dazjames1970

[dazjames1970]

Happy Home-Makers of Rosella Heights - Part One.

The dawn of 1959 found Patty Love elbow-deep in a mountain of dishes, remnants of the previous night's New Year's Eve celebration. Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, casting a mocking glow on the mess that had taken over her home. The faint hum of Portia Faces Life crackled from the radio on the counter, the soap opera's dramatic tones providing an ironic soundtrack to Patty's domestic chaos.

Her floral dress was immaculate despite the work at hand, cinched neatly at the waist by a well-worn apron. Her red hair, flowing in soft curls about her shoulders, gleamed in the morning light.

To an outsider, she might have looked like the perfect 1950s housewife. But Patty's manic smile—wide, infectious, and just a little too sharp at the edges—hinted at something more beneath the surface.

"Oh, hello, dears!" she murmured theatrically, as if she were Lucille Ball. "It's me, Patty Love—Rosella Heights' homemaker extraordinaire. I have two darling children, a dreamy husband, and a household that's more work than a woman could ever manage without mummy's little helper."

There was a bottle of little pink pills that sat neatly on the windowsill above the sink, nestled between the soap and the sponge. She reached for it, popping one into her mouth and swallowing quickly. The bitter taste clung to her tongue, but the familiar calm soon washed over her.

Across the street, the Hendersons were still in their pajamas, laughing as they packed away their Christmas lights. Their carefree demeanour contrasted sharply with the morning hustle in her kitchen.

Freddie, Patty's husband, sat on the porch, sipping black tea and flipping idly through the Rosella Heights Gazette. His professional eye scanning the articles for possible mistakes and scrutinizing the photos for quality. Someone else was in charge while he was on leave. He sighed, folding up the paper. He was having a much-needed break. Work could wait. For once.

Freddie relaxed into his chair. His chiseled features seemed to soften while his deep-set eyes looked on into the distant. She often wondered what was going on behind those occasional vacant stares that sometimes plagued his features.

He wore a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms, a testament to his disciplined routine. Freddie had the kind of rugged good looks that reminded Patty of Rock Hudson—a fact that hadn't gone unnoticed by their neighbour, Betty Knight.

From her vantage point at the kitchen window, Patty saw Betty step outside, her blonde curls perfectly arranged, and her crimson lips curved into a knowing smile. Dressed in a fitted blouse and slacks that hugged her figure a little too well for Patty's liking, Betty waved enthusiastically.

"Happy New Year, Frederick!" she called, her voice saccharine sweet.

Freddie looked up, smiling politely. "Happy New Year, Betty."

Patty's grip on the dish towel tightened as she watched Betty lean against the fence, her eyes lingering on Freddie just a moment too long. The two of them engaging in neighbourly banter that seemed highly suggestive from Betty Knight's point of view.

"Betty Knight," Patty muttered under her breath, her tone half amusement, half annoyance. "The queen of sophistication. Or so she'd have us believe."

To the community, Betty was the perfect picture of grace—a wealthy widow who had moved to Rosella Heights after her husband's untimely death in a boating accident. She hosted elegant garden parties and always donated generously at church fundraisers. Yet, there were whispers—rumours about Betty's nights out at places that catered to a far different clientele than Rosella Heights' tea-sipping ladies.

Patty had even seen her stumble home at some ungodly hour of the early morning on the arm of a diverse range of suitors. Their tipsy chackles caught upon the breeze disturbing Patty's slumber. She pushed the thought aside as the sound of bickering erupted from the living room.

"Teddy, it's my turn!" Lizzy's voice rang out, high-pitched and indignant.

"No way! You had it all morning yesterday!" Teddy shot back.

Patty sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. Time to referee this latest domestic dispute.

Teddy, at fourteen, was tall and lanky, with sandy hair that always seemed to fall into his eyes. He was a daydreamer with his head always in a book or a comic. Lizzy, on the other hand, was ten and fiercely inquisitive, her untamed hair a reflection of her boundless energy.

Patty grabbed the broom from its post, and strode into the living room, her voice cheerful but firm. "Alright, my darlings, that's enough. It's far too lovely a day to waste indoors fighting over the television. Out you go—play in the yard while I finish cleaning up."

"But Mom—" Teddy began, only to be cut off by Patty's pointed look.

"No buts, Theodore," she said, began ushering them both toward the front door with her broom like they were left over remnants from last night's party. "Out you go." Freddie glanced up as the children spilled onto the porch, his brows raised in mild alarm. "Looks like you've got company," Patty quipped, "Find something constructive for them to do. What about that cubby house?"

Freddie sighed and set down his tea while Patty glanced once more at Betty, who was now rearranging potted plants with her usual precision. The woman caught her staring, Betty's crimson lips curved into a knowing smile, "Good morning, Patty!"

Patty forced a smile. "Morning, Betty. Happy New Year."

Betty descended the steps, "How was your evening?" she asked, her tone just shy of innocent. "I take it you had a somewhat domestic evening...so quint...not unlike the hostess." Patty gripped her broom firmer, her knuckles turning white, "As for me, I was having a particularly divine evening at Reginald and Roselyn Cash's stunning homestead. The Mayoral ball is quite the pinnacle of the social calendar."

"Well, you can have your fancy balls," Patty replied. "I have my Freddie. My family. My friends. I don't need the razzle dazzle like some."

"Yes," Betty sneered, "Your husband is quite the catch. You best keep a firm hand on him, or some unscrupulous temptress will surely enchant him away from you." She titled her head to one side, "No matter how many cherry pies you bake for him."

Patty's smile tightened, "Let them try! If they dare! They'll get the tail end of my broom just like any other rubbish that needs sweeping out."

Betty's smile faltered for just a moment before she straightened. "Always a pleasure, darling. Anyway, must dash. I have a luncheon with Milicent Stewart to discuss our next production of the Footlight Theatre Society." She turned and sauntered back to her house, "So much to do so little time."

Patty exhaled; her hand relaxing on the broom. Betty Knight might have thought she was the queen of Rosella Heights, but Patty wasn't about to let her take the crown without a fight. And maybe a thumping from her broom.

**********

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of chores and quiet reflection. Patty worked methodically, wiping counters and tidying shelves, but her mind wandered. The scene with Betty lingered, gnawing at her in a way she didn't fully understand.

Freddie had always been a good husband—steady, kind, and dependable. But there were parts of him she couldn't reach, shadows that danced just beyond her grasp. She wondered if Betty saw them too and what she might try to do about it. The woman was much more worldly and sophisticated. She would know exactly how to reach such a man.

Patty shook her head, banishing the thought. "You're letting her get to you," she muttered, reaching for Mr. Sheen. "Betty Knight doesn't matter. Not really."

The scent of fresh-cut wood drifted in through the back window of the kitchen. Outside, Freddie and Lizzy were hammering away at a cubby house, their voices mingling with the cicadas' lazy drone.

"You've got to hold it steady, Lizzy," Freddie said, crouched on one knee as he tightened a bolt. "If it wobbles, it's no good."

Lizzy puffed out her cheeks, pushing against the wooden beam with all her might. "It's not wobbling!" she protested, though her tone lacked conviction.

Teddy lounged nearby with a comic book; his legs sprawled across the lawn chair. The vivid cover of The Phantom gleamed in the sunlight, showing the titular hero in his signature purple tights, his muscled frame caught mid-action.

Teddy's eyes lingered on the illustration, his brow furrowing slightly. Something about the way The Phantom moved, the way his body was drawn—it made Teddy's chest feel tight, like he was holding his breath.

"What's that?" Lizzy asked, popping her head over his shoulder and startling him out of his thoughts.

"Nothing!" Teddy snapped, shoving the comic beneath his leg.

