Gigantic waves lunged at the rocks. The cove was wedged between two rugged points. Wind raged, blasting sand through me. Only yards away I observed a motionless body of a girl. Three men hovered over her. Fritz crouched down over the girl. Dr. Mario stormed around with hands on his hips. The muscular bulk of Kirk roamed close by like a caged lion, the bandages gone from his eyes, his doe eyes squinting in the bright Pilgrim sunshine. I recognized the life-saving actions of CPR. Pumping the chest. The electric jolt of the defib machine. One…two…three…zap!
My spirit was standing next to the girl’s body. I studied the prone body, blue lips, white face. There wasn’t much time, for her—for me.
The words were picked for me as if a higher, holier sprit had ordered them.
‘What are you doing here? Boris—Maggie—Tails—Latitude 50, Longitude 130,’ I murmured. ‘Why am I on the beach?’
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…
Crushed. Fighting for every breath. My lungs squeezed of air. Panic, I fought to pull myself out of the black hole of nothingness. With every stage of advancement towards wakefulness, came the false steps, an awareness of not fully awake. I pushed through the sleep barrier. Then floated in the half-world of illusion.
Cold, I scanned the room. I was lying naked on an icy shelf, an Antarctic ice shelf. Exposed. In a blizzard.
An avalanche of snow piled on my prone body. I was suffocating. My hands clawed through the snow. Tunneling, I broke through the mound of snowflakes. With a snap and a crunch, I pierced through the white world and saw blue.
I woke. This was real. I had dug my way out of the dream. In the grey of pre-dawn, I was alone. The frigid stillness frightened me. I opened my eyes wide. My muscles tensed, rigid with fear. I sensed danger; the threats imminent, as if evil lurked around the very next second. The child inside thumped. I could not escape.
Yet I tried. I moved my legs and swung them over the bedside. Danger was hiding in the calm atmosphere of dawn, and I was not about to submit to its attack. Anyway, I had to go to the toilet, as you do when you are nine months pregnant. I kicked the bed pan under the bed. I never did like bed pans. The concept of trying to sleep with the smell of urine under me never did inspire.
I trod my way down the passage to the lavatory. I knew exactly where the Antarctic dream came from; the hospital hall was freezing. The slate floor frosty, slippery. I imagined that I could skate across it to my destination.
The toilets sat perched in their cubicles. They appeared harmless. I did my business with much relief, and glancing around every few seconds, I washed my hands in the water provided by the jug beside the basin. The water dribbled out of the jug. Probably ice. I broke the sheet of ice which had formed over the top, filled the basin and then washed my hands.
I trundled out the door of the toilet block. All seemed still, quiet, too quiet. I considered seeking solace to quell my anxieties. I would pass Kirk’s room on the way back to mine. He’s strong, he’d crack some joke and distract me from fear. Minna, what are you thinking?
Sister Salome, do I drop in on her? No, worse. Then I’d have to tell her about Boris’ little visit. Nup, can’t handle that. And the thought of being lectured by her was worse than the danger imagined, or Boris for that matter.
Some shuffling in the entrance hall, made the hairs on the nape of my neck stiffen. The light was on. I went to investigate. Maybe a mutant had gone astray and lost his way to the dormitory. It wouldn’t be the first time. Mutants were always getting lost in the Convent. To them it was a maze. I clomped down the stairs with a misguided sense of helpfulness and in an effort to distract from my fears.
At the foot of the stairs,Tails stood by the hat stand. ‘Oh, Miss Muffet! I see you wasted no time.’ He rocked on the balls of his three feet.
‘Oh, Tails, you’re looking well!’ I said, my mind numb with terror. Miss Muffet, that’s the name he used for Minna. Did he know? Or did he call every young lass, Miss Muffet?
‘Well, well, haven’t you changed!’
‘What?’ I was curious and trod a few footsteps closer. ‘What do you mean?’
