Well Said, O Toothless One

By Judith Field, Rose Strickman, Andrew Jensen and 9 more

A collection of short stories about creatures which will warm the heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Reshwity Publishers
• Release date: Nov 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9780473460310

Book preview

Well Said, O Toothless One

Edited by Nix Whittaker

https://reshwity.wixsite.com/publishing

© 2018 Judith Field

© 2018 Rose Strickman

© 2017 Andrew Jensen – Previously published in Abyss & Apex Magazine on December 24th, 2017

© 2018 Gwen Katz

© 2005 Michael D. Winkle – Previously published in Here and Now Magazine (UK) no. 5/6, Spring 2005

© 2016 Holly Schofield – Previously published in Unsung Stories, 2016

© 2016 Hákon Gunnarsson

© 2018 David M. Hoenig

© 2007 Simon Petrie – first published in Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine issue 30, 2007

© 2002 Michael Penncavage – Previously published in Hadrosaur Tales, Issue 13, 2002

© 2018 Laura J. Campbell

© 2018 James A. Wolf

© 2018 Nix Whittaker

This collection is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical facts, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

Paperback: 978-0-473-46030-3

Epub: 978-0-473-46031-0

Table of Contents

My Time of the Month – Judith Field

When the Wizard’s Away – Rose Strickman

The AFD Project – Andrew Jensen

The Difference Engine – Gwen Katz

The Autumn Beast – Michael D. Winkle

Stewardship – Holly Schofield

Ballad of the fire spewing dragon – Hákon Gunnarsson

My Boy – David M. Hoenig

Hare Redux – Simon Petrie

Nobody’s Fool – Michael Penncavage

The Key of Thó Alfagar – Laura J. Campbell

Molly, Nosey and Greenie – James A. Wolf

Jellybean’s Revenge – Nix Whittaker

Foreword

Patricia Pike

This Anthology is dedicated to my husband, Barry Allen Nicholas Pike and father of the editor, Nix Whittaker.

Barry is one of the good guys. Too often we hear about the abusers and the manipulators and then the nice guys get buried under all the bad press. Barry has always been one of the nicest people imaginable. He goes over and above the call of duty to help others, sometimes to the detriment to himself. I call him the energizer bunny because he never seems to sit still for long before looking for something to do. I will give you some examples of what I mean.

We were spending the day with his brothers and had eaten a hearty lunch that left dirty dishes scattered far and wide. The wives were bracing themselves for the mammoth task of cleaning up when Barry gets up, and starts clearing dishes and running water in the sink to wash them. Brother number five jumps up and pulled Barry aside to advise him that what he was doing would show them off in a bad light.

Our wives will expect us to help out in the kitchen. Sit down and let the women do the cleaning.

Barry looked at him, smiled and carried on cleaning. He never let the opinions of others stop him from doing what he felt was right.

This attitude even overflowed into his work. He was a probation officer in a small rural town in New Zealand and often got to know his clients fairly well. In particular there was a man who routinely landed in the courts with domestic abuse issues. Never one to judge or shame anyone for their misdeeds, Barry would see these offenders as people who had wandered from the path of life. Yes, even the murderers and paedophiles were treated the same. Most people don’t start life wanting to hurt their loved ones and Barry reminded them of their hopes and dreams. Basically, he wanted to break the cycle of abuse and ensure that future generations were not plagued with the sins of the past.

So Mr X sat across the table from Barry for the umpteenth time and hung his head as he waited, expecting the scorn he richly deserved. Barry asked him what caused him to beat up his wife. What was it she had done that caused Mr X to become a violent man? Mr X assured Barry that it was not his fault.

My wife never has a hot meal waiting for me after a long day at work.

He felt he needed to chastise his recalcitrant wife for her lack of concern. Sadly this often involved someone phoning the police to intervene for the safety of all involved.

Barry asked, Does your wife work? Yes she did. Do you have children? Yes they did. Who looks after the children and the housework? Well, the wife of course. Aaah, but Mr X was in for a lesson on gender equality courtesy of Barry.

I want you to go and buy a slow cooker from the shop. Each day before work, I want you to throw the evening meal into the slow cooker and switch it on. Very puzzled at this advice Mr X was nevertheless obedient and did as he was told.

A year passed and Mr X did not reappear before the judge or the Department of Corrections for his misbehaviour. Barry saw him in a restaurant a while later and Mr X called him over.

