‘Much Dithering in Little Botheringham’ is an everyday tale of village life and vampires, from Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook.

When the bat man finally turned up Em wasn’t impressed. He was skinny, largely bearded and unpleasantly sweaty, he also wore sandals with socks and baggy khaki shorts. He shook hands rather too vigorously and introduced himself in a surprisingly bass voice, although he appeared to communicate with the world via the use of a few words as possible.
He was hung about with boxes and bags, and as Em followed his red gooseberry-like calves through the lich gate she sincerely hoped he was more useful than he looked. The church door stood open and he strode in with his sandals slapping on the ancient stone.
“Where bats?”
“Belfry.”
He turned to smile at her, revealing a set of long, yellow teeth that made Em think of the donkey sanctuary.
“Pipistrelle?”
“Nah. Bigger.”
He spared her a disbelieving sneer before heading towards the vestry door.
Em enjoyed a silent moment of glee and waited for him to admit his error. It took a while but he eventually reemerged.
“Where staircase.”
Em pointed to the door that was almost hidden in the linenfold panelling that covered the white stone walls up to a height of about seven feet. Batman disappeared again and Em composed herself to wait. There came a disturbance in the air and Erasmus appeared on her shoulder. He was giggling. 
“I’m glad I stayed awake to watch the fun,” his voice in her mind was full of unholy glee. “The guy with the beard is getting on Enoch’s nerves.”
“Enoch?”
“Head of the family of small bats. He is so gonna shit on the human’s head. Just waiting for him to take his hat off.”
A faint scream attested to the validity of Erasmus’ instincts before the sound of careful footfalls had him fading abruptly into the background. Arnold came down the aisle walking softly and carrying a large broom. Em grinned and cocked her chin towards the open belfry door. Arnold sat beside her putting something small and black in her hands as he sat. It was a knitted bat, perfect in every detail and Em could feel her face creasing into a doting smile. Erasmus’ voice in her head was awestruck. 
“How’d he make a woolly me?”
“I dunno, boy, it’s beyond my skills.”
Arnold just grinned.
The sound of sandals slapping on the difficult spiral of the old stone stairs alerted them to the arrival of a hyperventilating bat man. He just about fell into the nave, with his beard full of bat shit and his eyes ablaze with missionary zeal.
“Rhinolophus hipposideros. The biggest colony I have ever seen. I will be writing this up immediately.”
He bobbed his head to Em, in a sort of a gesture of respect, before almost running out of the building. 
“Rudolph’s hippopotamus?”
Arnold’s grin grew wider. “Lesser Horseshoe Bat. Rare.
Em nodded and she and Arnold sat in companionable silence for a while, with neither being quite sure what to make of the odd little man’s shenanigans.
Em was thinking about going home when she felt an inimical presence coming close. Being who she was she wasn’t about to run away, but neither was she up for a confrontation with something she had yet to suss out. So she took the third way. She drew in a deep breath and held it, gently willing herself to be unremarkable and at one with the old building. Years of practice ensured that she succeeded to the extent that the light passed through her instead of around her and she became effectively invisible.  Arnold picked up his broom and began methodically sweeping the worn flagstones of the church floor. He had just progressed to the corner by the belfry and quietly closed the door when the vicar swept into the building like an avenging vicar.
“Arnold. Who was that strange little man I just passed?”
“Which strange little man, vicar?” Arnold was the picture of bucolic stupidity as he blinked down at the smaller man.
“The one with the unkempt ginger beard and all the bags.”
“Oh that one. I don’t rightly know. He was messing about in the churchyard. Then he run off. Why?”
The vicar waved a distracted hand. “Never mind. Just so long as he wasn’t… I mean… Well… See there’s a strange car parked outside that nosey bitch Vanderbilt’s house. So I wondered if he was anything to do with her.”
Arnold grunted. “Mrs Vanderbilt don’t usually have no truck with men. Strange or not.”
“Maybe you are right. But doesn’t the old bat seem a bit strange to you.”
“Her’s a woman. They’m all strange.” Arnold shrugged about a yard and a half of shoulder and carried on with his slow methodical sweeping.
The vicar stared at him for quite some time before seeming to come to the conclusion that his employee was just as slow on the uptake as he appeared. He turned on his heel, as if about to leave the building, when he must have caught on to something not quite right. His eyes rounded and his nose became damp and pink and twitchy as he stood very still – scenting the air and finding something not to his taste.
“Arnold,” he said sharply, “can you not smell something?”
“All’s I can smell is bat shit.”
The vicar shook his head and his features rearranged themselves back to handsome human mode. “Oh yes. Maybe it’s the inimical winged rats I can feel. Carry on with your work.”
And he was gone.
Em would normally have dropped the concealment immediately, but some seventh sense had her remain hidden. Which was just as well, as only five or so minutes had passed before the vestry door sprang open to reveal the vicar’s suspicious face.His eyes raked the building before he pulled his head back and closed the door with bang.
Walking home a while later Em was troubled.
“What are you?” she asked herself. “What the heck are you?”

