"The Observers" - Contest #5

"The Observers"
(the fifth ACW monthly writing contest)

Assignment:
Write a story or poem using the
following title: "The Observers"
2500 words or less.

Deadline:
January 15, 2002

The Observers
by Winona Johnson
just_mystic@hotmail.com
(Entry #2)

~Winning Entry~

The original, unedited version is farther down the page.

It all started with a dream. Isn’t it strange how many weird things begin that way?

In the dream I was walking on a beach. It was cold, and the sky was cloudy gray. The water was breaking into angry white foam and I was standing close enough to it to get wet from the spray. I seemed to be lost, looking for something, but not knowing what it was I was trying to find.

I started spinning around in a circle, faster and faster until the entire world around me became one big blur. Then I saw the children.

Two naked children were standing waist deep in the swirling water. One of them was a girl, about ten years old, with almost white hair, and blue eyes. She was holding the hand of a much younger boy with dark hair and yellow eyes.

They were both staring at me, seeming to not notice the water around them, even when the waves broke over their heads. Their eyes followed me as I moved. They seemed to want to speak with me, but not to want to leave the water. I walked over to them.

They spoke to me the way twins sometimes talk, by finishing each other’s sentences. The girl always spoke first, and the boy would finish for her.

“We’re only here…”

“…to watch you.”

“We’re only here…”

“…to learn.”

“We promise not…”

“…to hurt you.”

“We’ve come here…”

“…to observe.”

And then I woke up.

There was no fuss and no fanfare. No spooky children were standing in my bedroom when I opened my eyes, and though the dream stayed with me throughout the day, it didn’t haunt me, and when I laid down that night to sleep, I didn’t even think about it. I didn’t dream that night.

The next morning was a Saturday. I stayed late in bed, enjoying the innocent feel of cotton sheets past noontime. When I finally did pull myself out, I found that my slippers had migrated under the bed during the night. When I bent over to retrieve them I was faced with two small sets of eyes, one set green, one set blue, and both staring out at me from a place where there should have been no eyes to begin with.

So I screamed.

Perfectly understandable, right?

I felt stupid when I was still screaming a minute later, and whatever was under the bed hadn’t jumped out after me. I mean, I wasn’t a child anymore and I didn’t believe in monsters under the bed. Surely there couldn’t be anything under there, it all had to be my overactive imagination.

I looked again.

Just as I had thought, there was nothing under there. Not even a dust bunny.

I laughed at myself, then went and took a shower.

Later, I saw them again when I opened a kitchen cabinet. Two sets of eyes, one blue, one green, peeked at me from behind my jar of instant coffee. I didn’t scream this time. This time I blinked hard, rubbed my eyes, and looked closer. The eyes were still there. The blue eyes blinked. I squealed and slammed the cabinet door.

Inside the cabinet, glassware clattered, and something squeaked, very much like a mouse would squeak.

I laughed at myself again. Mice. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that sooner?

So I spent most of the rest of my day setting mousetraps in every crook and corner of my house. I put two under my bed, just for good measure.

That night I slept like a baby.

The next morning, the little eyes were in my bathroom. I almost lost it when I looked around from my seat on the toilet and saw them watching me from behind the shower curtain.

Okay, so the traps hadn’t worked. Why hadn’t the traps worked? I went to check them. All of my bait was gone. But, when I checked under my bed, not only was the bait gone, the entire traps were gone!

I had heard of mice smart enough to take the bait without setting off the traps, but I had never heard of mice stealing the traps. Had some sort of super mouse besieged me?

That’s when I enlisted help. I called my family, I called my friends, and I even called the local pet shop. I begged for an answer to my question.

How do you get rid of extra smart rodents?

I got the same answer from all of them. Buy a cat.

If it had just been from the pet shop owner I would have figured he was trying to sell me a cat, but everyone had the same advice. Go out and buy a nice big kitty who loves to hunt and eat vermin, and soon my super critters would be just a story to pass on to my grandchildren.

I’ve never been a big fan of cats. I’ve never been a big fan of anything with fur, actually. I’m just not an animal person, but sometimes exceptions must be made, and this was one such time.

I went to the pet store and bought the first cat that the owner said had a taste for mice. She was a huge thing and had so many colors she reminded me of a moldy patchwork quilt. So, of course I named her Moldy.

It’s amazing how quickly I attached myself to Moldy, considering that I don’t like cats. After I bought her, and had her safely tucked inside her pet carrier in the back seat, I realized I had to buy food for her. Food turned into a bed, the bed turned into toys. I spent about $100 on the cat before I even got her home.

Moldy took to me too. She didn't even mind that I named her Moldy. She was a little scared at first, having been hauled around in a car for most of the day then dumped ungracefully in the middle of a strange place, but by the end of the day the two of us were curled up under an afghan on the sofa, sharing a bowl of popcorn and watching “Homeward Bound.”

