The Adventure Room

   He was a dreamer. And preferable about massive changes in his life.
Far away countries, buzzing cities with restaurants, clubs, fun! And above all freedom.

   Oh, he liked where he was born; a village near the sea on a remote island in the northern hemisphere where the winters are long and dark and the summers a sea of light with mild temperatures.
It was a nice community where people knew each other, being helpful where ever possible.
But it was sooooooo boring! So predictable! Apart from modern facilities, they still lived the same life as many generations before them and most likely, many generations after them. And he did not want to be part of it.

   He planned an escape but then the Corona pandemic started and all his plans were put on a hold.
He saved enough money to leave the Isle and to travel for a week or so. In his fantasy he found temporary jobs during his journey to what ever thriving city he was going to arrive.
He thought of London, Amsterdam, Berlin, Paris..... Somewhere he could have fun, meet other young people. A girlfriend maybe who was not some sort of relative. He sighed, everyone on his Isle seemed somehow related to some one. Family traditions and stories were woven like a carpet into all families.
Stories in which cousin so and so 'you know, daughter of so and so who was a grandson of so and so, also a cousin of your grandfather from mother's side....' had done something incredible good or bad (the perfect example of who you should be or never become).

   It bored him all to death. Speaking of death.... he did not mind living here for a while but being buried.... Never!!! Once leaving, he would never return! He preferred to be burried some where grand, a large Tumb at the Pere Lachaise cemetery in Paris, to name one. Close to his idol Jim Morrison. Or even Frédéric Chopin, speaking of famous musicians. How cool would that be!
He imagined that during spooky nights, Frédéric and Jim composed music together with him listening to it.

   This triggered another thought. Would he be possible after his death in 60 years time or so, to look down on his Isle and it's people? Would he be able to hear them? Would they still talk about him as the successful runaway who managed to leave the Isle in a time of world wide lock downs and restrictions?
Maybe he was famous too by then with the whole Isle proudly telling his stories to their offspring. Another cool thought.
Well, if famous, he might have been returned before his death. Smiling, a man of the world, tapping the heads of the children who asked for his autograph. Being the hero and example of courage to others who wanted to leave but never had the guts.
He would tell hem that dreams can come through. 'Just look at me!'

   Thinking of all of this he watched a foreign ship entering the harbour. Their harbour wasn't exactly the world famous harbour of Rotterdam but funny enough, the ship was called The Rotterdam II.
A small container ship with indeed small containers. He did not recognize them as such although they were bright orange. And they were bundled, strapped. Not at all like the large ones he watched from a far distance. No, these small ones had white roofs with what looked like, little chimneys.
And red and white stickers with black and white letters of which he did not understand the meaning.
Not important, he thought. More intriguing and above all important, were those chimneys.
They tickled his already thriving fantasy. What if.......... and how........ and should I, and when...... Thoughts tumbling around in his brains like the laundry in his mother's washing machine.
He left the small rock on which he sat and walked home.


   He sat on a toilet seat, very comfortable. At his feet his bag with food, drinks and power food bars, his e-reader and mobile phone stuffed with music of Jim Morrison. Oh yes, and of course solar panel chargers for his gear.
Sufficient to survive for a week. And how convenient having a WC under his bum! And a chimney with fresh sea air above his head. He praised himself for this brilliant idea and successful mission to hide in what seemed a portable loo.
Maybe he would be able to escape from his voluntary and temporary prison during the night when most of the staff on board was asleep and the ship deck empty. To stretch his legs to keep the blood circulation going. That much he learned from the internet when his escape plans were all of a sudden within reach. Thanks to the engine problem of The Rotterdam II which stayed in the harbour for more than a week.

   He had carefully observed the hundreds of loo's, all commissioned by one and the same Dutch company and on their way to Holland. It exited him tremendously that he would start his city hopping in Amsterdam and from there he could always travel to Paris to visit Jim at the cemetery. Because once settled in his head, this seems very attractive.
He noticed that one loo wasn't fastened too tight and he was not tall nor fat.
When most of the crew was in the local Pub, he managed to climb on board to try if he could access the loo and he could.

   Back home he started with the preparations and wrote a note to his parents not to worry as he was safe and sound travelling to his new future.
The night before the ship left, he climbed on board to hide in his shelter, his Adventure Room as he called it with a smile. And the ship set sail.

