Belljars

By Simon Fairbanks

Belljars is the third short story collection by author Simon Fairbanks.

Discover eight new stories where everyday people encounter gods, ghosts and gorillas in worlds where magic and monsters are found both outside and within.

A traumatised survivor returns to his childhood home to remember the night he found a mysterious chess piece under his pillow. A young girl seeks the advice of the gods to overcome a school bully. A sluggish underachiever tries to win back his successful ex-girlfriend by hitting the gym, but his dubious protein shakes have a monstrous effect on his mind and body.

Belljars also features a new novella set within the world of Simon’s fantasy novel The Sheriff, in which an impossible black dragon is drawn to the idyllic settlement of Summertown in search of vengeance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simon Fairbanks
• Release date: Jan 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463417232

Simon Fairbanks

Simon is the author of the Nephos novels, an ongoing fantasy series, which currently consists of The Sheriff and The Curse of Besti Bori.He has written three short story collections, Breadcrumbs, Boomsticks and Belljars. Each contains a novella set within his Nephos fantasy world.Simon is also the author of Treat or Trick, a multiple-pathway novel, with twenty-six different endings.Simon studied MA English Literature at the University of Birmingham, and has been a member of the Birmingham Writers' Group since 2011.When he is not writing, he enjoys films, television, and running. He even finds time for a little reading.

Book preview

It’s a gorilla, okay?

A gorilla wearing an eye-patch.

My front covers always seem to baffle people, so it seemed like a good place to start. As with my other collections, the cover image is a mosaic of icons which combine to form an overall image.

This time, we have a dragon, dumb bell, ant, chess pawn, bird, sword, corona, and eye-patch. This collection features all eight.

And a gorilla.

Anyway –

Belljars is my third short story collection, following Breadcrumbs and Boomsticks.

Short is possibly a misleading term because some of the stories are closer to novella length. More and more nowadays, especially after writing two novels, I cannot resist writing longer pieces. I find a higher word count offers the breathing space to develop more complex characters and twisty-turny plots, whilst also letting me indulge in head-hopping. I do love seeing a story from multiple character perspectives.

As for the title, I have continued my tradition of finding a two-syllable word, beginning with B and ending in S. You’ve got to have brand consistency in this day and age. A bell jar is a glass jar shaped like a bell, typically used in laboratories to create a vacuum, or sometimes in museums to serve as a display case. Thanks Wikipedia.

To my mind, a bell jar symbolises isolation and loneliness for the subject contained within the glass, but also exposure to the larger, crueller, stranger world outside of the glass. It’s a fitting symbol for many of the tales in this collection.

On that note, I hope you enjoy the eight stories ahead. You will find horror and fantasy. Magical realism and surrealism. A novella and a poem. You will journey to the clouds, a sacred temple, and a frozen wasteland. You will meet gods, sorcerers, nightmares, a dutiful ghost, and a fearsome little nuthatch. You will witness the ferocious power of fire, ice and board games. You will never speak to Alexa in the same way again.

Time to make a start. Are you ready?

Watch out for the gorilla.

Simon Fairbanks

15 January 2020

Kingsley Connor

1

Locked up

This is a story about love.

It is also a story about protein and bananas and Facebook – but mostly it is about love.

It was love that led to Kingsley’s current incarceration. The vandalism, the murders, and the hostage situation all played a part too, but those were committed out of jealously and rage, and all of that can be traced back to love.

Love had turned Kingsley into a monster.

He thought about his actions a lot these days. He had plenty of time to think. He was a prisoner, watched through iron bars, like a freak in a circus show. The other inmates seemed content enough. They had plenty of ways to occupy themselves: eating, exercising, fighting, and more fighting, with long naps in between.

Kingsley envied their lack of worry, their ability to turn off. He had nightmares whenever he slept. His waking hours were worse. His mind would re-tread the same old paths of shame and guilt and loss.

For the most part, the other inmates left him alone to brood in the corner of their shared cell. They seemed to sense he was different to the rest of them and stayed well away. The exception to this was Amikazi, a formidable inmate weighing five hundred pounds, covered in scars and far from home. Amikazi had taken a shining to Kingsley. Admittedly, winning the affections of such an enormous inmate might keep him safe, but he suspected more intimacy would soon be required from their relationship.

‘Dinner time!’

Their evening meal slid through the food hatch. Immediately, the inmates set upon the grub, elbowing and gorging and slinging fistfuls into their mouths. Kingsley left them to it. He had lost his appetite long ago. Even so, Amikazi would ensure some food was left for him.