Lizzy narrowed her eyes. "Is it one of those grown-up comics? The ones Mom says are for delinquents?"

"No! It's just... about a superhero. That's all."

"Hmph." Lizzy turned and bounded back to her father who was desperately trying to hold up a plank on his own while calling for his daughter.

Teddy exhaled shakily, glancing down at the comic again. He didn't understand why it made him feel this way—excited, embarrassed, and confused all at once. He flipped the page, skimming past an illustration of The Phantom saving a damsel in distress. It was the hero he couldn't stop looking at, not the girl.

Patty was taking a well earnt break. She sat at the kitchen table and watched the scene play out in the backyard. She had a glass of lemonade in one hand and a glossy women's magazine in the other. The pages were filled with images of perfectly styled women in sunlit kitchens, their lives so pristine they might have been cut from celluloid.

She flipped to an article titled "How to Keep Your Husband Interested in 5 Easy Steps". Patty rolled her eyes but kept reading, her lips twitching at the absurd advice: "Always greet him with a smile," "Never complain about your day," and the kicker—"Make sure dinner is on the table when he arrives home."

Patty closed the magazine with disdain, where were the articles on How to Keep Your Wife Happy in 5 Easy Steps?

"Patty!" Freddie called out from the cubby, interrupted her thoughts. "You're going to love this when it's done! It's got all the bells and whistles for a mad scientist's lair."

Patty smiled indulgently, raising her glass. "Just don't forget the 'No Mothers Allowed' sign. Lizzy will insist."

Later on, the family gathered under the shade of the gum tree, sipping cold lemonade as they admired the half-completed cubby house.

"Not bad for a day's work," Freddie said, his fair hair glistening in the sun light, as he wiped sweat from his brow. 

"It's going to be the best cubby ever," Lizzy declared, her grin stretching from ear to ear. "I think it needs a trapdoor."

"Trapdoor?" Freddie grinned, crouching to tighten a bolt. "What for? A spy base or an easy escape route."

"Could be both!" Lizzy said, her eyes lighting up. "Anything is possible especially when dealing with combustible elements."

Patty watched on, a small smile playing on her lips. The girl loved all things science and construction while the boy lounge around reading comics and daydreaming. Oh well, at least they kept her entertained. And her pills made such matters so much easier—they softened the edges, quieted the doubts, and let her pretend she was in her own idyllic TV show.

*********

A couple of days later, with the cubby house finished, Freddie was off fishing with his best friend Phil and Lizzy had finally pestered her brother enough to go swimming at the river. The cozy ambiance of Patty's living room was quickly transformed with the chatter of her friends—Myra, Flo, Lucy, and Cindy—as they gathered around the coffee table. Each held a copy of "Peyton Place" open and dissected with fervour.

"My dear girls," Patty introducing them to her unseen audience. "Myra, the bubbly airhead with a heart of gold whose sponge cakes never fail to rise. Flo, the forward-thinking salon owner always ahead of the trends. Lucy, the opinionated organizer of our book club, sticking to the rules of life. And Cindy, the dutiful librarian, the calming influence who keeps us all grounded."

They had all come together through Lucy's book club, and today's discussion was focusing on the latest scandalous revelations in their current read.

"I can't believe the things that happen in 'Peyton Place.' Who would have thought?" Myra exclaimed, wide-eyed and animated.

"It's the quiet ones you must watch out for, Myra. Just like our Cindy," Flo chimed in with a playful wink, eliciting giggles from the group. "Immersed in all that knowledge. She could be planning anything."

"Flo, we're here to discuss the book, not indulge in your fantastical theories," Lucy interjected, her tone prim and slightly disapproving.  

"Oh, but aren't they so outrageous," Patty teased, taking a sip of her drink. "Honestly, we learn so much about our dear Flo through her many theories and conspiracies."

The group erupted into laughter, the sound filling the room with warmth and camaraderie as they delved deeper into their lively discussion of Peyton Place. Lucy just rolled her eyes. 

Flo's eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, ladies, did I tell you about the faux pas during Christmas lunch? My grandfather was plying my cousin's pooch with beer all afternoon. You can imagine the chaos and the unfortunate discharge from the mutt after wards. My sister is furious at the damage to her new argyle rug and Grandmother's vintage tablecloth will never be the same again. Not even a box of Tide will get out those stains. I, personally, loved it. Chaos is so delicious."

Everyone burst into laughter, picturing the scene.

Cindy chimed in next, "Sounds heaven compared with spending Christmas lunch defending why I am not married to every woman in my family."

"Ours was a pleasant Christmas until Lizzy tried to create a 'scientific' Christmas pudding," Patty took a sip of her coffee before continuing, "She lit the thing on fire with some concoction... almost set alight my curtains. It really didn't taste right after that" She sighed, "Freddie was not amused. You know how he likes his pudding."

Lucy sighed as she sipped her tea, coffee caused her heart palpitations, a wistful smile tugging at her lips. "Christmas at our place was, as always, predictably traditional," she said with a touch of fondness. "Mother insists on the same routine every year. We started with church in the morning, followed by a meticulously prepared roast lunch with all the trimmings. Father carves the turkey with military precision while Mother fusses over the pudding, making sure it's soaked in just the right amount of brandy. We listened to the Queen's speech, and then it was parlour games and polite conversation until we all retired early. No surprises, no excitement. Just the same old, same old." She shrugged, a hint of nostalgia in her eyes. "But you know, there's something comforting about it, even if it does lack the chaos and mishaps of a livelier Christmas."

Myra dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, her voice quivering with a mix of pride and sadness. "It's been quite an emotional holiday for me," she began, her friends leaning in with concern. "Tina left right after Christmas to take up a job at a big department store in the city. She's so excited, but I can't help feeling a little lost without her around the house." She paused, taking a deep breath before continued. "And then there is my son. He is the first in our family to go to university, can you believe it? He's off to become a lawyer," Her voice changed pitch as she remembered something, "Oh, that reminds me, did anyone else catch the latest episode of Portia Faces Life*? Oh, you could hear a pin drop in my house. It was so gripping."

*Portia Faces Life was a radio serial of the 1940/50s about a courageous female attorney who battles forces of crime, injustice, and civic corruption.

Suddenly, the mood shifted when Flo brought out a pack of tarot cards. She was always trying to egg on the girls to explore beyond their own comfort zones, but Lucy was having none of it.

"Have you lost all sense of propriety!" Lucy scowled, "Those are bordering of the satanic."

"Maybe we should settle for some Mah-jong instead," Myra interjected.

Patty sat in her chair; smile etch across her face. These women helped to keep her sane. They were her nature's little helpers. Some days, without these women and her happy pills, she probably would scream until her voice gave out.

**********

After book club, Patty returned to her laundry, pinning the last of the sheets to the line when the rumble of a car engine caught her attention. She turned toward Betty Knight's house and saw the sleek black car pulling into the driveway. The car certainly wasn't from around Rosella Heights.

She moved closer to the fence, ostensibly adjusting the angle of the drying sheets, but her eyes were fixed on Betty's porch. The blonde neighbour stepped outside, her lipstick bright against her fair skin, her expression calm but tense.

The man climbing out of the car was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark suit with a fedora shading his sharp features. He removed his hat as he approached Betty, revealing slicked-back hair and a clean-shaven jaw.

"We have a problem," the man said, his tone low but firm.

Patty's breath caught. She ducked behind the hanging sheets, her heart thudding in her chest as she strained to hear.

Betty's face grew almost sinister, "I pay you handsomely to not have such things. Are my affairs too much for you to handle? I am sure I could find another Dick Tracy to do my bidding.

