Tag Archives: lies

Lies are free. Profits are huge.

As Jay hauled her luggage up the path a small figure darted out of nowhere, grabbed the luggage from her and darted ahead.

“Hi. I’m Lin” she called over her shoulder. “you must be the new tenant”.

“I hope so saying you now have my luggage”.

Lin giggled, then pushed the front door open with her foot. “You are on the first floor, overlooking the garden. Can I help you carry that upstairs?”

Together the two girls walked up the stairs balancing the luggage between them. The room was indeed small, like a student’s study bedroom, just a single bed, storage and desk. But the view  made up for it. A large garden enclosed by mature trees and a tennis/volleyball court. Lin put her end of the luggage down and bounced on the bed. Jay looked at her curiously. The landlords hadn’t mentioned that they had a daughter. Lin looked about 13 and full of life. She glanced round the room which she was obviously familiar with and commented. “A bit of a change from the countryside”.

Jay felt a pang of loss. Open fields, quiet, gentle neighbours, but most of all her parents. It had been hard to decide to move away, but there was no work in the countryside.

“Work or study?” Lin asked.

“Work” Jay muttered. Lin looked at her not understanding her morose response. Her face fell slightly. “Well, OK. I hope you like it here. Most people do”. With that she bounded off the bed and out of the room.


Jay found work immediately and when her first pay cheque arrived took herself out to a local restaurant to celebrate. The Head Waiter was very friendly and Jay told him she was newly arrived and celebrating getting a job. He told her he owned the restaurant and he hoped she would have many more things to celebrate in future. Jay laughed and later a complimentary bottle of wine appeared on her table. The meal was mouth watering, and for the first time since she arrived she felt relaxed and less unhappy at leaving her parents.

The weeks passed and Jay worked, dined out at the restaurant on a regular basis and soon was dating the waiter/owner. The other residents in the house were from every part of the world, some had come for work, but most were students at the nearby university. Apart from the landlords, Jay was one of the few white residents. But the house was friendly. Some evenings groups would turn out to play volley ball or hold ping pong tournaments in the basement.


One evening the landlord came home from work and took his wife aside. He looked worried.

“What’s the matter, Sam?”

“What do you know about the new tenant?”

“Jay? She works hard. Has a boyfriend. Gets on well with everyone. Why do you ask?”

“A policeman dropped in at the office today. He said he needed to talk, privately. Jay isn’t what she seems. She’s a criminal, pet. She takes drugs, and is a prostitute”.

“Oh, Lord”. Sue stand down suddenly on the sofa. She looked worried. “Can we get her out of here? What do we do?”

“The policeman said to let her stay. This way they know where she is and they can watch her. Just be careful. Watch her relationships with the other residents”.

“But what about her boyfriend? He’s a respectable businessman”.

“He’s her main customer, the policeman said. Her bread and butter. He wanted to marry her but she refused. She’s milking him for what she can get”.

Sue nodded her head. “It doesn’t make any sense. Her qualifications – “.

“All lies. She doesn’t have any qualifications. She’s taking her employers for a ride too”.

“I want her out of here. This is a respectable house. Our tenants are all honest people. And what about Lin?”

“I know. I don’t like it either. But the police said it is very important that she stays. They don’t want her to suspect she is under surveillance. They want to catch her out”.

“OK. But I still don’t like it”.


When the new term started some Muslim students came to the house. Jay found when she went into the communal kitchen they stared at her hostilely. She couldn’t figure out what she had done to anger them, but she felt uncomfortable and avoided going into the kitchen and other communal areas.

She was doing well at work but her job was only temporary and she was applying for other jobs. She attended an interview at the polytechnic. Her qualifications and experience were a perfect match. The interview seemed to being going well when one of the panel asked about periods of unemployment on her CV. She was about to explain that being unable to find work was why she had moved to the city when he said “How do we know you were not in prison?” Jay stared at him flabbergasted. Where had that come from? If they didn’t want her for the job, fair enough, but was an outrageous insult really necessary?

Then her boyfriend started to act oddly. One day he took her arm and turned it over exposing the inner joint. “Why the needle marks?”

“I’m a blood donor”.

He humphed, but after that he called to see her less often.

Even the shopkeepers were looking at her in an odd way.

She still had not found another job and the atmosphere in the house was no longer friendly. Jay decided to move to another town where the cost of living was cheaper but there was still plenty of work.

As she was struggling with her luggage Lin suddenly appeared and helped her haul her luggage to the waiting taxi.

“I’m sorry you’re going”.

Jay wondered what was in store for her in the new town, but she nodded. This place had given her a good start.  Her work record was now looking respectable. Moving from home appeared to have been the right decision.


Shortly after Lin went missing. Then her parents received a ransom note for half a million pounds. Desperate to get their daughter back they paid, selling everything they owned and borrowing from relatives. Their house was bought by a property developer who demolished the historic building to build luxury high-rise flats. But Lin was never returned. They sought out some of the Muslim men who had been previous residents to see if they could suggest any contacts. They were treated with scorn. “You were running a brothel” they were told. “You had a prostitute in the house. Your daughter was a whore. You dare ask us for help?”