Speak of the devil –

His admirer approached, biceps full of food, carrying the load as easily as a child’s lunchbox. Tonight, Amikazi would want something in return.

Kingsley clunked his heavy head against the iron bars, caging him like a wild animal.

I suppose I am a wild animal.

He had maimed and murdered with his bare hands. He had lost his freedom and the love of his life. He had even lost himself. It was a different face that stared back at him in the mirror nowadays.

How did I end up like this?

2

Meet up

All Kingsley Connor ever wanted was to love someone and be loved in return.

He never had a girlfriend at school. He grew up with the girls back home and it was rare to make the leap from good friend to romantic suitor. That was his excuse anyway.

When Kingsley arrived at university, he desperately hoped to find that special someone. He didn’t want to sleep around. He simply wanted one girl, who would laugh at his bad jokes, hold his hand as they walked across campus, and feign surprise when he brandished flowers on Valentine’s Day.

It took some time but cupid’s arrow finally struck at the end of his first year. There was an English Literature bar crawl organised by the course reps to celebrate finishing exams. Naturally, there was a fancy-dress theme. Everyone was mandated to dress as their favourite literary figure. Kingsley took literary figure to mean literary character – but the organisers, and everyone else, had taken it to mean literary writer.

This misunderstanding explained why Kingsley found himself in a bar surrounded by Shakespeares and Dickens and Woolfs, whilst he was dressed as Willy Wonka.

Luckily, he wasn’t alone. There was one other person who had misinterpreted the fancy-dress theme. Another Roald Dahl fan, as it happened.

‘Thank god!’ cried a voice. Kingsley turned to see a Giant Peach bounding towards him, knocking aside Brontës and Chaucers and Blakes. ‘I thought I was the only one!’

That was how Kingsley met Annie Darrow. The love of his life.

3

Loved up

Kingsley and Annie clicked instantly.

He guessed they had little choice. It helps to stick together when surrounded by pretentious English students quoting Shakespeare whilst dressed as Shakespeare. Especially, if your outfits are inspired by Roald Dahl books. Yet, survival strategies aside, Kingsley knew he had found his soul mate.

They started talking about their love of Roald Dahl, then moved onto the wider pantheon of children’s literature, before discovering they had both chosen the children’s literature module in second year. They moved from children’s literature to films – discussion of the Harry Potter movies kept them busy for a while – and this led to a long chat about films in general. Kingsley shared his closeted love of Disney films (great), Pixar movies (even better) and Studio Ghibli (best of all).

When midnight struck, Kingsley and Annie realised that the crawl of eclectic playwrights and authors had moved on to the next bar without them noticing. They took the opportunity to head back to Annie’s halls for a Toy Story trilogy marathon. They fell asleep in each other’s arms almost immediately, even before Buzz landed on Andy’s bed.

That was the beginning of Kingsley’s first and only relationship. It would have been a good story to put into wedding speeches, a tale for their grandchildren. They even had ready-made pet names based on their costumes that night: Peach and Willy.

If only things had worked out.

4

Break up

‘Kingsley,’ said Annie. ‘We need to talk.’

‘One second.’

Kingsley heard her sigh as he killed a few more guards before hitting pause on his game. He turned and saw Annie’s packed bags. He frowned. ‘What’s happening? Are you going away with work?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m moving out.’

‘What?’ He tossed the PlayStation controller onto the sofa and leapt to his feet. ‘Are we breaking up?’

She nodded. His heart stopped.

‘Why, Peach, what have I done?’ Kingsley went to hold her, but she backed away, hands clasped tightly on the handles of her bags.

‘It’s both of us,’ she said. ‘We’ve changed too much since university. We’re different people now. You know it’s true.’

‘I don’t.’

‘You still act like you’re a student,’ said Annie. ‘I’m trying to build a career. We want different things.’

‘I want you. Pure and simple. Everything else is background noise. I love you, Annie.’

‘Well, I love you,’ she said. Kingsley had never heard her say those words with less conviction. ‘But it’s not enough for me. I need a career, as well. I want to be successful. You want to sit on the sofa, watch Netflix, eat takeaways.’

‘You love those things too.’

‘Not anymore.’

‘So really it’s you who’s changed, not me.’

‘Fine, and there’s nothing wrong with that. We’re in our mid-twenties. University was three years ago. We should be growing up, changing. But you’re stuck in the same mind-set as when we first met.’

