The Box by Matthew Chambers

By David Halliday

I met Matthew Chambers in a cafe in a small village of Hamme, Belgium. We talked on several occasions and always I had the impression that he was a man who was being pursued. I knew not by whom. And then one day he was not at the cafe at our accustomed time. Weeks passed. No Matthew. And then one morning this manuscript appeared on my door step.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Halliday
• Release date: Dec 27, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458183651

David Halliday

I have published poems, short stories, plays, art works in reviews and publications across the United States and Canada. I have several published books:murder by Coach House Press. This book is a series of poems and illustrations set up like scenes in a movie, describing the murder, trial, and mob execution of an innocent man. Winner of the 2001 Eppie for poetry.The Black Bird by. The Porcupine’s Quill. This is a book of poems, illustrations and short prose pieces describing the fictional making of the John Huston film, The Maltese Falcon.Making Movies by Press Porcepic. This is a book of long poems, interviews, short fiction pieces about a fictional BBC documentary about a fictional Canadian film maker, Samuel Bremmer and his company of actors and colleagues. It follows his career through the creation of a series of his movies.Church Street is Burning, a book of poems, was a finalist in the 2002 Eppie for poetry.The God of Six Points, published by Double-dragon-ebooks. A man who believes he is a god believes he has murdered one of his subjects.Sleeping Beauty, published by LTD ebooks.com is a murder mystery. A woman lands in a small village where the only escape is to be murdered. Finalist in the 2003 Dream Realm Awards. Winner of the 2004 IP Book Awards.The Hole, published by LTD ebooks is one in a series of cop stories. There are unusual happenings in the quiet suburb of Islington. People have begun to disappear. And they have been disappearing for generations. For the soon to retire Sam Kelly, this is his last case as a detective. All the clues point to a mysterious hole, which appears to have no bottom.In 2007 I was short listed for the C.B.C. Literary Contest in poetry.

Book preview

Preface

I met him in a cafe in a small village of Hamme, Belgium. He said his name was Matthew Chambers. Strangely, everyone in the bar called him Gerard. He engaged me in conversation almost immediately upon my arrival. He called me 'my little Canadian' even though he could hardly have been more than 5 foot 4 inches himself. Matthew was about fifty years old. White hair and goatee. A severe expression on his face if he wasn't smiling. He wanted to know everything about Canada especially how he could emigrate there. We talked on several occasions and always I had the impression that he was a man who was being pursued. I knew not by whom. And then one day he was not at the cafe at our accustomed time. Nor the next day. Nor the next. I asked the proprietor. He had not seen him in weeks. And then one afternoon I found this manuscript at my doorstep.

The Box

by Matthew Chambers

A madman fell asleep, got lost in a dream

and couldn’t wake up.

Here Comes the Sun

A radio woke up, blurting out a Beatles’ song into the dark room. A hand reached out from beneath the bed sheets and slapped the radio. The music stopped. A low moan slipped out from beneath the sheets. A face moved out toward the radio, nose to nose, fluorescent numbers lighting up its dreary eyes.

Oh! Matthew moaned. The image of an atomic blast flashed through his brain. Hiroshima!

A middle-aged man sat up in bed, his eyes squinting, hair jutting out in several directions, his pajama top misbuttoned. His hand struck out into the darkness for his glasses, its legs wrapped suggestively around a desk lamp. Putting on his glasses, Matthew Chambers pressed his nose to the clock once again. He flicked the lamp on.

Gads! he cried. An image of Albert Einstein smiling flashed across his mind. Event horizon.

The clock radio showed the numbers 330.

Matthew turned and nudged the other body in the bed. The body was wrapped in sheets like a mummy. There was no flesh visible.

Mumsy, Matthew muttered and tapped her shoulder. Wakey wakey.

Martha Chambers moaned and rolled over, her head peaking out of her tent. She kissed the air where she expected to find Matthew’s cheek.

"Not now, dear. Later, I promise.’

Matthew smirked. He placed his hand on his wife’s hip and shook her roughly. She moaned again, stretched, yawned and in one movement, rolled out of bed into Matthew’s robe and sleep-walked out of the room.

I had that dream again, Matthew spoke unaware of his wife’s departure. I dreamed that I got lost in a dream and couldn’t wake up. It was terrifying.

He turned and looked to see his wife’s response. When he discovered her disappearance he leaned over the bed and looked for her on the floor. Martha! He fell back on the bed.

What am I doing up at this hour? he cried into the darkness.

You love me, Martha responded from the adjoining bathroom.

One should never marry for looks, he cried out.

You married me for my money, Martha’s voice found him again.

Matthew moaned, rose up into a sitting position, his feet on the floor, and looked around the room. He felt drunk. The face of an African warrior grimaced from the cover of the National Geographic. On the warrior’s chest sat a glass. Matthew picked up the glass. Thank you. Matthew attempted to drink its contents. The glass was empty.

What are you laughing at? Matthew scowled, addressing the smiling warrior.

Matthew placed the glass back on the bedside table and looked for his slippers. Here kitty. Bending over, he looked under the bed. There were no slippers. His head began to swim.

Gads! he cried.

Standing up, Matthew was temporarily overcome by dizziness. His glasses fell off. He sat down again and reached down for his glasses. He felt nauseous. The Theory of Relativity became suddenly clear to him. He wished he hadn’t drunk so much the evening before. Climbing to his feet he tramped over to the bathroom. Cold water would feel good on his face. The door was locked. The cat rubbed up against his leg. He tried to push the animal away with his bare foot.

Get! he muttered.

The cat persisted.

Are you in there, Martha? Where else can she be?

The cat licked Matthew’s bare foot. Sandpaper. Attempting to shoe the cat away, Matthew stubbed his toe.

Gads! Matthew cried out, dancing around on one foot as he nursed the other with his hand.

Are you torturing that cat again? Martha asked.

Where are my damn slippers? he cried.

I’m wearing them, dear, Martha explained. The floors are like ice.

The bathroom door opened.

Why do you insist on locking the bathroom door? he asked as he stepped inside. And why are you wearing my bathrobe? Carnal images.

Martha smiled as she stood over the sink brushing her teeth.

"I didn’t want to waltz around the house half naked. Allan is at