"I was not expecting the criminal justice system to cave to...your husband," he spoke.

"Husband!" Patty froze, her fingers gripping the edge of a sheet, as Betty Knight slapped the man across the face, "Never utter such a word in my presence again! Am I making myself clear."

The man grabbed her wrist, taking a firm grip, "You do that again, missus! And I'll forget you're a lady." Betty wrenched her hand away, "Because your money is good, I'm going to help ya out by throwing a few decoys into the waters and see if that distracts his men."

Her smile gleaming once more, "Expect a generous bonus for your efforts." She sighed, "Now, why don't I make us some tea and think nothing more about our earlier harsh words."

Betty escorted the man into the house, scanning the neighbourhood for prying eyes, before following him through the front door.

Patty stayed behind the laundry line, her mind racing. She'd known Betty Knight had secrets, but this was something else entirely.

*********

The following week, Patty stood in her cozy kitchen, a highball glass in hand, marveling at the row of freshly baked pies cooling on the counter. She had a cheeky drink to celebrate her achievements. The aroma of warm cherries and buttery crust filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of alcohol that had begun to tickle her senses.

"Ah, baking—another of my many talents," she mused, running a hand over her immaculate floral dress. She turned to her audience once more, "These pies are destined for the bake sale. We need a new roof for the school. The poor little angels are either freezing in winter or being drenched during Spring rains. I do hope my cherry creations outshine Betty Knight's queer quince jams. She can keep her sticky preserves to herself."

Her mind wandered back to Betty Knight and the cryptic conversation she'd overheard days ago. The sharp-suited detective, the mutterings of a husband—it all felt like something out of a Bette Davis thriller. Jezebel instantly came to mind.

Betty seemed to have more skeletons in her closet than Patty had dust bunnies under her beds. She just wasn't sure what to do with the information?

As if on cue, the oven timer chimed, and Patty giggled mischievously, the alcohol adding a light-hearted edge to her demeanour.

She glanced out the window, "There goes Betty again, parading her so-called nephew about the neighbourhood. He turned up a few days ago." Patty muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowing with thinly veiled skepticism. "Just like a husband suddenly rising from the dead, I smell something fishy about that young man." 

Betty Knight's so-called nephew was tall and bronzed, he had the rugged good looks of a Hollywood heartthrob, complete with tousled sandy hair and an easy smile that seemed permanently fixed on his face.

Yesterday, Patty found him in the front yard, shirtless and soaking up the sun with the nonchalant confidence of someone who knew he was being watched, washing his motorcycle. The sleek machine was cleaned and polished to a mirror shine having received meticulous attention.

Betty's "nephew" seemed to have a knack for drawing attention, whether it was revving the engine of his bike for a little too long or casually kicking a football with a group of neighbourhood kids, his effortless charm never failed to catch the eye.

The nephew was the current source of speculation amongst the women in Rosella Heights, each whispering their own theories behind lace curtains over afternoon tea.

*********

Later that day, from her vantage point at the kitchen window, Patty observed Freddie diligently mowing the lawn. Her irritation ignited as she noticed Betty's lingering gaze from over the fence, "There she goes, eyeing my Freddie the way my butcher eyes a side of beef."

True to form, Betty sashayed over, her intentions thinly veiled under a façade of being neighbourly, "Frederick, darling, my sink is acting up again," she purred, her voice dripping with a flirtatious charm that did not escape Patty's notice. "And Tommy has gone off somewhere on that death machine."

"Sure thing, Betty. Just let me finish up here," Freddie replied, his obliviousness to predatory behaviour.

Patty seethed silently, as she watched Freddie follow Betty into her house. "That's it! I've had enough of her games," she thought, her patience worn thin as she stormed next door to Betty's impeccably maintained home.

Inside, she found Freddie stooped under Betty's kitchen sink, his brow furrowed in concentration as he fiddled with her pipes. Betty hovered far too close for comfort, her gaze lingering on Freddie with a familiarity that grated on Patty's nerves.

"Freddie, darling, I need you," Patty declared, her voice cutting through the air with a steely edge.

"Patty, I'm almost done here," Freddie replied, looking up with genuine confusion.

"Now, Freddie," Patty reiterated firmly, her eyes flickering briefly to Betty, who seemed unfazed by the tension. "Unless you want the washer to flood our house."

"Alright, alright," Freddie groaning, aware of the tone in her voice, extricating himself from under the sink. "Okay! I'll be right back."

Betty slinked up beside Patty, her nose twitching, "Do I detect alcohol? Oh dear! Drinking in the middle of the day! Patty, do we have a problem? I mean, what will your ladies think of such behaviour."

Patty seized Freddie's arm and guiding him firmly towards the door. She didn't stop until they were both safely inside their own home. Freddie looked at her perplexed when the washing machine looked perfectly fine. He was so oblivious some days.

"Betty Knight can get someone else to look at her pipes," retorted Patty. "You've got enough work over here."

Patty excused herself to the kitchen where she crumbled against the wall. She just needed one of her pills and everything would be right again. She would be in control.

Patty summoned the nerve to get up off the floor and reach for her pill bottle. She struggled with the cap finally getting it off. She grabbed one of the pills and placed it on her tongue feeling the familiar bitter taste start to dissolve along with her anxieties.

She stood by the sink, staring out at the vast blue sky devoid of clouds, as a serene calmness surrounded her. It looked so peaceful over there. Far away from this humdrum. No where near Betty Knight.

"Hello dears! It's Patty! Did I ever tell you about my sister and her quest to find herself?" She said, shaking her head in wonder and exasperation. "When she told me she wanted to be an air stewardess I was amused. She can't even go up one flight of stairs without getting giddy. What's going to happen when she goes up in the air?"

Her sister's restlessness had always been a point of worry. Diana had married young to get out of home ending up a widow, and she wasn't even thirty, since then, she had been constantly on the move, trying to escape the grief that seemed to follow her like her own shadow.

"I heard from Diana this morning. She's flying to Singapore. And here I am squat on the floor turning into a bowl of Airplane Jelly."

Patty admired Diana's courage to reinvent herself, to seek out new experiences and adventures. But she also envied her freedom, the ability to just pack up and leave, to start anew whenever the pain became too much.

Patty, on the other hand, felt bound by her responsibilities. Her dreams for a different life slipping further away with each passing year.

"She's always off somewhere new," Patty muttered to herself, shaking her head as she looked at the dishes piling up in the sink. "And here I am, stuck with the same old routine."

Patty sighed, turning on the tap to begin another round of dishes. The water rising in the sink as she looked once more to that beautiful wide blue yonder. She wondered what lay on the other side. Maybe dreams really did come true over there. She might not need her happy pills.

*********

Early evening, Patty was in the living room, folding laundry. Freddie had gone for a beer with Phil and her children were once more down at the river.

Though it wasn't Betty who now disturbed her thoughts, Patty was still perplexed by her son's willingness to go with his sister. His fingers usually had to be prized away from the edge of the front door before he would even venture into the outdoors.

Her brow furrowed, there was something going on with her son. These last few months, he had become an unknown country to her. She had sensed it the other day when she watched the cubby house become a reality. There was this unusual expression she had never seen before. It filled her with dread at her very core. Mother's intuition.

Patty picked up one of Teddys' T-shirts. She stopped, studying the worn cloth and the stitching coming away at the seams. He'll need new clothes. Another size up. Evident that Teddy was growing up before her eyes. It hadn't always been this way. There was a time when she knew everything about him. Now he was as distant as the stars. And just as hard to reach. Maybe the river held such answers for her? Since it was usually the last place he would want to be.

