Aunt Alice.

As some of you have been pestering me about Ms. Bernard and how in the world she figures in all of this mess, let me just say, I think all authors are a bit mad and that she may improve herself by drinking more sherry. In any case, please go out and purchase Renee Bernard’s latest novel, “DESIRE WEARS DIAMONDS” or even better, start at the beginning of that wickedly sexy series with “REVENGE WEARS RUBIES” and divert the woman from pestering a dear old soul who is trying to put her feet up in 1872. Modern pest! But now I must with regret tell you, friends, that Spot’s troubles continue and since no one else seems to either wish to bother with the boy, or belong to a universe that makes sense, I have leapt into the fray with my sage advice yet again. Brace yourselves, friends.

It is NEVER pretty.

With great trepidation,

 

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Aunt Alice

Dearest all understanding, far-seeing Aunt Alice, Myrtle said that I have a big one Auntie, she is very knowledgeable in such matters. Her father knows a computer expert and, so she says, Danny Kemp has nobbled this iPad. I think that’s a technical term for the big thing I referred to in my opening; the problem.

You see I never meant to say that I had ‘met’ a psycho the last time we spoke. I meant to say that Myrtle and I were going to see the film by that name! The swine Kemp tampered with me and his iPad, that thankfully is still in my possession. Anyway on to better things.

Lovely Lily arrived in the nick of time at the cinema, quite unexpected but nevertheless she saved the day. We escaped, that’s Myrtle, Lily and I, in her helicopter after I screamed so much when the shower curtain was pulled back, that my trousers fell down and I emptied the whole picture house. The Police were called but we got away. We are now hiding out at Lovely Lily’s mum and dad’s house.

It’s a BLOODY GREAT BIG BRICK CASTLE Auntie and I’m sure I have seen it somewhere before. I haven’t seen Myrtle since arriving here, but Lovely Lily doesn’t seem at all concerned about her absence, she appears very warming to that fact. It’s as if she prefers to be on her own with me.

They didn’t get on very well when Lily arrived at Psycho. At one stage I thought that Lovely was going to kill Myrtle. She had her hands around Myrtle’s throat but I guess that’s the way people in castles act on seeing peasants, especially Welsh ones.

It is quite noisy here at night with creaks and groans coming from the walls, ceilings and floors so Lovely put me into this huge room next to hers, but I can’t sleep. I’m absolutely sure that there is a man inside the suit of armour beside the widow. His pike keeps trembling!

There are painful, pleading cries for help from somewhere, but it’s impossible to pinpoint as everything echoes. I can hear Lovely Lily snoring as well. Oh yes, before I leave you for sherry, there are dogs barking somewhere.

Yours affectionately,

Spot

Dear Spot,

Is it me or would anyone of reasonable intelligence have trouble following all of your adventures and not concluding that you are a boy of vast imagination that has long ago outpaced the tiniest traces of his desire for self-preservation? Americans do NOT as a rule, own castles—at least, not in MY day, they did not!

What kind of topsy-turvy universe do you inhabit, you poor thing!?  You are delusional and if you are not, then it seems you have landed in what can only be described as a very bad penny novel involving haunted armor and ghostly manors. My advice, dear Spot, is to stop flirting with women who pilot flying machines.

As if such a thing were possible!

I naturally am referring to the flying machines…since you ceasing to do anything I tell you to seems more and more ridiculous, doesn’t it? If someone is yelling as if there is a murder being committed then you should do what any God-fearing Englishman in a castle would do—you should find the bell pull and ring for a servant for assistance, demand that things settle down or that the authorities are contacted and inform your hostess that you and the unfortunate gum-stealing Myrtle will be departing in the morning for less ghost-infested shelter. And for goodness sakes, make sure you are wearing pants!

You have marched over enough of the United Kingdom wearing loincloths and burlap sacks for three lifetimes.   Don’t step one foot out into public without the necessary wardrobe as I’m beginning to believe that a lack of pants may in fact be in the root of a great many of your troubles.

Yours with firm affection,

Aunt Alice P.S.

If Lovely Lily has indeed murdered Myrtle, then forget the pants and just run.

******

Dearest mischievous, no….. malcontent…..no, no, no! It’s that Kemp thingy, he’s tampering with me again Auntie. I have no spell check nor can I delete.

One moment, I will boot his iPad and restart it.

Dearest benevolent Aunt Alice, (Phew, huge sigh of relief)

What with Lily and Kemp this is turning into a nightmare, which brings me to the beginning, as it were. I had a terribly frightening one during the night Auntie dear. I saw a headless man dressed only in a short, yellow frilly skirt with orange knee-length socks carrying his head under his arm!

He was very hairy indeed.

