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    Short Stories, Crimes, Cults and Curious Cats
    Short Stories, Crimes, Cults and Curious Cats
    Short Stories, Crimes, Cults and Curious Cats
    Ebook105 pages1 hour

    Short Stories, Crimes, Cults and Curious Cats

    By Jonathan Day

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    Review by Waverley:
    Worth the money for the cover alone (a stunning combination of colours enhancing an intricate design), but there's more on offer than just a nice cover. The alliterative title gives the clue to the content, although I had the sense that the curious cats were slightly tacked on as an afterthought to the crimes and the cults. Jonathan Day writes sharply and amusingly, with a nice line in wry/snide social comment that will raise more than the occasional smile, but he's also a gifted story-teller - almost too gifted, really, for the chosen format, because so many of these stories feel as if they could (perhaps should) have been developed further - most contain enough material for a novella, if not a full-length novel. Although the style of writing is light and humorous, some of the stories have serious subtexts (on occasion, the subtexts threaten to subvert the actual narrative, as in "Behold, the Face of God", even though the twist in this, possibly one of the less convincing stories, is cleverly managed). The author's art and achievement is to combine fast-moving and entertaining narrative with thought-provoking reflection about a world (or worlds) that can prove to be nastier places than we'd ideally like them to be.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDodo Books
    Release dateJul 10, 2016
    ISBN9781310452116

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      Book preview

      Short Stories, Crimes, Cults and Curious Cats - Jonathan Day

      Short Stories

      Crimes, Cults and

      Curious Cats

      by

      Jonathan Day

      Copyright Jonathan Day

      & Dodo Books 2016

      This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to

      persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

      Stories

      Cock-a-Doodle-Do!

      Willow Pattern World

      Feeding the Monster

      The Impossible Detective

      Behold, the Face of God!

      Our Lady of the Herbs

      The Greening of Toby Jug

      The Hammer of God

      Cosmic Cats

      The Cult of the Bast Cat

      Cock-a-Doodle-Do!

      It struts, it crows, it clanks like crashing saucepan lids, and really annoys the neighbours.

      Clang, rattle, clang at four in the morning - nothing seems to stop it. This contraption flies in from nowhere with nothing more on its tin mind than to wake the neighbourhood. At least its closest relative, the Clangers' Soup Dragon, had soup to offer.

      One enterprising young man attempted to track the clockwork cockerel back to where it had originated from with his drone, but that ceased transmitting and was never seen again apart from a few washers and one rotor blade. The last picture it sent back was of huge, luminous, glass eyes closing in fast. Then, with one metallic squawk, that was that.

      It was a well-to-do neighbourhood - no houses under a million pounds - and where private security patrolled the exclusive gated estate at its centre, which the bird had sense enough not to visit.

      Gabrielle resented the avenues lined with cherry trees and neatly manicured grass verges. It seemed pointless pounding the beat in an area with so many security cameras. Her partner, PC Gore, was more sanguine. Gabrielle sometimes wondered if it was possible for the older woman to ever be annoyed, especially when they had to waste most of their time fielding complaints about the wretched mechanical cockerel. While Sarah Gore could only see the funny side, Gabrielle wanted promotion from the beat and would have preferred to shoot the nuisance out of the sky. A local retired major had a rifle and could have shot it down from his balcony, but he could switch off his hearing aid at night and, like Sarah, found it amusing.

      The latest complaint came from Mr Marston, owner of a spacious lawn dotted with exquisitely trimmed topiary. The metal cockerel had landed on the head of the ten foot giraffe, permanently bending its neck into a strangely contorted shape. Needless to say, when it went on to pluck the peacock centrepiece, he was incandescent. The bland expression Sarah assumed to stop herself laughing did not help.

      When Gabrielle and the much put-upon Mrs Marston at last managed to placate him with the promise of a stakeout to catch the creature, the constables were able to return to their beat.

      ‘Are you crackers?’ said Sarah. ‘There's no way they would agree to a night stakeout for something like this.’

      ‘We could do it.’

      ‘You are bonkers, aren't you.’

      ‘Our overtime would be a fraction of a patrol car.’

      ‘I like my sleep.’

      ‘I know, Roy told me how loudly you snore.’