   He felt sick, very sick. The journey was not at all what he imagined. Not at all!
The sea was rough, the waves sky high and he needed all the muscles in his arms and legs to squeeze against the walls so he wouldn't tumble around like a little ball in a gambling machine.
What first looked like a lucky coincidence - a not so tight fastened loo - was now a nightmare!
He knew he would be bruised all over when the weather would finally calm down. If...... because in is mind this already lasted for days although it started only a few hours ago.
And even worse, the content of the loo produced a terrible smell which made him even more sick.
He prayed for forgiveness, for being so stupid thinking that escaping was a piece of cake. The word cake emptied his stomach, sweat was running down his body, what was left of his food and drinks bounced against the walls of the loo. His mobile phone flew around his head, underneath his feet, the voice of Jim Morrison died with the battery.
He lost track of time and slowly escaped into the phantasy that started long ago. Holding on to his destination dream; the buzzing cities of Europe......

 

Photo: Klaas Keizer (Instagram)

Passing the route above the Dutch Isles, The Rotterdam II lost a few items of it's freight due to the heavy storm. Orange loo's were swallowed up and spit out by the high waves that rolled between the isles towards the mainland.
All but one sank. The waves were determined to deliver this one to the mudflats where it stayed for over a week, straight up and lit by the light of the late sun.

The helicopter hovered above the loo that was surrounded by coast guards, police and journalists and even TV stations. Everybody had to leave their cars at higher dry grounds and walked through the mud in proper wellies.

There was a lot of excitement when the helicopter lifted its freight to fly it to the mainland for further inspection. Apart from being too battered to be back in use, it first was going to be examined by a forensic team.

   He would have loved it as a TV series but now he was the subject. He was famous, talked about, people guessing his name and where he came from. Helicopters, news papers, broadcasted... all he wished for.
But not in Amsterdam, London or Paris. No, in an area even more remote than the Isle he left.

Unfortunately he wasn't aware of all the excitement.
Maybe by now he talked to Jim and Frédéric. About music, dreams, travelling........

We will never know.

Word of thanks: the photo of @klaas.keizer (Instagram) inspired me to write this story and I was given permission to use it as an illustration for which I am very grateful. Thank you so much Klaas! Tige tank!

Links: please visit the beautiful Instagram account of Klaas and his web stie where you can buy his stunning photos of the Wadden Sea.

Note: the story is pure fiction! A figment of my imagination!

Helen

Anxiety (short story)

   They told me they were coming back, that they would never leave me.

   But that is not true, is it? Or do I have to wait longer? If so, can you please tell me how long?
Oh... I have so many questions and I can't answer them. Nobody answers them for me.
I was told not to leave the house "It is an evil world son", Mummy and Daddy said. And they know all about the evil world.

   It has not always been like this, oh no! I still remember the warmth of the sun. It is so long ago that I do not remember anymore which year. I do remember that I sat in my little wooden chair in the garden, together with my fluffy Teddy Bear. Do you know his name? It was Arcot, Mummy said it meant 'bear' in a foreign language.
   I should not have mentioned my Teddy Bear, he is gone too and now I feel sad again and cry. I must have lost him somewhere in the garden. Long after everybody else left and Arcot left me too. Why??
   I was looking for food in the garden, digging carrots like Mummy did but I found a strange white carrot that looked like the bone our old dog ate. It scared me, I must have dropped Arcot and I do not want to go back.

    Why is Mummy not coming back? She promised after Daddy never returned.
I loved Mummy and I loved Daddy but I did not love them when they were shouting at each other.
And they shouted so often; I always hid in the wardrobe, holding my hands over my ears and then I cried but they did not hear me.
   One day Mummy said to Daddy: "It is enough, I'll make sure you never shout again" and she took Daddy to the garden. I stayed in the wardrobe so do not know where they went.
I waited and waited, maybe an hour, maybe a week, I don't remember. Here on my own an hour is as dark and lonely as a week.
But when Mummy returned she had mud on her hands, I thought she looked for carrots too.
After she washed her hands she took my arm and told me I was never to go out in the garden again: "Never! Do you hear me?"
I cried, shouting I wanted Daddy but she shook me until my teeth rattled and since that day I often have this terrible pain in my head. Pain that confuses me. I do not always remember the days or the weeks when I am in pain.

   Sometimes I wake up in a dark house with dirty shoes. I don't understand where the mud comes from and I don't know who else wears my shoes. I don't go out in the garden, not after I found the white carrot. And I could not tell Mummy, she had gone too.
I often sit near the window, looking if she is walking down the path but the trees grow and grow, I don't think she can reach the house anymore.
   I stopped looking in the mirror because I see an unknown man, dirty with long filthy hair and grey irregular stripes on his cheeks. His large eyes with the red eyelids are so scary! I am so afraid of him but he does not come after me. He stays in the mirror.
It can not be me, I am still little and looking for Arcot. I want to tell Arcot how very afraid I am, he will understand me.

