Julie had been gone a long time now, but Harry never stopped considering himself married. Never once did he forget his vow to love her forever.
Until Death Do Us Part...
He took his fresh beer, slid off his seat, and moved away from the bar – away from Steph. The worn, tattered padding of the bar stool he’d occupied for the last three hours had sent his backside numb and he now craved the relief of a cushion. He headed towards a bench below the pub’s large front window and, at the same time, saw Old Graham returning from the toilets. There was a small urine stain on the crotch of the old man’s grimy, cotton trousers and Harry was relieved to see the pensioner returning to the bar instead of coming over to join him.
Thank God for small mercies.
Harry eased down onto the faded bench cushion and sighed as the blood rushed back to his ass cheeks. He placed his pint down on the chipped wooden table in front of him and picked up the nearest beer mat. There was a picture of a crown on it, along with the slogan: CROWN ALES, FIT FOR A KING. Without pause, Harry began to peel the printed face away from the cardboard. It was a habit Steph was always scolding him for but, for some reason, it seemed to halt his thoughts temporarily, keeping back the demons that haunted him. The brief respite allowed Harry to breathe freely again, if only for a while.
Relaxing further into the creaking backrest, Harry observed the room. The lounge area of The Trumpet was long and slender, with a grimy pair of piss-soaked toilets stinking up an exit corridor at one end while a stone fireplace crisped the air at the other. In the middle of the pub was a dilapidated oak-wood bar that was older than he was, along with several rickety tables and faded patterned chairs. In a backroom was a small, seldom-used dance floor that Harry had only seen once at New Year’s. It was a quiet, rundown pub in a quiet, rundown housing estate – both welcoming and threatening at the same time. Much like the people that drank there.
Tonight the pub was low on drinkers. It usually was on Tuesdays and Harry preferred it that way. He wasn’t a big fan of company. Of course it helped that the snowfall had stranded most people to within a hundred yards of their homes and blocked up the main roads with deserted, snowbound vehicles. With the weather as bad as it was, getting to the pub, for most people at least, was not worth the risk. For Harry it was, because the alternative was being alone. And that was something he hadn’t been able to face for a long time. He wondered if it was something he ever would be able to face again. So he had braved the snow and made it to the pub in one piece, surrounding himself with people he barely knew.
But at least I’m not alone.
Somehow Steph had made it in tonight as well, holding down the fort as she did most evenings. Harry often wondered why she needed all the overtime. She seemed to enjoy her work, but it could’ve just been the barmaid’s code: to be bubbly and polite at all times to all people. Maybe, deep down, she counted each second until she could kick everybody’s drunken-asses out and go home. Whatever the truth, Steph was a good barmaid and she kept good control of the place.
Even Damien Banks behaved under her watch. Weekdays were usually free of his sliming presence, but tonight was an unfortunate exception. The local thug was sat with his Rockports up on the armrest of the sofa beside the fire, a flashy phone fastened to his ear.
No doubt controlling his illicit little empire, Harry thought. Probably refers to himself as ‘the Don’.
From what Harry had heard – from sources he no longer remembered – the degenerate scumbag pushed his gear on the local estate like some wannabe drug lord. No one in the pub liked Damien, not even his so called friends (or entourage as Old Graham would often call them in secret). There were rumours that the shaven-headed bully had once stomped a rival dealer into a coma, then taunted the family afterwards, revelling in the grief he’d caused.
Harry shook his head. He’s the one who deserves to be in a coma, instead of lounging around like he owns the place.
There was one other person in the bar tonight. A greasy-haired, oily-skinned hulk named Nigel. Harry had not spoken to the over-sized man much, but spotted him in the pub at least a couple of nights each month. A lorry driver, from what Harry gathered, and spent a lot of time on the road. Poor guy will probably have to sleep in his cab tonight.
After Nigel, there was just Old Graham and Harry. Just the five of them, the full set. Tuesday was a lonely night.
Harry swivelled round on the bench, pulled his right knee sideways onto the cushion, and peered out the pub’s main window. The Trumpet sat upon a hill overlooking a small row of dingy shops and a decrepit mini-supermarket that had steel shutters instead of windows. Steph once told him that the pub was barely surviving on the wafer-thin profits brought in by the lunchtime traffic of the nearby factories and, if it were to rely on its evening drinkers alone, the place would have closed its doors long ago – even before the public smoking ban came in and ruined pubs across the land.
Usually Harry could see the shops and supermarket from the window, but tonight his vision faltered after only a few feet, swallowed up by the swirling snow and impeded by a thick condensation that hugged at the window’s glass. For all Harry knew, the darkness outside could have stretched on for eternity, engulfing the world in its clammy embrace and leaving the pub a floating limbo of light in an endless abyss. The image was unsettling.
Like something out of the Twilight Zone.
Snow continued to fall as it had nonstop for the past day and night. Fat, sparkling wisps that passed through the velvet background of the night, making the gloom itself seem alive with movement. Harry shivered; the pub’s archaic heating inadequate in defeating the chill. Even the warmth of the fireplace was losing its battle against the encroaching freeze.
