The Storyteller & Other Stories

By Anthony North

A fictional autobiography and anthology within an anthology. Only Anthony North could think that one up! Plus! A beasty, horrific island; what really happens if you get inside a psychopath's head; a 19th century caper; and a couple of romances.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anthony North
• Release date: Apr 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005491727

Anthony North

Thinker & Storyteller****7,453 Words to Save the UK and I,Writer are now FREE. Scroll down to find them.*****1955 (Yorkshire, England) – I am born (Damn! Already been done). ‘Twas the best of times ... (Oh well).I was actually born in the year of Einstein's death, close to Scrooge's Counting House. It doesn't mean anything but it sounds good. As for my education, I left school at 15 and have had no formal education since. Hence, I'm self-taught.****From a family of newsagents, at 18 I did a Dick Whittington and went off to London, only to return to pretend to be Charlie and work in a chocolate factory.When I was ten I was asked what I wanted to be. I said soldier, writer and Dad. I never thought of it for years – having too much fun, such as a time as lead guitarist in a local rock band – but I served nine years in the RAF, got married and had seven kids. I realized my words had been precognitive when, at age 27, I came down with M.E. – a condition I’ve suffered ever since – and turned my attention to writing.Indeed, as I realized that no expert could tell me what was wrong with me, I began my quest to find out why. Little did I realize it would last decades and take me through the entire history of knowledge, leaving me with the certainty that our knowledge systems are inadequate.****My non-fiction is based on P-ology, a thought process I devised to work with patterns of knowledge, and designed to be a bedfellow to specialization. A form of Rational Holism, it seeks out areas the specialist may have missed. I work from encyclopaedias and introductory volumes in order to gain a grasp of many subjects and am not an expert in anything, but those patterns keep forming. Hence, I do not deal in truth, but ideas, and cover everything from politics to the paranormal.When reading my work I ask only: do I make sense? Of course, an expert would say: a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. I agree. And an expert has so little knowledge of everything.I also write novels and Flash Fiction in all genres.

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The Storyteller & Other Stories

By Anthony North

Copyright: Anthony North 2021

Cover image copyright: Yvonne North, 2021

Smashwords Edition

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission

Other books by Anthony North

Beginning In 2019 I began publishing 14 volumes of my fiction, inc 7 novels in most genres, & 21 works of non-fiction covering cults, politics, conspiracies, religion, disasters, science, philosophy, warfare, crime, psychology, new age, green issues & all areas of the unexplained, inc ufology, lost worlds and the paranormal. Hopefully appearing at the rate of one a month, check out the latest launch at my bookstore at http://anthonynorth.com or buy direct from Smashwords for all devices at: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/anthonynorth

In addition to the above, you may like my ‘I’ Series – 8 volumes of flash fiction (horror, sci fi, romance, adventure, crime), 4 volumes of poetry & 5 volumes of short essays from politics to the unexplained. Available from same links as above. Also check out my bookstore for news of my books out in paperback.

CONTENTS

Island of the Beast

Alternate Views

The Inner World

Life Renewed

The Unfortunate Heir

The Storyteller

About the Author

Connect With Anthony

ISLAND OF THE BEAST

I thought I’d seen everything the sea could throw at me. Forty years of age, I’d been a seaman since I was seventeen. I’d seen the world. I’d seen every ocean, visited every bay, and experienced the delights and tragedies of every port. And I’d seen storms. At least, I thought I had. Until this …

‘It’s going to be a bad one, skipper,’ said Henchy, looking up at the gathering clouds. He was a lanky sort of man, seemingly devoid of muscle. But I’d worked with him for many years. He could be relied upon.

‘Are we going to be alright, Capt Mortimer?’

The question came from Moira Jensen, blonde, thirty and beautiful. She had hitched a passage on my steamer. A roving PR exec from some unmentionable multi-national, her expertise was calming the anxieties of locals in the Third World. If the company wanted to relocate a factory for cheap labour and relaxed safety measures, Moira was the kind of woman who would pave the way. When she first came aboard, I didn’t like the woman. After all, how could a fair person do that?

‘I have to make a living,’ she had said during one heated discussion on the matter. ‘And so do they,’ meaning the aforementioned workers. And I could tell from her tone that maybe she had a conscience.

I looked through the bridge windows. The sky looked angry. The wind was beginning to blow. The sea rippled, then suddenly offered a wall of water to deluge us.

After it passed and we were in the trough, I smiled and offered false hope. ‘Of course we’ll be alright,’ I said.

She looked at me intently. Her face was taught. Then it relaxed. ‘Okay, Brad,’ she said, ‘I feel safe with you.’

I’d heard that before. From other women. It usually meant they weren’t. I suppose I’m not the type of person to trust.

I barked my orders for battening down. Henchy remained at the wheel while Fist and Rickets busied themselves. It wasn’t much of a ship, but I loved her and wanted to care for her. Eventually, Fist, a big, bald guy, came in, telling me everything was ready. Rickets had returned below. He was a sickly, little fellow, but like Henchy, there was more to him than his appearance suggested.

