by Denise Diehl
“OLD AIN’T DEAD!” Jim paused at the fridge magnet. It was a good reminder. ‘Got that right,’ he said. He pulled the bacon from the fridge and turned to Mavis, his wife of fifty years. She was three years older than him, comfortably round with smiley eyes.
‘Yes, but why is aging such a bugger?’ She said. She looked at her husband, stooped over, stick thin, in his mid-seventies, grey-haired and grizzled. He’d stopped shaving—too much of a bother, he told her—and lived in his sweatpants and flannel shirt. She cringed.
Years ago, both were a smartly dressed couple, not in designer clothes, but… snazzy. She glanced down at herself. Tired leggings covered in fluff, a cozy woolen jumper, and Merino underwear. Sensible. After all, who wants to get sick? She had put on a smear of foundation and a smudge of rouge on her cheeks. Gotta keep the old barn painted. She still needed to refresh her dye job. She did it herself—it saved money. They both lived on pensions, and pennies were tight. She sighed.
Mavis grabbed the bacon and set to work cooking up a fried breakfast. Can’t work on empty, she mused. She bent down with effort and petted Mr. Pickles, their old tabby. He was as old as they were in cat years. ‘It’s all right, my love; got some nice treats for you.’
‘Positive aging is the new game plan,’ her husband said.
‘Yes, I’m positively aging. Every day, I see new wrinkles, have bat wings, and the turkey neck—’
‘Come on, Mrs. Pearl, you’re still as beautiful as the day I met you.’
Mavis smiled. Jim was still handsome, romantic, and gentlemanly. ‘You pop out to the letterbox, love, and grab us that courier paper, and I’ll set the table, put out our pill tray, and then after breaky, we’ll check what’s what.’
They had both woken at the same time in the morning and nodded to each other. Today was a “go”. How they knew remained a mystery—a cosmic signal of some kind like a tap on the shoulder, the nudge awake, that whisper in the dawn—nope, nothing of the sort? It was hard to describe—it was gut knowledge.
After breakfast, Mavis cleared the table, and Jim laid out the paper.
Silence followed as Jim carefully scanned every article, and Mavis touched each line. The way they each knew came differently. For Jim, the words stood out boldly. He couldn’t miss it. ‘That’s the one,’ he pointed.
Mavis read the piece. ‘Yes, indeed.’ Her fingertips constantly tingled when she laid her hands on the correct article.
Fifteen-year-old babysitter Mandy Higgins is hailed as a hero today. Last night, watching over young Stewart, the boy in her care, she noticed smoke pouring from under his bedroom door. She bravely rushed in, grabbed the lad from his bed, and ran outside, calling the emergency services. The Fire Brigade called it a close one. An unattended candle in the boy's room is suspected …
‘Let's check for any other tell. We’ve been caught out before.’ Jim said.
‘Well, I’m picking up on this piece.’ Mavis pointed to the tiny article in the police news corner. Once again, the strange tingles. Jim saw it immediately.
Last night, a semi-comatose youth was found at the wheel of his car, straddling the pavement on Dee Street. Upon approach, the officer reeled with the stench that emanated from the vehicle. He quickly extracted the youth and sent him off by ambulance to the hospital. The police interviewed the boy later, and he complained of being assaulted by someone who threw a stink bomb into the car on Matilda Road while he had been parked outside.
‘So, what do we have here? Interesting. The house fire was on Matilda, and a youth in a car, around the corner.’ Jim tapped the page. ‘The Caravan Pearls have been alerted to a reality concern. We’re unsure what’s wrong with the story and the required degree of intervention. Always hard, Mrs. Pearl.’ He raised his eyebrows at her and sucked his teeth. ‘Still, the call has gone out, and we signed up for such.’
‘Yes, it’s tricky, it. Grab the keys, Mr. Pearl, and we’ll head out.’ Mavis’ face flushed, and her skin glowed, dropping ten years, as she felt the adrenaline rush. It rejuvenated them both—to be on a mission.
