MULTIPLY Writing Prompt #13 Kitchen Problems

“Are you ready soldiers, then after me. I want organised lines and no side tracking. Did you hear No. 200? The last time we had to send out a search party and this time we have a definite target before our eyes and noses.”
“Sorry No. 1, but I did get a bit carried away last time.”
“Getting carried away is no excuse No. 200. You are in charge of a whole regiment and if you get carried away, there is no way of knowing what would happen to the rest of your regiment. Just to clarify things, this is a very important job we are on. I am not No. 1 for any reason and our leader has appointed me to carry the responsibility of the survival of our people. We have babies to be fed and we will ensure that their needs will be met, so this way men.”

No. 1 walked carefully but determined, followed by his troop of brave followers. There were many obstacles to be conquered, the first being a high rise in the ground, but regardless of the rough road, he and his men carried on regardless.

“If we march on in this way, there should be no problem. We are now inside the victim’s dwellings where the food supplies are. I can smell our target already.”
“No. 1”
“Yes No. 200.”
“I can smell many targets. Behind this door there is a mixture of smells to satisfy our people. Shall I take my troop in that direction whilst you head for the main attraction.”
“No. 200 are you having hearing problems. What did I say?”
“That we should follow your troop.?”
“Yes, No. 200. Although we are many, it would be of no advantage to attack on many fronts. Now follow me, we have a lot of climbing to do.”

As No. 1 said, there was a very steep slope ahead, at least ninety degrees measured from the base level. Luckily our brave soldiers had each four legs and no climbing problems. Vertigo was an illness not known to this species.

“No. 200 come here please.”

There was no answer.

“No. 200, where you. I cannot pick up your signals.”
“Permission to speak sir”
“Who are you?”
“No. 525 sir. No. 200 was in front with his company and he suddenly disappeared in a slit in the wall. His company followed him.”
“Of course his company followed, they know nothing else except to follow their leader, but I am disappointed. I was counting on No. 200 and his faithful workers, and now they have disappeared. No. 525 is your troop present?”
“Yes sir, being lead by No. 500. Regiments 600, 700 and 800 are also ready for attack.”
“Good, at least there are a few hundred others I can rely on. Ok men our end station is now in view, I can already smell the rewards of our looting expedition. Think of our babies and the future of our tribe. I cannot wait to reap the benefits. Here we are men. Just look at it, it resembles a sea of gold, glistening and shining on its glossy surface. So to the attack.”

And our brave soldiers climbed onto the target of their attack, combining their collective thoughts and actions to ensure a victory. In the meanwhile, No. 200 and his troop had discovered an alternative source of food; also very appealing to their taste buds. No. 200 was sure that No. 1 would promot him when they returned to their nest.

Suddenly there was a high pitched scream and there were floodlights switched on engulfing the kitchen in light.

“What’s the matter Gertrud, what are you screaming for?” asked Gertrud’s husband, Frank.

“Come and look in the kitchen. We have been invaded.” And Gertrud was still speaking in a rather loud excited voice.
Frank ran to the kitchen as fast as his legs would carry him expecting to find Gertrud confronted perhaps by a field mouse. He knew her reaction with mice. However, there were no mice to be seen.

“Look Frank, just look”
and Frank looked and what did he see. Well there was the lemon tart that Gertrud had made that afternoon, ready for a nice sweet dessert the next day. Unfortunately the tart was not so lemonly yellow as it was quite well covered by an army of ants.

The reactions of Gertrud and Frank were quick. The tart was laying on a surface near to the sink and the water supply was turned on washing half of the army away, including our brave leader No. 1. The remaining ants scuttled in various directions seeking protection from every nook and cranny they could find. In the meanwhile No. 200 was watching from the crack in the door of the food cupboard, glad that he had not followed No. 1. However, he was feeling a bit nervous as Frank and Gertrud had decided to make a thorough job of it and they were now approaching the food cupboard. Unfortunately some members of No. 200’s troop had begun to leave the cupboard though the cracks in the door and this made Frank and Gertrud suspicious. The door was opened and with a damp cloth Gertrud wiped away every moving ant she could see in the cupboard. Those that could, rescued their selves on ground level in the hairline fissures of the entrance to the insides of the washing up machine and other cupboards. Here they were also not safe.

