In To & Out Of (A Collection of Short Stories)

By David Stevens

Into & out of is a compilation of some of my favourite short stories.

Welcome, as it says on the cover of this book. If you look carefully at the cover you will discover that you are and always will be welcome to enter, read, and I hope enjoy.

INTO & OUT OF.

The worlds and people you are about to meet are mostly fictional, but the possibilities must exist for such, as I have written about them, to exist. Whether good or evil, magical or just plain mysterious, it seems to me that if they live in your mind even for a second, the question you need to answer is do they really exist? There is a scientific theory that states that nothing exists unless you look for it. Therefore logic dictates that as you are looking for something it must therefore exist, so read on with my blessing.
Short stories are not always short as you will see. Each tale knows exactly how long it wants to be. Each will clearly inform the writer of its desired length. The writer is therefore only the medium by which the story comes into existence. Now I am sure that you will already believe I am nuts, but ask any writer, stories have a distinctly worrying ability to force the writer to write them. They will disturb sleep or even deny sleep. They will echo through the empty halls of the writers mind, even if they have managed to locate a way to enter into sleep. They will be constantly demanding attention, demanding to be written, to be given the chance to be told. That is the way with stories. They want to be read.
Each of the stories I have compiled within this book have haunted me at one time or another. Each has been demanding and finally I have acquiesced to that demand. The end result being that the stories were written. They sat alone at one time as draft ideas, placed (once complete in a dark envelope), waiting. I was almost sure, knowing that eventually their presence would demand that I do something with them, and so dear reader I have. I first re read them all again, edited where I believe it was necessary (hopefully improving the tales) and finally I decided that they should be compiled into this book.
Many hours of long laborious construction and thought followed, but eventually they were knocked into a shape and order, one which then deserved a chance to be viewed by you the searching reader. So, that is what I did. I placed them where you might discover them. Now they are gathered and compiled, edited and restructured, and only waiting eagerly to be read by you.
Just a final thought, some of the stories are going to disturb you, make you think and wonder, even amaze you or at least surprise you. That is their intent. Others, I hope will make you smile and feel better about the world in which you live. Most of all I dearly hope that they will please you, but at least tonight I know that I will be able to sleep undisturbed by the haunting words demanding to be set down on the page, or so I hope!
Enjoy!

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Stevens
• Release date: Feb 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463960028

David Stevens

Dr David Stevens is generally regarded as one of the world's leading project strategists, particularly in value management, value engineering, risk management, partnering, project alliancing and strategic planning.His academic qualifications include three Masters degrees MEng (Hons); MSc (Environmental Psychology); MA (Literature); and a PhD, (Psychology). The framework and theoretical basis for his facilitation techniques are derived from his specialisation as an organisational psychologist. He is a member of the Australian Psychological Society. Dr Stevens was an Adjunct Professor at the School of Engineering and Industrial Design at the University of Western Sydney for ten years (1999 – 2009). He has acted as an external examiner of doctoral level theses. He has authored 7 books, one of which is a major international text published by McGraw Hill. He has held several board positions and has been Chairman of an Australian Standards Committee.

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

Into & out of is a compilation of some of my favourite short stories.

Welcome, as it says on the cover of this book. If you look carefully at the cover you will discover that you are and always will be welcome to enter, read, and I hope enjoy.

INTO & OUT OF.

The worlds and people you are about to meet are mostly fictional, but the possibilities must exist for such, as I have written about them, to exist. Whether good or evil, magical or just plain mysterious, it seems to me that if they live in your mind even for a second, the question you need to answer is do they really exist? There is a scientific theory that states that nothing exists unless you look for it. Therefore logic dictates that as you are looking for something it must therefore exist, so read on with my blessing.

Short stories are not always short as you will see. Each tale knows exactly how long it wants to be. Each will clearly inform the writer of its desired length. The writer is therefore only the medium by which the story comes into existence. Now I am sure that you will already believe I am nuts, but ask any writer, stories have a distinctly worrying ability to force the writer to write them. They will disturb sleep or even deny sleep. They will echo through the empty halls of the writers mind, even if they have managed to locate a way to enter into sleep. They will be constantly demanding attention, demanding to be written, to be given the chance to be told. That is the way with stories. They want to be read.

Each of the stories I have compiled within this book have haunted me at one time or another. Each has been demanding and finally I have acquiesced to that demand. The end result being that the stories were written. They sat alone at one time as draft ideas, placed (once complete in a dark envelope), waiting. I was almost sure, knowing that eventually their presence would demand that I do something with them, and so dear reader I have. I first re read them all again, edited where I believe it was necessary (hopefully improving the tales) and finally I decided that they should be compiled into this book.

Many hours of long laborious construction and thought followed, but eventually they were knocked into a shape and order, one which then deserved a chance to be viewed by you the searching reader. So, that is what I did. I placed them where you might discover them. Now they are gathered and compiled, edited and restructured, and only waiting eagerly to be read by you.

