Escape From Samsara: Prophecy Allocation, #1

By Nicky Blue

A comedy about demons, time travel and gardening.

"This book is HILARIOUS. If you're looking for some humor and a fast read, definitely pick this up." (Goodreads)

Barry's been patient, but after twenty-seven years of trimming hedges for people he hates, he's had enough. All he wants to do is to find his missing father and to discover his inner ninja. But life's not done with throwing him curveballs.

A fatal mistake catapults Barry into the adventure of a lifetime. With talking hedges, samurai ghosts, meddling psychotherapists, and an inexplicably non-linear time pattern conspiring against him, Barry must do battle to save his hide, unleash the ninja within, and rescue his father from an ancient army, a dark sorcerer and a raging inferno.

What is the mysterious Prophecy Allocation Department? 

Where is The Before and After?

Even more importantly, Will Barry's underwear hold out until he has saved the day?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nicky Blue
• Release date: Dec 16, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386650140

Nicky Blue

Hi i’m Nicky, I am from Brighton in England. For years I played and wrote songs in an alternative rock band before going back to university and studying English Literature and Philosophy. I now have a passion for writing fantasy and dark comedy stories. I recently worked as a translator on the planet KELT 2Ab in the Andromeda Galaxy. That didn’t last very long though as the commute was killing me. I also write a blog about what it’s like being an indie author and how to coexist in different time realities. I am normally ready for bed by 10 pm. 

Book preview

Chapter One

The Nightmare

‘The best ninja has no smell, leaves no name, and makes everyone wonder if he ever existed.’

(Master Tanba)

Barry Harris unhooked his back support as he reached down to pick up his secateurs. On his way up, he made that strangled grunting noise that men in their fifties tend to make. He looked at the time and grumbled, ‘Three more bloody hours.’

He took off his beanie hat and used it to mop up the estuaries of sweat running from his armpits. Mrs Sharrod appeared at her back door.

‘How’s it going out here? Fancy a cuppa?’

‘Oh, I’d love one! I’ve got a throat like a rusty bagpipe.’

‘Have you got time to do my hedge and apple tree today too?’

Barry turned away, pretending to look for something as he gritted his teeth. ‘I should think so.’ This is no life for a ninja, he thought. I’m a shadow warrior, I should be training for special missions and hunting down terrorists, not doing this bullshit.

As Barry was hacking away at the hedge, he had the distinct feeling he was being watched – a ninja’s highly attuned sixth sense is very rarely mistaken about these things. He looked round and couldn’t see anyone but, as he continued, he realised there was a large pair of owl-like eyes staring at him from deep within the hedge.

‘Who the hell are you?’ asked Barry.

‘I’m Terry Watkins, better known as Terry the Hedge. Pleased to make your acquaintance, squire,’ came the reply.

‘I mean, what the hell are you doing in the middle of Mrs Sharrod’s hedge?’

‘Don’t get your Alan Whickers in a twist, me ol’ mucker. I’m not a real person, see. I’m an ethereal being from the other side. Basically, I’m yer all-singing, all-dancing cockney spiritual guide. I serve gardeners across the south of England and occasionally East Anglia when Garry the Wheelbarrow goes on the sick. Don’t get me started on that muppet though. He’s been mugging me off for centuries!’

‘Er… right. How come you just appeared like that?’

‘Whenever a gardener needs a bit of me wisdom, he cuts a hole in a hedge, and that’s me cue. Bosh! You are then looking at my boat race. You got me for three minutes, then I do one.’ Terry waggled his eyebrows up and down.

‘But I don’t have any problems,’ Barry replied cautiously as he stepped back from the hedge, wondering if too many fish fingers could cause hallucinations.

‘Everyone has at least one problem, and most people…put it like this: most people would kill to have just one problem.’

‘Maybe so, but I can solve my own problems, thanks very much.’

‘I hate to tell you this, mate, but solving your problems may take… how do I put it? A bit of lateral thinking. You may need to step outside of the conventional patterns and boundaries that normally govern your life,’ said Terry, sagely.

‘What, like getting self-help advice from a hedge, you mean?’

‘You may not realise it yet, mate, but one day you will consider talking to me a very good idea.’

‘Really? Until that day, I’ve got a great idea, why don’t you fuck off?’

A flash of green light ricocheted through the hedge as Terry’s big eyes vanished.

Mrs Sharrod reappeared holding a cup of tea and looking perplexed. ‘Who are you talking to, Barry?’

‘Oh, no one. I was just thinking aloud. Wonderful, a cuppa!’

‘Would you like a chocolate biscuit?’

‘No thanks. I just had a flare up of my irritable bowel. It’s wreaking havoc in the downstairs department. My mum’s told me to buy her a gas mask.’

