Video Nasties

by Ralston, Duncan

  Reaching up, he grasped through tufts of fur for the dog's throat and clamped his fingers around its esophagus. The dog reared back suddenly, pulling its fangs from his flesh with a sucking sound and a metallic snap. Max fell onto his back, gouts of blood splashing the faux granite tiles. He lay there stunned, gasping for breath as the torn shreds of his lips spilled over with his own blood. Alongside him, the dog had fallen, its face covered in his blood, its chest rose and fell slowly, as if it was unconscious.

  Vaguely, he felt a cold hard shape in the palm of his left hand. He opened it to find the broken bathtub chain, looped through a military dog tag. Blinking away blood from his eyes, Max strained to turn his head and read it.

  His bleeding lips opened wide in a laugh.

  The dog's name was Custer.

  Max laughed until the paramedics arrived to cart him away.

  HE IS RISEN

  FERTILE GREEN FIELDS rattled by the dirty window. Madison still hadn't gotten used to looking left out the passenger side as opposed to right. Thankfully, Colin had taken to seating himself on the right side of the car to drive quite quickly.

  "Easy peasy lemon squeezy," he'd said as he downshifted with his left hand. They'd been in the English countryside a couple of days by then, sleeping overnight at quaint B&Bs, and Colin had already believed he'd picked up the lingo. Madison was sure the locals thought he was bananas, this silver-haired Canadian asking for a "cuppa" and "biscuits," but she supposed she should at least count herself lucky he hadn't started imitating the accent--yet.

  The weather channel had called for rain this afternoon, but the sky had been blue since they'd arrived at Heathrow on Tuesday. Odd weather for April, the weatherman had mentioned, particularly considering the great dump of rain that had hammered most of the northern hemisphere during the winter. Madison was grateful for the respite. Rain depressed her, and the snow and "greige" in Toronto still hadn't let up by the time they'd left the city. When Colin suggested they travel up the Irish Sea coast to a fellow professor's country home near the Scottish border during break, she'd been leery, but anxious to spend some time with him off-campus. They'd only been dating since the beginning of first semester, and she thought this time together--away from the pressures of school and the prying eyes of the few students who knew of their pairing and found it questionable, Madison being Colin's T.A. (as opposed to his T and A, an insult she'd heard from several students)--just might push their relationship to the next level.

  The weather had been a nice surprise. The sea air was crisp, but the sun felt good on her pale face. Colin was smiling at the road ahead, the small hatchback rumbling along a single lane of macadam carved out of the green as he slapped the wheel to an old Clash song on the radio.

  "Hey, check it out," he said, his smile fading.

  Madison followed his gaze. Among the green three--or was it four?--sharp gray stones jutted up from the earth like ancient claws. "Stonehenge?" she asked him.

  Colin shook his head. "We're nowhere near there. The 'Henge is south of where we started. They've got standing stones all over the countryside out here, though. Nobody knows who left them, or why."

  "Nobody knows?"

  Colin gave her a curious look. "Well, I'm sure somebody knows. Spinal Tap, maybe."

  He grinned at her, awaiting her reaction. Not getting the reference, Madison narrowed her eyes at him. The gap in their ages often showed itself in little things like this. She told her friends age didn't matter, and usually she tried not to let it get to her, but the more these differences piled on the more she felt the gap grow wider, until someday it would yawn like the mouth of a canyon, and one or both of them would stumble in reeling.

  "Speaking of hard things..." Madison reached over with a grin and squeezed the crotch of his jeans. She felt for his cock, and began to massage it to life. Colin gave her an odd look. He took her hand, squeezed her cold fingers a moment, and placed it on her lap.

  "Not while I'm driving, luv," he said.

  Madison looked left out the window as they passed the standing stones, sulking for several minutes, as "London Calling" gave way to "A Whiter Shade of Pale," and the gray slabs of rock disappeared in the mirror. Colin began to whistle along to the organ. Though Madison liked many modern artists, and he enjoyed a fair bit of jazz--a genre completely lost on her--a love of classic rock was something they both shared. She turned to him and smiled, his shaggy silver hair riffling in the breeze from his window, open a crack.

