The Book That Had No Story

By Paul Nicholson

A young is raped by her father, and becomes pregnant with his child. Her mother blames her daughter for the rape and the consequent suicide death of her husband. The girl is locked in her room and given little food to eat and no help through to the birth. The 14-year-old managed with the birth but soon realized something was wrong with her son. So, putting him in a box she escaped her room, left the house, and made her way to an orphanage. Kissing her son goodbye, she lay the box on the top step, leaves half a handkerchief cut corner to corner, rang the bell and ran away. The child is mentally deficient and spends the next 27 years at Barberry Hall an asylum for the mentally disabled. two days before his 27th birthday the doctor tells him he is going to die. Seymour tells him he wonts to go to heaven while in the sandpit. While laying there, a shooting star falls from the sky and lands within his reach. Seymour picks the fallen star and its warmth cured his illnesses and so returns to see the doctor.While waiting for test results to return Seymour learns to read and before the results are read, he reads the dictionary, The Book That Had No Story. Thanks to his ability to read, the young man became an academic, finds a wife and gets married, has a daughter, and travels the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Nicholson
• Release date: Jan 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370671908

Paul Nicholson

Born in Colchester Essex, England, Paul has always been a hard worker. After leaving school at fourteen, he began his working life in a motor body repair shop. From there he became a builders labourer, worked in a fan manufacturing factory and became a milkman before returning to the motor body repair business. In 1989 Paul and his family emigrated to Sydney Australia where he still resides. Paul developed Acute Myeloid Leukemia in 2000, so spent a long time in hospital. It was here that he read his first book, cover to cover. His friends say the gene for reading must have been in one of the many blood transfusions he had to have. However plausible this idea seems, where his ability to write came from remains a mystery to everyone.

Book preview

The Book That Had No Story

By Paul G Nicholson

Copyright 20018 Paul G Nicholson

Smashwords Edition

Prologue

Snow, several inches deep covered the ground outside a house, where freshly made footprints led from the front door to the integral garage. From a closed roller door, tire marks led to the road where they disappeared. Inside the house, Jack Frost had skated on the window panes and created his magical patterns. In the lounge, the open fire from the night before had long turned to ash and left the room was cold as outside.

Stacey, six weeks into her 14th-year sat on a sofa facing the ashen fire with tears flooding from her eyes. The young girl’s hair was a mess, and the top of her dressing gown had been ripped open. Her mother, Maureen, entered the room and mistakenly thought her daughter had a nightmare. She sat next to her, put her arm around her shoulder and told her the frightening dream would soon leave her memory. Stacey began to sob and replied it was no dream; she was crying because her father raped her. Maureen was shocked by the accusation and moved away to stand in front of the burned out fire. Without comment she stood as rigid as a Sergeant Major, refusing to believe such a thing could happen in such a well-respected household. In a demanding voice, the disbelieving woman sent the poor girl to her bedroom and told her not to leave until called.

For two months, Stacey remained in her room; her mother came in once a day, and without speaking, left one meager plate of food. Time dragged on, her daughter begun to show signs of pregnancy. It was then Maureen confronted her husband Bernard with her daughter’s accusation. At first, the man denied everything, but moments later broke down and confessed. Maureen left the house to walk the streets hoping to find a way to redemption. Bernard, meanwhile, went to his bedroom and wrote Stacey a letter begging her forgiveness. The broken man, full of remorse went to the top of the stairs and threw himself down. Maureen returned to find her husband lying on the floor, dead. She spotted a piece of paper clenched in his hand and, anticipating what it was, grabbed hold, put it in her pocket and screamed. Within seconds, a neighbor pushed open the door and came rushing in to find the reason for the scream. The neighbor phoned for an ambulance.

Stacey, being well into her pregnancy at this stage, did not attend her father’s funeral. Her mother made an excuse, saying she was too distraught to leave the house. However, the woman blamed her daughter for her husband’s death and had little more to do with her leaving Stacey to creep downstairs at night, in search of food.

