Collected Short Stories. Volume 1

By RAY STINSON

An enthralling, captivating, and very diverse

collection of short stories.

You may be shocked, bewildered, intrigued,

angered, guaranteed tears, and even smiles at

times.

We travel from the bloody battlefield of Anzac

Cove to the Western Desert battleground of

WWII.

You will be taken to a notorious

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ray Stinson
• Release date: Feb 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9780645746983

RAY STINSON

Northern NSW Award Winning Author

Book preview

Also by Ray Stinson

Novels:

TEAM TOMMY

CHRISSIE - THE ENIGMA

ELECTION STEAL

Ray Stinson

Collected

Short Stories

Volume 1

Includes Award Winning Stories:

FISHING

      &

DOUGIE

First published in Australia in 2023

This book is a work of pure fiction.  

Names, places, characters, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination, or used fictitiously. 

Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, or events or locations, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher Ray Stinson. Nor shall it otherwise be circulated in any means other than that in which it is published.

The moral and ethical right of Ray Stinson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the respective act.

Copyright © 2023.  

Raymond F.W. Stinson

Independently published by Ray Stinson.

This book is proudly dedicated to

My long time friend

DOUGIE

Sadly he left us far too early

DOUGIE

The man awoke us usual just before light, the southerly wind had dropped during the night to leave a light breeze that moved the delicate lace of the curtains. It was incredibly quiet in the early morning darkness, only the sound of the ocean which was still up after two days of a solid blow.  

Soon the magpies would start to talk with each other, demanding, forever squabbling. Some mornings there would be kookaburras which came in from the national park, they were also early risers and were often gone by sunrise, he liked to listen to them, raucous in their behaviour, a beautiful bird the man thought, uniquely Australian. 

There would be no official work today, and as he lay there, alone, it felt as though there could be no other living soul on the planet, then the memory kicked in, and he knew he would have to get up, to become active, forever refusing himself the luxury of reflection, it was wasted time reliving, or dreaming, the past. 

 As the day became brighter he sat by the window drinking coffee laced with a good spoonful of condensed milk, it was an enjoyable indulgence. He liked to do his own work, his pleasure, in the morning, and this was the way he’d found he could get started, time was important as he still had to earn a living, the work he enjoyed the most failing even to pay the rent.  

There would be no going into town today, because he had given himself the day off, and the only duty he had to perform was a visit to the doctor, to collect his results. 

The remnants of the southerly was blowing light clouds high across the sky, still the day would soon warm, and later, after his doctor's visit, the man decided he would go and chase some fish. He loved getting the bait as much as catching fish, and at low tide, in the early morning, he would often be the only one on the beach.  

It was an uncomplicated process. A short run, watching the tide line, mentally identifying where the pippies were lying close under the surface of the damp sand. In reality there were so many of them it was difficult not to find them, and as the water withdrew, they would race to bury themselves, thousands of them, all of which would disappear in a matter of seconds. You could stand ankle deep in water and scoop them up, and the man loved them for breakfast, clean, tasty, with a touch of sand grit here and there. 

He left the house after the coffee and decided to collect the bait early, his appointment was for nine o’clock, and he would easily have time to finish what he wanted to do after the visit. 

The doctor had only just arrived when he entered the waiting room, Dougie had made sure his was the first appointment, he hated waiting, wasting time. 

Doctor Phan had been late, he too was a creature of habit, but with a large family and the pressures of work he found himself forever running out of time. When he finally reached his surgery he was already behind his schedule, and being informed that his first appointment had already arrived he asked the receptionist to get the relevant information for him. He hoped the first one wouldn’t take long, he needed to catch up, release the pressure a bit.  

The doctor took the two large envelopes from his assistant and went into his room to give them a cursory glance. Both were marked Dougie Gooding, likely a double up. He saw, on average, ninety patients a week, and most of them were, what he referred to, as regulars.  

