The depraved mind and heinous activities of a Pedophile exposed...
by Rose C Taylor
A now published must read story
A Tale A Wagging (Wild Daisies) Princess Miranda All Things Bright & Spiritual The Epistle The Commuters Poet's Corner Lamingtons on Sunday
Listen to the music of Paul Cantelon while reading this page. This page is currently under reconstruction - sorry for any inconvenience - Rose C Taylor
A Wagging Tale
A Short Story inspired by true events and written by
ROSE C TAYLOR
It was Friday night and Joan and her club members were once again gathered together to exchange their weekly "Tales of the Unexpected". As she listened to the members of her group tell their stories she was taken back to the night when she was woken up not only by the sounds of people running up and down the side of her house but also by the barking of dogs. Joan sat up in bed, by this time almost fully awake, and as she did so she also heard the very loud and raucous laughter of several people. By all accounts, to her memory, this very same laughter was coming from outside her bedroom window.
In fact, it was because of the combination of these various life like sounds which had caused her to wake up, particularly the sounds of the barking dogs, that Joan would not have been surprised to see a crowd of people on her front lawn participating in either a family picnic or perhaps a regular social outdoor event.
From time to time it had often crossed Joan's mind that the land her home was built on may well have been, many years ago, a gathering place for the local inhabitants. Indeed wasn't what had now become the location of the popular Melton Reservoir visible from her kitchen window!! As she lay in bed, her mind still reeling from what she had just encountered, she resolved to determine once and for all the past history of that very land which was where her home now stood.
At the last weekly get together of "Tales of the Unexpected" Joan had not spoken of her recent unexplained meeting with the unknown, as she had wanted to carry out her research utilizing the facilities of both the Melton Library and the Shire of Melton. Her research would centre not only on the previous usage of the land her home was built on but also the landscape surrounding it. It was important to Joan that this mission be completed thoroughly; even now the sounds of that night were still ringing in her ears. She knew without a doubt that, in her mind, she would always be reminded of those particular sounds.
Joan had carried out her research diligently putting in many hours reading reams of data which she was able to access via, not only the Melton Library and the Shire of Melton, but also the internet. All avenues Joan approached proved to be valuable sources of information and it was upon the completion of her research that Joan’s theory, involving a picnic ground, proved to be right in more ways than one.
Tonight Joan was full of confidence. She was eager to tell her story. She was comfortable with the certainty of the knowledge she was armed with. Her research had in fact revealed that over a hundred years ago the land her home was built on, along with most of its neighboring acres, had on more than one occasion been used by carnivals, circuses and fairs to pitch their tents.
Unlike one of the members of the group who told her stories, unequivocally, of mysterious shadows in her recently built unit, which records show had once been the official address of the old Melton Police Station, Joan did not originally expect to relay that particular night and the events played out to her as any more than perhaps a vivid dream. Tonight, however, she would tell of the bazaar circumstances that led her to her research and because of that research the discovery of how the land around her home was once used. She now knew that the story involving the night she was woken up and the subsequent happenings that took place the following day at her home would make compelling listening.
Joan took her place on the podium and sought the attention of the members of her group; she was ready to begin her “Tale of the Unexpected”. She commenced her story with the incident of her being woken up several weeks ago by very distinct noises outside her bedroom window, describing them in detail. She also spoke of the recent research she had carried out then proceeded to inform her audience that on the day following her vivid dream it was nearing lunchtime and she opened her front door in order to go and fetch the daily mail. It was very humid outside and it did not surprise her to find an elderly looking Border collie on her front porch. It went without saying that during Melton's hot summers many a stray dog would often turn up on her porch looking for a drink of water and it was for this reason that she kept a suitable plastic dish under her favorite rose bush.
