Not Finished Though

Ummm, here is the story!
Enjoy! Post your thoughts in the comments section.






The Man of the
Station

PROLOGUE
3
RD
SEPTEMBER, 1933
KERRY Martin placed his old, battered diary in the small wooden case. He
knew that it would be the last time he saw it again. It was very quiet in the
small, wood panelled room. He could hear the thumping of his own heart. As
he closed the disguised  hatch in the parlour, he felt tiny pricks of pain
erupting from his chest. The poison was working.
CHAPTER 1
1966
THE rain fell onto the river, causing small ripples as the droplets hit the
surface. Dark clouds loomed up above as if threatening to engulf the whole
of the city. No-one was about – except for the lone man in a grey overcoat
walking briskly towards the tram stop. His name was Bert X‟ssadia.
Drops of water fell from his drenched over-coat as he boarded the cabletram. As he patiently waited for his stop, he looked at the other passengers.
There were two people other than him. There was an old, wrinkly lady quietly Written by Jeffrey Dean Fong during July-August, 2011
knitting a very long scarf. The other person was a tall, young man dressed in
a business suit, a book in one hand and a briefcase in the other.
„Ding!‟ The bell awoke Bert to his senses. As he walked onto the road, he
gazed at the station. Flinders Street Station. As he stood under the green
copper dome, he wondered. Not about his future as he normally did; he
thought about his parents and how much he missed them; he wondered if
he had a sibling? And the attic. The warm, dusty and musty attic.
CHAPTER 2
BERT X‟ssadia lived in the station. It was his home. Ever since he could
remember, he had lived in the station. The only time when he had lived
somewhere different was when he went to live with his grandparents on the
sea-side. That house had burnt down in 1962 just like the Paddington Tram
Depot Fire. It had killed both of his grandparents.
As he clambered through the small and narrow opening in the wall of the
deserted platform, he wondered about his place. His Special Place. Years
ago, mechanics and electricians wandered through the corridors, fixing the
aged fittings and wires. Now, only Bert used them.
Saggy wires drooped from the ceiling having long broken free of their
cracked plastic hooks. Bert looked through a small crack in the brown plaster
onto the bustling Platform 15. A dull, „Red Rattler‟ train was waiting on the
platform. Its wooden carriages creaked loudly as commuters bustled on.
„Commuters with homes‟ thought Bert.
Inside his room were two doors. One lead to the bathroom (if you could call
it one) and the other to the attic. The bathroom had leaked for years and Written by Jeffrey Dean Fong during July-August, 2011
mould had taken over. It was everywhere. You could hear the chatter of the
people outside. Speaking about things like how the new currency was so
annoying or how John got caned by his teacher. Bert loved listening to these
conversations as they were his only means of contact to the outside world.
In the front room of his house, in one corner stood a rotten, sagging,
dilapidated wooden cupboard and in the other stood a small bed. In the
cupboard was all his clothes and one small, ornate box. It contained his
parents wedding photo. How many hours he looked at it during a day he
didn‟t know but all he knew was that he loved it. A lot.
CHAPTER 3
THE attic was warm. Above it was the ballroom-turned-lecture hall where
Victorian Railway Institute lectures were often held. Sunlight streamed in
through miniscule cracks in the tarnished, copper dome. The signs of age.
Bert shuffled around searching for his favourite book; The Origin of Species.
He loved the detail and descriptions as well as the detailed pictures.
It had been passed down, generation through to generation, finally ending
up in his hands. He loved it as all his ancestors had. He had a natural affinity
with plants and their ancestors.
„Where is it?‟ he thought. He hadn‟t read it in a long time and didn‟t know
where he had placed it. Caught up in his own thoughts, he carelessly
bumped into a wooden beam. Bert cursed himself for being so careless. A
soft tinkling sound filled the room. He bent down and groped the floor in
search of the source of the sound. His fingers touched cool metal. It was a