###
Their caravan, parked outside their house on the street, was a green and white retro model from the 1970s. It needed paint but looked tidy inside. Mavis had recently installed new blackout curtains, and the bed was comfy—a must at their age. The tall cupboard housed the port-a-loo for the all-too-frequent nighttime tinkles. Most months, they took it away on little trips for a couple of days. They’d had it for ten years, and it had become part of the neighborhood.
###
How they came by this caravan remained as mysterious as it was beyond comprehension.
One day, out of the blue, the Pearls received a phone call from an estate attorney handling the affairs of his now-deceased client. He requested their presence as soon as possible.
During the appointment, the Pearls sat stunned and in disbelief as the attorney handed them keys to a caravan and a Toyota Rav and explained his brief. They had glanced at each other puzzled, flabbergasted, and bewildered. Who was this mysterious benefactor? A ghost from the shadow world had reached out to them. Why? The attorney told them an envelope with more details and a trunk would follow in a month per his client's instructions, but they were to enjoy his client's gift. The attorney wished them all the best
So, Jim and Mavis, young things in their sixties, made little trips around the local area, stayed in motor camps, and even tried a couple of one-night freedom camping stays at a beach. What fun they had, and they began to enjoy their carefree retirement. They were living the dream, wahoo!
The trunk and envelope of instructions arrived precisely one month later.
Overnight, their lives changed forever.
###
Jim placed the little step stool outside the caravan’s door on the footpath for Mavis and helped her up the two steps. ‘Argh, my knees,’ she cried. Why is everything a blinkin’ effort, she thought. Once inside, Mavis locked the door.
Jim dragged out the sizeable, battered-looking leather trunk from underneath the bed. He mopped his brow and sat on the bed to catch his breath. Mavis eyed him. Next week was the doctor's visit, thank goodness. They’d get their pills sorted and dosages adjusted, and perhaps she’d ask about her bowels—
‘Mavis!’ Jim called. He studied her face in concern. Lately, she’d blanked a few times. He’d discretely ask the doctor next week whether he should be worried.
Mavis refocused. ‘Oh yes, the trunk.’ There it is, ready to open.
At a touch on the handle, the lid popped open, the bottom slid toward them in an extension, and the top of the case rose as walls pushed up to create a sizeable wardrobe.
‘Makes me smile every time I watch.’ Mavis chuckled.’ She rubbed her sore hands. Her arthritis was playing up again.
‘Yes, bigger on the inside, our Dr Who trunk.’ Jim helped Mavis step inside.
Shelves ran from floor to ceiling, on three sides and for three meters square. Every gadget one could imagine sat neatly in its place. Hand tools, weapons, ropes, pickaxes, spades, ladders, climbing gear, flare guns, earpieces, walkie-talkies, surveillance cameras, and their high-tech, state-of-the-art satellite monitoring devices. Mavis had placed labels on each shelf to help with speedy selection and to remind her husband what each item was. She pursed her lips. He’d become quite vague of late. Thank goodness for their missions—they somehow keep us young. Mavis mused, but for how long?
Jim grabbed the small iPad-sized computer from the left-hand shelf at chest height and headed over to the little dining table. They needed to do research first before they chose their equipment.
‘Right, let's get‘er fired up and check out that youth and our Wonder Girl babysitter.’ Over the years, both had taken computer classes and mastered the art of research.
They pulled up the online articles from the morning courier and, before long, had printed out two mug shots from the local school yearbooks.
‘Check her social media. I’m sure she’s quite active.’ Mavis said.
Within seconds, Jim opened the babysitter’s Instagram page. ‘There she is, and look who’s with her in most of these photos.’
Mavis put on her reading glasses and squinted at the picture. ‘Yup, that’s her, and he must be the boyfriend. Did you see the last picture?”
It was something Mavis had heard called a “thirst trap.” Maybe they didn’t call it that anymore. It was harder and harder to keep up with the slang of the day.
They both leaned in and read Mandy’s post. “His loss. Who ghosts this? #single” ”. Note the time and date, dear.’
‘Wow, that’s our confirmation.’ The picture had become apparent. They knew what they must do.
‘Pull up a satellite of the house and its surrounds will you? And that of Dee Street, where the Police found the youth’s car. Perfect.’