Part 7 of Much Dithering in Little Botheringham by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook, will be here next week.

Was it beauty’s fate to be
The pawn of serendipity?
Was she made as mild as milk
With skin as white and soft as silk
With auburn hair and emerald eyes
Just to be a nice surprise?
Was she put upon the earth
As a toy of fate from birth
So that a prince of bold descent 
Might find her out by ‘accident’?
Might take her to his castle cold
And keep her there til she grew old
Perhaps that was the master plan
But beauty ain’t the toy of man
And she a meeting engineered
With a lively dwarf with a silky beard….

©️Jane Jago 2020

    When Cargo Freighter Zulu/973 found it, the sleek little flitter was floating aimlessly in space, sort of halfway between the mining belt at Beta#32 and the transport station that orbited Jupiter II. It was much more elegant and aerodynamic looking than the ugly cargo hauler that nudged it with an armoured loading claw. The claw poked a bit more firmly and it drifted, with no more sense of direction than any of the other bits of space junk the traders had amassed on their journey.
    “Seems dead.” Captain Clearwater remarked to nobody in particular. “Let’s have a look then.”
    His communications officer turned the cargo hauler’s docking camera to face the wreck. She seemed to be in going on for perfect condition – clean and shiny and with some sort of earthside oriental script scrawled across her slightly flared bow.
    “Get Leah up here.”
    Somebody scrambled. Clearwater wasn’t a man to be kept waiting. Leah Su arrived promptly. She was as poised and unruffled as ever, but her bulky escort was red-faced and sweating. 
    “Su reporting for duty, sir.”
    “You’re the nearest thing to a linguist we have hereabouts. Can you read the writing on that ship?”
    “More or less, sir. It says something like ‘sea of stars’. Very roughly. I guess it is the name of the vessel.”
    “Probably is. Can you see an identifier?”
    “No sir.”
    “Me neither. And I reckon that makes it fair game. Whatever spoilt rich boy lost his toy out here, I’m thinking finders keepers. Even if nobody has put a bounty on her, she should fetch a few bob for salvage. I’m going over to have a look. Take the con Su.”
    Clearwater may have been greedy and even unprincipled, but he wasn’t fool enough to go and inspect a possible salvage vessel on his own. He gathered up a sizeable force, and broke out the blasters. 
    In the end, there were a dozen space stevedores, wearing their exoskeleton work suits, in the airlock, along with the captain, his first officer and the ship’s metallurgist. The inside door sealed and they put on their helmets before Su began pumping out the air. It took a good ten minutes before it was safe to open the big doors into the blackness of space.
    As the doors slowly slid back into their pockets in the hull, Clearwater straddled a jet scoot and headed for the flitter. First officer Ganges clutched the sissy bar behind his captain’s ample backside, and the rest formed a chain behind Ganges clipped together by lanyards attached to their tool belts. It wasn’t the most comfortable way to travel. But it wasted the least energy and Christopher Clearwater abhorred waste. Particularly if he was paying for whatever was being wasted.
    The jet scoot gently nudged against the silent craft. Clearwater’s voice rasped in the ears of his party. 
    “Anybody have any idea how we get in?” Then. “Let’s at least look for a door before we break out the cutting gear.” 
Nobody moved or spoke. Before the captain had chance to get properly irritated, Leah Su broke the silence. “Our docking camera view shows a touch plate about two metres to your right.”
    Clearwater grunted and edged that way. He slapped a large gauntleted palm against the shiny ochre-coloured plate. To everyone’s surprise, the three leaves of an oddly shaped and almost invisible portal slid silkily apart. Clearwater engaged the electro-vacuum parking brake and effectively suckered the scoot to the side of the flitter. He climbed carefully off his seat and made his way hand over hand to the open portal with his crew following him. 