Mostly they only wanted another prescription, and overall would live for many more years, which gave him a good living. He vaguely remembered Dougie Gooding, when he’d carried out the tests it had been Dougie’s first visit.

Looking now at the results, what the doctor saw shocked him, and then the professional came to the fore, he started from the beginning of the diagnosis, and made sure of what he was reading. Very carefully he noted every result, making sure his interpretation was correct.  

He then placed the scans on his screen and turned on the light. There was no doubting the truth, it was exactly as the tests had shown.  

Turning off the light he left the scans where they were. This wasn’t a good start to the day. He quickly looked at his patients' details, and realised the man was only a little over forty, a life half lived. 

Dougie had bought the morning paper, an indulgence to his day off. Already there were several other people coming into the waiting room as the doctor emerged from his surgery and called Dougie’s name, it was evident the doctor didn’t recognise him. 

Come this way Mr Gooding, and please take a seat. 

 Dougie got up and followed him into his inner sanctum. When they were both settled the doctor addressed him.  

Ok then, we got the results back Mr Gooding, I’m er, I’m afraid it isn’t terribly good news.  

No matter how often the doctor would have to do this routine he would never get used to it. 

I’m afraid it’s cancer Mr Gooding. 

Dougie sat transfixed, of all the things he expected this wasn’t one of them. 

As I will show you the cancer has largely affected your bowel area, and it’s also very prominent in your left lung. It’s not unusual to show up in more than one place. 

Really doctor, what about the symptoms, I’ve had no trouble going to the toilet, and haven’t smoked in years. This seems, I’m sorry, but it seems crazy. 

Well, the doctor had dropped his voice until it was barely audible. 

The body sometimes is very clever at adapting and masking the symptoms, and of course if you are otherwise a fit person, this will also help conceal the issues. Come over here and I will show you the scans. 

Dougie sat in stunned silence, then followed the doctor over to where the results were displayed. He numbly tried to follow the doctor's explanation, which was simple and precise, fitting the diagnosis into the rapid thought attack that was bursting through his brain.  

Mr Gooding, there is no doubt you have advanced cancer, the only thing that surprises me is that you haven’t felt any pain as yet. 

Dougie began to think, pain, he did occasionally have pain, yet nothing unusual, the result of getting older he had thought. He’d also felt he had been lacking in energy recently, but had put that down to lifestyle, too much work or something. 

So, tell me doctor, is there anything I can do, any treatment at all? 

Well, there is chemotherapy, but to be brutally honest the cancer has progressed too far for that. I can give you painkillers when you need them, and I’ll refer you to a specialist in Sydney, it’s always possible there may be something we can do. 

Ok doctor, please tell me honestly, what do you think. 

Well, I have seen people battle on for…. 

Please doctor, I only want to hear the truth. Is there any hope, and how long do you think I have? 

Okay, at this advanced stage patients are usually on high level painkillers, after that there is usually some time in care. Look, I’m afraid to tell you there is little chance of you surviving any more than two months, and generally the disease, once it has this level of control, will develop even more quickly. I really am amazed Mr Gooding that you have got this far, and unusually, appear to be functioning well. 

Dougie felt the cold grip of fear, or was it loss, as soon as the doctor had mentioned cancer. He knew in his mind that this, at least, answered some questions, in fact it was the ultimate answer really, the one he never wanted.

It was a Thursday, Dougie walked back up the hill to his small house. The day had turned out to be beautiful, a clear blue sky, flat seas, and a muscle hugging warmth. He had always thought that if it came to this, he would know what to do, it was having the strength to carry it out, and did he have the will he wondered. 

There was no one he wanted to call, nothing could make a difference now, he smiled ironically as he thought he would be the first of his long-term friends to die, friends he had known for many years. 

They would be saddened, no doubt a few would feel that way, but in reality, it wouldn’t take them long to adjust, to get on with their own lives, he knew they had their own paths to tread, always had, within forty-eight hours he would be mostly forgotten.  