My unwanted visitors hadn’t made themselves known yet. I was almost disappointed. Part of me had wanted to see Moldy in action.

It was near the end of the movie when they showed themselves again. I was almost asleep when Moldy made a strange noise. She was growling. I never knew cats could growl. I cracked my eyes a bit to look at her. She was crouched down with her tail in the air. Her ears were laid back and nothing moved but the tip of her tail. She was staring at the television.

I looked, and sure enough, there they were. The same two sets of eyes looking at us from under the entertainment system. This time it was the green eyes that blinked at me.

Moldy launched herself off the sofa and skidded into the side of the entertainment system. The mice ran off toward the kitchen. Moldy followed them. There was a rattle, a thud, a yowl and a hiss louder than I’ve heard a cat hiss before. There was another yowl, and then Moldy came back into the living room. She wasn’t walking, she was prancing, her extra colorful tail held high. She perched herself on the arm of the sofa and began cleaning herself.

Highly curious, I got out of the comfy nest I’d made myself in the sofa and went to see what damage had been done to my kitchen.

It wasn’t as bad as it had sounded. The saltshaker had been knocked off of the table, and the silverware that had been drying in the dish rack was now on the floor, but that was it. There was no blood and fur everywhere like I had expected. There also was not a dead rodent to be seen anywhere. Moldy had given it her best, but hadn’t caught a mouse that night.

I soon realized the $35 I had spent on a bed for the cat was wasted money. Moldy insisted she sleep in bed with me. She lay down on the pillow next to my head and purred herself right into dreamland. I soon followed her. I think I heard her growling at some point in the night, but I can’t be positive of that.

The next day was the first of five day's worth of mouselessness. Well, they were mouseless in so much as I never saw the two little critters, but Moldy started a war against them, and I often heard the battles she waged.

It was after this that I had another dream.

It was the same beach, still cold and gray, and the waves were pounding the sands even harder.

The children were there too, still naked, still sanding in the water. Still watching me. But this time the waves seemed to be bothering them. They were having trouble standing as the water poured over their heads and knocked at their legs.

Then one wave built up huge behind them, and it began to take a form. It became a giant cat made of water, and it hung, frozen, above the children, waiting. I started running for them, wanting to save them because I knew that this particular wave meant them harm.

Then the monster wave grew a leg, and a paw, and the watery paw grew watery claws, and those claws washed down over the children, and they disappeared. I screamed at the boiling sea for being so mean to the helpless dears. Then I noticed the water wasn’t washing away. For an unreal length of time the water stayed over them, boiling and fighting as if were a living thing, refusing to wash back into the ocean until its job was done.

I cried. The water receded. Only one child remained.

It was the boy, and he looked at me with sad eyes. He walked toward me, coming out of the water, onto the sand. He looked so delicate, so impossibly small without the girl next to him.

He spoke to me, but without her to start the sentences, he didn’t make a lot of sense.

“…hurt us.”

“...to learn.”

“…that monster?”

“…to observe.”

Then he walked back into the water, and the huge cat wave built itself up again. This time the wave didn’t attack the child. The child walked right into the mass of water, and disappeared.

I was awakened by the sound of another struggle, this one coming from under my bed. I was startled at first, but then Moldy came out. This time she had a small white mouse dangling from her jaws.

I praised her and scolded her all at the same time. I think I may have confused the cat, but it didn’t matter. She was a smart cat; she knew she had done what she was bought to do, despite the fact that her owner didn’t much like having to dispose of a dead rodent.

I still have Moldy, but she’s never shown up with another mouse since then. There’s not been another sign of a mouse in my house either. I keep expecting to see one ... a little black mouse with yellow eyes. If he ever comes back, I think I might try to catch him.

After all, what harm did those little mice ever do to me? Like the children in my dream, it seemed they were only here to observe.