Although Stacey had been ignorant of the procedures of childbirth when the time came her natural instincts took over, and the frightened young girl managed to do what was necessary and gave birth to her child. Straight away she knew something was wrong with her baby boy, and realized there was nothing she could do. If her baby were to survive, she needed to take him somewhere close by for help. With tears streaming down her face, she wrapped the tiny infant in a sheet taken from her bed and put him in a cardboard box. She then took her favorite red silk handkerchief, cut it corner to corner and placed one-half in the box and keeping the other prayed one day the two pieces would again become whole. With muffled tears, she crept downstairs, opened the front door and left the house never to return.

Because of the late hour, there was no one on the street to see her leaving and heading for an orphanage two miles away. Once there, the poor girl kissed her little boy’s forehead and after begging forgiveness placed the box on the top step, took a deep breath, rang the doorbell and ran away, but turned in time to see the box taken inside.

After examining him, the doctor on duty gave the child little to no hope of surviving the night and so arranged for a Christening to take place, after which the infant would be in the hands of God.

When the registrar arrived, Dr. Alan gave his fathers name, and the hurried service took place. Afterward, a young Indian nurse sat at a desk filling out the certificate had written her surname down by mistake. The child survived the night, and the following 9,860, and became known as Seymour Wanda. It was one day short of his 27th birthday that Seymour lived at

Barberry Hall, the Blakefield Asylum for the mentally impaired.

Chapter 1

After living for almost 27-years, a young man owned nothing more than a triangle of red silk, a pair of shoes the clothes on his back and a clean set of underwear in his jackets left-hand pocket. The suit had been a size and a half too big for him since first putting it on, two years ago and it was well past its use-by date then. His footwear, although they had no laces and scuffed beyond compare, they were comfortable and were his. No matter what new clothes the staff put out for him to ware, the young man refused to put them on.

No one has been able to break through the cocoon surrounding Seymour, and only one person at the facility could understand his language of tormented grunts and groans. His name was Dr. John Taper, the leading specialist at Barberry Hall and was highly respected by his entire staff.

From getting out of bed in the morning to climbing back in at night, it was the same routine, for patients as well as the doctor’s nursing team. The couple had to administer medications at certain times, while the kitchen staff had to have meals for everyone at the same time every day. Visitors, however, were allowed in at any time, though were scarce.

Seven other people slept in Seymour's room. When they woke in the mornings, would shuffle toward the communal bathroom to wash, use the toilet and shuffle back to their beds to dress. Two of them would race one another to get dressed and hurry to the door to wait for the breakfast bell to sound. A big cheer went up, and the whole room would clap the winner. The other six sat on their beds. It would be the same in other rooms where 38-people waited for breakfast, but word spread, one person wasn’t going to be there the following day.

When the bell rang, everyone hurried to the canteen where everyone sat at the same table and on the same chair. When finished, would wandered off to do whatever they did during the day. Everyone had their routine. Seymour’s would always go to the kitchen once clearing his plate and wash up for his friend the cook. When his work was complete, the young man would go outside to walk up and down the paths within the asylum grounds, and end up lying in his favorite spot, a sandpit, his greatest love of all. When lying still, birds would come to feed on the tiny ants, disturbed by his presence. The Starlings and Doves would hop around and peck at his trouser legs, feeding on the ants searching for food themselves. The late afternoons were the best time for lying on the sand. His friends, perched high in the trees sang their goodnight songs to one another before settling down for the night. Often Seymour imagined the birds sang their goodnight songs to him. However, no matter whether Seymour was lying in the sand or walking the grounds, his body clock was never late in telling him when to go inside for food.

The young man had spent his last 20-years; living at the Barberry Hall and since arriving had never been outside the surrounding walls. The closest came one dreary autumn afternoon while walking along the driveway. A bright orange light, blinking through the trees caught his eye. The strange glow drew him away from his usual path and pulled him towards the gated entrance. Due to the area being new to him, felt the wanting need to stop and go back, but his feet kept moving him closer. The sun was low on the horizon, and the leaves on the trees had all but gone. The dusky sun shone orange through the wrought iron gates and beckoned him forward. Although having been frightened, his feet would not stop. Then, not a second too soon, a black Raven took to the air and called out a warning for him not to go further. That was enough to break his trance. Petrified the poor guy turned and ran back to the safety of his sandpit. Since then, nothing tempted him ever to walk to the gates again.