*********

The river meandered lazily through the countryside, its waters glinting under the late afternoon summer sun. On either side, the banks were lined with gum trees and scraggly bushes, their roots gripping the soil like gnarled fingers. A narrow strip of sandy beach led down to the water, where flat rocks jutted out like stepping-stones for adventurous feet.

In the middle of the river sat an island, overgrown with reeds and bushes that obscured its interior. Its abandoned, wild appearance had made it the subject of countless rumours among the children of Rosella Heights—some said it was haunted, others swore it was home to a hidden treasure.

A weathered Tarzan swing dangled from a sturdy gum tree near the bank, its rope worn smooth by years of eager hands. It swayed gently in the breeze, an invitation for daring leaps into the cool water below.

Teddy and Lizzy were with three others: Angelo, a tall, lean boy of about sixteen with olive skin and dark, curling hair, Gina, a cheerful girl about Lizzy's age, with the same warm complexion and dark eyes, her hair in pigtails, and Syd, a fifteen-year-old Aboriginal boy whose easy smile and quick wit made him instantly likable.

The group were busy lashing branches together with rope, constructing the beginnings of a raft. Angelo stood shirtless in the water, his lean muscles flexing as he steadied the logs, while Teddy and Syd worked together to tie the rope to the logs.

Teddy, ever so cautiously, would stop and stare at Angelo. Those same feelings he felt about The Phantom seemed to churn inside him. He turned quickly trying to avoid being noticed by the others. His hand shaking as he tried to finish a knot. 

They were building a raft to discover what secrets the island held. This was Teddy's chance to go on one of those adventures that he would read about in his comic books. This was one of the reasons for his sudden interest in the river. Angelo was the other. He just wanted to impress him.

"Is this thing even going to float?" Teddy asked, trying to distract himself from his impure thoughts.

Angelo laughed. "Of course, it'll float. I'm Italian. It is in my blood. My people know a thing or two about boats." Angelo grinned. "Didn't you see, Ben-Hur. Those Romans knew how to make ships."

Teddy perked up. "Ben-Hur was incredible!" He remembered mostly that the men were prancing about in togas. "That chariot race was—"

"The best part!" Angelo interrupted, his eyes lighting up.

"That's kids' stuff," Syd shook his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Have you ever heard of The Seduction of the Innocent?"

Teddy's head shot up, his eyes wide. "That's the book that said comics turned kids into criminals, right? I heard my parents talking about it."

"That's the one," Syd said, grinning. "I found a copy in the garbage can behind the book store. Someone clearly didn't want to sell that sinful muck in their shop."

"What does it say?" Angelo asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's wild," Syd said, his tone full of amusement. "It says Superman's a fascist. Batman and Robin are..." He trailed off, glancing at Teddy and smirking. "Well, close, let's say, and comics about crime make us all want to rob banks."

Teddy snorted, "That's ridiculous."

"I know, right?" Syd said. "But you should've seen the pictures in it. One of them said The Phantom's costume was too tight."

Angelo laughed. "He does wear a lot of purple."

Teddy rolled his eyes but couldn't help smiling. "The Phantom's about justice. I don't care what some dumb book says."

"To be fair, that is more my opinion than the book. His costume is so tight you can see his meat and potatoes," Syd replied, slapping Teddy on the arm, "I got a rise out of you though. No hard feelings?" Teddy caved at that smile before Syd continued on. "I just think it's funny how scared adults are of something they don't understand. I bet they haven't even read the book."

Patty finally arrived at the river. She crouched behind a cluster of reeds, her heart racing as she watched the children. Maybe this would provide her with the answers?

Lizzy and Gina sat on the riverbank, tending a campfire. There were potatoes roasting in the coals, damper* cooking beside them, and a blackened, cast-iron kettle brewing tea on the other side of the fire. Gina packed a useful collection of goodies in the picnic basket to one side of her.

*Damper is made from flour, water and a bit of salt mixed together into a dough than cooked in the coals of a campfire in tin foil. Damper was usually served with butter and jam. Otherwise known as 'Bread of the Bush' this was one of the staple foods for people travelling the country roads looking for work. 

This scene was unusual to Patty. Lizzy was usually the one building rafts, but here she was tending to the fire, until her daughter dropped gum leaves into the fire. There came an almighty serious of bangs and flashes as the eucalyptus met the flames.

The boys almost jumped out of their swimming trunks. Teddy cursed his sister before they all turned back to the raft.

Lizzy ignored the boys and began to enthusiastically explain to Gina what caused the reaction. Gina was a willing pupil. She sat before Lizzy, weaving a crown from reeds, in rapt attention.

"Not all gum leaves pop in a fire, but the ones that do are loaded with oils that heat up fast and explode like steam in a kettle. It's the oils and trapped moisture making the bang."

"That's so cool!" Gina said, her admiration evident. "I wish I knew stuff like that."

"Why don't you?"

"I am too busy making tomato sauce with the other girls to learn about exploding gum leaves,"

"But you don't have to," Lizzy grinned.

"Yes, I do! I'll marry a nice boy some day and not know how to make pasta sauce like his mother use to make." It was like she recited something her mother had told her over and over. "I will be an embarrassment to my family."

"A husband! But we're still kids!"

"My mother has gotten even more insistent since my papa ran away to Italy and we had to move in with our grandparents." She sighed, "She wants me to find a nice boy nothing like my father. I only get to go to school after the summer because of the truant officers."

"That's silly!" Lizzy scowled, shaking her head, "Stick with me, Gina. I'll teach you all the cool things that will make a husband the last thing you think about."

Gina laughed, adjusting the reed crown she'd just finished weaving. The boys slumped down by the fire, taking a break from the raft.

"You know, my grandfather used to tell me stories about this place," Syd said.

"What kind of stories?" Teddy asked, intrigued.

"About the spirits that live in the water," Syd said, his tone dropping into something softer, almost reverent. "They guard places like the island, places where people aren't supposed to go. He said if you go too close, they'll pull you under and keep you there."

Gina looked up, her eyes wide. "Like mermaids?"

"Not exactly," Syd said with a grin. "These spirits aren't friendly. They don't sing songs or wear seashells. They're more like... shadows in the water. You don't see them until it's too late."

"Great," Angelo muttered, shaking his head. "Now every time I take a leak, I'll think something is going to grab me."

"Don't worry," Syd said, slapping Angelo on the back. "You just need to burn gum leaves—or tea tree, if you can find it. The smoke drives them off. My grandfather always keeps a small fire going when we camp near places like this."

"No wonder your undies were in a bunch over starting a fire," exclaimed Angelo.

The group laughed, but Teddy's gaze lingered on the island, his mind turning over the story. There was something about the way Syd spoke—like he believed every word—that made it feel real.

The peace was short-lived. The sound of jeering laughter broke through the air, and Patty's smile vanished as two older boys emerged from the trees.

It was Simo and Reece, the school bullies Teddy had mentioned in passing, though he rarely spoke about them. Simo, tall and gangly, sneered as he sauntered toward the group, while Reece—a stockier boy with a permanent scowl—trailed behind him.

"Well, well," Simo drawled, his voice loud enough to echo across the river. "If it isn't little Teddy Love and his new friends. What's this, a tea party by the water?"

Teddy tensed, his shoulders stiffening.

"Nice raft, Teddy." Reece snickered, nudging Simo. "Gonna sail off to Neverland with the rest of the fairies?"

Lizzy stood abruptly; her hands clenched into fists, "Why don't you two get lost?"

Simo smirked, ignoring her. His eyes landed on Angelo who stood shirtless. "Hey, who's this? A flying monkey? Or is he just here to carry your purse, Teddy?" 

Angelo's expression darkened, his fists clenched by his side.

Reece laughed, "Hey! Teddy! Maybe your sister should trade her skirt for your pants."

