I left it downstairs

 Geraldine's story

 On a quiet, mild spring evening, John and Patricia decided to watch a television program dedicated to China, it’s geography, it’s development, it’s population and overall what their future would look like.  A long fascinating broadcast that was to last at least 3 hours.

The house they lived in was rather large with 2 bedrooms and a bathroom downstairs, at the same level as the garage. Then, upstairs was the living area : kitchen, dining-room, very big lounge, study and another couple of bedrooms. A terrace rounded the level with a wide space where you could eat outdoors around a garden table.

After a quick snack, they sank into their armchairs with a drink and sitting confortabily started watching TV.  They were travelling from one part of China to another, very different, going from the developped Shanghaï to the most remote fishermen’s or small farmer’s villages.

When their dog started to bark, John shut him up".

-« Shhh ! Don’t bark  you fool !  We can’t hear » !

When they finally went to bed, they felt they had so much new knowledge about this huge country that they were discussing when they would finally decide to take steps to go visit the place…

Next morning, Patricia woke up first, got the coffee and breakfast ready and the lovely smell of hot toast got John out of bed.

Sitting on the terrace overwatching the blossoming cherry and plum trees, they were set for a lovely day.

Patricia started walking donwstairs and exclaimed :

-       « Oh ! John, did you leave your wallet downstairs !  It’s on the first step…

-       No, not that I remember !

-       But look, here is the key of the house just next to it.  Gosh, what on earth happened here ?

-       I don’t know !  Let’s have a look through the wallet !  Has any money been stolen ?

-       I don’t really know how much I had in there…. But I never have much…

-       Well, there are a few coins and a 10 euro banknote.

How strange !  The identity and credit cards were untouched !

As Patricia walked out of the house, right in the middle of the lane, she found a bunch of keys she had never seen before ! 

-       What on earth are these keys, where do they come from ! she shouted out loud.

The mystery was growing….

John went off to work and Patricia heard her neighbour calling her from behind the fence.  They lived in exactly the same house, as there were 4 of them built by 4 Italian bricklayers who  had left Italy in the sixties when hunger and poverty were still around.  Since they had done well, they had all built new houses and rented the first ones out.

-       Hi Geraldine !

-       Hi Mary, how are you ?  Lovely day again.

-       Well, something very strange happened last night ! We were watching TV in the back room and I think that’s when we were burgled while we were watching a fantastic television documentary about China !

-       Oh ! so did we ! Wasn’t it wonderful !  China is realy so inspiring and there’s so much we’ve never heard about, yet to discover ! So tell me about last night.

-       Well, when we went to bed, I found that things had been moved around near my jewellery box. As I went looking through it, I realized my grandmother’s neckless and earrings were missing.

Then my husband came out of his room and his military medals had been scattered on his commode and two of them had been taken !  He was very upset, certainly more than me with the loss of my jewels….

-       Then Patricia showed Mary the keys she had found on the ground in front of her house.  Do these keys belong to you ?

-       Yes ! They the keys of the Charity Organization I volunteer for. Where did you find them ?

-       Well just in front of my door, in the lane….

Come in for some coffee and we’ll try and figure out what happened.

After a discussion with more details about the evening in each house, Patricia and Mary came to a relatively plausible conclusion :

The burglers started in Mary’s house and ran out as soon as they had found a rather substantial booty, steeling the key in the entrance for their next visit…

After that first fruitfull visit, they probably started their visit in house number 2.  As they reached the first floor, they had picked up John’s wallet intending to look through it…  Then the dog barked quite loudly which made them run away as quickly as possible, dropping the wallet and key of the house on the first step.  And as they were running as quickly as they could, they dropped the neighbour’s key in the alley.   They fled as quickly as possible hoping nobody was after them.

Mary was releaved they hadn’t managed to keep the keys and Patricia and John found they had been very lucky : if they had heard the burglers before they ran away, they could have got into trouble !

When Patricia went home after the sucessfull outcome of the mystery, she went straight to the dog, giving him a huge cuddle :

-       Sorry we shouted at you last night and thank you, thank you, thank you… you’re the most wonderful dog ever….

 ------------------------------------------Story made by elecronic intelligence

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, and I was curled up on the couch with a good book. As I flipped through the pages, I suddenly realized that I had left my phone down stairs.  Groaning, I got up from the couch and made my way down to the first floor. As I descended the stairs, I noticed that something was off. The usually quiet house was filled with an eerie silence.

My heart pounding, I quickened my pace and reached the bottom of the stairs. That's when I saw it - the front door was wide open.

Panic set in as I realized that someone must have broken in. I frantically looked around for something to use as a weapon, but all I had was a decorative vase.

I tiptoed towards the door, vase raised above my head, ready to strike. But as I peeked outside, I saw that there was no one there.

