That tatty lace was once so pretty. It covered those tall windows, and the light would shine brightly in the early evening. The sun still smiles, but there’s no-one to see it here in this house.
Then the house was a home.
The walls and the doors were painted in rich and bold colours. The garden was glorious with many exotic flowers, bushes and vegetables. And beyond, those magnificent trees would often seem to sing.
But that was a long time ago.
Would you see a ghost sometimes? Would you hear a strange knock in the night? Maybe? Maybe not.
~~~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
The red-headed woman had responded to Monsieur Bourbon, although not quite so enthusiastically as she quickly kissed his cheeks two times, then righted her beret, while those two gargoyles looked on, as they wondered whether they might have a go as well.
However, Monsieur Bourbon had other plans as he spied those small satchels around their chests, as he looked and wondered as he said: ‘do tell what’s in there, since you two have been on a bit of a jaunt, am I right?’
The two gargoyles then mention those beautiful gems as they were about to remove them, but meanwhile the red-headed woman peered out from the shop window, while Monsieur Bourbon turned the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed’, as he said: ‘let’s go into the backroom.’
‘Ah ha, diamonds,’ smiled Monsieur Bourbon, as he took his loupe and gently fixed it into his eye socket, as he began to analyse those gemstones and there were many of them to look at.
The red-headed woman began to pace, and soon, since it was taking such a long time, she started to march around, even though it was a rather small backroom, but the two gargoyles continued to watch the magnificent Monsieur – mesmerising – they both felt.
Then Monsieur Bourbon removed his loupe and said: ‘they’re not real, none of them… they are synthetic,’ – the red-headed woman said, ‘you mean they’re just junk and no real value?’ as she put up her head and jutted out her chin with grumpiness.
‘Well, this is a stroke of luck,’ muttered the red-headed woman to the two gargoyles, ‘see that Inspector Clouseau, he’s still walking around that busy boulevard, still walking briskly along, while swinging his truncheon happily, and taking no notice about anything at all, and that’s perfect, don’t you think,’ as she grinned.
‘Still,’ said the red-headed woman, ‘we’re not quite there yet, but I do remember exactly where that small shop is, and I’m sure he’ll still be there, also I’ll never forget his name, Monsieur Bourbon, so let’s get moving, as the two gargoyles agreed, while they continued to hold their small satchels very tightly.
Meanwhile, Mr Cushing and The Old One had commandeered the large kitchen – Francis had poked his head around the door to say, ‘be my guest, I’m sure you are both great cooks… sorry, I mean chefs.’
Mr Cushing had explained that he had bought some sirloin from the excellent butcher, ‘looks good, doesn’t it,’ while The Old One said, ‘hmm, very nice and bloody,’ as his fangs appeared for a moment, but then he said, ‘of course, we need to cook this, and nicely.’
‘Okay, let’s get to business,’ said Mr Cushing, ‘we’ll cube the beef since we have been hankering to make some delicious curry – not too hot but really creamy.
Meantime, the red-headed woman pushed open the tingly bell in that shop; Monsieur Bourbon was right next to the door, he cupped her face in his hands and then kissed her forehead.
The two boys had been wandering around that farm. ‘It’s very muddy, but we’ve got our wellies on.’ ‘I wonder whether there’s anyone around?
Suddenly a big tractor started to rev up. The two boys glanced over there, then waved. It seemed that whoever was driving hadn’t seen them. ‘Come on, we’ll run past that tractor.’ ‘Oh yes, and look at that trailer.’
The two of them started to run across the sticky mud, while the tractor stopped. An arm appeared from the cabin, and waved down to the two boys. ‘Want a lift?’ as a voice shouted to them.
The two of them grinned. ‘Hop in then,’ as the voice pointed to the trailer. The two of them jumped into the trailer, as the driver started to drive that tractor.
And how lucky they were. They were given some free spuds as they were dropped off by the village.