They studied the images, paused, and nodded. Then, they walked into the trunk room and began perusing the shelves.
‘What do you think?’ Jim pointed to the stink bombs—highly concentrated poo juice. ‘One or two?’
‘I think one will do the trick. We’ll take our CAMF belts’—they had much fun over the years with these highly futuristic camouflage devices that came with the trunk— ‘as we’ll need the camouflage to stay hidden in the bushes. From memory, Matilda Road has many trees along its grass verges.’
Armed and dangerous, as Mavis liked to think of herself, she gave the word, ‘Activate the portal, Mr. Pearl. We have a green signal.’ She chuckled. ‘We’re going in.’
‘Telemetry check—last night, 4th of May, seven pm?’ Jim raised his eyebrows at his wife.
‘Yes, that sounds about right. Let’s get a wriggle on’
It was a simple procedure. Jim lifted the cooker lid and pressed his thumb against the cooker's righthand side knob. A white light engulfed them within minutes, and starlight sparkled as they vanished.
The heavy blackout curtains revealed no tell-tale of a portal excursion.
###
It was close to seven p.m. and dark and cold already. A strange breeze suddenly rustled the dead leaves at the foot of an enormous elm. It stopped as suddenly as it came.
A cat looked up and down the street and quickly slunk away into a nearby hedge.
It was a quiet, pretty neighborhood with well-manicured lawns and little white picket fences or brick half-walls that separated single and two-storied houses from the footpaths. Large trees in autumn leaves ran in straight lines on the grassy verges down the street. The regularly spaced streetlights cast a soft, ethereal light as an evening mist began to settle and fuzz out the details of the street view.
The Pearls arrived in the shadow of the elm tree outside the house on Matilda Street. Jim checked his Google map scanner—‘on target,’ he whispered while adjusting his earpiece, ‘Testing, testing.’
‘I’m right here, dear, and that’s your hearing aid. Try the other side.’ Mavis suppressed a laugh. ‘We’ve got perhaps an hour window. What time was the house fire?’
‘Approximately a quarter after eight.’ Jim adjusted his belt.
‘Mavis looked her husband up and down. ‘Are you warm enough? I told you to put on an extra singlet. If you get cold, it will be the death of you.’
Jim interrupted before Mavis went into full-blown motherhood. ‘I’ll race over to Dee Street now … well … shuffle,’ he’d caught Mavis’ squint, … ‘and put some reflector strips on the two lampposts at either end of where the youth will stop his car— we don’t want him to crash and get banged up—and then return, switch on my CAMF and hang by that maple tree on the road verge. You know what to do?’
Mavis nodded. She was the first line of attack. Jim would be the second. They liked to give their targets a chance to make the right decision. Mavis switched on her CAMF and disappeared into the bark of the elm.
At seven-thirty, a car pulled up one hundred meters from the house, parked, and cut the engine.
Jim observed the youth in the car. He lit up and leisurely smoked his cigarette.
At seven-forty-five, the porch light of the house flicked on.
Mavis left her hiding place and waited quietly beside the garden path a meter from the front stairs. She was invisible, the color of the lawn grass.
The front door cracked open, and a girl's head peeped out. After a minute, the babysitter, Mandy, emerged, quietly shut the door behind her, and crept down the house stairs to stand on the garden path. She checked her bag and adjusted her coat, pulled down the edges of her short miniskirt, and pushed up her boobs so that they produced a nice cleavage.
Showtime thought, Mavis. ‘Looks like our golden girl is not quite who they say she is,’ Mavis whispered. She stepped onto the path and stood almost directly in front of Mandy. She clicked off her CAMF and materialized as Mandy glanced behind and up at the second-story window where little Stewart lay sleeping in his bed.
‘Hello, you must be Mandy, Evelyn and Andrew’s new babysitter. I’m a friend of your mum's and was out for a walk. Everything going okay, dear?’
Mandy nearly dropped dead with fright. She spluttered, gaped, tried a few words, stopped, and stared gob-smacked.
‘Doing a house check, are we?’ Mavis leaned in and scrutinized the girl. Come on, I’m giving you an out.