    Inside the portal was the expected airlock although the controls were rather closer to the ground than would be normal. 
    “You. Gamble. Stay with the scoot. The rest of you get away from the door. I’m going to try and operate this airlock.”
    Being known as a bad-tempered bastard with heavy fists gets you obeyed speedily, so Clearwater didn’t even bother to look around before crouching by the control panel.
    “Pictograms,” he grunted, “that’s handy.”
    He touched one and the outer door closed tidily. A second button had air being pumped into the chamber. 
    First Officer Ganges fiddled with his meters and gauges. “Seems breathable, sir. A bit heavy on the oxygen but nothing problematic.”
    “Okay. But we keep helmets on until we are inside. Officer Su. Can you hear me?” 
    There was no response. 
    “Gamble. Do you copy?”
    “Sir.”
    “Right. Open a channel to Su on the mother ship. I’m gonna be using you as a bounce station.”
    “Done, sir.”
    “You got me now, Su?”
    “Yes sir.”
    “Okay.” He turned his attention to the boarding party. “Right you lot. Blasters out. And stay alert. Opening inner doors now.”
    Back on the cargo hauler the bridge crew heard a gentle hiss. 
    “We’re in. Seems deserted. Air is breathable if a bit oxygen heavy. We are removing helmets.”
    The sound of heavy booted feet and muttered conversation went in for several minutes before the captain spoke again. 
    “This is a rum old vessel. Everything is of the most modern and the very highest spec. But it seems to have been built for dwarves. And not very bright ones of them. Every control has a pictogram. Makes it easy for us, though. I reckon I can manoeuvre this baby alongside you and dock her. Standby docking grabs.”
    “Aye, aye sir.”
    “Closing door and pumping out airlock.”
    The next sound the bridge crew heard was a wet gurgling groan followed by what sounded like something heavy hitting a hard floor. Followed by silence. As Su frantically toggled the comms button the flitter disappeared. One second she was there, the next gone. For an instant there was an eye-wateringly bright bluish outline on the blackness of space, then even that was no more. Su knuckled her eyes.
    “What the frag?”
    “Continuum Drive maybe?”
    “Too fast even for that…”
    The helmswoman kept the levelest head of them all. “Some odd sort of drive sir. Pushed us three parsecs.” 
    “You sure helm?”
    “I’m sure. My gauges are going apeshit.”
    “How long to get us back?”
    “About two days sir.”
    “Gamble’s a dead man then.”
    “Not necessarily, sir.” It was the comms officer who spoke in a very shaky voice. “Look out of our starboard window.”
    A figure in a spacesuit floated just outside the metre-thick plexiglas waving its arms frantically. 
    “Fetch him in,” Su said, “let’s see if he knows any more than we do.”
    He didn’t. So there seemed no point in going back to where the flitter had been. Instead, Su was elected Captain and life went on much as before – if with less enthusiasm for ‘salvage’.
    On a barren lump of rock on the other side of a foreign galaxy there was unbridled joy among the arouraios kin. Those whose bones had been close to coming through their skin were now fed, and the freezers held enough sustenance to carry the whole colony through at least two turns of the mother planet. Captain Skrzzt looked at his mate and smiled to see the gleam returning to her dark fur and the sparkle of fun illuminating her eyes. 
    Not only was the colony saved, the big bipeds also had surprisingly tender sweet flesh and the idea of another raid into their space was already being mooted.
    Skrzzt ordered his ship to be camouflaged with a wrap of dull-coloured polymer while he chose a crew from the hundreds who volunteered. 
    The last thing he did before turning his trusty ship back towards the areas travelled by the food creatures was to require the name to be painted on the bow. 
    The Marea Celestia winked out of the sky above her home asteroid…     
© Jane Jago