Joan set about filling the dish with fresh water and placed it down in front of the collie who by this time was standing beside her comforted by her presence and the shade of her large traditional Australian front veranda. The dog appeared to be grateful to get the drink of water wagging his tail as a sign of appreciation and Joan wanting to return to the coolness of her air conditioned home turned towards her front door to do so but, it was about this same time, that she heard a distinct two fingered whistle. The dog's ears pricked up, he checked to make sure of his bearings then in a flash he took off up the hill facing Joan's property.
As the Border collie quickened his pace up the hill to Joan’s amazement she found that she was no longer looking at the road that was directly in front of her property. What was now before her was a field covered in wild daisies and what appeared to be a procession of people. Judging by the bright skirts and frilly blouses the women wore and the waistcoats and colorful scarves that adorned the men Joan took them to be a band of gypsies. Alongside the gypsies Joan could also see that there were several carnival performers most notably among them the clowns gaily juggling balls and performing cartwheels.
Ahead of this group of people were several horse drawn carts. They were unmistakably laden high with possessions, reminiscence of those that were known to be used in the early settler days. These same carts were accompanied by a red and green wagon-like caravan which was being pulled by an old gray Clydesdale, the appearance of the caravan suggesting it may well have belonged to the resident fortune teller.
Joan was transfixed by the sight before her including the distinct sound of a group of children of various sizes and ages, laughing and skipping their way through the field. Their laughter was such that it could be heard over the chatter of the gypsy like people who were walking behind them. This whole procession of people, children, carts and caravan which Joan was witnessing resembled to her what must have been a glimpse of the past and the happy and carefree atmosphere that belonged to such an era.
It was also in those few moments that she felt that the vision she was experiencing was like glancing at the shaping of a canvass that a great past master was in the process of creating. Joan likened the scene to that of the Fred McCubbin print which she had just recently purchased and had hung in the long hallway of her Victorian home.
In what could only have been a few short minutes Joan once again heard the two fingered whistle and in the distance she could make out the silhouette of a fair headed lad who on recollection appeared to be about eighteen years old.
It would seem the lad was anxious for the dog to reach the caravan and his friends and as the Border collie quickened his pace, even more, the vision of the field with the wild daisies, the gypsies, the children, the carts and the caravan was no longer visible. In its place was what Joan could only describe as a shroud of dust. It immediately enveloped the dog, his tail wagging ferociously.
As the dust settled Joan sadly found herself facing the reality of the solid bitumen of the road and the hill that affronted her property.
The members of “Tales of the Unexpected” had been captivated by Joan’s experiences and she was given a very warm applause at the end of her story. However, before leaving the podium she spoke of how she had made a mental note to herself to make sure, on a daily basis, to always refill with fresh water the plastic dish, which was still on her front porch, in the hope that one day the old Border collie might once again choose to visit her and her Melton home.
When Princess Miranda promised to marry Prince Dagar she not only promised to love, honor and obey him but also promised that in death they would not part. She vowed with all her heart that she would follow him to the other side when death took him there.
Princess Miranda was so happy at the joyous occasion of their wedding that this promise was indeed the last thing on her mind. It was her true belief that this affirmation of her love was very far from ever having to be honored in both the immediate or near future; Princess Miranda therefore gave little, if any, thought to her promise to Prince Dagar.
Their days as husband and wife were filled with more harmony and joy than she had ever thought possible and their love for each other continued to blossom with the passing of time.
Never the less, be that as it may, it is inevitable that with the passing of time comes change and change certainly did come to Prince Dagar and Princess Miranda.
A terrible tragedy struck the happy marriage of the Prince and Princess. It would appear that Prince Dagar was not to follow in his father’s footsteps and become King. In time this duty would fall upon the eldest of his two sons. Both were still only more than little babies. Prince Dagar was struck ill with a deadly virus and at the very young age of 28 years old he was taken by death and thus with death he passed over to the other side.
Princess Miranda was not only devastated by the death of her husband but as a result of his untimely demise also suffered severe shock, therefore, at his funeral she was not prepared for her sudden remembrance of the promise she had made to Prince Dagar those few short years ago when she had agreed to become his bride.
