Boomsticks

Orion

Good Night Guarantee

Knock Knock

The Secret of Poy

Boomsticks – Part One

The Elephant

The Organ Grinder

Error 404

Whilst Monty Sleeps

Boomsticks – Part Two

The Last Honest Man

A Partridge in a Tree

The Hunt

Nuns! Nuns! Nuns!

Boomsticks – Part Three

The Maiden

Afterword

Acknowledgments

A quick favour

About the author

Also by Simon Fairbanks

Foreword

What exactly is a boomstick?

Good question. It took me a while to figure this one out too.

Naming a short story collection is incredibly difficult. How do you find a name that brings together such a wide variety of stories, taking place in different times, places and genres?

My first collection is called Breadcrumbs, inspired by Hansel and Gretel, and I wanted this second collection to have a similar sound. I therefore limited myself to a two-syllable word, beginning with B and ending in S.

Boomsticks eventually came to mind, inspired by an iconic film catchphrase, in which the character refers to his shotgun as a boomstick.

After further mind-mapping, I realised boomstick could also be slang for jousting, gunpowder, antlers and a magic wand, all of which appear in this collection. The titular novella found in the pages ahead was written entirely after I chose the name boomsticks, which goes to show that one unusual word can inspire 40,000 more.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the fourteen stories ahead. There are horrors and fantasies. There is children’s fiction and a cheeky poem. You will find speedy, economical flash fiction and a full-length novella set in my Nephos fantasy world. You will travel to Japan, Russia, Iceland and the clouds. You will meet robots, sky-horses, green monkeys, an unwelcome elephant, and a bounty hunter from the stars. You will read words such as crinet, musth, gelid, oneirology, and more. You will discover the Secret of Poy.

Say hello to my Boomsticks.

Simon Fairbanks

24 January 2018

Orion

There were only two figures left on the snowy streets of St Petersburg. The rest of the city slept, as it had for much of the night.

One of the figures swayed considerably more than the other, singing jovially and clutching a bottle of vodka. The other figure, the larger of the two, bearded and barrel-chested, supported the first man, keeping him upright and veering him away from the iciest cobbles.

‘Where to now, my friend?’ asked the first man, upon finishing his song.

‘It is four in the morning,’ said the larger man, chortling. ‘We will not find a drinking hole at this time of night. I fear that brothel was our last stop.’

The drunk man waved a dismissive hand. ‘Nonsense. Whilst the stars still shine, the night lives on.’

‘You are insatiable,’ laughed the larger man. ‘The night has been long enough. We have eaten plenty, we have drank even more. There was dancing and fighting. We enjoyed the company of many beautiful women, some without even paying. What more is there to do?’

‘Indeed, it has been a night of unexpected pleasures,’ agreed the drunk. ‘Hah! And I still don’t know your name.’

‘Nor I yours.’

‘A night as busy as ours? There was no time for introductions!’

‘Why don’t you ask me now?’

‘No, that would be admitting defeat, accepting that the night is over. We met as strangers and will part as strangers. Keep your name to yourself. I certainly won’t be telling you mine. I don’t like names.’

‘Why not?’

‘That I will tell you, but only if you drink with me.’

‘Very well,’ smiled the larger man. ‘But the bars are shut, unless you know something I don’t.’

‘I do, my sensible friend.’ The drunk winked and revealed a bottle of vodka from underneath his overcoat. ‘There is always more to drink.’

The larger man laughed. ‘Where did you get that?’

‘I swiped it from the brothel. Serves them right for tearing us away from such sweet company.’

‘You are full of surprises,’ said the larger man. ‘As you say, the night goes on. Where shall we drink it?’

The drunk hopped up onto a low wall. ‘A drinking hole is wherever you drink.’ He swept away a layer of snow and patted the wall with his gloved hand. ‘I found you a seat.’

The larger man shook his head in mock exasperation and held up his hands in surrender. ‘Very well. You better share that bottle, it’s freezing out here.’