At night, after eating dinner, Seymour had to get ready for the following day, which meant washing his white shirt and underwear in the bathroom. There was no modesty in these places and would strip naked, wash his shirt, vest, and pants before wringing them out so much, each item was almost dry. In the process of washing his clothes, the water spilled would always clean the sand from his feet. After placing his clothes in a drawer overnight to finish drying and hanging his shirt on a convenient screw in the wall, would take his clean underwear from his jacket pocket, put them on, and go to bed.

The doctor had noticed on his chart, that his visits had increased and of late, each visit required him to have higher and higher doses of morphine. On his last visit, Dr. Taper explained there was not much more medicine could do for him, and his life on earth would soon end. In Seymour’s mumbled speech the doctor heard him ask if it was possible to be allowed to die in his sandpit. The doctor told him it would be all right and there were no stronger pain reliefs than morphine, knew when the end would come.

Late in the afternoon of the following day, Seymour's pains began to get worse and so returned to his room, sat on his bed to wait until the pain became too much. His heart rate had almost doubled by the time his pain tolerance had reached its limit and knew what was about to happen. While mumbling to himself, he fluffed his pillow and smoothed out the bed covers for one last time and after checking his underwear was in the right-hand pocket of his jacket, headed to the sandpit, knowing death was almost upon him.

The house rules were no one to be outside the building after dark, but Dr. Taper had informed his staff members, Seymour would be permitted to leave. The night staff, coming on duty were also brought up to date as to why the rule was to be relaxed.

In his unique way, Seymour had accepted his fate and thought it would be best to die. The doctor had told him that when people died, they would no longer have terrible pains, and would simply go to sleep.

The doctor stood by his office door talking to a group of nurses, about to come on duty when the young man came to the foyer and been able to catch the doctor’s eye. A plain smile was enough to let the doctor know the time had arrived for him to go to his sandpit. Dr. Taper left his nurses, hurried across the room, and put his arm around his young friend's shoulder. The two men walked outside and stood in the cold night air a moment longer. The doctor spoke to him and gave an assurance the pain would not last too long, You will be okay my friend. All your pain will leave your body, and you will suffer no more. Seymour nodded his head, gave a grateful smile, and began his journey. Dr. Taper turned, and with his head down, strolled back inside the building and closed the door.

Just then, a car, driven by a beautiful woman pulled into the car park and stopped a short distance from the steps. A man, sitting in a darkened passenger seat opened his door and stepped out.

Because the evening light had grown darker, millions of stars sparkled in the night sky, and without looking back, the young man took his final walk along the pathway, keeping pace with the stranger from the car. The two men, however, did not speak.

Dr. Taper had to wipe his eyes and blow his nose before walking through the foyer trying to look composed before returning to three of his nurses. Seymour has gone to the sandpit, people. There’s no way the poor lad can last more than 15-minutes.

One of the nurses asked, Wouldn’t it be better if one of us was him? It seems so cruel to allow him out there alone.

No Molly, Seymour wanted to be himself. I can tell you three that young man has suffered so much in his life; I couldn’t deny him his wish.

Molly dabbed her eye and turned away. Someone should be with him, Dr. Taper. It’s not right anyone should be alone at a time like this, and I would say the best place for him would be in a nice warm bed, not out lying on the cold ground. Nurse Cassie put her arms around her friend Molly and hugged her. The young redhead had seen dead people before, but none of them were her friends.

Digby Drew, a male nurse, handed the doctor the night sheet. As you can see, Dr. Taper, we’re all here, and then commented, Gee, I’ll miss seeing that guy around here.

Now don’t you start blubbering, or we’ll be running out of tissues before morning. Now, everyone, we have a job to do, and there is no hope of it being done by itself. I’ll take care of our young friend. I’ll give him another ten minutes, and I’ll go bring him in. It sounds callous talking this way, but I’m sure the lad knows what’s going to happen.

