Villi Asgeirsson

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villia

The House of the Living – a short story

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Dear Mr and Mrs Havel,

It is with deep regret that I write you this letter. I am sure you must be quite aware of the fact that summer – with all its daylight and sunshine – is a troublesome time for us and it concerns me that you seem to show no consideration to your fellow beings.

In the deep dark of winter, we kept reasonably low profile as not to bother you too much. We are aware that noises and surprise appearances are unwelcome and can be downright scary.

We did not turn on the lights at night, as you probably expect of our sort. Neither did we slam doors or look through the windows from the outside. Never did we rearrange jars in the kitchen or throw furniture around. We are not like that.

We prefer a quiet and calm house, where we all can go about our business. It is therefore unacceptable that you insist on keeping the lights turned on at all times. What is the point in keeping a light on in the toilet when you’re not using it? Back in the day, this was my bedroom and while it’s frustrating enough that you satisfy your earthly needs there with the unavoidable smell, keeping the light on is simply rude.

Same can be said of the living room and the hallway after you’ve gone to sleep. What is the point in keeping lights on while you sleep? I realise you were scared after I bumped into the table a few weeks ago and finding the lights turned off in the morning seems eerie, but you make noise too and you keep the lights on. And yes, you were shocked when I entered the living room rather too quickly the other day, slamming the door by accident and leaving a trail of light that you saw from the corner of your eye and can not explain.

But you must understand that we mean no harm. Sometime we simply get ahead of ourselves and in the excitement, you sense us.

Oh, and that incident in the kitchen when the jar fell on the floor and broke. I know, stupid of me. Having died so recently, I hadn’t quite realised I am not a solid animal like you and as I tried to get myself a cookie. It slipped through my hands and I was just as surprised as you would have been. I have since learned that I do not feel hungry, have no use for cookies and that I am unable to hold objects for more than a second or two. Even that takes a lot of energy, so I try to avoid it.

Make no mistake though, if I must, I will pick up objects and throw them. I will rush through doors and turn lights off.

It is my hope that this letter finds you well, that you understand my concerns and do your best to be as considerate as we have been. That visit by the priest last week was an insult. Do you really believe a man of the cloth is going to make any difference? Surely, you don’t think we’re some kind of Satanic beings? Diabolical demons whose only purpose (I almost wrote “in life”, but that would be an odd choice of words) is to make your life hell? We are none of that. All we are is people that have gone before you, lived in this house and died, making way for you. A singing priest with a necklace in one hand and waiving a cross in the air, is comical to us. Not scary at all. Had it not been for the reason he was here, we would have been quite amused.

Your action of calling him and getting him to come with the purpose of supposedly exorcising us out of the house is very unfortunate, indeed. It proves your hostile intent.

It is with great regret that we must inform you we see no other option than to pay in kind, to act like you do, with a perfect disregard for beings of other dimensions. We will slam doors, appear on your TV, open the curtains and look through your windows, and turn your lights on or off as we see fit. We will also sit and watch you in the bedroom, boring as that is.

The only way for us all to find happiness is if we coexist in peace and respect each other. We hope that our activity in the coming days and weeks help you understand that only by respecting each other, can we live here together. We have been here longer than you, and we will not let mortals drive us out.

Kind Regards,

Annie and Keith Ullman (previous owners of your house)

This is the twenty-third installment in the Moments series

Spectre – a short story

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Waking up to a thundering headache, it took a while for my eyes to adjust, yet I couldn’t place where I was. Never been here before. Music played somewhere.

I went out of bed and into a hallway. She almost looked like a supermodel from the late sixties, with the long hair and motherly danger to her.

Am I in Heaven, I asked? She just smiled.

The music was Scott Walker. How appropriate. She offered me coffee.

This is the twenty-second installment in the Moments series

A New Eden – a short story

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The display read 28 May 2321. It also displayed general information on the outside atmosphere. 77 percent nitrogen, 22 percent oxygen, 0.8 percent argon, and 0.2 percent unidentified gases. Temperature is 22 degrees Celsius, humidity 81 percent.

It is almost the same as Earth’s, Ashley said. Atmospheric pressure is 87% of that on Earth. We should have no trouble breathing here, but we may grow tired quicker, but slightly lower gravity may compensate.

The others were sceptical, but the surroundings looked suspiciously similar to Earth. Trees with deep green leaves, a strange creature shot through the grass-like straws. Some kind of cross between a cat, a dog and a koala. Looked harmless.