Just a final thought, some of the stories are going to disturb you, make you think and wonder, even amaze you or at least surprise you. That is their intent. Others, I hope will make you smile and feel better about the world in which you live. Most of all I dearly hope that they will please you, but at least tonight I know that I will be able to sleep undisturbed by the haunting words demanding to be set down on the page, or so I hope!

Enjoy!

In To & Out Of

CHAPTER ONE

Strange Tales

JUST TO BLOOMING GREEDY

The idea behind purchasing the island had seemed so logical when he had been standing alone on its beach, but now standing in his home, looking out at his neatly trimmed lawn through a glass window, surrounded by the normalcy of his life, he was having doubts. To solve his concerns and before the purchase actually went through, and he is finally fully committed to the island, he decides to revisit his potential property, if only to see if it still had the same lure for him, as it did previously.

That is how a multi-billionaire developer found himself standing alone on a white sand beach, looking out to sea, feeling very puzzled by the total lack of interest the island had so far engendered in him. Still he had the mountain to walk to, and if he was feeling energetic, even climb.

There was of course the streams flowing and tumbling down the mountain’s side for fresh water, and then there was the grassland with its surrounding borders of swampy mud. ‘Well standing here will do me no good.’

The boat had departed leaving him alone on the island, just as he wanted to be, alone, to make a decision. He had supplies and his portable camping gear, and it would be three days before anyone returned to collect him from this beach, so he had three full days in which to make his final decision. He headed inland, intending to reach the fertile plain with its swathes of waving grass and of course the delightful multi-headed purple plants he had so enjoyed seeing on his last trip.

The hike inland passed an hour only, as the island was not very big as islands go, but by the time he reached his destination his whole mental state had changed. He now felt that he belonged there, that this island was the sanctuary he had always sought, and of course he just had to buy it! An idea sprang from the recesses of his mind, an idea to develop the island, no, not for the tourist trade. No, his idea was to develop his island into a commune of sorts, not of course a commune for long haired hippies, but instead for people that would feel dedicated to the protection of this, their island home. He felt the need to create a place, a sanctuary for people just like him, people that would enjoy the peace and self-determination the island had to offer.

He put down his tent, being very careful not to squash any of the beautiful multi-headed blooms poking up out of the green foliage, which had spread all over the open plain. He had by chance or so it seemed to him, chosen the only pathway that led to the only place on the whole plain, that the ground was not scattered and covered by the wide, deep green and heavily veined leaves. All fanning out from the multiple single stems on which the multi-heads of the many blooms grew. He put down the bags he carried from the beach, intending to pitch his tent first before making himself a meal.

Then for no good reason he felt an indescribable desire to fetch water. He unpacked a collapsible container, he glanced around him and immediately set off following a new and unknown pathway, which brought him after a mile or so to a small, but fast flowing stream. He dipped and filled the container and returned along the path to his camp site. He poured just enough of the water into his kettle, and set it to boil on the primus stove, intending to make tea once the water boiled.

The rest of the water he at first thought he would set aside for later need, perhaps in the shade of one of the large blooms, but as he approached the plant he felt quite sorry for it somehow, the ground at its base looked so dry that he reasoned that the plant must be very thirsty. He carefully tipped the remaining water near to the plant’s roots, watching as it soaked into the ground, there to be sucked up by the plant. He felt a great swelling of pleasure at having delivered the fresh water to the plant, smiling to himself first, and then thinking, ‘Why Not?’ He approached another plant and watered it like he had the first, that one he followed by another one, and another one.

It took him lots of energy draining trips to the stream’s water collection point, each trip saw him struggle to carry back his very full, very heavy container of water for the flowers. Having made certain that on each return he poured the water out very carefully, tipping the container of water only around the plants roots, not splashing their leaves, or giving each plant more than it wanted or needed.

Repeatedly he would, once he had emptied his container return to refill it. He ran out of the precious water quite quickly, so again and again as necessary he would fetch more, before finally he had watered all of the thirsty looking field of wild growing plants.

That had been when the commune idea sprang back into his mind, he would advertise for a dozen or so volunteers, each would be hand selected by him to come to live on his island and enjoy all the benefits the island clearly had to offer to them. He slept that night deeply and very well, exhausted by his actions and that despite the fact that he had not assembled his tent and therefore was sleeping under the stars. The water container was empty, so in the morning first thing, off he went to fetch some more water so that he could enjoy his morning tea.

The time had flown by completely unnoticed by the water-carrier, it was now fast approaching twelve o’clock mid-day. All of the plants have drunk their fill, and now he was having his first drink of the day. The sun was high in the sky and it was very hot, though quite dry, and all of the blooms were spread wide open before him, soon they would need to drink again he thought. I had better hurry up and drink my tea or the flowers will not get their afternoon attention.