With a startled expression, nurse Molly said, Oh dear me, and looking shocked, pointed to the doorway. There’s someone to see you, doctor. She said.

CHAPTER 2

Seymour put his left hand in his pocket and brought out his oldest possession, a piece of red silk handkerchief, cut corner to corner. A nurse had found it in the cardboard box; his mother had left at the orphanage. This scrap of rag had always been his precious keepsake and smiled while moving it between his fingers, but the smile disappeared when his chronic pain grew in intensity. He brought his red silk keepsake to his lips kissed it, shut his eyes, and took a deep breath to ease his tormented body. With no more than 50-feet to go, the young man struggled to make himself walk. His need to get there forced him to dig deeper than ever before to gain the strength required to reach his goal and to lie on the sand for the last time. At last, his pain-racked body arrived at its target. The birds high in the trees would have heard the sigh of relief leaving his mouth. The birds were surprised to see him and gave him a short welcome song, which caused him to smile and happened to peer down to notice someone had cleared the leaves from the sandpit; maybe it was Dr. Taper, who knows. It was a struggle for him to sit down and needed to battle far beyond his pain barrier. It was not going to rob him of his last wish. Success and relief came not a moment too soon. The short respite gave him a chance to catch his breath and to sit on the yellow sand. Unable to envisage anywhere to be as nice as his sandpit, it was easy to imagine him to be the Heaven Dr. Taper said people went to when they died. Right on cue, the birds perched high above began singing. Their sound brought the smile back to his face and on looking up; saw hundreds of sparkling eyes peering down. It reminded him of the fairy lights on a green tree brought in by one of the nurses. Although somewhat vague, Seymour remembered there was snow on the ground, and everyone sang songs. It seemed the birds singing had grown louder. The trees had become engulfed with tiny flickering lights. His smile widened for a few seconds, and his body relaxed before falling back. It was like a strike of lightning hit him, his body contorted and again needed to close his eyes and clench his fists to ease the pain, and seconds later required a huge intake of breath and tightened his fists even more. Bolts of pain compressed his body. He swept his arms along the sand one would if they were flying, his fingers released their fists to dig deep into the yellow ground. The pain had become too much for him to remain silent and called out for help from his good friend, Dr. Taper. Again, his pain eased but for no more than a few seconds before it attacked him again. The excruciating agony was so bad, his whole body burned, as a long wheezing breath left his body. The young man’s taut sinuses collapsed and sank into the soft yellow sand. His relief from pain continued, though waited without hope, it would not return.

As the asylum lay some distance from town, the night sky was unaffected by streetlights. Seymour’s eyes peered into a cloudless universe and spotted a sliver of a new moon, suspended among thousands of specks of light. While lying there, a constellation of shooting stars raced across the Heavens and disappeared as swiftly as they came. Then a new light appeared, it was brighter and much bigger than the ones before. The new star traveled at a much slower speed, but unlike the shooting stars before, this one did not disappear. Instead, it grew brighter and seemed to change course. The new light’s brightness grew until it became too much to bear and although bringing his hands up to shield his eyes, the white light penetrated both fingers and eyelids. It seemed no matter what he did the light shone in his eyes and could not avoid looking at the light source. It was then a thought crossed his mind. His heartbeat the way snare drummers drumsticks do in a military band. Could whatever the bright light is, be coming to carry him away? The notion excited him and long seconds passed until the brilliant light dimmed enough for him to remove his hands and open his eyes. However, instead of seeing an object the size of the moon, its size had had not changed from what it was and continued to watch a now faint glow, it crept closer and closer until it landed with a solid thud in the sandpit, inches from his outstretched arm. On turning his head, Seymour saw a crater the fallen star had made and noticed a faint waft of smoke drifting from the crater’s center. Blue colored smoke spiraled up and floated toward his face, and there was no way to avoid inhaling its sweet fragrance. The moment the aroma entered his lungs a strange feeling came over him, it was if his body floated on a carpet.

