The red-head woman was walking around the Montmartre Cemetery, wondering what she could do, since she was running out of cash – although of course she could sell, or maybe pawn, her lovely ruby ring, as she fiddled with her finger.
She had turned left when suddenly she spotted the two gargoyles who were standing next to one of the dead poets graves, as they were busy working on two large easels, wearing artists’ smocks and berets, and both of them were scoffing and bickering (as usual); but then stopped and said, ‘ah, there you are,’ as they grinned back at the red-head woman.
Meanwhile the old vampire appeared, opening his arms and smiling: ‘to you like my outfit,’ as he whirled around; ‘yes, I know, I’m doing my best, although, I know I’m a relic, but I suit and boot quite well, don’t you think.’
‘Now, down to business and stuff,’ said the old vampire, as Joan, Francis and Scatty popped up and join them, ‘okay, we all know about the old building just around the corner,’ as he pointed, ‘and now I can reveal,’ he paused like a drum roll, and winked.
‘It began with the lovely red-head woman who opened that old safe, and then later the two gargoyles managed to read those antique deeds, and then they sent it via courier to me – and that’s where I got it.’
‘You see, it seems I own it out right – and we can do whatever we want!’
The two gargoyles had nodded sagely, as the red-head woman watched both of them, a moment later one of them took out a smartphone and began to messaging, while both of the gargoyles chatted quickly; meanwhile, the red-head woman seemed rather astonished – a phone?! – she peered at it, and it was even newer than hers.
‘We’re busy now – and we have moved into the 21st century – who wouldn’t? but anyway, we need some help too, since we now know that this place goes back to 1789 and the Revolution, not that it matters any more, probably; but never mind just now, we need the old vampire – no, don’t worry – he is on our side.’
The red-head woman raised an eyebrow, as she wondered where she was needed any more, and anyway she was getting restless, although a vampire sounded interesting; she decided to focus on what was happening, ‘you said only two days, what was that?’ – just as her vision cleared – ‘oh, of course, the full moon.’
The two gargoyles almost giggled to each other, ‘now, we need a proper plan, it will all go swimmingly (not like last time… definitely not), okay?’ – ‘yes indeed, and especially since this is the summer solstice, very special in our calendar, don’t you agree?’
The red-head woman was about to explain for the people who live in the southern hemisphere, but she decided not to complicate it, instead she stared over the roof where she saw the beautiful view… how lovely.
The red-head woman had been poring over the ancient documents, doing her damndest to make any sense at all, she had been searching for clues and she had made some headway, but not enough.
She looked out from her tiny balcony where she could just see the old building round the corner; it was going dark – time to go – she closed the screen and put her tablet on the table, it seemed unlikely that she’d need that up there.
She had made her way to the old building, making sure no one was around, as she quickly opened the door with her key, and shut it again; she could already hear the two gargoyles bickering on the roof, as usual, but what were they saying?
‘Well, we’ve both heard on the grapevine that this old place would be replaced with a grand and tall building, but where can we go? – they were wringing their hands.
As she got up and so close this time, she realized how huge and ugly they were, quite terrifying in fact, but she was hardly the type who would faint; so she smiled as brightly as she could, and said, ‘I think you could help me… please?’
The two gargoyles did their best to smile back, ‘we are happy to help, as we can talk and read in several languages, so let’s see,’ – while the red-head woman spread out the ancient deeds – two gargoyles peered at them – ‘August 1789’ sacre-bleu!– so you know what this means…
The red-head woman ducked down from the roof, it was all very well to watch all this stuff around the cemetery and the two gargoyles were still bickering (she had been thinking about that though, especially of this old building would be razed to the ground) but something more important needed to be done: it was the antique safe – last push more to open it.
But first she needed to drink; she opened her flask and poured, then lifted up her hot cup of coffee, she took several gulps, then it was time to finish that job.
She had tried this several times, turning the lock back and forth, and she was pretty certain it would open this time: turn to the right ‘C’ 4 times, left ‘L’ 3 times, right ‘E’ 2 times, left ‘F’ 1 time, then right to stop; and there it goes, the mechanical combination safe was open!
She grinned for a moment, then dived in; a little later, she created a little dance around the room, then she pocketed several chosen things.
She was about to leave the back entrance of the old building, but she decided to go up onto the roof once more; it was dark again, as the moon was obscured, she peered over the roof where she could hear voices down in the cemetery, but what was happening?
Suddenly, one of the large graves exploded, ash poured out as a deep chasm appeared; fire licked up around the buildings; it was chaos.
The ash and sulphur became so dense as the plane banked horribly and listed alarmingly – mayday, mayday – shouted the captain; at this point, the red-head writer, aka the Raconteuse, had so many thoughts but then she blacked out, which was just as well, since the plane lost power: it shuddered and quivered but it glided on the ice.
