1

The table rocked a little as she climbed onto it. She looked down at it's smooth, pine surface. The coffee rings, evidence of her lovely cork coasters going to waste. It was only a small table that normally occupied the area next to her inexpensive cream sofa. Many a night was spent with a cup of coffee or a glass of red wine resting upon it's surface whilst she read a romance novel. But now it was placed in the centre of the room, holding her aloft. She could hear the baby crying upstairs. 'The baby', she hadn't even named it, not once he'd left her. She'd been so happy, until it ruined everything. Thats why he'd left her, because he couldn't have a child, not to her. He was married, had his own family and had made it perfectly clear that he would never leave them. His pretty little cherry on top, that's what he'd called her. She blushed every time he said it, almost felt proud to be the finishing touch to his perfect little life. She lifted the shirt in her hand to her face. It was his, Steve's. It still smelt of him, a little musky and sweaty but with a sweet summery fragrance that he liked to wear. She remembered when he'd worn it last. It must have been 6 months ago, she asked him to build some flat pack furniture for her, a bed and a wardrobe from IKEA. The weather had been hotter than expected and he'd perspired quite a lot. He was sat on the floor reading the instructions, trying to figure out where the cylindrical wooden plug was meant to fit, the whole room smelt wooden. She commented on how sweat soaked his shirt was getting, so he pulled it off and threw it at her with a smile on his face. 'Ewe', she allowed an overdramatic grimace to fall onto her face 'It's disgusting get it off'. She ran at him, thrusting the wet shirt into his face.

'Get off', he timidly exclaimed as the play fight broke out. 'That's it'. He grabbed her arms and flipped her over, pinning her to the ground. She could smell his breath as the lay looking eye to eye. The distinct coffee bean and cigarette that she'd hated at first but ended up falling in love with. His big blue eyes bore into her and turned her whole body to jelly. She attempted twice to kiss him, but he pulled away smiling and shaking his head, no. Then when he was ready, he lowered his head slowly and kissed her passionately. If the world had ended then she'd of died a happy woman. 

They'd made love shortly after, and as they lay there cuddling he'd run his hand over her tummy and remarked at how she was putting on weight. Something about not being very cherry like, it was all tongue in cheek she'd assumed. He rose and said he needed to get back to his wife and kids, after all his regiment was flying out to Afghanistan in a couple of days. But he couldn't find his shirt, so he left topless and said he'd get it some other time. She'd found it a couple of days after he'd gone, and mentioned as much in her letters to him. He'd write back often. The whole time she kept the fact that her tummy grew a little more every day a secret. He'd told her that he'd be home soon, only about a month left. Another letter, this time she'd tell him. She made it clear that he didn't need to leave his wife, they could be a second family. No reply. She wrote another letter, and another. But still no reply. Then a week before the child was due a small blue envelope arrived with the morning mail. In the letter he simply said that he had no room for another child. He did not need a woman who had brought a child into this world, he had one of those. He ended the letter with 'Looks like the cherry has fallen from my cake, best I find a new one! Goodbye'. She put the shirt on, it wasn't his fault that she'd forgot to take her pill, and it wasn't his fault that it didn't die when she attempted an overdose. With only a couple of days left until it was due, the doctors had simply evacuated her womb early. It had been born early, small and the doctors didn't think it would live long. She prayed it wouldn't. But against all odds her problems survived and followed her home. She stared at the snow globe resting on a simple shelf. It had been a gift from her grandmother, granny Dawson. Granny had got her the snow globe when she was just 7, at a zoo. It had a penguin on top of a small mound of ice. She'd liked penguins. She hugged herself and the shirt, trying to shake the memory. She felt comfortable in his shirt, less afraid. It was like Steve was with her, hugging her and whispering 'It's ok my pretty little cherry on top'. She reached up to gra... No, not yet. She climbed off the table and sat down on her inexpensive cream sofa. It sighed underneath her. She reached into a small wicker basket located to the side of it. Inside was several magazines about celebrities, an address book, some stamps and... there it is, her writing pad and pen. A letter to her mother, that was what was needed.