“Oh No,” she sobbed to herself, “I can’t—I can’t” she kept repeating over and over until she finally collapsed and was led to her chambers where she immediately fell into a deep sleep.
But sleep was not to bring her peaceful relief. Princess Miranda tossed and turned and finally was awoken by the continuous sound of someone calling her name ever so softly.
“Miranda”—“Miranda”. Princess Miranda sat up in bed and when she opened her eyes she could see Prince Dagar leaning over her.
“I have come to remind you of your promise,” he said.
“Please say you will come and join me, it is lonely here without you” Prince Dagar said with a moan.
Princess Miranda suddenly started to shake with both fear and confusion and pleaded with him to give her more time. Their sons needed her and she herself needed to be with them. She needed to know that their future would be secure. Their lives already had been damaged by the death of their father; to lose their mother also would be earth shattering for them. Surely Prince Dagar could see that this was not a selfish request and he could not expect her to honor her promise so soon. Surely he would not mind waiting.
“I do love you,” she heard herself saying “just give me more time.”
As she said these words Prince Dagar sighed mournfully; “Oh Miranda—Oh Miranda” and faded from her sight.
Alas, with the passing of time Princess Miranda faced her own entrance to the other side. She had reached the twilight of her years and thus had seen both her sons become young healthy men and both with futures filled with promise.
Prince Dagar had not visited Princess Miranda since his burial but she was confident he still loved her and would be waiting for her to join him. However, Princess Miranda was now an old woman and she had not taken this into account as she approached the gates of the other side. In the distance she could see Prince Dagar. He was mingling with a group of young people and as she neared him she saw a young and beautiful maiden point towards her then heard her ask of Prince Dagar.
“Do you know that old lady who is waving to you?”
“No,” he was heard to reply.
Turning away from Princess Miranda he was then also heard to say.
“How could I? I can only know and indeed wish to know the young and beautiful maidens like you yourself my dear lady.”
ALL THINGS BRIGHT AND SPIRITUAL’
"Walk behind me if you must,
walk beside me if you trust
but if you walk in front of me will I see through you?"
Rose C Taylor 1973
The following is an extract from chapter Six of my story 'Are we the Aliens?' which in full can be located at Chapter 6. I personally think it makes good reading as a short story in its' own right and hope you enjoy reading it.
.....Back when I was a young schoolgirl I was taught to believe that we all had a guardian angel. It was not until I had a very close shave with another vehicle many years ago, not long after I obtained my license, that I sought out the help of such a being but chose to select my own. I have since the age of nineteen been a great fan of Elvis Presley and remembering that he played the part of a racing driver in one of his movies I called upon him to take over and teach me how to drive. As Elvis had passed away by the time of my near accident it was not an impossible request. I had for many years after the death of my late father-in-law, who had been an Accountant, called on him for help when I was experiencing difficulties with many of the large financial reconciliation's I would be working on. Since calling on Elvis for assistance in my driving I am happy to say that to this day I am more alert as a driver and to date have avoided any major collisions.
My involvement with the spiritual world has been varied.
When I was pregnant with my third child I woke up one night to see a small girl of a about five years old dressed in a white nightdress with a candle in her hand standing at the end of my side of the bed. She then proceeded to walk right up to me before her image disappeared. The next morning I announced we were going to have a girl—I had already given birth to two boys—and yes I did. I was not shaken by this vision but I must admit the father of my soon to be born daughter was.
There are those who might interpret the visit by the small child as a prelude to an act of re-incarnation, however, as I have already said previously I do not follow that line of thought but prefer to accept her appearance as a message, that message being I would give birth to a baby girl.
During my lifetime I have on several occasions been the last person to speak to someone before they have died so I am not phased when the spirits of those I have known while they lived on earth choose to visit me.
