StarMan

By Ian Bussell

A short story about living a rock 'n roll dream - drugs, sex, adoring fans and ...... extraterrestrials?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ian Bussell
• Release date: Aug 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301015290

Ian Bussell

I was born, bred and buttered in the South West of England, close to the area where my first novel, Pryckle is set, though I spend as much time as possible in warmer parts of the world. I've enjoyed creative writing since my school daze when I would write compositions that were usually five times longer than most of the other kids. Since then, there have been a series of starts and stops, though I'm currently in full flow. My other career followed the trajectory of a pinball until I chose to go for tilt. Finally, after eighteen years sparring in the global communications arena, I now devote most of my time to writing. I take one day out each week to provide energy healing for people and animals in need. I abhor cruelty to animals in any form and actively support animal welfare campaigns. Music plays a big part in my life as can be seen from the many musical references in my writing. My other main interests are travel and films. I have written numerous short stories and a few stage plays and two novels. My most recent foray onto the stage was November 2011 when one of my plays, Pick Up, was performed in two Somerset arts centres. Generally speaking, I am attracted to unusual people and things. In books and films, this translates to Science Fiction, Fantasy, Mystery, Supernatural & Horror (there is a big difference between the last two). My output isn't meant to be particularly scary. Sci Fi / Supernatural elements are used as settings or devices to tell stories which are well outside the boundaries of 'normal' everyday experience. I don't like boundaries. Pryckle brings together murder, history, science fiction, mystery, the supernatural and even a dollop of romance. Some of my readers have also expressed the belief that horror plays a significant part. Some of the supernatural events in the book are based (however loosely) on my own interactions with the spirit world though I have yet to encounter anything like the malignance in Pryckle. Meta-Mirror begins with a sci-fi premise and develops into a human story of lost love and a man's struggle to come to terms with a violent world where he doesn't belong.

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StarMan

By Ian Bussell

Published by Ian Bussell at Smashwords

Copyright © 2013 Ian Bussell

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition Licence Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

Lyrics from Space ( I believe in) written by Charles Thompson

Copyright 1991 Rice and Beans Music

Lyrics from Hyperactive written by Thomas Dolby

Copyright 1984 Shingle Street (Overseas) Ltd.

Lyrics from Rebel Rebel written by David Bowie

Copyright 1973 Jones Music/Chrysalis Music Ltd.

Lyrics from Love will tear us apart written by Ian Curtis, Peter Hook, Stephen Morris & Bernard Sumner

Copyright 1980 Universal Music Publishing Ltd.

StarMan

Jef Rainey saw a hand groping towards to him. It didn’t look like an ordinary hand. There was something strange about it. He blinked, once, twice, to clear his head. The second attempt failed to have any more effect than the first. Jef’s head was as fuzzy as a member of the hair bear bunch turned outside in. That, in itself, was nothing unusual but in the last few days ..... or was it weeks? ...... Things that he had never seen before, or even imagined he might see, had begun to appear on his mind’s widescreen TV, like bizarre fishes swimming up to the glass in an aquarium. Maybe Mickey was right; maybe he ought to cut back on his dope intake and the Mexican firewater he washed it down with. Or maybe he needed greater quantities, to block this shit out.

Jef could see the hand clearly, now. As clearly as he perceived anything, these days. It only vaguely resembled a human hand – half way towards being a claw. There was something like a thumb on either side, shorter and set back further than the two fingers, or talons, in the middle. Though they didn’t have fingernails, all of the digits tapered to fairly sharp points. Jef stared inwards with a detached fascination, as if he were watching a TV documentary about a fierce creature which preyed upon the natives in a remote part of the world, thousands of miles away from California. Although the hand was reaching out as if to touch him, he didn’t feel remotely threatened by it. He was cool, as cool as a frost covered bottle of Icelandic beer taken straight out of the igloo. But there was a noisy little black bug swimming around in the froth, dragging its worries to the surface. Yeah, right; if this creature isn’t going to tear my throat out, what is it going to do? Straighten my necktie? This is a two lane blacktop to the funny farm; I haven’t worn a tie since my old man’s funeral, and that was one of his that Mom insisted on putting around my neck and then she fastened it too tight. The fucking thing felt like a noose. Jef broke into a sweat, unsure whether the reaction was caused by the groping claw like hand or the memory of the stifling necktie. Sticking a finger inside the collar of his t shirt, he trailed it slowly from left to right, pulling the cotton away from his throat. It made him feel a little calmer but not a lot. The next step in the exercise was to swallow deep breaths, as though he were toking on a freshly lit joint. He could do with one, right now. More than one.

He failed to observe that a big fat one was burning itself out on the edge of the coffee table, its blue-green smoke spiralling up to the ceiling where it hung like L.A. smog. A couple of inches behind it was a faint, broken line of white powder which also went unnoticed.

Being forced to wear the necktie had caused him far more discomfort than watching his father’s coffin lowered into the ground or the buckets of tears that poured from his mother and sisters. It wasn’t because there had been any enmity between them, nothing heavy, anyway. Jef simply saw himself as different and separate from them; a member of the family in name only.

Stretching out his long legs on the reclining chair, his eyes roamed from the scuffed, pointed toes of his shoes to