“Men, follow me, we must go” shouted No. 200, although the humans luckily did not hear.
“There is no hope for us” answered No. 220, we are doomed, the humans are on our trail and at this moment Frank removed the covering to the machine and the ants were sucked out with the vacuum cleaner.

Those ants that survived and were not too far away from the entrance managed to return to the nest bringing the bad news that No. 1 and his company, as well as many other regiments, had been completely destroyed. Their queen was not very pleased, but those ants that returned managed to bring some morsels of food to ensure the survival of the babies in the nest.

The ants abandoned by the main troop were still fighting bravely in Gertrud and Frank’s kitchen, but they had little chance of survival. The humans were not so sure that all had been destroyed and made an inspection tour of the kitchen now and again. Eventually it was midnight, and not having seen a living ant for the past thirty minutes Gertrud and Frank went to bed assured that all was well in the kitchen, but not without putting the lemon tart in the fridge first of all.

The next morning Gertrud went immediately to the kitchen when she was awake, followed by Frank. Completely ant free they were not, but the five or ten survivors did not bother them so much. They made a shopping list that morning and on the top of it were ant tins. They found this was the best solution. The ants entered the tins, were afterwards covered with the poisonous substance and brought it back to the nest. So all was well that ends well. At least for the humans, but No. 1 – 800 ants were not so happy.

The day passsed peacefully and there were really no more ants to be seen. During the afternoon there was a knock on the door and when Gertrud opened it she found her next door neighbour standing there looking quite distressed.

“Hello Gertrud, we have a problem, perhaps you could help?”
“Of course” answered Gertud “you look quite worried”.
“Oh, we are, we have an ant invasion. They are everywhere in the kitchen, probably came in from the garden. Do you have perhaps any ant tins?

Writing Prompt #13: Kitchen problems

MULTIPLY United Friends Challenge #134: The Storm of the Century

Celticfrog's Challenge

Write about the effect of unexpected or odd weather. It isn't to be life threatening, just strange.

This story is based on the truth, the accident actually did happen, only names and situations have been changed. It happened to a very dear friend of mine.

"Look at this Jeremy“ said one of the meteorologists in the English central weather office to his colleague. “This does not look good.”
“No it doesn’t” answered Jeremy “What do you think? Shall we give the warning out now or wait a bit.?”
“Definitely not wait, this could develop into the storm of the century and people are going to have to be prepared.”
This was the conversation that started the emergency preparations at the beginning of October 1987 in England and would change the lives of a few people in the South East corner of England, mostly in the county known as Essex. A depression was developing over the sea and gale force winds were collecting beating the sea water into waves of an unusual height.

The 15th day of October arrived and all ears were tuned to the weather news of the BBC radio station. Jean Walker was one of the listeners and was glad that he mother had left on that morning to visit her sister in Scotland and was in a safer place. Jean went to work as usual and although the day was grey and stormy, it was a normal rainy English weather day. She wrapped herself up in her waterproof coat with the warm fuzzy lining and put on her boots. She was used to this weather. She said goodbye to her dog, Fluff, and left the house, although she felt a bit guilty. Fluff was acting restless, barking more than usual and running around in circles. On her way to the underground she had to avoid the paper and other objects being tossed around by the winds. It was even useless to open the umbrella as within a second it was blown out and offered no protection.

She arrived in central London where it was raining as if the heavens had opened. It was one of those storms where she imagined the old man with the long beard had started building his large boat somewhere on an open space and was looking for pairs of animals to put into it, just to ensure that some had the chance of survival.
“Miss, do you think we will be washed away, or struck with lightening?” was the question one of the children asked. Jean was a school teacher and she spent more time that day in soothing the nerves of the children than actually teaching. There were noises of fire engines and ambulances passing the school all day with their sirens blowing, being called to pump out cellars or help older people who could not manage with the high winds that were blowing, almost reaching hurricane speeds.. This did not help to calm the children either and she was glad when she could travel home in the late afternoon. There were delays on the trains and she was happy eventually to reach her house. Fluff was already barking and waiting for her behind the door and gave her a head to foot wash with his long wet tongue in welcoming his human.

