Madeline Marchant

Madeline Marchant found The Ticket That Exploded filed incorrectly one wet Thursday morning.

Feeling sick with dismay she lifted it from the shelf and held it in her hands.

“How can this be?” She whimpered.

It was a Calder edition with a fine film of dust on the jacket. Somewhat wary she flipped open its pages.

It was hollow. A fake book.

“How can this be?” She whined.

In the centre of the counterfeit Calder sat a faded pink British Rail ticket dated 10. Aug. 1964 clipped from the outward journey, awaiting return.

She picked the ticket up with a gentle forefinger and thumb. It immediately began to emit an ominous ticking sound.

“Oh my oh my oh my!” She shreiked, her face growing grey. “How can this be?” and “Oh no not again!”

Madeline Marchant gently returned the troublesome ticket to its resting place. Closed the book with care and pushed it back into place on the shelf.

She walked swiftly away, wringing hands before her cardigan and made a mental note to avoid that corner of the library for the rest of the day.