Invisible Man?

c6876cc69401343gypsy21f8134cb719e073dIt was pretty hard to keep my mind on work. Lunchtime didn’t come soon enough.

“We’re going to the Red Lion for a Ploughman’s, do you want to come?” Cindy asked.

“No thanks, I think I’ll grab a sandwich and find myself a seat by the river.”

She gave me an odd luck. “You okay?”

“Yes, why?”

“You’ve just been a little distracted the last couple of days. If you need to talk, I’m always here you know that.”

I smiled “I have things on my mind, but I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

“Would it have anything to do with a certain someone in a leather jacked?”Cindy asked.

“Maybe,” I said, giving nothing away. She was satisfied with my answer and left “See you later then.”

I didn’t have a book to read, and I didn’t want to sit by the river. I wanted to find the bad boy in the black leather jacket.

I walked up to the market place, which was a hive of activity now the fair was arriving. Huge lorries looked out of place in the medieval market square. It was a riot of color with the brightly painted gypsy caravans. An old woman tanned dark brown and jingling with beads swept past me. She was a familiar sight at the fair, a fortune teller and possibly a hundred years old, but fit as a fiddle. She hesitated for a moment. I shivered, a sudden chill penetrating my blouse. Nausea swept over me. I hope I’m not getting sick.

The old woman stopped again a few paces in front of me and cackled, “You’re not getting sick, you’re getting a visitor. She’s coming!”

“What?”

She continued her ear piercing cackle and walked away. “You’ll see!”

“Hey wait.” She disappeared behind a huge truck. Did she read my mind? Who was coming? My imagination again? I tried to follow the old gypsy, but she was nowhere to be seen. I’d find her again, when she was open for business, she’d be more than happy to take my money.

Wandering among the throng of lively fair ground folk was uplifting. They shouted and laughed among themselves as they unloaded their equipment. I envied their freedom. The following day the trucks would be gone and the market place transformed into a gaudy playground.

There was no sign of the motorcycle, or its leather clad rider so I bought a sandwich and wandered along castle walk , where I found a bench in the sun and ate my sandwich, wishing I did have a book to read, something to occupy my mind. Maybe I should get away for the weekend. I thought of the old hag that spoke to me in the market place? What did she mean about a visitor? Probably nothing, she was here every year, charged as much as she could to tell your fortune, saying only what you wanted to hear. If she didn’t like the look of you, she’d tell you something horrific, just to scare you.

Then I heard the music again.

And where do we go from here?
Which is a way that’s clear?

A motorbike revved up somewhere below me! I looked down to the road by the river Swale. Nothing! I could hear the noise of an engine as it travelled along the road and cross the bridge, heading up towards Hudswell, but there was nothing to see.

I broke my sandwich into pieces and fed it to the birds. I just wasn’t hungry anymore.

Will I ever find my bad boy? Stay tuned to find out. 

One of my other stories Dead of July can be purchased on Amazon for $0.99.

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

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