‘Of course! I would never drink alone.’

‘I seem to remember that is how this evening began.’

The larger man took a seat next to his nameless companion and accepted the bottle of vodka for a long swig.

‘I must say, you are a bad influence, my friend.’

‘Hah!’ said the drunk. ‘There is nothing bad about me. I just want to make the most of being here. This world is wonderful. Why should I deny myself the pleasures it has to offer? Food, drink, music, love. We should indulge in life.’

‘We have certainly indulged tonight.’ The larger man returned the bottle.

‘And I did last night, just as I will tomorrow night.’

‘Where do you get this appetite? And why don’t you like names?’

‘The answer is the same for both questions,’ said the drunk. ‘And a secret.’

‘Oh?’ The larger man watched his companion carefully.

‘Come close,’ whispered the drunk, leaning in. ‘I am a fugitive.’

‘You are on the run?’

‘Oh yes. I was imprisoned for a long time, locked away in darkness. Solitary confinement.’

‘Where?’

‘Far away from here. There were others too. But we escaped! We fled to this wonderful place and have never looked back.’

‘Where are the rest of your escapees?’

‘Scattered around the world. It seemed safer to separate. We didn’t want to make the manhunt easy.’

‘You are being hunted?’

The drunk nodded. ‘There is one who searches for me. He has caught several of the others, maybe a lot more.’

‘How do you know? Are you in touch with them?’

‘No, we were never that close,’ said the drunk. He took a lengthy swig from the bottle and looked at the constellations written across the night. ‘But I see them. Their shapes appear in the sky, one by one, so I know they have been caught and sent back to the darkness.’

‘I was once in a similar place,’ said the larger man.

‘You were? Did you ever try to escape?’

‘No, I was supposed to be there. I served my time. Escape was not on my mind.’

‘Yet here you are.’

‘I was released.’

‘Your warden sounds fairer than mine.’

‘There were conditions to my release.’

‘Community service?’

‘In a way.’

‘Well, enjoy being here, my friend.’ A noise startled the drunk and caused him to snap his neck round to find the source of the sound. It was just a stray dog at the far end of the square. He turned back to his companion. ‘I envy your freedom. My own has restraints. It is wearisome having to look over my shoulder.’

‘For the man you mentioned?’

‘Yes, he is a fearsome hunter. A huge man, maybe even bigger than you. They say he is half-Gorgon, half-Poseidon. I don’t know about that, but he is supernaturally strong and heavily-armed, equally skilled with bow and sword.’

‘Does he have a name, or is he nameless like us?’

‘Far from it,’ said the drunk. ‘The hunter has many names. There are those who call him the Heavenly Shepard, but that is too kind. The Arabs call him Al-Jabbar, which means the Giant. The Chippera Indians call him the Wintermaker. Yet the Hungarians have named him most truly. They call him Kaszas, the Reaper.’

The drunk swigged once more from the bottle.

‘But you may know him by his common name.’

‘Orion,’ said the larger man.

‘Yes, Orion. You know your astronomy! He was sent down to find us after we fled the depths of space. We left an empty sky behind us but we had wept in solitude and silence for millennia. We fled and found freedom. Orion was sent to slay our human forms and return us to the sky.’

‘You are a fallen star.’

‘I am a free star.’

The larger man showed no surprise. The drunk may have questioned his companion’s casual acceptance of these revelations but the vodka had been going down very nicely.

‘Many stars, to be precise,’ added the drunk. ‘An entire constellation condensed into the form of a single human body. In the sky, I would appear as a peacock, vast and beautiful. Down here, I am simply your round, red drinking companion. Small, compact, unassuming. Not much to look at, certainly not beautiful, but I prefer it. The pleasure of the flesh, having five fantastic senses, not least of all a set of taste buds – all so wonderful. Before I fled, I only remember cold and silence and loneliness.’

‘A peacock, you say? You are Pavo.’

‘Ah! Well, now you know my name.’

‘Like you said, I know my astronomy.’