His thoughts became muddled up and confused again, much like they had he realised first thing that morning. Again he spent long hours caring for the needs of the plants whilst he totally ignored his own. He had not eaten since having arrived on the island, despite having plenty of food with him ready to cook. Food had not even crossed his mind or the plants, they get all the nutrients they desire directly from the fertile earth. He on the other hand, did not, but the plants did not know that. He collapsed before them, totally dehydrated; spilling his last water container full to the brim over the dry barren earth, the container he intended for the plants to drink, the very last container that he would ever carry for the blooming, greedy, flowers.

The End

Almost daily we hear of new and wondrous plants being discovered in long lost, or little explored places around our globe. I wonderer sometimes, if each of these discoveries will turn out to be a boon for mankind, or perhaps they might pose a hidden threat?

Such musings often allow stories access into daylight, in the form of typed letters on a piece of paper. This was one such story, it is only a musing, an entertaining passage of time and perhaps it is an impossibility in reality, but there and again, and with all the new discoveries and the genetic modification of plants and seeds, perhaps it is not only a story, perhaps it might be a prediction of things to come?

THE WRONG THING TO SAY!

I was caught… busted. I and everyone present knew it! The lie had been almost automatic. Had I thought about it I would never have said the simple sentence, but I had, and now the wrath of Mrs Smedley was going to collapse down on my head.

I see! She had replied having listened to my pathetic attempt at an excuse. Do you want to try again Paul? We are all listening.

What the hell could I say but sorry I lied, and then there would be no escaping the lie. Instead I tried to bluff my way out of it by mumbling that it was a mistake.

It certainly was, you lied to me didn’t you?

The sound of suppressed laughter echoed off the walls, she knew the truth, she always knew the truth, and I am a total fool for lying to her. Mrs Smedley knew everything about me, so of course she would know I was lying. We both knew that the book was sitting untouched at home, that I had forgotten to do the assignment, and then when she questioned me about it, what did I do? I lied to her. What a fool! What a silly fool!

You leave me no option Paul, I will have to implement school policy and send a letter home to your parents. Sadly, not only because you have not done your homework, but also because you have compounded your laziness by lying to me as an excuse.

The rest of the class then exploded into loud laughter, which was immediately quelled by her glare, a look that somehow encompassed all of them at once. She was good at that stare. In fact, she was renowned for it in all the science groups. It was well known as ‘Smedley’s Scary Glare,’ or better still as just S.S.G

The letter was in my bag, the thought of losing it on the way home just wouldn’t work. The school might not ever find out, but Mrs Smedley would know the truth, she would know. Then the situation could only get worse for me. My Mum was going to go ballistic at me. God knows what she would do, but it would not be nice, but at least if I handed over the letter and accept the lecture I was certain to get, the situation would eventually fade into memory.

The first thing I would do was give Mum the letter and then pray for leniency, I decided. I walked through the front door, along the hall and into the kitchen where Mum always was when I got home. She was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for me, a cup of tea neatly placed in front of her, looking quite calm. I opened my bag, the letter was right there beneath my fingertips; I reached in and took it out.

Mrs Smedley had looked at me at the time knowing that I was going to deliver the letter, and probably already knowing what was going to happen when I did deliver it. She had issued two detentions, one for lying which was an hour, and the other for not doing my homework, which was half an hour. They started tomorrow, for now I handed the letter to Mum, who with a knowing look took it from me, saying nothing. She slowly opened it pulling out the neatly typed and official looking letter. She unfolded it and looked at the contents; slowly she began to read it out to me.

Dear Mrs Smedley,

Your son Paul…..

I learnt a valuable lesson that day, one I should already have known! If you are going to lie to a teacher, don’t do it to Mrs Smedley; especially if your name is Paul Smedley.

The End

OBSESSION

An obsession can take many forms, most are harmless some less so, but still to the obsessive they are a comfort of sorts or provide pleasure and interesting hours of passing time, sometimes though…..

"We are gathered here." The words flowed over the head of the mourner.

Earth to Earth. Intoned the drone, but all that mattered to the forty-two year old woman, standing before an open grave in the rain, watching the end of an internment, with the loss she felt draining her body, was getting back home, back to her life and passion. So far she had held back the tears. Not just tears for the departed or for her loss, but also the tears of frustration that she was the only person with enough of a sense of loss to attend the funeral.

She of course had no choice but to attend, seeing as the person being interred was her mother. The mother that had cared for her throughout her childhood, and the same mother that she had cared for throughout her youth and into adult-hood. They had lived together as a single parent family since her mother had been twenty-two when her much loved husband had died, which was she knew a very short time after her own birth.

She, her mother, had brought her up in the best way that she could. Still, she had been forced to suffer through the isolation of being a child with a