The Observers by Winona Johnson just_mystic@hotmail.com	#2 of 14 Winner
This is the original version. See the edited version above.
It all started with a dream. Isn’t it strange how many weird things begin that way? In the dream I was walking on a beach. It was cold, and the sky was cloudy gray. The water was breaking into angry white foam on the beach, and I was standing close enough to it to get wet from the spray. I seemed to be lost, looking for something, but not knowing what it was I was trying to find. I started spinning around in a circle, faster and faster until the entire world around me became one big blur. Then I saw the children. Two naked children were standing waist deep in the angry water. One of them was a girl, about ten years old, with almost white hair, and blue eyes. She was holding the hand of a much younger boy with dark hair and yellow eyes. They were both staring at me, seeming not even to notice the water around them, even when the waves broke over their heads. They’re eyes followed me wherever I moved too. They seemed to want to speak with me, but not to want to leave the water. I walked over to them. They spoke to me the way twins sometimes talk, by finishing each other’s sentences. The girl always spoke first, and the boy would finish for her. “We’re only here…” “…to watch you.” “We’re only here…” “…to learn.” “We promise not…” “…to hurt you.” “We’ve come here…” “…to observe.” And that is where I woke up. There was no fuss and no fanfare. No spooky children were standing in my bedroom when I opened my eyes, and though the dream stayed with me throughout the day, it didn’t haunt me, and when I laid down that night to sleep, I didn’t even think about it. I didn’t dream that night. The next morning was a Saturday. I stayed late in bed, enjoying the innocent feel of cotton sheets past noontime. When I finally did pull myself out, I found that my slippers had migrated under the bed during the night. When I bent over to retrieve them I was faced with two sets of eyes, one green, one blue, and both staring out at me from a place where there should have been no eyes to begin with. So I screamed. Perfectly understandable, right? I felt stupid when I was still screaming a minute later, and whatever was under the bed hadn’t jumped out after me. I mean, I wasn’t a child anymore and I didn’t believe in monsters under the bed. Surely there couldn’t be anything under there, it all had to be my overactive imagination. I looked again. Just as I had thought, there was nothing under there. Not even a dust bunny lurked under my bed. I laughed at myself, then went and took a shower. I saw them again when I opened the cabinet. Two sets of eyes, one blue, one green, peeked at me from behind my jar of instant coffee. I didn’t scream this time. This time I blinked hard, rubbed my eyes, and looked closer. The eyes were still there. The blue eyes blinked. I squealed and slammed the cabinet door. Inside the cabinet glassware clattered, and something squeaked, very much like a mouse would squeak. I laughed at myself again. Mice, of course, why didn’t I think of that sooner? So I spend most of the rest of my day setting mousetraps in every crook and corner of my house. I put two under my bed, just for good measure. That night I slept like a baby. The next morning the eyes were in my bathroom. I almost broke my neck when I looked around from my seat on the toilet and saw them watching me from behind my shower curtain. Okay, so my traps hadn’t worked. Why hadn’t my traps worked? I went to check them. All of my bait was gone. Under my bed the traps were gone! I had heard of rats smart enough to take the bait without setting off the traps, but I had never heard of rats stealing the traps. Had some sort of super rat besieged me? That’s when I enlisted help. I called my family, I called my friends, and I even called the local pet shop. I begged for an answer to my question. How do you get rid of extra smart rodents? I got the same answer from all of them. Buy a cat. If it had just been from the pet shop owner I would have just figured he was trying to sell me a cat, but everyone had the same advice. Go out and buy me a nice big kitty who loves to hunt and eat vermin, and soon my super critters would be part of my history to pass on to my grandchildren. I’ve never been a big fan of cats. I’ve never been a big fan of anything with hair, actually. I’m just not an animal person, but sometimes exceptions must be made, and this was one such time. I went to the pet store and bought the first cat that the owner said had a taste for mice. She was a huge thing and had so many colors she reminded me of a moldy patchwork quilt. So she came to be known as Moldy. It’s amazing how quickly I attached myself to Moldy, considering that I don’t like cats. After I bought her, and had her safely tucked inside her pet carrier in the back seat, I realized I had to buy food for her. Food turned into a bed, the bed turned into toys. I spent about $100 on the cat