During the evening the weather did not improve. Jean went to bed, but had to take Fluff with her. Although she knew this was not the most hygienic of places for the dog to be, she felt more secure and so did Fluff when they were together. She had a sleepless night hearing the crashing of tiles being blown from the roof and hitting the stony surface below. Now and again there was the crack of tree branches to be heard and Jean was wondering what would still be standing after the night had passed. Eventually she managed to sleep in the early hours of the morning, Fluffy cuddling up to her as close as he could. Daylight pierced its way through the curtains in the morning and flooded the bedroom with a bright light. The sun was shining, an autumn sun but it was there.

When Jean eventually plucked up the courage to look out of the window, she found to her relief that the surrounding houses were still standing, although the neat English gardens belonging to the neighbour’s houses were not so neat any more. Some trees had not survived and those still standing did not look so secure. Many plants had been ripped out of their beds, but she thought perhaps the lucky side being that it was Autumn, much could be replanted for the Spring. The schools were closed on this day and so she did not have to go to work. She put Fluff on his lead and went outside to inspect the damage to her own house. Many tiles had been blown down from the roof and she would have to see that they were repaired before the next rains came. She secretly hoped that this would not be in the next few days, knowing that the contractors would have enough work to do for the time being. She phoned up the repair office and they said they would be able to do any work by the end of the next week, but it would be important that she should pay in advance. They had so much work to do and so many orders to carry out, that they just did not have the funds to cover the purchase of new tiles for all the damaged houses.

Jean got herself ready as well as Fluff and they walked down to the bank to get the necessary cash. The streets were a picture of devastation, rubbish and rubble laying everywhere. She walked passed the bus stop and was wondering to walk further or take the bus. She was still thinking this over when fate struck; Jean herself realised nothing. She was walking along the avenue at the time, lined with trees. With no warning a tree standing next to the bus stop fell. Its roots had been shaken enough by the storm to weaken its anchorage in the ground. A strong unexpected blast of wind came and this was the end of the tree. The bus was still waiting and the tree fell onto the top of the double-decker red London bus. Perhaps Jean saw this, perhaps not, but the tree bounced from the bus onto the place where Jean was standing and she was buried under the tree.

Through the reaction Fluff was no longer being held by Jean on his lead and was running and barking, completely distraught and frightened.

Three weeks later Jean woke up in her hospital bed where she had been under intensive care. She was not alone. Her mother was there with some other relations, all familiar faces, but Jean just could not understand why all were crying. Even more tears were shed when she opened her eyes and asked what was going on. She had been in a coma for three weeks and no-one really knew what the outcome would be.

After the accident people had flocked to help. An ambulance was organised and she was taken to the hospital. The police were there and the first questions were who was the person buried by the tree. Fluff was still barking like mad and it was then that one of the spectators saw that he was carrying an identification tab on his collar with his name and address. The police soon found where Jean lived and through questions to the neighbours, also discovered where her mother was at the time. What happened to Fluff until Jean’s mother arrived? The people living in the house opposite where the accident took place sort of adopted him for a few days and looked after him until Jean’s mother arrived to claim him. Naturally Fluff was happy and overjoyed to see someone he knew again.

After a couple of months in hospital Jean was released. Her injuries were many. The skull fracture being the worst, but she had also fractured her arm and a few ribs were no longer as they should be. She was lucky not to have suffered any internal injuries. She visited her “rescuers” after returning home, to thank them for looking after Fluff. It was a strange feeling she had as she had never seen the people before in her life. Her picture came into the newspaper as being the survivor of the accident buried by the tree that rebounded from the bus, although she had a very interesting hair style on the photo, having to cover up part of her head where the hair had been shaved off for the operation.

Today you see nothing, although Jean still suffers perhaps from headaches. She still remembers nothing of the accident. She was just one of the victims of the great storm of October 1987 in Essex, South East England.