He thought about what a bloody waste living really was. Dougie was convinced there was nothing else, this was it, as all the plants and animals have a life and then die, left to rot, this is what would soon be happening to him. Really, there was no point in anything now, he had too long to think, and for once he didn’t know what to do, if only he could go to sleep and forget all about it. Yet he knew this was impossible, it would never happen now, and cancer would become the very first thought no matter when he woke up. 

Arriving home, he managed to make a coffee, without consciously recognising he was doing it. What was he going to do, he wasn’t hungry, and thought to himself ironically what a waste of food it would be now, why eat only to die soon. 

Sitting by the window, looking out at the day, it was very quiet where he was. He watched a young mother as she pushed a pram up towards the lookout, dressed for summer in a tight halter top and shorts. Her breasts were still firm against the light blue material, she was attractive, happy, and now beyond reach. Dougie felt as though he was behind some invisible screen, sitting there as though he was watching the end of a movie, which in some ways he was. 

There would be no last sexual romps, he wanted no final goodbyes, in fact he came to realise he no longer wanted to see another human face that he knew.  

Cancer. It was now only him, and cancer, the bastard of a fucking thing! 

Today was Thursday, they would expect him at work the next day, but nobody would care too much if he didn’t show, at least that was one thing he realised, he would never have to go to work again, that part of his life was suddenly over, and he had no regrets. 

The day dragged on, he sat staring, his mind taking control of his every action. Tomorrow he was due to meet his son, they were to spend the weekend together, he realised he wouldn’t be able to take this, his son would know, somehow he would find out, and he wanted to prevent laying this burden on another living soul, this was his to carry alone. 

Dougie realised there had to be a break sometime, the thread that attached you to the life around you would have to be snapped, and what he always thought should happen, would happen, and he finally began to gather the strength to put it into action, and take control.       

The plan began to formulate in his mind, this was a privilege of living alone, he didn’t have to discuss it with anybody, and those that he cared about would surely realise he would have done the most positive thing he could do, and removed himself from the play.  

Now the die had been cast, he would drag no person through weeks of pity and hope, including himself, and as from this morning he realised his life, as it was, is now over. It had been a fairly good one, and it wasn’t going to end limply, there would be no sour dessert merely for the sake of it.  

As he sat there, he began to feel a little better about himself, a plan which developed and grew large, all he needed was the guts to carry it out. 

It was already past lunchtime, and he decided to walk for a while, later he would call his son, and this kept him from going for a drink, he knew he had to stay straight for that conversation. 

There were few people about, and hardly realising where he was going he ambled aimlessly, with only one thought swamping his mind. CANCER! 

 The Little Terns were back and were busy hitting the water. They were forever active, and the small fry must be abundant as the birds were taking only a matter of seconds to size up their next dive.  

Dougie thought that if there was the possibility of reincarnation it would be good to come back as a bird, it would have to be a sea bird, cruising alone across the Southern Ocean, and he began to realise this was yet something else he had never done, another one left in the bucket of failures.  

Yet there is only so much time, and an awful lot of it is wasted in mere survival, one of the worst things about being born without money, and he realised it was only about killing his own time now, the little he had left that was.  

When he reached the beach there was no one about, and the north-easterly had begun to pick up. This was not a pleasant beach, it was wild and hard to get out across the breakers, the sea would only keep depositing you back onto the shore, and when the wind blew the fine sand would scurry along covering everything.  

There was, just above the tide line, a large dead Mutton bird, it had only just washed ashore. Seldom they got this far north, and this one had failed to make it. It looked as though you could throw it up into the sky and it would fly off again. Dougie wondered if the bird had known, when he finally ran out of strength to make it to dry land. Poor bird, a bit like humans really, most of the time it’s better to stay where you are, a greater chance of survival that way. 