I didn’t expect to see mammal-like creatures here, Aron said. He was the commander of the mission and immediately after touchdown; he took the initiative. I’m going into the airlock, no space suit, no oxygen. Lydia, you take command if I don’t make it.

They sealed the airlock and watched as Aron prepared himself. He rolled his shoulders, looked up, took a deep breath, wiggled his arms. Okay, open the outer door.

The door made a whooshing sound as air rushed out. Because of the lower atmospheric pressure, he felt slightly dizzy for a moment, but adapted quickly. The air was fresh, like he’d never experienced before. One small step for us, a giant leap into the future. The grass was soft and slightly damp, and the leaves of the trees made a soft hustling sound in the gentle breeze. What a perfect world, Aron thought. They were here to build a new world for humanity and he fantasised about how it would turn out. The six astronauts were highly intelligent, each a specialist in their field, chosen after extended physical and psychological tests. Earth 2.0 would be a lot more successful than the old world they’d left behind.

He turned and looked at the spaceship behind him. A relic of their old world. The last great achievement before civilisation turned inwards and was forced to react to the climate catastrophe of the late twenty-first century. There were no space missions anymore, no looking to the future. Earth had enough problems to deal with. He imagined they’d probably forgotten about this very mission, Genesis I, launched to explore a promising planet in the Alpha Centauri star system. Scientists had pinpointed this planet in 2176 as very similar to Earth, and a mission was immediately prepared.

The six astronauts would need to find a way to communicate with Mission Control, if it still existed. The findings were correct. This could be a perfect Earth 2.0. A new Eden.

The airlock closed and within a few seconds, the other five were outside. I suppose building a fire should be safe, Lydia said. The atmosphere is similar to ours and the ground isn’t overly dry. Let’s set up camp here.

The days were longer, around 27 hours and a few minutes, but they got used to it. The trees provided excellent building material, and there was enough edible vegetation. Within a few weeks, they were no astronauts anymore; they were settlers. A few exhibitions had revealed a mountain range in one direction and a large lake or an ocean close by. They relocated and set up camp on the shore.

Lydia was busy working on the communications equipment, trying to contact Earth. She and Aron were getting very friendly, while Ben, the biologist, was trying his best with Ashley. Ben laughed about them being Adam and Eve, and that they would create a new humankind. Ashley shrugged it off. Spoiling this world with humans was the last thing she was interested in. The more she learned about this new world, the more absurd the idea was. Wounds left by chopped trees angered her. The houses they built didn’t belong here. What if they managed to contact Earth and thousands, or millions of people arrived here?

Would they destroy the forests? Would native species go extinct? Would the oceans become acidic and die?

The idea was unbearable.

It was on the evening of 29 August that everything changed. Three months and a day after planetfall, two camps later, Ben made his move. Aron and Lydia were off for a walk along the shore when Ben put his arms around Ashley. She resisted, but he grabbed her tighter. You know you want it, babe. We are Adam and Eve and without us, this world will die. He slipped his hand down her trousers while holding her. She couldn’t move. She tried to fight him off, but he was stronger. He finished what he’d started and rolled over. Ashley lay in the sand, tears running down her cheeks. Aron and Lydia were far away and the other two were at the spaceship. She was alone in this alien world.

Rage was building up in her. Ben had violated this peaceful world, violated her, destroyed what they had. Their duty was to build a new human race, to populate a world that didn’t need or want them. She realised everything would be the same, women would be subdued, raped, abused. The planet would be exploited. Rage got the better of her. She grabbed a stone and struck Ben on the head. He screamed and raised himself up, his hair soaked in blood. Ashley panicked, didn’t understand why she’d done this. Regretted the whole thing and wanted to apologise, was ready to give in to anything that was expected of her. He attacked her, grabbed her throat, pushed her to the ground. She had no choice. Still holding the rock in her hand, she struck again. This time, he fell to the ground. Ben was dead.

She sat there for a few minutes, crying over what had happened. To her and Ben. How the mission was now in jeopardy. What kind of justice system did they have here? None, they would have to improvise. How would they punish her?

Something moved in the bushes behind her. A large animal with enormous teeth approached her. Ashley stood up and walked slowly backwards, towards the water. The animal made growling noises, and she almost tripped. Then it focused its attention on Ben’s corpse and ripped it open. Another animal appeared and joined the first. They were scavengers, not interested in her.