Just a few minutes later she’d recovered, she stared around, the plane was crippled and in a bad way, but it seemed that everyone was safe; and even better the volcano was silent again, just a few plumes of moulted rock and ash around.
The red-head writer realised that it would be a very long way to walk, but what else would she do; she decided that she would go alone and quickly – she was wearing all her warm clothes and she had a big bag – everything she needed.
She looked at her GPS, then set out.
She had been walking at least two hours, there was no ice now and it’s easier to walk, but suddenly the steep shale made her tumbled down, she had a long fall and stopped, she was rather shaken but soon recovered; now she saw a bank with deep water where the stream levels out – and here was the road.
A little later, she saw a huge car, she waved with her big bag, and it stopped; she smiled happily as she was whisked away by an excellent friend who drives too fast.
Posted for The Unicorn Challenge, a magical challenge hosted by Jenne Gray and C E Ayr, where they provide a photo and we, in turn, provide up to 250 words.
It moaned and raged across the south coast, right up to the highest mountains.
The storm lashed and buffeted the tallest trees, traumatising animals and people living in their shacks.
The birds, shaking with fear, crept in the hollows and bushes, while the squirrels hunkered down in the deep dreys as the huge palm tree swayed around our garden.
From morning to night the storm raged, and raged again; we looked out into the street where the fire and rescue truck had managed to take down a broken great tree, what a relief, but not before we saw terror in the faces of several people
And finally, in the morning, there was no wind or rain.
At least we all have our houses – the walls, the doors, the windows and the roofs – but everything else is such a mess, and we will only talk about the present at the moment.
The red-headed writer, aka the Raconteuse, hurries along the narrow street, looking up and down and around, checking to see what is unchanged: here’s the Bagel’n’Cake place (closed at this time, of course), and here are the two warehouses, rather dingy, on either side.
She’s almost there… and here it is: The Café and Bistro, she holds her hands up, but there’s no one there; she’s deflated, she dropped her head and her feet felt like lead.
She notices something at the top of the steps, it was a still-smouldering cigar butt on the ground – it must be him, the Gatekeeper, who else could it be?
She hurries down to the three steps by the double-doors, peering in the gloom in the long bar and high seats, and across the way to the food pass behind the doors; she could almost see what should be happening – the Bartender with the wine and whisky, and Mimi in the kitchen, and Tom as well.
Then she turns around, going back up, scanning around; there’s something about the back of The Café and Bistro, she races around the building, heaving her big bag, she peeps in the basement, now she’s making headway; she can hear music, in her mind’s eye, she listens, isn’t it Mark Knopfler playing ‘Sultans of Swing’ and wearing his headband?
The Raconteuse grins and she can see the Manager, smiling back and waving; he cranks up the volume and plays, ‘Ace of Spades’.
Joey glanced at the carnage he’d left behind; an ominous silence pervaded the blood-spattered hallway.
Raising a hand to acknowledge Gary, Joey took a deep breath to quieten his thumping heart and shot back into the building; he burst into his flat and snatched up his back-pack, stuffing it with a handful of clothes and the small battered box which contained his ‘important stuff’.
Skidding back down the stairs, he paused by Ceridwen’s door; it opened before he could knock, revealing Ceridwen, clutching a bristling Cullen in her arms. Digging into his pocket, Joey pulled out a thick roll of notes and started to peel a few off, but Ceridwen shook her head; Joey was about to speak, but she silenced him with a look and with a nod of her head, gestured for him to leave. Giving Cullen’s head a regretful stroke, Joey fled the scene, only pausing to scoop a small shiny object from the hall floor.
Half an hour later, Ceridwen stepped sedately around the fallen bodies and picked up the pay-phone, wondering how she was going to explain all this to the emergency services; one thing was certain though, she wasn’t going to betray young Joey.
‘I lost him!’ Gary panted through the side window of the van, ‘I followed him into the park but he jumped over the wall… I think he’s back in the house,’ his eyes slid to the building where Patterson and his cronies were waiting; one of their number had also just pitched up, red-cheeked from running.
A nerve in Patterson’s temple twitched as he took out his keys and strode over to his car; beckoning to two of his crew, he indicated the now-open boot: one retrieved a crow-bar and the other a stubby-handled axe.
‘They’re going in!’ Gary’s voice rose half an octave with anxiety as the front door began to splinter.
As the door gave way, Joey launched himself over the banister, kicking wildly, taking two of the intruders down as he swung to the floor; spinning away from the man who was wielding the axe and snatching the crow-bar from where it’d fallen; with a mighty roar, Joey raised the crow-bar, smashing it against bone and flesh, Patterson was the last to crumple.
Joey stumbled outside, allowing the crow-bar to clatter to the ground.
‘In here, mate!’ Gary beckoned from the open back door of the van.
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