   I look at the photo's. Daddy always took photo's, there are boxes full of them. He had many camera's too, they are all still in the house. I do not know how it works, I tried to open the yellow boxes with the strange rolls in little plastic cans. But I d not know what to do with them. I rolled them out but do not see anything, it is all grey. Nothing like all the photo's where I see the old dog, Mummy and Daddy. Photo's on which I see myself in the wooden chair, that is how I know I am still little so the man in the mirror can not be me.

   I do not want the photo's to go away. I talk to them, ask them to bring Mummy and Daddy back. Do you think that is possible? I try hard, I hold them against my chest and close my eyes. I repeat over and over again "Please step out and come to live with me!".  Nothing happens and I am so scared!
   I think hard but still do not know what happened to Mummy. The last thing I remember was that she was so angry at me and my headache got worse and worse. The next I knew was all the mud on my shoes, I don't know what happened in between. And if I try to think hard, my anxiety grows and grows and I look for Arcot. I look in every corner, behind every chair, I walk faster and faster, bump into furniture, throw things aside and shout. Shout for Arcot. Arcot! ARCOT..........!!

   The man that waded through the weed and bushes, stood still. The awful sound that echoed through the woods was too scary to be human. Still, it were not the crows, it were not the deer.
He listened but only heard silence. Total silence, if every living creature in the forest held it's breath.
   The man noticed how cold it was and rubbed the goosebumps at his arms. He was not sure any more if he still wanted to visit the abandoned house deep down the woods. The house that no one wanted to visit but he did not believe in ghosts.
   He shook his head and continued his walk, surprised the temperature went down so quickly. He blamed the sun not being able to find it's way through the dense trees.

   Suddenly the house was there, without a warning. The temperature was as low as it could be, it felt as if the cold came from the house and not the woods. The dark filthy windows glared at him, hostile and angry. He was not welcome but he did not give in to his fear.
   The door was covered in cob webs with spiders as big as he had never seen before. With his sleeve over his hand, he pushed the doorknob and to his surprise the door flung open, tearing the cob webs apart, angry spiders running in all directions.

   The temperature in the house felt below zero, the man's teeth started to rattle and he rubbed is arms for some warmth. If there was an evil world outside, in here it was even worse.

Photo: @thedarkveil (Instagram)

   Entering the room he noticed the camera's and photo's sooner than the chaos of smashed furniture. He took some photo's and looked at a man and woman, probably man and wife. The smile at the face of the woman made his goosebumps return, he felt a frightening chill going down his spine.
   While he put the photo back, he noticed another one with a lovely little boy in a wooden chair. A boy with angel-like curly hair, wide open eyes with long lashes. He smiled at the camera, happy in his own little world. In his arms, tightly pushed against his chest, a fluffy Teddy Bear.

   "ARCOT!" This time the man clearly understood that gruesome scream. It echoed in his head, penetrated his body and bones. His blood froze and for the very first time in his life he knew what anxiety meant. Anxiety that made him run and run to never return.
  

Word of thanks: the photo of @thedarkveil (Instagram) inspired me to write this story and I was given permission to use the photo as an illustration for which I am very grateful.Thank you Cameron!!

Links: please visit the beautiful Instagram account of @thedarkveil and his impressive website Cameron and Evans Fine Art Photography!
 
Note: the story is pure fiction! A figment of my imagination!

Helen

Choices (short story)

    Are you too a woman? If so, do you love clothes like I do?

All my life I loved dresses. And shoes! I remember being a little girl wearing the dresses of my mother and grandmother.

   My first memory goes back to the age of 5. I stood on a chair, one finger at the tip of my nose, asking myself which dress I wanted to ware. My other hand touched all the beautiful clothes in the wardrobe, pushing them aside one by one and by the last dress I started all over again.

Not only because I could not choose but also because I loved the smell, touching the materials and the sound of the metal of the cloth hangers.
   The wooden hangers itself were covered in the most beautiful fabrics with prints of roses and filled with lavender that mingled with the smell of the dresses with my mother's perfume. 
I stood bare feet on the chair, once I was wearing my mother's shoes which were way to big and Mummy said that was far to dangerous! I did not understand but was still at the age mother's knew best.

   Being a little older, Mummy gave me old clothes that I stored in a large wooden box but I have to admit that it wasn't as interesting as have them hanging in the wardrobe. But I loved to sit on my knees and wading through the dresses with my hands. And when I wanted to dress up I could never choose which dress. I loved them all. Thinking of the occasion to wear them was helpful. One day I imagined being at a very posh party, lipstick smeared around my mouth.
   An other day I was the hostess at my tea party and neatly dressed, serving my guests (indeed, my many dolls) tea and cakes. I held the tea cup with my pink up in the air but Mummy said that was not posh. And that is how a little girl learns to become an adult.