key.Written by Jeffrey Dean Fong during July-August, 2011
The key had an interesting design on it. A snake was winding its way down
the silver bar, terminating at a flat end. On it was engraved, „K~M‟. Bert
stood up slowly as if worried that a slight breeze would cause it to crumble
into dust. It didn‟t. Getting up, Bert noticed his book resting on the
mantelpiece. He pondered as to whether he should go over and get the
book or go and find the door this key belonged to. He decided to get the
book first as he thought that he might forget again. He walked tentatively
towards it, stepping over boxes and bits of paper. As he lifted the book off
the mantelpiece, he saw a small lion roaring. It was very well hidden, located
under a ledge. It looked quite odd on the plain mantelpiece; a bit similar to
the carvings his father made. Bert winced at the thought. He could
remember his father carving late into the night finally emerging from his
workroom proudly holding a small mouse or dog.
CHAPTER 4
PEERING closer, Bert realised that the mouth of the lion was in fact a
keyhole. It was heavily disguised but it could not fool Bert. Taking after his
father, he had extraordinary vision and could see a keyhole if there was one.
Bert reached into his tattered trouser‟s pockets and felt for the small, silver
key. He just knew it would fit.
A small bookshelf slid back revealing a bright room facing outside. Its lead
glass windows shimmered in the sun. In the walls were bookshelves with
green spines while a faded, Persian rug covered the wooden, parquetry floor.
In the middle of the room sat a low, mahogany table with a ornately carved
tree on it. Bert noticed a tarnished, small, brass plaque embedded into the
base.
Sir Gorden Martin
1752 Written by Jeffrey Dean Fong during July-August, 2011
Bert walked tentatively towards it, shaking like a leaf. After inspecting the
room for more clues about Sir Gorden Martin, he closed secret door and
pocketed the small key. He was still thinking about the tree carving as he
emerged from the attic. The sun casted a red glow all around Bert‟s room. It
was going down and there soon would be no light at all. He usually tried to
get to sleep before that because he was terrified about the ghost. It was a
common myth that the ghost of Kerry „Frog‟ Martin haunted the station
where he died on the 3
rd
of September, 1933.
Bert awoke from his sleep to the sound of honking and beeping of the many
cars that gridlocked the city roads. Above the noise, he could also hear the
sweet sound of birds chirping loudly. He walked out of the station to buy
some food to eat. He had brought the last of his money with him; $1. The
new decimal currency was a welcome change to the hassle of converting
pennies to shillings then to pounds. Bert had lost money before when a
careless cashier gave him the wrong change.
As he neared the bakery, he smelt the aroma of freshly baked bread
wharfing through the air. It was tantalising. Bert felt something stuck to his
trousers. When he turned around, he saw that a two dollar note had
plastered itself onto his pants. Bert thanked the heavens for this wonderful
gift and carefully peeled it off his trousers. It was crisp and clean; a new note.
CHAPTER 5
IN his room, Bert greedily finished the last of the loaf of bread. He then went
back to the attic to read some of the books on the bookshelf. The pages
were thin and yellow. Some were printed back in the 1800‟s. They were
mainly about plants and design but one was different. It had a small notch in
the back and was filled with nothing. Blank pages stared up towards Bert as if
beckoning him to come and fill them. Bert put the book back and looked
around for another book to read. A strange clunking sound emerged from
the bookshelf. Realising that it was a catch for another secret room, Bert Written by Jeffrey Dean Fong during July-August, 2011
stood back and waited. Nothing happened. Suddenly the floor beneath Bert
fell away and Bert felt himself falling.
The fall only lasted a few seconds but to Bert it felt like forever. At the
bottom of the pit was a circular, wood panelled room. On a table was a
three-legged table. On it was a rotting, wooden box. Bert inched closer. He
lifted the lid of the box and discovered a book. It was leather bound so the
person who owned it must have been rich. It was also old and starting to get
