Morning Crossword

Sir Gerald sat in the morning room of his opulent Belgravia residence, comfortable in his dressing gown and well-worn slippers. It was Sunday. Beloved Sunday, his day of well-earned rest.
+++++A man of habit, Sir Gerald adhered to routine as others adhere to religion. He found that an orderly life gave him direction, substance and a feeling of security. His routines never changed and, like the proverbial Swiss clock, you could set your watch by him.
+++++Every weekday he rose at six-thirty precisely, dressed, breakfasted and had Thomas chauffeur him into the City in the immaculately kept Silver Cloud Rolls Royce. He dined at the club twice a week and attended the theatre every Tuesday. Three times a week he indulged in afternoon tea with his wife of thirty-eight years, Dianne. The children, Rupert and Millicent, were both reading at Oxford, and only visited on holidays and special occasions.
+++++But today was Sunday. Sunday’s timetable differed significantly from the prescribed pattern of the weekdays, but was no less fixed. Sunday’s ritual commenced with a leisurely nine o’clock breakfast in the company of Dianne, which followed a blissfully decadent and luxurious ten-hours of slumber. After dining on Cook’s Eggs Florentine, sizzling rashers of bacon, and crumpets (a rather high cholesterol indulgence, but one that was, he reasoned, permissible once a week), they would adjourn to the morning room in order to read the Sunday papers.
+++++Settling into his favorite armchair, back-lighted by the large bay windows facing the rear garden, he would first read the news, and then the financial section, before finally immersing himself in the Times crossword puzzle. It was a simple pleasure, but one that filled him with great contentment, even happiness. After all, what more could a man ask for? Here he was, on a beautiful Sunday morning, leisurely basking in the quiet companionship of his loving wife and occupying himself with the classic pastime of the literate English gentleman. Sir Gerald was fortunate in having the wherewithal to enjoy a beautiful home and a loving family, and was grateful to the Almighty for things being thus arranged.
+++++By the time he was ready to attack the puzzle Collins had served the coffee and placed it at his elbow, on a small Victorian oak table. Dianne was immersed in the colour supplement, and the only sound to be heard was the incessant bickering of Robins from the garden.
+++++Pen in hand, (he detested pencils), Sir Gerald eased into the crossword traditionally with one across: Feel longing, followed immediately by one down: Irish poet. He quickly filled in “yearn” and “Yeats”, and continued happily filling in square after square, from “asphalt” (39 down: Dark bituminous pitch) to zephyr (52 across: Gentle breeze). Everything was following the same familiar routine, until 57 across: Your name (2 wds).
+++++“Do they mean my name?” Sir Gerald thought to himself surprised, “My personal name?”
+++++And oddly enough they did. The “G” fit with 54 down, ego, the “r” fit well with 48 down flower, and the “d” was the first letter of “Out of one’s mind” (60 down), demented. His surname quickly fit in to the allotted squares, much to his amazement and shock.
+++++“This is unbelievable Dianne,” he said looking up from the crossword and towards her chair. However she must have left the room while he had been absorbed in the puzzle, for her chair was empty. Having no-one with whom to share his incredulity, he returned to this most unusual of crosswords.
+++++The next few clues were mundane, and Sir Gerald had almost put the peculiar and worrisome clue out of his head, when it happened again: 72 across: Where you live. He was sure the answer would be “home” or “flat” or perhaps “Residence”, but none of them began with an “e” or had the correct number of letters. “Where I live?” he questioned himself, “Mansion? Right number of letters… hmm – maybe the “e” is wrong… No, “demented” is correct…” And then it hit him! Eaton Pl.! That was where he lived, and it fit!
+++++This was too much. He rang for Collins, determined to get to the bottom of it. It had to be a prank… who ever heard of personal information in the crossword puzzle? Unheard of – Preposterous!
+++++“Yes Sir?” Collins inquired upon entering the room.
+++++“Collins, where did you obtain this morning’s paper?” he demanded brusquely.
+++++“It was delivered as usual, sir,” was the calm reply.
+++++“Did you see who delivered it?”
+++++“Yes sir, it was the usual boy… is there something unsatisfactory about the paper sir?”
+++++“No, never mind Collins, that will be all, thank you.”
+++++A trifle perturbed but nonetheless determined to solve this singularly odd and extraordinary puzzle, Sir Gerald picked up the paper, and focused on the next clue, 73 down: Your birthday. By now sir Gerald was no longer surprised by the clue, and without hesitation wrote in “October third”. After a few more ordinary and quite innocuous clues Sir Gerald was hit with a bombshell – 77 down: Date of death. Quickly, almost frantically, he filled in the other words around that clue, until he filled in the answer, “May sixth”, which was today.
+++++No longer amused, Sir Gerald decided to complete the crossword puzzle, looking for clues as to who was responsible for this tasteless prank, and how they had managed to get the blasted thing into his Sunday paper.
+++++“Land measure“: acre. “Vaccinate“: inoculate. “Moral story“: parable”. The clues and their answers quickly filled the page, but brought Sir Gerald no closer to an answer. He began scanning the clues, searching for only those very special and pertinent clues. And there it was 99 down: Means of your death. The answer was six letters, beginning with the “p” in parable. It was too easy: Poison.
+++++No sooner had he written in that horrific word than he felt a gut-wrenching spasm that caused him to double over in pain. Gasping for breath, and clutching his belly, he waited for the spasm to end, for the pain to relent. Sweat formed on his brow as his intestines all too slowly unclenched. As the pain gradually subsided he reached for the paper, knowing that he had to complete the crossword. He had to!
+++++The next clue was 103 across, seven letters: Why you cannot finish this puzzle (3 wds). His mind was clouded, and the pain in his stomach was unbearable, but still he tried. The first letter was the “i” from poison. No words came to his befuddled mind, so he began filling in from the other surrounding clues. The third letter was “m” from the word “murder” (how droll, he thought distractedly), and the next letter was a “d”.
+++++He managed to bark out an amused laugh and write in three more letters before he collapsed onto the parquet floor.
+++++Why you cannot finish this puzzle (3 wds): iamdea_.
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A few minutes later Dianne returned. She picked up the newspaper, threw it on the fire, and put a fresh copy on the table. Her years of being ignored for those bloody crosswords were over.
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Mike Berlin is a Special Education teacher in Israel, working with Autistic children. He is married and has four children. For Mike, creative writing is a hobby and a passion. He writes mainly short stories that lean towards the dark side, but are often humorous.