Out of Office
by Carol Hilton. Carol is a mature student completing the third year of her BA in 2019. She is a short story competition winner. Her poetry has been published in previous University Anthologies and magazines such as Snakeskin. Her short play The Waiting Game, has been selected by the Pirate Theatre in Gloucestershire for their showcase event, ‘Pint Sized Plays’.
Out of Office
From: Saffron Walsh <Saffron.Walsh@mdx.ac.uk>
Sent: Thursday, 6 December, 2018 at 19:20
To: Benjamin Ziemann <Benjamin.Ziemann@mdx.ac.uk>
Subject: Help with my short story
Hi Benjamin
Sorry about contacting you at home. I tried Kira but her email said she was ‘out of office’. It said something about being in Norway at an international Guinea Pig convention.
So then I messaged PJ but then I remembered that he said he locked away his phone on weekday evenings to concentrate on his Harp practice.
So are you free to have a quick look at my assessment piece? I forgot that my short story has to be submitted by midnight and the creative juices aren’t flowing!
Thank you in advance,
Best regards 🙂
Feel the Fear and Do it Anyway!
From: Ben Ziemann <Benjamin.Ziemann@mdx.ac.uk>
Sent: Thursday, 6 December, 2018 at 19:24
To: Saffron Walsh <Saffron. Walshl@mdx.ac.uk>
Subject: Re: Help with my short story
Hey Saffy
I take exception with being your last resort! J I am not one to decry my colleagues but I am Head of Creative Writing for good reason!
- I am the foremost specialist in the short story category having won the Inky Elbows medal for My Journey to Invisibility.
- My novel Sitting in my Burial Suit was longlisted in Scunthorpe Herald’s yearly awards and my non-fiction masterpiece, Ghangis Khan and the Vegetarian Personality is finally attracting attention in academic circles.
Perhaps you felt more comfortable approaching those of a lesser calibre, but as I won’t be marking your assessment, you may email your story across.
Professor Benjamin Ziemann
Marden University
Senior Lecturer in Creative Writing
From: Saffron Walsh <Saffron.Walsh@mdx.ac.uk>
Sent: Thursday, 6 December, 2018 at 19:28
To: Benjamin Ziemann <Benjamin.Ziemann@mdx.ac.uk>
Subject: Re: Re: Help with my short story
Hi Benjamin
You’re a life-saver!
My genre’s a gothic fantasy if that helps. The idea of the crow flying over a forest comes from my vampire poem that I wrote in year one – Deirdre said it was my strongest piece.
Thanks
Saffy
I didn’t know you had written any books. I thought you all just lectured! Impressed!
Anyway, here’s what I have so far:
The Kneeling Corpse
With a guttural croak the crow flapped angrily out of the arched window as though catapulted from the weed-choked tower. Frantically beating wings, it cleared the fallen battlements besieged by a blackened moat and then gained height; a ragged gash against twilight stars.
Forest creatures scuttled for cover beneath canopies of strangled branches as the bird flapped through storm winds towards the cobbled city. Fortressed against Carpathian marauders, Brasov’s fire-blackened walls of solid granite were no match for the creature as it swooped over the red-tiled rooftops towards its quarry.
Swooping over spires and chimneys, the crow landed on the dripping branch of a half-dead Elm growing directly opposite the windows of Str Nicolae Titulescu, nr 28. Once an orphanage, the implacable building now accommodated the most notorious police station in Transylvania.
Hope I’m on the right track? Sorry if I’m disturbing your evening. 🙁
Thanks again,
Saff
Sent: Thursday, 6 December, 2018 at 19:35
To: Saffron Walsh <Saffron. Walsh@mdx.ac.uk>
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Help with my short story
Saffy,
Is that all you’ve written?? The assessment is c2000 words!
Re your genre:
Although Deirdre (our resident cat-lady!) does little else than promote her pamphlet of poetry The Sorrow of Lemon Peel at local libraries, she is, on this occasion, correct. Your language is rich in ornate Gothic description and is a good starting off point.
HOWEVER in lecture we discussed that you must cover elements of the internet, social media, hypertext etc.