United Friends Challenge #134: The Storm of the Century

MULTIPLY Rita's "Riting" Challenge #16:The Sax Man

It wasn’t always like this, my life
Again, to be young and feel good
I would be playing in the halls
I was one of the best that could
play my sax, I was a natural cinch
I had gigs in all the best places
I was requested by all, I had money and wealth
In my music I pulled all the aces

The ladies came and I had them all
They loved the man with the sax
I chose my gal, I loved her the most
With her I could relax
But I wanted more, wanted to be better
Not satisfied with what I had
So it was a joint here and some cokes there
And things started going bad
I then got thirsty and needed a drink
I was really on the ground
My woman she left me, I had no money
I led the life of a hound
I was sure I was playing even better than ever
I heard voices telling me so
But this was all in the mind it seems
and soon I had to go
So here I stand on the street alone
my sax hanging over my arm
You want me to play? I don’t think I can
You know lady I ain’t no more calm
My hands just don’t do it any more
but without the sax I’m alone
No, please madam, just don’t pity me
It’s my fault, better I should have known

Rita's "Riting" Challenge #16: The Sax Man

MULTIPLY Visual Aid #4: The Survival of the Fittest

Opening the window he saw it was evening again. There was no point looking at the clock, time no longer existed, nothing really existed as it was. The old play ground opposite used to be filled with children’s laughter and noise; but this was many years ago. A guilty feeling went through his body. He then worked night shift in the town sewers, making sure that everything was nice and tidy and clean. The noise of the children during the day would wake him from the sleep he needed and it annoyed him. He often opened the window and shouted for them to be quiet. He was known by the kids as old misery guts. Now, there were no children playing, there was no noise, children were a thing of the past. The park illuminations were still alive. They automatically switched on in the evenings, perhaps if time existed, he could measure it by the on and off of the lights. Even the green colour of the trees and plants were a remainder of the colouring programme used to convince the population that there was nothing really wrong, everything was under control.

“Time to get going” he thought and he got himself dressed. His waterproof outfit was a relic of his working days and he removed them from the cupboard. He pulled off his washed out blue jeans and t-shirt and put on the overall which covered him completely. A pair of heavy boots, thick and protective and a steel helmet and he was ready. They were waiting for him. The only entrance was through the garbage bin. Even that was not real, just a disguise. It glowed with an unnatural light and for some unknown reason had been painted blue. Perhaps to show what the sky once looked like before the truth was revealed. Just climb in and descend the steps. Below ground level there was another sort of life.

How he hated the evening excursions under their watchful eyes, but since they had taken over, he had no choice. Their powers of communication were above his level of thought, but they knew exactly how to operate. After the world had slowly died, they took over. Admittedly the humans tried to hide it all. “It was not our fault” the government said “it was the others”. The others blamed it onto the others and so it went on. At first things were patched over. With the abilities developed in the laboratories of the world, everyone thought the natural appearance of the planet was genuine. It was when people started dying from hunger, that the truth leaked out, but then it was too late. No-one knew how to put everything back to how it should be.

“Am I the only one left, that cannot be, there must be someone else” but he never met anyone else and so he gave up. It was then that the new powers took over. They were adapted to this new way of life and could survive, but even they needed his help. The only creatures that were indestructible seemed to be the rats. They could eat anything and everything and survive and so they multiplied and multiplied. Then one day they had a rival; almost as cunning as the rats and these rivals began to organise their selves and to take over. The new regime did not just kill the rats; after all they were the only source of food left after almost everything else in the environment had died. They farmed them, sorted them and kept them disease free. It was the only nutrition that he now had, but he had to work for his food.There were rumours of cows and sheep, but they were too far away and communications and transport no longer existed. If you could not walk there, then it was better to leave it.

He was now at the end of his descent and was received by the local chief. Words were not exchanged, the governing race could not talk. A blink of the staring eyes towards him and he knew what he had to do. They walked together through the stinking wet rivers of the sewers. He heard a noise and the master nodded. He took out his harpoon and fired. It was a sure shot and he had killed one of the new race. It was a rat as big as a dog. “The bastards are breeding bigger” he thought to himself. The chief nodded in approval and pounced on the dead body, calling other members of his race They tore the body to pieces but left enough for their human. He took what was given and packed it into his backpack. At least he would have something to eat when he got home.

So the night went on, he knew that nature always made its own choice and this time the survival of the fittest were those that were once pets to mankind. Now the cats had taken over.

