When Tom returned there had been a switch from the floor to a chair. Allister felt a more proper bearing was needed for a subject that seemed to carry emotional baggage. “Okay then,” said the aged story teller. He walked up to the fireplace and stoked the flames, to help him find the words to begin. He sunk back into his chair and let out that same sigh. “You will probably find this a bit more engaging than my usual stories.” The theatrical had gone from his face while the hands which helped inform sat between his legs. A hand rose to massage his forehead. Then he begun, “So these figures you see. Well, they were purchased for the sake of therapy.” A paused followed. Allister had an idea of what that meant but he did not want to interrupt. “I was chased by a dog as a kid.” Tom kind of laughed to himself. “I guess many kids are, but few are almost killed.” On that last word Tom gave him a look which brought it home. Part of Allister wished he had not asked. The other part wanted to hear what his grandad automatically began to recall, something “that must be as long as seventy years ago.”
“As a boy I lived in a densely populated neighbourhood, not the healthiest, kind of sooty, but there was a soul about the place. It was like one big grid with lots of suspended laundry. Cars were scare so you could play street football without a problem. Back then the balls were real heavy. You had to be careful not to hit windows. The problem for me was my best chum Ricky Shaw lived in another neighbourhood which was a fair trip for a nine year old. Admittedly he had this fun feature in his neighbourhood (bike stands you could kick the ball through) so I was happy to get peddling.” Allister pictured the streets close to how they actually were. “My old bike was my favourite toy. Probably a bit rickety by today’s standards but in those days it was the business. Once I got out of my neighbourhood there was some countryside followed by a stone bridge that went over a river. This led to another urbanised section with a long road then a crossroads. Another half mile from there brought me to Ricky’s neck of the woods. I’ll always remember I needed to go up two blocks, take a right, a left and then up another two. His house was the one with a black doormat. Usually he’d already be outside and we’d have a swell time.”
“The incident happened during an evening when I was guilty of breaking my curfew though not on purpose. I was just having lots of fun and forgot. We must have been the last kids playing outside that day. Eventually the light was too poor to kick the ball so we said adios. I grabbed my bike which I leant on a nearby wall and reversed the entry route. At the edge of the first main road it hit me that I’d have to come up with a good alibi if I didn’t want a good smack round the head. Five minutes of peddling and I decided on a story that involved helping Ricky’s mum fix some new lightbulbs.” There was a pause as Tom looked out of his front window. “It’s funny how much I can remember of that night, all the little details. I knew my dad would forgive me for lending a hand so all I had to concern myself with was making the right turns.”
“As I kept on the hard left (cars had a habit of crashing back then) it struck me how calm the evening was. Without realising I began to peddle slower and analyse distant houses, the lights which came from their windows and mused what kind of games the kids played on those streets. When I got to the crossroads I always stopped to look in both directions. Again I loitered. It was really quiet, so quiet you waited just to see what your ears could detect. What would disrupt the peace was seen before it was heard.” Allister could see his grandad’s face tense up. He took the bass out of his voice and carefully spoke like each word had real meaning to it. “This four-legged figure was visible down a narrow street, two o’ clock. I watched it advance from a distance. I assumed its owner had let it jog ahead. Another fifty metres and not once did it look back. Then it drifted into the road - that’s when my gut knew something was off. Its movement was strange, disconnected, going towards something with a stooped head only to veer off at a sharp angle. There was the chance it carried something. Though the light was poor what wasn’t unclear was the size of it, tall and with a large skull.”