When my girlfriend of childhood years visited me from New Zealand where we were both born and grew up together I spoke with her of her mothers death and was able to relate to her the exact time and day it took place. I had not known the precise details from either previous correspondence or telephone conversations with my friend regarding her intended trip to Australia but had had a visit from the spirit of her mother one night and was curious to confirm if the spiritual meeting I had experienced coincided with the actual death of her mother.
During my late thirties I became friendly with a beautiful young girl where I was employed. We became good friends and my children adored her. However, her life was to be short as she was diagnosed as having cervical cancer. I spent many weeks visiting her at the various hospitals she was admitted to and because her family lived in the country and did not visit her the nursing staff assumed I was her mother. When she passed away they rang me to say that they would have her laid out for me and for me to come to the hospital.
As her family chose to have her cremated I did not attend her funeral. I am not a believer in cremation and also could not bring myself to witness such an event.
Some weeks after her death I awoke to see her spirit lying beside me—she was clutching one of the teddy bears that used to adorn her bed. Now, attending her needs during her illness had been very demanding and I knew that I could do no more for her, so, I picked her up and passed her completely over me and put her on the floor beside the bed and said "No ....... I can no longer help you - you have to leave me be." I know this incident may sound harsh to some but I instinctively knew that I had to be in control of the situation and the best help I could give her was to say a prayer for her. I offered a ‘Hail Mary’ for her and immediately felt resolved of any further obligation.
Among one of my favourite encounters with the other side was when a very good friend of mine, who died at the age of 21 of a heart attack, visited me in a dream and took me by the hand and showed me Heaven. The beauty of it was such that there are times when I am out driving in the country that I can’t help hope that I might find it here on earth
The line between the world of the spirits and the world of Astral Travel would have to be a very fine one but from my observations I would have to say that in order to enter one world you must learn to cross over that line and that is when your journey starts to take flight. There are many on the other side who are unknown to you who will seek you out to use you as a medium solely for their own reasons with no regard for your purpose for being there. When you are able to Astral Travel uninterrupted by spirits trying to hinder you, your own spirit will be free to reach the places and people who seek to communicate with you.
I have experienced many disturbed periods of sleep by unknown spirits trying to invade my bed or the space surrounding it. I have learnt to banish them while sleeping but must admit it took years of practice to accomplish this. To believe that there is no afterlife, a belief held firmly by the skeptics, would rob me of my journeys with the unknown and pass them off as mere hallucinations. To pronounce upon my passing to the other side my spirit as null and void would mock my very existence and the soul I acquired at birth.
In the stillness of the moment does not the breath of wind we feel when facing the next crossroad of our lives urge us towards the direction we should take? Does the soaring of a star across the room you are sitting in, while quietly meditating on the events of your day, have to be passed off as a mere flight of fancy? If you have felt the wind like I have and experienced the guidance of your own special star then I would have to say that you too are in tune with the ethereal beauty that radiates from ‘All things Bright and Spiritual’.
I am often asked how old am I and when was I born? My favourite reply is that I was born ten thousand years ago and then ask the enquirer have they read the story of The Wandering Jew—if they have I then add "I am his sister!"....
It's only 5 minutes up the road" he said. I walked beside him eager to get to the cafe, this was the night we had all been waiting for and time spent walking was less time to be had by all of us in his presence.
Talking to Michael on my own for only the second time, was not as easy as when we were all in class, but by the time we reached our destination I was feeling a lot more relaxed and once we were inside the warm cafe and all seated at the long table I knew it was going to be a good night.
Originally about 12 pupils had joined the creative writing class eleven weeks ago. To-night only 8 of us were present. With Michael and the school's co-ordinator that made 10. I like that number - it is strong yet embracing and that is Michael........
Writing can be funny, sad or anywhere in between -
Writing can be gentle, harsh or somewhere in the middle -
Writing can be poetic, down to earth or straight along the road -
Writing is frustration wrenched from deep within, words are tossed around like a good French Salad until they become the perfect gourmet we all want to be able to serve. But no gourmet can ever be as satisfying as the one written.
