SPELLBOUND

"SPELLBOUND "

"Jake hurry up or I won't give you a lift to school, Tracy, your Sunday
league footballing boyfriend has just pulled up outside. Are you ready?
I don't want him honking his horn and revving up his engine in
agitation upsetting the neighbours again." So saying Lynda turned her
attention to the image of herself in the full-length hall mirror.
It was hell in the mornings getting everyone organised and out the
front door to face the world each day. Getting Jake to school on time
with his finished homework in his Addidsas bag and not the latest
download of internet goodies to sell or swop to his classmates, getting
Tracy out the door modestly dressed for her work as a receptionist at
the local estate agents instead of like some footballer's young model
wife going out on a shopping spree with the paparazzi waiting, cameras
at the ready to pounce by the garden gate.
It had been hard enough to get her bastard of an ex-husband out the
front door for the last time but that at least was all legally done and
dusted now, long may he rot in the arms of that trollop. Oh and
Granddad, Lynda had long ago given up any hope of getting him out of
bed before she left for work, never mind motivating him to step
outdoors. Still he was her father and even if somewhat reluctantly, she
felt honour bound to carry the burden that was her ailing and
disenchanted father 'til the end of his days whenever that was?
Going to work as assistant manager of the local Sainsbury's supermarket
was as an oasis of peace and tranquillity compared to her domestic
situation. As Lynda stood appraising her reflection in the mirror as
well as her lot in life she caught a glimpse of skimpy garment and a
flash of legs scurry past her back and out the front door.
"Bye Tracy love, have a good day." "And the same to you Mum," Lynda
muttered under her breath to correct her daughter's omission of social
manners. The car outside revved its engine one last time and with a
screech of burning rubber shot of down the road. Mortality and youth
appeared to be two words that did not fit into the same sentence for
her daughter's boyfriend.
Lynda sighed and reluctantly finished her preening in the mirror she
turned towards the stairs to give Jake one last call before she'd drive
off without him when she practically stumbled over him at the bottom of
the stairs.
There he was standing like a polished shoe in his black school uniform
with a shiny innocent smile on his face his Addidas bag clutched to his
chest. Something was amiss, her son was not usually so amenable on a
school day but she didn't have time to play 'Customs Officer' with him
this morning so she let Jake go through the 'Nothing to declare' green
door with only a cursory "you've done your homework haven't you sir?"
comment in a tone many an officious Excise man of her Majesty's
employment would envy.
"Okay father we're off now, you will get up soon won't you? It' not
good for you to lie there all day Bye!" Lynda didn't wait for any
reply, a hard day's cut and thrust in the bear pit of consumerism known
locally as Sainsbury's awaited her, the front door slammed shut behind
Lynda and her son.
Upstairs lying in his little single bed in the box room Granddad
sighed. The house seemed to heave a sigh also or so Albert thought,
maybe it was just the central heating system switching off and the
cooling contractions of pipes and radiators but to Albert it was the
house sighing in sympathy with his predicament. Left alone to fill
another vacuous day marking time, Albert felt that he was swimming
against a tide of time and life it's self.
Things were so much easier in the old days, life was more cut and dried
then, he knew where he was in the past. A married man went to work, a
married woman stayed at home and they stayed married for children, who
were birthed, brought up educated grew up and fitted into their
allotted slots, well, like links in a well oiled bicycle chain say,
around and around the generations would pedal in the machine of
life.
All be it that two world wars had disrupted the smooth flow of the
machine like trouser legs caught in the cogs of the pedal wheel. So
society had forgotten to wear cycle clips on it's journey a few times.
You dismounted disentangled the trouser leg wiped the oil off the
offending garment and tucked it in your sock and got on with the
journey, but today&;#8230;Arh! Albert was lost, a stranger in a
strange land and too old to learn the ins and outs of today's culture
of greed and self.
He sat up and turned his attention to the lukewarm cup of tea and the
two custard creams his daughter had left at his bedside as an
inducement to get up and make something of his day.