Dr. Taper had explained that pain went away when people died, and, was no longer pain in his body, thought what the doctor had said was true. His arms moved, completely free from any discomfort, so stretched further out, and removed two handfuls of warm sand to find the fallen star. When picking the object up, and bringing it closer, found it to be as dark as your hat and was so shiny, it sparkled. The fallen star was in the shape of a comma and felt almost too hot to hold. He brought it closer still and saw it had rounded edges, approximately 25-mm thick by 100-mm at its longest point. Strange, but although feeling solid, it weighed next to nothing.

The inside of Seymour's head began to spin. The last words spoken by Dr. Taper echoed from some corner of his mind, and with his mouth open, numerous grunts and groans escaped fading into the distance and were gone forever. The Wimpey sounds pushed out of his vacant mind by the new sounds entering and with his head barely able to move, Seymour spoke his first audible words, How are you today Seymour? although the words made no sense to him, more and more left his mouth. You will feel no pain when you die.

Heat from the shiny black star began to radiate up his arm, into his head, down to his feet until the heat source enveloped every inch of his once cold body, and made him warmer than ever before. While lying on the sand, thinking and staring at his fallen star, his mind opened, and the ability to look at an object and question himself as to what it was came into being. It was then the young man heard the background noise of everyday life. Church bells chimed its lonesome call to its parish, calling them to prayer. New sounds came from everywhere his eyes looked. What had happened to him? Never in his past had sounds registered such as those now registering within his brain. The young man felt different in both body and mind. The immense warmth continued heating him internally and prevented his pains from returning. As impossible, as it seemed, his body felt reborn. It took a little more than five minutes for all discomforts to leave and no longer did it hurt to exhale or to move his body.

While holding the shiny black stone, Seymour realized death had not taken him, and his life had not ended so chose to stand and achieved it without the slightest discomfort. A deep breath followed by a long exhale and when bringing his eyes down noticed the sand. Although having walked on its surface, there were no other marks other than an impression of where his body once lay. The movement of his arms through the sand had left an indent, resembling an Angel. What had happened to him? His head began to fill with lights at the thought, and, although unable to see the man the doctor’s voice sounded clear as day, You’ll be okay my friend, you will be okay. It kept repeating.

These flashing lights return many times during his extended life, and with each event, one more day of his past became known to him, and there were 9,860 days to go.

Chapter 3

With Seymour's head finally clear of flashing lights he stamped his feet to shack off the last remnants of sand when the fallen star slipped from his grasp and made a cracking sound when it landed. A faint mist rose from the now, broken star and while bending down for his broken star, inhaled a sweet-smelling vapor, and his body ceased to be hot. Him becoming conscious straightaway of a chill in the night air. Until then, the weather had never been an issue with him. Seymour shivered when a tingle ran down his spine.

While holding one-half of his fallen star in either hand and staring at them for a full minute, speculating if it could be it that made his body warm. If so, what other powers does it hold? The surface appeared flat as a mirror and reflected his image in each piece. With the two halves placed side by side, the comma became a heart, and when putting them together, heard a faint click, and the star’s warmth returned. The join disappeared and after several attempts to separate them failed, so put it into the left side pocket of his jacket with his red piece of silk for safekeeping. The stones warmth continued, and once again, the young man became warm.

Although being a cold night, Seymour had droplets of sweat covering his forehead that rolled down the sides of his face and dripped from the dimple of his chin. When taking another deep breath, lifted his shoulders, put his chest out as though a soldier on parade, then wiped his face with a trembling hand, before taking his first step to go back to see Dr. Taper. Now standing upright, the young man stood a full six feet in height and with a smile on his face stretched his arms, and forced his shoulders back, still with no pain. If this was a dream; he did not want to wake.

Seymour walked away from the sandpit; his footsteps kept time with the peel of church bells ringing at a nearby church still calling its flock to prayer. People hearing the chimes would never know the name of the campanologist pulling the ropes. The joyful sound had not registered with him before and knew, since lifting the fallen star from the sand, something astonishing had happened. His mind had already taken in several new sounds, his footsteps, the rustling of his clothes, and the wind blowing through the trees; even an owl hooting perched high it a gigantic oak tree, hundreds of years old. It appeared his brain had come to life and it wanted to know things.