Visual Aid #4: The Survival of the Fittest

MULTIPLY Creative Challenge #47 - Whispers

Please whisper the words that I want to hear
Said the tree to the wind as it passed
I can tell you of lands that I left far behind
It is better when I give no forecast
There is hunger in the world, at the places I visit
No nature that stands in my way
No water, just dirt is all to be seen
These are sights that I see every day
There are wars being fought and no-one knows why
The reasons have long been forgotten
No-one is winning, but all has been lost
There are leaders that have souls being rotten
But here where I stand said the tree to the wind
I am firm and have water enough
Why can’t humans share all the wealth that they have
This world is becoming so rough
Oh tree if you knew what I saw in the forests
Where trees are standing no more
Your companions are gone, humans cleared them away
And now only left a dry floor
The rains falling down and doing their job
Just washing the surface away
There is no earth left to grow trees again
No place for the humans to stay
Dear wind I believe that things were much better
When we two were alone in the world
Our problems were few, we had all that was good
My trunk was not so much knurled
Sometimes it is better when we do not whisper
but we sing out and shout very loud
that the words can be heard by all of the people
and the wind and the tree can be proud

Creative Challenge #47 - Whispers

MULTIPLY United Friends Challenge #133: The lonely fridge

Cagh's Challenge

Write about a fridge.

This can be in the form of a short story, or a poem, or an anecdote, or a myth, any format is acceptable. It can be a bar fridge, upright fridge, car fridge, portable fridge, or any other kind of fridge you can think of, existing or theoretical (must be powered; no eskies). The only catch is that the fridge must be the main element/character. Freezer optional ;)

How I remember the good old days when I arrived here. I was needed and treasured in a home belonging to a happy farmer’s family. The energy was pulsing through my wires and I even had a light that illuminated everything when my door was open. I was filled with all good things. There was always plenty of milk cartons and butter. I would keep it fresh and cool during the summer and regulate the temperatures during the winter. In the winter months I did not need so much power as it was cooler outdoors, but in summer the children would be opening my doors and laughing with delight at the many ice creams that would be stored in my extra cold part, oh that was fun. Of course the kids got older but still loved their ice cream. The farmer’s wife would keep the meat and cheese in my vaults, as well as other groceries that needed my cooling breath. I saw the children grow and I had my cosy corner in the kitchen. There were times when things got a little bit uncomfortable. I was getting clogged up with ice on my pipes. I would feel very sad when my energy was cut off, but the ice would melt and I would be cleaned and then put back to work. I must admit I did feel much better after that treatment.

Life was good and I did my job to everyone’s satisfaction; at least I thought so, but then one fine day I was switched off. No explanation, no excuse, just switched off. The impulses were no longer throbbing through my insides; I was no longer cool and refreshed, just warm and bothered.

“Hey mum, where shall we put it, it will be in the way now in the kitchen.”
“I would put it on the truck and take it down to the waste heap. It will only get in the way.”

That was the conversation I heard between two of the children. Were they talking about me?

“No, you never know” and the farmer’s wife joined in the conversation. “We have enough room down in the cellar and perhaps we might need it again one day. There is also a law that says you cannot just throw a fridge away as it may pollute the atmosphere. Joe, Jack remove it to the cellar.”

And so my days came to an end as a central attraction in the kitchen. My ice creams and cold drinks were no longer wanted. As I was moved down to the cellar I was passed on the stairs by a new, shiny refrigerator, twice the size of myself. It laughed as it looked at me and informed that my days were over. He would now organise the frozen part of life in the farmhouse.

So I spent the long summer in the darkness of the cellar, empty and no longer needed. Now and again the farmer’s children and wife, even the farmer, would come down to the cellar, but I was ignored. I might be pushed onto one side because I was in the way, but I was no longer called for. I even developed a couple of rusty stains on my once shiny and attractive body. They looked ugly against the once polished white surface I had.

*****
Meanwhile in another part of the farmhouse a conversation was taking place.

“What shall we do with you all this winter? Last year I put you in the attic, but now that has been rebuilt for the children. They are growing and need their own bedrooms.