before I even got her home. Moldy took to me too. She was a little scared at first, having been hauled around in a car for most of the day then dumped ungracefully in the middle of a strange place, but by the end of the day the two of us were curled up under an afghan on the sofa, sharing a bowl of popcorn and watching “Homeward Bound.” My unwanted visitors hadn’t made themselves known all day. I was almost disappointed. Part of me had wanted to see Moldy in action. It was the end of the movie when they showed themselves again. I was almost asleep when Moldy made a strange noise. She was growling. I never knew cats could growl. I cracked my eyes a bit to look at her. She was crouched down with her tail in the air. Her ears were laid back, nothing moved but the tip of her tail. She was staring at the television. I looked, and sure enough, there they were. The same two sets of eyes looking at us from under the entertainment system. This time It was the green eyes that blinked at me. Moldy launched herself off of the sofa, skidded into the side of the entertainment system. The mice ran off in the same direction. Moldy followed them. Into the kitchen they went. There was a rattle, a thud, a yowl and a hiss louder than I’ve heard a cat hiss before. There was another yowl, and then Moldy came back into the living room. She wasn’t walking, she was prancing, her extra colorful tail held high. She perched herself on the arm of the sofa and began cleaning herself. So, I got out of the comfy nest I’d made myself in the sofa and went to see what damage had been done to my kitchen. It wasn’t as bad as it had sounded. The saltshaker had been knocked off of the table, and the silverware that had been drying in the dish rack was now on the floor, but that was it. There was no blood and fur everywhere like I had expected. There was not a dead rodent to be seen anywhere. So Moldy had given it her best, but hadn’t caught a rodent that night. By bedtime I realized the $35 I had spent on a bed for the cat was wasted money. Moldy insisted she sleep with me. She lay down on the pillow next to my head and purred herself right into dreamland. I soon followed her. I think she started growling at some point in the night, but I can’t be positive of that. And the next morning was the first in five days worth of mouselessness. Well, they were mouseless in so much as I never saw the two little critters, but Moldy started a war against them, and I often heard the battles she waged. Then I had another dream. It was the same beach, and it was still cold and gray, and the waves were pounding the sands even harder. The children were there too, still naked, still sanding in the water. Still watching me. But this time the waves seemed to be bothering them. They seemed to be having trouble standing as the water poured over their heads and knocked at their legs. Then one wave built up huge behind them, and it began to take a form. It became a huge cat made of water, and it hung, frozen, above the children, waiting. I started running for them, wanting to save them because I knew that this particular wave meant them harm. Then the monster wave grew a leg, and a paw, and the watery paw grew watery claws, and those claws washed down over the children, and they disappeared, and I screamed at the boiling sea for being so mean to the helpless dears, but the water didn’t wash away. For an unreal length of time the water stayed over them, boiling and fighting as if were a living thing, refusing to wash back into the ocean until its job was done. I cried. The water receded. Only one child remained. It was the boy, and he looked at me with sad eyes. He walked towards me, coming out of the water, onto the sand, and he looked so delicate, so impossibly small without his sister. He spoke to me, but without his sister to start the sentences, he didn’t make a lot of sense to me. “…hurt us.” “...to learn.” “…that monster?” “…to observe.” Then he walked back into the water, and the huge cat wave built itself up again. This time the wave didn’t attack the child. The child walked up to, and into the mass of water, and disappeared. I was woken by the sound of another struggle, this one coming from the area under my bed. I was quite startled at first, but then Moldy came out, and this time she had a small white mouse dangling from her jaws. I praised her and scolded her all at the same time. I think I may have confused the cat, but it didn’t matter. She was a smart cat; she knew she had done what she was bought to do, despite the fact that her owner didn’t much like having to dispose of a dead rodent. I still have Moldy, and even though she’s never shown up with another mouse in her mouth, there’s not been another sign of a mouse in my house either. I keep expecting to see one a little black mouse, with yellow eyes. If he ever comes back, I think I might try to catch him. After all, what harm did those little mice ever do to me? Like the children in my dream, there were only here to observe.

