NaNoWriMo + @freewritehouse = #freewritemadness.

17 18 freewriters are gathering at the @freewritehouse to write 50000 words in one month! I am using @mariannewest’s #freewrite prompt (https://steemit.com/freewrite/@mariannewest/day-392-5-minute-freewrite-friday-prompt-be-gone) and @mydivathings’ #365daysofwriting picture prompt (https://steemit.com/fiction/@mydivathings/day-333-365-days-of-writing-challenge) to help write my story.
Today’s prompts are: Be gone and a Photo by Niklas Schweinzer on Unsplash

As usual I started with the freewrite prompt and used themostdangerouswritingapp.com to write the first five minutes:

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_{Catch up with the previous chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16}
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The many torments of Tiny Earl - Chapter 17

The first thing Tiny thought when he found the body, white pale and drained of blood lying face up in Tiny’s bed, was, "Begone! Begone damned spirit! Torment me no more!" He chuckled as he thought it, and wondered from what piece of literature it had come from, and from which reality that literature belonged to. He couldn’t remember, perhaps he had made it up.

It interested Tiny that whoever was playing these games with him - with him! - was going to all this effort to try to spook him. Killing this man - this version of Tiny - and then soaking his bed and spraying blood all up the walls of his London house, and then putting the body here, in his bed, in the coastal house. Was it an attempt to show how powerful they were - whoever they were - to show how much control they had to move between and within universes?

To Tiny, it didn’t demonstrate any such thing. It was showing off, pure and simple. And, not only that, it smacked of desperation.

He leaned in and looked at the body. It was very similar to that of his own. Not too fat, not too skinny neither. Although this one wore a beard. Tiny wondered why whoever it was that was fucking with him hadn't shaved it off. Made it look more like him. There must be a reason for all of this. It must be a message of some kind. There were easier ways these days (certainly in this universe) of sending messages. Tiny wasn’t sure he could be arsed to play these games, anymore. Surely if you have something to say, just come out and fucking say it. Leaving dead copies of people in their own beds when all they want to do is get a bit of sleep was open to several interpretations, and was, frankly, a shitty way to do business.

“I guess you can probably hear me,” he said. “I imagine you’re looking in right now. I want you to know that you ain’t impressing me with,” Tiny waved his hand at the body at his bed. “All this shit, here. Not sure what the fucking point of it is. It don’t scare me, it don’t freak me out neither. So, if you want to act like a man - or whatever the fuck you are - and come and talk to me… or try to kill me, if you think you have the balls for it, well be my fucking guest.”

He hadn’t expected a response and he was proven right. He stood by the bed staring at the body a bit longer, and then shrugged and headed towards the door.

He was going to have to sleep in one of the spare rooms, of course. Even if that Clare one could shift this husk of body out of his bed in the next half an hour or so (which let’s face it would be a challenge for a woman of her size and weight to manage that on her own, ‘cos like himself, this Tiny was not that fucking tiny) there was no way he was going to find sleep lying on that mattress.

Clare was hanging about outside Eleanor’s room, presumably making sure that she was alright, after the shouting and screaming. It wasn’t like Eleanor. Well, not that he remembered, anyway. When he slept in the same room as her, he didn’t remember her having bad dreams, or even disturbed sleep. It was bizarre that Eleanor had used that phrase over and over, “No more excuses”.

Clare looked up as he approached and smiled.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked.

“I haven’t tried, yet,” he said. “I feel a little bit like one of the three bears… I’m not sure if anyone has eaten my porridge, but someone has definately been lying in my bed.”

Clare raised an eyebrow, presumably uncertain as to what he was talking about.

“It ain’t Goldilocks,” Tiny said. “But there is a dead body in my bed, and by the look of him he’s probably the owner of the lost blood left in my other house.”

“Shit!” Clare said, and went to move towards Tiny’s room. Tiny grabbed hold of her arm.

“Before you go in there,” he said. “I need to explain something… the body may be somewhat familiar to you. What do you understand by the term doppelganger?”

.

When Tiny had first heard the word, he had thought Belmond had made it up.

“A what?” Tiny had asked, looking at Belmond and then at Janet. She shook her head, and shrugged.

“Doppelganger. Have you heard of it Mr Smyth?”

“I can’t say I have. It sounds like it might be painful.”

“Well, you may be right, as it happens,” Belmond said, smiling. “Across most cultures there are reports of this phenomenum, and it usually is associated with a premenition of death.”