"I see what you're doing. It's not going to work," Teddy tilted his head, his expression suddenly calm, "I don't care what you think. You're just the kid who got stuck escaping through a toilet window after flour bombing the school."

Gina snickered, and Syd grinned.

"Wait," Syd said, catching on. "You're that guy? Mr. Arnold had to call your dad to get you out. I bet your bum was red raw before you even got home."

Simo's face reddened. "Shut up!"

Teddy's confidence grew as he pressed on. "And Simo... weren't you the one who pissed his pants when that fake snake was thrown during the assembly in primary school?"

"Shut up!" Simo's face darkened. "That didn't happen. You're full of it, Love."

"Oh, I'm sure everyone at school would disagree," Teddy said smoothly. "I could write it all down. Maybe put it in the next issue of the school newsletter."

The group erupted into laughter, and Simo's hands balled into fists at his sides.

"You think you're so clever," Simo spat, stepping closer. "You're nothing but a sissy who hides behind books."

Lizzy stood abruptly, crossing her arms. "Why don't you both leave before I give you a real reason to cry?"

"Oh, please," Simo scoffed, leaning forward. "What are you gonna do?"

Lizzy didn't answer. She simply stepped forward and swung her fist. The sound of her knuckles connecting with Simo's nose was sharp and satisfying, followed by a howl of pain as Simo staggered back, clutching his face.

"Bloody...hell!" he shouted, his voice muffled. Blood dripping into the sand of the riverbank.

Reece grabbed Simo's arm, dragging him away as he muttered something about it not being worth the trouble. The group stared after them in stunned silence before bursting into laughter.

"You've got quite the arm, Lizzy," Angelo said, grinning.

"My dad has been watching a lot of boxing on our new TV," Lizzy replied, dusting off her hands. "I took notes."

"I'm gonna enjoy hangin with you kids," Angelo said. "Best day I've had since coming here."

From her hiding spot, Patty straightened up. This really didn't give her the answers behind her son's mood changes. Though, it did reassure her that her children could stand up for themselves. Yet the day was getting away from her and Freddie would be home for his tea very soon. She began heading back down the path toward home.

*********

There was a letter waiting for Patty on her return to the house. She studied the handwriting knowing exactly who had sent it. Her face dropped. Her mood shifted. She felt a darkness creep in around her. She felt goose bumps erupt about her naked arms. It was from her mother. Anything to do with that house filled her with dread.

Her father's voice boomed through her mind, a thundercloud blotting out any sense of joy. The sound of him removing his belt buckle. The scent of noxious body odor and stale beer coming closer. The lash of the leather strap across her back. The jolt of her body. The intense pain raiding outward. The silent shuddering because if she dared cry out, the punishment would be much worse.

No one spoke of it, of course. The treatment they received in that house. They were secrets buried beneath layers of politeness and pressed linen.

Patty swore that this house would never feel like that. There would be nothing but light, laughter, and the occasional chaos—but never fear. Why was she writing now? What reason could her mother have to drag her back into the hell?

End of Part One.

[dazjames1970]

Ms. Marlowe and The Time Sleuths - 2 - Unveiling the Phantom of the Opera House

Stepping into Ms. Marlowe’s classroom is like entering a different world. The walls are adorned with maps from various historical periods, ancient artifacts sit on shelves, and the air is filled with the faint scent of old books. But the most intriguing object is the clock. Unlike any ordinary clock, its hands often move erratically, hinting at the extraordinary events about to unfold.

Ms. Marlowe’s entrance into the classroom on that fateful Saturday was nothing short of theatrical. Draped in a flowing, vintage dress with a medallion around her neck that seemed to glow faintly, she greeted the misfits with a knowing smile.

“Welcome, Time Sleuths,” she said, her voice full of promise and mystery. “Your real adventure begins now.” She opened a thick ancient book on her desk, "We will be delving into the Grand Orpheum Opera House."

"This is bull shit!" Jake slumped in his chair, glaring out the window at the brilliant blue sky. "Perfect day for mastering the half pipe at the skate park," he muttered, tapping his fingers impatiently on the desk. The sunlit world outside seemed to taunt him, each ray of light a reminder of the tricks he wasn’t landing, the ramps he wasn’t conquering. He sighed heavily, clearly disgruntled at being stuck in a classroom on such an ideal day for skateboarding.

And also, the person he hoped to meet there.

Meanwhile, Emma was practically vibrating with excitement. She could hardly stay seated, her eyes wide and sparkling as she anticipated what Ms. Marlowe had in store for them. "Ducks! How lucky are we?" she whispered, her voice barely containing her enthusiasm.

Across the room, Lily seemed indifferent to the palpable energy, her focus solely on her sketch pad. Her pencil moved fluidly, capturing the intricate details of the clock on the wall.

Sam, on the other hand, was leaning forward, intrigued by the stories Ms. Marlowe might share. He loved tales of the past, and his curiosity was piqued.

Ben, ever the class clown, was busy trying to balance a pencil on his nose, drawing snickers from Lily and Sam. "Hey, watch this," he whispered, nudging Jake, who just rolled his eyes, more annoyed than amused.

Ms. Marlowe rounded her desk, resting her backside on the edge of it, "I understand that this may seem like just another boring detention but if you give me a chance, I may be able to make this one of the best experiences of your lives." She sighed, "Jake, let me tell you a little about the opera house first before you poo poo this opportunity."

Jake glanced over at her. Her smile seemed to calm him down. It was a little bewitching.

"The opera house is not just known for its splendor. There was a moment in its history when a series of eerie occurrences threatened to close the doors forever." The students started to focus on Ms. Marlowe. Her words seemed to be striking a chord with them all, "Whispers of strange noises echoing through the empty halls, fleeting shadows caught in the corner of one’s eye and ghostly figures haunting the royal box." She looked at each face in turn, "Wouldn't it be delightful to find out the truth?"

At that moment, the hands of the peculiar clock started spinning wildly, emitting a soft, ethereal glow. The room filled with a strange humming noise as Ms. Marlowe calmly instructed the students to gather around. With a flick of her wrist, the clock’s hands stopped, and a swirling vortex opened in the middle of the room.

"This can't be happening!" Jake said, wide eyed.

"But it is!" Ms. Marlowe said. "Your eyes do not deceive you."

“Wait! This is like a portal,” Ben asked, his eyes wide with excitement and a hint of fear. "But leading where?"

“To the early 20th century,” Ms. Marlowe replied. “We’re going to the Grand Orpheum plagued by mystery.” She checked her clothes sat neatly and her hair was in order. "All you need to do is step through the vortex."

Jake crossed his arms and eyed the phenomenon with deep skepticism. "I call bull shit! This can't be real," he muttered under his breath. "This has got to be some kind of a trick."

He glanced at Ms. Marlowe, searching for any sign that this was just a grand illusion, "You didn't think it was a trick when you found that skull in the storeroom."

Jake sighed; she did have that one on him. He had no rational explanation for the weird shit that happened in that storeroom. He still had the bruises from a stray bric-a-brac that had hit him.

Sam, on the other hand, was nearly bouncing in his seat with excitement. "Hey! This is amazing!" he exclaimed. "If this really is time travel, think of all the principles at play here! The mechanics, the paradoxes, the possibility of alternate timelines—this is straight out of a sci-fi dream!" His mind raced with theories and possibilities, the practicalities of the adventure intriguing him more than the actual destination.

Ben, ever the opportunist, saw the vortex as a way to escape the drudgery of detention. "Sweet, an adventure beats sitting here any day," He nudged Jake playfully, trying to shake his friend out of his skeptical funk.