The Observer by Timothy Callahan Callahan@ballardspahr.com	#4 of 14 Runner-up
This is the original version. See the edited version above.
..... I floated above the city and smiled in wonderment, unable to believe that a creature I created could build such a beautiful thing. Of all the worlds, in all the universes, they are the few that seem to comprehend that I exist. Trillions of sentient beings over trillions of worlds, and these people know. Even in my omnipotence's it amazed me. .....I instantly transported myself to the top of a mountain they named Pikes Peak and took on the form of a human male. This is the way that they see me so it will be the way that my visitor shall see me also. I moved the clouds and fog out of my way so that I can look down at another city. People scurry about in their cars trying to get from place to another. They figured out how to turn oil into gas, amazing. They know how to manipulate the electron and are on the verge of manipulating their own genes to create clones of themselves. Some say that it goes against my will. I am not upset and instead I sit in awe at this. Now they have ideas on how to manipulate time-space, it will not be long before they do. .....That is why I am here today. ..... "They can't do it, you know." I hear from behind. I turn to see Goawn, one of the others. Goawn has also taken a human form but chooses to hover above me. ..... "Yes, I know." I replied bitterly. ..... "We all had an agreement and you have to live by it." ..... "I know!" I yelled back. The sky darkens quickly as my anger creates a powerful thunderstorm. With a quick thought I mange to contain the storm and make sure that no one is hurt. "I'm going to do all that I can." ..... "We know that you'll deal with it this time, but what about the next time? You know that they'll try again. No one in the other dimensions have this problem, why do you?" .....I smiled, "they are an amazing species. I never told them how break through to another dimension; they figured it out on their own. I tried to stop them by creating an accident that killed their top scientist. He is resting well in my realm now, but it only delayed them a few years." Goawn hovered closer to me, his anger had no control over this universe, but I was sure that it was wreaking havoc on his. "If I find anyone of these creatures in my universe I will take it up with the counsel and we will remove you from it. We all know that a dimension or universe without its God will not exist. So you think about it." .....I redirected my anger to a star fifteen million light-years away and exploded it, "don't worry, you will never see one of them in your dimension." .....Goawn pulled back and vanished without a word. It was time to put an end to this once and for all. .....Professor Mitchell lay on a couch in his school office asleep. He jumped up and grabbed his heart. He screamed, moaned and fell back onto his bed. The pain faded quickly and he felt himself floated above his body. He looked down annoyed that he had just died. "Well isn't that great." ..... "Don't worry, you'll be back before you know it." .....Mitchell turned to see a bearded man standing there with his arm folded across his chest. "Who are you?" ..... "God." .....The answer was so matter of fact yet so powerful that Mitchell tried to fall to his knees, but found he had no corporal form. .....God chucked, "you don't have knees, but thanks for the effort. You need my help, and I want to help you." ..... Mitchell found himself unable to speak and for a moment thought he was struck mute, but after a second he realized that he was just in awe and somehow found the strength to talk again, "how?" ..... "You are close in your theory about time-space, but if you succeed and open a dimensional hole, it will mean the end of this universe. I am going to tell you how to do it without destroying everything, including me." .....From below a student ran in followed by several paramedics. God looked at Mitchell again, "when you wake up you will know, when you recover you will start the project. However, you will not remember any of this until we meet again, do you understand?" ..... Mitchell nodded. ..... "Good." God faded in a wisp of smoke and Professor Mitchell fell back into his body. .....God watched as a slightly older, but well aged Professor Mitchell, stood behind a computer watching readouts whiz by on his screen. In a room separated by thick glass a giant metal ring spun wildly. Faster and faster it spun creating a vortex of multicolored swirls that converged into the center of the ring where a small hole opened. ..... He carefully read the screen as numbers whizzed by. A smile formed on his face, "we did it!" Mitchell yelled jumping up from the chair he was sitting on. .....The crowd of people around him began hugging each other and opening drinks in celebration. .....God waited; if this didn't work the way he wanted to he would know soon enough. Nothing happen, it had worked, they had opened the hole into Goawn's dimension without being detected. .....God walked over and touched Mitchell on the shoulder sending a feeling of euphoria through the older man. He fell to the ground with a smile on his face. God watched as the spirit of the Professor floated out of the body. ..... "I'm sorry, I had to take you now." ..... "But why?" .....The crowd of people ran over to the Professor's lifeless body. ....."Because you did what needed to be done. The others will take over now. Your job here is finished." ..... "But it's just started." .....God smiled, "yes it has, for them, but for you it is finished. I need you to be their inspiration now, I need you to watch over them and point them in the right direction. You do understand that, right?" .....He nodded, "yes, I do." ..... "Your guidance will lead them into a world of hope and great possibilities. You should be thankful." .....Professor Mitchell smiled, "I am, God, I am."

