Through the tent window, a thick cluster of stars spilt over the Milky Way. Dawn cast its frail light over Salome asleep one side of me, and Günter twitching on the other side. He muttered in sleep-speak, arguing. ‘No-no-no…you’re kidding me…no, I won’t…you must, you owe him…but my son…I won’t go…’
Best my mother didn’t know what was happening. She’d stress. Her blood pressure would rise, her feet would swell, and she’d need a larger pair of slippers. Not a good look for the Admiral of the Fleet. She could do with some Russian tablets for her blood pressure.
‘No!’ Günter screamed and snapped out of his doze. ‘What? Did you say something?’
‘Nothing! One of your nightmares.’ I needed to distract him from the distress of his night terrors. See? I am thinking of him. I took his hand and placed it on my tummy. ‘Can you feel it? The baby’s kicking.’
Günter softened and smiled. ‘What a cheeky baby! We’ll call him Philippe if it’s a boy, remember?’
‘Yes, Philippe is a good name, for a boy. Philippe Augustus, as your father was August Philippe.’
Günter withdrew his hand and turned.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘It’s still early, go to sleep.’
I did as he commanded. Best not to cause waves. Best to wait for the right time and then ask. Thus, I held onto my questions and rode with them tucked inside the rest of the day’s journey to the Convent.
[Read how the cosy carpet of Minna’s life with Günter is pulled from under her in the continuation of Chapter 5 on Wattpad.]
[You’ve been waiting for it…A war without Boris is not a war against that over-sized alien cockroach Boris without Boris. So here he is in all his slimy and cockroachy “glory” if you can call Boris’s nefarious presence that.]
Son of Boris
As the car jaunted over the rocky rises and dips of button grass studded hill and dale, I reclined in the arms of my husband. My memories transported me back to summer days of the beach, the sun, and my hometown Adelaide untainted by the corruption of Boris. Where Günter was himself, not some Grey Alien Boris’ second in command, not the blonde German Andreas. But even in my remembrances, the bitterness of reality and a universe at the mercy of Boris began to eat away at my peace.
An encounter with Boris wormed its way into my consciousness…
***
One of those summer days doused in grey…I rode my bike to the beach to collect shells. As I combed the surf-soaked sands of Somerton Beach, a man’s voice snapped me out of the zone. ‘Found anyone interesting?’
‘Nup, no bodies,’ I murmured.
‘That’s a shame, a nice-looking lady like you.’’
I fixed my sight on the grains of sand and ignored him. Hate those pickup lines.
‘Oh, what’s your problem? I’m not going to bite.’
I glanced at him—had to see what creep I was dealing with. Pale, pock-marked face, thirties and just a little taller than me at 165cm. He wore a grubby white t-shirt and brown trousers. “Never trust a man who wears brown trousers,” my school friend Liesel always said.
‘Come on, dear, just a little conversation. Tell me, what do you want more than anything in the world.’
I shrugged. ‘To leave me alone.’
‘Tell you what, you tell me, and I’ll leave you alone. Deal?’
I pushed my bike faster trying to escape this man, but he ran after me.
‘I promise, I’ll leave you alone—just tell me.’
Hopping on my bike I announced, ‘I don’t talk to strangers.’
‘I’m not going to hurt you. I bet, I bet you’re one of those girls who wants to get married, have a family, that’s what you want more than anything.’
‘If you say so, now leave me alone.’ I jumped on my bike and sped from the creepy little man with his odd questions.
‘Your desire will be arranged,’ he said as I splashed my bike wheels through the water. He then shouted, ‘But, I might add, there will be a price.’
‘Sure, sour grapes,’ I mumbled. Then pumping the pedals, I sailed along the damp-packed sand of Somerton beach. I glanced behind before alighting. The man in brown trousers was gone…
***
Was Salome right? Was I selfish? Using Günter? Surely not!
Go on a reading binge and discover the up close, personal and rather awkward relationship between Gunter and that nasty piece of cockroach-alien work Boris in…
His hand on my waist; his hand warm and steadying, comforted me. Again, I lay in my sleeping bag, awake. Lightning flashed illuminating the tent. Thunder rumbled in the distance. My lower arm reached around my enlarged belly and my fingers touched his fingers. I turned on the air mattress. Günter’s eyes gazed at me. ‘Our baby!’ he said.