Albert was passing the open door of his grandson's bedroom on his way
downstairs empty cup and saucer in hand, when his eyes were attracted
by the brightly illuminated swirling imagery of Jake's state of the art
computer screen. His first thought was stupid boy wasting electricity
with that thing burning away all day and was about to go in the room
and pull the mains plug out of the wall socket when he had a second
more considered thought.
Hey wait a moment, if he has left the computer on then surely I could
have a go on it. I won't need his secret password as it is already
switched on. Albert hesitated in the doorway for a moment or two. Would
he know how to work it properly? Or would he press the wrong button on
the keyboard and the machine would self-destruct like in all the
science fiction movies he had ever seen?
No he had watched Jake playing on it many a time and basically knew
what to do. Besides weren't they always ramming it in his face in the
media that the new technology was for all generations? This was his
chance, all the adverts in the press for computers had the token grey
haired wrinkly propounding that buying such and such a computer had
invigorated their life since they had got online and could E-mail their
grandchildren, halfway round the world.
Albert wished he could invigorate his life by E-mailing his
grandchildren half way round the world but he was confusing the
Internet with the yet to be invented technology of Tele-transportation
but Australia was the ideal destination either way.
Before he knew it Albert was sitting in the swivel chair in front of
the swirling screen his fingers hovering over the keyboard, but what
was he to do? Load a game of course!
But which one? There was a plethora of CD boxes scattered on the floor
of Jake's bedroom like a trail of expensive stepping stones leading to
the electronic alter.
"Kids today, they don't know that they are born, they get everything
handed to them on a plate," Albert muttered to himself as he glanced at
the CD box covers hoping for inspiration. His grandson had tolerated
him on occassions and allowed him to watch Jake playing Football games
on his computer. The computer generated graphics of the football
stadium were not quiet reality but it came close and the players
themselves had the quality of the old B.B.C. children's television
programme, 'the Woodentops' puppets, but after a while Albert's eyes
had forgiven the shortcomings of the graphics as he had been sucked
into the action of the game on the virtual pitch. What with the
computer generated commentary and the roar of the crowd he had been
well and truly won over.
One time when Jake was in an indulgent mood he'd played the 1966 world
cup final game at Wembley for his old Granddad. When Albert saw the
little grey 'Woodentop' figures of Bobby Moore, the Charlton brothers,
Gordon Banks et al trot out of the tunnel onto the black and white
simulated pitch he was cheering raucously and by the end of the match,
a win for our Boys naturally, Albert's eyes were filled with nostalgic
tears. The score had been slightly different to the real event all
those years ago, but the end result was due to the skill of his
grandson's fingers deftly playing over the keyboard, pitting his wits
against the computer aided German team. Albert was almost proud of his
grandson that afternoon. But no he didn't want to take up the challenge
of a simulated football game today. Albert knew his mastery and manual
dexterity of the keyboard would be slow, the Germans might win this
time and Albert would never forgive himself if he were the cause of an
English defeat.
Albert bent over and scooped up a CD box at random from the floor. He
fumbled with the case but managed to get the little silver disc out
without marking the underside with his fingerprints as Jake had often
earnestly warned him against. The little tray on the stack popped out
to receive the disc and slide back in like a retreating lizard's tongue
having snatched a sticky morsel from Albert's fingers. The screen went
blank and for an instant Albert panicked his confidence drained. Then
with a blasting fanfare of trumpets that nearly rocked him out of the
swivel chair, the screen came alive with what appeared to be the
opening sequence to a Hollywood blockbuster with heavy reliance on
expensive special effects.
As Albert relaxed he realised that he wasn't watching the beginning of
a Hollywood film but like the football game it was virtual reality. The
characters that were being introduced before his eyes were computer
generated and not actors. They were in much better detail than the
'Woodentop' footballers. This was more like it! Computer generated
scenes of medieval battles with apposing armies of knights bowmen and
peasants, scenes of fighting pirate ships, brave knights facing fire
breathing dragons and other such lethal legendry monsters. Oh so many
boyhood adventure scenes, such a procession of childhood fictional
adventure flashed onto the screen before Albert's old eyes to soak up
and all in this wondrous computer generated virtual reality that Albert
was now hooked on like any self-disrespecting junkie. Wow! Albert could
almost feel himself shedding years as so many skins as the lively
adventurous imagery penetrated to the little boy within the old
man.
