Images

By Engin Nida Aybar

When “Images” start to appear in your mind, you can’t help yourself from writing. You feel your soul is under pressure and to release it you take the pen in your hand. The more you write the more you feel yourself comfortable. In addition, suddenly you start to feel the joy of creating a fiction. You start thinking or sometimes living like your characters in the stories. Actually it is quite normal since they are you and you become somehow them.
Driven by the above passion I began to write as a hobby during the years of my university study. A few positive comments on my writings from the people around me; encouraged me to write more. Even I feel I am not very industrious in writing for being a two children family man with an engineering career, writing is one of the few things which gives me great joy.
The stories in my book have different genres like mystery, science fiction, murder, horror. Though the stories have different genres; readers may immediately discover the similar key aspects in all of them. Sometimes the plot has more importance on my stories than the characters, time or the environment. I believe this gives the reader to figure out these features on his own. I also believe instead of intense descriptions the story flows easier on this way.
I guess every reader will at least enjoy one of my stories from my first trial in publishing. It long time to come to this point but I think this will not be an end though it will be kick-off for my second stage in writing. Anyhow I do not think I will able to stop writing because I do like it!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Engin Nida Aybar
• Release date: Apr 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310765032

Engin Nida Aybar

I was born in Istanbul in 1977. I grew up, studied and still living in Istanbul. I studied Naval Architecture and traveled to many countries for business purposes. I am presently working in a shipyard at the position of marketing manager for new building projects. I am married for fifteen years and have two boys at the ages of four and ten.I started writing as an hobby when I was in university. Some good comments encouraged me to write more and I also discovered that even it was a challenging job, I did enjoyed it. I had to give a long break to writing for years due to intense travelling and work load but finally I have completed my seventh story and get my book published. Wish to write more soon...

Book preview

IMAGES

A COLLECTION OF SHORT STORIES

by

ENGIN NIDA AYBAR

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2016 by Engin Nida Aybar

All Rights Reserved.

Table of Contents

The Duel

Dark

The Mist

The Dreamer

Wizard

C

The City

THE DUEL

The car travelled into the downtown and halted in front of an old but well restored building. The building had five flats decorated with sculptures and had wide marble stairs at the entrance. It was one of the oldest and greatest buildings in town, built maybe more than a century ago, which had witnessed the history of the town. At my first visit to the club on that evening, I couldn’t find out why I felt so; maybe because of a stressful and tiring day or the dull weather, but I felt something stealthy and cruel about the building.

The doorman opened the car’s door politely and without saying anything saluted Mr. Randon with his head. Mr. Randon smiled at him and nodded, waited me to get out of the car then we climbed up the cool stairs to the entrance. There were two doors behind one and other: The first was an iron door, beautifully adorned with steel work. The second was a wooden door most probably the first and well maintained door since the erection of the building. There were three bodyguards behind the iron door all focused their attention on me with suspicious and aggressive glances. Mr. Randon stepped up the last stair; he was a couple of paces before the entrance when the iron door opened inside and a man in about his sixties appeared in front of the bodyguards. At the same moment I walked up my last step and stood beside Mr. Randon.

Good evening, Mr. Randon, said he, his eyes were detecting me from top to bottom.

Good evening, Tim, said Mr. Randon with the same smile he had down by the car, This is my new assistant, Christopher Daniels. He has been working with me since last month. He finished and turned to Tim who seemed like a veteran officer of the club, seemed annoyed by being asked in the entrance.

Oh, yes Mr. Randon. Welcome, please excuse me for hanging you up, but you know better, our manager is so strict about our rules, especially on recent days…

All right Tim, you do not have to excuse, this is your duty. I know well your how bastard your manager is when he gets a couple of glass of whiskey! he said, putting his arm on Tim’s shoulder.

Tim bended his head down, tried to smile with an embarrassed expression on his face, like a small boy who did something wrong, shook my hand warmly and instructed the bodyguards nervously with his eyes to open the door. They all welcomed us and took our coats between two doors, Mr. Randon walked through the wooden door cheerfully as he forgot his nervousness a moment ago. He pushed the door inside the club and my last observation before I got in was the logo the of the club, pictured delicately on the glass of wooden door; two different kind of swords of the middle ages, crossed and placed on a dark blue figure.

Then we entered to a wide lobby. The air was full of human voice and laughter lanced with faint jazz music. There were hundreds of coaches and armchairs in the lobby, fully occupied with men. While looking around I saw the choir at one corner in their white suits; a pianist, a bassist and a saxophonist. I had also noticed that there was no woman in the lobby, not even a waitress, and spotted somebody approaching us with fast and happy steps.

Jem, I haven’t seen you for ages!

Yes right. How is it going, you old jackal? Fine, meet Christopher, he is my new assistant, Christopher this is Donald Anderson.

Nice to meet you, Christopher. How is your business Jem?

Not too bad, not too good, Dan. No war, no sales you know!

They burst into laughter together; it seemed that sentence had reminded them a joke. Though I hadn’t catch something funny about a war, forced myself to laugh in order to be polite. But shortly after the name Anderson inspired me some thoughts and images and finally a newspaper title appeared in my mind: President Visits Anderson Heavy Industries. Anderson Heavy Industries was one of the biggest suppliers of the army, specialised in tanks and cannons. At the same time Donald Anderson was leaving us, uttering fast sentences mixed with laughter to Mr. Randon and having fast answers similar to them. Then Mr. Randon walked slowly among the people standing with their drinks and between the coaches and tables to a fixed direction. The lobby was too crowded that I was wondering whether we would find a place to sit but Mr. Randon was walking calmly, saluting, talking and shaking hands. Finally we arrived to a table with three chairs, which was reserved for Mr. Randon. As soon as we sat a waiter appeared, nodded and said good night to Mr. Randon.