Benjamin
PS No, you are not disturbing me! Partner is watching Eastenders. Subsequently I am re-reading my monograph on Baudelaire which never ceases to amuse.
From: Saffron Walsh <Saffron.Walsh@mdx.ac.uk>
Sent: Thursday, 6 December, 2018 at 21:17
To: Benjamin Ziemann <Benjamin.Ziemann@mdx.ac.uk>
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Help with my short story
Hi Benjamin,
Thanks for the advice and glad I’m not disturbing you.
Following your advice, I made the next part of the story contemporary, inspired by Scandinavian crime fiction like The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo – which was amazing.
Here’s the 2nd segment:
The Kneeling Corpse – continued
At this late hour, most of the police station was silent, apart from a brightly lit office on the second floor. Inside Inspector Anje Popescu, a not-unattractive woman in a sweat-stained shirt and creased blue skirt, unlatched the window. She breathed in the scent of a winter that had been reluctant to depart. Holding a can of cola in one hand she reached for her packet of Marlboro and deftly shook out a cigarette. Lighting it she inhaled with a deep groan. She shivered but left the window open; the chilly draft reduced the rank odour of prisoners brought up for interrogation from the cells below.
Popescu stared out at the city’s dark buildings, their occupants asleep, secure in the knowledge that the Poliția Română was watching over them. She ran both hands through her dark blonde hair, rubbing her scalp vigorously before returning to her desk. Manoeuvring around the chair she stumbled and snagged her tights.
‘Futu-i.’ She swore in the earthy Romani dialect that her mother used.
Popescu yawned and peered at the report on her computer. It was marked ‘Urgent – Inspr. Popescu: Suspicious Death/Case 247’.
Two hours earlier, the Prosecutor, had stalked down the corridor to discuss the case, heels tapping on the beige tiles.
‘Mad yank tourist,’ she boomed, ‘found dead in Devil’s Tower. Forensics haven’t a clue.’ She paused, her sharp nose twitched suspiciously. ‘Popescu?’
‘Sorry boss, trying to quit.’
They discussed the case. Casper Goldman, an American fantasy novelist had camped out overnight at the ruined Devil’s Tower. When he’d failed to return to his hotel, a search party had been despatched. Mr Goldman had been found in the tower, not only dead but frozen in a kneeling position.
‘I need answers by tomorrow.’
‘Press got wind?’
‘That nosy ghoul from Brasov Espres keeps calling,’ the Prosecutor said, buttoning her coat with angry jerks.
‘There’s always an explanation.’
‘I’m stumped. I wish it had been a heart attack, Anje.’
‘I’ll get right on it.’
Popescu had promised as the Prosecutor left. But instead she’d stared at the cobwebs swaying from the overhead light. If she was honest, her eagerness to work all night gave her the chance to avoid another night on the lumpy sofa in her small apartment; her bedroom now accommodated her increasingly frail mother who’d come to live with her that summer.
Popescu examined the crime scene photos. Casper had his eyes tightly shut, hands clenched in an attitude of prayer. She scrolled through the report: age 38, robust health, no sign of violence. No robbery; his laptop and phone, along with a sleeping bag and two extinguished candles had been found by the body.
Determined to find out more about Casper, she found his website outlining his literary successes, complete with his blog:
Popescu lifted her head and stared out at the dark. Torrential rain had been pounding Brasov’s streets all week.
Popescu’s mother, half way through breakfast, had pointed a trembling finger at the window.
‘See the yellow clouds. We called it ‘madness rain’. Every hundred years he returns. She drew her covers up and shuddered. ‘Rain, rain, rain until he gathers a soul.’
Popescu had tried to coax her mother with some porridge but the woman had slapped the spoon away.
‘We’re not safe,’ she moaned, groping for her rosary.
Once it rested around her bony neck she fished out her spare silver crucifix for her daughter, refusing to eat until Popescu had put it on.
All day Popescu had unconsciously tapped the cross beneath her shirt. She looked at her watch. Nearly midnight. She read the last entry:
Presumably Casper was killed before completing the sentence.
