The begining

Intro

Stranger things have happened, I've heard the expression thousands of
times and used it a few. A polite statement to ease your mind and offer
a little reassurance, that you're not the only person in the world that
the unbelievable may happen to. The truth is there's nothing stranger
than the following, not for me anyway. That day started a snowball
effect that was, is, the consequent of strange.

Chapter one

" Thank God for that" I could have shouted it, screamed it, shinned up
the town clock complete with hangbag brandishing a loud-haler and
throat numbingly shrieked it, expressing my relief to the entire
populace, not that they'd approve. Life isn't like that even if I'd
like to think it were.
So here I am in the car park, as usual victimising the lock with the
car keys, mind racing. Its always the same, no matter which angle of
approach I use, or whick lock I happen to be terrorising, opening
things isn't a strong point. After what seemed like endless jiggling
and a few well-directed expletives, the car gave in and I slumped
in.
Relief flooded my body rushing through my veins calming and relaxing
every 'post school holiday tightening' and stressed out cell, baited in
the last six weeks. Plunging the keys into the ignition and leaning
over I turned the radio up loud.
The school hoildays had been tough and even the rhythmical thudding
wasn't enough to drown out my inner rage. I couldn't stop or pacify,
the teenage assault currently erupting in my mind.
I'd been tied, Tied to being a daytime entertainer, nursemaid, stand
up comedian, pillar of strength, confidant, and inticer of young minds.
Not to mention the added bonus of a wayward teen, whose only source of
fun was stretching the parental limits to their absolute maximum and
then some.
Mum of three, Yeh right! Mum of three or to be pricise, mum of two and
a voodoo-doll type likeness, to the third. A voodoo-doll that was well
pin-cushioned and probably worse.
Mr fourteen and three-quarters, was exactly that and a rather scary
force of nature. His morals are selfish, self-centred and as wobbly as
a half finished bottle of cola hurled into a tempestuous sea. He had
them alright, morals but the short fall is they only ever apply to him.
Being a teenager he has rights! He can steal your watch, eat your stash
of horded chocolates and be in at any time. It's your fault if you fall
asleep in the piled high ashtray clutching your coast guard, hospital,
police, 'teenager in late list', not his. But if you should ever
venture into the room with the sign 'keep out' and tackle the mine
field of floor obstacles and bacterial undergrowth garden he's grown.
Then you're impinging on his basic rights, as a human being. Can you
class a teenager testing the water as human? I don't think so his
liking for all things illegal puts him in a different league.

I'm a writer, but only for fun, I've read so many horror books and
seen so many films that lack plot and ability, I crave ability. The
ability to make you leave all the lights on as you venture up stairs in
a silent house late at night. The tingling doubts that seem to merge
reality with that 'cold dark in you face fear', the kind that sends you
into a blind panic when someone unexpected knocks at the door, were all
long gone.
They'd once allowed my imagination to run away with me as I lay next
to David, as he slept, reading in a dim and unearthly light. Sometimes
I'd almost heard, glimpsed and joined the evil minds, the near to dying
or the stuck in between to worlds, characters that leapt from page to
page. I've seen just about every plot from every angle and crave
another dimension in my search to be scared and shocked.
I've even taken to my word processor in a vain attempt to scare
myself. Not that it helped. I kind of succeeded, not in unleashing a
wild and wanton fear, but simply in proving the theory, that knowing
what lurks behind the three-inch thick woodern door that's always
bolted, somehow steals the impact.

The drive home was selfish that day. I drove to fast, the music from
the radio was blaring. The whole morning was mine. No more the shouts
of "Can I watch this? Can I do that, she's driving me mad mum!" Oh yes
and the frequently posed 'your sad' from the number two son, who
apparently has the angle on all parents.
Parents according to him, are a blight, a plague, an invention by an
uncaring state, who once created them simply to supervise washing
machines, and provide tri coloured food you can't easily fit in a bread
roll. They're pre programmed robotic aliens, that live on disgusting
vegetable matter and impinge on your life. They grow hair in all manner
of uncool places and rip, trim or shave it off when you need the
bathroom for the next three hours, to form a dirty ring, not clean your
teeth and emerge looking exactly the same as when you went in.
I reached over again, to the switch on the radio, literally trying to
blast the teenage turmoil from my mind but isn't it just the case. The
D.J and complusive talker anon stopped the music and began with the
trivial banter routine oblivious to my need for loud music. I turned
off the road, "thank God home" I mouthed, swerving into the
driveway.

"Shit who the fuck are you!" Was my first response, surprise i don't
do well, especially this kind. I could feel the colour draining from my
cheeks. The passenger seat was now occupied! There in broad daylight
was a person who'd literally, just appeared as I stopped the car. They
hadn't got in, they hadn't even asked. Closing my eyes tightly, I sat
for a second hoping this supposed passenger was a figment of my over
emotional state. Slowly I opend them, disbelief engulfed me. The
passenger seat was still occupied. Staring right at me was a stranger,
sitting on my handbag.
"Hi" He said in a friendly tone, almost as if he were expecting a
reply, a smile or even a friendly hug. For once I was dumb struck. Hi
wasn't enough , not by a long shot.
My heart began to beat faster, echoing through my head, I could feel
the thudding quickening in my wrist as my pulse hit maximum. I was
unsure what to say