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The Open Window
by Saki [Hector H. Munro]

"MY aunt will be down presently, Mr. Nuttel," said a very self-possessed young lady of fifteen; "in the meantime you must try and put up with me."
Framton Nuttel endeavoured to say the correct something which should duly flatter the niece of the moment without unduly discounting the aunt that was to come. Privately he doubted more than ever whether these formal visits on a succession of total strangers would do much towards helping the nerve cure which he was supposed to be undergoing.
"I know how it will be," his sister had said when he was preparing to migrate to this rural retreat; "you will bury yourself down there and not speak to a living soul, and your nerves will be worse than ever from moping. I shall just give you letters of introduction to all the people I know there. Some of them, as far as I can remember, were quite nice."
Framton wondered whether Mrs. Sappleton, the lady to whom he was presenting one of the letters of introduction, came into the nice division.
"Do you know many of the people round here?" asked the niece, when she judged that they had had sufficient silent communion.
"Hardly a soul," said Framton. "My sister was staying here, at the rectory, you know, some four years ago, and she gave me letters of introduction to some of the people here."
He made the last statement in a tone of distinct regret.
"Then you know practically nothing about my aunt?" pursued the self-possessed young lady.
"Only her name and address," admitted the caller. He was wondering whether Mrs. Sappleton was in the married or widowed state. An undefinable something about the room seemed to suggest masculine habitation.
"Her great tragedy happened just three years ago," said the child; "that would be since your sister's time."
"Her tragedy?" asked Framton; somehow in this restful country spot tragedies seemed out of place.
"You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on an October afternoon," said the niece, indicating a large French window that opened on to a lawn.
"It is quite warm for the time of the year," said Framton; "but has that window got anything to do with the tragedy?"
"Out through that window, three years ago to a day, her husband and her two young brothers went off for their day's shooting. They never came back. In crossing the moor to their favourite snipe-shooting ground they were all three engulfed in a treacherous piece of bog. It had been that dreadful wet summer, you know, and places that were safe in other years gave way suddenly without warning. Their bodies were never recovered. That was the dreadful part of it." Here the child's voice lost its self-possessed note and became falteringly human. "Poor aunt always thinks that they will come back some day, they and the little brown spaniel that was lost with them, and walk in at that window just as they used to do. That is why the window is kept open every evening till it is quite dusk. Poor dear aunt, she has often told me how they went out, her husband with his white waterproof coat over his arm, and Ronnie, her youngest brother, singing 'Bertie, why do you bound?' as he always did to tease her, because she said it got on her nerves. Do you know, sometimes on still, quiet evenings like this, I almost get a creepy feeling that they will all walk in through that window—"
She broke off with a little shudder. It was a relief to Framton when the aunt bustled into the room with a whirl of apologies for being late in making her appearance.
"I hope Vera has been amusing you?" she said.
"She has been very interesting," said Framton.
"I hope you don't mind the open window," said Mrs. Sappleton briskly; "my husband and brothers will be home directly from shooting, and they always come in this way. They've been out for snipe in the marshes to-day, so they'll make a fine mess over my poor carpets. So like you men-folk, isn't it?"
She rattled on cheerfully about the shooting and the scarcity of birds, and the prospects for duck in the winter. To Framton it was all purely horrible. He made a desperate but only partially successful effort to turn the talk on to a less ghastly topic; he was conscious that his hostess was giving him only a fragment of her attention, and her eyes were constantly straying past him to the open window and the lawn beyond. It was certainly an unfortunate coincidence that he should have paid his visit on this tragic anniversary.
"The doctors agree in ordering me complete rest, an absence of mental excitement, and avoidance of anything in the nature of violent physical exercise," announced Framton, who laboured under the tolerably wide-spread delusion that total strangers and chance acquaintances are hungry for the least detail of one's ailments and infirmities, their cause and cure. "On the matter of diet they are not so much in agreement," he continued.
"No?" said Mrs. Sappleton, in a voice which only replaced a yawn at the last moment. Then she suddenly brightened into alert attention—but not to what Framton was saying.
"Here they are at last!" she cried. "Just in time for tea, and don't they look as if they were muddy up to the eyes!"
Framton shivered slightly and turned towards the niece with a look intended to convey sympathetic comprehension. The child was staring out through the open window with dazed horror in her eyes. In a chill shock of nameless fear Framton swung round in his seat and looked in the same direction.
In the deepening twilight three figures were walking across the lawn towards the window; they all carried guns under their arms, and one of them was additionally burdened with a white coat hung over his shoulders. A tired brown spaniel kept close at their heels. Noiselessly they neared the house, and then a hoarse young voice chanted out of the dusk: "I said, Bertie, why do you bound?"
Framton grabbed wildly at his stick and hat; the hall-door, the gravel-drive, and the front gate were dimly-noted stages in his headlong retreat. A cyclist coming along the road had to run into the hedge to avoid an imminent collision.
"Here we are, my dear," said the bearer of the white mackintosh, coming in through the window; "fairly muddy, but most of it's dry. Who was that who bolted out as we came up?"
"A most extraordinary man, a Mr. Nuttel," said Mrs. Sappleton; "could only talk about his illnesses, and dashed off without a word of good-bye or apology when you arrived. One would think he had seen a ghost."
"I expect it was the spaniel," said the niece calmly; "he told me he had a horror of dogs. He was once hunted into a cemetery somewhere on the banks of the Ganges by a pack of pariah dogs, and had to spend the night in a newly dug grave with the creatures snarling and grinning and foaming just above him. Enough to make anyone lose their nerve."
Romance at short notice was her speciality.

