If Wishes Were Horses 2

Today's word count:     1676                                   Total count 3666

There was so much more that I wanted to ask, but my visitor didn‘t wait to give me the opportunity. A few seconds after he mentioned my headache I blinked and he vanished. I didn’t see him vanish; this wasn’t like the Cheshire cat in Alice who faded slowly leaving just his grin behind, this was literally in the wink of an eye. Suddenly he just wasn’t there any more. It was like turning off a television set, only there wasn’t any noise like a switch. I leaned down to the foot of the bed and felt the wood where he’d been sitting, unsure what I thought I’d find, but there was nothing. It wasn’t warm or anything. It was a perfectly ordinary bed foot. 

“Well, that was rude,” I said out loud, and feeling slightly stupid that I was talking to an empty room, but his departure had been so sudden that I found it hard to accept he was gone. I looked around the room, half expecting that he had simply moved very quickly and would now be enthroned on a different piece of furniture, or leaning nonchalantly against the wall, but there was definitely no sign of him. I paused to think for a while and then I started to wonder if he had ever actually been there at all. Maybe I had imagined him; I do have quite a colourful mind. It goes with my dramatic streak. Perhaps he was actually a nightmare, but I hadn’t eaten anything renowned to trigger them. Could migraines cause hallucinations, I wondered.  I’d never heard of such a thing, but you never know about these things.  I figured the best plan was to play the remainder of the day by ear. If I really could have wishes come true I could have huge fun with my power, but the first job was to put the idea to the test. 

“I wish I had a bag of gold coins”, I announced, and waited for my first miracle. Nothing. Nada. Absolutely zilch. No gold. No wish. No surprise. I’d been hallucinating after all, and I decided to talk to my doctor about it next time I had to see him. Perhaps the kind of migraine that could make me see things needed special treatment. Maybe I had a brain tumour or some other incurable disease. That would be a real swine, to go from thinking I could have my dreams come true to finding I had a terminal illness. Just my luck.  I’ve been treated for depression in the past and one of my symptoms was that I always feared the worst, often before anything at all had happened to me. Lots of specialists had done their best to help me and I had learned a few useful coping strategies. One of them was to give myself a strict telling off, and that’s what I opted to do this time. “Oh pull yourself together you stupid fool. You’re tired, that’s all. You’re imagining things. There is no such thing as a genie, fairy godfather or any other kind of magical creature, so stop this nonsense now!” And with that I decided to ignore everything that had happened so far that day. I carried on with my life as if nothing untoward had gone on, and for the rest of the day nothing did. In fact nothing strange occurred for the rest of the weekend. 

By the time I got up on Monday morning I had almost forgotten my experience. I chose to ignore how realistic my visitor had seemed and how convinced I was for a while that I had a magic amulet. Eventually I started to accept that he was simply a figment of my imagination brought on by tiredness and stress, and I started getting ready for work. My choice of clothes for the day was smart casual. My office doesn’t concentrate too much on appearance because we don’t deal with the public. The boss likes us to look reasonably presentable and would frown heavily on torn jeans or rugby shirts, but he doesn’t create a fuss about relaxed outfits. I chose a plain, pale blue t-shirt and a dark blue over shirt because I thought it would present a good background for my pendant and I wanted to show off my find. I set off to work at my usual time, grateful that there was no sign of the threatened migraine remaining to make the day difficult. 

The drive was as tedious as ever. Traffic slow, drivers who apparently had never passed their tests, or had forgotten whatever they once knew; idiots changing lanes without signalling, doing thirty miles an hour in the middle of the road, speeding along in half light without headlamps, endangering others through lack of consideration, generally behaving like selfish bullies. I run  a very small car and often feel as if the big vehicles are pushing me around, so by the time I reached town I was feeling pretty fed up. “I just wish everyone would get out of my way!” I shouted as a particularly arrogant van driver cut across me in the queue as we approached a set of traffic lights. He swung all the way past me and into the inside lane so he would be able to overtake on the wrong side when the lights turned to green. I hate when people cheat that way. You just know they are laughing as they pull away on amber and rush off up the road ahead of everyone. Sure enough, Mr Van Man began roaring his engine and lurched forward as the amber light lit up, but somehow he went no further. I drove off on green and left him far behind, still trying to restart his stalled engine. For once I laughed as I pulled away in front of a bully, and the rest of my journey passed relatively easily except for my headache, which, from the tingling at the back of my skull, seemed to be returning. 