‘Yes!’ I snuggled up to him.
On my other side Sister Salome snored, her back like a monolith faced us.
With an almighty crash, thunder rattled our tent. Günter held me close. I trembled, afraid. ‘Hush, the storm, it sounds worse than it is.’ He held me tighter in the sleeping bag. ‘Cosmic storms are worse.’
A violent gust of wind tore at our tent attempting to pluck it from the ground and fly us off. Waves lashed the rocks on the shore below.
‘We are high enough? We won’t be swamped by the tide, will we?’ I asked. Another blast of wind hit the tent. ‘We won’t fly off, will we?’
‘What a silly question. No! Anyway, this tent is built for extreme conditions—like Everest or Antarctica, no?’ Günter touched my face in the dark and kissed my forehead. ‘Now, sleep!’
‘I can’t! She’s snoring!’
Günter chuckled. ‘You want to go in the Merc with Dr. Zwar, then?’
‘No way!’
Massive drops of rain plummeted upon the canopy of the tent. Soon the gale joined in, and rain lashed the tent sideways. Waves hurled and smashed against the cliffs and rocks only a few meters away. I molded my back into Günter’s form, and he caressed my head and neck. I was blessed to have Günter. I pretended to sleep, but a tempest brewed,…
Go on a reading binge and discover the up close, personal and rather awkward relationship between Gunter & Minna and that nasty piece of cockroach-alien work Boris in…
Undercover Minna is building up a case against her enemies Maggie and Tails. Her life and plans unravel as her enemies incite the Wend village to hunt witches. And Minna becomes their main target.
In the coming episode Minna receives bad news. She and her husband must move from their idyllic life in Luthertal. Read the complete chapter (or chapters 1&2) on Diamonds in the Cave on Wattpad]
The Habit of Playing the Devil’s Advocate
Light streamed through the slatted shutters and lace curtains. Had morning broken so soon? I rose and opened the window to greet the day. Pastel lime-green wispy clouds streaked the sky. Luminous clouds shone against the black night sky. The stellar show brightened and dimmed as dying coals on a fire do. I stood at the window transfixed by the cosmic aurora so brilliant that the land was touched with an eerie glow.
‘Wow!’ I exclaimed and scampered back to the bed and Günter buried under the quilt. ‘Günter! Quick! The sky is brilliant!’
Günter dug himself deeper into the bed linen and mumbled, ‘Just let me sleep! I’ve got to get up early to milk the cows.’
I sighed and gazed out the window watching the dying star for a few moments and then crawled back into bed.
‘You need your sleep. I understand. Anyway, you’ve seen more awesome cosmic fireworks when you traversed the galaxy with Boris as his 2-i-C.’ I was glad he was free of Boris’ hold and those days were behind him.
Wide awake, I lay in bed on my back, watching the light dancing on the ceiling. Under the covers Günter slumbered. He rolled towards me and draped an arm around my mountainous waist. Concerned that it was not good for Günter to be buried, carefully I peeled back the covers. I turned and stroked his hair from his face. I mused at how dark his hair looked in the night. As Andreas it was ash blonde. The lights brightened for a moment. In the dusky hues of the room, I imagined Günter as I had met on the beach all those years ago, ebony locks cascading over his tanned neck. I withdrew my hand and whispered, ‘No!’
Then I shook him. ‘Günter! Your hair’s gone dark.’
‘Really?’ Günter rolled the other way. The light went out turning the room pitch black again.
I wandered into the kitchen, the light of morning glaring in my sleepy eyes.
‘What time is it?’ I asked Salome and then poured myself a cup of tea.
She sipped coffee freshly picked and ground from the Convent plantation. ‘Breakfast time!’ She placed a hand on my arm. ‘Relax! Günter’s out doing the chores, it gives us time to talk.’
It was the way she emphasized “talk”.
‘What do you want to talk about?’ I asked, gazing at her.
