Whispers of a Lesser God

By A. R. Forte

Whispers of a Lesser God is the third in a collection of short, sharp, sarcastic satires that speak to the reader in a simple, effective fashion. They are especially designed for easy reading whilst making maximum impact. They all follow distinctly different paths, each story bizarre, unpredictable and mysterious. The reader is invited and induced to take part in the action as it unfolds, returning old characters while introducing new ones to the melee.

Maintaining complete originality, these stories will appeal to those who love cutting wit, uncomfortable honesty and pop culture, as well as those who enjoyed the first two collections: Spirits of a Lesser God, 2012 (9781780880846) and Visit from a Lesser God, 2014 (9781783062300).

Reader reviews from Visits from a Lesser God:
“He writes to no formula, no structure and no rules. Simply fast, furious and provocative writing. Refreshing and daring stuff.”
“Only a free thinker can write like this. His satires are flooded with original ideas and scenarios.”
“I like the way AR Forte not only speaks to the reader, but is also asking the reader uncomfortable and tantalizing questions.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Jul 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9781789011333

A. R. Forte

An ex-Polaris submariner for the Royal Navy, A. R. Forte currently works in security, living and working in Spain. Spirits of a Lesser God was published in 2012 by Matador, and The Horse Keeper was published in 2013.

Book preview

Whispers of a Lesser God

With a Duck, a Dive and a Bob

A Collection of Short Stories by

A. R. Forte

Copyright © 2018 A. R. Forte

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

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ISBN 9781789011333

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Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

Contents

Last Train from Ghost Town

Daphne Devine, alias Dorothy Dodd, was the most gifted and celebrated jazz singer of her generation. But she has been retired for years. Although disenchanted and let down by people she trusted, she has gone back to live in her old house by the seaside and is relatively happy and content. Then one rainy night, her former photographer Duncan knocks on her door with a young girl and they are both soaking wet. Although still angry and bitter towards Duncan because she feels he deserted her, Dorothy is intrigued by the girl. Reluctantly she lets them through the door and they board the last train from Ghost Town.

Bouffant

Bob Styles is a former submariner who has left the service after a relatively mediocre career that ended on a bad note. Because his Uncle Harry left him some money in his will, he has begun to idle away his time, with no apparent goal in sight. That is, until one night when he walks into a pub and meets an old lady with a spectacularly wicked bouffant, and he will never be the same again.

Bear Trap

Ray has joined the FBI after a good and devoted career in the US marines. He is anxious to prove himself to his new team of FBI agents, and gets a golden opportunity when the team receive orders for a very dangerous assignment. Everything is going to plan, but then something completely unexpected happens.

Cause and Effect

Henry has not got long to live, and he knows it. His last heart bypass was a final attempt to save a cruel, selfish and heartless man. He spends his final days sitting outside a cafeteria watching the world go by. Surprisingly, he finds himself quite amused by the antics and follies of people passing by. Until, one afternoon, an uninvited guest sits down at Henry’s table and introduces himself. And Henry does not like this guest at all.

Booby Trap

Simon is a naughty teenage boy. But now he is doing something totally unacceptable and contemptible. He has started to spy on the woman next door through the rafters of the loft that covers both of their properties. But the more he spies on her, the more he cannot stop. An erotic fantasy is turning into an obsession. Then one night, disaster strikes.

The Frogs’ Ball

A young boy is kicking his football about in an open field. The field slopes down to a wooded area, covering a river. He aimlessly punts the ball hard and it rolls down towards the river. It disappears between two trees and he runs after it. As he passes between the trees, he sees a bony old hand coming from behind one of them, holding his ball. He stops in his tracks, perplexed and curious. He is about to meet a strange and mysterious old man

Transmission of Evil

Martin is a very happy young man. The cafeteria where he works is busy, but the customers and staff are congenial and mostly regular. But when a particularly striking blond-haired and blue-eyed man becomes a frequent customer, although he is very polite and generous, Martin is slightly disturbed by the man’s countenance and powerful aura. One afternoon a big, drunken thug comes in and begins to insult Martin with racist and abusive remarks. Martin is flabbergasted and inspired when the blond man intervenes to protect him. He thinks he has found a wonderful friend.

Sue Has Caught the Blues

Sue and her friend Sharon are both fanatical blues fans. Plastered on her bedroom walls are posters of Denis and the Dunderheads, Peter and the Perverts, Underhand Bung and Thunderpants Thompson. One night, Sharon knocks on Sue’s front door while she is having a shower. When Sue’s mother opens it she almost bursts through the door, runs up the stairs, throws open the bathroom door and rips the shower curtains back. And then she starts waving two tickets at Sue, screaming, "I got ’em, I got ’em, I got ’em!’

Whispers of a Lesser God

A biting wind from the north

Warns you that it’s coming forth.

A rustle through tree and branch

Hails its merry, cunning dance.

Sweeping over hill and field,

Swiping with its sword and shield.