The northern Controller was counting his ducats. The value of a healthy, well brought up, white Virgin on the Middle Eastern market?

Worth considerably more than a few free lies.


Copyright 2015



The Curse of Truth

“What has she done now?” The Controller looked up then froze at the expressions on the faces of the three agents.

“The witch…”, the Agent coughed and corrected himself, “the priestess has cursed…” . Another cough, another correction. “….has prayed, that all dealing with her and all their associates will tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth”.

The Controller paled. Another Agent spoke up, her voice trembling. “All our plots are becoming undone. All the lies unravelling and…”

“The objectives behind the plots and who is behind them”, the Controller finished. He pressed the intercom to his secretary. “Everyone, I repeat everyone  must be recalled. They must do their utmost to avoid social contact with anyone, don’t speak to anyone about anything. This is top priority”.

The three Agents stood silently as the Controller mopped his brow. He opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it and remained silent.


Copyright 2015


There are more people buried by the mouth than the bullet

“There are more people buried by the mouth than the bullet”.  A Northern Ireland saying.


I met Jay in the student bar when I was in with my housemates. I’d noticed him about the place on his motorbike. As he poured my drink he commented “That’s a nice bike you ride.” Then with a grin, “You must be one of them”. I took my drink and smiled. “Sorry, it’s just transport”.

“Why sorry?”

“Because I was really hoping you were one of us”. He laughed and turned to serve another customer, but after that when we crossed paths around Uni we would go to the bar or the caff for a coffee and a yarn, mainly about motorbikes.

I met his boyfriend a few times. They had been friends since school and you could tell they were close. They hardly spoke, they were so much on the same wavelength. They plainly adored each other. I think I have never met such a happy couple. Pat realised that I fancied Jay and gently twigged me about it. “If you were a guy I wouldn’t let you in the same room with him”.

I blushed furiously trying to dream up a witty reply. “Leave her alone” Jay said. “She’s like my sister”.

“That’s what you think” I muttered, as they both laughed. But their happiness was not to last.

I was parking my bike when Jay pulled in after me. When he took his helmet off I took one look at him and blurted “What’s wrong?”

He took a deep breath, but he was trembling. “Pat has gone. I don’t know why. We didn’t have a row. He just upped and left”.

We went to the bar but he was choking on his drink and he didn’t say much, then he rose abruptly saying sorry and left, his drink untouched on the table. I saw him a couple of times after that but he dodged me but then in the corridor someone touched my arm and Jay said, “Fancy a coffee?” I nodded and we went down to the cafeteria.

I talked about the bike and some arguments I had had with one of my flat mates who was a bit of a Republican sympathiser. Jay didn’t say much but was looking over at the corner of the room. I turned to look and in the opposite corner with a clear view of our table sat a young man of unusual beauty. I know it is a reaction you shouldn’t have, you shouldn’t objectify people, but great beauty has that effect of startlement. I found myself staring then forced myself to look away. Yes, he was beautiful. But you don’t get men who look like that in this area. I felt uneasy. But Jay was smiling. “Did you see?” he asked. I nodded. “Don’t you think….”.

“Yes. He’s beautiful” I almost snapped at him.

He looked at me quizzically, but I was late for a lecture so I left him to it.

After that I saw them together often. Jay was so engrossed in his new love – he was besotted – he never stopped   for a chat anymore. I felt, but I might have been wrong, that his new beau, Brendan, was separating Jay from his friends. Then one day as I was parking my bike Jay pulled in behind me. I turned with a smile but stopped at the look on his face. It was almost a look of hatred. “Don’t talk to me, ever again. I know what you are”. I stared after him dumbfounded as he stormed away.

I was puzzled, but Jay had had a hard time. His best friend had dumped him and it looked like the new guy was messing with his head. But what can you do? People have to sort themselves out. I missed our chats but it freed me to concentrate on my studies.

It was near the end of term and I was out buying a bite for tea, and on impulse picked up the local paper. A house had been fire-bombed in the main street. The same street where Jay lived. His address.

Feeling shakey I hurried home and spread the paper out on the kitchen table to study the article. Jay was dead. He hadn’t died in the fire, he had been tortured and killed and then the fire started to cover the evidence. But those who’d done it wanted everyone to know who was responsible as the house was fire-bombed. There was no pretence that the fire was an accident.

I was sitting stunned when my flatmate came in, the one with Republican sympathies. She leapt on the paper with glee. “Your little friend is dead and he had it coming”.

” What are you talking about?” Tears were pouring down my face. Jay was the most gentle, kind, funny, innocent person you could find anywhere. “Jay was innocent. He never hurt anyone in his life”.

“Jaaaay” she mocked, “was a Brit”.

“That’s nonsense. He’s Catholic, like you”.