The Observers by McGobot dnmcrobert@hotmail.com	#10 of 14
Ineligible for judging due to going over the 2500 word limit.
'Umm. This isn't exactly what we're looking for is it darling?'. The man smiled conspiratorially at his female companion, who Roger couldn't help noticing was at least 15 years his junior. He turned to treat Roger to the same grin. Roger returned the smile toothlessly and wondered idly when the two had got together. 'I mean it's amazing what they can do with all this electronic jiggery pokery, but for our needs,' -he regenerated the beam- 'we require something a little more-' the sentence tailed off as he cocked his head on one shoulder and settled his gaze in the middle distance, as though seeking inspiration from a particular air molecule somewhere in the centre of the room. He cradled the small spherical device in his hands, as he had for the previous 30 seconds, letting it roll from hand to hand, as they rotated around themselves like bicycle pedals. He looked as if he were excercising a mouse. It was a muggy day and Roger knew without looking that the object would be coated in sweat when he took it off him. Middle aged men who came to his shop with younger women (and they were plentiful in number) alway seemed to sweat a lot to Roger. Maybe it was the constant thought of what they'd get their hands on when they got home pumping those cholesterol barricaded hearts a little too hard. He glanced at the woman. She was certainly fit, if a little simpering for Rogers own taste. She compunded his first impression by smiling helplessly at Roger as if to convey her total disengagement from the potential transaction. 'Yes, dear' thought Roger 'I know who I'm taking the money off'. He couldn't remember the last time he'd sold anything to a woman. Boys and their toys he supposed. Directing his attention back to his potential customer, Roger resolved to step up the pace a little. If he wanted to shut the shop on time he'd have to help this idiot spend the amount of money he wanted to spend, which was evidently a lot. 'Advanced?' he enquired, rhetorically, of the man's semi formed question. The response was what he expected. The head came off the shoulder slowly, like a pole being raised by ropes to the perpendicular. Simultaneously, the look of perplexity dissolved into one of complicity. He was still looking at nothing in particular, as though he'd uncovered the long lost component of his truncated sentence somewhere other than a man standing 3 feet away from him. His eyes gleamed perceptibly as he swivelled towards Roger. 'Exactly.' his hands had ceased moving. 'Now I think we understand each other'. 'Yes' thought Roger, 'Only now'. He took a couple of steps forward and held out his hands for the radio transmitter unit the man had declined to purchase. It was relinquished to him and the man wiped his hands on the backside of his suit trousers, in what he must have imagined was a covert manner, as Roger turned to place it back in its display case. He'd been right about the sweat, and it sat oddly with the rest of the equipment pristine as it was, like a single piece of rotten fruit in a full bowl. Roger had worked in the surveillance business for approaching six years, and had encountered this scenario more often than he could remember. In fact, it was what kept him in business. A middle aged man with more money than sense coveting gadgetery that many governments declined to buy their counter espionage units on grounds of untility to price ratio. It was the James Bond generation, Roger mused. They loved it. They spent their youth devouring films with this great looking guy fucking women they could never fuck and being given toys Santa would never bring them. Then- hey presto! The age of the micro chip arrives and these 50 year olds can afford to but the gadget they'd always lusted after. And the girl, too. And when they came to buy it they came here, to Rogers shop. It couldn't have been more convenient. Placed within spitting ditance of London's square mile, waiting for bored money to come tumbling down the office steps after a hard day satisfying shareholders. Not wanting to go home to their wives ageing faces, where flesh dangled tiredly, reminding them of their own mortality. Of course this new lifestyle came with risks attatched. If Mrs Bored Money were to discover exactly what husband dearest was up to, there was the very real chance of divorce, and divorce was an expensive business. Rich powerful men, Roger surmised, liked being powerful and rich. To have your worth bisected by a divorce court judge is both emasculating and impoverishing. One alternative would be to give up the girl. Perhaps a certain number did, but they were the ones Roger never saw. The ons who crossed his threshold were looking for something altogether different - insurance. These men wanted to catch their wives in the very act they themselves were perpetrating, in order to balance the scales of righteous indignation. Perhaps it had the supplementary benefit of assuring the lovely girl on their arm, as they leered at them and patted their bottom paternally, that they weren't doing anything TOO naughty. Private detectives used to be far more common for this such assignments, but now everyone wanted to do it themselves. Roger attriuted it to the surfeit of 'Do It Yourself' culture insinuating itself onto TV screens and into Sunday supplements. Rebuild your own garden! Redecorate your own house! Catch your own wife having an affair ON YOUR OWN TV CHANNEL! Everyone wanted their surveillance crystal clear these days, and the display unit Roger was directing the man towards contained the very thing. 'Now this,' Roger announced airily, patting the upmost face of a cubic glass cabinet, 'is a little more-', he paused momentarily for effect 'upmarket'. He knew it was sold the second he shut his mouth, but carried on anyway. The clock on the wall showed five minutes to seven, and it would allow the man to continue gawping, enraptured, at what was contained within the cabinet. 'This' Roger shifted position to afford the man a slightly better view 'Is the very best. You can go anywhere in the country and not find anything as advanced as this for its size'. He yanked his keyring from his belt and unlocked the glass display case, drawing it open. 'You get your transmitter and receiver here. Video comes in this little unit here. It's so small that you can store it pretty much anywhere without it being noticed. I can even give you a cufflink box that acts as a housing unit so you can put it wherever you please - mantlepiece, chest of draws' Roger paused again, 'bedside table'. The couple exchanged a glance. 'As you can see, for such a small unit, the definition of the picture is extraordinarily high. The footage is put on lazer disc, and the camera is motion activated, so you don't have hours of unneccessary recording. I can do you extra cameras as well if you'd like. All in all it's a wonderful package. Of course it isn't cheap...' 'Oh there's no problem on that score', the man assured him, 'we'll take it. I think it's very important that we can', he looked to his partner a second time, 'observe'. The girl giggled. 