“Right,” Tiny said, looking from Janet to Belmond. “But what has this got to do with what my wife has just seen? One of the Relweld brothers walking around as alive as you and me. I put a bullet in both of their heads myself. It weren’t no premenition of death, or whatever. They were both fucking dead. So hows come one of them has come back to life? Are you trying to trick me, Belmond? Do these guns of yours actually do what you said they do: kill? Or do they just make it look like you’ve killed them, and then they rise up from the dead? I hope you ain’t fucking with me, Belmond. ‘Cause let me tell you - just in case you ain’t clear on this subject - I don’t take kindly to people who fuck with me. You get me?”

“I understand perfectly, Mr Smyth!” Belmond said, his smug smile falling from his face. Tiny was glad to see the man was taking him seriously at last. “I am trying to explain what your wife,” he smiled nervously at Janet. “Saw in the market place. It was not one of the Relweld brothers. At least not quite.”

“You ain’t making sense, Mr Belmond. I advice you to try harder. What the fuck is going on?”

“Let me explain. In many cultures there have been reports of people meeting their spirit doubles: ghostly figures that seem to be exact copies of living people. For thousands of years this phenomenen has been reported all over the world, and seeing these figures has always been associated with bad things: misfortune, illness, death. Never trust what a spirit double tells you, it is said, because it will tell you lies, it will mislead you, it will delibrately try to lead you into more danger.”

“And this has what to do with what my wife saw, exactly? Are you trying to tell me that Janet here,” Tiny put his hand on that of his wife’s. “Don’t know what she saw? That she saw some kind of ghost? ‘Cos my wife ain’t no fruit cake, Mr Belmond. If she said she saw one of the Relweld brothers alive and fucking well, that is what she saw.”

“Oh, no, Mr Smyth! I am insinuating no such thing! I am just trying to explain to you that reports of these spirit doubles have been around for thousands of years! And I am going to explain to you exactly what they are. And why they mean us harm. Now, this might be a little hard for you to understand - no!” Belmond put his hand up, to stop Tiny interjecting angrily. “I am not suggesting you are not capable of understanding what I am about to say, just that it is somewhat outside of our usual experience.”

“Let him explain, darling,” Janet said, her soothing smile seemed to suck the anger right out of his body, leaving him calm. Or certainly calmer.

“Thank you, Mrs Smyth. As you know, I have access to rather unusual merchandice. Items you can not find in this country,” he smiled. “Or indeed in this version of this country,” he put his hand up, again to stop Tiny interjecting. “I’m going to explain that! Hold your horses for a second. Now, this might be a little complicated because unlike in other versions of this world this theory is not incrediably popular. But have you heard of the idea of alternative universes… no? Okay, let me try to explain. What if there were layers of universes, simulatainiously exisiting? Everytime a decision is made another reality is created? So for example, I may decide to pick up this apple and take a bite out of it,” Belmond grabbed an apple from the bowl in front of him. “There may now be several different realities created, for example in one I take the apple and bite it, in another I take the apple and put it back, in yet a third I do not take the apple to begin with, and so on. Does that make any sense?”

Tiny saw Janet nod, and so shrugged and nodded too. “I guess so,” he said, doubtfully.

“Good! There are millions of different versions of this universe some of which are so similar you would struggle to tell the difference, and some that are so wildly different. So for example, there may be a universe in which there are the three of us sitting in this room and it looks identical, except perhaps Mrs Smyth has short hair instead of long, and at the same time there may be a universe where instead of three humanoids sitting discussing alternative universes, there are three tiny green lizards sitting on a green hill eating the remains of a cow. Those two may seem unrelated but they might have originated from the same point of time, but millions of different decisions were made and millions and millions more realities were created.”

“Right,” said Tiny. “And what exactly has this theory got to do with someone coming back to life?”

“If I am understanding Mr Belmond, correctly,” Janet said. “The man I saw did not ‘come back to life’. He was never dead in the first place. He came from another version of our universe. One where he did not die.”

“Yes!” said Belmond. “That is exactly what I am saying! Well done!”

“And you are claiming, if I am also guessing this right, Mr Belmond,” Janet said, slowly. “That you have discovered a way of transporting your merchandise from one of these alternative realities to this one,” Tiny watched as Belmond nodded. “And if you have discovered how to do that, then it is not impossible to believe that people have also crossed from one reality - one of these other universes - to our own.”

“Very good, Mrs Smyth! Very good. What I would like you to think about for a moment is that before recently there was no such thing as the Relweld brothers-”

Tiny laughed. “And we had rather hoped that that would continue to be the case after we killed them.”

“Well, in fact in this reality, Mr Smyth, Mr Relweld had no brother. Certainly, not an identical twin brother.”

