Glory and Splendour:: Tales of the Weird

by Alex Miles

  “Do you want retribution for not feeding the garden?”

  Vanquisher replied sulkily, “No, Harvey.”

  “Good boy. Everything will be fine. We are gonna do things my way or we won’t do things at all. We are going to sell this house, you understand? And you will be happy. Just don’t kill someone … anyone, and then everything will be fine.”

  “… I will obey you, Harvey,” Vanquisher sulked.

  “I’m sorry. I just get a little worked up. Then everything will be fine. Just sell the house,” said Harvey, shaking Vanquisher’s hand.

  “And this is it,” said Harvey, as he and his family entered the Druitt House. “It’s very big, very spacious and is a great trade-off from our old house.”

  The three brats were entranced by the fantasy palace.

  “Sweetheart, do you really think we can afford this? You said we were going to downgrade … Wasn’t that the point?” said Livia.

  “Don’t be so miserable, dear. We just need to be more careful with our money.”

  “Darling, what is wrong with you?”

  “Ah, here comes the owner now. Did you know, sir, I am so enthralled by your house, I am going to put an offer in myself.”

  “I am aware of this knowledge,” said Vanquisher descending the stairs.

  “It's the garden I really want to show you. Honey, go and have a look. I’m going to show the kids upstairs.”

  “Don’t they want to see the garden too?”

  “It will only take a second.”

  “Come hither, ma’am.” Vanquisher beckoned.

  “Harvey?”

  “Don’t worry, dear. I’ll look after the kids. Do you like the drawings? Very arty aren’t they?”

  Harvey took the brats up in the tower while Vanquisher showed Livia the garden. The children enjoyed the television screen and the games, then got bored and began to quarrel.

  “It's time to go join mother, I think.” Harvey took them downstairs to the garden. “One at a time now, walk up beyond those trees to see something amazing. You first.” He gestured to Bratnumberthree. There was some protest. “Just do it. You won’t regret it.”

  Bratnumberthree disappeared behind the shrubs. “Come on. Don’t be silly now, and then we can all go home.” Bratnumbertwo followed his brother.

  A cry for help sounded. Bratnumbertwo burst from the shrubs, before the lumbering behemoth chasing him broke his head with a croquet mallet. Harvey and Vanquisher stared at each other a moment. Bratnumberone took a breath and ran through the patio doors, into the house as Harvey lunged after him and fell over.

  “Get him! Get him!” cried Harvey. He ran into the hall hearing the sound of Bratnumberone battling with the double-bolted front door, then the footsteps up the stairs. Vanquisher came up from behind, fat jiggling about him. Harvey reached through the banisters, but felt Bratnumberone elude his hands.

  Harvey ran up the stairs after him. “Wait by the door!” he ordered Vanquisher.

  He crept from room to room. “No one’s going to harm you, not while I’m around … It was all a game … Your brothers are downstairs waiting for you …”

  There was a shuffle and the sound of something scurrying across the floor into the tower room. “Alright, you little pig. I’ll level with you. Your mother’s dead. Your brothers are dead – and soon you’ll be dead. Because you’re a pig. Had you been less of a pig I could have loved you, but now you die.”

  Harvey walked up the stairs into the tower room. He surveyed it thoroughly. There was a picture on the wall of Vanquisher slaying an ogre with Harvey’s head. That, and the slight swish of air behind, was enough to make Harvey clumsily fall to the side, while the hammer fell down and made a dent in the floor. Harvey fell into a pile of equipment, just managing to dodge another mallet blow as Vanquisher crushed his precious computers. Bratnumberone appeared from behind a pile of cables and immediately disappeared again, dodging past Harvey and out of the room. Harvey made another failed grab for him, while Vanquisher stared, confused by the double targets. Vanquisher’s head was turned just long enough for Harvey to sink the pocket knife into his non-existent neck.