Benjo was an alley cat who lived in Devil’s Lane
He was the biggest alley cat and quite a frigging pain
The children loved to pet him when they came home from school
But Benjo was just letting them, ‘cos Benjo was no fool.

Benjo was the father of every kitten in the ‘hood
It’s not so much that he was bad, it’s more he was too good
At rooting in the rubbish and hunting out each rat
So all night long there was a din, none slept as he got fat.

And when the people rose each morn with bags below their eyes
They’d see Benjo relaxing having won his nightly prize
And though the grown-ups muttered than the damn cat had to go
The children wouldn’t hear of it for all so loved Benjo.

So no one dared remove the dreaded Benjo from his lair
He’d claws as sharp as scimitars if an adult did appear
And though he made a misery of every sleepless night
Benjo was the biggest cat and never lost a fight.

Until one night the neighbourhood was plunged into such quiet
That all who woke, for once refreshed, the mystery enquired
For Devil’s Lane was catless and no one for sure could say
Where Benjo had vanished to upon that fateful day.

Benjo was an alley cat who lived in Devil’s Lane
Until he left the rats behind and ne’re went there again
Now he is a purry cat on pillows stuffed with foam
For Benjo was a clever cat who found himself a home.

E.M. Swift-Hook

One of the inescapable facts of being a twenty-first-century pensioner is that you have to deal with technology.
Oh yes you do.
Don’t try to tell me you live techno free. 
You need a bank. You need a phone. You watch television. And I bet you even FaceTime your grandkids.
Unless you live in a mud hut somewhere, with twenty cats and an effective system of barter, you are rubbing shoulders with technology every day.
And if you weren’t doing techno you wouldn’t be reading this erudite treatise.
*stops to light a ciggy and take a strengthening glug of Jim Beam*
So. Technology. I bloody hate it but I have to deal the same as you do. 
What’s to hate?
Numero uno. Too many choices. Mac or PC? Apple or Android? Laptop or tablet? Trackpad or mouse? The list is right about frigging endless.

Life hack number one: everybody has a grandchild, nephew/niece, child of a friend who is a geek. Have this young person brought before you. Give them a budget (twenty per cent less than you want to spend because the little shit will overspend) and tell them to go to it. And when (s)he has spent your hard-earned (s)he gets to set up the system and teach you how to use it.
At least that is what I did, got my nine-year-old great grandson and his dad along to sort me out…
Had to call young wossname (poor little sod has some schoopid middle-class name like asparagus or something, so him and me agreed on wossname)  back a few times until I got the hang of it but we are mostly okay now.
What did he get me? Laptop and dimphone. And a sinister looking thing with a blue light in it that sneers at me from behind the telly.

Life hack number two: do not be sweet talked into buying a smart phone. They are fucking expensive and you WILL break it. And the monthly contracts are eye-watering. My dimphone was twenty quid from a leading supermarket and it’s pay as you go. So I stick in a fiver now and again, and I wasn’t too bothered when I got wazzed and dropped it down the john.

Life hack number three: passwords. Do not use the same one for everything. That’s dumb. Do not use your name and date of birth. Only twats do that. Finally. Do not assume you will remember them. You won’t. Keep a hidden list. 