“It looked like it was in a cycle of distracting itself so I watched on. With there being many other streets I paused that bit longer to confirm its disappearance.” Tom shook his head before continuing. “It was hard to tell at first because its body was not properly aligned with the direction it went but the dog passed into the main road. Now I could see its shabby coat. It reminded me of a wolfhound minus the lovable face which sagged like some ill-advised crossbreed. Upon realising it may take an interest I began to peddle, not quickly but at a calm, fixed rate. For the same reason I did not look back until I had covered 100 metres. When I decided to turn my head there it was, silently tailing me. This carried on for minutes. It wasn’t a real concern at this point but I was nervous. Before entering the countryside the dog went ahead of me and drifted to the right. This dash across the road underlined how few cars there were tonight, and that goes for people as well. Must have seen a cat I thought. I didn’t think that for long. The creature indirectly looked over its shoulder before sharply coming my way. In a matter of seconds its true intentions were bared out, the instinctive motion, the guttural barking…that look that wanted me. Pure reflex stopped it taking my arm. I came down with a great thud onto the pavement. There was no time to sulk. In the same motion I managed to get the dog which now towered over me to bite down on the front tyre. I grabbed back onto the handles and went into a tug of war with this beast. The growling went through me as I looked at its crazed expression. Each time it yanked back my arms were nearly pulled from their sockets.” There was a big laugh in the kitchen but it did nothing to affect the story. Allister too felt like he was trying to get away. He browsed the figurines to see which one best fit his grandad’s attacker.
“I sure did love that bike but when the tyre popped I knew I wasn’t going home with it. The focus was to get myself home. In between almost falling over every time it pulled back I turned the handles to keep it gnawing on something that wasn’t me. Just seconds of this was difficult so I had to think. There was a park right beside me which I could access by jumping over a wall, speed depending. On a subliminal count of three I pushed and let go of my bike as the dog pulled. It didn’t worked quite as I’d hoped but it gave me a chance. I had to reach with my arms to then pull myself up and over. Had I been anything less than lightening it would have sunk its teeth into my leg. Instead I fell onto the grass and I heard that awful barking. To run as hard as I could was my first instinct. Uneven ground nearly tripped me up. The new dilemma was that the quickest route from here to home involved climbing over another wall, only this one dropped over ten feet into a forested area. I looked back to see that the animal was far from giving up. Its head bobbed in and out of view. Having tried several times I did not think it was able to breach the wall. Once again I was wrong. In a moment just as disturbing as its first charge I watched this unhinged, slender beast awkwardly fall into my escape. Though its body wasn’t properly aligned with the direction it started to run I knew better this time. It was coming for me. That savage growling restarted. There was no choice but to drop into the forested area.”
Tom had to compose himself again, clearly reliving the emotions of this night. “So down I went, hands pushed out, not knowing how hard the ground would be. I tried to roll but hurt my ankle which slowed me. That thing continued to bark with its strange mix of gargling and squealing, noises which became more distant. With at least two hundred metres between us I could afford to stop. The light was just good enough to see movement. Scurrying from one side to another it stopped to place its forelegs on the wall and peered down, but it wouldn’t commit to the drop. Still I took nothing for granted and ran until I got to the bridge.” Tom got up from his seat and went over to the fireplace. Allister wasn’t sure if the story had come to an end. He waited until his grandad was re-seated and waited out another silent period which he tried to understand.
“The bridge came across like an oasis. I knew my neighbourhood was just five minutes from here. I h
ad not heard that beast now for over ten and intended to walk the rest of the way. I would then discover in the most unpleasant way that the park connected back onto this route. The dim light made it worse because I could not tell what I was seeing further down the river bank. When I did it had already broken into a run.”
