charles barrow's writing

Below, you will find a few edited scenes from The Stolen Days of John Mann.

‘Dear Lord, Thank you for the food before us, the fire in the grate, and the roof above our head. Please spare those we love and keep us safe from harm. Amen.’ Mann opened his eyes and placed his hands in his lap as David and Helen repeated the blessing. The boy turned in his seat to face Mann. ‘You changed the words Father.’ He has his Mother’s bright eyes, thought Mann. ‘David.’ This was a rebuke from his Mother. ‘The boy is right.’ Said Mann ‘Why’d you change them?’ asked David. ‘Prayer doesn’t lose its aim because I change some words.’ ‘God still hears you?’ ‘Always. We should never be afraid of straying from familiar paths to find new ones, even when we’re told there is only one way forward.’ David looked puzzled, ‘But Mrs Ginty says…’ ‘That’s enough son, eat your supper.’ Helen leveled a firm look at Mann. ‘It’s best we don’t have talk that runs counter to David’s schooling.’ ‘Forgive me, I meant no complication. It’s the hunger addled my t

All Hallows was their favourite celebration, and as the oldest group amongst the youngsters it had fallen to John and his friends to organize the party. He, Tom and the other boys had spent all day carving Jack O’Lanterns and moving hay bales while the girls had been preparing food, and Jonas Pike’s cousin had promised to secretly source three bottles of Barb wine that he said lived up to the name this year. The barn on Tom’s father’s farm was the chosen venue, after pledges were made to keep naked flames and hay bales a goodly distance apart, and lectures about improper behaviour, keeping masks on and strangers out had been endured. The parents would be gathering in the farmhouse nearby and would know immediately if things were getting out of hand. Two hours into the party and masks were down. Tom and he had been conniving to get Anna Thomas and Gillian Hand to dance with them. Neither lad cared to dance but both cared very much about getting their arms around some pretty girls.

Mann woke with a cry wrenched from deep inside his chest. He kicked to be free of the sodden sheets that wrapped him tight. The bedroom door flew open and Keen appeared holding a lighted lamp. ‘The dream?’ Mann nodded and fought to catch his breath. Keen moved to the bed and Mann stopped her with a raised hand. ‘I’m wet with sweat.’ ‘I’m not afraid of you.’ Keen placed the lamp on the nightstand. ‘You should be.’ ‘It’s hard to be scared of a man when you’ve cleaned his rump.’ Mann grimaced and Keen laughed. ‘Where’s my undershirt?’ he said. ‘Still drying, we laundered your clothes.’ He lifted pleading eyes to hers and with a sigh she left the room. Mann sat breathing deeply, calming himself. When Keen returned she handed him the vest. ‘You still panic without it.’ Mann struggled to pull on the stiff, rough garment, remembering the punch of the dart it had baffled. He saw Keen eyeing the raw skin across his shoulders and chest. ‘It keeps my

Mann stood in the wooded palace gardens, the smoke from the fire barrels stung his eyes, and the stench of burning fish oil turned his stomach. He had hoped to find an easy entry to the palace, but that seemed unlikely on this side of the building.   Suddenly, the cold, insistent pressure of a gun barrel pressed behind his ear forced him to step sideways away from the tree that he thought had him hidden. He had been so lost in thought he had heard no one approach and been caught as easily as a kit. He waited a moment, expecting either a command or a bullet but since neither came he chanced to edge slowly around to see his assailant. The one called Barge, Helen’s executioner. He was muffled this time but Mann could still see the grimace on his face and a certain vacant light mixing with the sudden fear in his eyes as he recognized Mann. Was he dull witted? Mann cast back to the big man’s behaviour in Helen’s kitchen, perhaps so. The idea gave Mann a moment, but only a moment, of