“Mildred, is that farm lady talking to us?” spoke Barney
“I think she is” answered Mildred “but everyone knows that we don’t talk to humans, although we understand them. Does that mean we have nowhere to go in winter? That does not sound good, I have already started feeling tired and I think in a few weeks I will be in a deep sleep.”
“I know Mildred, the blood has started to flow slower through my body as well. And then we have the children. Admittedly they are still young, a mere twenty or thirty years old, but they will need their sleep as much as we will.”
“Hey dad” spoke up one of Barney’s children. “What did I hear; they don’t know what to do with us during the winter. I don’t want to be put in any old place, there are too many mice and other creatures around here that might like to make a meal on us during the cold winter months.”
“Don’t worry son, just stay cool, I am sure Mrs. Human Farmer will arrive at a solution.”

So things were worrying for some living in the farm house. One evening the farmer’s family were sitting together for the evening meal.
“We have a problem with some of our co-inhabitants” she said “We don’t have anywhere for them to go during the winter.”
“You mean Mildred and Barney and their children” spoke up the youngest. They are part of our family and have been with us many years, there must be a solution somewhere. Let’s just think it over. They need plenty of room but it must be cool and it should stay that way until they wake up when spring arrives.”
“I have it” said the farmer. “The old fridge down in the cellar, that would be ideal, and we even have electricity down there.

So it came to pass a few weeks later that Mildred, Barney and their children were packed into boxes lined with straw. They were already deep in sleep and did not notice that they were being moved.”

*******
The humans are back in the cellar again, but carrying boxes. Just a minute, something is happening. I feel a breath of cold air and electricity is travelling through my circuits again. My light is working and the door is opening. I am being put into use; my miserable days in the cellar are no longer miserable.

The boxes with the straw containing Mildred, Barney and the family were put into the fridge and they stayed there until spring arrived again. It was the ideal place for keeping the tortoise family throughout the winter. Their soft snoring noises did not disturb the refrigerator and it was happy to be put into use once again. Mildred, Barny and the children lived for many years and spent many winters in the fridge. In later years the farmer’s grandchildren always made sure that the tortoise family were kept in the fridge during the winter days.

United Friends Challenge #133: The lonely fridge

MULTIPLY Mono Monday Plus #39 (MM #53)

Sometimes I do tend to run out of ideas, and when I do there is always the good old pictures of flowers. Spring has now sprung in Switzerland and the warm weather is slowly creeping in. Now and again a bit of a chilly wind, but basically everything under control and now the daffodils are flowering in the garden. I have about 200 which have sort of collected over the years, so I took a few photos. Actually the name daffodil in English is "Osterglocke" in German which translated means "Easter Bell" - I find this name very appropriate. So I took my photo of the daffodil into piknik and did a monochrome, tuning it up with contrasts to reach the result I wanted. I then put the yellow center back into the flower and decided on a frame, also in piknik. I discovered ba accident that I could put two frames around a photo in piknik, adjusting to suit my taste. Here is the result.

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Now for a plus. I have intended to do this for some time, so here it is. There is a Belgian painter known as Margritte. I always admired his paintings, a bit surrealistic, but he substituted faces for apples. I decided to do something similar. First of all as a basis I took a photo I had of a very grey stormy sky and turned the grey into blue to brighten it up a bit.

Then I borrowed the neighbour's cat known as Roschti. He is very photogenic and just loves having his photo taken. I tried to get his head well in and this is the result. Strange, but just what I wanted. My next job was to take a photo of an apple. I made sure it was on a one coloured background (the kitchen table white) to make it easier to isolate it with the magic wand. My first layer was the blue sky and then I isolated Roschti from his background with the magic wand and put him on the blue sky. I then flattened this photo. The next layer was my apple. I also isolated the apple from the white background and superimposed it on Roschti's head. This was all done in photoshop CS3. I then flattened the photo and put it into piknik for a mirror frame. Admittedly Margritte had the idea first of all, but my copy is not too bad.

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Mono Monday Plus #39 (MM #53)

MULTIPLY Writing Prompt #12: That's Funny

The small country town of Munching was situated in a dreamy hollow somewhere in the English countryside. It was so hollow, that the motorways and main roads just passed by on the edge and the town could live its own quiet life with no fuss and bother. Now and again a motorist’s wife might see the castle ruin on top of the hill in the far distance from the bypass and would tell her husband to leave the motorway at the next possible opportunity and drive to the nice castle up on the hill. They passed the sign on the road saying welcome to Munching, but it was not really noticed. The castle was just a nice place for a picnic and a pause during the drive to where they were going.