“As best I could I ran onto the stone bridge. Halfway over and the dog had covered three times the amount of ground. Near one end I already heard overgrown toenails brushing over the surface. With nothing but a straight path ahead I knew I had to do something. There was no time to plan. Sharply I made a U-turn and, even though it seemed like a stupid move, jumped into the river. The water only came up to neck height so I could push off the floor. Such was the dog’s momentum it lost its footing on the turn which gifted me extra time. The water was freezing. I didn’t care. The river was only a narrow one. The floor quickly started to rise. Next I heard a splash behind me, felt the weight of waterlogged clothes and realised there was no use running. Truth be told I had no energy. Tears began to run down both cheeks. I thought I was done, no mum or dad to rescue me.” Tom rubbed his chin. “You know, it was that very thought which put me back in charge of my life. My eyes fixed on something. There was a lot of mortar erosion at the side of the bridge…and a few loose stones. Only panting was coming from the dog as it swam, going even slower than I did. This thing must have weighed ten kilos. Opposing the beast I brought one to the river’s edge, looked into its vengeful, amber eyes and threw one. It was more like dropping it. I missed. Back for another and I knew this was the moment to decide whether or not I would see my tenth birthday. A second, lighter stone was brought to the same position. To give myself the best chance I waited until it was virtually within biting distance. Just as the dog started to find its feet and bark again I was able to launch this one with spite. I know it sounds sick but the sweetest noise followed, of a skull caving in.”
Allister saw how his grandad’s face contorted and hands moved as he described the outcome. “Skin was taken off its head and what used to be barking became a horrible type of moaning, almost like it was trying to talk. It didn’t get any nearer to me but started threshing about in the water. At the time I thought it may be working itself into a more furious state. The violent motions carried on until it began to tire. I watched on, scared, upset – emotions sharper due to the fact this was a solitary affair. As I stood there shivering, a bundle of fear and soaked clothes, I think the dog started choking on its tongue. That was the final blow. Its body went under, everything but the side of its deranged face with one amber eye still locked on its target. I can picture it as clear as anything.” A big paused followed. Allister felt it was time to say something.
“So what happened next?” he asked gingerly.
Tom gave a self-conscious smile, one that acknowledged what he had just spilled. “Well,” he began less gravely, “I went back to my parents who went berserk, for the state I was in, for losing my bike, but then squeezed me after I told them what had happened. Oh they believed me alright but I don’t think they knew how vicious my attacker was. The one thing I didn’t admit was how things ended. I was too ashamed. I just said it gave up once I entered the stream – the same story I tell your Nan.” Tom stood out of his chair again. He looked at Allister who had digested every sentence. “You know, you’re the first person I’ve ever told the full story.” An unsure smile went across his face, hoping Allister was mature enough to recognize his grandad was trying to share a burden. It didn’t come overnight but Allister develop a lasting appreciation for what he was told. A formal bond improved to warm friendship.
From that night on, whenever it was story time at the Bloomfield’s, Allister would take his place among his three siblings, sat cross-legged at the foot of Tom’s chair. There was no more interrupting even if the story had been done to death. In fairness a new batch had been cooked up. They all went down well and Allister once again remembered his grandad was a fine storyteller. The difference was now he had a theory why, because he was drawing from real-life trauma. He knew the embers of that terror had not gone out so it was probably cathartic to tell a spooky tale. Occasionally themes reminded Allister of that story and he drifted away. If this occurred during the climax of the other story he too would jump when Tom grabbed a family member and made a noise. One time the youngest spotted this and couldn’t resist a pop. “Ha! Look, Allister was scared!” He laughed it off in good nature upon realising where he was. In the previous moment he was peering over a bridge, thinking about the difference between that heartless thing and what is termed man’s best friend.
Spirit of gRoobai
1
That first day back after a long holiday can be tough going, especially if you’ve been abroad. The transition from carefree indulging to serving rude customers is not a pleasant one. While strolling towards his office block via overfamiliar streets, thirty-three-year-old Jason Bickley focused on the immediate past. He had just returned from a vacation though probably not the kind you’re thinking of. There was more risk-taking than relaxing.
In the great sundried plains of South Africa, Jason had rented a car and stuffed it with abseiling gear. Solo holidays were his thing with a penchant for veering off the beaten track. Even more tempting was when he was not sure if it was okay to explore an area. In those moments he would instantly park up, get everything he needed and find an appropriate spot from which to descend. The speed at which he could ready himself (secure the anchors, feed the ropes through his belay device) was a testament to his skill. Callused hands told of his experience. As he rubbed them together, inspecting them as carefully as he adhered to safety measures, Jason reminded himself that he needed to save up again if he was to do more of the same. This lasting image of him dangling off a cliff face with the sun on his back always won a smile.