He found himself back at his house, and already it was three o’clock. So he started to go around, putting everything in its place, doing the washing up, mopping the floor, and he felt better for doing this, he was at last achieving something, he had a direction.  

At four fifteen he rang his son at his home. Neither were good at conversation through the cosmos, he pictured him at the other end, distracted, wanting to do something else, and Dougie knew he had to make this as normal a call as he could.  

It was perfunctory, and soon he had run out of things he could say, but before putting down the phone he told his son that he loved him, there was a momentary silence, and then he heard I love you too dad. It didn’t happen often.  

Tears welled up in Dougie’s eyes, he quickly said goodbye and put the phone down. He then began to cry freely, crying for the futility of life, crying for the pointless end of it all, yes it was all bloody meaningless. He was also crying for the love which had been wasted, and he knew he was also crying for himself, alone and about to die.  

Pulling the phone plug out of the wall, and switching off his mobile, he now only wanted to sleep, he needed it all to go away, there had never been a way to silence his mind, and he realised he had no way of making that happen.  

Dougie was now convinced more than ever he had to go through with what he needed to do, he’d never been surer of anything in his life.

The man needed something to kill some hours, there were very few in the village he knew well enough that he would be forced into conversation, yet he felt nervous about going outside, what if someone did run into him, what would he say, what on earth could he say? Yet somehow it seemed wasted time if he were going to spend it anywhere other than home, surely he should hang on to anything he had left, and if he did go out would this weaken his resolve?

Yet there was the one certain thing, his decision was now set in stone, he would never change his mind, because if he didn’t go through with his plan he wouldn’t have another chance, this was a certainty. 

With his mind running a thousand thoughts a minute, he went to the fridge and got himself a beer, something he had withdrawn into many times in his life, he only hoped it would help him now.  

Reading was an impossibility, to watch mindless television was stupid, he wanted to concentrate on anything but his mind, and the end of his life, and his future, which no longer existed. He wouldn’t have to live with it for too much longer, because it was remarkably simple, and he would get it right, and in the remote possibility someone would call around to see him, he merely wouldn’t answer the door.  

Getting out his second beer he sat staring out of the window, it was daylight saving and would not be getting dark until after seven. Dougie knew he was counting down the hours, and wrote the figures large on some plain white paper, one to ten, and felt good when he crossed out the one.  

Sitting there, drinking, thinking, watching the clock, the light of day fading, the more he drank the quicker the time seemed to go.

Darkness fell and he suddenly felt hungry, unable to get the will to cook anything he got some cheese and biscuits, they went well with the beer, which was kicking in now. Yet he didn’t want to get drunk, and needed his faculties to remain strong.

When the clock passed ten, he crossed the figure four off the paper. It was silent, with only the remote sound of the ocean. Dougie went and lay on the bed, making sure the alarm was set, in case he could sleep.

He turned over and looked at the clock for the fourth time, two thirty-three, and he strangely felt good about this, realising he was awake before any hangover could kick in.  

Getting off the bed, for the first time in his life he got himself another beer, it didn’t taste right, and he poured the rest down the sink.  

Time was getting along, he went around the house and made sure it was tidy, collecting the empties and taking them carefully outside to the recycling bin. This was a dilemma, he realised it was the day to put out the rubbish. It was three in the morning, but who would take in the empty bin, yet if he left it uncollected how long would it be before it got emptied. He did not want this stupid problem, and felt a sudden panic, he did not know what to do for heaven's sake, and all this idiocy when he was about to die!  

It took some time, and eventually he went and quietly opened the gate, wheeling the bin outside to the edge of the street, there was something in that he knew, and it helped calm him down.  

The night was soft and quiet, and looking up at the sky it was full of a million stars, those stars he had once followed on a lonely sea for night after night. That was in a previous life, and now he was finally going back to the sea again. 

Inside the house it was a little cool, and was already ten minutes to four. He returned to the bedroom, got undressed again, then put on his swimming trunks, a pair of shorts, a tee shirt, and light jumper.  