It was Tuesday, and Mrs Dawson was going shopping with her daughter. Every Tuesday for the past 2 years they'd meet up for a coffee at Kerrie's place (her daughters) then head down to the local pub for a spot of lunch before shopping at ASDA. It was the only real bonding session they got these days, what with the baby being born. Kerrie wasn't coping too well with the baby, it was such a shame that they hadn't bonded. Calling him the baby was beginning to become a little silly too. Kerrie had toyed with the idea of calling him Stephen for a while, but for some reason changed her mind. The fathers absence was obviously a big problem. But Mrs Dawson liked to think that these little outings cheered Kerrie up a little, and she took the baby every Thursday for a few hours. It was ten minutes on the bus, but she enjoyed the walk, it was the only real exercise she got anymore. The doctors say she should take it easy at her age, but she's rarely felt so fit and well. She had a few slices of bread nestled in large brown leather handbag between a tin of boiled sweets and her mobile phone. People say you shouldn't feed the ducks anymore, they might choke on the bread. 'Nonsense' she'd said to the local fun police, 'My Grandfather used to bring me to this pond all the time to feed the ducks. If it was killing them then, how are they still here', she still regrets throwing bread at them to emphasise her point. She was running early so she sat down on a memorial bench by the pond. It commemorated 5 school children who'd died on a kayaking field trip. It used to be in the schools garden, but the school was closed now. A horrible state of affairs schools closing, if you ask her. The day smelt sweetly of flowers, young children ran through the grass, boys rolling around in mud and girls skipping and making daisy chains. The joy of youth brought a smile to her face as she tossed a few small bits of bread into the water. The ducks hungrily devoured the chunks, she ripped off a little more. A few children came over and she happily shared a little bread with them, infecting them with her warm smile. A quick look at her old watch revealed she was late. The watch momentarily removed that smile. It had been a gift from her husband, he'd died a few years before. Cancer. But she shook the feeling away and gave the rest of her bread to the children. Time for her to head off to Kerrie's. Kerrie would only complain if she was late. What a drama queen.

The pen had run dry, but there was still ink in there. She scribbled on a blank bit of paper until the ink bled from the nib. Now it was her head that had run dry. She felt as though this letter had to prove that she was doing the right thing, to her mother and to herself. It's a lot to fit into a short letter, and she certainly didn't have the time to write a short story of reasons. For a few minutes she toyed with the idea of simply writing goodbye, maybe with a couple of kisses. But this was the only person who had ever truly loved her, her father was nice enough but had never shown much affection toward her. She couldn't leave her mum alone in this world without at least trying to explain why. She put the pen and note pad down on the sofa beside her and stood up. Maybe a little food and a cup of hot chocolate would settle her enough to make the words flow. She walked out of the living room and into her clean white kitchen. Everything was white, the cupboard doors, fridge, kettle, toaster even her sink was a white ceramic. It made the place seem fresher and she cooked so little there was no fear of it becoming stained. The window was open and on it's sill sat 2 roses, they'd been dead a long time. As a child she'd helped her mum at the local car boot sale. Her mother always said she was a lucky charm, customers would see her child's smile and melt forgetting all about haggling and bargain hunting. She'd spend the night before picking petals from the red roses in her parents garden. Then she'd collect some old clear, empty bottles of face cream that her mum would save for her under the sink. She'd fill them full of water and add 3 petals to each. Her mum would then help her make pretty labels out of pink crate paper and glitter. She'd hold the box of perfume at the car boot sale thrusting it toward people as they passed, sometimes it would be hours before anyone bought one of her rose water perfumes. Her mum would see the tears forming in the corner of her eyes and say 'Don't worry kitten, people don't always spot a bargain right away'. Then they'd share a big hug and she'd pick up her box and put on her determined face. A dead petal fell from the stalk, landing softly in her white sink. She'd come a long way since those innocent days, everything dies. 

It really was a terrific day. As Mrs Dawson left the children feeding ducks, she couldn't help but look up to the sky. Seeing the beautiful blue, and feeling the heat from the sun kiss her face it was hard to feel anything but joy. She began walking slowly down the foot path, looking around at the luscious green contained in the park. A woman passed by with a pram, Mrs Dawson stopped her with a smile and lent in to coochie coo the baby before turning her attentions to the mother, 'She's beautiful'.

'Thank you' the woman replied, blushing a little.

'How old is she'? 

'7 weeks, but she seems so much older at times you know, like a little adult'.

'They grow fast' the conversation was flowing, they'd both had it before with other people, and they played there roles impeccably. 'And what's your name sweetie', she was still talking to the woman but had directed it toward the 7 week old child. If you'd asked Mrs Dawson why she'd have told you it was mothers instinct telling her to.

'Bethany', Mrs Dawson could hear the adoration in the woman's voice, if only Kerrie could find that unconditional love too.

'What a beautiful name, my daughter has a son about the same age'.