  Vanquisher gave a cry like a baby and made a feeble swing as Harvey ran down the stairs, leaving his knife in his friend. Harvey got to the door and battled with it. He heard Vanquisher come up behind him and turned around to see Vanquisher covered in blood, without his hammer, crying miserably. “Help me! Help me! I want to go home.” He fell face down on the stairs.

  Harvey cried into the paperwork that the Community Inspector had put in front of him.

  “Yes, sir, it’s all very sad, isn’t it? Can we go over it one more time, sir? I’m a bit confused.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Harvey, recovering.

  “So this guy, this ‘Orogan the Vanquisher’, killed all the clients that you brought to his house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did that arouse your suspicions?”

  “No, no! I didn’t see them die.”

  “You just left them in the house?” said the Inspector, closing his eyes.

  “It’s true that I thought it was weird that they vanished, but clients tend to make their own way home when they hate a house.”

  “Ah, yes. I guess that adds up, from their point of view,” said the inspector, convincing himself.

  “… err …”

  “And their cars?”

  “Some were taken by you … others stolen by yobs!”

  “How did you figure that out? It took me ages.”

  “I picked up the pieces.”

  “Then he killed your boss, also?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you notice that?”

  “We had a decentralised structure. We wouldn’t notice if the whole of management disappeared.”

  “I see, I see. We are like that too. And then, after you saw him club all of your family to death?”

  “Sorry … Yes, that is when all the pieces came together.”

  “So, at several locations, you stabbed him in the neck.”

  “Self-defence. He was going to kill me.”

  “Seventy-three stab wounds to a man does seem rather a lot for self-defence.”

  “It was emotional. He had just killed my clients … and my boss … and my wife and her children.” There was a pause while Harvey resumed crying.

  “Oh yes. It is rather sad when you think about it. You know, with all those deaths I don’t know how you’re going to sell that house … Everyone says it has a curse on it. Besides, the whole of the garden has been dug up for evidence. The garden was its major selling point.”

  Harvey sighed. “Literally no one wants it,” he agreed.

  “Well, that seems to wrap everything up perfectly. One more point … You can track the investigation’s progress on our website: www.police4u.co.uk. Do you have an account?”

  “Yes, yes … I can go now?” said Harvey. “I can only take the morning off work.”

  “Yes, thank you. Again, I am sincerely sorry for your loss. It’s going to take at least 80 per cent off the value.”

  Harvey went back to Firm Foundations, greeting everyone on his way in. “Morning Mr Ridgitso … Morning … Morning …”

  John Johnson tried to keep up with him as he marched toward his desk.

  “How are you feeling, old chap?”

  “Sorry … Did you get that list of names?”

  “Oh, you know, a mind like a sieve,” said Johnson, slapping his forehead. “I’ll get them over to you. Are you managing alright, old chap?”

  “Terrible.”

  “Yes, the party last night was a bit rough. But still you seemed to rather enjoy your housewarming.”

  “Er, yes … but I’m here, bright and breezy.”

  “You know, it’s awfully brave, you putting in a bid for the house where your family got murdered, as well as where you were linked to everyone else that got murdered. Nasty business all that. Gosh!”

  “Well, you can’t argue, onc
e the estate cut it down to 20 per cent of the original asking price.”

  “But where did you get the money?”

  “Oh … I sold my house pretty quick.”

  “That rotting coffin? Wow! You're a real salesman! Get a mansion like Druitt House for a shoebox like your old house!”

  “Umm … Well, what can I say? I suppose I will need some time off to come to terms with the horror of what’s happened … Anyway, I have to be getting along.”

  Sitting down at his desk, he took PIP out of a clipboard and he gave his objectives a great big satisfying tick.

  LIFE BEGGAR

  “I don’t know why I came to be honest. I guess everything’s just a little crazy right now. I’m kind of in shock still.” I felt foolish talking to this man. He observed my dire situation with complete callousness, only interested in selling the power of his gods.