Emma was practically out of her seat, her excitement palpable. "I can't believe we're actually going to travel through time!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with wonder. "Imagine the art, the culture, the stories we'll see firsthand! This is a dream come true!" She clutched her notebook, eager to capture every detail of their journey.

Lily, however, felt a pang of uncertainty. "Lovelies, are we sure about this?" she asked hesitantly, looking at Ms. Marlowe and then at the vortex. "What if we get stuck there?" Her voice was tinged with concern, the weight of historical prejudice heavy on her mind, "They would toss me into a mad house or make me a freak show in a carnival."

Emma took her hands, "Ducks! I wouldn't let that happen." Her eyes gleaming, "This is a chance of a lifetime."

"I can open the vortex at any time," Ms. Marlowe implored, revealing a watch on her wrist the looked exactly like a pendulum clock. "And we'll be able to come back to this room."

Jake and Lily looked at each other finally relenting. They slipped on their back packs. Ms. Marlowe made them leave their phones behind. Technology was dangerous in the past. Then one by one they entered the vortex. Ms. Marlowe brought up the rear. The vortex closed behind them.

They had been transported to a bustling city street in the early 1900s. Gas lamps lined the sidewalks, horse-drawn carriages clattered on cobblestone roads, and people in elegant attire hurried along. In the distance, the grand opera house stood majestically, its façade adorned with intricate carvings and statues.

As they approached, they could hear the distant strains of an orchestra tuning up. The opera house, with its ornate architecture and grand chandeliers, exuded an air of opulence and mystery.

Ms. Marlowe led the group to the stage door, where they were greeted by a flustered manager. “Thank goodness you’re here!” Mr. Edwards exclaimed. “The phantom roaming backstage, strange noises in the walls, and eerie ghosts in the royal box. No one will come. We're forced to play to an empty theatre” When they did not answer, "You are from the Institute for Paranormal Anomalies?"

"At your service, Mr. Edwards," Ms. Marlowe smiled, benevolently. "I'm, Ms. Marlowe, and these are my students. We're here to help in any which way we can."

Emma immediately began questioning the staff about the opera house’s history and any recent events that might have triggered the haunting. Lily took out her sketchbook and started drawing the opera house’s interior, paying special attention to anything that seemed out of place.

“There’s got to be a logical reason for all this,” Jake muttered to himself, "It can't always be voodoo skulls playing tricks on us."

A light bulb when off in Sam's head, "Hey! I've got something that may help!" He opened his backpack pulling out a mash up of a motion sensor and an I-Phone, "I know this kinda thing isn't allowed but it just might help see what cannot be seen."

By integrating the sensor with a custom app he developed, he was able to create a real-time monitoring system that tracked unusual movements and fluctuations in the opera house's environment.

“I’ll stick my nose into places that I shouldn't be,” Ben said, heading off to explore the opera house’s many corridors. "I might find something."

Meanwhile, Sam’s motion sensor picked up unusual activity in a rarely used storage room beneath the stage. The app’s notifications alerted them to faint, erratic motion patterns coming from under their feet.

The team regrouped at the entrance to the storage room, where Ms. Marlowe encouraged them to proceed with caution. “Remember, Time Sleuths, not everything is as it seems. Stay sharp.” She sighed, consulting her watch. "Oh dear! I am due a tea break. Well, you're resourceful. I am sure you can handle a little unsupervised time."

Ms. Marlowe went in search of the kettle while her students ventured into the dimly lit storage room.

They found an array of old stage props, costumes, and dusty crates. Ben stuck a lion mark on his head and roared like Simba. Lily laughed at him picking up a beautiful harlequin mask putting it on. She wiped the grime from a cracked mirror staring at her reflections. Masks were great for concealing identities just like her own mask before transitioning.

Jake’s curious mind quickly noticed a hidden lever behind a stack of crates. With a sense of trepidation, he pulled it, revealing a secret door leading to an underground tunnel.

"Shit! Not more underground tunnels!"

"Sweet! You found something!'

"Shit!" Ben had popped up behind Jake scaring the crap out of him. "Don't do that!"

They switched on their torches and began to navigate the narrow passage. The air grew colder, and the sound of dripping water echoed around them. The air was thick with dust, and dim lights cast eerie shadows on the ancient stone walls.

Every step echoed ominously, amplifying the tension that gripped the group. The team, armed with only their wits and a few flashlights, moved cautiously but with determination, their eyes darting in every direction, searching for any sign of the elusive phantom.

“The phantom! A ghost!” Ben whispered. "Fox Mulder, what do you think it is?"

"Could be just a Scooby Doo villain," Sam muttered, draping an arm about Jake. "So, bro, while we've got the time, yesterday I saw you having a tete-a-tete with Alex by the school gate."

"No thanks to Em!" Jake scowled, "She hip and shouldered me into the guy. I had no choice."

"Ducks! No need to thank me! I was doing my good deed for the year."

"Well, bro, did you stick the landing?"

"Maybe? If I ever get out of detention. He'll be at the skate park until three."

They fell silent as they traversed a narrow corridor. It was barely wide enough for one person to squeeze through. A sudden noise echoed from behind, causing everyone to freeze. The sound of padded footsteps - quick and deliberate - sent a shiver down their spines. Heartbeats quickened; whispers of panic began to spread.

"Oh no! Lovelies! What was that?"

Behind them came a pair of luminous eyes picked out by the beam of their torches and the growl of something savage and hungry.

Ben slowly flicked his trusty lighter and lit a fuse from within his backpack. He tossed the cracker into the darkness. The thing exploded illuminating the passage showing a shaggy wolf scampering away into the darkness to escape the threat.

As they delved deeper into the network of tunnels, the environment grew increasingly hostile. The floor was uneven, with debris scattered about, making every step a potential hazard. The walls, covered in cobwebs, seemed to close in, causing an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia. Yet, the classmates remained undeterred. Their mission was clear: they had to catch the phantom and uncover the truth behind the opera house's mysteries.

They came upon a series of pressure-activated floor tiles in a large chamber that they needed to cross to get to the other side. Emma took a misstep which resulted in projectiles flying out of the wall. Sam shielded her with his backpack that looked like a porcupine afterwards.

Sam, with his analytical mind, quickly devised a safe path for the team to follow. He used the pencils from his pencil case to work out which tiles were safe, and which were hazardous. Everyone had backed up into one corner while he tested his theory. The projectiles harmlessly hitting the wall.

When he was certain, Sam, navigated the safe route than told his friends exactly where to step to make it to him. They were grateful to reach the other side without receiving any puncture wounds.

Next, the team stumbled upon a room rigged with a complex system of ropes and pulleys. The ropes crisscrossed the space, creating an almost impenetrable barrier. They basically had to bend and weave their bodies through the maze of ropes until they reached the other side. It was slow going and required lots of flexibility.

They made it to what seemed an empty room until the roof started rapidly descending. Jake spotted a hidden leaver, but the thing was so hard to shift. Emma and Lily found planks of wood lying around. They held them up to wedge the roof in place to give them some time. Sam and Ben gave Jake a hand and they finally managed to wrench down the leaver which halted the descending roof.

They finally emerged in a hidden chamber deep below the opera house. There, they found the phantom, a figure shrouded in darkness, manipulating a complex array of mirrors and lighting equipment to create the eerie illusions and ghostly effects that had terrified the staff and patrons.

To their surprise, the culprit was not a ghostly spectre, but a disgruntled former stagehand named Victor, who had been fired years earlier and had since harbored a grudge against the opera house.

What did make them recoil in horror was the claw mark to one side of his face. It looked deep and vicious. No doubt he had come across a wolf, but unlike them, he didn't have a thunder cracker.