Kingsley knew this had been coming for a long time. It had started so well. Their relationship had survived university, which was a rarity for couples that met in first year. After graduation, they rented a place together whilst they found their first jobs. Kingsley put his English degree to good use and worked from home as a freelance copywriter. The jobs came in small bursts, but it was enough to pay the rent, cover their Netflix subscription, and it offered very little stress. He didn’t have to work with anyone else, leave the flat, or even change out of his pyjamas. The sofa, the television, and the fridge were never far away.

Annie worked in a coffee shop for that first year, whilst she considered her career options. It had been the best year of Kingsley’s life. Cooking together, bingeing on boxsets, visiting their friends who were still at university on a four-year course, joining them on student nights. Every day was a blast. Kingsley and Annie had been more in love than ever. They had transitioned from university couple to young professional couple.

Life was good.

But then Annie went in a different direction. She enrolled on a law conversion degree, returning to university for an extra year of study to gain her LLB. It was an intensive programme lasting twelve months with lots of reading and exams, but it would help her become a lawyer. Annie had never mentioned her aspirations to become a lawyer at any point during their relationship. Kingsley didn’t even know she was applying. The dread started building in Kingsley the moment she received her admissions letter, welcoming her back to campus.

It was a change, for sure.

Annie had less time for Kingsley. She had to study each evening, consigned to the guest bedroom with a pile of dusty books. It was less fun watching Netflix alone, so he rediscovered his PlayStation. It only got worse as Annie’s career took off. She landed a training contract with Denham Wallace, a law firm in the business district of Birmingham. Her studying hours had been long before but her working hours were much worse.

Now, she was often working late or going for drinks at The Manhattan across from her office, where qualified lawyers would buy the rounds. Kingsley didn’t like the idea of flash Denham Wallace lawyers, a few rungs ahead of Annie on the career ladder, trying to get her drunk.

But apparently networking would help Annie get ahead in the profession. She had done well, amassing a large network of ambitious lawyers and wealthy superiors on LinkedIn and Facebook. Kingsley watched with dismay as more and more new faces started posting photos of her at work events, sharing private jokes in the comments. Most of them were blokes. Her networking was going well. Kingsley just hoped it wasn’t horizontal networking.

Then came the gym.

Apparently, the Empire gym next to Denham Wallace was like a golf course for lawyers. When Annie wasn’t going for after-work drinks at The Manhattan, she was going for an after-work fitness session with the rest of the firm. Again, Kingsley wasn’t too happy about male lawyers hanging out with her in the gym, whilst she was wearing revealing vest tops and lycra. Kingsley had joined the university gym for a semester back in first year and knew the types of conversations that went on amongst groups of men, the leering glances, the lewd comments. He quit and vowed never to return to a gym in his life.

Yet Annie now spent more time at the Empire gym than their flat.

‘So, I’m not good enough for you anymore?’ said Kingsley.

‘I’m not saying that,’ said Annie, exasperated. ‘But you’ve lost your drive. It’s hard to love someone with such little ambition.’

‘What’s wrong with being a copywriter?’

‘Nothing, but you’re too good for piecemeal freelance work. You could be a copywriter at an agency, a publishing house, anywhere. You could have a regular salary, a good salary. Instead, you settle for ad hoc jobs. Scraps from the table.’

‘Right, so I don’t earn enough for you?’

‘You could earn more,’ said Annie, bluntly. ‘Don’t you want to buy a house one day, afford nursery fees. You seem content living each day as it comes. You’re not working towards anything.’

‘That suits me fine. Not everything has to be a ladder. I don’t want to be a cut-throat lawyer, ruled by my job, living to work, not working to live.’

‘It’s not just work. I socialise, I go to the gym –‘

‘Drinking with lawyers, exercising with lawyers,’ he listed. ‘It’s all networking, Annie, and you can’t spell networking without working.’

‘I love my job, so what?’ said Annie, hotly. ‘That’s how you get ahead in life, make a career, advance. It’s about professional relationships. Your only relationship is with your laptop, that sofa, and the TV.’

‘We are in a relationship!’ he yelled. ‘And it’s the only one I care about. But you ditch me for your job, night after night after night. I never come first.’

‘That’s half the problem. It’s like you live for me. You’ve got nothing going on yourself. You don’t do anything.’

‘I used to do stuff with you, but now you’re never here.’

‘Do things without me. I’m not here to save you, Kingsley. Look after yourself.’

Kingsley was angry, distraught, disorientated. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He and Annie were supposed to be together. They loved each other.

‘Okay then, to summarise: I lack ambition, I’m not rich enough, and I’m a boring, friendless loner, who sits around like a needy pet waiting for his girlfriend to come home. Is that a fair summary?’