My hunger to-night was to be satisfied both ways. As I downed the different delights placed in front of me during the night, and I listened to the stories being read I knew I had seen and heard it all before. We were no longer a mixture of people from different walks of life, we were great masters of art, long dead, spirited together by our very being there and the magic of writing itself........
The table was solid thick oak -
The glasses were heavy pewter mugs -
The plates were long wooden platters -
The remains on which lay oven fresh bread and strong smelling cheese -
Each story teller had a treasure to tell .........
Some were pretty and picturesque -
Some were poetic, soft and warm -
Some were raw, gutsy and grotesque -
And some were humorous and written in jest -
As the night progressed each one of us brought forth work hidden. Suddenly everybody was swamping Michael with ideas and stories he never dreamed would be produced. "Oh Michael - without your never failing patience and talented guidance none of us would have and I would not be to-night writing this Epistle."
Now it was Michael's turn to have his hunger satisfied and as he sat over our works, I saw him sitting close by the glowing embers of the Inn's fireplace.
No coaches and horses awaited us as we left the cafe and as we made our way back to our cars I made my way back to reality but with a determination, along with all my classmates, to bring more fruits of life to Michael from our tables of creative writing.
Oh Bright and Gentle Summer Sun I welcome you each day
You caress me like a lover and beckon me your way
You come to me each morning and kiss my sleep filled eyes
The nearness of your presence gives pleasure as I rise
You lead me to the water's edge
You coax me to the Sea
You are my constant silent friend
Yet leave me feeling free
Oh Bright and Gentle Summer Sun your time has come to set
and as you go I take with me a warmth I shan't forget.
Bu Wait - You say there's more to feel and do I hear you laugh?
Have I been blinded by your light?
Were you my Summer Love?
Turning of Time
Yesterday I saw a baby born all cuddly and brand spanking new
and as I held him I shed a tear for time was turning him into a child
But I should not feel sad for I was once a baby too.
Yesterday I watched a small child play with toy soldiers colored red, white and blue
and as he played I shed a tear for time was turning him in to a youth
But I should not feel sad for I was once a child too
Yesterday I saw a youth study his head bathed in sweat like dew
and as he studied I shed a tear for time was turning him into a man.
But I should not feel sad for I was once a youth too
Yesterday I watched a young man climb reaching high to catch a star or two
and as he climbed I shed a tear for time was turning him into an old man
But I should not feel sad for I was once a young man too
Yesterday I heard an old man cry—It's not surprising old men often do
and as he cried I shed a tear for time had stopped turning on for him
But now I do feel sad for time is running out on me too
"And what of you have you been there or is your time still to come?
Alas my friend if you don't know then time can't beat your drum."
Australian Political Special
Lamingtons on Sundays
Once upon a time, there was a place far away—yet one could say not so far away, although it once was described as the a≠se end of the world by one who thought himself above the rest of the people. However, a long time ago—or maybe not such a long time ago this individual was known to have received a kick up his own a≠se. At about the same time this far away place was also described as a banana republic which today does not make sense to the people considering the price they were more recently asked to pay for just one banana.
At the present the not so young commander of this not so far away place, sometimes referred to as “The devil in disguise”, yet unanimously acknowledged by many as a very clever and wise commander was being challenged by the not so old alternative contender commonly acknowledged as being “Holier than thou art.”
Each day, the not so old alternative contender, would send out his herd of followers to deliver to the people his current list of goodies he would be offering them if they gave him their support. Each day the list grew larger and larger until one day those faithful to the not so young commander started to ask “Will we also be getting Lamingtons on Sundays?”
In the meantime the loyal followers of the not so young commander started to question would these very same lamingtons lose their culinary appeal by becoming very stale too quickly. Surely, they did not want their fate to turn into another very old time tradition of being told “Let them eat cake.”
Now the moral of this story is “Could not the devil we know be far better than the one we don’t?”
Rose C Taylor (11/09/2007)
Are we the aliens? invite you to visit the