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Novelmates

By Rachel H Grant

Words wormed their way through his head like an infestation of ideas. Cyril chuckled as he wrote, a vision of main character Sandra beckoning him on. And his fifteen year old heroine was writing her own novel about school life and its daily dramas. Cyril laughed again, this was a fun hobby for his recent retirement.

a black laptop keyboard with white lettering
Image by daosorio from Pixabay

He heard his neighbour turn up their music and sighed. Little did he know, that hairdresser Daphne was also writing upstairs, indeed almost directly above him. In her story, heroine Sandra is the same age as her, 28, but a teacher rather than a hairdresser. And writing their own novel about school children antics. Daphne laughed as she wrote. Life should not be this fun. Words ran through her veins like ideas on drugs. And like a careful configuration of dominoes just ready to fall, words pushed a crazy pattern to its dizzy destiny … as an avalanche of words thundered through her fingers.

In the top floor flat above Daphne, John laughed as the keys of his laptop clicked like a dismembered voice. And the voice was inside him, it was in the words that streamed through his head like a fast flowing river, it was in the words that appeared on the screen before him, like imposters that surely did not emanate from him, like a visible scream of creation.

John, an IT technician by trade, wrote of novelist Sandra. At 50 years old she had a chip implanted to help her think, to write, to throw words in to the void that was life … This would be a dystopian novel about AI taking over real people. John laughed like a maniac as he wrote, words filling his heart with their wild song.

Cyril, Daphnie and John would briefly say hello to each other on the stairwell. Daphne knew their names; no one knew hers. Secret souls with hidden quests, their lives did not intersect however their private worlds were on a crash collision course of insane words on the run.

One day far in the future, the three novels were published by three different publishing houses. It did not take keen readers long to connect the three stories which featured the same character at different stages of life. The publishing world was on fire. How had this happened.

Daphne met Cyril on the stairs holding her novel, School Solstice. “That is my novel!” she gasped excitedly. John came through the front door to find the two writers in deep discussion. Soulless words hung in the air as the three neighbours suddenly spoke to each other properly for the first time. Words linked them together like invisible glue. Nervous laughter sent invisible words flying. And then the idea came … they would write another Sandra novel, together. A happy ending flickered behind their eyes as they shook hands.

On the other side of the world, Sandra sat before her laptop as words rewired her brain. She laughed as her fingers played the keyboard like a piano, an inaudible music like frozen ideas waiting to melt. And one day they would, one day the novel would be published, making fictional neighbours Cyril, Daphne and John famous. Sandra laughed again, as she described the Victorian tenement with the residents who knew so little about each other. Of course the building would be haunted by the ghost of a Victorian writer, an unpublished would be Dickens who whispered in the ears of her characters.  Sandra stopped typing and picked up the leaflet next to her. Brain chips to enhance cognitive faculties. If it helped her write better, then why not? Sandra laughed as words once more played together on her screen, dominoes falling in to place, the crazy patterns of her mind.

Words whispered in the wind like ghosts. Somewhere far away, a writer hunched before a screen and laughed. Words pounded inside like demented drummers. Stories that knew no end and had lost their beginning, fiction fingering lives that would be known, the words of lost souls screaming in the night. Stories would come, a written word that would last forever.

A white notebook with glasses and an old fashioned ornate key on top, next to some fabric with a white mug of coffee on it

Image by Deborah Hudson from Pixabay

Tessa’s Travels in Time

By Rachel H Grant

Tessa was born on a still spring night, in a time-tarred barn. Her first memory, at a week old, was of stars through a broken roof, pins of light in the night, a pin cushion of the gods. I want to go there, she thought feebly, away from these ugly siblings. I want to go to one of the lights, I want to be free.

Tessa’s first few weeks were spent sleeping in the hay, or exploring the field next to the barn. She cuddled with her feline family to keep warm at night, but avoided them in the day. She was different, and she knew it.

One day a strange cage appeared in the field, with tasty food inside. However it became the taste of freedom denied. Tessa was locked inside the cage, no way out. Frantic with the desire to escape these grey bars, Tessa gazed at the stars in the sky. Please help me.

The next day a lady abruptly arrived and seized the cage. Tessa hissed in alarm. She was placed in a strange vehicle which began to move. The day descended to the depths of a cat’s despair. Tessa meowed, willing the stars in the sky to reappear. Finally, the vehicle stopped. A huge building confronted her, as Tessa’s cage was seized once more. A fat middle-aged man surveyed them from the door.