The same please, Agusto and ask my friend what he would like to drink.

I ordered vodka and began to look around the lobby having the advantage of Mr. Randon’s conversation with the people sitting by the next table. The lobby was full of important and famous people. I could easily distinguish well-known factory owners, bank, insurance company and civil establishment managers, even the senators in the crowd. I had heard the fame of Swords Club before but admittedly I wasn’t expecting all those people would be the members of the club.

Hi Duncan, meet Daniel, my new assistant, a noble, handsome man at his mid-forties sitting on the chair by the table. Promptly I remembered his face; he was the manager of one of leading sports club of the town. Both Duncan and Mr. Randon were speaking without looking at each other, waving, nodding, and saluting the people in the rear tables.

Very crowded tonight, isn’t it so?

Yes this is a final night.

Oh yes, I had forgotten that completely. Did you put some money on somebody tonight?

Just a couple of thousands on Rick. Actually I don’t have too much interest in them.

I was trying to figure out what they were talking about and at the same time detecting the lobby more carefully. There were a least three hundred men eating, drinking, chatting or merely sitting in the lobby. All were rich – clearly visible by their clothes and the way they act – most of them were quite famous and only a few of them were young people like me. When I looked around I noticed I was the youngest person compared with the people on other tables. Therefore people around were throwing a curious look on me at least for once.

The lobby roughly was in a shape of a circle. In one corner the choir was playing, at two corners, there were big doors for service, and many small doors between them. As far as I could see, there were rooms behind the doors for men to gamble. Among the others, one door drew my attention. It was higher than the others; its both slides were decorated with the logo of the club. The swords were remarkably shiny, as if they were made of gold, in the dim lobby. Men were going in and out of the other rooms, but that door was extraordinarily still; no enter, no exit. I felt the same stealthy and cruel feelings about the building again, but adding some more influence that time with that door. I strangely noticed that everyone in the lobby was sitting facing to the door. I had sit in the same direction unaware, only because the chairs were placed so. Everyone around had focused his attention on that door; I thought a famous music band or a show team would get out of the door. And as the clock was about nine and we were about to offer for the dinner, suddenly that bizarre door opened up to both sides.

A cheerful crowd rushed out of the door. Some men stood up to see the crowd clearly, the remaining was sitting, trying to see the crowd among the people, but all were clapping powerfully. The crowd consisted of ten men; some were carrying the badge of the club on the chests of their jackets. A man was walking proudly amid the crowd, accepting the congratulations of the members. Though the distance between he and me it was clearly visible that he was absolutely happy; I could see the shine of winning in his eyes. It was obvious that he had managed to achieve a great goal. He and his accompany walked into the lobby. Jazz had ceased, the air was deafeningly full of claps and greetings. The people in the lobby were greeting him as he walked by, and when he came by our table Mr. Randon and he exchanged glances, which made me think that they were friends for a long time.

I never doubted you could do it, Greg! Mr. Randon said.

He never had chance from the beginning, my old fellow! he said, they hug and he went on his victory walk.

He headed through an empty table behind us, which was set on a higher ground than all other tables. He sat with the other men who followed him. Then everybody had turned their back to the door and faced the table, where he was sitting at and went on clapping for a while. He rose to his feet and saluted the lobby gently and invited the members to have their seats. Then the clapping faded down and jazz began to rise in the air. Like everybody around I stood up and clapped him, didn’t know even why, reverted my chair like Mr. Randon did, and positioned it opposite to the door. Just before I sat down, I took a glance to through the door where all that began and saw a man walking out of the open door drowsily. His legs were trembling, he was trying to stand straight with a great afford. Even I had turned my back to the door as everybody did, I couldn’t keep myself looking at that way. I looked around and nobody seemed to notice him. At first sight you could think he was drunk or had a deadly poison and struggling to survive. His eyes were emitting furious glances at the tables but on the other hand his countenance was fearful. Two bodyguards were following him carefully close behind. As he came next to our table he stood there and stared at Greg’s table. Again nobody seemed to notice his existence. He stood there almost a minute before the bodyguards held him by his arms and turned him silently through the exit. When one of the bodyguards grabbed his right arm he dropped a little thing from his hand on the floor. They led him towards the main entrance. He walked tamely between the well-built bodyguards and Tim opened the door for them. From my seat I could easily see a luxurious car stop outside and he went in. Then I remembered the little object on the floor, and again taking the advantage of Mr. Randon’s speech with the next table, I reached down and grabbed it.

When I opened my fingers; found a figure of a man, almost ten centimetres height. It was shaped of wood or plastic, clearly observable that it was a product of professional hands. The man was standing in upright position, placed on a foundation like toy soldiers. He was wearing a suit, all details of his face and clothes were delicately carved and painted. I detected the figure in my hand more and found out the logo of the club under its foundation. His face was quite acquainted to me and after peering it under the light on the table I discovered that it was William Rilley, the owner of one of the biggest bank of the country. Also in the same moment I recalled that the man who left the club half-dead was also him.

Many questions were running in my head after that bizarre Friday night but I dared not ask any of them to Mr. Randon. Even when I red an article on the newspaper about Rilley’s yacht had found drifted and run aground in remote southern islands and he was lying dead on the deck, I tried hard to overwhelm my curiosity. Local police had announced that it was an unfortunate accident but the reporter was drawing attention that it was quite odd to make such an accident for a yachtsman like Rilley, who had taken up yachting since he was a child. According to the police report on the accident’s night he had sailed alone and the overdose drugs in his blood test were the reasons