The Writers' Circle

"$500,000 for your wife to keep her eye. Put the money in a brown paper bag. Leave it on the bench at the no.6 bus stop on Hill Drive. 9am sharp on Saturday. Do not call the police."

As James stared at the note, he started shaking.

"What's that you've got there, dear?"

Without a word, James handed the cream-coloured note to his wife, Mel.

On reading the note, Mel fainted.



It was 9am on a quiet Saturday morning . The playground was empty and so was the car park across the street from it. A no. 6 bus was turning off into Fish Street at the end of Hill Drive. James looked around as he placed the paper bag on the bench at the bus stop. He then jumped into his car and drove home.

As he pulled into his driveway, Mel pulled in behind him.

"Did you see anyone at the bus stop? Do you think they will leave us alone now?" Mel asked as she got out of her car.

"Don't worry, Mel. It will be alright. Let's just forget it and have breakfast," James replied as he opened the front door.

"By the way, I have just been to Dr Johnson's for more pills to calm my nerves."



A few weeks later, James was in the Red Baron pub when he saw Roger. He looked different, somewhat older and definitely not the confident and chirpy businessman who has everything and is the life of every party. He was sitting at a corner table, instead of his usual seat by the bar.

"Roger. Is everything okay?" James asked as he walked up to his old drinking buddy.

Roger turned, looked up at James and said, "No. Look at this."

He then handed a note written in block letters on a cream-coloured paper to James, who immediately realised that it must be a similar note to what he had received before.

"I received one a few weeks ago too."

"What did you do?" Roger's face brightened as he sat up, looking to James for an answer. "Shall I call the police? Will everything be alright?"

"Actually... I paid up," James replied. "I didn't want to risk anything."

"Oh," Roger's expression reverted to his depressed look. "But it must be someone who knows us. It's strange that we should both receive the same letter. Maybe the police would be able trace the notes to the writer."

After a long pause, Roger resumed in a quiet voice, "I don't have the money to pay up, James. I may appear well off but I have two mortgages on my house, the car that I drive belongs to a cousin who has moved to France for a couple of years and my son is in the university on a bursary for those who cannot afford it."



A few days later, and James again saw Roger in the pub. He walked up to him, and offered Roger a glass of his favourite whiskey.

"So? What happened?"

"I did not pay up," Roger replied as he took a large swig of the whiskey.

"And is Rita alright with that? Has the person called or left another note?"

"Nothing whatsoever, James, and I do not intend to continue thinking about it."



"Mel, I met Roger today. He did not pay up! And nothing happened! Do you think that this person is just making money off scaring people into paying up."

"It's better safe than sorry, dear," Mel replied as she put on her new Armani jacket and slipped on the latest Jimmy Choo's boots. She then reached into a drawer and pulled out a gold Rolex watch.

"Darling, this is a little something that I picked out for you. And don't worry, I did not use your savings. I just dug into my inheritance."

As she left the room, James put on his Rolex and looked at the little note attached.

"To my beloved darling."

A hint of Mel's favourite perfume drifted up from the beautifully written cream-coloured paper.