“He was a Brit, you stupid fool. A snitch. A spy!”

A black fog blanketed my mind. I knew that was completely untrue. I remembered meeting Jay in the car park and what he’d said about me. Someone had been spreading lies, dangerous lies, and somebody had believed them. Who would do such a thing?

I couldn’t speak. I needed time on my own to think. I turned to go to my room. Her voice followed me.

“Yes, run away little Prod. We know what you are too. You’re next!”


Copyright 2015 Prayerwarriorpsychicnot

The Good Tenants

Three first year students rented the house that year. They were good tenants, kept up with the utilities, paid the rent on time and left the house immaculate.

They hadn’t got a grant so they were very short of money. When the term ended they resolved to go to London for work, but before they went, decided to ask the Landlady if they could come back for the next term.

A neighbour met the old lady while she was out shopping. The neighbour asked about the tenants. “Oh, they are lovely girls” said the old lady smiling. “Ever so polite, and clean too”.

The neighbour smiled slyly. “Yes, they would be. They are very well off. Didn’t you know? I heard they are off to the Caribbean for the break. You know , if I were you , I would ask them for a retainer when they go. They can afford it”.

The old lady smiled. She hadn’t thought of asking for a retainer, but she could certainly use the extra cash.

When the students handed back the keys, one said, ” Thanks for the stay. We are going away for the summer, but can we come back next year?”

The old lady, thinking what the neighbour said, said nothing.

The students looked at each other uncertainly, then smiled and said, “Well, thank you very much”.

As they walked away, one said, “What did we do wrong?”

The other shook her head. “I don’t know. But old people are strange. We”ll just have to find somewhere else for next year. We can’t risk the term starting without accommodation.”

At the end of the holiday one came back early from work and found a cheaper place further out of town.

A few days after the conversation with the students, the old lady met her neighbour in the shops. “Well, how did it go with the students?” she asked smilingly.

The old woman looked abashed. “I don’t know” she said uncertainly. “They said they wanted to come back, but they didn’t offer a retainer”.

“Did you ask for one?”

“Well, no. I thought they would offer.  It’s a lovely house and I know they were happy there”.

The neighbour tutted impatiently. “There you go then, you should have asked . But I wouldn’t worry” she added reassuringly. “They’ll be back next year. My tenants are good friends of theirs, and they told me how much they liked your house, and how much they were looking forward to returning”.

A couple of weeks before the term started the Landlady started to wonder when her tenants would return. Then the term started and she still had not heard from them. A few weeks later she was getting worried and wondered if she should forget the students and advertise, when she met the neighbour on the High Road.

The neighbour greeted her with a big smile and they chatted for a while. Just when she turned to go the neighbour stopped her. “Oh, I nearly forgot. My tenants asked me to pass a message on. Your students are coming back, but while they were in London they were involved in a road accident. So they can’t come back right away. They were worried you might not keep the place for them”.

The Landlady’s face cleared. Her good tenants were coming, they were just delayed. “Oh, thank you for telling me”.

As she walked home she felt so relieved. No need to advertise after all. Her girls would be back soon. Oh, she did hope they weren’t badly hurt.

Several more weeks passed. The old lady missed the income from her tenants. The running costs of the house consumed her small pension – so she let to students and lived in an annexe in the back garden. She wished the girls would hurry up and return or at least contact her .

More weeks passed. Then a letter arrived. It was from one of the girls. She apologised profusely for not getting in touch before, and described how the accident had taken place and the car was in the garage getting fixed, but thankfully no-one was injured.

“Well, bully for you” thought the old lady exasperated. She was just about to throw the letter in the bin when she had a thought. She looked at the envelope. It had been posted locally. Then she remembered her neighbour had said the girls were going to the Caribbean. How could the girls have had a car accident in the Caribbean? Wouldn’t they have left their car at home? The old lady sat down at the table, her head in her hands. She felt very tired. Something wasn’t right. Bugger the girls. They were messing her around. Probably they were off having a laugh at the trouble they had caused her. And she had thought they were such nice people. Good tenants. Just goes to show . You can’t tell.

She advertised, but it was so late in the year she got no replies. She lost a year’s rent.

The new place the girls found were happy to let them stay on when the second year’s term ended. In the third year they were at a party and met a student living at their old address. The student looked at them oddly and remarked. “You know the Landlady expected you to come back”. The friends looked at each other in confusion. “We asked her if we could come back, but as she didn’t answer we thought she didn’t want us”.

“Well, the Landlady waited for you and the house remained vacant for the entire year. Your name is mud in that neighbourhood now”.


Copyright Prayerwarriorpsychicnot 2014.

Only Lies



I am not afraid of time.

The ticking of the clock does not disturb me.

The guest that comes,

welcome or unwelcome,

the end or the beginning.

Life and death married, always circling.

The pulse of the universe, our lives ,

less than a heartbeat.

I am not afraid of time, or death or life.

Only lies.


Prayerwarriorpsychicnot Copyright 2014