Eventually the screen calmed down and Albert was faced with an
intriguing menu display inviting him to choose a character of which he
could enter this medieval fantasy world and take on a quest of
fatalistic proportions. Being a P.C. age in more ways than one Albert
was offered the choice of changing sex, at least for the duration of
the game in the privacy of his own home. But he instantly dismissed all
the curvaceous feisty female characters offered and turned his
attention on the macho male characters. The Fighters, the Paladins, the
Rangers, Wizards, Mages, Clerics, Druids, Bards, Thieves, Cutthroats
and Pirates, characters of every kind that inhabit this imaginary
world. Any teenager faced with such a vast array of choice would choose
the most macho, powerful self seeking character he could find, with a
vast impressive range of weaponry and destructive magic spells, that
the software writers had conceived for the game. Albert however had an
inert noble altruistic streak in him that had been stifled for most of
his life by the daily grind but it was awakening to the possibility as
he saw it, of the potential of this game. It was as if he was being
given an opportunity to redirect his life, change course and seize the
day. He knew what character he wanted to be, he'd wanted to be one
since early childhood. That was it, an 'onest to goodness western
Cowboy! So where was it on the list? His eyes searched up and down the
screen for any sign, clicking the mouse key on every option offered but
no cowboy character could be found.
Albert stopped his frenzied search and stared at the screen in dismay,
the reawakened surge within him slowly withering. Then to his surprise
the character menu screen dissolved and words slowly appeared on the
blank screen.
"Well what character would you like to be?" The computer appeared to be
addressing Albert personally as the words flashed on and off before his
eyes. Dazed for a moment Albert couldn't think how to reply to this
generous offer. He almost spoke out loud but then remembered the
keyboard.
"Well sir, I'd like to be a western cowboy like Jimmy Stewart in all
those marvellous Hollywood western films please if you could oblige?"
Why Albert addressed the computer as 'sir' as he tapped out his reply
on the keyboard he didn't know but a bit of reverence wasn't going to
hurt the situation.
"Hummmm? Not a character that normally inhabits a medieval fantasyland
according to my hard drive. But I don't see why an exception could not
be made just this once. What weaponry and magical powers would this er
'Cowboy' character of yours want?"
"Well sir," Albert had decided to keep up his deferential attitude
towards the computer whilst typing his request, "if I'm to be Jimmy
Stewart then all I'll need is my Colt 45 and my trusty Winchester '73
repeating rifle. Oh and a sharp well balanced Bowie knife please." And
there before his eyes on the screen appeared a virtual reality image of
Albert's hero Jimmy Stewart wearing his familiar trail dusty cowboy
outfit complete with gun belt and Winchester in his left hand. The
image of Jimmy winked at Albert.
"Oh and his battered white hat please," Albert typed out to his
benefactor. Where upon the hat appeared on Jimmy's head.
"Much obliged Mister," came the familiar voice from the speakers either
side of the screen. New text appeared on the screen below Mr Stewart's
feet.
"What magical spells would you like to have bestowed upon your 'Cowboy'
character to aid him in his quest?" Both Albert and Jimmy read these
words although Jimmy was at a disadvantage having to read them upside
down. Before Albert could type any reply the familiar voice broke in
again.
"Er now if you don't mind me butting in and saying my piece. Now magic
spells are all very fine and dandy but I ain't got anywhere in life
'ceptin' by hard work and struggle so if you don't mind Mister, we'll
do without 'em fancy spells, more like darn trouble than help I'd say.