Life hack number four: Do not allow yourself to be talked into one of these streaming services. Unless you really do watch a LOT of television/movies/musicals. In which case discuss it with your geeky niece or nephew not the pimply excuse for a human bean behind the counter at computersrshite 

Life hack number five: whenever your broadband contract comes up for renewal refuse to pay whatever they are asking. If you can’t get it below last year’s price you haven’t whined enough.

Life hack number six: have unlimited broadband. You might think you  can never use forty-three helicopters (or whatever the things are called), but you will and then the grabby bastards will want your firstborn child and a Lamborghini to pay for the two days you ran over.

Life hack number six-point-one: do not buy an ‘upgrade’ it will make your laptop explode and your geek will sigh at you…

Right. That’s all for now. I’m going down the pub to see the male stripper 

No one knew where Mad Mungo Munroe had come from, but everyone knew where he was going – straight to hell in a coffin lined with playing cards and stinking of whiskey.

But not today. Today he was where he’d always be found – at a table in the Sideways Saloon playing poker and winning.

“You’re a cheat!”

The whole bar froze as the loser drew a gun, finger tightening.

Munroe stared him down

“Never cheated at cards in my life, fella.”

“You’re a dirty liar, I’ll…”

Munroe’s gun fired under the table and the man folded.

“I just cheat at life…”

E.M. Swift-Hook

‘Enough’ the hulking Gregorius howled. ‘I have seen enough.’
The Sharing stopped and I became aware of the vampire before me trying to bring his will to bear on my mind. I kept my voice level and even.
‘Do you accept that I did not kill your brother?’
‘I do’ he said. I could feel the lie but said nothing.
The voice from the platform spoke again. ‘We find this female innocent of any wrongdoing. She did not kill your brother. Although she would have been within her rights so to do.’
The vampire howled again.
I pitched my voice with care. ‘He doesn’t believe. And he never will. I will never know a moment of peace while he is convinced I killed his twin.’
‘Perchance not’ the voice was measured. ‘What will you, Huntress?’
‘I will fight him.’
‘Fight him?’
‘Yes Great One. Fight him. To the death.’
‘Is this truly your will?’
‘It is.’
The vampire was delighted, and I could feel him beginning to gloat. Be over confident, I thought, therein lies your downfall my friend.
‘And does your Mate permit that you meet this vampire in single combat?’ Lucifer was polite.
Aascko spoke from behind my left shoulder. ‘It is not for me to permit or forbid. My Mate is free and equal. All I will say is that she has my love and support.’
‘Very well’ Gabriel’s discordant tones reverberated in my head. ‘It is agreed. You will begin on my count. Ready yourselves.’
Even as he spoke, the vampire brought the full weight of his mind to bear on me and leapt forward with his fangs exposed. I stood still for a second, as if pinned by his glamour. Then I made my move jumping towards the foul creature and butting his perfect nose with the bony ridge under my crest. Done properly, and believe me this was done extremely properly, such a move drives the bone in the nose right up into the opponent’s brain. As Gregorius fell like a huge rotten tree I reached into my weapon belt for a yew wood stake. I drove the stake into his heart and he crumbled into dust. There came a wind from behind me and the pile of dust was blown out of the vaulted space into eternity.
The disembodied voice from the platform spoke with deep contempt. ‘The vampire deserved to die. Probably more slowly than he did. He attacked foully, and was killed in fairness. Who is his Master?’
‘Raziel’ Lucifer bowed.
‘Summon him then.’
There came a sound like clashing cymbals and rattling drums, and a Dark Archangel walked carefully into the place. He bowed to the throne.
‘Almighty. What would you of me?’
‘Two vampires. One killed hell-hounds and almost killed a Helper. Then one Gregorius accused this female of killing his child. She agreed to fight him and he attacked before time. However the Huntress triumphed. I will have your word that this is where it ends.’
The Archangel bowed. ‘May I speak to the Huntress?’
‘You may. Politely.’