Salome leant forward, clutched her knees with each hand and locked eyes with me. ‘I’ll get to the point.’
‘What point?’
‘Boris is back.’
I choked on my tea. ‘No!’
‘Yes, and we need Günter’s help.’ The nun flattened the white tablecloth over the roughly hewn wooden table.
‘You can’t take him; I’m having his baby.’
‘I’m sorry, you must understand this is of intergalactic importance—not to mention Earth. You’ll have to manage without him for a while.’
‘I can’t. I won’t! Can’t you find someone else?’
‘There is no one else.’ The holy sister’s words were infallible.
Stars clustered before my eyes. The headache intensified. Pounding. Pounding.
‘I have to go lie down…’ I staggered as far as the armchair before flopping into it.
[I’ve taken the plunge and launched my latest novel, (still in manuscript form and needing beta readers), on Wattpad. You can check out the first chapter of Diamonds in the Cave there and give feedback, dare I say, honest. Once the book is completed with helpful suggestions from my readers, with hopes that it is the best in quality that it can be, I will be doing the usual and self-publishing on Amazon.]
The Enemy Within
Diary of Minna Thumm
Life, my life undercover as Anni, wife of Andreas (Günter), was ideal. We fitted together like violin and a bow, the notes of our personality blending together, in perfection.
On this pristine planet, we work hard and enjoy the warm friendly atmosphere that the Wendish community afforded. Boris had kidnapped these little-known villagers of Luthertal as they travelled along the River Elbe on their way to Hamburg. This small but pious clan of Wends had planned to emigrate to Australia. But Boris who led the band of travelers had other plans for them. The IGSF (Intergalactic Space Force) rescued the Wends from slavery and being swamped by cockroaches at the hands of Boris. As Earth, in the early 21st Century, had changed so much since they had left, the Wends chose to settle on the Pilgrim Planet.
We lived the incognito life of disguise, the young husband and wife team, Andreas and Anni. Soon I was with child making our lives complete.
After all Boris was dead. Our duty to the IGSF had become redundant. Minna was dead to all except those in the know—my mother, Dr. Mario Leonardo and his wife Monica and Günter’s sister, Salome. Günter according to all who knew him, (just a handful of people), was some unknown loser frittering away his life in some forgotten corner on Earth.
On the Pilgrim Planet, we were free to live undisturbed while keeping an eye on those partners in crime, Maggie and Tails. I lived to avenge the murders of my brother, John, and others of the IGSF team who had died fighting the War against Boris.
As for my brother John’s death, I am certain Maggie and Tails were responsible—just have to prove it. We’d befriended the pair, and gradually, had made progress on the dossier pertaining to their guilt. Still that crucial piece of evidence eluded us. Meanwhile, my mother, Frieda Thumm as Admiral roamed the wormholes of the galaxy mopping up the mess left behind by Boris.
My father, Wilhelm Thumm had also died; killed when he was driving my Mazda. He was “gunna get round to fixing the brakes” but…
Minna and Gunter live the idyllic life as under-cover agents in the village of the Wends…Minna is building up a case against her enemies Maggie and Tails, and suspected of being Boris agents…
…But when the IGSF (Intergalactic Space Force) sends Gunter on a secret mission in the war against Boris, Minna alone and vulnerable encounters the son of Boris…
Their idyllic life unravels…as does the Wend community.
Incited by her enemies, Tails and Maggie with fear and
superstition, the Wends succumb to a full-scale witch hunt…and Minna becomes their prime Target.
[The T-Team with Mr. B— Dad’s friend Mr. Banks and his son, Matt, joined Dad, my brother (Rick) and me on this journey of adventure. I guess Dad had some reservations how I would cope…But it soon became clear that the question was, how would Mr. B, a middle-aged man who was used to a life of luxury, cope?]
We stopped in at Fregon, another Indigenous settlement much like Mimili; a row of tin sheds and deserted. Then at about 2.30pm we arrived at Ernabella.
A teacher friend of Dad’s invited us into his home for refreshments and each of us had a hot shower. I enjoyed the warm cascade of water on me. My treat for the week. Below rivers of red mud spun into the drain hole of the bath. I scrubbed my hair with shampoo. The soap refused to lather. I scrubbed and scrubbed.
