uttered with a polite laugh (kind of off-the-cuff) because we want to give the impression we might be interested – but not really, truly! 

Not anything really. Easier that way. Less complicated! Less committed!

 The Quiet Dark

Still, in the dark that does not terrify,

That is the solitude,

Real is safety behind closed eyes,

Peace beyond the word,

Reality that is not harsh and cruel,

That which underscores the dream

separating imagination from memory,

And hones the senses,

Sharp, the bird call,

Blissful scent of fresh-cut meadow,

Consuming taste of Nature’s elixir,

Sight of black, enveloping, gentle,

Not the end, not death,

No, a shaft of generous sun

on face with hidden scars,

Oh, tranquil, this artificial night!

© Michael Garrad September 2012

Stay Lady

Stay lady in the lonely night,

Do not succumb without a fight,

Need you in the dawn cool light,

Plea, selfish, yes, sounds trite,

In death, I do not wish to write

words for you that are contrite,

In a whisper on this night

you seek to vanish from my sight,

Never! With all your might

hold close and hang on tight,

This Death mask, pale to white,

Fight and fight, and fight, and fight

the lure of this long night.

© Michael Garrad September 2012

Pete Stratford

Colourful Sounds

Roses are blue and violets are red!

All these beautiful shades I can hear in my head,

Their fragrance exquisite and flavour divine,

they feel like the bubbles in sparkling white wine.

You may think I’m crazy or slightly absurd,

but these colours surpass all the others I’ve heard.

The sounds of these blooms all changed just last Sunday

when I went bushwalking and found all this fungi.

I gathered those mushrooms, then cooked up

        and  ate ’em,

And ever since then I’ve been hallucinating.

It may just wear off with a long stay in bed,

but till then it’s blue roses and violets so red!

© Pete Stratford 4.11.10

First published Gazette No. 85

Dripping Ink (Lauren Hay)

Images Of Ellie

Whatever had I done! Oh I really didn’t know

Images of Ellie lying in the snow

It wasn’t really thought that led Ellie back to mind

Thoughts of that day were all but left behind

Coldness numbs my toes but I burn with guilty shame

Why did I leave Ellie, alone in the lane?

Did I turn my back and just walk out of sight?

Or was it something more sinister, did Ellie and I fight?

Now there is no place, no sanctuary I can go

Always in my head Ellie lies in the snow

I’ve put it many ways and turned it inside out

But Ellie’s death was my fault, of that I have no doubt

For my memories are clearing, and I shall watch again

A flash of sharpened silver above a seeping crimson stain

As was Ellie’s wish, I turned my back to go

The only image in my head, Ellie lying in the snow...

© Lauren Hay

First published in Gazette No. 79