Every Reader's Nightmare
by Angus Shoor Caan
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: When it might be advisable to skip a few pages.
_____________________________________________________________________
There really is nothing like a good book by a favourite author to help one forget the rigours of the day. Propped up in bed, Sarah found her place in the scheme of things and settled in for a good read, her steaming mug of cocoa sending its aromas wafting comfortably towards her appreciative senses.
With two chapters left to read of the final book in the trilogy, she felt her eyelids drooping for the want of sleep. Giving her head a good old shake to wake herself up a bit, she determined to finish the book before the sandman caught her up; such was her excitement at finally approaching the end of what had proved to be an exceptional read. Her second guessing had been shot down in flames so many times over the piece that she had given up on trying, quite sure there was to be something of a surprise ending to close out the wonderful story............
* * *
The position of night-watchman was a walk in the park to Reg, affording him the time to indulge his passion for reading crime novels, thrillers. Toots, his old Jack Russell, wasn't on the payroll as such but Reg's boss was happy for him to accompany his master as he protected the warehouse by night. Toots was familiar with all of the various creaks and groans sent out by the many wooden shelves, and with the fluttering, wind-caressed canvass coverings as he dozed by Reg's feet. Anything untoward, and he was quick to draw Reg's attention to it.
As an ex-copper, Reg prided himself on solving whatever case his preferred author was describing within the pages he was reading; he was seldom wrong. Thirty five years as a detective had him thinking he could probably have made a name for himself as an author, his inquisitive mind so attuned to thinking outside the box that he half regretted not giving it a go when the idea had struck him so many years ago. Retirement hadn't suited him at all, it actually depressed him to the point that he felt he was on the scrap heap; put out to pasture before he felt he was ready for it. So, this little number made him feel wanted, useful even, and the money boosted his pension to where he was comfortable.
So engrossed was he in what was a comparatively new writer to him, Reg failed to acknowledge the final, elongated sigh from his pet; presuming the dog was once more dreaming about chasing rats down some imaginary hole. The novel held the man by the lapels as it twisted his brain this way and that, to the point where he didn't know whether he was coming or going, something so very different for him to get his teeth into. Page followed rapid page until Reg realised he was close to the end of the book, and no nearer to fathoming out just where the blame lay; not what he was accustomed to at all.
The final chapter loomed, just as the real need to take a piss did, something which came hand in hand with advancing age. Reg looked up and found himself to be an active part of the novel, in that he was staring straight down the barrel of a handgun.........
* * *
Miss Crammond took her job seriously, she was also serious concerning her worth to the school so she was quick to react as soon as she saw a discrepancy regarding her wages. Three years in the job gave her a confidence no one could deny, and she delighted in being able to spot those pupils who would do well; providing, of course, they continued to keep on with their initial enthusiasm.
Since the school accountant tended to disappear before lunchtime on a Friday, Miss Crammond had no hesitation in leaving five year old Lara in charge for a few minutes while she sorted out her monetary problems. Lara was perhaps the most gifted child it had been her pleasure to teach so far, being way ahead of her peers when it came down to the learning ethic. The child was an absolute joy to teach and was already reading year three literature, books without the need of pictures to provide clues as to the meaning of their words. Miss Crammond had provided Lara with such literature and was happy to leave her reading aloud from same, safe in the knowledge the class would give the child their best attention, perhaps all a little in awe of her skills. Lara had absorbed three of the six chapters during the morning break so she was extremely comfortable with addressing the class, and happy to go over the text from the very beginning. Miss Crammond tip-toed back in to the room just as Lara finished reading chapter two and no one seemed to notice, they were so enthralled.
Thanking her stand-in, Miss Crammond picked up teaching from where she had left off, inviting Joseph to recite the alphabet from start to finish.
At lunch break, Lara found a place in the shade, aware that the early summer sun would encourage those nasty freckles to flourish; she hated freckles. Her best friend, Ben, sat with her and peered over her shoulder as she again read aloud from her new book; he didn't seem to mind the fact that she had moved on to chapter four, her own particular place in the piece. Chapter five followed suit and was dispatched just before the bell rang to send them back into class.
Lara's mum listened with glee as her daughter told of her time in charge of the class, carefully strapping the girl into the back seat of the family car, and smiled proudly as she began reading chapter six on the ten minute drive home. She found herself caught up in the story and marvelled at her only child's intelligence, but still found the time to curse under her breath in frustration at the volume of traffic. When the car in front ran a red light at the crossroads, she followed it through without giving it much thought...........
* * *
…......The wagon driver collapsed and needed medical attention when told the car he had ploughed into contained a mother and child, both of whom were beyond help. A policeman unbuckled Lara's seatbelt and gently lifted her from the wreckage. She was still holding on to her book, a book she would never finish.
* * *
…..........Reg froze. Why hadn't Toots warned him of the impending danger? The bullet punched through the remaining pages of his book and ripped a hole in his chest. He managed one last look of extreme disappointment when he realised he would never know how the book ended.
* * *
….........The pain shot down the length of Sarah's arm and back up again without warning. She tried her best to ignore it and concentrate on her book but her heart gave up the ghost, leaving her eyes wide open in a blank stare, eyes which would never ever read another word. The unfinished book hit the floor and lost her place; not that it really mattered.
Swearwords: None.
Description: When it might be advisable to skip a few pages.