Feeling a mix of relief and confusion, I looked around to see if anything had been stolen. It was then that I remembered why I had come downstairs in the first place - my phone.

I looked around, but it was nowhere to be found. With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I realized that whoever had broken in must have taken it.

Feeling violated and vulnerable, I called the police and waited for them to arrive. As I sat there, I couldn't help but think that this was all my fault - I shouldn't have left my phone downstairs.

 

 

----------------------------------

 

Annemarie's story

Alice gazed at the gauzy filaments of a spider’s web as she climbed the stairs, holding
tightly to the old wooden banister… and forgot what she had been downstairs for. It
happened so often - one or other of them had those slight lapses pf memory when they
went to the garage, downstairs or just into the next room for something and forgot what he
or she had gone for, so often that the sentence, ‘I’ve left it downstairs, it had become a
euphemism between them for something forgotten; ( sometimes, thought Alice, it felt like a
sign to an incipient Alzheimer’s sentence.) The couple usually laughed or Alice would say
“That’s the problem with multitasking- easy to forget something. Anyway it’s good for us,
going up and downstairs, good for our bone density and for the extra exercise.” Sometime
during the day, or the following day after a good night’s sleep, the forgotten, no the lapsed
word would have descended from brain to mouth.

After her husband passed away, after forty-eight years of marriage with all its ups and
downs, Alice had sold the rambling house set in the undulating countryside north of
Edinburgh; the garden with all its ups and downs was too much for her and Alice had
decided to move to Sussex. It was so much nearer to her two daughters and the five
grandchildren and she could help with baby-sitting, looking after their homes, animals and
plants when they went on holiday - she could be useful.
She bought the bungalow in her daughters names (hopefully to live long enough for them
to avoid death duties.) There could be no greater contrast between her old home in the
tree-covered hills and her cosy modern bungalow on the coast. Sunlight cross-crossed the
room casting rippled reflections from the sea onto her walls; she could hear the constant
whoosh whoosh of the waves breaking on the pebbled beach. Passers-by enjoying the
brisk sea air would wave or stop for a few words as she pottered in the postage-size front
garden. She joined a couple of clubs and felt very much part of the community. It was true
that after a some years she no longer needed to baby-sit but her daughters, and
sometimes the whole family, came to see her, have a proper Sunday roast in her small
dining room, a room filled with memories and photos of Michael and her time together or
they would take her out somewhere special.
Today it was for a birthday lunch and a surprise visit she knew not where.
“Well that was a delicious meal. I am so lucky to have you two lovely daughters. I could
almost do with a siesta,” said Alice, draping around her neck her silk scarf, a birthday gift
designed and hand-printed by her eldest granddaughter. “But,” she added “first the
surprise. What on earth is it?”
“Wait and see, Mum; it’s a surprise after all, ” said her younger daughter mysteriously. Ten
minutes later the two women and Alice were wending their way through an avenue of
elderly, gnarled trees bordered by a profusion of rose beds. Alice would never forget the
all-pervading scent on that hot summer afternoon as they ambled up to the entrance. Nor
would she forget the sign -“The Elms Residential Home. Luxury care for the over 55’s”.
Too shocked, too stunned to say anything she followed her daughters in, allowed herself to
be shown around a large luxury bedroom (or what Alice termed bed-sitting room), a
communal room with several elderly women and men in comfy old people chairs.
“And now the gorgeous gardens,” trilled her elder daughter.

“This is our surprise. Between us we’ve saved you all the trouble of finding somewhere, of
selling the bungalow and all the paper work done. No more housework, there’s a dining
room as well with really decent meals and what’s more proper care if you should need it.
You move in in three weeks time,  she added gleefully, both daughters with big smiles on
their well made-up faces.
Close to tears Alice stared at the two of them. “But why on earth would you do all this
without consulting me?”
“Mum this is our surprise. We’ve noticed how forgetful you've become. It’s much better to
be here now before you get worse, somewhere you can be with other people, where you’ll
have help when you need it. We’ve been worried about you for a while. You live in a
bungalow but you are forever saying ‘I’ve left it downstairs'

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sarah's story

I left it downstairs 5 – Annette
(23.02.2023)

She stands there on the landing, her white hair like a halo against the dark hallway behind her.  Her eyes seem to be gazing into an interminable grey-blue distance, past the wooden, open verandah, past the rooftops below.  She lays one hand on the banister to steady herself, because the other hand is clutching something.
"I left it dowwnstairs," she says, her voice become as soft as the cloud of vaporous hair that is now all that is left of the rich brown tresses she had twenty years ago.
"No, you didn't.  You're holding it right now."
"I left it downstairs," she repeats, "I'm going down to fetch it."
"No, Mum," says the other voice sternly, almost in exasperation.  "You've got your telephone in your hand.  And you're not going downstairs.  You might trip, and then where would we be?"