  A road sign caught her eye then, written in an incomprehensible jumble of black letters she supposed must be Welsh or Gaelic:

  DRWS MARWOLAETH

  "Is that the name of a town?"

  Colin squinted at the sign as they passed. "That, or one of the Elder Gods." He grinned at her and once again, the reference flew over her head.

  Moments later, the town rose out of the fields. First there was nothing but green, and then pitched rooftops with smoking chimneys became visible, and windows bright with sunlight, and proper roads zigzagging, where people strolled cheerily and cars drove slowly, all seemingly moving toward the same place, the northern--if her directions were correct--end of town.

  Colin followed the flow of traffic--not that he could have done otherwise even if they hadn't already been heading in that direction. Men and women walked hand-in-hand. Children scurried ahead, dressed in their Sunday best, some holding bunches of yellow flowers. Store owners flipped signs to CLOSED in the windows of stone shops, put on their caps and joined their fellow citizens marching down the main thoroughfare.

  "It's Easter," Madison realized.

  "Oh, right," Colin said, peering around edgily like a man in a shark cage. "Well, I guess that tells us where they're all heading."

  A little girl wearing a pink bonnet waved at Madison, who smiled and waved back. The girl blew into a homemade pinwheel, making it spin. "What a friendly little town," Madison thought aloud.

  "Too friendly, if you ask me."

  "Why do you always have to be so suspicious of everything?"

  "Comes with the territory," he said, grinning at her, and she managed to get that one: he'd meant because he was a philosophy professor. "You're a Catholic girl, aren't you? When's the last time you went to mass?"

  "I'm a C & E Catholic." Colin raised an eyebrow at her. She grinned, having stumped him for once. "Christmas and Easter," she explained. "I totally forgot this year. Usually I'm at home over Easter, and my parents would take us."

  "Doesn't say much for your devotion to the faith."

  Madison scowled at him. Colin had often teased her about her religion. She'd never been devout, and didn't mind his jabs so much in the abstract, but in the midst of so many seemingly dedicated worshippers headed joyfully toward church, it irked her, felt somehow profane.

  "How about we have a look at how Easter is celebrated in the picturesque town of Derwiss Marwo... whatever?"

  "You just want to go so you can poke fun."

  "No," he laughed. "I'm serious. I am honestly interested, Madison." Colin bit down a wicked smile, crossing his index and middle fingers. "Scout's honor."

  Madison chuckled. "Who even says that anymore?"

  Smirking out the window, Colin honked the horn, startling an old woman before waving innocently at her as she scowled down at him from under her frilly purple Derby.

  "Colin," Madison scolded, grabbing him by the shoulder and swatting his leg.

  "Just trying to get to get the giggles out before we enter the Holy Place."

  "If you laugh in that church, you won't be seeing my Holy Place the rest of the trip."

  Colin laughed. "That's what I love about you. You're not afraid to blackmail me with sex."

  Madison's smile never faltered, though neither of them had ever spoken of love before, and she wasn't sure she felt it herself. She took a moment to ponder it, and by the time she'd settled on a response, Colin had already shifted focus to the massive church up the hill.

  Hewn out of stone, like most of th
e edifices in town, the Gothic church towered over all that stood beneath it, casting its long shadow down the lush green hillside. The churches they'd seen here had dust older than most surviving parishes in Toronto, where few buildings predated the mid- to late-1800s. The sense of history in a place like this, of life, was far richer than in much of the Commonwealth.

  Families left cars parked along the long gravel drive and in muddy tracks carved into the grass like at a rock concert, and ascended the rest of the way on foot. Colin pulled over into a tight space on the grass, muttering, "When in Rome," and the two of them climbed out together under the church's cool, dark shadow.

  "Are you sure about this?"

