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    Tell the Octopus, and Other Short Stories
    Tell the Octopus, and Other Short Stories
    Tell the Octopus, and Other Short Stories
    Ebook86 pages1 hour

    Tell the Octopus, and Other Short Stories

    By Jonathan Day

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    About this ebook

    People aspire to make the world a better place in many ways.
    Some decorate any ugly space that offends the eye,
    another might take up justice's flaming sword and sally forth to tilt at windmills.

    All good intentions come at a cost.
    Some are rewarded, others demand the ultimate price.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDodo Books
    Release dateAug 4, 2015
    ISBN9781311907905

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      Book preview

      Tell the Octopus, and Other Short Stories - Jonathan Day

      Tell the Octopus

      and other

      Short Stories

      by

      Jonathan Day

      This edition published by Dodo Books

      Copyright Jonathan Day

      & Dodo Books 2015

      Stories

      Tell the Octopus

      3,530 words

      Apple Pie

      1,330 words

      The Puzzle Box

      2,750 words

      Roy goes on a Trip

      860 words

      The Handbag Gang

      1,370 words

      Threep!

      1,800 words

      Door in the Wall

      2,670 words

      The Changeling

      2,650 words

      Twinkie

      1,840 words

      Tell the Octopus

      The tentacles of the brightly coloured octopus listening to an MP3 player wound around the walls of the underpass as it snatched at musical notes floating up to the ring road above.

      Crumble, who came up with most ideas, had suggested it, Anastasia, the creative one, had designed the octopus, and Tug was expert at wielding spray cans and brushes with both hands. The friends’ mission in life was to paint vivid murals in impermeable colours the despair of work experience teams sent out to clean up the neighbourhood. But the town didn’t need cleaning up - it needed brightening up. Crumble, Tug and Anastasia knew that their artwork would never match the wit of Banksy’s but, being so good, it was seldom removed.

      Anastasia’s empathic spirit had been inherited from her intuitive Russian mother. Crumble (so named because of his passion for rhubarb crumble) regarded reality as a mere intrusion into his thought world: barely 22, he had the world-weary manner of someone much older. Tug (short for the tugboat which he had worked on for a couple of years) was tall, totally original and a gentleman, careful not to give offence, even when it was warranted.

      They all had mundane jobs. Crumble was the proof-reader for an educational publisher, Tug a scaffolder, and Anastasia designed acrylic nails for the fingers of women who never needed to scrub a floor.

      As they added the finishing touches to their octopus on the wall of the remote underpass shunned by pedestrians, they noticed Detective Inspector Knight looking down at them with that stern, unreadable expression he always wore. The three of them froze as though it would make them invisible. There was no point. This man missed nothing.

      Oh shit, murmured Anastasia.

      Crumble and Tug remained like rabbits caught in the headlights even though Tug’s huge tam holding his dreadlocks stood out like a Belisha beacon.

      Anastasia realised that it was useless trying to pretend they were a figment of the policeman’s imagination and waved cheekily. Hi Inspector!

      For pity’s sake, Annie! hissed Tug. You trying to get us arrested?

      Then it occurred to Crumble that the DI had better things to do than bother with small fry like them. He’s off on important business. Look, he’s wearing a hat and gloves.

      And sure enough, after raising a disapproving eyebrow, DI Knight turned and strode across the ring road.

      Though that is weird.

      Tug and Anastasia agreed that the taciturn upholder of the law was strange so didn’t pay any attention to Crumble’s comment. The DI was barely forty, yet had the presence of a 10,000-year-old glacier and depths that would have intimidated anglerfish. The friends had frequently been ordered to the police station for defacing property after being reported by some busybody or other. They were always careful to paint designs on walls that already offended the eye so their owners never filed a complaint, much preferring to keep the artwork. The friends’ punishment - as such - was being hauled before DI Knight, who had more important things on his mind, to be admonished and dismissed like annoying insects with a perfunctory, Get out and join an art class, which was the most any of them had ever heard him utter at once. He didn’t need to say more; the icy glare was enough to intimidate a charging rhino.

      Crumble had a theory about why the detective personally bothered to do even that. Most criminals were stupid and dealt with by uniformed police. It seemed to be the prerogative of plain clothes officers to dress down the more intelligent offenders, however inconsequential. Tug and Anastasia thought that Crumble was just flattering his own superior intellect. All the same, they decided to select more remote locations during daylight. This was one of the reasons Crumble was so intrigued to see DI Knight in his Sunday suit on a weekend by that remote underpass.

      Another was that nobody accompanied him.

      It didn’t seem odd to Anastasia: the man must have been chilly company. So?

      He’s up to something. By himself. On foot. Come on. Think about it.

      So they did.

      Anastasia’s curiosity was triggered. We’ve almost done here. Let’s follow him.

      You crazy? protested Tug. We’re already in enough trouble.

      Anastasia quickly wiped the brushes and tossed them with their aerosols into the knapsack. She swung it onto her back, calling over her shoulder as she pursued the detective, Come on, before we lose him.

      The other two followed her through the maze of roundabout underpasses, emerging in time to see DI Knight disappear into the narrow lane leading up to the country park on its far side. Tug still doubted that it was a good idea to pursue a senior police officer on - quite possibly - a secret mission, but was outvoted by Crumble and Anastasia. He didn’t actually dislike the man (Tug liked everyone), just found him intimidating in a way his companions couldn’t comprehend. He didn’t understand why Anastasia’s mother, whenever she felt obliged to remonstrate with the police on the behalf of her artistic daughter

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