She took a tentative step forward.  She would rather be down in the shop; someone might come in.  If anyone came it was usually in the afternoon, but sometimes they came in the morning.
"Go back to your room, Mum.  If you fall down the stairs you'll be back in hospital.  Would you like that?"
Fall down the stairs?  Was it as bad as that?  And back in hospital?  No, she certainly didn't want that to happen.  She turned and walked slowly back to her room
They had kept her in the hospital for ten days.  That was when she had let the soup burn and it had set off the smoke alarm and the neighbours had called the fire department.  They had finally decided there was no reason to keep her there and had sent her home.  But Bertie had come up and there was talk among the authorities, and now it seemed Bertie had some power of attorney over her.
She lay down on her bed.  There wasn't much else to do.  She forgot why she had wanted her telephone.  She tried to remember but it was too difficult.  She would remember later; she always did.
She hadn't been out for her walk today.  Every morning she went out after breakfast and walked around the village.  Not all the way around it; though it was a small village, you couldn't go all round it on account of the steep wooded slopes on the north side.  But she had her little route, out through the 15th century gate, on past the cemetery and back along the walls, chatting with neighbours and picking up sticks as she went.  She had checked with the mayor; it was all right to pick up the sticks.  She generally brought back a bagful and built a fire with them in the kitchen while she prepared lunch; that made it cosy when Andy was there at lunchtime.  Though actually it was he who made the lunch most of the time these days; she usually forgot something essential like the salt, or couldn't remember exactly how you finished the recipe.
That was it.  She wanted to phone Andy.  Why hadn't he come this morning?  She punched the keys and the phone began to ring at the other end, but there was no answer.  He was probably working in his atelier, soldering the little bits he put together for his sculptures.  When he was doing that he didn't hear his phone.  She drifted off to sleep.

She was awakened by a racket downstairs.  She called down to Bertie but of course he didn't hear her.  It sounded like somebody moving heavy things, there was grunting and swearing, then the door slammed shut.  The motor of a van started up under her window and after a moment it drove away.  Then all was quiet.
It was a quiet village.  A quiet, beautiful village.  It hadn't changed much since she had come there when Bertie was a toddler.  There were more tourists now, but that was good for business.  She had done right to leave her shop in town and come here; her clients had followed her, and the tourists made new ones.  The best times were before Bertie went away to university; then he had helped her in the garden and with the house, and she had hoped that after university he would come back and everything would be the same.  But he had gone off, and married, and divorced, and gone somewhere else, but had never come back here.  Except for a short visit from time to time, with his children.  But this time he had come without them.
She heard more noises, as if someone were pushing cartons around.  The door opened and closed several times.  Then she heard steps coming up the stairs and Bertie came into her room with two big suitcases.  He opened the drawers  and the wardrobe and began piling things into the cases.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going home, and you're coming with me."
"But why are you taking so many things?  I won't need that much."
"No need to buy new things," was his cryptic reply.
Her heart sank a little.  Of course she would be glad to see her grandchildren, but she didn't get on that well with Bertie's third wife, and she always felt a little awkward in their house.  She had always liked it best being at home, knitting her sweaters, seeing her friends and neighbours.  Sleeping in her own bed, surrounded by her own things.  Well, maybe it wouldn't be for long.
"Come on, get your shoes on, we're going."
"Already?"

Out of doors, down the street a little, a group of neighbours were watching the proceedings.
"He's taking her away," said one.  "And she didn't even say good-by to us."
"I wanted to go in this morning but he said no," said a tall man with a grizzled beard.  They all knew whom he meant by "he".  "He said she wasn't well."
"She looked well enough to me just now," said the first one, whose name was Tina. "Don't you think so, Andy?"
"Maybe she'll be back," said another.
"I doubt it," said Tina.  "I heard something about putting her in a facility."
"Maybe the one in Belleville?  Then we could all go to see her.  Andy, don't look so guilty!  There was nothing you could do."
"I don't know," he began.
"Nonsense, your psychiatrist has forbidden it; you know that."
They all knew that Andy's wife had died of Alzheimer's, that he had taken care of her for the last five years of her life and that it had worn him down.  He had found a new partner in Annette, but when she had started to show signs of the same illness, his psychiatrist had sounded the alarm.  Now they lived separately but he came faithfully to see her every day.
"Actually, I don't think she's going to be in Belleville," said Julie, who until now had said nothing.  "I heard he was taking her down near him.  And I don't think she's coming back.  I saw a van in front of the house earlier, they were taking something away, and it looked like Annette's knitting machine."
"Maybe he was shipping it down there," said Tina.
"No.  The man from the van was giving him money, not taking it from him."
They were all silent for a moment.
"How do you know he was taking her down south?" asked Tina after a moment.
"He said so himself, actually.  I heard him talking to the estate agent."
"The estate agent!"
As she said these words, a little red car drove up in front of the house they were still staring at, and the person in question stepped out of it.  She placed a little printed panel against the front wall, slipped back into her car and drove away.  Though the printing was big enough to read from where they were, they all approached to see it more clearly.
"For Sale" said the sign, placed underneath the big window where the lettering still said "Designer Knits" but which now showed desolately empty of items for sale.  They turned and stared again down the street out of which Bertie's car, and then the estate agent's, had driven, but all they saw was a collection of dry leaves, twirled down the dusty gutter by the precocious winds of early autumn.
 