Maggie stepped out of a dark room. ‘Death doesn’t become you, Minna.’
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…
For several days, Sister Salome’s misplaced communicator lay mysteriously smashed to smithereens on the footpath. That worried me.
The bath I was in had become too cold to enjoy, and a strange twilight glow hung over the horizon as the second sun began to make a shy appearance for Pilgrim spring. What if someone found the communicator fragments? Would they trace it back to me?
I turned on the hot tap and heated up the water.
The bath then was hot, but I went cold. ‘I hope they don’t find my…’ I said, and finished the sentence in my mind, ‘journal? That would incriminate me.’ I stepped out of the bath, dried myself off and wrapped the gown around my body. I can’t let them find that. I can’t let them see the smashed communicator. I can’t let them know what I’ve been up to.
Gums were already flapping since the first Kirk visit and sharing of honey biscuits. Following that occasion, he requested my company each day to read to him—Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland, —that’s all I found in the Convent library—kid’s books. But Kirk didn’t mind. He liked my voice, he said. And I liked the endless supply of Frau Biar’s honey biscuits, kuchen and strudel…and Kirk’s easy going childlike nature… and his muscles. Did I say his muscles? No harm in looking, I remember Maggie saying. Besides, I was sorry for him, blinded and all alone so far away from Earth. And anyway, what’s wrong with a bit of colour in this dull cloister? Most importantly, Kirk’s attention on me, distracted the community of gossips from my plan—to gather intelligence on Günter’s whereabouts and to continue to find the thread to unravel the Taylor’s tight-knit alibi concerning their connection with Boris and the murders of John and others. My photographic evidence had been incinerated, it would seem.
I strolled down the stairs, out the huge oak entrance doors and to the path, where I aimed to surreptitiously sweep the offending bits of communicator into the bushes and bury them under some leaves. That was the plan…
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…
And the Mischief and Mayhem Boris manufactures in…
For a week after Tails’ news, my life stagnated. I’d given up. Didn’t eat—much. As for Sister Salome’s porridge, she could have it.
Sister Salome shoved a bowl of porridge under my nose. ‘It is good porridge! Eat it M-Anni, eat it!’
‘Eat it yourself!’ I muttered curled up on the bed.
‘Your baby needs you to eat.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘What?’
‘About Andreas,’ I said. ‘Is it true?’
Sister Salome cleared her throat. She does that when she’s not quite telling the truth. ‘Officially.’
‘Officially? And what’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Andreas won’t be coming back, my dear.’
‘Why?’
‘Work it out for yourself.’
‘I can’t, that’s why I’m asking.’ I thumped the mattress. ‘Unless it was you who orchestrated the whole thing.’
‘Min—Anni! How could you!’
‘Easy, considering our discussions on the road trip here. I bet this whole Boris thing is a ruse.’ I paused. ‘Although, I wouldn’t put it past my mother.’
‘Oh, but it is real, my dear. We have our people closing in on the creature, at this very time,’ Salome said. ‘And a more serious situation has arisen. The son of Boris is on the loose. We have to find him. Very grave times. Very grave.’
‘So, your brother could be out there still…’
‘I cannot say.’
‘Then there’s hope.’ At light speed, then on Boris World, Günter’s life would be standing still, while mine moved on rapidly. I had to wait. If I followed, I would end up in a continuous game of time tag. I arrive, and he would have left, maybe only Boris-minutes before. He could arrive back on the Pilgrim Planet, and I could be out searching for him. Anyway, I was only days, maybe a week away from giving birth; the pursuit of Günter was not an option at this stage. Theoretically, the longer he was gone, the more chance that he would not return in my lifetime. However, there was a chance that he would be back. Time, space, black holes and Boris World become rubbery in space and the laws of physics become a law unto themselves. So, I had to wait, and hope and not move on.
‘Please do eat, Anni. This is g-Andreas’ baby, a-and your’s we are talking about. Go on it is very tasty. It is good for you—to eat it,’ Sister urged. I couldn’t fathom why she stuttered as if she had a speech problem.