He lived in one of those apartment complexes with replanted trees and a lawn at the centre, an attempt to soften the fact you live in a polluted city. Only if he was late did he need to jump a bus. The usual routine was a twenty minute walk. From his apartment complex followed a long underpass speckled with tramps and graffiti – the latter of which he had an appreciation for when done well. Two pieces in bubble font weren’t bad. The rest were messy tags, the graffiti equivalent of marking your territory. Once Jason had escaped this dim lit area the main part of the city opened up where the three tallest buildings encouraged you to look up. They were also a signal that work was just around the corner. Eventually he got to a row of office blocks. Just before his was a brick building, something ugly from the ‘70s. He thought he saw something in the corner of his eye and sure enough there was a new piece of graffiti high up near the building’s top corner. In what is termed a ‘heaven spot’, referring to its ambitious location, Jason was all the more intrigued by its glossy finish and the fact it wasn’t a name but a symbol. He could only look at it for a moment. There was no being late on the first day back.
Jason scanned himself in, said hello to familiar faces and made his way to his office cubicle. It was time to sell insurance. The first hour was painful but time started to speed up once he accepted his being there for a full day. When he glanced at the bottom right of his screen it was a nice surprise to see it was lunchtime. The communal room for breaks was pretty small and dingy, usually a place for unacquainted employees to gaze into their mobile phones. When Jason sat down to get through his chicken & stuffing sandwich he was glad to see Doug Huxley walk in, one of the few guys who didn’t want to talk about how stressed they were.
“Eh up pal,” sounded Doug as he made his way to the water dispenser. “Back from your holiday then?”
“Sadly, yeah.”
“Where was it again?”
“South Africa.”
Doug made a face while having a swig. “Bloody hell, I wouldn’t survive there – burn to a crisp.”
“Yeah, I don’t have that problem,” replied Jason, alluding to his naturally brown skin. Doug smiled back. “So I take it you did some a
bseiling?”
“Man, it was sick.” Jason didn’t feel like brushing over it. “Must have done close to twenty abseils. I rented a car-”
“Ah yeah, you’d have to wouldn’t ya?” Doug cut in.
“And a sat nav so I didn’t get lost. All the abseiling equipment was put in the boot and I stopped whenever I saw somewhere that was good to rope down.”
“I bet the scenery was impressive,” asked Doug with a face that said he wouldn’t mind checking it out.
“Sure was. And the sense of freedom you got was like nothing else – especially when you lean back into your harness and put your life into the hands of a few pieces of metal and a couple of ropes.”
“Yep, you’re nuts mate.” Doug sat down with his microwave meal once it had dinged. Jason was smiling about his trip again when something came to him. “Oh yeah, did you catch that bit of graffiti at the top of the office block next to ours?”
“No, why, is it one of those proper big ones?”
“It’s not that big. It looks like some kind of symbol but it’s done real shiny. Just kind of eye-catching so I thought you would have noticed.”
“Huh. I’ll have a look tomorrow.”
The rest of the day went as smoothly as Jason could’ve hoped for. He was on autopilot walking home, thinking about the bath he was going to run himself and possibly fall asleep in. A couple of texts brought him to, one from his inline-skating buddy, Craig, and another from his friend with potential benefits moaning about how bored she had been in her soap shop. “It sounds fuckin’ boring!” said Jason to himself and started laughing. Politics meant he got back to Craig first. If he was to seal the deal this weekend with Francesca he needed to be more distant. Apparently that’s what did it for her. Once dry he browsed online for where he might travel next. He dreamt about it and the following morning he was daydreaming as he walked back to his office block. When he looked up at the one before his there was a frown. That symbol was gone.
Dare to Read: 13 Tales of Terror Page 9