  “And why is it crazy, my friend?” The little mystic pedlar sat in a calm trance, weary of the tedium of these life-and-death scenarios. The puffs from his drooping cigarette cut through the powerful incense of the room. He appeared of indeterminate race, emotionless and aloof. His face, his cheap brown suit and his body sagged in the giant plush chair like a dying jellyfish.

  “Well, I was hoping you could help me. They said you could help me. That is, Ashcroft said so. I don’t know really … I’m willing to try anything.”

  He reached lazily for a piece of spiritual tat in his pocket and held it, dangling, from his fingers. He acted as if he gained some insight from it. “I remember Ashcroft. Anyway, we are running out of time are we not? You have lived longer than so many. What makes you so desperate that you come to me?”

  “Well, no one wants to die.”

  “Really?” Everything he said was dismissive like I was asking for some expensive and useless toy.

  “Well, I have had a good life really … but I don’t know. I guess I achieved a lot. I never really had a happy life you know, just a sort of safe life. I worked really hard for my future …”

  “And now all you have is your life savings and a doctor’s note?”

  “Maybe I would have done things a little different. I just want it back. I can’t remember that many happy times, just content times. I don’t know what could be said at my funeral. Who is even going to organise it?”

  “That is someone else’s problem. My time is precious. What do you want from me?” The question trailed off as if weary of carrying itself.

  “Time … just a little more time … Ashcroft said you could do things?”

  “You do not want time. You would waste it again watching repeats of sitcoms. What you want is accomplishment in your life. You want to die without regret.”

  “I’d prefer time to be honest.”

  He groaned. “Let me put it another way: you cannot afford it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Umm, so what can you give me?”

  “Like I said … but just wait a moment, while I catch my breath.” Then using all his strength he got up and visited the mistiest corner of the cellar to play with the fluids he kept there in milk bottles. He came back with an old mug filled with a pale green, thin liquid. He put it between us and fell back into his chair wheezing. “There. That is what I am selling you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Like I said, call it ‘fulfilment’.”

  “How much?”

  He scribbled on a piece of paper and slid it across the table. I glanced at it and made a cry of protest.

  He spread his hands in a weak shrug. “You talk about the money like you care. You have nothing left, you know. All that money in the bank is someone else’s now. You only ever borrowed it.”

  “But … it’s more than the money …”

  “It will be either mine or the worms’.”

  “But what do you plan to do?”

  He puffed an ungracious ball of smoke. I shuddered. Ashcroft had said it would be like this, but he had also said this man was genuine, and Ashcroft was a reliable sort. The stress of this conversation brought back the mortal pain in my side and I took two of my pills. “You're asking quite a lot you know. I’m not sure.”

  “It is your last chance to roll the dice. It is up to you, my friend.”

  The only hope was that the dirty little cup contained some happiness. The little man saw how my thoughts turned. He slid out a sheet from a pile of photocopies, pushed it across to me, and I signed it. “Don’t we need witnesses?” I asked.

  “I will handle everything.”

  I picked up the cup. I reminded myself of so many past risks never taken. I swallowed the liquid in one go. “To be honest, it tastes like apple juice to me.”

  “You would not have drunk it otherwise.”

  “Umm, I see. So what now?”

  “Go out into the street and touch someone.”

  “That’s it?”

  “You will not be disappointed.”

  “Shake my hand?” I said, extending it.

  “No, no,” he said, shrinking away. “That would be inappropriate.”

  His genuine fear gave me confidence. “Well, you can be sure I’ll be back if there is any problem.”

  “I am sure of that. Oh, and one more thing … you have less time than you think. Enjoy it and do not worry. My advice is to go down to this address. It is a little bonus for you.” He scribbled on another scrap of paper and pushed it towards me.

  I climbed the stairs, out of the macabre dream world the little pedlar inhabited and back into the busy slums. Out in the shabby side-street the world was full of sunshine, life and health. On the road people chatted, rushed, strolled and relaxed in the full swing of life’s prizes and problems.