‘I told you! What part of eat it yourself don’t you understand!’ I buried my head in the pillow to avoid Sister’s force-feeding tactics. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the porridge -laden spoon zoom towards me.
‘Look, what would Günter say if he saw the way you were behaving?’ Sister whispered, the spoon lingering above my cheek.
‘What? Are you doing a candid home movie to show him in twenty years’ time when he finally returns, are you?’
‘Who says it would be twenty years? He could come home tomorrow.’
‘He’s been gone weeks now. I’ve done my calculations—that’s twenty years or more!’
‘Oh, you don’t know that. Space can do funny things. And him too. Don’t underestimate him, dear. Now eat!’
‘As if you care—about us!’ I roared into the feathery down. ‘No! I will not eat! Go away! Leave me alone!’ With that I shut myself off. I pulled the blanket over my head and blocked out all light and Sister Salome.
‘Dear, can’t you see as Anni and Andreas it would’ve never worked. It wasn’t real.’
‘Too late to do the Dr. Phil routine on me!’ I screamed. ‘Get out!’
‘Very well,’ Sister said. ‘Have it your way.’ I heard the bowl touch down on the side table and the spoon go clink as she placed it inside the bowl. I counted the retreating steps as Sister stomped towards the door. The steps stopped and Sister Salome added one last biting comment, ‘But, if you don’t eat by tomorrow, I will be forced to call the doctor who will take your baby by caesarean. Understand?’
‘Fine, then I can go to Boris World and look for Günter myself,’ I mumbled into my bed linen.
‘You won’t find him there.’ Sister Salome chuckled. Then she said softly, ‘Just wait till I get my hands on that blabber-mouth Liesel.’
When I no longer heard her footsteps, I grabbed my voice recorder from under the sheets, saved the last comments and stored them. She had spoken in her ancient German tongue, but I had a translator. I played the results again and again.
The door burst open. I shoved the device under the blankets.
‘You haven’t seen my communicator around, have you?’ Sister Salome eyes wide paced the room picking up pillows, breakfast trays, and the bowl of porridge. Fancy that! Mobile phone detachment anxiety disorder.
I ignored her. Sister Salome’s communicator was stowed under the mattress by me. I had plans for that mobile phone…Who has she been talking to? Günter, I bet… I was glad that Sister Salome’s absent-mindedness had landed me the opportunity to hear what everyone was not telling me, and to try and make sense of it all. Salome never need know I was the “gremlin” that stole her phone and then put it back in an obvious place.
Unsuccessful in her quest to find the lost phone, or communicate with me,Sister Salome left me to my own and her state-of-the-art I-Phone. I stared at the cold porridge. It looked up at me in cold hard lumps saying: “Eat me!” Before I could consider what I was doing I dug into the bowl and scooped a spoonful of grey mass into my mouth. The lumps stuck to the roof of my mouth. I tipped the mattress and retrieved some sugar packets from the base. I sprinkled a few grams of sugar and ate a further few small spoonsful.
Holding Salome’s phone, I tottered to the window. Raindrops splattered on me as I pushed the pane open. I examined the communicator and my options. It rang. I pressed the answer button and put the phone to my ear.
‘Hello?’ A young man’s voice spoke. But not through the phone.
He stood at the door, bandages over his eyes.
‘What?’ I flung the phone out the window. Salome’s mobile smashed into a million pieces onto the path below. ‘Oops!’
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…
[Extract from Chapter 7–Pity in Their Eyes. Minna meets her nemesis then receives news that will devastate her future.]
Flash Point
I stowed along the corridors, glancing behind me, poking into rooms. Toe mountains of sheet were in the room opposite. I stuck my head around the door. ‘Hello? What? Three heads?’ Oh, well, it is the Pilgrim Planet and we’re not the only species in the galaxy. ‘Sorry about that, wrong room. Looking for three feet, actually. Seen any three-footed customers?’