Say I'd swap the offer of 'em spells for a good true horse an' saddle
any day cos how's a man to get around this fine country otherwise?" The
computer instantly complied with Jimmy's request, a fine bronco ready
saddled appeared on the screen. Jimmy walked over to it and collecting
the reigns in his left hand whilst placing the Winchester '73 in the
saddle holster patted the horse's neck gently then with one foot in the
stirrup mounted and sat supine in the saddle. Jimmy tipped his hat
slightly "Much obliged Mister," and was off down the trail at a steady
walk.
Albert was enthralled, he spent the morning in this strange mythical
land pitting his wits against all sorts of strange fighting creatures
all of whom seemed to have some degree of magical powers. From the most
unassuming innkeeper's daughter with her spells of seduction caste upon
any eligible passing traveller, he had been trapped on the precipice of
matrimony when good horse sense had prevailed and he had escaped riding
off into the sunset. To the other extreme of the greatest medieval
dictator in his castle with far-flung war mongering spells of mass
destruction and empire building. At first Albert thought that perhaps
his character had been a bit foolish in not opting for magical powers
and his use of the virtual reality insurance policy of 'Save Game' and
'Load Autosave Game' every time he was killed was high. But Albert soon
settled down to the new reality that this computer generated
role-playing game offered. He began to realise that Mr Stewart was
right; he didn't need magic to compete in this game.
Whilst coming upon a damsel in distress, the distress caused by a
vicious golden dragon breathing fire like a blowing Texas oil derrick.
Albert had managed to rescue said fainting damsel by throwing a few
sticks of dynamite from his well stocked saddlebags into the flame
throwing mouth of the beast and ducking behind a large boulder as bits
of badly barbequed dragon meat flew through the air. After cleaning up
the said damsel of bloodied dragon meat Albert was rewarded with a
Marshall's shiny silver star badge that the damsel produced from a
little blue box that she had concealed about her person and a kiss on
his brow. At this the computer screen sparked with the words "Move up
to level Two", whatever that was?
He was so immersed in the game that the pangs of hunger were ignored
until during a violent confrontation with a giant Ogre causing frenzied
agitated finger work on the keyboard, disturbed a half packet of
custard creams which rolled out from behind the computer stack on his
grandson's desk. Albert couldn't resist he 'paused' the conflict with
the Ogre and bit gratefully into the flapjack whilst staring at the
frozen image of his current enemy.
His shooting with the trusty Winchester '73 was getting better. The
Ogre was on his knees all but one of his shots had hit their mark, the
Ogre was blinded, blood pouring out of both eye sockets. Albert glanced
at the decimated bodies of his travelling companions lying scattered
about the Ogre's dying form, all three of them had been killed by the
monster sweeping them up in a handful and biting off their heads like
jelly babies before Albert had been able to let off a single shot with
the Winchester. Wistfully Albert pressed 'pause' again and lifted the
coil of rope off the saddle horn and releasing the loop started
twirling the growing lasso above the Ogre's unseeing head.
It was late in the afternoon in real time but Albert was blissfully
unaware of this, time had stretched for him enclosed in the glowing
imagery of the hypnotic screen. He had ridden an adventurous dusty
trail through this enchanting and dangerous medieval fairytale
landscape long enough now to feel at home in this virtual reality. He
had met and fought alongside many new lifelong friends, fighting the
common enemy, evil in its purest form. There was a sense of right and
wrong in this land that appealed to Albert's inert altruistic nature.
The battles he had fought against evil in all it's mesmerising forms of
dictatorial power and corrupt magic were right and true and honourable
however bloody. He had felt more alive today playing this game than he
had felt for many a lonely widowed year of retirement. He was so
enthralled by it all and that was why he didn't hear the return of his
family, home from their daily toil out in the real world.
He was involved in a particularly bloody battle with a marauding band
of lightening bolt throwing Orcs, his companions wounded and drained of
their magical powers were relying on Albert's skill with his rifle to
save them from a fate worse than death at the hands of these
nightmarish Orcs. So when Jake stood in the doorway of his own room and
shouted at the top of his teenage voice "Mum! Granddad's messing with
my computer. Stop him will you!" Albert knew the game was up, he'd been
bushwhacked and by his own grandson. He dropped the still smoking
Winchester '73, pressed the 'Save Game' button and stuck his hands up
in the air.