On arrival at the office I was greeted noisily by my colleague Minty Deane. Yes, I know it’s a ridiculous name and I expect it’s short for something, but I’ve never bothered to ask what. She’s just known as Minty and she is exactly the kind of person you’d expect to carry such a name. Short and slightly stocky, if I’m honest, she wears her dyed red hair in a strange kind of plaited rope wound around her head.  She pins it in place with a variety of outrageous clips that feature brightly-coloured creatures of all kinds. There are plenty of insects, and not just the pretty butterfly, moth and ladybird kind. I’ve seen spiders and wasps, and even a jewelled scorpion, over the years I’ve worked with her. You can’t help noticing them, so it’s easy to make her day by commenting on her latest trim. Today’s choice was blue, and as she approached I noticed it was a bird, with a small white flower in its beak. In spite of myself it made me smile, and I pointed towards her head and said “Nice.”  She smiled in return .The great part about her hairpin habit is the fact that she also notices anything new and sparkly being sported by anyone else. She immediately spotted my pendant and pounced on me with a shriek.  “Is that new?  It’s wonderful! Where did you find it?”

“And good morning to you too, Minty,” I answered, “Yes, it’s new. Thanks for noticing. I picked it up at an antiques place over the weekend. I wangled a fantastic deal on it too.” As I said that I felt the twinge in the back of my head again and winced slightly, and Minty reacted immediately. 

“You’re fibbing aren’t you?  Or at least you spent a small fortune in spite of your deal. That’s why you’re wincing. How much did you pay for it? I know you can’t resist stuff like that and you always spend way more than you can afford.”

“I honestly didn’t spend a fortune. I haggled for it and beat the guy down a long way.” And I felt my skull twinge again. “Actually the reason I’m wincing is because I’ve got a headache. I’ve been fending off a migraine all weekend and I thought I’d beaten it, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Oh poor you. I know you’re a martyr to them, but it’s not like you to suffer at weekends. They’re usually triggered by stress. Sure it’s not a hangover?”

“Cheeky! No it isn’t. I never touched a drop all weekend. I’ve been in bed with the curtains closed most of the weekend trying to avoid bright light. Maybe I’d have been better off if I had put away a bottle or two of red!”

“Spent all weekend in bed with who? Curtains closed is a funny name,” she grinned, “I suspect you’ve really been having a very good time and overdoing things.  I’m not surprised you’ve got a headache!”

“Oh shut up. I have not been living the high life. I’ve been on my own for the whole time, I tell you. I’ve been sick!”

“I don’t believe you. I think you’ve got a new man in your life and you’re just being secretive.  Come on. Spill”

I am very fond of Minty and I usually find her hilarious but on this occasion I couldn’t cope with her humour. I knew she was kidding but by now I was tired of the joke and I’m afraid I snapped at her.  “I’ve got a headache I tell you, and it’s getting worse. I wish you’d just leave me alone.” And that’s exactly what she did. Quickly and calmly she turned around and walked away towards her desk without another word. I was amazed, but the sensation in the back of my head was now so strong that I feared getting home. I took myself off to my own desk to sit by myself and nurse my pain.  

If Wishes Were Horses 1

Word count today:     1990                               Total word count: 1990

You’d better be careful what you wish for, an aunt of mine once told me, because you might just get it.  At the time I couldn’t see anything wrong with having my wishes come true, after all, that was what they were for – to be granted and make you happy. I’d read enough of those ‘once upon a time’ stories to know how it worked. Aladdin’s life went from awful to wonderful as soon as he rubbed the lamp and met the genie. Three wishes later and he had the girl, the fortune and the happy-ever-after.  There was no hint in the story about potential pitfalls. He had his flying carpet, he had his princess and he had a very big smile on his face.  . Cinderella dreamed of meeting her handsome prince, her Fairy Godmother waved a magic wand, and off she danced in her glass slippers.  Dick Whittington had a dream and, next thing you know, he’s Lord Mayor of London. Poor little Thumbelina escaped her oversized world by wishing for a lover her own size, and magically she met a flower-fairy boy, just the right height. 