The castle was built sometime in the middle ages by Archibald Munching, the head of the clan. The story told that he was engaged in some sort of war for the King and as a reward received the land to build his castle, as well as the surroundings. Actually Archibald Munching was a highwayman and quite successful. He settled on the hill with his cronies and used his ill gotten gains to build the castle, but that part of the story was conveniently forgotten by the natives. In the history books it was much better to know that a hero was the founder of the village of Munching. The story went on to say that Archibald fought for the King and died as a hero at one of the battles, his body being buried reverently at the town church. This too was a legend highly cherished by the locals. Unfortunately Archibald arrived home late one evening after a night out with his merry men. He was so merry, due to drinking more than his thirst deserved, that he fell down the main staircase in the castle never to awake again. Rumour has it that he died happily and had a smile on his face, but there again the facts were probably that he had just left Rosy at the inn after enjoying her qualities and was still revelling in his memories when he tumbled.

Today, many years after, the truth interests no-one really. Munching has its castle and its hero. There was even a portrait of Archibald hanging in the entrance to the town hall. A rather well proportioned man dressed in the costume of the day with ruffles around his neck and bearing a very well cared for beard, short and pointed as was the custom. I will not bother to tell about the problems he had with flea infestation of his face hair. His portrait was held in honour by the local inhabitants.

Although the castle was still standing it was no longer in the perfect condition of the days when it was built. The courtyard was surrounded by a double layer of granite blocks from the area. Luckily the stone was a good quality; otherwise the castle would long have crumbled away. As the granite was a double layer there were still some rooms left in the castle in the hollow places, as well as part of the main staircase, also in stone, leading to the turrets. You could climb the staircase and look down upon the courtyard from the openings in the granite walls.

Munching was no longer the village it originally was, but over the years developed into a small market town and as towns are, they also had a local newspaper, small, but it carried the local news of the day. It was founded by one of the descendents of the Munching family. The name was still alive in the village, and Alfred Munching was the editor of the newspaper, being a person of respect and honour. It was a small newspaper and probably managed to survive as every inhabitant of the town was on its mailing list. The Munching Courier was not something nationally known, but as a local rag, it carried the information needed. Due to the small size of the town, there were few people employed. Apart from Alfred Munching, there was Tom Baldock responsible for sports, Jack Lay for the local news and Henry Relf, the man looking after the co-ordination of the various editors making sure that the stories came into print at the right time in the right place. It was clear that Alfred Munching would remain at his desk until his eldest son (he had four) Alfred Junior would take over. Tom Baldock was also born in the town and as a young man dreamt of a career as a sports journalist on Fleet Street, the centre of the British newspaper business. Tom left his village of Munching and eventually arrived in London to find that the British national newspapers were not waiting for him and after spending six months organising the racing results for one of the national newspapers, he decided this was not his career chance and as he was missing Dolly Cartwright the bar lady at the Archibald Munching, the local pub, he decided to return to the town. He married Dolly and was now fully integrated as sports reporter for the newspaper. Jack Lay experienced similar problems. He arrived in London, but only managed to get a job as messenger boy in one of the local newspapers, his job consisting of riding the streets of London on a bicycle and fetching sandwiches and something to drink for the workers in the offices of the Daily Finance. Needless to say he returned to Munching. He was still single, never got married, but was more or less married to the newspaper. Henry Relf was actually a railway man. There was a railway station in the village and his father was the station master and Henry was to follow in his footsteps. Unfortunately due to reorganisation in the railways of the country and measures taken to save money, the station at Munching was closed. Henry still lived in the picturesque little station house with his family, but there were no longer trains that entered the town bringing people to work or taking them back to the bigger cities. It was then that Alfred Munching was looking for someone with technical skills for organising the machinery side of the newspaper and Henry Relf applied. Being a local man from a respected town family he was immediately employed and had now been on the newspaper for more than thirty years. So this was the core of the functioning part of the newspaper. Of course, there was Fred the office boy. He had just left school but this job would not be forever. What his career would become he did not yet know.