‘Lee-Anne!’ Dad called. ‘Don’t take all day, the boys need a wash too.’
‘Oh, alright.’ I turned off the tap. I guess the boys did need to wash, probably more than me. They were getting quite ripe at close quarters in the Rover. After all, it had almost been a week since we had a proper wash.
All showered and smelling sweet again with soap and deodorant, we trailed after Dad who gave us a tour of the settlement, including the school. Ernabella lies at the foot of the Musgrave Ranges, south of the South Australian and Northern Territory border. The land belongs to the Pitjantjara people. The mostly prefabricated buildings were neatly arranged around a random collection of unsealed roads.
Dad guided us around the school which appeared empty. We followed him circling the white building. ‘Must be closed,’ Dad said.
‘School holidays, I guess,’ I remarked.
Dad scanned the transportable blocks and then screwed up his nose. ‘We need to find someone to fix up the trailer.’
We walked through the settlement. The white buildings stood sentinel to the roads void of human activity and traffic. The crunching of stones under our feet was magnified by a town suffering from a bad case of abandonment.
‘Where are all the people?’ Mr. B asked.
‘Wow! The place is tidy and look how clean the streets, are,’ I said.
‘Except for the gravel,’ Richard mumbled.
Matt sniggered.
We wandered after Dad who was having a hard time finding someone to fix our trailer. Anyone…No one seemed to be around. I wondered if Ernabella was a ghost town.
Mr. B suggested we wait by the store that seemed closed and suffering a severe case of neglect. This we did.
‘The reason the settlement is so tidy,’ Dad explained, ‘is because everybody, I mean the aborigines, have a job to do here. They don’t get their welfare payment unless they do their job. They probably have someone cleaning the streets of rubbish and all sorts of other jobs.’
‘Not the store, apparently,’ Mr. B said.
‘Ah, well, they have to get the stock from down south, from Adelaide. Perhaps they’ve run out.’ Dad coughed.
Dad strode to meet the man and he guided him to the trailer still perched on top of the Rover.
While the trailer was being repaired, I climbed a hill. I figured the trailer would take ages to be fixed so I had time to sun bake. I wanted a tan. Treading up the hill, I noticed Matt running after me.
I stood and sighed. Great! Just when I wanted space to myself.
I photographed Matt proudly holding a corroboree stick. The Musgrave Ranges behind were cast in hues of gold from the rays of the late afternoon sun. When we had descended the hill and found Dad, he told us that the “mountain” we had climbed was named “Mount Trudinger” after his brother who had been a teacher in Ernabella.
Near evening, we visited an Indigenous pastor. As the Musgrave Ranges is sacred to the Pitjantjatjara People, Dad and the pastor discussed the possibility of getting a couple of guides to be our companions as we climbed Mt. Woodroffe.
For the night we camped in Two Mile Creek which is not far from Ernabella. Dad conceded to camp not alongside, but right in the dry creek bed on the soft sand. This arrangement made Mr. B very happy. ‘For once I get to sleep on soft sand,’ he said.
‘Just remember, if we have even a hint of rain, we pack up and go to higher ground,’ Dad answered.
Mr B chuckled. ‘No chance of that, the weather’s been as dry as the bones of that deceased camel we saw on the side of the road.’
‘The water comes rushing down if there’s a storm,’ Dad said.
‘Oh, of course, Captain.’ Mr B then turned over and snored.
Rick muttered, ‘The only storm will be if Mr B doesn’t get a good night’s sleep.’
[In response to today’s prompt, a friend is someone you can trust as they trust you. They are there for you, as you are there for them. You can share almost anything about yourself with them, and they can share anything with you and feel safe. You can be yourself with them and they can be themselves with you. With some friends, no matter how long it has been between seeing each other, you pick up the conversation with them from where you left off the last time you saw them.
This story is about the future and friendship.]
MESSAGE FROM MY FUTURE ME
“Grandma, can I excuse the table?” I asked.
Grandma chuckled. “You mean, be excused from the table, dear.”