When Victor finally spotted the children. He knew the game was finely up. He sighed, deflating like a balloon.

"What's all this for?" Jake asked, stepping toward the tragic figure.

“I just wanted to hurt, Mr. Edwards, where he would feel it the most,” Victor admitted, his voice filled with bitterness. “In his purse.”

"But why all those wicked traps?" Ben asked, in awe of the man.

"Those wolves! They found their way down into the tunnels. I had to set up those traps to keep myself safe."

Lily pointed out how the vintage equipment had been used to create the ghostly illusions. “You’re incredibly talented, Victor. You should use your skills for something positive.”

Sam suggested, “With your expertise, you could make a name for yourself in Hollywood.”

"Hollywood! Where is this place?"

"Ignore him," Emma leant in close to Sam, "Hollywood doesn't exist yet."

When they returned, with him, to the opera house above, Victor’s voice reverberated through the main hall of the Grand Orpheum Opera House, where Ms. Marlowe and Mr. Edwards had been taking tea, each of his words laced with pain and indignation.

"Mr. Edwards," he began, his gaze unwavering as he faced the manager. "You dismissed me not because of my work but you found out about my faith. I am Jewish! You Schmuck! My only crime was giving you a false name to hide who I am."

The room held its breath as Victor continued, his voice gaining strength. "I dedicated my life to this opera house, bringing every bit of my passion and talent to its stage. You sacked me without cause, without justice, simply because you couldn’t bear to have a Jew amongst your ranks." He shook his head, "What offended me the most was that you turned on me over night after years of companionship."

Ms. Marlowe put down her cup and fixed Mr. Edwards with a thoughtful, almost serene expression. "Mr. Edwards, you have done a magnificent job in making this place a beacon of artistic beauty and human expression, a place that weaves together diverse voices to create harmony." She paused allowing her words to sink in, "It is a pity you forgot what the true purpose of your opera house is, to elevate us, to inspire us to be better, kinder, and more understanding human beings."

Mr. Edwards look crestfallen, "It is difficult to change when you have always known one thought." He looked to Victor, "Almost losing everything has brought humility. Maybe now I can see things from a new perspective."

Sam nudged the man, "You know, Victor has amazeballs skills that could have this place packed to the rafters again."

"Your words are strange, but I get there meaning," Mr. Edwards replied, "Victor could use his trickery to make our performances unique. The patrons will be flooding back to us."

Ms. Marlowe and her students left the opera house before any inappropriate question were raised. They stood in a cobbled alley way. Ms. Marlowe touched her watch and the swirling vortex appeared before them. One by one they stepped back into their classroom leaving the past behind them.

Back in the classroom, the clock resumed its regular ticking, and the students reflected on their adventure.

“What did we learn from this?” Ms. Marlowe asked, her eyes scanning the group.

Jake, no longer skeptical, spoke first. “Sometimes the answer is a Scooby Doo villain, but others, it is us. Human beings with our bigotry and prejudices."

Lily added, “And the hope that yesterday's prejudices are tomorrow's acceptance."

Emma frowned, "Ms. Marlowe, one thing still bothers me." The teacher turned her gaze toward her, "How did Mr. Edwards know we were coming?"

"Well, having the fortune of my trusty journal," Ms. Marlowe was referring to the open book on her desk. She took out yellowing parchment from within its pages, "This is a journal entry written by Mr. Edwards that mentions a telegram sent to Institute for Paranormal Anomalies requesting assistance."

The students shared further insights, each realizing the importance of their unique skills and perspectives in solving the mystery. Yet most importantly was their teamwork.

Ms. Marlowe smiled, her eyes twinkling with pride. “Remember, Time Sleuths, history is not a mere collection of past events. It’s a living, breathing narrative that shapes our present and future. And you are now part of that narrative.”

[dazjames1970]

kookaburra refusing to budge

[dazjames1970]

Olympia Publishers | Earth Boy by Daz James

Alfie runs away from his father, who bullies him because he won't take off his new rainbow socks or his mother's nightie - it is all he has left of her. His desperation to escape leads him to a desolate train station and a Kate Bush wannabe called Daphne.

She drags him onto a train that shouldn't be there, transporting them to an unearthly destination, The Caravansary, a pit-stop to the wider universe. He is stranded in a strange world where inhabitants want to enslave, possess and even fatten him up.

His only saviour is a bewitching hottie called Charisma Junt who looks good in everything he wears.

Alfie soon becomes embroiled in a fiendish plot that could have dire consequences for humanity. How can an underachieving daydreamer, who spends far too much time in his own head, stop environmental terrorists and a psychotic real estate agent?

If this is your cup of tea, please follow the link to get a copy:

[dazjames1970]

Ms. Marlowe and The Time Sleuths - 1 -

The Allure of the Abandoned Store

In the quiet corridors of Crestwood High, Ms. Marlowe is a woman of many secrets. With her deep knowledge of history and uncanny knack for being in the right place at the right time, she is both mentor and mystery to her students. Her classroom is filled with relics from bygone eras and a peculiar clock that seems to tick to its own rhythm.

Among her most challenging yet intriguing students are the five misfits: Jake, Emma, Sam, Lily, and Ben. Each of these individuals stands out in their own distinct way, contributing to a group dynamic that is as diverse as it is fascinating.

One lunch time, Jake, the rebellious skateboarder who constantly tests boundaries, seemed distracted. His eyes kept wandering to a cute guy across the cafeteria, a new student named Alex.

Jake was the quintessential skateboarder with a lean, athletic build and a casual, confident demeanor. His short, tousled blond hair was perpetually messy, giving him a carefree, effortlessly cool appearance. He often wore graphic tees, ripped jeans, and his favorite worn-out sneakers, always ready to hit the skate park after school. A rainbow bracelet on his wrist subtly hinted at his pride and identity, a quiet declaration of his true self.

Emma, the quiet bookworm with her nose perpetually buried in a novel, looked up from her latest read noticing Jake's preoccupation, nudged him playfully. “Ducks! You’ve been staring at Alex for ten minutes. Just go talk to him already.”

Emma was the epitome of girl-next-door charm with her fair skin, auburn hair that cascaded in loose waves down her back, and warm, hazel eyes. She had a petite frame, but her presence was anything but small, radiating confidence and determination. Her style was effortlessly chic; she favored floral dresses, denim jackets, and a pair of trusty ankle boots.

Jake blushed, shaking his head. “Shit! Are you mad! I can’t! What if he’s not interested in guys?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Yes, ducks, you can. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?”

"A punch in the face," Jake sneered.

Sam, the tech-savvy gadget lover, was emersed in his Nintendo switch, "Hey dude! You gotta have more confident in yourself. You're a handsome guy. You even give me a little tingle in my delicates and I'm straight," He said, slapping Jake on the back, "Now go over there and do something about it. You might just get lucky."

Sam was proud of his Aboriginal heritage, a fact evident in his rich, brown skin, and deep, soulful eyes. His black hair was thick and curly, often kept short but stylish. He favored practical, comfortable clothing—cargo shorts, plain tees, and sturdy boots—reflecting his down-to-earth nature.

He carried himself with quiet confidence, and his warm, genuine smile made him approachable and well-liked among his peers.

Lily, long blonde hair with a dark streak of purple, was sketching in her pad, humming to herself when she stopped suddenly reaching over to Emma. She tugged her sleeve, “Emma, could you come with me? I’m still not comfortable going in alone.”

Lily had a slender, graceful build with delicate features that exuded both strength and vulnerability. Her striking green eyes partially hidden by long hair that cascaded about her face.