  "It's Easter," Colin said. "I'm sure God wouldn't approve of one of His children missing the day His only begotten Son rose from the dead," he added, rolling the R in rose.

  "Don't start with the accents," she muttered, peering around to see if any of the townsfolk had heard him. "Please."

  "I shall make no promises," Colin said in passible posh English.

  Madison elbowed him in the ribs, and he slipped his arm around hers. As she leaned into his shoulder, they caught up with the group.

  "Welcome, welcome," a hunched elderly man with a shiny liver-spotted pate wheezed, his green jacket emblazoned with various medals.

  "Did you see that?" Colin asked in hushed awe as they left him shuffling slowly behind them. "The two crossed swords. He was wearing a medal from World War I!"

  "Is that weird?"

  "Well, considering the last World War I veteran died in 2012 or so, I'd say it's a bit weird, innit?"

  Madison removed her head from Colin's shoulder to study the faces of those around them, hoping no one had heard his Britishism. Everyone seemed focused on themselves or each other, wearing smiles as they trudged the gravel drive to church. A little boy in black short pants with a jacket and tie wound his way between moving legs, somehow managing to not get trampled as he hurried to the front of the line.

  "Maybe it's his father's," Madison said, having lost the old man in the crowd.

  Colin shrugged up his shoulders. "I suppose you're right."

  Hard soles hoofed up the church stairs toward the arched doors, opened on a gloomy vestibule. The line seemed to take forever to progress, and as she and Colin rose the stairs themselves, she saw the priest or pastor shaking the hands of every adult as they entered, and greeting the children warmly. A sign at the front announced it to be The Church of St. Francis.

  "Not too late to change your mind," Colin offered.

  "You're the one that should be worried. Just don't touch the baptismal water, you'll probably get scalded."

  Colin showed his white teeth in a grin.

  As the husband and wife ahead of them shook the pastor's hand, the pastor caught Madison's eye and smiled.

  "Welcome, welcome," the pastor--preacher?--said with a slight Welsh lilt to his voice. Tall and broad, dressed entirely in black save for the white collar, his pale face stood out starkly from under black, slicked-back hair. He held out a long-fingered hand, and Colin took it. The man rested his other hand on Colin's shoulder, which Colin glanced at without expression. "Welcome to our little church and our little town."

  "Little?" Colin remarked. "I'd hate to see the big one."

  The religious man smiled patiently, then focused his attention on Madison.

  "We do so enjoy visitors." The reverend took her hand, his palm oddly cold. "But we'd love for you to stay a spell. Our little town has plenty to offer."

  "Thank you, Reverend," Madison said as he let go of her hand.

  "'Jack' is just fine." His gaze drifted to the people behind them, and she and Colin moved ahead.

  "He seems nice," Madison whispered as they entered the knave.

  "Everyone seems nice," Colin said. "It's a little eerie."

  "You're so cynical, Colin." They sat in an empty pew near the back, Madison craning her neck to get a look at the vaulted ceiling high above, painted with scowling angels and morose saints, as more townsfolk piled in and took their seats. Finally, Reverend Jack entered and strode to the front. He took his place behind the pulpit, and the crowd quieted.

  "Easter is a celebration of the Risen Christ... these days, it's difficult for some to believe in the Resurrection, and even more difficult to believe that Jesus brought a common man back from the dead, a man named Lazarus."

  Murmurs rippled through the gatherers. Some shook their heads. "Of course, we here in Drws Marwolaeth know it to be true, as true as the rest of the Good Book. Jesus spent several days and nights in the earth--it's never quite clear how many days and nights He spent in His tomb, and nor does it matter. What matters is, crucifixion on Good Friday," he held out his right hand, palm up, "risen on Easter Monday," and he did the same with his left. "Jesus died to absolve us of our sins, and He rose again to prove that only He who created life has the power to bring it back."

  His parishioners nodded. Colin turned to Madison with a quizzical frown, as if being used to this sort of rhetoric she might know where the reverend was leading.