I nodded and then pushed my chair from the old wooden table.
“Yes, you may, but don’t go too far,” Grandma said. “Go only to the end of the road and then you must turn back.”
I escaped out the back door and down the gravel driveway. The street spanned before me, begging adventure. Sunday lawns green, pungent with fresh Saturday clippings piled behind an assortment of fences.
“Go away, will you,” she said in her grimy blue dress. She leaned over the stone wall and pushed me.
I brushed off her greasy prints and walked on, leaving the willow tree and that girl snarling in the shade behind me. As I strolled into the sun, I ran my hand over cracked rendered walls, rattling cyclone fences and peering through the oleander bushes for signs of life in quiet houses.
“Don’t go over the road,” Grandma’s voice warned in my head.
No, I won’t. I rubbed my bottom in memory of the Belair Sunday school picnic adventure when my brother lost me. Promise! Careful not to step on the lines in the pavement. Bad luck. I tiptoed and danced along the pavement in my pink ballerina shoes.
A shadow wriggled over the pavers. Stobie pole to my right, plastered its stunted midday image on the asphalt. I halted. Casting my focus up, I spied this big girl. I squealed and clapped my hands over my mouth. This lady-girl was dressed all in lace and brown velvet as if in Grandma’s clothes.
“Hello, you must be Lee-Lee.”
“Why did you know my name?” I pointed at her; rude, I know. “Ha, ha! Why are you wearing funny clothes?”
She blushed and rubbed her stubby fingers over the velvet. “They’re trendy where I come from.” She smiled and straightened her long dress that swept past her ankles. “Actually, where I come from, I know a lot about you.”
“Why?”
“Because I have the same name as you.”
“So? I know more than you do. You’re dumb. So there, ner!” I planted my hands on my hips and poked out my tongue.
“That’s no way to talk about yourself.”
“Huh?” I pulled at my pigtail and chewed the ends of my hair.
“Elementary girl.” She flicked her long blonde strands and smirked. “I am the future you. In fact, I know more than you do because I know what’s going to happen to you.”
“Future me?” I scratched my cheek and screwed up my nose. “What does future mean?”
“Oh!” I wiggled a loose tooth. “Does that mean your teeth all fell out? Did you get grown-up teeth or did you get them all pulled out and get false teeth like Grandma’s?” I zoomed up to Future Me’s face and ogled at her mouth. “Come on, show me your false teeth.”
She bared her perfect row of pearly whites and nudged me back. “They are real. Orthodontically corrected, but real.”
“Arthur—what?”
“I had braces on my teeth.”
“Why? Were they crippled?”
“No, they were crooked.”
“Ugh! Crooked teeth.” I turned from her and poked stones with the point of my shoe. “I don’t think I like being you. Grandma clothes, crooked teeth that need Arthur’s braces. I’ll never be like you. You’re just pretending. ‘Sides, how could I be you?”
I squinted at this tall slim blonde who transferred her weight from one leg to the other. I noticed the worn back-pack groaning full of books, straps straining to pull the load from her waist. Future Me stroked her chin between her thumb and forefinger. “Well, it’s hard to explain to someone as little as you. You’re in Prep, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I’m a big schoolgirl, now.” I thrust my chest forward and with hands each side of my tummy, swung my hips.
“Well, big schoolgirl, Lee-Lee, to put it simply, it’s called T.T.T—thought, time, transportation.”
“What then?” I watched my pink dress swish as I swayed.
“You just think and instead of thinking time as moving forward, you make it move backward for you.”
“Just like that?”
“Well, actually, it’s more complicated than that—a kind of scientific experiment that my big brother Warwick invented. He put electrodes on my head and well, something happens that I can’t fully explain.”
“Oh, did you have a brother, Warwick too? Does your Warwick snort when he laughs?” I cupped my hand over my mouth and tittered.
The lady-girl raised her lace sleeve to her mouth and giggled. “Yes, he does.”
“You must be me.” Repressing the urge to gnaw my fingernails before my future-self, I clasped my hands together and looked in her eyes. “So, me, what’s going to happen to me?”
She avoided my gaze. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.