  I intentionally brushed past an older, well-dressed woman. Within just a moment a lifetime’s worth of memories ran through me: I experienced Fran’s whole life in an instant as if it had been my own. I experienced her joyful childhood, her unfulfilled loves, her domineering motherhood and her liberating grievances. I hated her misery and loved her delight. I understood Fran as I did myself – and she hurried past me never knowing who I was.

  After the astonishment of the experience receded, I found it as fulfilling as the pedlar had promised. I desired more life. I found excuses to make contact with more people. My personality went through several lifetimes’ worth of change. I understood every bit of anger in these strangers. I knew every wrong done against them and done by them. I realised their motivation for everything they did and empathised even with their evil and ignorance. I saw every little embarrassing and bizarre thought of a person, but I understood rather than mocked. The joys of their abstinence and the joys of indulgence were both mine.

  Some people had gone through such horror and misfortune that I almost wept for them. I cursed myself for all the apathetic unkindness I had meted out to people in the past. As well as the pain, there were many joys and I lapped them all up. The experience of every kind of pleasure was mine. No matter what the memories contained, they were all valuable to me. I returned home a man with many lives’ worth of wisdom.

  The next few days I spent collecting many more lifetimes in my mind. I became a philanthropist. I decided I would feel the same love for any person in the world if only I could touch them. I warmed to the collective consciousness of humanity and I wanted to help it. I knew all these people’s flaws and instantly forgave them because they were now my failings too. I wanted to discipline every evil that I saw in people, but never through vengeance, only for the better cause.

  The knowledge brought by so many memories gave me obvious advantages that allowed me to fulfil my charitable impulses: I gave wise advice to those who needed it; revealed wrongdoing; gave away the remains of my fortune; spent time with the friendless and brought lonely people together.

  Eventually all this activity inflamed my side with so much pain that I had to return home; yet I was satisfied with the accumulated delight of my hundreds of unsuspecting donors. I sought to spend the remainder of my life helping all my b
rothers and sisters around the world. All I had done before counted for nothing; now I was putting together my true legacy.

  I visited my friends and eavesdropped on their innermost lives. As with the others I gained more of a connection with them than I ever had before.

  I learned of the cruel price Ashcroft had paid to the pedlar for the life of his son.

  At last I ventured to the address the pedlar had given me on the fragment of paper: my “bonus” as he called it. The address led me to an old abandoned house in a decaying part of town. I found the door ajar and the smell of rot, excrement and waste poured out as I entered. All the windows were boarded up and I had difficulty seeing through the gloom. This house, this festering hole, was where the pedlar had sent me to as a bonus, but perhaps some magic treasure still waited ahead. I searched through the decay and at first discovered only refuse everywhere I looked.

  I heard unhealthy wheezing from a bedroom and there I found a haggard, ancient woman. She looked fixedly towards the boarded window, not noticing me. Even when I approached her she did not respond. It was clear she had lost her mind. The details of her bones were visible through her skin; her hair had fallen out; she was covered with her own filth and she babbled faintly and unintelligibly. With my new-found compassion I touched her hand.

  All the things I had experienced were nothing next to this. I was overwhelmed by the waves of bliss: the ecstasy of intense happiness.

  Jackie had gone to the pedlar and given him everything for her happiness. He had given it to her in such an intense form that she sought nothing else. No love or joy could surpass it. She revelled within herself with no desire to do anything. Neither pain, nor hunger had any hold over her and all fear was cast aside. She was entirely dependent on the people that the pedlar sent to her, but no one had come for weeks.

  I went to find her food and, on returning, I held her hand again to repeat the experience of all that happiness. I released and grasped it over and over. I could not seem to hold the permanent state of bliss she was in, but the memory of it was enough to partially satisfy me. I cleaned her and fed her, more for my benefit than hers.