Phantom

Create a piece using the word or theme PHANTOM for the April 20th meet.




Carruther’s phantom.

Sally lay on her back, nestled by her mattress as she stared through the semi-darkness to her ceiling. The plaster reliefs formed vague shapes from which she imagined specters or goblins sometimes emerging. She smiled at how some childhood things stay with you. Sleep tonight was proving elusive. The light she had bought from that artisan in Venice hung heavily from its gilt chain reflecting what little light there was off its finely tooled links. Sally could just see the exquisite gold swirls captured forever as the melted glass was blown for her in that crusty old workshop. But no mater the distraction she employed, sleep remained thwarted.
Her bedroom had retained much of the day’s heat and Sally was sweating. That could be the anxiety though. She pulled gently at her silk nightdress to dislodge a minute crease in the small of her back, it was not uncomfortable, merely noticeable. The movement of her arm gave a pleasant sense as it glided over the 1200 percale bed sheet. Not for the first time did she marvel how luxury had come her way. It was not through lack of effort or commitment, but it did in some dark ways have at its source the immoral acts she had initiated, repeated and justified. But that is the way of derivatives trading. How the hell she ever got involved in this murky world of deceit from a passing interest in mathematics defied her logic even now. But without doubt it was why she could lie here in these comforts,, but, still not sleep at night. And now, as if to crown the years of immorality, a phantom had slid into her life.
When she accepted the offer to work at Carruther’s she had done so being well aware of the whispered rumors and stories that there were phantoms lurking in the bowels of the establishment. She had heard at conferences, over drinks around the bar, that senior Carruther’s executives had experiences of them. The phantom story went right back to the years following the crash of the 1920’s after staff had flung themselves down the stairwell to die in mashed despair on the basement floor. Sally never thought she would experience a Carruther phantom, but she had no doubts now. The sweat and anxiety she felt as she lay here was real, a phantom had come home to roost with her. It seemed a bit unfair that the moment she had won the CFO role she had also got a Carruther phantom. It had nothing to do with the skullduggery she had performed to get the job and it wasn’t something she really had ever believed would happen to her but now she couldn’t refute it, the phantom was unquestionably resident in her basement and it was the trepidation , and the anxiety of the inevitable return she would have to make to her basement the next day that was causing the sleeplessness.
Sally was a mature adult, intelligent and not ashamed of the moral choices she had made to gain her position in life. She knew the stench of past deeds hung around her like a fetid carcass but the rewards she sought were astronomical and the rumours of a Carruther phantom had done nothing to discourage her. Now she wasn’t so sure. Now she would have to live with a phantom. She would not be able to hide its presence.

As daylight slowly grew she knew she would have to confront the phantom boldly and move on into her career choice. Sally guessed the Carruther phantom would define her amongst her peers as it had done for others and the essence of it would both identify her and plague her efforts for a private life. The phantom curse had been bourn by every Carruther CFO since the 1920’s and there was no way she was going to be immune. It was in her basement for shit sake. She could hardly believe it. She had seen it there when she had come home last night. Lurking in all its dark grey malevolence, silent and still in the shadowy corner of the basement. Its di-optic eyes glinted menacingly from the gloom and she knew, she just knew, its ethereal spirit was waiting to emerge should she be bold enough to release it. This was not a morning she had been wanting but it was inevitable and she would, she knew, have to meet the phantom and she knew, like all other Carruther’s CFOs, she would be engulfed by its presence, enraptured by its enticements and ultimately corrupted by its opulent demands and expectations.

The morning’s shower and breakfast routines performed, it was almost a surprise as she stood at the mirror putting on her lipstick and adjusting her hair that she did actually look the epitome of a Chief Financial Officer. Funny, she thought, looking at herself, now she knew she could face the phantom, deal with the rumours, attack the deriders and progress to even greater heights.
The phantom had already begun to wreak its way into her psyche.

Confront your fears straight on she thought.
Rather than walking down the stairs as she may usually have done into the dark basement, today she strode purposefully to the large main door; hit the remote and watched the panels open, flooding the basement with daylight.