JAKE (part 13) He slipped back home just after 2pm. He had grabbed a bite to eat at the French Quarter. He had some coffee and a beignet. It was the fucking afternoon, but hell he was going to treat it like breakfast.Thoughts of lazing on the couch watching reruns of old sitcoms were erased when he got a call from his colleague, Ted."Jake, where the fuck have you been?""I was out all night. What to do?""Out all night? Man, I told you not to go to that new bar. It's full of coked-up women, man. And the drinks are all watered down. Who cares if the furniture is avant-garde? It's suppose to be the latest hangout spot in town but frankly it's all just hype, dude."Jake was getting annoyed."Alright, alright! Obviously you're upset. The next time I go, I'll invite you.""Bitch," said Ted, which was usually code that he was jealous that Jake got laid, or that the boss favoured Jake in some matter.Today it was going to be the latter."Hey, the reason I called is that Fallon's announced his list of those covering the UN summit."Christ! Is that why you called me? It's my off day, thank you very much.""You're on it, man. And you got full custody of the curtain raiser."Jake managed a faint smile amid his lack-of-sleep face. While he was lying down on the couch talking to Ted, the words 'You're on it' put a sparkle in his eye and suddenly Jake was excited and standing up. Walking back and forth from his kitchen into the living room."Who else got it? No. Don't tell me. Susan, right? and Jack Bing! Am I right?""Who else knows the UN inside out. Plus they needed someone to blow Kofi Annan for the free trade zone story.""You're fucking sick, you know that, Ted?""Your praises are flattering, Jake. But I'm telling you this could be the big break you needed. Once you're there, then there's nothing they won't do for you." (to be continued)

Jake Part 14

Jake was proud of himself by now. He was 32, single and willing to please his bosses. He loved his job more than anything. And he had sacrificed time and energy to be where he was now. Being from Baton Rouge didn't help either. The common mentality was that he would always be an outsider to the cosmopolitan New Orleaneans. It didn't help that he sometimes, though not as often as he used to, speak in his Lousiana drawl. He wasn't proud of it, but he learned at 24 not to give a shit. Now he lets his accent hang loose. "So what if I sound like a fucking redneck from the bayou? At least I do a hell of a job," he once said, half drunk, to some colleagues after work."So what the fuck do you care! Motherfucker!"Jake had a tendency to be overly dramatic during the most unexpected times. He did have his mood swings. His closest friends would know when to lie low. But most of his colleagues have never seen that part of Jake.The phone rang.It was Madeline, Jake's mother in Baton Rouge."JJ I've got bad news. I can't come over the weekend.""Why not?" he managed to sound concerned."The medicine's not sitting well with me. Your father is no help either. Always going out to catch a few fish, drinking budweisers with Moe and Luke out on the lawn. Making a mess of the place, as usual...""Mom, don't start.""I'm sick and tired JJ. And now I'm literally sick, what with this darn medicine I'm taking. Anyways, I can't make it this weekend, honey. So you just tell your sister I can't make it."Usually Jake would talk more, but he wanted to end the conversation with his mother as quickly as possible. He wanted to bask in his current victory of getting a major assignment"I'll see what I can do."He couldn't help asking about his father. They exchanged small talk and Jake said goodbye and put down the receiver. He sat there on his four-seater sofa, cordless phone on his left hand while his right hand scratched the velvety maroon fabric.Scratch, scratch, scratch. It made a sound, which became louder. He raised his right hand to his face, and kissed the back of his palms. while inhaling deeply. It was a childhood peeve. He dialed a number on the cordless phone.A soft female voice answered the call."Hello." said the sleepy voice."Hi.""Hey, how you doin'?""Okay. Could feel much better.""Oh, I see. It's that type of call.""What type of call?""Argh..""I know you were on all night. But what if I propose to you something...""Can't handle big words now. Still half asleep. What do you want, Jake?""I want to come over."A long pause, and then a sigh from the woman."Christ, get a life Jake.""You know that turns me on when you say that.""I know you're speaking but it's all sounds like blah blah blah right now." She was officially pissed off that he woke her from sleep. She was also mumbling."Please, let me come over. I want to come over. Can I?""Ermmm...well.....ok...I dunno. Can I just sleep while you come over. You can watch me sleep. That doesn't sound right." She was mumbling and talking nonsense."I'm gonna kill you.""I'll be there in 20 minutes."

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Jake took his key from his jeans pocket. He opened the front door, then closed it behind him. He sneaked slowly through the living room and then pushed open the bedroom door which was left slightly ajar. "Knock, knock," he said half whispering.The young woman curled up in comforter and pyjamas was ignoring him. Probably sleeping, he thought. Nah.Jake hung his leather jacket behind the bedroom door. He peeled off his wool sweater and took off his jeans. Jeans and sweater lay on the floor. Jake was standing close to the woman's head by the side of the bed.

"Wakey wakey, Dr Green. Paging Dr Elena Green. He slowly lifted up part the comforter and snuggled behind her. He held her from behind. He kissed her neck from behind. "Just sleep. I'm tired."Jake pulled his body closer to her with his arms enveloped around hers, the best way he knew how. They stayed that way for the rest of the afternoon.

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Jake - Part 15

everywhere you see the dawning and ending and superiority of negativity based on the stupidity of fools who'd rather rush in rush in rush in