So I wasn’t sure what Auntie Lizzie was trying to tell me all those years ago. I could see no downside to getting exactly what I wanted, and didn’t actually believe that wishes could come true, so I forgot all about it until a series of strange events reminded me and made me reconsider. I know you won’t believe me, or you’ll think I’m as mad as a whirligig beetle, but for more than a year now I’ve learned just how badly life can turn when dreams are fulfilled.  I have obtained my own version of the genie’s lamp and it grants me up to three wishes a day. You’d think such a prize would make me really happy, but I know now that getting exactly what you want is hard work, and it’s the last thing I’d wish on anyone. 

I should explain how it started. I was going through a low patch, although it’s difficult to tell the difference between my highs and lows. If life is a journey I have been living at the bottom of a steep valley for most of mine. At school I’d had visions of becoming a famous actor, or maybe a singer or dancer and I left home with lots of ambition and few qualifications. Hollywood never called my name though, and the stage didn’t beckon. I was an office worker, pushing papers around a desk and hitting a keyboard from nine to five; drinks with colleagues on Friday nights and curry with one or other of a series of not-serious partners. It was at the end of one such unimportant relationship that my fortunes changed. I never thought I’d found the love of my life, but I missed the company, and in common with other times of stress I attempted to cure my disappointment by buying things. I enjoy shopping; not the ordinary groceries and supermarket type, but I find browsing for antiques fascinating and often bury my sorrows under a few purchases.

There’s something magical about antique shops that lifts my spirits. From the moment I open the door, particularly if it has one of those tinkling bells that chimes to announce your arrival, I am full of excitement and anticipation of the treasures within. Perhaps it’s the smell; that glorious mixed aroma of old leather, bright metal, lavender polish, beeswax, musty books, aromatic woods, cloth, and a faint whiff of dust hanging in the air. But just as alluring is the sight of the glassware, ceramics, furniture, pictures, kitchenalia and bric-a-brac, scattered around and beckoning from every surface, enticing me to take it home. My special love is finding one of those glass-topped cabinets full of jewellery, a cascade of brooches, bangles, strings of glistening beads, rings, cameos and other baubles. 

On that first day I was in one of my favourite antiques centres. I flicked through a few old books but decided against any of the titles. I checked some vintage crockery; pretty little flowery teacups and fluted saucers with gilded edges that would have perfectly complemented some I own. Then I went through a railing of 1960s clothing that could have brightened my wardrobe, but as usual I worked my way round eventually to the necklaces.  I can’t resist them, and I knew as soon as I started searching through them that one would be coming home with me. I loved the sensation of the metal assortment under my hands, and I spent some time caressing their various textures, knobbly glass beads, delicate silver links, silken threads, Victorian, art deco, pop art, until my touch fell on one that triggered a tingling in my fingers. Perhaps it was the pattern that caused the unusual reaction, but I was immediately drawn to the piece because I had experienced such a strange response. I picked it up, carefully unravelling its chain from the pile until I could hold it closer. 

The engravings on the golden surface were Oriental, perhaps Chinese or Japanese, but I could not tell which. I don’t know enough about the subject to be sure. The pendant was flat and circular, and there were odd Eastern letters carved around the circumference. Other incisions had no obvious form, but if you squinted a little, rather than looking directly, they could have been dragons, or perhaps skinny monkeys. The same kind of carving continued along the chain. Each link had some sort of individual symbol that together formed a long, sinuous, fascinating, snake-like creature. Whatever they were, I fell in love with it straight away: I wanted that pendant. Haggling with the stall holder I managed to bring down the price, even though he realised that its ticket had already undervalued it. There were no hallmarks, but I was pretty sure it was real gold, and probably a genuine antique. I secured it for the proverbial song. 

“Don’t bother to wrap it, I’ll wear it now,” I told the disgruntled trader, and I lifted the ornate chain over my head and around my neck. Another tingle ran through me, this time starting at the back of my skull, but I dismissed the experience as first signs of a migraine and vowed to go home and spend time sitting in a darkened room to fend off the worst. Every time I try to avoid my migraines I fall asleep and this time was no different.  Within minutes of lying down on the bed I was away with the little people. I didn’t even bother to get undressed, and the pendant stayed comfortably in place, nestled near to my heart. My dreams were unusual, and remarkably happy compared with my normal slumbers.  I had reached a particularly promising part – my latest film had just won several Oscars and I was nominated for best actress – when something woke me. Drowsily I opened my eyes, unsure whether a sound or something else had disturbed me, when I noticed someone sitting on the end of my bed. 