It was now summer and a very lazy summer. The weather was warm, there was no sign of rain and it seemed that the town was even more sleepy than usual. Alfred Munching was not happy. Nothing very much was happening to fill his newspaper. The church jumble sale was a thing of the past. There were no town cricket games as the team was travelling in another part of the country to play in a tournament and thus there was no sports news. There was some local news now and again. Mrs. Blogs had a problem with her washing machine. She went to bed and the machine was still running. The pipe managed to dislocate from the water supply and her washing room was under water. Old Mrs. Jones had lost her cat. It was found safely in the cellar of the local grocers and was not even very happy about being found as the cat had made itself comfortable amongst the food in the cellar.

Alfred called a meeting.
“We must wake up this town for a few weeks; anyone any ideas about a story? There must be something we can surprise the readers with. Jack, you usually know what is going on in town; nothing new?”
“Sorry Alfred, but everything is very quiet at the moment. Even the castle has been left on one side. I havn’t seen any visitors there for a long while.”
“Perhaps we could do something at the castle” joined in Henry. “Isn’t there a sort of Munching celebration we could have. I am sure good old Archibald must have had a birthday at some time.”
“I’ve got it” said the voice of Jack Lay “what about a ghost story.”
Alfred looked at him intensively. “And where do we get a ghost from. They do not usually wait at the door to be allowed in for a haunting.”
“Not a real ghost, but I saw in the news that there are always photos turning up with ghostly forms on them. We will do it like this. Next Saturday Alfred’s son James will take his family to the castle with his camera of course. I believe he has two nice little girls Alfred.”
“That’s true Jack.”
“Well your son James will take a photo of the two girls in the courtyard.”
“Where does the ghost come into it?” asked Alfred.
“No problem. I will be the ghost.”
“But you are still alive” said Henry.
“Of course I am, but I will dress up as a ghost. Based on the photo of our Archibald, the one hanging at the Town Hall, I will put on similar clothes and a false beard. I will stand behind one of the windows overlooking the courtyard and there we have the ghost.”
“I think I am following” said Alfred “Thanks to the invention of digital photography, we can bring the photo in the newspaper on Monday. James with his two smiling little girls in the courtyard of the castle and the old Duke Archibald looking at them from the window of the surrounding wall.”

So the following weekend arrived and Jack Lay borrowed a few props from the Munching theatrical group. A false beard and one of those ruffles to put round his neck. He decided to leave the tights and wear normal trousers. After all it was only his head and shoulders that would be seen on the photo and he did not really want to spring around in the castle with ballet dancer tights. He was too old for that sort of thing.

Alfred picked up his son James and the two girls and they arrived at the castle for the photo. The photo was a real success. Jack was standing in the right place dressed as the Duke Archibald and he could be seen in the background on the photo. On the Sunday Alfred and Henry both arrived in the afternoon at the newspaper premises to process the photos for the Monday edition of the newspaper. It was organised that Jack would write the story to go with it, but since the photo had been shot no-one had seen Jack. They sent Fred around to his house but the door remained closed. Alfred did not want to wait any longer and wrote the appropriate story himself.

Monday morning the newspaper appeared and the article about the haunted castle was a success. Somehow word got to the national newspapers and the journalists from the national daily’s were arriving in the little market town of Munching to see the place for themselves. As the photo was a real photo and not a product of a photo programme it was even more genuine. Eventually Jack arrived in the office during the morning full of apologies for his disappearance.
“No problem” said an understanding Alfred, who was pleased with the results of the idea.
“It was a great idea and a success. I think everyone has now heard of the Munching Courier since that report. You looked great as Lord Archibald Munching. You even had me almost fooled. You really did the make-up well. You looked just like him.”

Jack said nothing and just smiled. One thing puzzled him. He actually went to the office on Monday morning expecting a telling off from Alfred, his boss. Saturday lunchtime Jack decided to have a beer with his lunch. Unfortunately there was a wasp sitting on the edge of the glass and Jack overlooked it. He only noticed the striped monster when his lip started to swell. Jack was allergic to wasp stings and arrived at the hospital with a swollen face. Luckily he was in time and was given the medicine to counteract his allergy, but had to stay in the hospital to be sure and only returned home on Sunday evening. He was really worried about letting the newspaper down and not appearing for the photo but if he was not in the photo, then who was?

Writing Prompt #12: That's Funny