Cripes he was in trouble now! He looked up at the face of his grandson
and saw a mixture of guilt and anger on the boy's face. Why guilt? But
he didn't have time to think about that now as the matriarchal voice of
Barbara Stanwyck, female leader of the worst band of cattle rustlers
the West had ever known was sternly calling for him to be brought
before her to dispense justice on a weak member of her gang, Outlaw
justice! He'd be lucky if he wasn't hanging by a rope from the old Ash
tree in the back garden, neck broken with dead eyes bulging out of
their sockets left dangling for the buzzards to pick over before
teatime.
As he walked slowly down stairs to his fate with Jake, the Ringo Kid
bringing up the rear, Colt 45 in hand with the end of the barrel
pressed into his old bent spine, Albert wished that the computer
manufacturers had installed an extra button on the keyboard. An
'Immigration' button one that allowed desperate Asylum Seekers to enter
the safe world of the 'Game' for ever, subject to Home Office approval
of course!
There she stood in the centre of the kitchen the late Cattle Baron's
daughter turned bad, wearing her dark power dressed suit, calf length
boots her jacket open to reveal the broad silver buckled belt around
her slim waist her hands on hips glaring at the prisoner with all the
malevolence that Barbara Stanwyck in that role could only applaud.
Smoke curled up to the ceiling from the cigarette clamped between her
ruby red lips, she had had a hard day riding the range of Sainsburys
aisles bossing the shelf stackers and driving through the customers
trolleys past the branding irons of the checkout girls. The first
cigarette after work always tasted good.
"Caught red handed. Well father what have you got to say for
yourself?"
"I er well was bored I was only playing a game on the kid's machine.
Didn't do any harm."
"No he wasn't," the Ringo Kid spat out venomously. "He was going
through my private files looking for dirt." Jake seemed to be playing
his part of the young gunslinger with a grudge whole-heartedly.
Albert's brain was in a bit of a mush after all the adventures he'd
experienced during his lonely day and all he had eaten to sustain
himself were a few custard creams so he wasn't quite sure if this
wasn't just another role playing game he was stuck in or part of a
hypoglycaemic mirage. He felt the need to sit down wishing he had the
computer keyboard on his lap so that he could take control of this
situation and press 'pause game', he was feeling weak and a little
light headed. But the scene continued to play out before Albert's tired
old glazed eyes.
"And what sort of dirt would that be Jake?" Ms. Stanwyck said turning
her gaze on her young pup of a gunslinger. It had come to her in a
flash, her lassifaire attitude that morning as Jake had stood
innocently before her clutching his Addidas bag which should have
contained his football kit and completed homework had also contained
something else more sinister. She also remembered the letter from
Jake's Headmaster too which she had previously dismissed as mischievous
fiction from a harassed overworked public servant whom she believed was
only trying to protect his back.
"It wouldn't have anything to do with the note I received from your
Headmaster would it?" Albert could only watch in amazement at this
twist of fate. The Cattle Baron's daughter was turning her little
Derringer on the Ringo Kid, but accusing him of what? Perhaps he wasn't
going to end up as buzzard meat dangling from the old Ash tree in the
back garden before teatime after all! The Sheriff and his men were even
now riding hard to his rescue.
Jake stood there head bowed in shame as his mother, fully immersed in
her role as the matriarchal Ms. Stanwyck accused her son of downloading
pictures of naked women off the internet, 'that she was paying an arm
and a leg' to Tele-West as the entrance fee to this 'gateway to Sodom
and Gomorra' and selling them to his less technically endowed though
highly hormonally charged school friends to supplement his 'absurdly
generous' pocket money. She definitely had the drop on him and the
Ringo Kid could only stand there and take the flood of parental
indignation that threatened to drown him.