Barry I want to thank you. You have changed my life. I have not hit my wife or my children in over a year. And my wife is truly grateful too. She loves coming home from work and finding a hot meal waiting for her.

Can you imagine the effect it had on those young children in their home? Can you imagine the effect it had on our children to see their father modelling the behaviour of a good and kind man? It was priceless. This story was not often repeated because sadly many of the offenders did not want to adjust their attitudes and formed a queue of never ending attendees at Barry’s desk.

As a young married couple with four children we were invited to participate in a Church group on how to improve your marriage. We sat down with a room full of other couples. We were given a scenario to discuss. If the wife was not working and the husband was in full time employment. All good so far. And the husband arrived home to find his wife with her feet up reading a book and not having prepared a meal for the family, what would you do?

Some of the answers included demanding the wife desist from her frivolous ways and get cooking. Yes, these were men who were good Christians. Some suggested that the husband and children go to a restaurant and leave the wife home to consider her bad behaviour. Then it was the moment for us to put forward our answer.

Barry stood up and said, Maybe the wife had a bad day at home with the children and was taking a moment to de-stress. I would ask her if she needed help preparing the food. I would offer to peel the vegetables or look after the children while she decided what was best for us. We could all go out to a restaurant as a family.

The silence was deafening. Even the leaders of the marriage course had to pick their jaws up off the floor. I do love my gentle husband for his thoughtful and kind ways.

I am not saying that Barry never makes mistakes or is perfect. No, he does have some areas that could be improved. He doesn’t offer compliments and has no idea of romance. He thinks that rotating the tyres on my car is the height of romance. But sometimes he does things quite by chance. Like the Mother’s day when he brought me breakfast in bed with a rose plucked from the garden to decorate the tray. Or the first strawberry of the season that he reserves just for my breakfast. He spends hours helping me prepare for an exhibition that he has no interest in. He knows it is important to me and that is enough for him. Romance somance, who needs it? I have seen women given jewellery and expensive gifts who are treated abominably and I choose having my tyres rotated and the first strawberry of the year over diamonds any day of the week.

A few years back Barry discovered that he had melanoma of his eye and without a moment’s indecision he told the surgeon to remove it. This allowed him a few years of remission and then the cancer was discovered to have travelled to his liver. This time it is incurable and untreatable. He is not bitter or angry that this disease has visited his life and shortened it significantly. No, he continues doing helpful things where he can. He has built raised beds for vegetables so that I can garden without bending over and getting sore knees. He has planted out fruit trees and built a bench for me to sit on under a shady tree in the garden. Book shelves and cupboards have been constructed and I have been given lessons on how to mow the lawn and clean out the dishwasher. No detail is too small or too silly for Barry to be concerned about. He has requested a bright and colourful coffin that reflects the city of his birth (Cape Town) and his love of life and family. When Barry shuffles off this mortal coil he will be greatly missed and have left a legacy of faith and trust that what he has done has made the world a better place.

My Time of the Month

Judith Field

I lumbered along the deserted night-time pavement. Although I’m a big bloke (don’t call me fat or I’ll get you arrested), the glossy black fur stretching over my body held in my stomach, making me look as long and lean as the shadows of the streetlamps. As I reached the door of a terraced house, the clouds parted to reveal a gibbous moon. The creatures of the night snuffled and howled.

A cyclops stuck its head out of the upstairs window a few doors down. Oi, Roger! it bellowed, you’re three days early. Full moon’s not till Tuesday.

Holding my policeman’s helmet on my head with one paw, I looked towards the cyclops. My jaws opened. I gave a howl, to show him my forty-two jagged white teeth. In the moonlight I saw him roll his eye and he slammed his window. With a fumbling paw, I took a key out of a pouch hanging next to a set of handcuffs on a belt round my waist. I’d planned to break down the door to add a note of authenticity but after this display of premature lycanthropy, I just wanted to get inside. Bloody almanac. Wrong again.

I slammed the front door behind me, stepped into the hall and I hung my helmet on a coat stand, next to a bag of cotton wool. Off came the lanyard round my neck, onto which I’d clipped my police radio. Next to go were the epaulettes, attached to my fur with double sided tape. Then, three stripes, two letters and my number. I was out of my uniform – a lot less to it than the one I wore for the rest of the month.

I clasped a front paw round each side of my jaw,