      ‘And what happens if we see the damn thing? It can fly.’

      ‘We follow it.’

      ‘On foot?’

      ‘We'll have my moped.’

      Sarah recalled what had happened the last time she rode pillion on that and groaned.

      At 3:30 in the morning, 36 hours later, two half-asleep constables listened for the aerial clatter that heralded the arrival of the cockerel from Hell.

      And they waited, and waited.

      5 o'clock and still no metal bird.

      ‘It knows we’re here. I should have never let you talk me into this Gabby. I’m beginning to crave cigarettes again.’

      ‘But they swore blind it always turned up at 4 o'clock sharp like clockwork.’

      ‘My youngest son’s Mickey Mouse watch keeps better time, and I’ve lost count of how many times that’s been to the bottom of the deep end. The only thing on it that now moves is its ears.’

      ‘I’m surprised a woman trained as a lifeguard lets a four-year-old get out of his depth.’

      ‘Harry’s got gills – it’s genetic.’

      There was a distant patter of metal paws.

      Both women thought they were hearing things through lack of sleep and ignored it.

      ‘Let's go home,’ insisted Sarah.

      Gabrielle raised her hand.

      The patter had turned into an audible clatter. Something sinister was loping up the road towards them, the rising sun's rays reflected from its polished casing.

      ‘Don't like the look of that, Gabby! Let's go!’

      ‘No chance.’ Gabrielle pulled out her baton and snapped it open.

      ‘You may want promotion, I prefer to keep my kneecaps.’

      ‘It looks like a large cat.’

      ‘A large cat with steel teeth.’

      As it got closer, the two PCs used the moped as a barrier.

      The large, metal cat clanked to a stop before them and sat up on his haunches.

      ‘Good morning ladies,’ it announced.

      ‘You are recording this as well, aren't you?’ hectored Sarah.

      ‘Of course I am.’

      The cat continued, ‘I expect you would like an explanation?’

      ‘Well... Yeah,’ Sarah managed to utter. ‘I suppose this is better than being pecked to death by a steel chicken.’

      ‘Please be assured that I have no intention of attacking you. I have no intention of attacking anyone.’

      ‘If you hit it in just the right spot, Gabby, you could knock out its batteries,’ Sarah whispered.

      ‘And then how would we find out where it comes from?’ Gabrielle replaced the baton in her belt.

      ‘I can tell you where it comes from - a mad engineer with a Meccano set!’

      Without warning the cat's voice changed. It became male, and elderly. ‘Follow me and all will be explained.’

      ‘I've heard that before,’ moaned Sarah.

      ‘I can't understand why you became a copper,’ Gabrielle scolded.

      ‘Because I know how to handle hooligans - I raised four of them. This isn’t police work – it’s civil engineering.’

      The voice of the elderly man went on regardless. ‘I need someone to witness the result of my life’s work. So few appreciate how I have turned my Čapek dream into reality.’

      ‘Čapek? Who’s Čapek? A Polish window cleaner?’ demanded Sarah.

      ‘Please follow my scout and all will be revealed.’

      ‘This fellow keeps repeating himself,’ Sarah groaned.

      Gabrielle had the suspicion it was because the voice was pre-recorded and the cat would only understand a direct order. ‘Take us to your leader.’

      ‘Take us to your - Oh for goodness sake!’ At that point Sarah knew she should turn on her heels and leave, but would have felt guilty at deserting the younger woman with more enthusiasm than sense. There was the foreboding that this was all going to end up as overtime for forensics.

      Wishing that she had taken that job of lifeguard at the local baths instead, Sarah perched on the pillion of Gabrielle's moped to follow the mechanical cat. Fortunately it was too early in the morning for anyone else to witness the bizarre sight.

      Several miles of pot-holed lanes later, they came to a factory-sized barn.

      A hive of industry reverberated from inside its wooden walls.

      ‘Must be an early morning shift,’ Gabrielle concluded.

      The two PCs followed their escort into a busy interior filled with welding sparks and sound of buzz saws. A million metal components were being assembled on a production line of robot workers.

      ‘You think whoever runs this has got a licence, Gabby?’

      ‘We'll have to ask the owner of the cat's voice.’ Gabrielle turned to their

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