The three-headed being waggled his heads and head-butted each other’s heads.
Down the corridor, crept past the nurses’ station. Good, they’re all busy…turn right. Hope I don’t lose my way. Next room, on my left. Nup, just a Grey alien the shade of green. Methane poisoning. Happens when there’s too many cows—like on this planet, for Greys, that is.
Crossed to the room on the right. Mutant frozen in wood. How’s that possible? I tiptoed in for a closer look. Curious. I touched its skin, like bark.
‘Hi,’ I said.
The man of bark blinked at me.
‘You wouldn’t—’ woops, hope he’s not offended by the pun, ‘—do you know of a three-footed patient in the hospital?’
The mutant nodded and pointed a branch in the direction further up the corridor. ‘Came in yesterday, saw him as I was returning from my oil bath.’
‘Thanks.’ I turned to go, then I looked back at the wood-paneled mutant. ‘How do you find the baths? Do they help?’
‘Oh, ye-es! I was like a forest before I came here and had them.’
‘Oh, well, all the best,’ I said, and then left. I tried to imagine how he looked before he came. If he were a forest, how did he fit into the Convent? Nah, must’ve been exaggerating. Or did he mean a Bonsai one?
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…
I gripped my bike’s handles and studied the sand. “There’s plenty of fish in the sea,” I recalled Liesel saying. Another embarrassing break up. The previous night, this latest ex drove straight past me as I waited on Jetty Road with my friends after meeting at the coffee shop eleven o’clock at night. How was I going to get home now? Walk? Thanks a lot mate. No one else had room. My brother John ended up making two trips to ensure my safe transport home. Monica reckoned she saw the ratfink the next day. She hid behind a rack of dresses. He came by to apologise a week later. I sent the crumb on his way saying I had to study for exams.
Collecting shells on the beach calmed me.
That man again. Dressed in brown corduroy pants and beige top. He fell in-step with me. ‘If you could have anything in the world, anything at all, what would it be?’
‘Go away,’ I said and increased my pace.
‘Just a simple answer to a simple question, that’s all I ask,’ he said.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Oh, yes you do, you can tell me.’
If he made a move on me, I planned to use my bike as a weapon. ‘I don’t care, leave me alone.’
‘Not until you share with me your greatest desire,’ he said.
‘Fine, then you’ll leave me alone?’
‘Maybe.’
‘That doesn’t sound like you would.’
I jumped on my bike and pumped the pedals skidding the sand in my effort to escape. I sped along the hard sand until the intruder of the day was a speck spoiling the sea view. When I reached the ramp, I hopped off and with heart racing, I walked up to the road. On bitumen, I pelted home. Something about that man gave me the creeps.
I parked the bike at the back of my home under the plum tree. I raced inside, slammed the door shut and then fumbling locked the dead lock. Ah, safe, at last!
I strolled into the living room.
The man in brown reclined on the vinyl lounge. ‘You haven’t answered my question, Minna.’
‘How did you know my name? Who are you?’
‘I am Boris and I know many things about you, my dear. Except, perhaps, what you want most in life.’
Like rancid body odour this Boris wasn’t going leave in a hurry. Where was mum when I needed her to kick him out?
‘Will you go, if I tell you?’
‘Indeed, I will,’ Boris said.
‘Okay, I want to be beautiful, find a handsome man, get married, have children, oh, er and I would like to travel too, like in space.’ Ha, I’d like to see this cockroach of a man grant that wish.
Boris waved his hand as if he were a royal. ‘Done.’
‘Good, so you can go now. I have an orthodontist appointment—in the city—which I must keep, so if you don’t mind.’
‘Glad that you answered my question. You won’t be disappointed, in time.’ Boris walked to the front door and then turned, ‘Although, for all wishes, there will be a cost.’
Boris strode out the house and then disappeared out the driveway.
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.
Tru-Kling Creations 