   Isn't everything in life about choices? First your parents make choices for you but sooner or later choices become your own responsibility. And cloths have always been a red thread in my life. They helped me to make choices. It may sound strange to you but they transformed me into another person next to myself. I could play roles; being someone I was not deep down my heart. Deep down my heart I was very insecure but you might have guessed that because I take so much time to choose.

   It will not come as a surprise to you that I had the same problem choosing the right husband. Don't laugh.... Yes indeed I had to choose! Mummy and everybody else told me I was a very charming, elegant and exceptional good looking girl, very beautiful. 

Of course I was only beautiful in the right dress (so I thought). I must always have been wearing the right dresses because the house was very often visited by handsome (and less handsome) men who paid my parents a visit introduced by someone in the large circle of friends of my parents, but who also put a lot of effort in to staring at me.
Occasionally I was allowed to go to a party but always with a chaperone. You will agree that it is very difficult to get to know someone if there is always a chaperone walking two steps behind you!

   At the age of 21, Mummy and Daddy told me I was going to be an old spinster if I kept seeing all these men without giving a minor hint which one I liked most. Oh, I often wished all these man hanging in wardrobes so I could touch them one by one, pushing them aside for the next one. And if no one was looking I would probably smell them as well!! I am very certain they all have there own scent!
   I hardly slept thinking of all these young men approved by my parents because they choose first.
After many sleepless nights I imagined putting some men in a wooden box with the lid firmly closed, my way of shifting the handsome from the less handsome. I did the same with the rich and the less rich and lo and behold, I had only 3 men left. I then shifted by age. I did not choose the youngest nor the oldest (although Mummy and Daddy said the oldest was the best choice). No I choose the one in the middle; only 5 years older and from a very good family.

    If I ever knew this turned out to be the most terrible choice I made in my life.....

    We married at my 22^nd birthday, it was a glorious day; the sun shone, the lavender was in full bloom like the roses. The church was filled with wonderful bouquets of the finest flowers, leaves and ribbons.
The guests were dressed in their best clothes; the men with top hats and the women large decorated hats matching their dresses in the same colour as their shoes.

   Everybody was happy and cheerful. Accept I...... After the “you may kiss the bride” moment, I turned my head and looked in the dark brown eyes of a very handsome man with a beautiful moustache and oh, did I love moustaches!! He was tall, well dressed and even more well mannered. And he looked at me, hypnotised me with his eyes until I felt like a rabbit in the headlights of Daddy's limousine.
   I knew there and than, that I made the wrong choice. Don't you agree that if I had not married what was now my husband, I would never had met the man with the dark brown eyes? So in that respect I made the wrong choice for a husband. 

   I could not forget the man and my marriage was over before it started. My poor husband promised 'to have and to hold from this day forward; etcetera, etcetera'.  And I would not let him. I said the same thing to him but it was easier not to remember that.
   My husband changed into a very disappointed man who slept in his own bedroom, seldom being home. My parents were worried about us not having children but how could I explain what was wrong: “Mummy and Daddy I am sorry but I made the wrong choice”? They loved me to bits but were certainly not going to say: “Oh poor girl! Will you come home again or do you want to marry another man?”!!

   One day my husband did not come home at all and was found drunk in the bed of a woman of a certain profession. And because of that, everybody agreed to a divorce although it was 'not done' in those years. I am talking about 100 years ago.
   Did you think I am that old? I can see you counting and thinking: “Oh no, you are not 127 years of age!” and of course I am not. I passed away at the age of 90.
And why am I still here to tell you this story? Think.... you might know though!

   Indeed, I did not know what to choose, to stay here or to go to the other side.
And do you know what made me choose for staying? A long time ago I was told that there are no beautiful cloths and shoes at the other side and after being put on a long white nightgown made of the fine lace of my voile of the wedding dress (I never choose to give to to some one else) the day of my death, I fully believed it.   
   And I could not leave all my cloths behind, could I? I still wanted to touch them and run my hands from one to another, listening to the sound of the metal of the cloth-hangers.

   Do you understand how disappointed I was that I indeed still can run my hands through the dresses but nothing is happening? My hands are like the rest of my body, transparent and go right through everything I touch without moving it. And I can not hold my finger to the tip of my nose!
   One advantage is that I can walk through doors and walls as long as it is within the four walls of the house. But I can not wear all my cloths! I can not even take them from the wardrobe, how hard I try, it does not work.