It was the opening exhibition, and she was a teensy-weensy nervous. She was wearing her good clothes (for once), and she had her best beret on her bonce (naturally). She held her champers while holding her pinkie out to look posh, as she helped herself with some dainty morsels.
It was terribly busy as everyone slowly milled around the various interesting (and uninteresting) paintings. It was always nice to see other artists, and many knew each other.
Then there was a loud couple of claps. An art critic appeared. There was a silence for a moment.
And the winner is…
~~~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100 (Not counting the lengthy title)
All of them were back in Paris, and how lovely they felt now – Joan had a long and relaxing huge bath, she loved to float around it; Scatty had a very hot and quick shower, she was almost buzzing; while the guys had been freshening up.
It seemed that none of them were bothered about those gems anymore, maybe because they don’t need any dosh, since they have oodles of cash around several banks and vaults, and also several countries – old and ancient vampires and other creatures have always looked after their money.
But where was the red-headed woman, and where were those two gargoyles? and maybe you might wonder about that too, so let’s listen in for a while.
The red-headed woman was making a plan and a plot (as often she would); she was not into the territory yet, and at least she wasn’t at the end of her tether, although this was going to be tricky, she glanced at the two gargoyles, ‘well, we have many teachable things, including getting those diamonds to Monsieur Bourbon.’
‘We need to get across several streets, including that busy boulevard, and definitely no talking, taunting or anything else; just keep quiet… remember, mums the word.’
The two of them said, ‘we will try to look as normal as we can, we will wear proper clothes and put on trilby hats; we will blend in as we walk – plus, we won’t talk to that monkey just there… oh gosh, it’s Clouseau… again!’
‘That’s odd.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Well… look.’ They both stopped.
‘It’s a new building.’ ‘So?’ ‘All those structures feel unreal.’ ‘What??’ She continued to stare. ‘Definitely peculiar.’
‘But I wonder whether we could get a coffee there?’
They walked up to the building, but then they were both stumped. ‘There’s no doors.’ They peered into the coffee area, although there was no coffee brewing. ‘I don’t think they are real people. They’re definitely busy, but I’m sure they are all bots and artificial cloning things.’
Suddenly all the windows became opaque. ‘More than weird.’ ‘Let’s back away… and quickly.’
~~~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
There was an announcement from the loudspeaker on the train which said, ‘it will arrive at the station in four minutes’ – ‘that’s our cue,’ grinned the red headed woman, as she looked outside to see the station car park, where she could see that elegant limousine.
The red headed woman could also see those two gargoyles who had been skulking in the car park right by the wall, and now she was certain they would be able to get into the limo as usual, while Mr Cushing would open the rear door, as the two of them trundled to the end of the very long car.
Meanwhile, Mr Cushing and The Old One had been talking about movies, – ‘I did like a meaty role,’ explained Mr Cushing – ‘great actors, like Clouseau and Cato,’ as they both grinned.
‘Come on, we need to get off this train,’ said the red headed woman, as she grabbed her big bag and made her way to the exit doors; she smiled to the little girl who she’d met in the other coach, while saying, ‘thanks mate’, to the dad.
Scatty, Joan and Francis also followed as they all alighted from the train, as they made their way to the station car park; it seemed there was a mass of people around there, but there was no problem to find that gorgeous car.
‘Everyone in,’ smiled Mr Cushing, as he glanced back at all of them, ‘we’ll be flying soon (figuratively speaking, of course).
It was the first of March and a rather chilly day, but I decided to have a little walk in the fresh air. It had been wet and muddy underfoot so I put my wellies on. I trudged across a few roads before I came to the park and the smallish river.
I stopped in the middle of the bridge, and peered across and down to the river. Not much to see though. No fishes unless they were at the bottom, but that was probably true. No birds around either, as I turned to look and the other side of the bridge. This was the upside of the river, the right place to play Pooh Sticks, as I grinned to myself, although it’s not much fun to play on one’s own.
It was time to head back. And time to think about some hot coffee and a couple of Hobnobs!
