Fabulous Short Stories

Stan Mason

Description

This anthology of stories comprises tales of romance, comedy, horror, revenge, fantasy and intrigue as well as many situations relating to love, life and prosperity... each one with superb characters that bring them alive and each one with a twist in the tail. You will really enjoy reading them.

Sujets

• Short story

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 13 janvier 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781783335169
• Langue: English

Extrait

Title Page
FABULOUS SHORT STORIES

by
Stan Mason



Publisher Information
Fabulous Short Stories published in 2014 by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
The right of Stan Mason to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998
Copyright © 2014 Stan Mason
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.



Little Mister Know-All
Many decisions and actions are based on assumptions, and there are hundreds, if not thousands, of assumptions made by each person every year. People assume the train will arrive at the station when they go to work each morning. They assume that food will be available for them to buy in supermarkets. They assume that petrol will be in plentiful supply on garage forecourts. In fact if assumptions were never made, it would be impossible to enjoy life. But there are times when they are not quite so clear-cut. The reason is that one can depend on inanimate object situations such as trains, supermarkets and petrol-filling stations, but one should not put the same trust in those relating to human-beings. For example, it is assumed that the wonderful people who marry will stay together with each other and remain faithful for the rest of their lives. They assume a person aged twenty-two will live until they are at least seventy years old. They assume that tragedy will not happen to them or their families despite recognising that thousands of people are killed on the roads each year, that murders take place, that people die of sudden heart failure, and so on. Indeed, to be fair, there are assumptions which seem to be set in stone and continue to be accurate from one year to the next. But there are the exceptions to the rule which create doubt and indecision. And it should be that way. Because if every assumption was correct life would be very boring. Everyone would guess what was going to happen... there would be little excitement and less mystique. A typical example is a family who exchanged Christmas presents on the twenty-fifth of December and examined the wrapped boxes and bottles guessing in advance what was in each present. They guessed correctly but the fun and excitement when opening Christmas presents was entirely lost to them... they already knew what they had been given before opening them. The tale below concerns pride and assumption... a combination which can prove costly in many ways.
Joe Collins and his son, Archie, were the laughing stock of the neighbourhood. Nothing would ever change that. There was nowhere to go... nowhere to hide. In a tough, poverty-stricken area, comprising a community of thousands of people living in flats on council estates close to the London Docks, they had no option but to face ridicule and humiliation. Indeed, the people who lived in the area followed an austere set of unwritten rules which demanded common sense, respect and respectability. If someone stumbled or ignored the rules, it was destined their folly would never be forgotten. Consequently, although Joe Collins and his son had been forgiven instantly for what happened on that ill-fated evening, the memory of their actions remained locked in the minds of the local people who tried not to laugh each time they came face to face with either of them.
Joe lived in a block of flats built just after the Second World War opposite the area known as the docklands. The place had a fascination all of its own. There was a plethora of ancient warehouses set in a maze of dirty, dingy alleyways where the air was always polluted with wisps of wool imported from Australia. The strong smell of coffee, the delicate aroma of musk, peppers, and a whole host of other spices permeated incessantly from the dilapidated store-houses. No doctors, lawyers, accountants or professional people ever emerged from this quarter. Some were dockers working at St. Katharine’s Dock, hauling imported goods or despatching exports elsewhere. Others worked in the rag trade, slaving in the sweat-shops which manufactured fashionable ladies garments. But, since time immemorial, not one person in the district had ever laid any claim to fame. One had to discount notorious figures such as Jack the Ripper in the neighbouring parish of Whitechapel but, apart from that, it was clear that national or international fame was an absent feature in the lives of the locals of Stepney. No Mozarts, no Einsteins, no Renoirs... nothing! Then, without warning, Archie