  "Man has always aspired to be like Him. It was our own St. Francis of Assisi who said, 'I want to know Christ--to know the power of His resurrection and participate in His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death,'" Reverend Jack emphasized, gaze sweeping from right to left. "Of course, there will always be doubters. Thomas couldn't believe the other Apostles when they told him--"

  Several pews closer to the front, the little girl Madison had seen in the street turned and slumped her elbows over the chair. She raised the pinwheel and blew into it, its spokes reflecting bright colors as it spun. Madison waved, but the girl's mother tugged on her daughter's sleeve, and the little girl slumped back in her seat.

  "And now," the reverend went on, "I'd like to ask that you all go outside, and join me in clipping our fair church, in the hopes that the Good Lord will bestow upon our church, and our town, new life."

  The parishioners rose. Colin peered skeptically around at them. "That's it?" He shrugged. "I guess that's it."

  "What's 'clipping'?" Madison wondered.

  "Never heard of it. Likely just some folk tradition they trot out to creep out the heathens. And what was all that about the 'power of resurrection'?"

  "Christ's Resurrection is very important to the church," Madison said, the two of them remaining seated for the time being while the parishioners marched outside. "Easter's much more important than Christmas for Catholics."

  "Are these people Catholics, you think?"

  Madison shrugged. "If they are, it's very different from what I grew up with. No bells and smells. Not even a Eucharist."

  "Ah yes, the Holy Cracker," Colin jibed, and Madison elbowed him again. "You'd better stop doing that to me, or it'll become a fetish," he said, and kissed her neck below the ear. A chill ran up her spine and she giggled.

  The little girl with the pinwheel passed by then, holding her mother's hand, and the girl waved timidly as Madison wriggled out of Colin's embrace to twiddle her fingers, feeling slightly ashamed.

  "We would be honored if you would join us for the clipping," Reverend Jack said as he approached their pew.

  Madison and Colin rose to their feet respectfully. "We'd love to join you, Rev-- Jack," Colin said. "What is clipping, exactly?"

  A smile flashed across the reverend's pale face. "Come and see." He ushered them into the aisle with an open palm. "We won't bite, I assure you."

  Madison stepped out. Colin followed behind her, and the reverend led the two of them out into the gloomy vestibule.

  "We use Easter as a time to reflect on our own mortality," Reverend Jack was saying. "And also to encourage a renewal of life. You've likely noticed there are many lovely young children in Drws Marwolaeth, but our hope is always for more children, to carry on our way a life." He smiled over his shoulder as they stepped out into the sunshine. "If I may be so bold, do you plan to have children?"

  Madison and Colin shared a brief look,
shielding the sun from their eyes. "We haven't discussed it yet, Jack," she said.

  "I see. Well, plenty of time, I suppose. Time." He smiled, seeming to reflect. "This is a very old town. Our traditions predate that of many communities in the North West. We're one of the only towns to continue the practice of clipping, a very old tradition--and certainly the only church to do it on Easter Monday, in honor of our namesake. Clipping derives from the Old English word clyppan, you see, which roughly translated means embrace, or circle."

  He directed their attention to the townsfolk who had gathered outside, not in a group but in a line, each holding the hand of those on either side of them as the queue began to stretch around the church. It reminded Madison of "Ring Around the Rosie," and the image troubled her somewhat as she recalled a time where she'd played the game with her friends, and when they all fell down, the other girls had pretended to be dead. She'd gone around shaking them, trying to wake them up, but nobody moved or spoke until Loren Ainsley broke into giggles and the rest of them rose around her in a chorus of damning laughter.

  "What we do," the reverend said, "as you see now, is we all join hands and circle the church. Once we've all linked hands and the circle is unbroken, we round the church once clockwise, and once anticlockwise. There must always be enough of us to completely encircle the church, otherwise the point is lost."

  "And what is the point?" Colin asked.

  The reverend squinted at him. "Like many rituals, its intended purpose has been lost to time. However, we like to believe it protects us, and protects our way of life. There's something to be said for a bit of mystery though, no?"