‘Well, you know my story and my name. We are strangers no more! Pleased to meet you!’

The drunk held out his hand and the larger man accepted it with an amused smile. The drunk shook his companion’s hand vigorously.

‘It seems only right that I ask your name, now.’

The larger man sighed. ‘I am afraid you already know it.’

‘I do?’

‘I have many names.’

The drunk, Pavo, froze. His head turned slowly to meet the gaze of his larger drinking companion, his eyes wide, his mouth agape.

‘Orion?’ he whispered. The larger man nodded, sympathetically.

Pavo’s paralysis did not last for long. He swung the bottle of vodka at Orion and leapt from the wall. Orion batted away the bottle with a casual brush of his hand and it smashed on the icy cobbles. Pavo had started to run but he slipped over after a few clumsy bounding steps, partly caused by the snow and partly the result of the vodka.

Orion whistled. ‘Major, minor!’

Pavo may have scrambled to his feet, made another attempt at running, but a slathering, growling maw appeared before him. It was the stray dog he had seen earlier. Only, now he realised it was not a stray. This was one of Orion’s hunting dogs, Canis Major. A burning, roaring white-hot star condensed into the form of a fierce beast. A second growl indicated the arrival of Orion’s second dog, Canis Minor. It stood sentry behind Pavo. He would no longer be fleeing.

‘I am sorry, Pavo,’ said Orion, slipping from the wall and walking over to the fallen star. ‘You have enjoyed this excursion long enough. It is time to return to the sky. Be a constellation again.’

‘No!’ pleaded Pavo. ‘You don’t have to do this. We had fun tonight. I called you friend. We drank together, feasted together, fought together. How can you do this to me?’

‘Tonight was for you,’ said Orion.

‘No,’ said Pavo. ‘Tonight was not just for me. You enjoyed yourself.’

‘It was your last night on Earth,’ said Orion. ‘I thought you deserved a going away party.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Pavo. ‘That was not duty I witnessed tonight. You had fun. You like being here as much as any of us.’

‘I am here to hunt, not gorge myself.’

‘Keep telling yourself that. You have been hunting us for too long. I think you have acquired a taste for Earthly pleasures.’

Orion had no response to that. Even the dogs had stopped growling.

Pavo was not done. ‘Have you thought about what will happen when you hunt down the last of us? You won’t need to be here anymore. You will be sent back to the darkness along with the rest of us.’

Pavo thought he saw fear on Orion’s face.

‘Yes, you haven’t thought about that, have you? Back to the cold dark abyss, with nothing to do but light the night sky, so these humans can navigate and tell the seasons. A hollow task! They have all sorts of devices to do those things. We are not needed up there. You think of me as a fugitive, but this is retirement. Stars are obsolete.’

Orion listened. He was shaking his head but still he listened.

‘Perhaps that is why you took so long to find me. Maybe that is why you did not kill me on sight, instead treating me to an evening of adventure. You don’t want your mission to be over. You have been dragging your feet on purpose.’

Finally, Orion had heard enough and his temper flared. ‘Then I will delay no longer.’

He opened his long, heavy cloak and drew a mighty sword from his belt. Pavo knew the sword to be Saiph – an entire star condensed into a formidable blade. Saif al-jabber, the sword of the giant.

‘I will make this quick,’ said Orion. ‘Weep not. Your stay was longer than most of the others.’

‘At least let me choose my own death,’ said Pavo. ‘I would have the dogs finish me.’

Orion frowned. ‘The sword will be quicker. You would feel no pain.’

‘I am in no rush to leave this place. And I am happy to feel pain. Even the worst pain imaginable would be better than feeling nothing. You are sending me back to an eternity of that.’

Orion relented. ‘Very well.’ He nodded at his dogs and they padded closer, bearing their teeth.

‘Wait,’ said Pavo, his eyes tearful. ‘Will I remember my time here?’

‘On Earth? I don’t know.’