When I say ‘on the end of my bed’ that’s exactly what I mean. Not sitting on the mattress, but perched on the foot board, with its knees under its chin.  And when I say ‘someone’ I might be exaggerating slightly. The shape, while generally human, was squat and very hairy, and it had bright, beady eyes in a flat face that was turned towards me and staring. Assuming I was still asleep I rolled over, hoping that I would be able to recover the Oscar dream before I missed the award, but the apparition spoke to me.

“Hello”, it said, and flashed a huge grin towards me, revealing a lot of teeth, with incisors longer and more pointy than any human would ever need. “You aren’t imagining me. I’m really here.”

“And who the hell are you?” I replied, forgetting any pretence at politeness in my confusion. Strangely I wasn’t afraid, just slightly apprehensive about what this creature might want, because I was pretty certain it wanted something. 

“Nothing to do with Hell I assure you.” It grinned again. “I’m here to help.”

“Help? What help?  Why? Who are you?”

“That’s a lot of questions all at once, but if you just shut up for a while I’ll explain.”

As he spoke my visitor began to look slightly more human. He sat up straighter and stretched out his legs and gradually filled out to a more normal size. But he was still very hairy. 

“I’m here because you called for help. You obviously need someone to look after you and sort your life out.” At that point he gave a disdainful look around my room, pausing rather too long on the piles of clothes scattered around the floor awaiting transfer to the laundry basket.

“I am part of the deal you made today. Think of me as your fairy godfather. I have certain powers that will let me grant you up to three wishes a day, depending on circumstances. If you’re careful you should become a very happy woman in the not too distant future.”

“If I’m careful,” I echoed. “Meaning what?”

“Well.” He drew out the word and gave a little sigh at the end of it. “It’s complicated. Let’s not go into that right now. You can learn as we go along.”

It didn’t sound like a threat when he said it, but I’ve since learned quite a lot ‘as I’ve gone along’ 

“You just carry on with your life as normal and up to three times a day I’ll step in to help out. I’ll grant you what you wish for. Be warned though, it might not always be immediate, so if you do something stupid like driving the wrong way down a one-way street and wishing that the lorry barrelling towards you would disappear, you might be disappointed.”

“So what do I call you?  What’s your name?” I asked. 

“You don’t need my name. I’m going to help you anyway. I’ll answer to anything polite.”

“What is this,” I asked, “Some modern version of Rumplestiltskin?”

That made my new friend laugh. “That’s not my name, though you can call me it if you like. At least Rumplestiltskin is polite.”

“What’s with all the ‘polite’ stuff? I think I have every reason to be rude to you actually. You turn up in the middle of the night....”

“Day.”

“What?”

“Day. Not night. You were asleep mid-afternoon. That’s downright lazy.” Clearly he didn’t have to be polite to me.

“OK. Middle of the day then. But you still turned up in my bedroom uninvited....”

“But I was invited. I told you. I am part of the deal. And a pretty cheapskate deal it was too, if you ask me.......”

“I didn’t ask you.”

“Haggling over the price for a wonderful piece like me!”

Suddenly things started to fall into place. Haggling. The only place I’d done that was at the antiques centre.

“The necklace! You’re attached to the necklace!”  He nodded. “You’re some sort of a genie!”

“I’m nothing of the sort. And that type of accusation would count as impolite. But just this once, I’ll let you get away with it. On account of you being new to all of this.”

“OK. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any harm. I’ll try harder in future.” The look he gave me ensured I would try very hard. “So when does all this start?” I asked him. 

“It already has started. You don’t have the migraine any more do you?”

And I was stupid enough to believe him. It didn’t occur to me at the time that I hadn’t wished to get rid of my headache Nor did I realise then that the tingling sensation I’d mistaken for a headache symptom was actually caused by the pendant. Like I said, I’ve learned a lot since then.