Happy as a Sandboy, his march continued along the pathway to the steps leading into the reception area. Not having taken many steps however, something made him stop and slip his shoes off. When picking them up and tipping them, a river of sand poured from inside. His mind told him this had been the reason for him not to wear socks, but; what told his mind to stop and empty the sand. How did his brain know what to do? Once the young man’s feet were free from sand, slipped his feet back into his shoes and continued his journey.

Seymour climbed the three steps and opened the door into the foyer, and spotted Dr. Taper talking to three nurses. Because his back was towards him, the doctor did not see him enter, so waited, and stood, gazing around the room, noticing things for the first time. However, when the doctor finished talking a nurse pointed towards the entrance. There’s someone to see you, doctor. The doctor turned his head, spotted his friend, and could not believe his eyes.

Seymour mind’s eye continued to wander around the room taking in everything for the first time, so did not notice the doctor hurrying toward him and on arrival gave his friend a huge smile and thought what had come through the door, was an apparition. After mumbling a few unheard words, the doctor asked, Seymour, what on earth has happened to you?

I don’t know, doctor. I don’t know what’s happened, but I’m no longer in pain. The words came gushing from his mouth; no one would have known he had at one-time difficulty speaking.

The doctor grabbed Seymour’s right arm, Come with me. Nurse, give me a hand for a moment, please. Forget the gurney, come with me.

Yes, doctor. She replied, and likewise spoke with a shocked tone and the three of them hurried away.

A resident at Blakefield for the past 20-years, his star patient, began to see and hear everything going on around him. Groups of people talking, others shouting, the tick-tock sound coming from the grandfather clock when walking passed, the doctor opening his office door, a slamming sound when the nurse closed it behind her. All these were new sounds. The trio went into to the examination room where Seymour was told to sit on the bed and began answering questions to discover what had happened. While Dr. Taper babbled on, the nurse helped Seymour to remove his jacket which he kept hold of not allowing the nurse to put it on a chair. She rolled his shirtsleeve ready to take a blood sample. The doctor could not believe what had happened, HOW? he asked, placing a stethoscope on his chest and various locations on his back and listening but failed to hear any of the usual gross, disgusting sounds. The nurse and doctor began talking among themselves and did things so fast Seymour’s vision went blurry, and everything said went over his head anyway. Quite oblivious to a needle entering his arm, the young man contended himself looking a picture hanging on the walls, his facial expression never changing.

Without wasting a moment, Dr. John Taper withdrew the syringe full of red liquid and transferred it into a vial, placed the sample in a plastic bag and after scribbling down some doctor writing handed it to the nurse to take to the lab. The nurse left the room, and the doctor picked up the phone and called the lab technician, informing him the blood was on its way and what to look for in particular. Seymour remained nonchalant, sitting on the bed swinging his legs back and forth. His jacket lay over his knees, and he made a chirping sound similar to those of the birds high in the trees. He no longer took notice of the doctor’s questioning or had an interest in what he was saying to some unseen person on the other end of the telephone line. Instead, his eyes and mind darted about the room, taking in the various colors, shapes, and sizes of things. Although having seen these countless times before, everything was new to him. When the results returned, the report read ‘everything clear.’ The technician could find no signs of the patient’s past illnesses in any of the tests carried out. Impossible as it may have appeared, there were no signs of his body undergoing high doses of morphine. Come with me Seymour, and you can come along to nurse. Without slowing down, the two people helped speed the patient down the hall to the radiotherapy department to have an X-ray taken of his chest; confident the results would show some remnant of his cancers. When the photo shoot came to an end, the doctor brought Seymour back to his office, told him to remain sitting on the bed and not to move, and returned to the lab to await the development of the images.

Left alone, Seymour, sat on the edge of the bed was able to reach over to a nearby table and pick up a magazine. Instead of looking at the pictures, the young man tried to read what it said, but the words were only tiny lines of squiggles to his