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It's a kind of magic...

I nearly forgot to do this.

Thanks Kris for your help on this one. You did a grand job as always.

Gerald wandered through the narrow lanes, passing curiosity shops with their strange and wonderful oddments in the windows. Antique dealers polished their reproduction Chippendale chairs in the hopes that some passing stranger would take them for the real thing and remove a bulging wallet to purchase. He continued past the library and on up to the shops he was really heading for.

The town was very cosmopolitan with all races, creeds, colours and persuasions going from one place to the next; some with the hurried surety of those who just want to get in, get out and get home, while some milled awkwardly, struggling over whether or not to buy those new shoes or to replace the toaster that burnt up last week.

For Gerald though, these trips fulfilled two needs -

It meant that he could get the things he needed, like new socks to replace those that let his big toe peep through and had the threadbare heels; new trousers to allow for that expanding waistline and maybe a couple of shirts.

The second was to visit those shops further north that sold all those pretty things; the things he didn't need and could only dream about.

He found himself staring into the window at some spike-heeled boots in what amounted to a fetish store that sold all sorts of weird and sometimes wonderful ‘specialist’ garments and footwear. The boots in question were those that laced up past the knee and on up to mid thigh. They were black suede and the heel was chromed, shining like a beacon against the velvety blackness above. Then there was the bustier, the black and crimson satin job with the decorative embroidery, the silk panties and thongs and oh those silk seamed stockings…

His mind was a mixture of excitement and regret: excitement at looking at those and other wonderful garments and wishing that he could pluck up the courage to even touch them, let alone try them on; and regret because he knew that even if he did, he would never see what his mind did.

His body for one thing; short and round, his face florid and wrinkled with the years of stress that his work and his dreams had put upon him; dreams that would come regularly and give him that ability to experience a little of what it might be like…

One night however, Gerald’s dream took an unexpected twist.

Once again he found himself in town and once again, he was walking towards ‘that’ shop; the shop with the boots in the window.

This time, Gerald saw an old gypsy woman whilst on his way. His first reaction upon seeing her further down the road, calling at the passers-by to buy her ‘lucky’ heather, held together in a small amount of baking foil, was to cross the road.

Oddly, the woman did the same.

Now Gerald wasn’t superstitious or even afraid of the old woman, but on this particular day, he tried to avoid her. Something inside was telling him that he didn’t want to see her, didn’t want to speak to her and definitely didn’t want her ‘lucky’ heather.

It was with regret that upon seeing the woman in front of him some way down the road after he had crossed to avoid her, that he had to forego the visit to the shops he loved so much, well not the shops as much as the contents and he turned to walk back the way he had come.

He nearly had heart failure when he turned and there she was again, her piercing blue eyes gleaming from under a woolly hat that was pulled down over her iron-grey hair. Gerald froze as the woman smiled, her teeth revealed, yellowed and with gaps between. The only thing he thought that she was missing was a large wart somewhere conspicuous.

He was the proverbial deer caught in the headlights. What could he do?

So many scrambled thoughts went through his head. His fear or fright at this woman whom he knew wanted to speak to him was uncharacteristic to say the least. His blood ran cold and he found himself in that all too often dream state of trying to move, but unable.

“’Ello luvvie. Buy some lucky ‘eather?” she said, that grin of hers bearing down on him like some monstrous bogeyman. How she covered the intervening twenty yards or so in so short a space of time was unclear and how she got from one end of the road to the other was even more distressing to poor Gerald.

It was at this point that Gerald woke, sweat covered and shaking.

But it wasn’t over.

Several nights went by and each night the dream recurred.

Each time, his overwhelming fear held him in check for longer and each time Gerald was forced to hear her repeat her request that he buy her “lucky ‘eather” and all the while, Gerald was shouting, no screaming in his head to wake up. He knew this was a dream; moreover, he knew it was the same dream he had had before and his fear this time was not tempered by having got safely out of it on the previous occasions.

This affected everything. As it continued, he became more and more tired, afraid to sleep for fear of what would happen, though in truth, he had no clue as to what that was.

Finally, he was too tired to fight back, too tired to do anything and as he stood, frozen to the spot, she spoke.

“I know what you really want.” she said quietly.

Gerald tried to move, to escape that monstrous grin, but the voice he was hearing was one of kindness and compassion, not barbed or derisive and suddenly, he didn’t know what to do.

“Why do you run?” she asked.

“I-I-I’m scared.” he said and could feel his leaden limbs as unresponsive as before.

“There’s no need.” she said quietly. “Take this and all will be well.”

For reasons he could not fathom his hand reached out toward the proffered bunch of tiny flowers, with their deep green floliage.

The sunlight forced its way through and between the tightly drawn curtains, casting finger-like beams where tiny pieces of dust twinkled as they rose towards the light.

“Gerri?” the voice said gently.

In that pre-awake befuddlement, the name Gerri didn’t register.

“Geraldine?” it said just a little louder.

The eyes opened upon a very feminine room, its walls bedecked with rose-patterned wallpaper, the canopy of the bed fringed with golden tassels.

“This wasn’t the room I went to sleep in, was it?” wondered the still half asleep soul, sitting up to take in the rest of the very feminine room.

“About time too!” said that voice and looking to her right, Gerri saw the figure of her mother, bustling and rummaging in a white chest of drawers to get her clothes ready for the day.

“I had the strangest dream.” she said sleepily.

“Well, it’s time for school, you can tell me about it over breakfast. Right now young lady get your lazy bones out of bed.” replied her mother, smiling in that busy way.

“Geraldine?” thought Gerri, registering the name for the first time. “Young lady?”

She threw back the covers and looked at her nightgown, she could feel the weight of her breasts and suddenly everything became clear. Her breathing quickened as her excitement rose.

“What the…?” she said swinging her dainty feet over the edge of the bed and as she did, there was a soft rustle. Looking down, she saw a small posy of heather, wrapped in a twisted piece of baking foil glinting in the narrow beam of sunlight…

The End