It was then that the heavens opened and the sky vented its anger. And less than a minute after that, the big wave came.

It was a clear, blue sky above me. I always found it amazing how nature showed its emotion. It could be so angry, like earlier. But then, after the storm, such a tranquil serenity, as if nature could never hurt you. But like people, nature lies. It had hurt me. It had hurt us all. And it had taken my ship.

We had all survived. Just. And now we stood, bedraggled and exhausted, on a golden beach.

‘You lied,’ said Moira, which I thought was rich coming from a PR exec.

I looked her up and down. Gone was the make-up, the confidence, the smart clothes, replaced by a raw, frightened woman. Several buttons were missing from her blouse, revealing a good cleavage. And the whole sight offered an aura of how I considered woman should be. Of course, that isn’t new man. We shouldn’t think like that, we’re told.

Which just means all new men lie. Maybe Moira and I DO belong in this new world where everyone lies.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I lied.’

Henchy, Fist and Rickets had busied themselves again. It was a good crew that could operate with minimal orders. They’d say it was a good skipper who kept it all together, and I wasn’t about to disagree.

‘What now?’ asked Henchy.

I looked to the tree line, then at the sun. ‘We have plenty of time before nightfall. We need food, shelter. We need a signal fire. But most of all, we need to see what dangers there could be on the island.’

Which meant we had to split up. Quickly, we decided where to make camp – a clearing within the trees, just a short distance from the beach – and then I left the crew to make camp and make it safe. As for Moira and I, we headed for high ground. Take in the whole island. See what we were up against.

It was hard going for Moira. Much of the island was jungle. She coped well with the noises, the occasional creature crossing our path. But the undergrowth could hurt. Not to mention her modesty as her clothes were being ripped to shreds.

She caught me looking at her. ‘I suppose you’re enjoying this,’ she said, realizing she couldn’t hide her modesty.

‘It’s not unpleasant,’ I said.

I think she was about to give me a telling off, but my smile appeared again, and she simply sighed. Maybe she was warming to me.

‘Why did you bring me on this little trek?’ she asked, realizing that she could have been more comfortable staying at the camp site.

‘Because I’m responsible for you, and I want you close.’

‘How manly,’ she said, sarcastically.

I shook my head. ‘I’m the skipper. It’s my duty.’

She thought it over a moment. ‘Sorry.’ And I actually believe she meant it.

Soon the trees gave way to rock, and above us the summit of a small but rugged hill.

‘Will we see the whole island from up there?’ Moira asked.

She was finding it difficult to climb, and as she finished talking, she stumbled. I grabbed her, pulled her to me and our bodies touched. We were so close I could smell her, and I liked it. Our eyes met, and for a moment there was a knowing.

I replaced the raw male instinct that arose with professionalism. ‘I hope so,’ I said, and we continued to climb.

It was a release as we reached the summit. The trees, the rocks, had given way to a realm of the sky. Claustrophobia had gone, replaced with dizziness.

‘Look at that view,’ Moira said, taking in the panorama below us. She seemed to smile in a way I’d never seen before; as if a new serenity was taking her over.

I looked down. A rainbow of colour displayed itself, framed majestically by a blue sky, a burning sun seeming to fire it. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I replied.

The island couldn’t be more than three miles by two. Most of it was obscured by a green canopy of forest, with only the occasional break in the trees. Around the whole island was a golden beach, and the hill we stood on was the only high point. Straining my eyes, I could just make out a couple of streams, confirming we could have fresh water. And I guessed the vegetation and trees would provide ample food, even if we failed to catch any of the small animals we had seen evidence of.

‘I think we can survive here,’ I said, ‘until we’re rescued.’ Although a thought entered my head that I could stay here. It was enchanting. Or maybe it was enchanting me.

I looked at Moira. She was becoming increasingly serene. The true woman seemed to be coming out as she psychologically threw off the inhibitions of modern living, of that damn job. It seemed to present itself in her whole being. Not just the smile, but her demeanour, which was becoming increasingly feminine. Even her body seemed to lose its stiffness, and she carried herself like a new woman.

‘What’s that?’ she eventually asked, staring intently at a part of the island.

I strained my eyes. Tried to follow her line of sight.

About a mile away there seemed to be a clearing. But it was more than that. ‘It looks like a village,’ I said, amazed. Indeed, the more I stared, the more a group of small buildings seemed to come into view.

‘Do you mean there are people on the island?’ asked Moira.

‘I don’t know,’ I said.

‘Can we find out?’

I checked the time. Night fall should still be some time off. And anyway, if there WERE other people on the island, we needed to know if they were friendly or not before it got too dark.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Let’s go.’

The journey towards the village seemed to be easier. It wasn’t that the terrain was any better. It wasn’t, even, that the descent from the hill is always easier than climbing up. It was as if we were being absorbed into the nature of the island.

I said this to Moira and she seemed to