Popescu lit another cigarette and stared into the dark. The Prosecutor was right, there was no explanation.
Half way-ish through but no clue how to finish this off! L
SAFF
Thanks again, I owe you a pint!
From: Ben Ziemann <Benjamin.Ziemann@mdx.ac.uk>
Sent: Thursday, 6 December 2018 at 21:41
To: Saffron Walsh <Saffron. Walsh@mdx.ac.uk>
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Help with my short story
Saffy,
Just one beer? I’ll need a crate!
Good so far.
- You have used the internet to cog your story – tick.
- Your ending must make sense.
- Don’t forget that additional marks can be obtained from experimental writing such as using postmodernist devices. Hint, think about the lecture I gave with my persuasive theory that metafiction annihilates (and hence enculturates) the dynamic of man’s relationship with himself.BPS Your mention of Scandi-crime reminds me. The new Girl with the Dragon Tattoo film – Girl in the Spider’s Web is showing at Cineworld. Have you seen it? I plan to see it next Wednesday after workshop – avoid the crowds!
Keep going!
B
PS Your mention of Scandi-crime reminds me. The new Girl with the Dragon Tattoo film – Girl in the Spider’s Web is showing at Cineworld. Have you seen it? I plan to see it next Wednesday after workshop – avoid the crowds!
From: Saffron Walsh <Saffron.Walsh@mdx.ac.uk>
Sent: Thursday, 6 December, 2018 at 22:44
To: Benjamin Ziemann <Benjamin.Ziemann@mdx.ac.uk>
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Help with my short story
Thanks Ben
I definitely want to see the new Lizbeth Salandar film. She’s my hero.
I know I’ve not made it to many lectures . . . but then who is awake at 9 o’clock in the morning?!
So sorry I didn’t hear your talk on post modernism or metafiction. Think I had a hangover that day. 🙁
Have looked at your lecture on Moodle and checked out metafiction on Wiki!
So here’s the last part . . . I’ve written myself into the story!!
The Kneeling Corpse – continued
As Anje Popescu puzzles over the kneeling corpse’s last blog entry, her author, Saffy Walsh, sits in bed with her laptop, hating the Instagram photos from her friends who are knocking back pints at the Bierkeller. Saffy’s frustrated on Anje Popescu’s behalf. Popescu can’t go home until she’s solved the case and Saffy’s suffering from writer’s block.
Saffron yawns and reads through her last paragraph hoping for inspiration. Inspector Popescu is smoking at the window; an unhealthy addiction that Saffy created after following advice from her tutor about assigning habits or flaws to make characters more relatable.
Eventually Saffy pushes back her duvet. She decides to leave Inspector Popescu staring out the window while she makes a coffee.
‘Hey.’
‘Hey, you. Author.’
Inspector Popescu is shouting, her ice blue eyes glittering within a rigid face.
Saffy pauses at her bedroom door.
‘Am I dreaming?’
‘No, I want a word with you, Author.’
The Inspector has her hands on hips, her expression too fierce to ignore.
‘Why did you create this story, if you can’t finish it?’
Saffy coughs. ‘I didn’t make a plot arc.’
‘No kidding. So what did you plan, Author?’
‘A contemporary police drama with a strong female lead . . .’
‘Thank you.’ Popescu looks pleased.
‘…and Gothic tropes.’
‘Gothic?’ Popescu unconsciously touches her crucifix.
‘Like the stories your mother whispered to you as she tucked you in. Vampires, demons, graveyards, body snatchers, walking dead, mad monks and that sort of thing. . .’
‘Is this why I work in Transylvania?’
Saffy shrugs.
Popescu pulls out her spare chair. ‘Get in my office. Now.’
‘How?’
‘You’re the Creator. Write yourself into the story.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not? Stephen King wrote himself into a novel.’
‘But this is just my first draft,’ Saffy protests. ‘I might erase the whole -.’
‘I don’t care. Let’s finish this story.’