It was still dark outside, but it wouldn’t be long before first light, and taking a last look around the house he stopped, keys in hand. Was this the right way to go, it was madness because he felt fine, so should he try another way?  

‘NO NEVER!’ He stopped, and forced his resolve to take over, it had to be this way. ‘THERE IS NO OTHER WAY,’ he shouted at himself. ‘SO DON’T BE SUCH A BLOODY COWARD!’  

Suddenly it hit hard, feeling the despair about what he was losing, then told himself, you would soon be losing it all anyway, so what does it matter, do you want to go on, wracked by pain and pity, or do it this way, the only way, end it now whilst you have a bloody chance!  

Fiercely gripping his keys he went out, silently closing the door.  

Yes, it had to be this way, HIS OWN WAY! 

It wasn’t far to where he wanted to be, taking a dirt track he drove towards the beach and parked to one side. The track was used by four-wheel drives, he didn’t expect to see any this early in the morning,   

Half past four, he was pleased with his timing. There was now the faintest of glimmer in the east, no moon, and virtually no wind. He got out of the car, still wearing his jumper.  

For the second time that morning he was suddenly stricken with a dilemma. Should he lock the car, put the keys in the normal place under a small rock, or merely leave them in the ignition, after all why should he care who took it!  

No, everything must appear normal, he leant over to the back seat and picked up the towel he had brought with him, then locked the door and put his keys under the same old stone he always did. 

Now was the time to be careful, he did not want to be seen, by anyone. 

Dougie walked slowly down to the beach and made his way to where the sea was gently kissing the sand. There was only a small surf, it was almost on low tide, and he didn’t want to think now, he only had to do it!  

Knowing the fear was his main threat, this was the main challenge, yet he had come this far. But standing, looking across the dark water, it looked unappealing, was something lurking, waiting for him?  

Suddenly, turning around, he walked up to the top of the beach, and throwing down his towel he turned and ran back to the water's edge, then splashed hurriedly into the water.  

He was screaming at himself, in his head, ‘JUST DO IT, FUCKING DO IT, FUCKING DO IT…. NOW!’  

Wading waist high the small waves were slapping his chest, it was cold, colder than he had expected. Shivering, working his arms, he stopped and looked back at the shore, there was no one, yes, this is what he wanted, he was alone, to finish his own story, yet closing his eyes he once again could not stop the tears. 

‘Oh God help me, please why did it need to come to this, and why me, why did it have to happen to me?’  

He knew he wasn’t a brave person, standing there, cold, and alone. It had been his own decision, yet he asked himself why he couldn’t have talked this out, with someone. 

A larger wave slapped him hard and ran up his chest hitting him in the face. This was it, he had to go ahead, and in a panic, he pushed out deeper into the dark water, and began to swim. He was not a good swimmer, but was now past the wave line, and he thought momentarily how lucky he was that the sea was down, he wouldn’t have made it this far if there was a surf.  

His mind began to slow as he breast-stroked out towards the distant horizon, and he started recall faces and friends he had known, and now he’d come this far he wasn’t fearful to cry, for nothing mattered any longer, and never would again.  

Yet something rankled, because suddenly it was the face of the only person he had really loved, she had come to him smiling, this was his very own Clara, beautiful kind Clara, who herself had died of the insidious evil cancer, and she had been only thirty-two.  

Clara had been strong, and courageous, but could never win the battle, yet she had never lost who she was in her fight, right up to the very end, and dying with a smile on her face she wasn’t going to let anyone down!  

They had been together for three wonderful years. 

Dougie stopped, he started treading water, and suddenly started to laugh, because she was with him now. But how could she be, he knew it was stupid, yet somehow, she was there, and in that dark, cold, and lonely sea, he looked up and saw Venus looking down at him, and realised.

Instinctively he turned and started to work his way back to the shore, within