Collins, a boy of only thirteen years of age, stepped into the limelight. He was a shy, quiet, well-mannered boy who knew his place in the pecking order. It had been drummed into him from infancy it was politic to speak only when spoken to, and to obey orders with the least possible resentment or delay. Nothing else was accepted. After all, the old adage was that children should be seen and not heard. Without casting any aspersions on his parents, it is true to say that Archie retained a strong sense of insecurity as well as recognising his ignorance in practically all fields of knowledge. In the latter respect he said little for fear of uttering something either rude or wrong and getting scolded for it. His father wanted him to shine at school and expected much more from the boy than he could deliver. In hindsight, Archie had nothing more to offer than any other child of his age, perhaps even less. They lived in a docklands area and didn’t expect to do well. His school record was extremely average, and like all the other children in his class, there was relatively no time for study. In a poor area every penny counted for the family, and boys and girls of thirteen and over were expected to work in their spare time, weekends, and during school holidays, to undertake menial tasks in the docks, or in the sweat-shops of the garment manufacturers. It was the accepted way of life. But there was a strange esoteric advantage... as no one had any money, the area was completely free of muggers.
Late one afternoon, Joe Collins returned from the sweat-shop after a hard day’s work and sat down to enjoy his evening meal. It was at this time each day he remonstrated vociferously about the antics of his fellow workers, complained about the difficult cloth he had to handle, and criticised the appalling attitudes of the management towards the workers. Mrs. Collins was a martyr in her own right. She had listened to such tales from her husband day-in and day-out for fifteen years, and learned to nod or mutter in the right places without expressing any emotion whatsoever. From his point of view, he was always satisfied that she supported him to the hilt. However, with remarkable preciseness, the tirade always ended at the moment when the dinner plates were placed on the table, and silence reigned as the family enjoyed the evening meal in peace. When they had finished, Mrs. Collins removed the dishes and went into the kitchen to wash them. Joe sat comfortably in a large armchair, lit a pipe, and turned on the radio to listen to a quiz programme that was just about to start. He enjoyed quiz programmes and smiled amiably at his son as the first question echoed clearly over the speaker, hardly realising the effect it was going to have on his life.
‘For two marks, can you tell me the name of the author of the book “For Whom the Bell Tolls?”’
A long silence ensued as the contestant struggled to find the answer. Joe Collins thought hard but he failed to recall the name of the author, glancing towards his son who was turning over the pages of a Hotspur comic at the table. ‘I don’t suppose you have any idea of the answer, do you, son?’ he ventured, not expecting the boy to respond. Archie looked across at him and smiled casually. ‘Yes, I do, dad,’ he replied smartly. ‘It was Ernest Hemingway.’
His father stared at him with mild surprise when this proved to be correct and shrugged as though to imply that the boy had enjoyed beginner’s luck. But that was only the start of it.
‘For a further two marks,’ continued the question-master in a dull voice, ‘what sport was once called Poona?’
‘That’s a tough question!’ said Joe, not wishing to tackle it, and he stared at the boy enigmatically in defeat.
Archie did not even look up. ‘Badminton’, he muttered
His father’s eyes opened widely as this was confirmed to be correct, and his face took on a curious expression. He puffed hard on his pipe wondering whether his son nursed a hidden talent to which everyone had been blind. There were geniuses in life. Mozart quickly came to mind. He could write music at the age of five or six. Perhaps Joe and Irene Collins had spawned a genius and it was only now becoming obvious. After all, it took time and incident to discover that a person was a genius and now it had happened here. The next twenty-five minutes was a revelation to Joe. The questions came thick and fast and Archie answered every one of them without difficulty. His father could hardly believe his ears. ‘My goodness!’ he shouted excitedly. ‘Do you realise you scored top marks? Better than all those people on the radio. I had no idea you were so good at quizzes! Now don’t go shy on me when I tell you you’re a real genius at quizzes. Just accept that I know what I’m talking about.’
Archie merely smiled and shrugged his shoulders as he delved further into the pages of his comic. However, the boy’s new-found talent proved to be a problem for his father. The