“That’s not fair! Why can’t I?” I grabbed at her, but she slipped through my fingers and drifted from me. “Plee-ease!”
“I can’t!”
I watched her move further away and shimmer in the sunlight.
“But why not? Please! Just a little bit.” I chased her and swiped at her. “Just a tincy-wincy-little bit. I won’t tell! Promise!”
“Alright, if you insist.” She floated above the greying plaster fence. “But I must be leaving soon.”
She faded, blending in with the oleander and honeysuckle bushes. I strained to see her. I attempted to touch her, but my hand passed through her.
The wind whistled through the bushes. “Have a good time with Jilly.”
“You didn’t tell me! You lied, me!” I cried.
I hunched over and plodded back towards Grandma’s house. Shouts and squeals from a yard on my left, caught the corner of my eye. A girl my age bounced on an old double-spring bed.
“Hello, my name’s Lee, what’s yours?”
“Hello, my name’s Jilly. Do you want to play on the trampoline with me?”
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11
***
Dreaming of being transported to another world?
Time for some holiday reading?
Take a break and journey to another world, another time to
A Story where the past and present, and vast distances in space intersect…and Boris does what he always does…
Eastern Europe, 1848
Prussian War raged, and the Wends as a village, left their homeland, with plans to set sail for Australia. From the Eastern edge of Prussia, they journeyed on a barge destined for Hamburg’s port, where they hoped to catch a cheap fare in the cargo-hold of a ship destined for the Promised Great South Land.
These villagers, never made their Australian destination. No one ever noticed, nor missed them. The neighbouring villagers assumed they had arrived in the Great Southern Land, and considered them so far away, and too distant to maintain contact. In Adelaide, also, the city for which they headed, the inhabitants were blissfully unaware of their existence. Migrating Prussians had taken their place in the over-flowing cargo-hold and were sailing across the Atlantic to Australia.
On this barge, headed by a man, Boris Roach, the Wends sang hymns of praise to God for their liberation from religious persecution, and the war. They looked to the promise of prosperity and freedom to worship God according to the Word. Their hope that their children and their descendants may thrive in their faith in the Promised Land of South Australia.
A tale where the nineteenth century meets the twenty-first…
Avoiding Monica’s Playroom, (I thought Maggie might be lurking there), I headed for the Driver room. Would Günter zap back to a Grey and be piloting there? Or would just his apes be in the Driver room? I approached the junction where the right passage led to that room of monitors and Günter. I sensed someone sliding along the wall behind me and looked back.
A lump lodged in my throat. Not the Grey Nurse again!
‘Where is he?’ She tugged at my collar choking me. ‘You go to him—get him. I want him.’ Does she ever give up?
‘If you’re that desperate, find him yourself.’ I veered the other way, ducked around the next corner, and lost her.
I headed for the Engine room. I had to see John and talk to him about all my troubles. And warn him Boris might be back. What I liked about John was he didn’t talk much; he just sat there and listened.
I entered the maze of towering machines, pumps, and raw veins of bound wires. Anxious, at every sound of a swish behind me, I checked my back. Every wheeze, and I slammed myself up against the closest engine cowling, flattening myself for cover. I reached John’s small office and lurched through the entrance.
Hands gripped around my eyes. Darkness, even darker.
‘We must leave here,’ a deep voice said. ‘Now.’
‘Why?’
‘It is not safe; there has been an accident.’
‘Günter, is that you?’
He pushed me, guiding me. Something oily underfoot made me slip. He held me. Then carried me out.
In the light of the corridor, I blinked. Günter appeared pale. His forehead was covered in beads of perspiration. And as he held me, he trembled.
My shoe stuck to the floor. I lifted my foot. On the tiles, a bloodstained shoe print.
‘W-what’s going on?’ I asked.
‘I-it is J-John…’ Günter rasped. ‘I-didn’t want you…to see…’
‘John? Is he…no, not John…he can’t be…’ I moved to enter the engineering room.
‘No danger.’ Günter pulled me back. ‘He is…he is gone.’
Günter cradled me in his arms as we both wept.
***
Continue to feast on this story over the Holiday season.
Tru-Kling Creations 