Annie didn’t respond, which was answer enough.

‘What happened to you?’ he asked. ‘You used to be fun and kind-hearted and carefree. What’s so good about being a lawyer when it’s turned you into a cold bitch?’

Kingsley knew he had gone too far, let himself down by dropping the B-word, but he was floundering in a turmoil of anger and panic and grief.

Annie’s eyes flashed dangerously. ‘You know what?’ she said with venom. ‘There is something else. You’ve gone soft.’

‘Soft?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Say what you mean, Annie. You think I’m fat.’

‘You’ve stopped looking after yourself. When did you last go for a run, get out of the house?’

‘You were my running partner, but you sacked me off to join the Empire.’

‘You could have joined too.’

‘Bollocks. We both know that isn’t true. You said the Empire was too expensive. You said it was full of lawyers talking about lawyer stuff, so I wouldn’t like it. You never wanted me there. I would have been in the way.’

‘So, what, you just stopped exercising? Let yourself go? Do I have to hold your hand for everything?’

Kingsley knew it was true and that made him furious. He had developed a gut, lost all muscle definition from the previous year. His interest in exercise had vanished once Annie started drifting away from him.

A realisation hit him with a sickening jolt – Annie had outgrown him. He had known it for a long time but he didn’t want to accept it. She was storming ahead of him on all levels – career, looks, money, potential, everything. By comparison, he had nothing worthy of note except Annie herself. His perfect, brilliant girlfriend.

Only, she was walking out the door.

‘I was going to marry you,’ he said quietly.

Annie sighed. ‘Really? How were you going to afford a ring, a wedding, a honeymoon?’

He had no answer.

‘Kingsley, I don’t want to argue,’ said Annie. ‘I hope we can still be friends but I don’t love you anymore. I’m sorry, I just don’t.’

‘Please don’t go,’ he said, falling to his knees. It was worth a try. ‘You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.’

‘I’m sorry.’

She walked out the door.

* * *

Kingsley cried himself to sleep that night. He was used to the flat being empty due to Annie working late, but it would stay empty this time. Kingsley now lived alone. He was single and alone.

Annie text him to apologise. She was staying with one of their old uni mates. She said she would arrange a time to collect the rest of her things over the next few days, ideally when Kingsley was out. No kisses at the end. Functional and direct. Typical lawyer speak.

Kingsley checked Facebook. He knew it wouldn’t help but he did it anyway. He trawled through Annie’s profile, seeing what she had been liking and commenting on, looking at who she had befriended and who had been messaging her. Lots of men, it would seem. Arrogant, over-confident Denham Wallace lawyers.

There was one name that kept appearing again and again. Ace Driscoll. Ace was a nickname which the guy insisted on. Kingsley had met him once at a bar, back when Annie still tried to involve him in her work socials. He had disliked Ace on sight. Tall, good-looking, smug, evidently with more money than sense, judging by his suit and watch.

Kingsley had shaken his hand when Annie introduced them but Ace barely looked at him. Requisite shake, quick nod, and the man’s attention immediately returned to the lawyers in the room, particularly Annie. Even with Kingsley standing right there, Ace would flirt with his girlfriend, buy her shots, relive private jokes from the office without explaining them. Worst of all, Annie would let him.

What if she was staying with Ace right now? What if she was leaving Kingsley for that slimy prick? Had she been cheating on him for months?

But there was a limit to his anger because he still loved her. He wanted to win her back. Annie said Kingsley had no drive but he would prove her wrong, make her proud.

How exactly?

Well, he had no plans to become a lawyer. And he wasn’t going to land a high-paying copywriting job any time soon, not based on his patchy CV.

But he could do something about his body. Lose the flab, tone up, bulk up.

He opened his browser to sign up for a gym.

The Empire gym.

Annie’s gym.

5

Sign up

Kingsley arrived at the Empire for his mandatory health and safety induction.

The Empire was very much a city gym. As he waited to be met at reception, he watched plenty of suited, serious individuals marching in and out of the turnstiles, popping in for a workout between meetings.

It was a grand gym too, very expensive-looking, all the better for targeting working professionals. The foyer had high ceilings, crisp air conditioning, and rich leather sofas upon which Kingsley now waited. A neat little table sat in the waiting area containing a bowl of fresh fruit and complementary bottles of water.

The reception desk was very formal and looked like it belonged in Annie’s law firm next door. It was staffed by a polished receptionist called Faye, who was dressed in business attire and sat in an executive office chair.

An enormous chrome sign on the wall proclaimed that this was an Empire gym, followed by their slogan: Fitness