mouldy. The cover read,
‘The Diary of Kerry Martin’.
It sounded interesting so Bert sat down on a box and started to read.
CHAPTER 6
THE DIARY OF KERRY MARTIN
Wednesday 12
th
 March, 1912
The police are out to get me. My hiding spot will be found out sooner or later. I need to
go. But I dont know where. Flillip‟s house is too far and dad‟s in custody. Ill go to my
woodland house.
Thursday 13
th
 March, 1912
Im at my woodland house. The lights are broken; I need to replace them. Going to plan
my next murder. Neil Cansta. I love killing people. The place is Syc‟
The rest of the pages of the diary had been ripped out except for a few at
the back.
Monday 3
nd
 September, 1933 Written by Jeffrey Dean Fong during July-August, 2011
Ive been hit. The police have caught me. They hit me with a poison dart at Elizabeth st. I
escaped though. Don‟t know how much time before I die.
Tuesday 4
th
 September, 1933
Help! Whoever finds this diary after many of year, help. Im innocnet   about Neil Casta.
Pegon got to him first.
The words became illegible. Obviously, Kerry had started to die due to the poison.  Bert
was more confused than ever. After Bert went back to the parlour room, Bert saw a small
hallway. As he walked through it, dust flew up as if it had woken from a deep sleep. At
small windows let in light and a small, light flickered at the end. At the end, Bert saw an
old, rusted lever embedded firmly into the wall. When he pulled it, a door appeared. In
the other side of the door was the ballroom.
The door was cleverly hidden. From the ballroom, it looked like an innocent painting but
in the hall it was not visible unless you pulled the lever. The painting was of a perfectly
groomed man brandishing a sword. He was killing a small, fearful child bound up in rope.
The child had a frightened expression in it‟s face and was staring into the darkness. The
more Bert looked, the more the fog in the background looked like Flinders Street Station.
It was. A brass plaque stated that it was painted by Neil Casta and was titled, “The Killer
from Flinders”. The painting had an aura that Bert could not pin-point. It made Bert angry
and sad at the same time.
CHAPTER 7
BERT looked in the Flinders Street Library for a book about Kerry Martin. He found one,
nestled between two very large encyclopaedias that looked as though they had not
moved from that spot in years. The book was small with tiny,  black  writing. A green
pigeon  adorned the cover along with the author‟s name in gold lettering. The book
called,
THE TRUTH ABOUT THE MARTIN‟S
As he sat down onto a large couch, he pondered whether or not he should tell the police
about Kerry Martin‟s diary. After all, he still was a murderer even though he didn‟t kill Neil. Written by Jeffrey Dean Fong during July-August, 2011
He decided against it as the police might think it was a fake and fine him. He didn‟t have
enough money for fines.
Bert hadn‟t finished the book yet when just then, the closing bell sounded. He wanted to
finish it so he tucked it under his over-coat and walked through the door. Back in his
room, he flipped through the pages until he found the one he was looking for.
About Them:
The Martin’s were the largest home-based gang in the whole of
Victoria. Their leader, Kerry Martin was 12 years old when he
killed his first person; an elderly man in his 70’s. The cause
of the attack is still unclear. Other members of the group
were Fiona  Martin, Flillip Kant, Rowan and Lauran Keppler.
Another is still in hiding and has not been identified. Their
main base is in the basement of Flick’s ‘n’ Lick’s while they
have another base somewhere around Mt. Dandenong.
                                                 
Someone had circled the words, „around Mt. Dandenong‟  in a red pen. Bert wondered
why. Maybe that person was looking for Kerry. Bert now knew that Kerry Martin worked in
a gang; not on his own. It would be easier and faster to kill someone in a group. It was
strange that Kerry hadn‟t mentioned the rest of the gang apart from Flillip in his diary. \
Bert finished the book and was just about to get up and go to sleep when he noticed the
author; Mabel Martin. He didn‟t know if it was a coincidence or not. Mabel could be
Kerry's sister. All of what he had read could have been a lie.


Like it?
Jeffrey signing off...