‘I will forget. I know I will. I have no memories before I fell from the sky. I will have no memories when I return. All those happy experiences, the sights, the music, the beautiful women I have loved whilst walking this Earth. They will all vanish into nothing, like they never were.’

He started to weep.

‘Please,’ his voice trembled. ‘I don’t want to forget.’

The dogs looked to Orion but there was nothing more to say. He nodded and the beasts surged forward, tearing at Pavo’s throat.

Orion had been right. It was not a quick end, nor a clean one, but Pavo received the pain he desired. He screamed until the very end but he was smiling too.

* * *

After Pavo had passed, his mauled body lit up. His form was changing, dissolving into a swarm of glowing white orbs. Each light floated upwards as if they were champagne bubbles, increasing in speed and size as they rose into the atmosphere. Their velocity would reach impossible heights, soaring across space until they returned to their rightful place in the sky, forming a constellation once more.

There was no sign the two stars had been conversing in the street, save for the smashed vodka bottle and the echoes of Pavo’s screams. Even so, Orion led his dogs away in case the screaming had attracted attention. He cut through several alleyways and found another empty square where he could look to the stars to learn the location of his next target.

There she was – the Maiden – etched across the clear night sky. Her form twinkled with such subtlety that it would go unnoticed by the keenest stargazers but Orion understood her instructions, communicated across light years of oblivion.

Orion had a new fugitive and a new location. He patted the hilt of his sword and beckoned to his dogs, then set off. A new hunt had begun.

Good Night Guarantee

‘Lily, are you okay in there?’

Charlie had heard her sneak into the bathroom. It was way past midnight.

‘I thought you were asleep,’ she said.

‘Can I come in?’

He didn’t wait for an answer. They were staying at a Premier Inn and there was no lock on the door. He found Lily kneeling in front of the toilet. The water was still clear, aside from spittle, so her gagging had yet to produce vomit.

‘I don’t feel good,’ said Lily. ‘Must have been something I ate.’

Charlie stroked her head. ‘It was a Michelin-starred restaurant. It can’t be food poisoning.’

‘Maybe it was too much rich food.’

‘Maybe.’

Charlie sighed inwardly. He had been dreading this conversation for weeks. He didn’t want to have it on the night of their one-year anniversary but it couldn’t wait any longer.

‘Lily, are you making yourself sick?’

‘What?’

‘Your fingers are covered in saliva,’ said Charlie. ‘And you have calluses on your knuckles.’

It was called Russell’s Sign, caused by repeated abrasion against the incisors when inducing vomit. Charlie had been online. There was very little he didn’t know about bulimia by now.

‘I told you,’ said Lily. ‘I don’t feel well. I want to empty my stomach before it gets worse.’

Charlie sat on the bathroom floor next to her. ‘Lily, I know this isn’t the first time.’

She stared intently into the toilet bowl, avoiding his gaze. At least her fingers hadn’t returned to her throat. Eventually, her head drooped in defeat.

‘I was so careful. Using the downstairs toilet, cleaning my teeth afterwards, mouthwash –‘

‘We share a bed, Lily. I was eventually going to notice you sneaking off each night.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. I should have mentioned it before now but I was afraid.’

Lily sank back against the towel rail, hugging her knees. ‘I have a condition.’

‘I know.’

‘It’s not what you think.’

‘So tell me. You can tell me anything.’

‘I wanted to. Slipping off to the toilet after every evening meal – I felt so dishonest. But I didn’t know where this was going.’

‘This?’

‘Us. We’ve only been together for a year. I thought the truth would scare you off.’

‘I’m not going anywhere. It must have been hard facing your condition alone.’

‘Mum knows.’

And probably caused it too, thought Charlie. He despised Lily’s mother, Rona, and was glad that the feeling was mutual.

‘Well, now I know, we can fix it together.’

Lily looked longingly at the toilet basin.

‘We’ll take one step at a time,’ said Charlie. ‘You can tell me about it in the morning. For now, just come to bed.’