'Oh really, what's his name? Maybe we could sort out a little play d...' The woman looked on in disbelief as Mrs Dawson simply began to walk away. Why did she bring up the baby? She didn't like to admit it, but it was embarrassing. The new pace she set off at was a quick one. She passed by a few young men playing football on the field and couldn't help checking them out. Look but never touch, that was the rule. She returned her gaze to the path ahead and eased up her pace, the short shorts having taken her mind away from the difficult issues. She passed the bus stop near Kerrie's house. An old frail man sat on the bench, drowning in a large black duffel coat, next to him sat Kerrie... She did a double take and looked again, the frail man sat alone. His thin grey tufts of hair blowing in the light summer breeze. He must have noticed her look of shock because he bore into her with his piercing grey eyes. 'Everything ok madam'? His voice was strong, calm, creepy. 

'Fine thank you', she forced a smile and went to walk away.

'It's just you looked like you'd seen a ghost', he smiled too, not forced though. And to Mrs Dawson it appeared to be rather sinister.

'Just an old lady seeing things, have a good day sir', she spoke over her shoulder wanting to retreat from the old frail man quickly. She could have sworn she heard him say something else, but the words were not clear so she plowed ahead pushing the image of Kerrie on the bench from her mind.

She pushed the switch to start the kettle boiling and grabbed a mug from the IKEA mug tree. Sometimes it seemed like her whole house was flat pack. She put the mug down next to the kettle and went into the cupboards grabbing the items she needed. She put a plate down on the work top and fished a bagel out of the bread box. With a knife in hand she cut the bagel in half and popped it in the toaster, then pushed the lever down to start the toasting. She returned to her mug with a pot of hot chocolate mix and a carton of milk. She had a system to making her hot chocolate. She wasn't sure it made any difference, but old habits die hard. She put two heaped tea spoon full scoops of hot chocolate mix into the mug, the poured over a little mix. Then using the tea spoon she mixed all the powder into the milk. Her mum had asked her why she did it this way when she was little. 'It makes it creamier and there isn't any yukky bits at the bottom'. 

'CLICK', the kettle announced it's readiness. The boiled water fell onto the mix and milk, then began to blend. The room became filled with a sweet chocolate aroma. She stirred it three times and then tapped the side of the mug twice. 'What the hell, no point looking after my figure now', she added some small marshmallows and a generous helping of whipped cream. The halved bagel jumped up out of the toaster, grasping her attention before landing safely back into it's slot. She gripped the mugs handle and walked over to the work top to start spreading cream cheese on her bagel. She'd made him a cream cheese bagel that first night he stayed ove... The knife fell from her hand, hitting the slate floor scattering bits of cream cheese around it's perimeter. A single tear crawled from her eyelash down her cheek and nestled there, threatening to jump. She threw the mug against the wall, turning her clean white kitchen into a muddy battlefield of chocolate and marshmallow. 'shut up', she whispered, and continued to repeat getting ever louder until 'SHUT UP'! The baby stopped crying, and she stopped kidding herself. There was no need for food where she was going. No need to explain anything to anyone, she'd be gone and free from it all. She stormed from the kitchen slamming the door behind her, hiding the mess. No need for anyone to have to see her and a messy kitchen, that would be unfair. Into the living room, her mind suddenly clear. The table rocked as she climbed onto it. No need to look down, she knew what was there. She reached up, grabbing the noose that had hung from the hook steve had put up for a punch bag. It slipped easily over her head. Her eyes began to fill, and her legs felt week. She shook the snow globe, watching as the specs of white danced around the penguin. Swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and took a deep breath. She could hear a faint whimper from somewhere in the house. 'Sorry'! She began to rock the table. It fell and gave way underneath her. The snow globe fell from her grasp landing whole on the floor, a single tear followed with a splash on the curved glass. On the inexpensive sofa the old man smiled.