The Phantom of course did not retreat with this onslaught, she hadn’t expected it to. If anything it confronted her more boldly. Rather than slunk in the rear corner like she remembered from last night it proudly disported itself in the full morning sunshine. Sally boldly approached it as its eyes followed her, reflecting and magnifying her anxiety. The bloody thing knows me she thought. Undeterred she accepted it’s invitation and quickly succumb to it’s opulent entreaty. Despite her conviction that she would not, Sally had been easily captured and captivated by the Caruthers Phantom.

For a moment she enjoyed its form, felt the textures of its temptation. There was an exquisite sense of excess and pretention, with an added promise of ultimate power. From her new perspective Sally cast around and became aware of an almost organic invitation to proceed.

She pressed the start button, the driver’s door sealed closed, and down the front, the Spirit of Ecstasy rose from its chromium den to greet the minions.

Sally drove off to her new job in the city in her new company car, a Rolls Royce Phantom for shit sake!
She could still hardly believe it.

the bloody tyke

Leeds Savage challenge for April 6 2011.

To put Transparent, Bastard and Verisimilitude into a short story.

The bloody tyke.

From where I stood now I could see the yellow flashes explode after each impact as the shells hit. After this latest attack the availability of shells would be less, it was going to take time to recover from the blow we had just been delivered.
I am so pissed off about it I could throttle the bugger again right here and now. The way the smirking bastard is wearing his verisimilitude of innocence sickens me.  A transparent haze of fear and a stench of death had hung over the scene. The prick was gormlessly expecting me to believe he had arrived to find himself in this gore-fest. I mean, he was spattered and smeared with their blood for shit’s sake and he had the raw gall to be looking at me, claiming no involvement.

I am in awe of the stupidity of the dolt I now have in front of me.
If I could know for sure she wouldn’t see from behind the glass I‘d kick his balls in to wipe the daft grin off his face.

It was her bloody fault anyway, I’d told her we’d never be able to trust him from the moment she introduced us. I just knew his type, dealt with them all my life in pubs, in town parks and down city back streets. Bloody Yorkshire bastards, you can’t trust them. I’ve seen them crack a fit of fury for no reason whatsoever.   Given any situation you never know which way they're going to jump. I can’t stand to be near them.. I told her that. And here is the proof. This time it’s a massacre, as I approached the field I'd seen at least four bodies on the ground before I managed to collar the tyke  and drag him protesting away from the scene.  Granted, I had surprised him, but the arsehole had nearly tried to have a go at me. I'd slipped him one to the kidney before he got the chance. Probably uncalled for, but it made me feel good. She never saw that though, so it won’t go on the record.

I have made it my mission to keep track of the bugger's movements ever since he joined us and while I have never been able to pin anything specific on him, a lot more fatalities have been logged since he’s arrived. She kept saying “There’s always been and there will always be unplanned deaths in this sort of work” and sure, she was right. There would always be unintended casualties along with the targeted executions but the death rate had risen sharply since his arrival and I for one had very strong convictions who was responsible.

He was uncanny at knowing when I was watching him though, and I couldn’t watch him all the time. I can’t recall how many times I’d notice his absence and I’d see him cautiously heading off, looking sly. No sooner would I move to follow him and he’d stop, turn around and either come back as if he’d forgotten something or change direction and head off with an entirely different stride. The shit had been starting to do my head in. But now I had him, evidence was on him everywhere, the scene of the last slaughter was preserved and there was no bloody way in the world she could dispute it. I had him dead to rights. He was out of here this time. No excuses, no favoritism, it was a done deal.

I hammered on the Kitchen widow and she stopped making her egg custard. She looked up with horror at the dripping blood all over Timmy’s face and coat.
I shouted through the double glazing,
“Your fucking dog has killed another four of my chickens! I tell you Sarah this is it .
Its over.
I am going to the pound and I’m taking your bloody Terrier today!