_____________________________________________________________________
There really is nothing like a good book by a favourite author to help one forget the rigours of the day. Propped up in bed, Sarah found her place in the scheme of things and settled in for a good read, her steaming mug of cocoa sending its aromas wafting comfortably towards her appreciative senses.
With two chapters left to read of the final book in the trilogy, she felt her eyelids drooping for the want of sleep. Giving her head a good old shake to wake herself up a bit, she determined to finish the book before the sandman caught her up; such was her excitement at finally approaching the end of what had proved to be an exceptional read. Her second guessing had been shot down in flames so many times over the piece that she had given up on trying, quite sure there was to be something of a surprise ending to close out the wonderful story............
* * *
The position of night-watchman was a walk in the park to Reg, affording him the time to indulge his passion for reading crime novels, thrillers. Toots, his old Jack Russell, wasn't on the payroll as such but Reg's boss was happy for him to accompany his master as he protected the warehouse by night. Toots was familiar with all of the various creaks and groans sent out by the many wooden shelves, and with the fluttering, wind-caressed canvass coverings as he dozed by Reg's feet. Anything untoward, and he was quick to draw Reg's attention to it.
As an ex-copper, Reg prided himself on solving whatever case his preferred author was describing within the pages he was reading; he was seldom wrong. Thirty five years as a detective had him thinking he could probably have made a name for himself as an author, his inquisitive mind so attuned to thinking outside the box that he half regretted not giving it a go when the idea had struck him so many years ago. Retirement hadn't suited him at all, it actually depressed him to the point that he felt he was on the scrap heap; put out to pasture before he felt he was ready for it. So, this little number made him feel wanted, useful even, and the money boosted his pension to where he was comfortable.
So engrossed was he in what was a comparatively new writer to him, Reg failed to acknowledge the final, elongated sigh from his pet; presuming the dog was once more dreaming about chasing rats down some imaginary hole. The novel held the man by the lapels as it twisted his brain this way and that, to the point where he didn't know whether he was coming or going, something so very different for him to get his teeth into. Page followed rapid page until Reg realised he was close to the end of the book, and no nearer to fathoming out just where the blame lay; not what he was accustomed to at all.
The final chapter loomed, just as the real need to take a piss did, something which came hand in hand with advancing age. Reg looked up and found himself to be an active part of the novel, in that he was staring straight down the barrel of a handgun.........
* * *
Miss Crammond took her job seriously, she was also serious concerning her worth to the school so she was quick to react as soon as she saw a discrepancy regarding her wages. Three years in the job gave her a confidence no one could deny, and she delighted in being able to spot those pupils who would do well; providing, of course, they continued to keep on with their initial enthusiasm.
Since the school accountant tended to disappear before lunchtime on a Friday, Miss Crammond had no hesitation in leaving five year old Lara in charge for a few minutes while she sorted out her monetary problems. Lara was perhaps the most gifted child it had been her pleasure to teach so far, being way ahead of her peers when it came down to the learning ethic. The child was an absolute joy to teach and was already reading year three literature, books without the need of pictures to provide clues as to the meaning of their words. Miss Crammond had provided Lara with such literature and was happy to leave her reading aloud from same, safe in the knowledge the class would give the child their best attention, perhaps all a little in awe of her skills. Lara had absorbed three of the six chapters during the morning break so she was extremely comfortable with addressing the class, and happy to go over the text from the very beginning. Miss Crammond tip-toed back in to the room just as Lara finished reading chapter two and no one seemed to notice, they were so enthralled.
Thanking her stand-in, Miss Crammond picked up teaching from where she had left off, inviting Joseph to recite the alphabet from start to finish.
At lunch break, Lara found a place in the shade, aware that the early summer sun would encourage those nasty freckles to flourish; she hated freckles. Her best friend, Ben, sat with her and peered over her shoulder as she again read aloud from her new book; he didn't seem to mind the fact that she had moved on to chapter four, her own particular place in the piece. Chapter five followed suit and was dispatched just before the bell rang to send them back into class.
Lara's mum listened with glee as her daughter told of her time in charge of the class, carefully strapping the girl into the back seat of the family car, and smiled proudly as she began reading chapter six on the ten minute drive home. She found herself caught up in the story and marvelled at her only child's intelligence, but still found the time to curse under her breath in frustration at the volume of traffic. When the car in front ran a red light at the crossroads, she followed it through without giving it much thought...........
* * *
…......The wagon driver collapsed and needed medical attention when told the car he had ploughed into contained a mother and child, both of whom were beyond help. A policeman unbuckled Lara's seatbelt and gently lifted her from the wreckage. She was still holding on to her book, a book she would never finish.
* * *
…..........Reg froze. Why hadn't Toots warned him of the impending danger? The bullet punched through the remaining pages of his book and ripped a hole in his chest. He managed one last look of extreme disappointment when he realised he would never know how the book ended.
* * *
….........The pain shot down the length of Sarah's arm and back up again without warning. She tried her best to ignore it and concentrate on her book but her heart gave up the ghost, leaving her eyes wide open in a blank stare, eyes which would never ever read another word. The unfinished book hit the floor and lost her place; not that it really mattered.
About the Author
Angus Shoor Caan is in an ex-seaman and rail worker. Born and bred in Saltcoats, he returned to Scotland after many years in England and found the time to begin writing. He has a number of publications to his name, including Coont Thum and Tattie Zkowen's Perfect Days, both of which have been published by McStorytellers.
You can read his full profile on McVoices.
You can read his full profile on McVoices.