Midway through the third fuming cigarette Ms Stanwyck eased up the
tirade but only to pronounce sentence on the miscreant.
"Well Jake my lad you have two choices," she was taking a gamble here
and she knew it. "One you become an equal opportunities pornographer
and offer to supply pictures of naked men to all the girls in your
class at school or&;#8230;" she was interrupted in her pronouncement
by a highly agitated embarrassed red faced little boy.
"Oh no mum I couldn't do that, the embarrassment would kill me, please
no!" Yes! She had guessed right, her little boy wasn't such a hardened
capitalist entrepreneur after all. She smiled inwardly with maternal
pride.
"Or you can destroy all your pornographic files, promise to never do it
again and take a month's disconnection from the internet as a
punishment, okay?"
"Yes mum, I'm sorry okay." An acquiescent Ringo Kid left the kitchen to
release all the stolen horses from his corral.
"Well love I think you handled that just fine, though boys will be
boys." Albert said to his daughter after a few moments silence.
"Yes and speaking of boys and their toys, what were you doing playing
on his computer Father?"

Press 'Load Autosave Game'.
"Jake hurry up or I won't give you a lift to school," Lynda's words
were almost drowned by the revving of a car engine outside in the
street. "Tracy! Your Sunday league footballing boyfriend has just
pulled up outside, are you ready yet? I don't want him . . ." The
agitated honking of a car horn right outside the front door drowned out
Lynda's words.
"I'll deal with that Lynda love." Turning away from the hall mirror,
Lynda saw her father emerge from the kitchen with a slice of toast in
hand and walk towards the front door with a newfound confident swagger
in his gait "after all he is disturbing the peace!" Lynda smiled to
herself as she watched her father stroll out the front door as
nonchalantly as Jimmy Stewart would on his way to quelling a drunk in
the local saloon.
Lynda finished off her inspection of herself in the hall mirror and
sighed, well maybe her father was right. She did look a bit like a
power dressed Barbara Stanwyck but was that such a bad role model to
adopt with all that she had to put up with? Just then in the reflection
of the mirror she caught a glimpse of skimpy garment and a flash of
legs scurry past behind her back and out the front door.
"Bye Tracy love, have a good day." "See what I mean," she muttered to
herself. Getting that one straightened out and wearing a more modest
outfit for work is my next challenge. Just then Albert returned from
his peacekeeping mission.
"I think bloody Beckham'll be a bit more respectful from now on, infact
I told him to come and call at the front door in future if he wishes to
continue courting my granddaughter."
"Thank you father, lucky you were up in time to deal with him."
"Well there's no point in lingering in the bunk house wallowing in pity
is there?" He grinned at her. "By the way Lynda love did you see what
our Tracy was wearing or rather wasn't wearing? How can you allow her
to go out like that?"
"I know father, I've put that on my list. I'll talk to her about that
soon, promise. And you promise not to wear yourself out riding the
range on Jake's computer today okay, take a break every couple of
hours, right!"
Albert dropped the little silver disc into the CD tray and magically it
retracted into the stack, the screen burst into a flowering of
technicolour imagery with a fanfare of trumpeting music heralding
another delicious adventurous episode of 'Cowboy in a Medieval
Landscape'. Albert pressed 'Load Autosave Game'. The screen went blank
and then Albert's alto ego appeared before his watery old eyes. Jimmy
Stewart relaxing in the saddle of his bronco the makings of a smoke in
one hand the reigns held in the other. Jimmy rolled the paper into a
neat cylinder with the deft movement of his fingers, licked the gum and
smoothed the edge down. Satisfied with the end result he stuck the
cigarette between his lips, nonchalantly, struck a match on the side of
his saddle horn and fired up the cigarette, he sucked deep on the
smoke. Albert could almost taste the fine Virginian tobacco smoke
himself.
"How's it going partner, vittled up and ready to roll?" Albert could
only nod his head, he was spellbound yet again.

Copyright 2002. davyferguson.