Excerpt from Aaspa’s Eyes by Jane Jago.

The collected ‘wisdom’ of seven decades on this planet condensed into poetic form. Certainly not philosophy to live your life by…
Why are knickers
Necessary?
Is it because our bits
Are hairy?
What precisely do 
They hide?
What secrets do they
Keep inside?
Why are undies
Considered nice?
Leave them home and
Don’t think twice.
Why are knickers
Necessary?
I don’t know said
Aunie Mary

©️jj

They set off, not following the road, but heading uphill onto the high common land where sheep and goats roamed, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of yellow gorse.
For Julia, the ride was enchantment. She had her arms around the man she loved and her cheek resting on his back, and all the while they passed through the greenest and, she thought, the loveliest landscape she had ever seen. The only bar to complete enjoyment was the increasing rigidity in Dai’s shoulders as they neared his family home. 
They came down from the hillside onto an obviously well-travelled road, and not many minutes later Dai stopped the vehicle beside a wide white-painted gate. He screwed around to look at her.
“This is it,” he said somewhat grimly.
“Smile, love,” she admonished. “You don’t want to upset your mother.”
His face softened as he looked at her, then he got off the vehicle and opened one leaf of the gate. 
It was a long approach to the house and Julia was surprised to be passing through vineyards where the harvest was in full swing.
“I never made the connection,” she said in a voice of awe. “I knew your family were wine merchants with a vintner’s in Viriconium. I should have thought that maybe you have your own wines.”
“We don’t sell wine. It’s brandy. Distilled on the property.”
“Oh my. Why didn’t I know that?”
He managed an eloquent shrug as the all-terrain drew to a silent halt in front of a long, low stone-built house. Somebody must have been watching out, because the door opened and a little group of people hurried out to greet them.
First came a middle-aged woman with a coronet of jet-black braids and a pair of piercing blue eyes. She could only be Dai’s mother, Olwen, and everybody else hung back to allow her to greet her only child. He leapt off the vehicle and grasped his mother in a boisterous hug, lifting her quite off the ground and burying his face in her neck. She hugged him back for a long moment before putting her hands on either side of his face and kissing his cheeks. 
“Put me down and introduce your wife,” she scolded but Julia could see the tears of joy that sparkled unshed in her eyes.
Dai obligingly set Olwen on her feet and turned to lift a laughing Julia from the all-terrain.
“I’m sure I should be able to get myself off this thing, I just couldn’t figure out how.”
“Your legs aren’t long enough.” 
He kissed her lovingly before taking her hand and leading her to where his family waited.
“This is my wife, Julia,” he said with simple pride. Then he ticked off names on his fingers. “My mother, Olwen. Brother, Hywel. My sister-in-law Enya. And these are my nephews Merfyn, Angwyn, Brychan and….” he looked at the babe in Enya’s arms questioningly.
His brother grinned. “Oh. Him. That’s Dai.”
Dai strode over and smote his brother on the shoulder.
“You never did?”
“We did,” it was Enya who spoke. She looked at Julia. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Julia walked over and looked at the baby’s fair face. She blinked away a tear.
“No. I think it’s lovely. And I may not be able… We may never be….” she stopped and Dai came to stand behind her with his hands on her shoulders. 
Enya smiled a sweet smile.
“Would you like to hold him?”
Julia nodded mutely and Enya put the baby in her arms.

From Dying for a Poppy by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook

Walking home at night, her heels clicking on the pavement.

Yesterday he’d watched her walk into the underpass, her bag swinging with each firm stride and the shadows of passing cars flickered over the graffiti. There was something about her – her face, her legs, her smell.

He’d watched but not followed.

Today when she passed his hideout, he hesitated before slipping from the bushes to follow her underground.

They were almost through the underpass before she knew he was there and turned, mouth open in an O of surprise.

“You look half-starved, poor little dog. You come home with me.”

E.M. Swift-Hook