Mrs Dawson rang the bell. The doorbell let out a high pitched cry, no answer. She smiled to herself, Kerrie was probably blow drying her hair and couldn't hear the bell begging her toward the door. Mrs Dawson reached into her purse to find her keys. She grasped the familiar feeling key ring, it was a heart made of baked modelling clay. Kerrie had made it during art class when she was 9, and Mrs Dawson had promised her that she'd never take it off her key chain. Nowadays Kerrie often asked why she bothered with it, 'It's clearly too bulky, it just gets in the way. Take it off mother, I wont be offended'. But She'd explained to her daughter that it was proof of Kerrie's love for her. She found the only gold coloured key and inserted it into the lock. The door opened to the sound of a baby crying and the smell of chocolate.  Mrs Dawson decided to head up the stairs to the child, hopefully giving Kerrie enough time to sort her self out and get presentable. The house was mostly light colours, creams and whites with a few really light pinks here and there. Every room felt refreshing, Kerrie certainly had talent when it came to design. Mrs Dawson knew Kerrie blamed the baby for ruining any chance she had of making it as a fashion designer, 'Poor boy' she whispered as she lent over the crib and stroked the babies cheek. She lifted him out of the white crib and rocked him slightly in her arms. 'What is that smell, did you do a doodle'? He didn't react at all, but you have to talk to them, thats how they develop. She held him in one arm whilst she searched for a mat to put him on whilst she changed his nappy. But it was no good, if Kerrie did have a mat she couldn't find it. So instead she grabbed a towel from Kerrie's cupboard, as she opened the door she noticed that it had been put together fairly well. Kerrie was normally so useless at DIY, even the flat pack version of furniture her daughter insisted on having seemed too much for her. 'Must of had help', this time a smile, he must have liked the tone she used. She laid the towel and the child down on top of Kerrie's double bed. She exhaled, 'My your getting heavy'. She tickled her way down to the sticky straps that held the nappy around his waist, he giggled a little and smiled warmly. It filled her heart. The smell that greeted her as she opened the nappy was unpleasant to say the least, the colour of it's contents were not exactly to her taste either. But the smile never left her face, 'A small price to pay for one of earths beautiful little miracles', she tapped him on the nose lightly to announce her task as complete. Into the drawers she delved, searching for appropriate attire, 'Ah, this should do', she pulled out a small pair of spiderman socks, a pair of tiny little jeans, a ghostbusters t-shirt and the most adorable pair of adidas trainers she'd ever laid her eyes on. 'Quite the ensemble little man', he smiled again and she guessed he liked his look, 'looks like we're ready so lets find mummy'. 

Her feet hit the snow hard sending white particles everywhere. She ended up falling over into the powder, but it wasn't snow, it was more like small bits of white paper that flowed slowly through the thick atmosphere. She lay on the ground for a second watching the specs slowly spiral back down. They cleared to reveal no makeshift noose, no hook for Steve's punch bag, nothing but endless white. The first she noticed of him was a laugh, a gruff sinister laugh. The penguin stood on top of a mound of white foam, covered in shadow though she couldn't tell from where. It was more of a penguin silhouette than anything else. She approached the shadow, the closer she got the more she began to see of the penguin she'd known most of her life. Her hands instinctively rose to cover her mouth from the shock she felt, she was inside the snow globe her grandmother had given to her. 'Can I guess from that look of shock that you've worked out where you are'? Was the penguin really talking? She squinted, trying to its mouth move. 'No reply? This will go a lot smoother if you answer Kerrie'! He knew her name.

'I think I'm inside the snow globe my grandmother gave to me at the zoo'? Her voice was weak and she spoke as though asking herself a question rather than directing it toward the penguin. It was going to be hard enough coming to terms with her location, a talking penguin would just be too much.

'Correct', the penguin almost barked it out, 'It was the last thing you saw so it is where I trapped you'.

'Trap me! Why? Who are you? I've seen you before', she spoke fast desperate to know but scared.

'I had to trap you to avoid an incident. After the review of how we operate in 1950, it was deemed that too many of you were escaping. So a new directive was brought in, we now work more hours because we have to watch you die in order to trap you in the last item you see. In this case a snow globe', she remembered looking at it and crying, no, not crying... ' One tear dear. It was one tear that contained you, your spirit anyway'. She stared at the penguin, a little put out that her soul fit into one tear. 'Tell me Kerrie, have you ever noticed that no one seems to see any ghosts with modern day clothing'? It sounded like a sales pitch.

'It's not something I ever really thought about. But now you mention it...'.

'That was me, I came up with the idea. In the old days before my brilliant idea people used to die then get all scared and run off before we got to them. Some get confused and just wonder the same halls, others get annoyed and eventually angry, maybe even vengeful. Most just keep trying to ask the living for help, the living have no time for you now'. 

'They never had much time for me anyway', she let her eyes look down at the white floor engulfing her feet. 