Ashley ran through the forest to the old camp, found the space ship. She was in panic. Lucy and Simon, the two scientists on the mission, saw her approaching. We made a breakthrough; they exclaimed. The incubator works. The fertilised eggs are responding. We should have around fifty babies in nine months. Enough for genetic diversity, enough to create a new human race!

Ashley smiled and entered the spaceship. Looked at the faint glow at the back, at the glass tubes. The embryos were still just a handful of cells, invisible to the human eye. Nobody would notice.

This is the twenty-first installment in the Moments series

Afternoon – a short story

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Her back ached, but it was nothing, she told herself. The children were playing outside, and they had to be fed. You must never let your children starve, no matter what else is happening around you. She stirred in the large pot and monitored the oven. It would be soup tonight, with freshly baked bread. The bones danced in the boiling water as the bubbles escaped from the bottom. She added a few herbs to improve the flavour. The bread was simple. Flour she had managed to get at the market, a little salt, water and an egg. It was all she needed. All she had.

Her husband would be home soon. It was hard to say when, it depended on his work. He did well for himself and his family, helping international organisations and making reasonable pay. They got by and that was all you could ask for. After witnessing people suffering, their oldest daughter was determined to become a doctor. How proud could a mother be? The two younger kids looked up to her and said they wanted to become doctors too, or firefighters, because that was really important. Maybe nurses to help the wounded or maybe politicians to stop the suffering.

They were darlings, and they would be fine. She hoped.

The soup was ready. She went to the door and called the children. Smiling, they came inside, one after the other. Where is daddy, they asked? He will be home soon, she told them.

The youngest ran to his room to get a toy, returned to the kitchen. Where are my bedsheets, he asked? You will all be sleeping with us, she replied. They asked why, and she just smiled. Didn’t want to tell them that if they died, they would die together so that no one would have to mourn the others. They would live together or die together.

The woman filled bowls with soup and put the bread on the table. Leave one for your daddy, she told the kids. He will be hungry when he gets home. She sat down at the table, smiling at her three children. Hoped desperately that their dreams would come true. That they would live to see their dreams realised.

They spoke of the day. A building collapsed a few blocks away. They say old Mustafa was dead. He was attending his vegetable garden when a bomb hit. Why would anyone want him dead? He never harmed anyone. He never made any money off his produce because he kept giving his vegetables away. No matter how life treated him, someone else had it worse and he couldn’t bare to see others starve. His death didn’t make any sense.

The oldest daughter had visited the hospital earlier in the day, seen people covered in blood. She hadn’t cried or fainted. They had told her this was no place for kids but she was twelve and she could handle it and insisted on helping. And she did. After spending a couple of hours there and helping the medical staff, she left. But only after being told she was a very brave girl and that they would love to help her with her study and that she would become a fine doctor some day.

Her mother smiled, and they ate in silence.

It was almost six, and he always tried to be home by six. He rushed down the street and crossed an intersection. He passed a building, the side collapsed, the structure barely standing. It was too common. Too many buildings were damaged or turned to rubble. He held a small box in his hand, made sure not to drop it. A precious thing he’d acquired from the news reporters. It would be a gift to his wife. He was almost running. Turning a corner, he entered their street. Smiling, he felt his heart beating. He wished for this whole thing to be over, for them to have a normal life. The gift was a token of a better future. She would love it.

Something flew over him. He looked up. A black object moving faster than anything. The flash blinded him. The noise was deafening. He was thrown onto the street, dust and rubble raining on him. Every bone in his body hurt, and it was hard to stand up, but he had no choice. He put his hand on his face, looked at the red palm of his hand, knew he was bleeding, but it didn’t matter. He rushed towards the collapsed ruins of a house. Cried her name. Threw stones to one side. Called for her again. Only silence.

It took them two days to recover the bodies.

His family was gone. His life was gone. Only revenge remained.

This is the twentieth installment in the Moments series

Foyer de la Danse – a short story

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The audience was still applauding the flawless performance, but Eloise was too tired to give it much attention. It was her sixth day, and each was more gruelling than the one before. All she wanted was to take off her shoes, go home, and sleep. It wasn’t to be. Soon, the abonnés would be here, and they wanted her attention.