Lily's fashion sense was impeccable, blending comfort and style with loose-fitting tops and skinny jeans that made her feel both confident and authentic. She often wore a simple necklace, a gift from her supportive older sister, which she touched for reassurance when she felt anxious. Transitioning in a conservative school wasn't easy.

Emma nodded, understanding. “Of course, Lil.” She turned to the others. “Hey ducks! Baby-sit my pudding. We're just popping to the loo."

Suddenly, a loud bang from a cracker could be heard followed by a cacophony of shrieks. They all turned to see Ben, the class clown, laughing his head off as he scampered away from the hurling back packs. His antics and jokes were a constant source of entertainment for his friends but not many others.

Ben was an oddball of the group with a tall, lanky frame that seemed to always be in motion. His mop of curly, brown hair often fell into his face, partially obscuring his piercing gray eyes that seemed to see the world in a way no one else did.

He had a penchant for quirky fashion, often donning mismatched socks, graphic tees with obscure references, and colorful scarves even in warm weather.

Together, these five misfits create an interesting dynamic. Their differences, while sometimes a source of conflict, also pave the way for unexpected friendships and adventures.

Under Ms. Marlowe's watchful eye, this unlikely crew were about to embark on a journey that will test their limits and uncover their true potential.

In the dimly lit corridor of the school's basement lies an old, abandoned storeroom. This storeroom, shrouded in mystery, has long been the subject of countless rumors and whispered legends among the student body. Tales of its origins trace back to the school's founding days, hinting at hidden secrets and forgotten histories locked away within its dusty confines.

Some say the storeroom houses mysterious artifacts left behind by the school's original benefactors, relics that hold untold power or knowledge.

Others believe it to be a repository of forgotten documents that could unravel the true history of the school, revealing long-lost truths that might change the very fabric of its legacy. These varying accounts, each more captivating than the last, fuel the students' imaginations and provoke a deep-seated curiosity.

The storeroom's magnetic pull had grown stronger with each passing year for Jake and his friends. Their longing to break the boredom of classes and to unfurl themselves from the restraints of high school was a big motivator.

The five students, fueled by an insatiable curiosity, devised a plan to explore the storeroom thanks to Sam's new invention.

They gathered outside the school, when everyone else had left, each cloaked in a mixture of excitement and apprehension. They still had to avoid the janitor who would be doing his rounds and make sure the principal was safely secured in his office.

They slipped through a side entrance and tiptoed through the silent hallways. The school, so familiar by day, now seemed like a labyrinth of shadows and echoes. Each creak of the floorboards and distant hum of the ventilation system heightened their senses.

Jake led the way keeping his thoughts to himself not fully on the task in hand. He was picturing Alex's cute smile. Emma started to write notes for future reference. Lily and Sam were whispering about a story his grandfather use to tell him about the Rainbow Serpent while Ben brought up the rear waving a lighter under his hand for pure amusement.

Finally, they reached the storeroom door. Sam's moment had come. With a focused expression, he used his homemade lock-picking device, a marvel of ingenuity born from countless hours in his garage.

The lock clicked open, and the door creaked ajar, revealing a room frozen in time. Dust particles danced in the flashlight beams as the students stepped inside, their eyes wide with wonder.

Ancient artifacts and documents lay scattered across the room, each one a tantalizing hint at the school's mysterious past. Old maps, faded photographs, and cryptic manuscripts spoke of stories long forgotten, waiting to be uncovered.

There were old desks, broken chairs, and stacks of forgotten textbooks. At first glance, it seemed unremarkable, but as they explored, Lily’s keen eyes spotted something unusual—a hidden trapdoor beneath a pile of old newspapers.

“Lovelies, look at this,” she called out. The others gathered around, their excitement mounting. With a bit of effort, they pried open the trapdoor, revealing a dark tunnel leading further underground.

“Indiana Jones. I always knew someday you’d come walking back through my door.” Ben said, waving his lighter into the breach. "Sweet! Well, I am game if you are."

Jake nodded, his determination unwavering. “We’ve come this far. We can’t turn back now.”

One by one, they climbed down the ladder into the tunnel. It was cramped and musty, but their adventurous spirits kept them moving forward.

As they explored further, Lily noticed a peculiar object on a dusty shelf—a small, intricately carved skull, partially hidden behind a stack of old papers and broken bric-a-brac. “Hey, check this out,” she said, holding it up for everyone to see.

Emma’s eyes widened as she recognized the object. “I know this skull! I remember reading about it—the Skull of the Nahuatlac, an ancient tribe of Aztec origin. This was supposed to have been stolen from a British museum in 1950s."

The group gathered around Emma, intrigued. Jake eyed the skull, curiously, “What’s the story behind it?”

Ben asked, "And is it worth much?"

"It is priceless to some people," Emma took a deep breath and began to explain. “The Nahuatlac believed that if you disturbed their bones, you would awaken the restless spirit of the dead, causing chaos and misfortune. To appease the spirit, a specific ritual needed to be performed.”

Before Emma could finish, their torches began to fluctuate wildly. And Ben's lighter roared with a flame that almost melted his brow ring and singed his eyebrows. This was followed by a low rumble that began to shake the room.

The rumbling grew in strength. The explorers felt it shake and shudder their bodies. It was difficult to stay on their feet. They had to cling to the walls for support.

The broken bric-a-brac started flying off the shelves and straight at them. They ducked and weaved. The floor was soon littered with the broken remains of odds and ends.

“Jumanji much!” Sam shouted over the din

“Emma, you said something about a ritual.” Jake asked urgently, trying to keep calm amid the chaos. "What is it?"

Emma, her face pale, quickly recalled the details. “It involves placing the skull in the center of the room, lighting candles around it, and reciting an ancient incantation. It’s supposed to calm the spirit and restore balance.”

Lily struggling to pull something out of her backpack, "Will this work!' It was a small battery-operated tea light. "I have my own rituals."

Jake took it from her. It would have to do. He placed the skull in the centre of the room and turned on the tea light.

Emma began to recite the ancient incantation in a clear, steady voice. "Oh! Spirits of the Nahuatlac! We humbly seek your peace. By the light of this candle and the purity of our hearts, we honor your legacy. Calm your restless spirit and restore balance to this place. In unity and respect, we perform this rite. Anahuac, Tecpatl, Quetzalcoatl, guide us and grant us harmony."

As the last words of the ritual left her lips, the tremors subsided. Their torches stopped playing up. The floor quietened and the objects stopped flying at them. There were cracks in the foundation that were going to be a problem if they were caught.

They quickly made their way back through the tunnel and emerged in the storeroom, hearts still racing. The storeroom was a mess, and several items had been destroyed in the commotion. There were more cracks running up the walls.

Their narrow escape didn’t go unnoticed. Mr. Thompson, the school janitor, was waiting for them, his stern expression a mix of anger and disbelief. “What in the world have you kids done?” he barked.

As they sat in the detention room, awaiting their fate, Ms. Marlowe entered with a knowing smile. “Ah! My brave souls who dared to explore the old storeroom,” she said, her voice laced with intrigue. “I see potential in you all.” Emma couldn't help but notice the skull resting on the teacher's desk, "Never fear, my dear. I will return this poor unfortunate creature to their rightful place. This would not be possible if you hadn't found them."

Her words took them by surprise. Instead of the punishment they expected, Ms. Marlowe’s eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement and something else—perhaps a shared sense of adventure.

[dazjames1970]

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500 likes!

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Bailey's first snow ❄ Needless to say, she was very excited 😂😂

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Hitch-Hiking Pizza Boy by Paul J. Simon

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And so I draw something silly for the holidays haha.

Feliz Navidad you all!! ♥

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Lo

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250 likes!

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50 likes!

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Some mooving art...

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I am so bored... my only joy is the vibrator concealed under my skirt.