I hope I don’t have as many hairs as him when I grow up. I digress, sorry. This man’s decapitated head spoke to me. Over and over again it said; “Alas poor Eric, I knew him well.” I naturally asked who Eric was but he made no sense. Anyway, it woke me up and I had to use the bathroom.

When I was returning to my bedroom, I saw Lily emerge from hers, but it was not the Lovely Lily I knew. Lily is not a Lily, Auntie, nor a Lilac.

Lily is a …Lionel.

Yes, she is a he. The wig was gone, as was all the make-up. Do you think that those transvestite tendencies that my father accused me of having, attracted her, I mean him? I followed her/him.

He led me to Myrtle. We passed through corridor after hallway after corridor, passing a room called, ‘The Beefeaters Rest Room.’ Is it necessary to rest after eating beef do you think? Another room had a sign saying, ‘Corgis Only.’ I haven’t a clue what that meant!

Eventually we arrived in this dimly lit area smelling of sweat and worse. Myrtle was stretched out on a table being pulled in all directions by two people who Lionel knew. He called them; Mater and Pater. The one he called Mater was a short stubby person with a supercilious (oh, I like that word) grin, carrying a handbag and wearing a rather ornate jewelled crown. Pater, Mater referred to him as Pill, was a tall stooping man with a very gruff voice. Apparently, so I overheard, they all believe Myrtle to be a reincarnated Queen of the Welsh.

Mater asked Pater “what would mumsy do Pill, if she were still with us?” To which Pill replied, “off with her head, that should do it!”

I’m currently hiding inside this smelly wooden thing, that if someone was to lean against it I’m sure I would be impregnated with prickly spikes. I dare not move. Do you think that Pater Pill meant; off with Myrtle’s head, or off with Mumsy’s head, Auntie? It’s all so confusing.

It is true about flying machines dearest one, as there are loads flying overhead as I speak. I think there must be an airport nearby. Is America far? Perhaps, if we manage to escape, Myrtle and I will come over there and find that nice lady you met Auntie. Renee Bernard, I believe her name was.

Wish me luck dear one.

Spot.

******

Dear Spot,

Let us address the most important issues one at a time, shall we?

First, decapitated men do not make for good conversations and should never be followed as they lack the ability to see where they are going. (I realize you’ve already made this mistake, but for future reference, do keep it in mind)

Secondly, I knew an Earl once who admitted after a few too many brandies that he enjoyed wearing his wife’s petticoats and corsets when left unattended. I’m sure he meant it to be shocking. I don’t remember being shocked except to learn that he was afraid of toast points, and would run from the breakfast table if any deadly triangles of bread emerged.

Unbelievable… I digress.

Thirdly, you’ve cowered enough in boxes, haystacks, attics and thick underbrush! Get up, man! Shove the inhabitants of bedlam aside, hit the short one with her own handbag, kick the pill in the shins, free Myrtle and jog out of there with your head held high. Be a man!

Take courage and save the day! And if you cannot save the day, then save my sanity and stop dinkling about with people who are clearly not well bred! (Terrible manners to mince about and threaten to cut off people’s heads!)

Stand up! (Obviously, after making sure that you can do so without puncturing anything vital…) Insane people respect the voice of authority!

Take Command! Good Luck, young man.

Aunt Alice

P.S. If you continue to go on about flying, I’m not sure what to do with you. Unless it’s balloons. I do believe in dirigibles.

******

Can Spot save Myrtle? Can the two escape Mater and Pater (aka Pill)

Are there any airships to be found? Tune into Female First next week to find the answers.

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About Danny Kemp

I was at work one sunny November day in 2006, stopped at a red traffic light when a van, driven incompetently, smashed into me. I was taken to St Thomas' Hospital and kept in for a while, but it was not only the physical injuries that I suffered from; it was also mental ones. I had lost confidence in myself let alone those around me. The experts said that I had post-traumatic stress disorder, which I thought only the military or emergency personnel suffered from. On good days, I attempted to go to work, sometimes I even made it through Blackwell Tunnel only to hear, or see, something that made me jump out of my skin and that's when the anxiety attacks would start. I told my wife that I was okay and going regularly, but I wasn't. I could not cope with life and thought about ending it. Somehow or other with the help of my wife and medical professionals, I managed to survive and ever so slowly rebuild my self-esteem. It took almost four years to fully recover, but it was during those dark depressive days that I began to write. My very first story, Look Both Ways, Then Look Behind, found a literary agent but not a publisher. He told me that I had a talent, raw, but nevertheless, it was there. His advice was to write another story and that I'm delighted to say, I did. The success of that debut novel, The Desolate Garden, was down to sheer hard work, luck, and of course, meeting a film producer.
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2 Responses to Aunt Alice.

  1. Tamy Burns says:

    Danny, Stop Pestering Spot! I’m Looking Forward To The Next Adventures!

  2. Danny Kemp says:

    I just can’t help it, Tamy!

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