Eloise sat down in front of the mirror, looked at her youthful face. She would be fifteen in a few weeks. She shouldn’t complain. Being allowed to perform at the Palais Garnier, the Grand Opera House in Paris, was a privilege most never got to experience. This daughter of a working man had no right to take all this for granted. Her parents also told her as much. When the abonnés entered the foyer de la danse, she should smile and look the prettiest she could. And charm came easily to Eloise. She was petite, short and skilly, child-like, but with the features of a woman. Quiet and well mannered, but intelligent and could follow their conversations if appropriate. She was everything they wanted.

Eloise wiped the sweat from her face, applied a little powder, and made sure she looked her best. Soon, the abonnés would be here. They were now slowly getting out of their seats, getting a glass of champagne, talking to others, showing off their wealth, their social status, being seen.

The doors to foyer de la danse opened, and the men entered. Remy was there. He always was. Close to fifty, she estimated, balding and slightly overweight, but the good life did that to you. Remy smiled at her while someone handed him a glass of champagne. Approaching Eloise, he eyed her from top to toe, commented on her performance, comparing her to a butterfly and the rays of the sun after the rain. She did well today. Flawless, like a butterfly flying from one part of the stage to another. In 1880, you will be the prima ballerina, he commented, before running his finger down her petite body. He may have mentioned a butterfly again. She wasn’t listening.

Remy finished his champagne and smiled, took her hand. Led her to the back of the foyer de la danse, opened a door he’d so often opened before, led her into a small room. He stroked her face, loosened her hair, and kissed her. Ran his hand down her back and squeezed her firmly. Untied her dress, pulled it down, kissed her smooth skin.

It was business. He would get what he wanted, she would get her money, her family would go another day without starving, and Eloise would be closer to her goal of becoming the best ballerina in Paris.

She would have preferred a handsome prince, like they had in fairy tales, but life wasn’t a fairy tale and you had to do what was necessary to survive.

Six days of work. Tomorrow would be her day off. Remy put his trousers back on and left the money beside her. She would go home, sleep in the bed he had bought her, in the apartment he provided. Tomorrow she would have a day off and he would come for a visit.

One day, Eloise would become a proper ballerina, the best among equals. One day, she would not need to please old men.

One day, she would be free.

This story is the nineteenth installment in the Moments series

Candles – a short story

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Francisca combed her still damp hair and let it flow down her shoulders, enjoyed how it tickled her back. She took a step back, looking at her naked upper body. Not bad for a 39-year-old, she thought to herself.

She was a clever girl, and while Ben had done his best to hide the preparations, she knew there would be a surprise party. Why don’t you take a long, hot bath while I prepare dinner for two, he’d said? Good idea, she’d replied, knowing that the moment she went upstairs, the guests sneaked into the house. Ben couldn’t hide anything from her, and that was just as well.

A touch of foundation. She didn’t need much. Mascara and eye shadow, but just enough to accentuate her face. A deep red lipstick perfected her. Still naked, she opened the door to the hallway and entered her walk-in closet, selected black lingerie, black skirt and a red blouse. She slowly got dressed, always keeping an eye on herself in the full-length mirror. Turning slightly to each side, she made sure her attire looked perfect. You still got it, girl, she whispered to herself.

Using her finger, she fixed the lipstick and stroked her cheekbones gently, then went back to the bathroom. She brushed her hair again, applied a little hair lotion, just enough to keep it from being messy, then decided perfection had been reached.

Francisca entered the hallway again and put on her pumps. The heels were very high, so she didn’t use them often, but it was her birthday and she was determined to look absolutely perfect. She slowly descended the stairs, careful not to slip. That would be very unsignifying, and probably painful. She opened the door to the living room.

Plastic trumpets and confetti greeted her. The girlfriends were there, a few colleagues as well. Presents in golden paper stacked on the dressoir, table decked with plates and tiny forks. Ben stood there smiling, holding a large bottle of champagne in his hand. As she looked at him, he rubbed the cork and it flew across the room. Francisca quickly grabbed a champagne glass from the table and put it under the bubbles that were spewing out of Ben’s hand.

The glasses were filled, and they proposed a toast. To Francisca and many more years, they all cheered.

Ben kissed her on the cheek, slipped past her and into the kitchen. He returned with a large cake with candles lit. Francisca gestured him to quickly put the cake on the table and inhaled.

Hesitated.

This wasn’t right.

Ben, she said. Why does the cake have forty candles?

This story is the eighteenth installment in the Moments series