'Perverts', Roger thought. He got them out of the door at 7pm, cashed the till, and after checking his own equipment in the store room, left for the night. ************************ 'Do you want a beer?' Roger yeled over his shoulder from the kitchen. A muffled cry of assent slouched back in through the open door and Roger went to the fridge to retrieve two cans, each coated in an icy residue. He made his way to the living room, casually flicking the door closed with his foot. He set them down on the coffee table, and a disembodied hand appeared in his field of vision to pick one off as an eagle kills a rabbit. The hand was Andy's, Roger's friend, and he settled back into his position in his chair, sinking as far down as it would allow. He tapped the can a couple of times, opened it, and rested it on his stomach, where it sat like the funnel on a steam ship. 'What have you got then?' he asked Roger. 'I don't know to be honest' replied Roger truthfully, 'I've been busy at work so I haven't had time to check yet'. He padded over to his home entertainment centre and rifled trough a few discs. 'I've got a fair idea what might me on this one,' he swivelled round from his crouched position on the floor, 'Interested in a bit of homemade porn? Lady might be a little on the mature side.' 'Granny porn!' cackled Andy, 'Go on, whack it on. The football isn't on for another hour'. Roger smirked, put the disc in and, picking up the remote, made his way back to his seat. An image appeared on the the screen of a woman who was maybe 45 years old. No spring chicken granted, but she had definitely been a bit of a looker in her day. Maybe, Roger mused, he had underestimated that old duffer in the shop. 'Mmm, not bad' affirmed Andy, sipping his beer from a semi supine position, 'but what's the deal? She's not doing anything'. 'Don't worry, I'll skip forward a bit', Roger pressed a button and the woman's actions took on a scurrying, febrile quality, before she exited the room. The action cut back in, evidently a few hours later, as she re-entered, hand in hand with a young man who appeared younger than Roger. Roger pressed play. 'Nice!' Andy snorted. 'Get in there my boy.' He murmured the encouragement to the young man in shot, superfluously, as he began to rip off her clothes. The foreplay was perfunctory and they were fucking inside moments, the man on top, straining, head thrust backwards. 'You got any more camera angles?', Andy asked after a short time, 'I don't want to look at this bloke's arse for the next twenty minutes'. 'I don't know. I sold the guy two cameras, but he can't have installed the second one in his room. The movement would have triggered it. Do you want to watch somehing else?'. 'Yeah, this is getting dull'. Just as Roger reached for the remote, the screen abruptly split in two. The view was from the top of a staircase, and looked down to a heavy wooden front door being slowly opened from the outside. Roger's finger hovered over the remote. 'Hello. What's this then?' A figure, dressed for winter in a long black coat, stepped deliberately and softly into the house. He kept his back to the camera whilst shutting the door, but as he turned to face the camera Roger recognised the man who had bought the equipment from him the previous week. He sat back, violently, into his seat. 'It's him! That's the guy I sold all this shit to!' Andy cast him a sideways, leering glance, 'And he's going to walk in and catch his wife fucking around on him' he asked incredulously. His eyes widened and he hauled himself up into an erect position, the can of lager now dangling from the fingers of his right hand, between his knees. 'Ha! That's fucking classic!' he giggled 'We'll have to get some of the boys round to see this'. Both men fell silent in wonder, the kind of silence that overcomes children as one of their number begins to perform the dare they had all talked about, but no-one else has the gall to administer.They watched as the man ponderously climbed the stairs, testing his own weight on each step like a teenager sneaking in late. It took him about 30 seconds to reach to reach the point that held the camera, during which time the young buck opposite continued to service his wife. Roger found himself wondering, out of professional curiosity, where he'd hidden the camera. He had his face within about a foot of the lense now, so his face filled half the creen on Roger's 58" TV. His face sagged a little around the edges and his nose was slightly distended and dotted with burst blood vessels. His eyes had the dark shadows beneath hem common to men his age, but the eyes themselves, the grey of winter sky, were alive with the vim Roger had observed in the flesh. He remained in the frame for several seconds, and peered at the camera, as though attempting to see the room where Roger and Andy sat. Then his lips began to move. They stretched themselves beyond the prosaic limits of conversational speech, mouthing the words in slow motion and exaggerating them, so he appeared to be munching chunks of air and savouring their flavour. They formed the words I-Love-You. 'I love you, too, mate.' Andy riposted, taking another mouthful from his can, 'You've made my afternoon. Go on, son. Bust your wife and her toy boy. Ha haa!' As if he'd heard the words, the man abruptly disappeared from view. Roger and Andy waited in silence. The door to the room swung open he advanced in only a few paces. He had his back to the camera and stood, impassively, in the centre of what must have been his own bedroom as the oblivious couple continued unabated. It was the woman who noticed first. The quality of the picture was good enough for Roger to see her face alter from a contortion of sexual fulfillment to that of total shock. Roger noted how similar the two expressions were, but yet so different, and had an oportunity to think the same thing about the expression of abject fear that she wore moments before half her lovers head disappeared from his shoulders and repositioned itself on the bed beside her. 'What the fuck!' yelped Andy, dropping his drink and clutching the sides of his armchair with both hands. He'd risen half to his feet, giving him the appearance of an athlete preparing to sprint away. He wasn't going anywhere, though, he was rooted to the spot. The man on TV, who now occupied the full screen ambled forward another couple of paces. He seemed in no hurry. The woman was screaming now, the limp body of her lover flopped over her left shoulder like a drunk passed out at a party. He'd shifted position slightly, so both could now see the shotgun he'd removed from his coat and held almost deferentially in both hands. 'Oh no! Oh no!' Andy was whispering plaintively. He was saying what Roger would have if only he could speak. They both watched, Roger in silence, Andy repeating his plea like a mantra, as the gun was raised and fired a second time, and they continued to do so as the murderer on screen calmly rounded the bed to place himself perfectly in shot, and blow the camera a kiss.