 

 

 

Paula's story and some photos

A Japanese toilet

James making delicious tea and coffee

Beautiful table

A gunshot split the silence of the night. A body tumbled softly to the ground. A car door slammed, an engine roared, then faded quickly away.

 

All up and down the up-to-now quiet suburban street, lights flicked on in the houses, and bedroom windows were flung open as men thrust their heads out. 

 

“What was that?” they called to each other.

“What’s going on?” 

“Did you hear that?” 

“That sounded like a gunshot!”

 

Henry glanced across the street, and there, at the foot of the driveway opposite his own, was a huddled form lying on the cement. “Jesus!” he cried, as he struggled to pull on jeans and a sweatshirt. “Call 15, Jules!” he called to his wife. “It looks like Jacob!”

 

As Henry raced downstairs, he could hear his wife on the phone, frantically asking for an ambulance. He ran across the street and knelt down next to his neighbor. Blood was seeping out of a small hole on the right side of Jacob’s chest, his pajama top nearly soaked already.

 

“Who did this? What happened?” Henry asked his friend. “Jules has called for help; an ambulance will be here soon.”

 

Jacob struggled to speak, grasping Henry’s sweatshirt to pull his head close to his own on the pavement. “It was Sylvia,” he gasped. “She’s taken everything. She cleared out the bank accounts this morning; she’s taken the car; she even, she even…” he paused to try and draw a breath.

 

“Don’t speak,” Henry said, trying to comfort the big man. “Help is on the way.”

 

“She even took the ring,” Jacob finally spat out.

 

The ring. Everyone on the block knew about the ring. Jacob’s most prized possession, a family heirloom generations old. A 6-and-a-half-carat diamond surrounded by sparkling sapphires and emeralds, it once had been appraised at €12 million. 

 

“Just rest,” Henry said. “Don’t talk. Save your breath.”

 

By now, more neighbors had reached the two men on the driveway, one gasping for breath, one cradling the other’s head in his lap. “My God,” the murmurs began. “What the hell?” And the news of Sylvia’s possibly fatal betrayal began to spread through the small crowd. “She shot him! And the ring! She made off with the ring!” The incredulous murmurs swept from one resident to the next. 

 

Police and ambulance sirens wailed as they neared the scene. Within minutes, the driveway was bathed in light and activity as the emergency medical technicians worked swiftly to try and stabilize Jacob’s vital signs and load him onto a gurney. Meanwhile, two police officers were working through the crowd of neighbors that had gathered, asking questions. The wife, it’s always the wife, one cop nodded as he listened to the excited voices.

 

As the medical staff lifted the gurney carrying Jacob’s inert form into the back of the ambulance, Jacob slowly reached out for Henry’s hand. “Henry,” he whispered urgently. “Henry, I need you to do something.” 

 

“Of course, Jake, whatever you need,” Henry told his friend. “What is it?”

 

“The ring,” the big man choked out the words. “The one Sylvia has is a fake. I had a reproduction made years ago without telling her. The real one is still in the house.” He paused to draw a ragged, shallow breath. “I left it downstairs, in my toolbox in the cellar. I figured it would always be safe there. Please, Henry, go get it and keep it safe. I’ll need it, if I make it through, to start fresh.”

 

Jacob wheezed then, and dropped Henry’s hand as his eyes rolled back into his head. The doctor sprang into action, slamming shut the ambulance doors, and the car roared away into the night. Henry turned to find Jules close behind him, her eyes wide in her pale face. “Did you hear that,” Henry whispered to his wife. She nodded wordlessly. He stared at her until a small grin began to spread across his face. He said softly, “All our problems are over.”

 

 

Jackie's poor contribution

Goosey Goosey Gander where shall I wander, Upstairs, downstairs and in my lady's chamber

There I met an old man who wouldn't say his prayers,

I took him by the left leg and threw him down the stairs.

The stairs went crack,
He nearly broke his back.
And all the little ducks went,
‘Quack, quack, quack

 

Old father Long-Legs
Can't say his prayers:
take him by the left leg,
And throw him downstairs.^[1