Dart and dive through tree and bush.

Run and jump, pull and push.

It swoops and glides through the sky.

Its eagle eyes dart and spy.

It twists and turns a demon’s dance.

From left to right it looks askance.

Its ice breath is on your shoulder,

Its hissing whisper growing colder.

You are raving mad to get away

To skip and jump another day.

But you trip and fall on your face.

With shock and awe you lose the race.

It lets you justify your case,

Then laughs and turns its spade of ace.

And with a duck, a dive and a bob,

Blows the whispers of a lesser god.

Last Train from Ghost Town

Dorothy felt comfortable; comfortable and safe. She glanced up at the bay window and marvelled at the sheer amount and force of the rain which was pelting the glass. Flashes of lightning lit up old photographs of Daphne Devine that decked the wall. With each flash, Daphne appeared to be looking at her. But Dorothy pondered that her old self, her doppelgänger, had left the stage years ago. She had gone back to being plain old Dorothy Dodd.

As she lay on the sofa, her two cats, perched on the end, gazed lovingly at her. And she realised that they were now the only friends she had. Daphne Devine had courted many friends, some good, some bad. And some so bizarre and predatory that they liked to coexist close to somebody extremely rich and famous, juxtaposing at every opportunity to gain favour, due to their own lack of talent. Youth could never have warned her about this, when she was at the height of her fame. Being the youngest and most celebrated jazz singer of her generation had lifted her out of obscurity, into a fairy tale of phenomenal success. But no one could have warned her that coming down from such heights could be a crash landing. Despite all of this she was charmed; charmed and grateful. There were only three people who she still felt bitter about, but that was in the past. Old age had also been kind to her. And with the exception of a little nagging arthritis in her knees, she was in remarkably good health.

The deluge had gone on for two days solid. It had swept in from the North Sea like a giant, rolling black cloud, rumbling and grumbling like an angry old man. The lightning had come later when the storm crashed into another dormant weather front that had been slumbering inland, over quiet and humid farmland. This semi-detached house close to the sea was her castle. It was her refuge from the outside world. It was the house that she had grown up in. It was where she had run back into the loving arms of her former self, Dorothy Dodd. Plain old Dorothy Dodd. She had been at the top and had fled the image, the icon, the fantastic fantasy named Daphne Devine.

She became vaguely aware of a car pulling up outside through the pitter-patter of the rain, and saw the orange glow of a taxi light flickering on and off, running down the windows. She was still not paying much attention when the taxi driver’s door slammed, and then the passenger door, and the passenger paid the driver. She only became slightly alarmed when she heard her front gate being hooked open and the shuffle of feet along her path. But the loud chiming of her doorbell, followed by the rap of her door knocker, alerted her that she had a visitor. And that visitor knew exactly who they were looking for: her.

She stood up from the sofa and reluctantly tiptoed across the floor to peep through the side window, hoping that her visitor would not catch sight of her. To her amazement, astonishment and finally trepidation, she realised that she was looking at the unmistakable figure of Duncan. Duncan the Judas, Duncan the traitor, Duncan the fly-by-night. Duncan, who had been the final one to betray her and let her down. But what on earth could he want with her after all these years?

It was then that she noticed the young girl standing next to him. The girl’s clothes were wet and water was dripping from her hair, as it was from Duncan’s. The short trip from the taxi to Dorothy’s front door had not let them escape the deluge. It was then that Duncan sighted her glowering at him through the window. He looked delighted to see her, despite her obvious look of malice. So he tried to act charming, hoping that she would calm down and be more receptive.

"Daphne, darling Daphne, I’m so glad I caught you. I’ve got somebody here who is desperate to meet you. You. Hope you don’t mind us turning up unannounced like this."

For a brief moment she was lost for words, but when she found them she fired them as if from a sniper’s rifle.

Don’t you ‘Daphne, darling Daphne’ me, Duncan. What do you want? You creepy, crawly, sneaky little bugger. You know what I think of you. How dare you turn up on my doorstep like this?

Duncan grinned and shook his wet hair like a dog, soaking the girl even more, who had a look on her face that said, What have I let myself in for here? Duncan stretched out his arms and laughed.

Just the same old Daphne. Feisty, frank and brutally honest as ever. Ha ha ha!

I’m only telling you the truth, Duncan, and you bloody well know it. Now what do you want? ’Cause if you don’t have a really good reason for showing your ugly mug through my window, I’ll call the police. And you won’t need a bloody taxi to take you away!

Duncan looked stunned and perplexed by her words and turned towards the girl, who looked baffled and confused. He then let his arms drop to his sides. He stepped toward the window and looked into Dorothy’s eyes. Dorothy did not back down and stepped forward to glare into Duncan’s eyes through the fragile glass barrier, which the girl thought might shatter through the sheer tension and unexpected drama. Duncan’s words were measured, calm and calculated.

"All I’m asking, Daphne, is for you to listen to me and