Post 1921. Sunday January 21
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He was a mysterious character. No one knew much about him. Clearly, he’d moved down from the north, his accent told us that. Not that he spoke to us much. If he came to The Windmill pub, he’d sit alone, facing the entrance, phone in one hand, beer in the other, constantly be looking around, sometimes starting when the door opened.
As soon as he moved here he had cameras fitted to his house and heavy security gates installed. Locals called it Fort Knox! If anyone came too close to him in the street he’d raise his hand to his waist. Going for his gun, the locals joked. Someone asked for directions the other day and he physically pushed them away before scurrying off the opposite way glancing over his shoulder as he went. He’s tilting at windmills the pub landlord once joked.
Last night his neighbour reported hearing a racket in the early hours. This morning his gate was wide open, which was unheard of, so much so that a neighbour persuaded the local copper to cautiously venture in. The man was nowhere to be seen.
The locals thought nothing of it. Probably gone back up north they said.
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186 words for Sunday Photo Fiction which is hosted by Al Forbes. The picture is by C E Ayr
*Tilting at windmills is an English idiom that means attacking imaginary enemies. The expression is derived from the novel Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes.
Keith's Ramblings 
Intriguing piece, Keith, I like it.
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I’m pleased you liked it. I liked your picture!
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It seems all his precautions were for nought.
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It certainly seems that way!
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Good take on the picture. I was thinking of windmills, too. But you beat me to it. Oh well, back to the drawing board.
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Haha – sorry about that!
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A mysterious character indeed, although those of us from the north always view southerners with a bit of suspicion 😉
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I view southerners with a bit of suspicion too and I’m a born and bred one!
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🙂
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Either he’s delusional and paranoid or someone is really after him. I suspect if you are being hunted for a long enough period of time, it affects your mental balance.
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I imagined him to be all of those things. I also thought maybe the pressure became so intense that he ended it himself. I really don’t know where I would have gone with this.
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He seems like a former spy to me. They can be jumpy like that when they retire. For some, there’s no such thing as retirement, finishing out their lives always looking over their shoulders. Who knows? Maybe he was a double-agent and MI-5 finally found him. A compelling story, Keith!
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Now that’s a great idea! Why didn’t I think f that? Thank you for your thought-provoking comment.
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It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you. Excellent intriguing story Keith.
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Great atmosphere. I would have liked to know more about the man, but maybe that was the point of the story – that we, like the townspeople, could only guess.
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His fear could have been fully justified. In any case, I doubt he or his body will ever be seen again. Good writing, Keith. 🙂 — Suzanne
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I think there is foul play involved. Not sure I would want to live in that community. Nicely done
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