Saffy examines her surroundings, the metal of Popescu’s ‘guest’ chair digs into her thighs. Strangely, it had beens amazingly easy to travel to Popescu’s office from her cosy duvet. She gives a cautious sniff and wrinkles her nose. Despite the open window, the air is thick with cigarette smoke.
Saffy wonders if jogging might help Popescu solve murder cases.
‘Tell me how Casper was killed, Author.’
Popescu raises an eyebrow at the student’s blue fluffy dressing gown.
‘I haven’t got a clue, Anje.’
‘Hey, you picked the ridiculous name of Inspector Popescu – have the decency to use it.’
‘Sorry. . .Inspector.’
The room is silent.
Saffy closes her eyes to block out the glare from the overhead lights. ‘I can tell you what I planned to write. . .before I emailed my tutor.’
‘Tutor?’
Saffy shrugs. ‘He published a novel, like decades ago, and uses big words and gets very excited about boring stuff . . . so he’s the expert.’
‘Ah.’
‘So I’d written that the tower door flies open, the candles extinguish and Casper’s laptop freezes as he hears a dragging noise, sort of like. . .legs with no feet.’
‘How imaginative.’
‘Thanks. So it’s literally too dark for Casper to see the demon’s maggot-infested eyes or ragged mouth gaping where rats have eaten the softened tongue . . .’
‘How convenient.’
‘. . .but he feels long talons circle his throat.’
‘No evidence of violence, remember?’ Popescu snaps.
‘OK. How about. . . soft tentacles grab Casper’s throat and something clammy, like a wet sheet, covers his mouth. Sucking the life force from him and all he can do is fall to his knees and -.’
The Inspector lights another cigarette, blowing the smoke over her shoulder.
‘Pray?’
‘Yes, Inspector.’
Saffy folds her arms triumphantly.
Popescu reaches across and tips Saffy’s chin up to stare into her eyes.
‘My boss will laugh at me if I say he was killed by a demon.’
They stare at each other in silence. Then Saffy coughs.
‘Look, I hate hacking up my ‘baby’. But I’ll change a few details.’
‘How?’
‘Casper has a straightforward heart attack? No demon.’
Popescu shrugs on her jacket and heads for the door.
‘On behalf of the Romania Politia, thank you.’
As Popescu heads for the door, there’s a low chuckle; the crow has hopped through the window and is perched on the desk.
Saffy whispers. ‘Use your crucifix.’
The inspector holds her cross high and with a shriek the crow flaps out the window.
‘Another gothic trope, Author?’
The Inspector reaches inside her desk drawer, opens a new can of cola and holds it out.
‘Thanks Inspector.’ The warm bubbles burst inside Saffy’s nose.
‘Call me Anje.’
‘Saffy.’
‘Multumesc Saffee.’
‘Go home Anje, I’ll revise your story.’
Saffy admires Anje’s dimples as they smile at each other; not that the Inspector had much to be happy about these days.
As if she had read Saffy’s mind, Anje pauses at the door.
‘Do me a favour.’
‘Anything.’
‘My sick mother. Please could you change her in your story?’
‘How?’
‘Re-write her a someone of robust health . . . with a lively social life. And happily living in . . . Bucharest?’
‘Consider it done.’
How about that for a post-modernist ending?
I’ll submit it now.
Thanks a million for your help!
Saffy
From: Ben Ziemann <Benjamin.Ziemann@mdx.ac.uk>
Sent: Thursday, 6 December 2018 at 23:26
To: Saffron Walsh <Saffron. Walsh@mdx.ac.uk>
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Help with my short story
Definitely different!
So that film I mentioned, Spider’s Web is getting 4 star reviews! It’s on at 5.40. Join me and we can have that drink you owe me afterwards?
B.
From: Saffron Walsh <Saffron.Walsh@mdx.ac.uk>
Sent: Thursday, 6 December 2018 at 23:59
To: Benjamin Ziemann <Benjamin.Ziemann@mdx.ac.uk>
Subject: RE: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Help with my short story
Hi Benjamin
Aw shame but on Wednesdays I always go with my housemates to the Bierkeller. Chris is working security on the door. I’ll get him to take me.
Saffy.
Thanks again.