Photo: @dennislexmond_photography (Instagram)

    I know you are here, wondering about all the dresses and why nothing has changed over the years. How could it with no next of kin. Even the man with the dark eyes and the beautiful moustache was never mine because again I could not choose.

   Do you agree that I think I made again the wrong choice by staying??? Or.........

Word of thanks: the photo of @dennislexmond_photography (Instagram) inspired me to write this story and I was given permission to use the photo as an illustration for which I am very thankful. Thank you Dennis!

Link: please  visit the beautiful Instagram account of Dennis Lexmond Photography.

Note: the story is pure fiction! A figment of my imagination.

Helen

Little Doors (short story)

"Are you like me? Orderly, introvert, tidy, easy going, laid back?
Oh, and not to forget handsome, rich, well dressed, wealthy! Idyllically the perfect son in law!

You might think I am exaggerating; thinking too much of myself. You will say: "Nobody is all that...."
But my dear, I am all that! I really am....
Your next question will be: "Than you are already taken....". No sweetheart, I am not.
Yes, I know, you are astonished aren't you? No one can be all that and still not taken.
Well, I am your living example, it is possible. I have to admit that it is not my free choice, I met many women I wanted to share my life with but although I have so much and beyond to offer, they never wanted to share their lives with me. Strange isn't it?

As soon as I invited them home, the relationship changed. Yes, I have a home, quite big really. I am not telling you secrets if I say it is a very, very big Estate with woodlands, fields and a long drive way with a gate guarded by big statues of lions. And of course a gate keeper as I prefer to keep the gates locked as often as possible. Maybe this scares my female visitors off? Being locked up? Why would they if they have all my money to spend, an Estate, the most handsome man on earth and many servants?
Indeed, if you and I will get along and marry, you will have servants; people who keep the Estate in good order, who look after you. I even have doctors and nurses, a bookkeeper, gardeners.
You look surprised.... this is not what you expected, isn't it?And they are all yours.

Of course I am wealthy enough to pay all the staff, I just told you that. And do you know that I know them all by name? Each one of them. And they appreciate that, they respect me, you can tell by the way they talk to me, with low voices, kind and patient. They know that they should not upset me, not to make me angry. Am I a violent person you ask me? No, I am not. I am always kind and calm.
No no, this is not true. I agree I can be upset if the bookkeeping is not in good order, I hate disorderly paperwork. Oh yes, this can annoy me so very much!!! But please keep this as a secret.

I think I am going to tell you another secret, are you ready for it? And will you promise me not to leave me?
Promise!!! Yes... good girl!

All the staff I just mentioned; there are not as many as I want you to believe. Somehow they don't stay here for long. I replace them for others but sometimes, when I stayed in my room for too long, again staff members left. And lately I can't find new members as easily as I used to. And the new ones are often not as polite as the ones of who I thought were loyal to me.
Do you think they are jealous? Jealous of my status, my money, my good looks?

Another secret is that I do not trust my new staff any more. I think they are betraying me.
In what way, you ask me? I suspect them to add pills to my food. Not that I need pills of course, but I am almost certain they try to poison me! Yes, that frightens you too, doesn't it? Poisoning, mind you!!!
And they avoid me as well, I see less and less people walking around. They don't talk to me as they did before, they avoid me. Now I come to think of it, yes, they avoid me!! How dare they!! I pay them very good wages and want to be obeyed!!

Oooohhh.... now I am getting angry, very angry!!
Are you listening to me? Where are you? You walked away from me, come back!! Come back I tell you!!
Where is everybody? Where are you? Where is the other staff? Why am I on my own? Nobody told me that they were going to leave the Estate, to leave me....

Photo: @glory.of.dispair

Did you leave a note? Whatever note? Are your notes in the cupboard? The large cupboard down the hall?
The one with all the little doors, doors that thrive me sick....... little doors that remind me of all the little doors in my head. Doors with hidden thoughts that disappear every time I open one.
I want to know what is behind those doors, I want to understand but all I see is paper, sheets, files, prescriptions, names of other people..... I am angry, I do not want papers, I want my thoughts back....!!"


        The lamp dangling from the ceiling didn't shed a light any more at the enormous chaos, found by a visitor of a long forgotten Estate.
The man looked around, his hand protecting his nose against the damp smell. His eyes watched the chaos of passed times and he tried to get his head around the memories of hundreds of spirits that never followed their troubled owners who left the Estate for good.


Word of thanks: the photo of @glory.of.disrepair (Instagram) inspired me to write this story and I was given permission to use the photo as an illustration for which I am very grateful. Thank you Mathias!

Link: please visit the beautiful Instagram account of @glory.of.disrepair

Note: the story is pure fiction! A figment of my imagination!

Helen