‘Aah, yes,’ she nodded furiously and backed away up the stairs, turned around, and fled into the house. The door closed with a bang.
Mavis smirked. ‘Target is holding; be advised, you're up.’
###
Jim almost salivated at his upcoming task. He kept his CAMF on and blended in with the footpath. He quickly approached the youth’s car. The lad hadn’t seen Mandy as the maple had hidden the house from view.
Jim yanked open the passenger’s door and threw in the stink bomb. Before the youth knew what had happened, he breathed in a stench so foul that it would make a skunk cry. The lad shrieked, flailed his arms and legs, coughed, and quickly started his car. He drove wildly along the street, rounded the corner, and disappeared.
Mavis had returned to the elm, switched on her CAMF, and watched, trying not to laugh hysterically.
Within seconds, she heard the front door open to see Mandy pop out and attempt a romantic night with her boyfriend again. Mandy raced down the path and stopped on the street, catching a ghostly image of her boyfriend’s Ford Cortina whirling around the corner into the next street at speed. She stood with her hands on her hips, narrowed her eyes, and scowled. ‘Fink!’ she loudly yelled and flipped the finger.
She stamped her feet. ‘Don’t you dare ghost me! She glanced around and then bent over and coughed herself silly. ‘Eww, what is that smell?’ Mandy cried, ‘I wouldn’t go out with you if you paid me!’ She whipped out her phone, ready to text, but quickly covered her nose with her phone, turned, and ran into the house.
It was just after 8 pm.
‘Little minx!’ Mavis said crossly into her mike.
Before they knew it, a whump erupted from the second-level window, the glass exploded, and an orange flame snapped out greedily, seeking air. A minute later, Mandy rushed out with little Stewart, screaming and yelling into her phone.
‘Time to go.’ Jim said to Mavis.
‘That poor little child would have died in the house fire if we hadn’t intervened.’ Mavis choked back a sob.
Jim hugged his wife, ‘It’s okay. We did intervene. That’s why we do what we do.’ He stared into her gentle, caring eyes and wiped away her tears.
‘Yes, but for how long, Jim? We’re getting too old for this running-around stuff. ’
‘Don’t you worry yourself, my dear. Just like the caravan chose us, and we accepted, it will choose another when it's time. Come on, there’s still life left in our bodies; after all, OLD AINT DEAD! And I saw you smiling—you were having a good time. Go on, admit it, tonight was a blast!’
And she did have to concede — to herself of course, Jim never let her forget it when she said he was right — she hadn’t thought about her arthritic hands, her lumbar or sore knees once since they had gotten into the van today. Come to think of it, Jim hadn’t complained either. Mavis had thought that retirement would be good for them, and it was in many ways, but this sense of purpose had made them feel ten years younger. They weren’t just fixing time for whoever had sent them on their mission, they were adjusting their own timelines as well.
Back in the caravan the trunk folded back in on itself and Jim clicked the buckles closed. Standing back with a sigh of accomplishment Mavis looked at the trunk, now unassuming apart from two words stenciled on top. “Timeline enforcement.” Maybe in more ways than one, she thought.
“I’m hungry enough to eat a cow.”
She rolled her eyes at her husband, “At your age you should be eating something a bit more cholesterol friendly.” He growled and grumbled, but she could see a smile hiding in the corners of his mouth, he liked that she cared.
He held out his hand to help her out of the caravan and she found that she barely needed it. She held on anyway, gave his hand a little squeeze. “Let’s go to that diner you like so much," she said.
“Let me shave first, I want to look good for my date.”
Mavis smiled, maybe aging, like time, wasn’t linear, it was just about enforcing the positives.
End
© Copyright 2025 Denise Diehl
About the Author
Denise Diehl spent the last forty-plus years working in Laboratory Science. After retiring with her husband to a small town in New Zealand, she wrote her first novels and short stories—a fun new adventure to match the latest decade of her life. Her writing leans toward the speculative and weird mystery—think of The Twilight Zone.
Two of her stories were published in December 2024 in the Academy of the Heart and Mind and Bright Flash Literary Review.