“A black and white kitten! Just what the doctor ordered!” Tessa liked the man straight away, knowing that a new life awaited, several purrs ahead.

The man, Derek, adored her. She listened as he composed music, purring in accompaniment. He told her that he had never known inspiration as prolific until she entered his life. Of course, she did not understand his words, but she purred anyway. Somehow, she knew that she was helping him. And somehow, he knew that she was special. But he did not realise how special.

Tessa would paw at Derek’s feet when he did not pay attention to her for a while. He would chuckle, declaring, “This cat keeps me on my toes!” Tessa purred in reply. She began to feel that she was her owner’s protector, his health in her paws, his well-being in a flick of her whiskers. Sometimes she felt compelled to follow him around the house, just to make sure no harm came to him. It was almost as if … she was waiting for something to happen.

Then one night, she had a dream. In the morning, Tessa was not there, bed empty, food bowl untouched. Derek searched everywhere for her. But she never returned.

In Tessa’s dream, she saw a man – a different man, but somehow she knew it was Derek. He was in a room full of children, pointing at a large black board with white letters on it. But something bad was going to happen. She knew it. That was when she did it for the first time. The Jump.

One minute she was observing the man while she slept. The next second she was there, really there, in the classroom with the teacher. The schoolkids looked at her like they had never seen a cat before. But there was one boy she had her eye on. The dark energy emanated from him.

Tessa ran and bit his leg. In alarm, the boy dropped something from his hand. A knife.

“He was going to throw that at you Mr Castle!” one of the children shouted.

Mr Castle retrieved the knife, and flushed while a look of trepidation dimmed his eyes.

At the end of the school day, he carried Tessa home. She was very happy living with Mr Castle (Derek in different clothes) until … another dream.

She saw him. Derek with another face, with different clothes. He was lying in a ditch with other men, and somehow she knew that the ditch was called a trench. He was in mortal danger, she understood as her heart thudded hard at the thought. She jumped … and was there. By the man lying in the ditch, the man who was about to die. She howled hideously, her voice her only weapon. “This is no place for a cat!” he picked her up and began to walk. Behind him, artillery fire felled his colleagues. He looked back in shock, his frozen heart breaking through ice as tears formed in his eyes. His friends. He held the cat who had saved is life as if he would never let go.

But Tessa had other ideas. Her next mission was massaging her mind. She jumped from his arms … and back in time to 1597, to a witch being hunted for trial. It was Derek, dressed in women’s clothes and with a female smell, but Derek nonetheless. She was cowering in her tiny cottage as men broke down the door. Tessa knew she did not have much time to help. She didn’t know what witch trials were, but she knew this woman was in mortal danger. Tessa looked in her eyes and screamed with all the cat telepathy she could muster “HIDE!”

The woman disappeared with the grace of a cat. As the angry men entered, they looked around in alarm. “A cat! She’s turned herself in to a cat! She really is a witch!”

Tessa was violently grabbed. She hissed in anger and pain. Then used all her might to … do the special jump.

She found herself in a very strange place, with large windows looking out on stars. Ahead, a man spoke to a wide room full of people. It was Derek, in uniform and of course with a different body. But she would know him anywhere.

The man suddenly stopped speaking. He had noticed her.

“A cat!” he laughed. “We have a stowaway on the ship! I like it! A sign! When I first enrolled in space academy, I encountered a cat at the door of the school, a lucky black cat like a sign of good luck. I saw the cat again the day I graduated. Is this a sign? A validation of my intent to arrive in peace rather than taking a more hostile stance? Somehow I know it is.”

Tessa purred. She could feel it, destiny shifting beneath her paws. Whatever she came here to do, she had achieved it. But this place was strange. Time to jump again.

But she could not do it. The jump energy evaded her. She did not understand the concepts of time travel and reincarnation. But she knew she had a gift, and that the different people she had encountered had all been versions of the first Derek, her Derek. But the real Derek, the owner who had loved her so much, was many years and star systems behind her now. She could not return. The gift was gone, dimmed by the bright stars all around. This was her time now.

I am in the stars, she thought feebly, I am free. Only it no longer felt like freedom. Destiny’s paws had dealt an unkind blow. She was here forever. Time to enjoy herself, time to flirt with freedom, to taste just the one life as others knew it. It was time to be Tessa.

So she stared at the stars, and prayed for a freedom that could not come. Like a mouse in a huge field, you could chase it relentlessly, but it would forever evade capture. Some mice have luck; some cats have nine lives; some cats have dreams that never end.

A black and white cat against a blue and white blanket