Every tale must start somewhere. Sometimes a new tale will start just as the old one comes to its end. Other times a new story will spring up in the middle of the current one and weave itself into the older tale. Occasionally a tale will start off normally before splitting into multiple paths which spiral off wildly and create new tales along the way. This is not one of those stories, at least not yet.
This story starts at a hospice in a rural valley in Southern England, not that this is important. The hospice is surrounded on all sides by dense woodland comprised of firs and birch, with a wide river gently weaving through the valley, this is not really important either. The hospice was just another rural manor house until a few weeks ago where it was hastily renovated for its first, and possibly last, patient. This is slightly important.
The patient residing on the second floor master bedroom is held in high esteem by his people, although he does not fully believe he is deserving of such. Who is this man? His name is Geoffrey Hughes and he is very important indeed.
Geoffrey lay on his death bed and he knew in his heart he wouldn't last another day. Looking back at the seventy-two years he had been on this world, he had acquired a fair share of regrets as well as a hefty dose of righteous pride.
"Admittedly" he thought "most of the regrets weren't because of something I did. It was bloody typical that when you sorted out one mess, a bigger one comes screaming out of the blue."
"Well at least I got it all sorted out before I left, it wouldn't be right to leave my children and grandchildren to clean up my mess. In the end, that's all that matters. It's the only thing that ever has."
"I'll definitely have to come back one day and check on them. I just have to make sure I don't materialise in the middle of the table whilst they're having their dinner. Maybe I'll be able to convince Jenny to join me. Oh it'll be so great to see her again. I hope I'll be able to keep roughly the same shape."
Geoffrey had a big idea. And the thing with big ideas, at least to Geoffrey, was that they only worked if you paid them no attention at all until the very last moment. It had worked with every other big problem he dealt with in life, except cooking dinner, so why wouldn't it work with death?
He turned his head to the blurry, brown lump he hoped was still a table and fumbled for his glasses. Geoffrey managed to grab his glasses without knocking his cider over, at least this time anyway.
"I hope the carpet hasn't been ruined, it sounded pretty thick when they carried me in here." Geoffrey pondered on this for a little bit, before grunting in annoyance. "Crap, I was thinking out loud, not a good sign. Maybe a day is a bit too optimistic."
Geoffrey turned his head to the clock on the wall. The wall was plastered with absolutely ghastly wallpaper by the way, trust me on this, it was just ghastly. The clock was slowly ticking time away, or was it time slowly ticking the clock away, I can't remember.
Anyway, the clock showed that it was a quarter to five. Geoffrey's family would be turning up to pay their last respects soon and take down his final words before he was left in peace. Geoffrey lay their twiddling his fingers, which was pretty much all his body was up to doing at the moment.
Geoffrey spent the last few minutes before the arrival of his family reflecting on his demise, as you do.
"It's not a bad way to go really. A bit boring and a tad slow though. It's probably because my body is so full of painkillers. I probably wouldn't know if I got stabbed in my sleep unless they left the knife in me. Gods know there's worse ways to go than this."
Geoffrey then sensibly repressed all the terrible ways he'd seen people die in his long, hard life. If he died with tears and despair on his face, he'd never hear the end of it later.
Soon the heavy clunk of feet on wood slowly came closer to Geoffrey's door and then stopped suddenly. Geoffrey used this brief period of time before they entered to compose himself before they came in.
And so he waited. The minutes started to tick by and there was no sound from the door apart the occasional mutter. Now normally Geoffrey is a very patient and cool-headed man, but it was in his own personal opinion that this was not the time or place to just dilly-dally.
Taking in a couple of deep breaths Geoffrey, in the loudest voice he could muster, called out to them.
"Come if ye're comin' but piss off if you ain't. I'll be dead in a few hours regardless if I talk to ye or no."
The door handle started to rattle quickly and soon three people filed in. Despair and fear carved deep lines across the faces of those present and it was clear to Geoffrey that they would rather be as far away from this place as possible. Geoffrey felt the same every time he had to be in this situation and thankfully soon everyone will be far away from this depressing room with its ghastly wallpaper.
With a pained sigh Geoffrey greeted his guests.
"Good evenin' me darlings. 'ow are ye feelin' this fine day?"
"I...I'm 'olding it t'gether dad, thanks fer askin'"
"I'm glad t' 'ear it Michael. 'ow do ye fare Clarice?"
"Good dad. I'm doin' fine."
"Wonderful, wonderful. I'm glad ye could make it."
"'eaven nor 'ell could have stopped me comin' t'day dad."
With that comment, Geoffrey's faced cracked open into a toothy, yellow grin. A soft, wheezing chuckle worked its way gently out of his throat.
The concern on Michael's face darkened slightly and he leaned forward so he could meet his father's dull, rheumy eyes.
"Are ye alright dad?"
"Aye Michael, somethin' amusin' just popped int' me 'ead. Don't ye worry any more than ye're currently doing."
"I'll try t' dad. I'll try."
Michael took a step back and tried to control his facial expression to appear slightly less concerned. He just about managed to pull off the illusion.
Geoffrey weakly lifted his head up and propped it on his chest.
"'n who is m' las' visitor I wonder. Com' closer s' I can see ye."
A young lady with auburn hair and pale, piercing green eyes cautiously approached the bed.
"Hi Granddad, it's me, Jane. I'm Timothy's daughter."
"Aye, I can see that. Ye 'ave yer father's eyes. Would ye like me t' pas' on a message t' dear ol' dad, or is there somethin' else on yer mind?"
"I just wanted to know if you, Nan and my dad would agree with what I'm doing."
"I can tell ye exactly what yer dad's 'n nan's answers would be. Yer nan would be 'avin' a panic attack in the corner, whilst yer dad 'n me would be sharin' a drink and pissin' ourselves laughin' as soon as we heard the news."
"So...would they feel that I'm doing the right thing."
"Aye, lass, aye, we'd all agree that ye're doin' the right thin'."
Suddenly an intense pain shot through Geoffrey's chest and sent spasms running through his limbs.
"Oh dear, that's n' a good sign. Ye'd best take down me las' words 'n leave before it gets nasty. Trust me on this, me darlings".
With tears slowly streaming down his face, Michael took out a small note book and a pen.
"O.k dad, I-I'm ready."
"Good, write this down" Geoff took a series of deep breaths to steady his wavering voice.
"I came from this land, and now I return to it. One day I will come again."
"Is that all dad?"
"Aye laddy, that'll be all from me. Now ye best be off now, 'n remember I'm proud of all of ye. I always was 'n I always will be."
Tears began to fall freely from all of the visitor's eyes now and poor Michael was starting to crack-up.
"T-thank ye dad. I love ye."
"And I love ye to, me darlings."
With that Michael broke down into a sobbing fit and was carried carefully from the room by Clarice and Jane.
It broke Geoffrey's heart to leave them like this, but there was nothing he could do to change the situation. Once more he was left powerless and alone.
Once he thought they were out of earshot, Geoffrey did the thing he hated doing mostof all. He gave up. Geoffrey felt his limbs slowly fade away with his eyesightas he breathed his last. With that, Geoffrey peacefully fell into darkness anddied.