“So, you are saying,” Janet said. “That at least one of the individuals we thought of as brothers was from a different reality to our own. Is that it?”

“Yes!” Belmond said, clearly delighted. “That is exactly what I am saying.”

Janet smiled. “And why, do you think, we should believe this hogwash?” she said, her words as sharp as the knife she suddenly held in her hand. She took the apple from Belmond’s hand and sliced it into four, so quickly Tiny hardly saw the blade move. She smiled sweetly at Belmond and said, “in another universe, my dear Mr Belmond, you will be lying face down in a pool of your own blood right now.”

Belmond’s face was as pale as the apple flesh that Janet bit into. Tiny smiled, relaxing into his chair. He loved his wife. So much. He sat back and let her do her thing.

“Do the guns not prove it?” he said, his hands shaking slightly. “They do not exist in this reality, or rather they didn’t, until I brought them over. And gave them to you,” his smile, aimed at Tiny.

“You sold them to us,” Janet said, playing casually with the knife. “You didn’t give them to us. But yes, it is true we have never seen, nor heard of such a devise.”

“And I am sure, you have made inquiries,” Belmond said, rubbing his hands together.

“Oh, yes. And it does seem that no one else has heard of these weapons. But that doesn’t mean they came from another reality. They could have been developed here, in another country, or even in this town - for all we know - in top secret.”

“I can show you!” Belmond said, quickly his hands grasping the table. Janet’s smile was genuinely warm, and Tiny realised that was what she wanted all along, that despite her apparent skepticism she believed the man, but - like Tiny - did not appreciate others having secrets. Especially, secrets that could be so valuable.

“Show us, then, Mr Belmond. Please, I beg of you, do show us!”

Belmond stood up. Tiny was happy to see it was not just his hands that were shaking. The man appeared terrified. Good. He obviously realised the danger he was in. Tiny trusted that this would stop him from betraying them.

He led them out the back of the shop, into a large warehouse that Tiny had had built to Belmond’s specifications. Wooden crates were stacked neatly against the walls. All but one wall, that is. The large metal box that Tiny had noticed when he first met Belmond was sitting against one wall.

“It is only large enough to take two people, I’m afraid,” Belmond said, sounding genuinely afraid.

“But that seems perfect for the two of us,” Tiny said, gesturing at Janet and himself.

“It is… rather complicated to control,” Belmond said. “I will need to be one of the travellers.”

“Then I will be the other,” Tiny said.

“No,” Janet said. “I think it should be me. You are too valuable, darling. If something should go wrong, if Mr Belmond, here should make a mistake, or betray us in any way, you should be here to make sure he pays for it.”

Tiny smiled and patted the small gun he had tucked into the belt of his trousers.

“You are, my dear, right. Of course you are. Don’t fuck up, Mr Belmond. Whatever you do, don’t fuck up.”

Tiny watched as Belmond pressed a small button on the side of the box. A door - almost appearing from nowhere - slid open, to reveal… well, what seemed to be an empty box.

“You better not be fucking with us Mr Belmond,” Tiny said. “I am sure Janet wouldn’t mind making use of that knife if you try anything stupid.”

“If it were a trap,” Belmond said, looking very sorry for himself, reminding Tiny of that puppy he had once drowned. “Surely, I would have tried to persuade you both to get into the machine.”

That made sense, Tiny reluctantly agreed. “Just saying, Mr Belmond,” he said. “Just saying.”

Tiny watched as his wife stepped into the box, and Belmond followed. Janet gave him a little wave, with the hand that still held the knife and then the door slid shut.

A few seconds later the door slid open and Janet and Belmond stepped out.

“It didn’t work, then,” Tiny said, pointing his gun at Belmond’s head.

“Oh, darling!” Janet said, running to him. “Everything he says is true! I stood in a valley I have never seen before in my life, a dry river bed and the only sign of human life was a small hut. Mr Belmond, here, took me to it and introduced me to the man who lived there…” she seemed almost lost for how to proceed, which Tiny thought was not like Janet, not at all.

“And…” he prompted her, eventually.

“And it looked just like him. You would have sworn they were brothers, twins even. Oh, there were certain… differences. When you got close they were obviously different… but… I believe him. He is telling the truth.”

“Then Mr Belmond, I look forward to you giving me more information about these alternative realities and the people who seem so desperate to be a part of ours,” Tiny said.

Belmond looked relieved - as so he should - Tiny thought. He smiled. He was going to have fun finding out how that machine worked, and how to use it. And then Belmond would be of no further use to him.

And Tiny would have even more fun killing him.

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