'Stop feeling sorry for yourself, I have work to do', The penguin coughed as he spoke, almost as if to hold back the feelings of sorry he felt for her. 'Now, as for who I am'. The penguin seemed to grow, one inch. Then it started getting wider and the silhouette lost the distinctive penguin shape. The area began lighting up, and she could see more and more the colour of the penguin and the black that stood next to it. The old man stood leaning against the brightly coloured penguin, his face plastered with an evil smile and shifty, beady little eyes. His thin, straw like hair seemed to float in the thick atmosphere, and the duffel coat that seemed to be devouring him from the neck down billowed in a wind she couldn't feel. 'I am John C. Chester, the C stood for Charlie I believe. But it's been a long time since anyone forced me to remember those days. You can call me John and today I am your reaper'.

'The grim Reaper', her voice trembled.

'Not exactly, there are lots of us and we basically guide you over. Reaper is just the job title. And I only have 23 years left before I retire', he pushed out his chest, proud that his retirement was coming. 'You have indeed seen me before. People close to death often see their reaper in the days before'. 

'Is it like a warning'?

'It can be in some cases. But it's more to make you a little more familiar with your reapers face so your not so alarmed when we meet'. He said it all matter of factly, clearly irritated by having to explain everything. 'You get one request before we go Kerrie Dawson. Make it count'!

Mrs Dawson, holding the baby, travelled down the stairs. She opened the door to the kitchen, the sweet chocolate smell hit her in the face. This wasn't like Kerrie, even as a child she'd been exceedingly clean. She looked at the baby, the baby looked right back at her, 'What has mummy been up to', he smiled. Yes thats definitely the tone to use. She turned away from the mess, not even noticing the smashed mug scattered over the slate floor. Her hand reached out for the door handle that lead into the living room. She turned it slowly, hoping to sneak up on Kerrie and give her a bit of a fright. The door sighed open at her command. She bust in screaming BOO, the baby laughed almost hysterically, clearly getting the joke. Kerrie, it seemed, had not got the joke. Mrs Dawson dropped to her knees, everything went limp except the arms that gripped the baby like a vice. Mothers instinct she told herself. The smell, oh God the smell. She trembled the baby onto the inexpensive sofa she'd often tried to get Kerrie to get rid of, thankful now it existed. She edged her way over toward the limp, empty vessel that hung from the ceiling, refusing to meet its eyes. She barely even noticed herself whispering 'Why?'. She reached the naked feet and hugged them, crying into their cold skin for a while, tickling them  and willing them to kick out against it. She forced herself to stand, tried to lift the body from its noose. Why wasn't she strong enough? She collapsed to the floor again. Blinded by her tears, yet seeing the body clear as day. She couldn't think, looking at the baby desperate for him to tell her what to do. She reached into her handbag for her phone, for a miracle, but it fell from her grasp scattering everything everywhere. She looked down to watch her hands tremble, the tears hitting them constantly. She turned from the body and ran, sobbing out the door, past the doorbell that watched her silently. The baby sat on the sofa, watching intently as his mummy swung from the ceiling. He could hear sobs from somewhere outside '...An Ambula... the Poli...hung fro...PLEASE HELP ME'. He dropped from the sofa, landing onto his clean, soft nappy. He crawled over toward his mummy, picking up a lipstick and an eyeliner on his way. By the time Mrs Dawson and the neighbours came running back in, he was already doodling happily on his mothers feet. 

They sat on the bench by the bus stop. 'I thought you said you'd take me to see my mother?' Kerrie asked. 

'Just sit there and wait, impatience is not a virtue'. At that moment Kerrie saw a rotund woman heading her way. She wore a cheeky smile on her face, a sparkle in her eye. Her flip flops (Kerrie hated that she always wore flip flops) slapped loudly off the soles of her feet every step. Her large summery dress flowing with the light breeze. 

'Mum', it was half a whisper. 

'She can't hear you, she can't even see you'. As her mother started to pass them she turned her head toward them, her eyes met Kerrie's and there was the slightest hint of recognition before her eyes floated over John and back to the path ahead. Then she stopped and looked back, her eyes clearly probing the area that Kerry was sitting. But that hint of recognition had completely vanished and had been replaced by shock and confusion. 'Everything ok madam'? John asked a little too gruffly for Kerrie's liking. 

'Fine thank you', So her mother could see and hear John.

'It's just you looked like you'd seen a ghost', But that must mean...

'Just an old lady seeing things, have a good day sir', her mother spoke over her shoulder, no time to talk.

'You wont like what's down that way', John uttered, but her mother hadn't heard him. He turned to Kerrie, 'Happy, can we go now'?

'Why could my mother see you'?

He smiled that sinister little smile, peered deeply into her and said with a heavy dose of malice 'Time to go Kerrie Dawson, looks like I have more work to do'.