She bit her lip, one hand anxiously rubbing her full belly. She was deep in thought. Charlie had never seen her agonise over anything before.

‘Lily?’

After a long battle of internal debate, she turned to Charlie and nodded.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Time to give it a try. Let’s go to bed.’

Charlie offered Lily his hand and pulled her up. Moments later, their heads were side by side on the plump Premier Inn pillows.

‘Maybe everything will be fine,’ whispered Lily, mostly to herself.

‘It will,’ said Charlie. ‘We’ll get you better.’

‘I hope so.’

‘Love you Lily.’

‘Love you Charlie.’

Lily smiled and fell asleep.

* * *

Charlie watched Lily sleep, as he had many times before. He felt love with every ounce of his being but mostly he felt an overwhelming sense of relief. The talk in the bathroom could have gone very badly – denial, anger, distress – but thankfully Lily wanted his help.

He would do anything for Lily. He had fallen in love with her instantly. Not because she was beautiful, although it didn’t hurt that she had her mother’s looks. Rona was a former model and nobody could deny her beauty even now, despite leaving the modelling world to follow academic pursuits.

Charlie didn’t love Lily for her money either. He knew Rona thought he was a gold-digger, which was rich coming from a glamorous model who married an older, wealthy, tech genius. That wealth had gone to Lily and Rona fifteen years ago, when Harold Stitson was murdered in his home by an unnamed assailant.

In truth, Charlie loved Lily despite her money. She never flashed her cash or made him feel ashamed of his humble salary. She let him pay for the meal tonight without objection because she could see it was important to him. She didn’t even offer to upgrade their hotel when Charlie booked a Premier Inn.

Instead, Charlie loved Lily for her brilliance. She was a child prodigy and borderline genius. Her late father had been an inventor and owner of his own software company. Lily had his brains and more. She knew everything. Her genius was incredibly useful, particularly in winning the crate of beer at their local pub quiz. She knew every capital city, could memorise entire recipes at a glance, and could split the bill without using her phone.

But mostly, Charlie loved Lily because she was completely carefree. She never worried, never stressed, didn’t overthink, didn’t debate decisions over and over – in short, she was the complete opposite to Charlie.

Of course, it was easy to see why.

Lily would never have to work a day in her life. She was home-schooled and never experienced the stress of exams. She had no friends, so she was spared the angst of group politics. Charlie didn’t agree with Lily’s sheltered lifestyle – or with Rona for enforcing it – but her absence of stress meant that Lily was happy and light and positive. She made Charlie feel the same whenever they were together. She was his joy.

But then –

A few weeks ago, Charlie had heard Lily tiptoe to the bathroom. The bulimia suggested Lily was not as carefree as he thought. He suspected Rona’s overbearing, isolating parenting was responsible.

Never mind. Charlie would help. Everything would be better from now on.

Lying on his pillow, he noticed Lily’s eyelids fluttering. She was dreaming. He had never seen her dream before. He hoped she was off somewhere wonderful.

‘Sweet dreams,’ he whispered.

Charlie was a famously terrible sleeper, always had been, and it was a while before he dozed off. He entered his usual fussy sleep, dallying and meandering between curious, tessellating dreamscapes of pure nonsense until –

Charlie’s side of the bed kicked upwards in a violent jerk and launched him into the ceiling. He was knocked unconscious before he awoke, which ended his fanciful dreamweaving with a painful THUD.

Nothing followed for quite some time.

* * *

Charlie awoke with numerous stoic faces looking down on him. They were police judging by the custodian helmets which they all wore – except one.

‘Charlie,’ said the man without the hat. ‘Can you hear me?’

He blinked several times whilst his consciousness adjusted. He wasn’t in a good place. His head felt painful and ruined.

‘My name is Virgil,’ said the man.

‘What are you doing in my hotel room?’ mumbled Charlie. Then his eyes widened. ‘Lily!’

He staggered to his feet to the objections of the constabulary.

‘Easy, Charlie.’

‘Lily?’

Then