God only knows how I’ll manage the journey home tonight without any taxis running. Maybe Steph will let me bed down till morning? I hope so.
Harry reached for his pint and pulled it close, resting it on his thigh as he remained sideways on the bench. He traced a finger over his grubby wedding ring and thought about the day he had first put it on. He smiled and felt the warmness of nostalgia wash over him, but then his eyes fell upon the thick, jagged scar that ran across the back of the same hand and the warmness went away. The old wound was shaped like a star and brought back memories far darker than his wedding day. It was something he dared not think about. He drank his beer.
God bless booze and the oblivion it brings.
Harry chuckled about how once he had not cared for the taste of lager – white wine had been his tonic of choice – but The Trumpet wasn’t really the type of place where a thirty-year old man could order a nice bottle of Chardonnay without being called a poofter.
Funny how a person changes, Harry considered. Just wish I’d changed for the better.
He took another sip of beer and almost spat it out again. In only two minutes since he’d last tasted it, the beer had gone completely and utterly flat, as if something had literally drained the life from it. But before Harry could consider what would cause such a thing, a stranger entered the pub.
A second later, the lights went out.
ANIMAL KINGDOM
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Chapter One
Joe pulled tight his jacket around him, the biting chill of the autumn air creeping into every crevice of his body and making him shiver. The cold grey of the sky seemed to drizzle down to earth and coat everything with its dullness to the point where it seemed that colour no longer existed in the world. But the dreary weather was not enough to dampen Joe’s spirits. Today was a good day. He was spending the day with his son.
Danny was standing nearby, peering through a set of bars at what looked to be the zoo’s famous Silverback gorilla exhibit – but the leafy enclosure was empty, vacant of its illustrious inhabitant.
Must be getting fed, Joe thought as he watched his son’s disappointed face. Danny loved animals and would be disappointed that such a rare and magnificent creature was not available for
him to see. But, like most eight-year old boys, his attention span soon reset itself, and it wasn’t long before he was running off in a separate direction entirely.
“Dad! That man over there is being attacked by a snake.”
Joe stared down at his son, amazed, as always, that his watery-blue eyes could look so much like his own. “Don’t be silly, Danny,” he said, his warm breath turning to steam in the crisp October air around him. “That’s just the zoo’s snake handler. He’s about to do a show, I think.”
“I wanna go see!” Danny tugged at his father’s arm, deceptively strong for such a slender child wearing a Bret ‘The Hitman’ Hart t-shirt and Velcro trainers. “Hurry, before we miss anything.”
Joe allowed himself to be dragged toward a three-sided lean-to shelter erected besides the zoo’s moss-covered WORLD OF VENOM building. It had been designed to look as if it were made of bamboo reeds. A uniformed man entered the structure from a rear access and began positioning plastic crates onto a wooden table – all of them containing reptiles of various sizes and descriptions. The man’s tanned-leather skin matched his khaki clothing and was weathered, brown and loose. He had a boa constrictor the length of a scaffold pole wrapped around his bony shoulders.
Danny jumped up and down excitedly. “Sweet! I bet that thing could squish him to death, real easy!”
Joe frowned at his son. “Don’t be so morbid!”
“Sorry, Dad. I just think it’s cool.”
“It’s okay. I just want you to think nice things. Come on, let’s get closer.” Joe took his Danny’s hand – half the size of his own – and pushed through the gathering crowd of adults and their children. It wasn’t difficult to get to the front when you were as freakishly tall as Joe. People tended to get out of his way long before he had to ask them.
“Look at the size of that thing, Dad!” At the front of the growing audience – now close to a dozen people – Danny started jumping up and down again, his wispy, blond hair flopping around in the must-smelling breeze. Childish glee oozed off him in ribbons.
The snake handler turned his attention to them both and Joe cringed, waiting for his son to get a reprimand. A noisy nuisance. Fortunately, the uniformed man smiled at them instead.
“Hey there, young un. You like snakes?”
Danny nodded. “Jake the Snake used to have one called Damien.”
The snake handler wrinkled his forehead, readjusted the slithering reptile in his arms, and then said, “Isn’t that a wrestler from years back?”
Danny nodded enthusiastically. “My dad has lots of old tapes and I watch ’em every weekend when I stay over. My bestest favourite is The Undertaker. Check it out!” He spun around to show the man the design on his backpack.
“Undertaker rip?” said the handler, confused.
Danny spun back around and giggled. “No, silly! Rest in peace. It’s what The Undertaker says to everyone right before he beats them up with his tombstone.” He rolled his eyes back into his head, so that only the whites were showing, and repeated the words in his best attempt at a gravelly, adult voice. “Rest…In…Peeeaaaace.”
The crowd laughed. So did the snake handler, struggling with his giant brown reptile between each chuckle. He pulled the animal down, away from his face, and then smiled over at Joe. “Fine little lad you have, sir.”
Joe smiled back. “Thanks. He’s a handful though. Just like your snake.”
“You can say that again! She’s really unsettled today. Won’t keep still for a minute, bless her.”
“Sounds just like my son.”
Danny bopped him on the arm. “Hey! I’m nothing like a snake. I’m gonna tell Mom on you.”