‘Sounds like my husband,’ said Mrs Sharrod. ‘How’s your mum doing?’

‘She’s still getting her maudlin moments unfortunately. Been spending a lot of her time just staring out of our back window. I’m a bit worried about her, to be honest.’

‘Bless her. Is she still going to those heavy metal concerts?’

‘Yeah, that’s her one remaining joy in life really. It was Mindy, my sister, who used to play it all the time when we were growing up. I think it’s a way Mum can remember her. She went to see a band called Cradle Of Filth last month and has just bought tickets for Cannibal Corpse playing at the Brighton Dome soon. She spends most of her time hunting out obscure death metal bands on YouTube. For years, she’s tried to get me into it but it tends to make me a bit anxious. I prefer country music.’

Barry shared a cramped one-bedroom flat with his eighty-two-year-old mum, Molly, above the Astral Waves Hair Salon on Portslade High Street. Portslade was a small seaside town on the south coast of England where people lived if they couldn’t afford to be in the nearby city of Brighton. The proprietor of the hair salon was a delightful man by the name of Robbie Jarvis. Robbie, a 60s throwback, looked a bit like a wizard who had grown up in a septic tank: very groovy but best kept at arm’s length. It was very well known in Portslade that he had a penchant for the older woman, and I do mean older woman. If you hadn’t had at least one hip replaced, he simply wasn’t interested.

---

When Barry got back from work, Molly was sat at the kitchen table listening to Napalm Death at ear-splitting volume, doing a crossword puzzle, and picking her nose. A seamless display in the art of multi-tasking.

‘Konnichiwa, Mum.’

‘Hello, dear. Are you still learning Japanese?’

‘Yeah, I’ve got this app on my phone and I listen to it at work. I’m getting pretty good now.’

‘Your dad would be so proud.’ Molly got up and walked over to turn the music down. ‘Shall I put some fish fingers on for you?’

‘Thanks, Mum. I’m going out with Tom tonight to see a new ninja film.’ Barry ambled into the front room and slumped on the sofa. He and his mum got on pretty well considering the cramped living conditions. Due to the lack of space, Barry was forced to sleep on a 1980s sofa-bed which was an absolute ball ache to set up, especially after a long day’s gardening. He would have liked to leave it unfolded all the time but Molly didn’t have anywhere else to practice her yoga in the afternoons. She had rented an OAP yoga workout DVD from the library and had been trying to master the Tree and Locust poses over the past six months. She found the advantages of thirty minutes of exercise a day were less backache, improved hip flexibility, and clearer nasal passages. The downside was that it made her fart like a baboon on a forty-eight-hour banana bender.

Every morning at 6.30 on the button, Molly woke up in a cold sweat, screaming obscenities that would make Ozzy Osbourne blush. This had been happening since New Year’s Eve 1993, when she had seen an episode of Emmerdale where a plane had crashed into the village of Beckindale, killing four of Molly’s favourite characters. Life had become devoid of value from that point onwards. Incidentally, it was also the same day her husband and daughter had nipped out for a pint of milk and never returned.

Molly came into the front room with Barry’s fish fingers and sat down next to him.

‘Do you know what day it is today, Barry?’

‘No.’

‘It would have been your dad’s seventy-sixth birthday. It’s twenty-five years since they went missing, but feels like forever.’

Barry put his arm around his mum and pulled her towards him.

‘I know, Mum. I think about them all the time.’

‘The first time I laid eyes on your father it was love at first sight. I’d never even met a Japanese person before but I knew I had to be with him.’

‘Why did Dad come to England?’

‘He said he was sightseeing.’

‘How come he was in Portslade then?’

The police investigation into the disappearance of Mindy and Yamochi Harris found a picture of a Japanese glamour model amongst his possessions. The police believed the most likely scenario was that he had eloped with her and taken his daughter with him. The case was closed but something never sat right about it for Barry. Even the most plausible and rational of explanations can turn out to be wrong. Secretly, part of Barry blamed himself for his dad’s disappearance. He felt there must be something wrong with him that had caused his dad to leave.

Barry always tried his best, but he did not really have the emotional resilience to cope with being around his mum when she was in one of her moods. He feared they might be contagious in some way, and that he might catch some kind of an emotional or mental meltdown. This was one of the reasons he spent his weekends up at his allotment. It was the only time he felt free, undisturbed by the pressures

Reviews for Escape From Samsara

[Leon Cameron · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Nicky Blue has developed a loveable, yet quirky, character in his protagonist Barry. The interplay between ancient Japanese culture and modern British culture is seamless, works well, and does not feel forced at all. I would highly recommend this tale, it made me laugh many times as well!