The Observers by Laura Frizzell ljfrizzell@netscape.net	#12 of 14 Honorable Mention
This is the original version. See the edited version above.
Paul adjusted the cruise control in his Oldsmobile a little faster. He was in danger of being somewhat late for his appointment with the Governor. As he watched the countryside roll by on either side of the highway, he enjoyed the fact that at this time of day, 2:14 pm to be exact, there was so little traffic he almost had the road to himself. And what a glorious, sky-so-blue-it-hurts-to-look-at-it kind of day it was. He indulged himself in a little daydream. He thought back to one of his earliest memories, on a day almost identical to this one. He had been traveling on that day, too, although in the back seat of his parents’ old Ford with the wind cooling him through the window rather than in his own air-conditioned sedan. He was three years old, and on his way to a family gathering. Some relatives from Canada had come down for a holiday, and so it was an excuse to get the whole bunch together. As soon as they arrived, an older cousin, about eight or nine years old he supposed in hindsight, took him under her wing and led him off to where the other kids were. He didn’t want to join in the sack races and other activities. His cousin wouldn’t take no for an answer. Silly girl. Stupid games. Paul’s own kids were reluctant to join in at that age, too. They, however, are considered developmentally normal by today’s more enlightened standards. Paul, in a family of extroverts, was an oddball for wanting to just watch the other children. So, when his parents noticed him resisting his cousin and trying to escape her grasp, they were embarrassed by his antisocial behavior. They intervened and essentially forced him to join in, whether he liked it or not. This is an indignity he has spared Richard and Patricia, since he understands how they feel. And he still has quite a bit of resentment built around that whole incident. What his wife refers to as “stuff.” “Everybody has stuff, Paul,” Sandy has told him since they first started dating. “The purpose of life is to learn from whatever it is that happens to you, and progress toward inner perfection. So deal with it already!” Dealing with it was the purpose of Sandy’s life, maybe, but Paul preferred another tactic, which was more along the line of holding a grudge now toward those people who forced him into situations he was unwilling to deal with then. He was pulled out of his thoughts by a sign pointing out that the lane he was in was an “Exit Only” lane, which luckily was the one he had been looking for anyway. He tapped the brakes to interrupt the cruise control, and pulled into the outskirts of the city. He had twenty-seven minutes until his date with Governor Halbert, just enough time to get prepared. Barely. Paul was familiar with the route, since this wasn’t his first meeting with such prominent politicians as the Governor. He had followed the careers of many popular (and some unpopular) leaders in political circles. In fact, it was due to the work he did that some of them enjoyed either an increase or decrease of that popularity. As he drove, Paul worked on the steady breathing technique that helped him to keep calm in situations like the one he was about to go into. If it didn’t happen the way he planned, this whole trip might be wasted. Since he prided himself on being punctual, Paul lost no time in finding a parking lot and quickly paying the attendant the fee. This was an overly high-priced lot, but it was worth it to Paul for being close and uncrowded. He would appear calm and not out of breath or sweaty when he arrived at the Governor’s table. Even if he was nervous, and he was, it wouldn’t show. He checked the contents of his case quickly before getting out of the car. Yep, everything orderly and complete. He removed his favourite weapon from the case, made some adjustments to it, and shut the case again. He got out of the car and gave a quick check to his appearance in his reflection in the side window. No telltale bulges, good. He made his way to the restaurant. It was three minutes to three. Perfect. Governor Halbert was busy talking to the woman he shared his table with, and didn’t recognize the unobtrusive thirty-something man, average height and weight, as he casually approached his table. He did recognize the object which was being pulled from the man’s inside jacket pocket, however. There was a sudden bright flash. “Oh, my God,” he hoarsely whispered. His companion, looking concerned, turned her gaze to where the Governor was looking. There was another flash, and another. “Paul,” the Governor said, trying to keep his self-control, “what the heck are you doing here, now? Our meeting isn’t for another hour.” “Sorry, sir, but I wanted to get a few candid shots of you and Mrs. Halbert for the publicity pamphlets. I checked with your receptionist and she told me you would both be here for a late lunch.” “Really, Paul,” said Mrs. Halbert, “you should check with us first. What if we had changed restaurants?” Paul laughed, and accepted the chair a waiter brought to the table. He closed the shutter of his camera and replaced it in his pocket. “No, I knew you’d be here. After all, I’ve been studying you for some time, haven’t I?” By now the Governor had regained his composure. “If I had known what a nuisance it would be to have someone writing my biography, I’d have written the damned book myself. It feels like you’re my shadow sometimes. And trust me to pick a writer who happens to be a shutterbug as well.” He sounded gruff, but Paul knew him well enough to know it was mostly show. The old man was proud to feel so important as to have his biography written by someone of Paul’s caliber. “Just part of the package, sir,” Paul joked to the Governor and his wife, but he thought to himself, See, Mom and Dad, see? Sometimes it pays to sit back and watch. My career depends on careful observation. I’m not an oddball anymore. This is what I do, and I’m good at it.

Observers Looking In by Pattimari Pattimaris1675@aol.com	#13 of 14