The crowd laughed again, this time giving a collective “Oooooooo!” Joe knew his son was just showing off, but it was nice to see him come out of his shell. After the last few years, with the divorce and everything else, it was good to see that Danny had any confidence at all.
Joe rustled Danny’s hair, messing it up more than it already was. “We best be moving on, little dude, or we won’t fit everything in. Say goodbye to the nice man and his snake.”
Danny twisted his face into a frown, but did as he was told. His shoulders slumped as he spoke. “See ya, Mister. Thanks for letting…Hey Mister…are you okay?”
Joe was alerted by the tone of his son’s voice before he actually saw anything was wrong. The snake handler was writhing around, struggling beneath the weight his huge reptile. It coiled its way around his ribcage and was slithering up toward his neck.
“Step away, Danny.” Joe moved in front of his son, keeping him back from the wooden barrier that separated the crowd from the lean-to shelter. The slithering reptile had begun to form a noose around its keeper’s neck and was slowly tightening with each convulsion of its muscular body. The crowd started to murmur, the first gentle stages of panic taking hold.
The snake handler began to choke and threw out his arms out in desperation. Joe jumped the barrier, dashed toward the shelter just as the struggling man dropped to his knees on the plank-wood flooring. The fragile walls of the bamboo shelter shook beneath the impact.
“Stay calm,” Joe shouted in a voice that was the exact opposite. He reached out to grab the snake, but recoiled immediately.
Whoa! Do I really wanna put my hands on this thing? Can it bite me? Joe allowed himself to hesitate only a moment longer then gave himself a mental shove. Come on! There’s a man’s life at stake. Do something!
He snatched at the thick reptile and pulled back hard, fighting away revulsion as his fingers made contact with the rough, quivering flesh – cold to the touch. Several seconds of yanking and tugging made no difference. The snake’s grip became even tighter. The desperate handler turned a deep purple as the pressure pushed his eyeballs a half-inch out of their sockets, making them bulge like a squid’s. Joe felt a roiling wave of sickness crash through his insides.
I can’t do anything. I can’t get this thing off of him and he’s going to die. I never watched a man die before...
Joe turned to the anxious crowd and checked that his son was nearby. “Don’t just stand there!” he shouted at them. “Someone go get help, now! Danny, you stay where you are and close your eyes. Everything is okay.” He could tell by his son’s fearful expression that he didn’t believe it. Moving back around, Joe saw that blood was now trickling from both of the snake handler’s nostrils. The beast wrapped around the man’s throat was glaring at Joe, malevolent eyes boring into his flesh. Its forked-tongue flicked back and forth, tasting the air.
People in the crowd started backing away, as if somehow the snake handler’s peril was infectious. Some of them scattered immediately, crying out for help as they fled in all directions, while others retreated in silence, unable to take their eyes off the harrowing scene in front of them. Joe didn’t go with either group. He was rooted to the spot.
Locked in a death stare with a nine-foot Boa Constrictor.
“Dad!”
The sound of Danny’s voice allowed Joe to regain control of his senses. He turned around to find that his son had approached the wooden barrier and was about to crouch underneath it. Joe flung out an arm and shouted. “Stay there! I’ll handle th-”
From the corner of his eye, Joe sensed the movement of the snake, and turned just in time to see it strike. The adrenaline in his body pumped his reactions just enough that he was able to lunge aside of the attack, a mere split-second before the murderous reptile sliced its fangs through the air. The snake handler flopped face down on the floor, the boa constrictor slithering out from beneath the body. The man was dead.
“Dad, I’m scared!”
Joe sprang into action, exiting the shelter and vaulting the barrier. He scooped Danny up in his arms and chased after the fleeing crowd. Help still had not arrived, but it hardly mattered anymore now that the snake handler was dead.
Someone still needs to grab that damn snake though.
And then destroy the fucking thing!
Jo
e kept his lanky strides fast yet steady, not wanting to trip and fall on the unforgiving pavement whilst carrying his son. Blood pounded in his eardrums as, all around him, people scattered in all directions. It was strange to see just how many people were panicking. There had been perhaps a dozen men and women at the snake handler’s hut, along with a handful of children, but as Joe looked around now, he saw at least three times that many.
So what else is happening? Why are so many people in a hurry to get their asses out of here?
Joe slowed down and eventually stopped, turning to look back where he’d come from. The huge boa constrictor was still inside the lean-to shelter, slithering over the lifeless body of its ex-handler. It was reason enough to panic, for sure, but Joe was certain that only those nearby would have noticed. He looked around the zoo, examining the multiple animal enclosures and exhibit buildings that lined the grass-edged pathways. A racket was coming from each of them, as if the caged specimens inside were agitated by something. The hoots and howls from the monkey compounds were particularly loud and Joe could see the various primates rattling their bars with unbridled fury. Joe could feel the vibrations in his teeth.
What the hell is happening?
He decided he wouldn’t wait around and find out. He needed to make sure his son was safe (from just what exactly, he did not know). Danny was rigid in his arms, making no sound other than the wet panting of his breath.
Thrillobytes: bite-sized horror Page 13
