The Butcher and the Butterfly

by Ian Dyer

  Ted sat in his chair gazing into the fireplace, watching the flames take hold of another piece of wood. He has lost his three sons and wife in the last four years, the last being his eldest son Dorian and now it was all coming to an end. It would have ended last year if it wasn’t for the kindness of the townsfolk, especially Mr. Thatcham. They had given up their own time to help harvest and to lay down crops. Tending to the crops was an easy job, Ted could do that on by himself but seeing to the animals, well that was a job that needed constant attention. Attention that his two eldest boys were mighty keen on giving. He sighed deeply. How his father would look in disgust at what was happening to the farm. But what was Ted to do? Three sons dead. Two in a fire, one during childbirth taking his poor mother with him. Their mother, his wife.

  Louise.

  She had been a good wife. Caring, supportive and always had the right answer to a question be it to do with the kids, local farmers or the running of their own farm, she was there. But not anymore. Ted was, give or take, on his own for the first time in twenty years. When Louise had been here he felt safe, secure, wanted. Yeah, that’s the right word for it; wanted. All men need to feel that they were needed and Louise certainly did that.

  But now she wasn’t here and she had left Ted with nothing but a slow daughter and a farm gone to the dogs. He didn’t begrudge her that but was he the slightest bit jealous…

  Selling up was the only option left. And that’s where Mr. Thatcham came in. He was the local butcher and had fingers in many other pies. His money ran deeper than the mines on the far side of town and he was the key to getting out of this. Ted would still run the farm, have extra hands to boot, but all the profits would go to Mr. Thatcham and Ted would get a weekly wage like the rest of em. Ted would have a bit of money from the sale of the farm but not much. Debts ran high, money owed to cattle feed companies, vets, council, farming groups you name them Ted owed them.

  Dotty was totally unaware of all this and even if she were to know there was little chance she could understand it. As far as Ted was concerned it would stay that way. Yeah she was simple but he loved her. She was her own person and he could see a lot of himself in her. The way she muddled through, the way she got an idea and stuck with it no matter what was thrown at her. There is a lot to be said for someone that can go on no matter what the Fates throw in their faces. Painting the fence for Mike was just the start of it. It was a small gesture to get the ball rolling and to keep the price higher on the farm than Mr Thatcham would like. There was no charge for Dotty. There never would be. How could you charge money? Louise would have said that Dotty was being taken advantage of, but what else could Ted do? He was stuck between a rock and a fucking money rich bastard, hell bent on owning this place ever since Ted had discussed it with him six months prior. Check Mate sucker. Not to sell meant the end of everything. To sell wasn’t ideal, believe me, but life doesn’t always deal you a good hand. Sometimes you have to throw your hand in and pray for a better one next time round.

  Ted was just about to get up and do the final check of the animal barns when he heard screaming coming from Dotty’ bedroom.

  He ran up the stairs two at a time and turned to the first door on left when he reached the hallway. In the dark gloom he could make out Dotty sat upright in bed; the bed sheets wrapped around herself tightly. Tears shone in the moonlight and her screams where turning into sobs.

  He began talking before he got to her telling her it would be alright, that there was nothing to fear now that dad was here. Telling her it was all a dream and that dreams can’t hurt her. She felt heavy in his arms which wasn’t unkind it was another one of those truths. How he would love to lift her up and hold her tight in his arms and sway her back to sleep but it was impossible. His Little Dotty stood taller than he and she weighed sixteen stone give or take.

  Her sobs were massive and her breath caught on each one as he cuddled her. Her arms gripped him tight and her chest heaved in and out, in and out, like a pump struggling to gather air. Her hair clung to her wet face in long strands and Ted wiped them away. She looked like she was six again; so helpless, so fragile. Times back, when Ted was new to being a single Dad, he wished she would go away, far away so that he didn’t have to deal with this. He was scared now to think back to those thoughts, to the conversation he had had with Doyle Cartwright. By the old kings that felt like a lifetime ago. He took another deep breath and started to pat her back matching his breaths with hers and then slowing his down to see if she would copy and like the times before; it worked.

  Ted continued to calm her but for a while it seemed to do no good then all of a sudden her breathing eased and she released the tight grip she had and Ted let her fall slowly back into bed; her head resting softly on the white pillow and her hair moved away by her shaking right hand.

  Ted knew that he had to wait for her to come around before he pushed her to find out what her dream was about. He had learned quickly after Louise had died that Dotty would think before speaking; a trait he admired.

  ‘What was it Dotty? Can you tell me?’

  Dotty was quiet for a moment her eyes looking out of the window. The sobs would pipe up now and then but she had calmed down enough to realise it was all a dream.

  ‘There were hundreds of butterflies in the Butcher Shop, Dad, hundreds upon hundreds of em.’

  Ted shook his head. ‘That doesn’t sound horrible. You love to flutter with the butterflies, my angel.’

  Dotty rubbed at her soar, wet eyes and looked her Dad with nothing but dread upon her face. ‘They were all dead. Dead like Mom. Dead like Ernie, Graham and little Clay. The room was all red, a scary red and the Butcher man was laughing at me because I wanted to save the butterflies.’ She had never looked so fearful of anything before and Ted was scared for her and in a way; scared for himself.

  ‘But I couldn’t save them, Dad, I couldn’t save them!’ Dotty began to cry again.

  Ted was speechless. He didn’t know what to do so he did nothing. He just sat on the edge of the bed and let his daughter cry herself back to sleep and when she was finally gone he lifted himself up and continued on with his chores more tired than he had felt in a long time and thinking about the dream and what it could mean.

  Dotty slept soundly throughout the rest of the night. She dreamed still but these were good dreams. She could see her Mum walking along a path. A forest path; a bright green, a happy green. She was smiling and waving as she walked along it without a care in the world, her hands brushing against the dandelions and the hocks and the sunflowers and all the while she was singing. It was a song that Dotty had never heard before but from now on, when she was alone or when she missed her mum Dotty would sing it and sing it with the same smile on her face:

  3

  At roughly the same time that Dotty was having her nightmare Mike Thatcham was awake and in a rather private meeting. In the town hall, behind the main hall, was a room meant for big time conferences and meetings of the town counsellors and business men. It could seat around forty but tonight it seated just three: head of the mines to the north; Doyle Cartwright, chief librarian Daisy Hicks and local business man and entrepreneur Mr Mike Thatcham. The room was dark apart from a few lanterns lit at the far end of the room. There were electric lights but the power couldn’t be trusted. The room was warmer than it should have been this time so the fire place was unlit. The three persons were at the far end, bathed in the soft glow of the few lit lanterns and they were huddled over a large wooden box, each one gawking at it like it was a diamond reflecting in it the very reason for existence.

  Talking between them had ceased for a moment as they each individually interpreted the information all three had divulged a mere ten minutes ago.

  Finally Mike pulled himself up straight and gently clapped his hands together.

  ‘And no one knows we have this? Am I right, Mr Cartwright?’ Mike looked to the man stood on his right and waited a response. When it wasn’t quick in coming Mike urged him again.
<
br />   ‘Doyle. We are the only ones that know of this, yes?’

  The miner scratched his chin and had to physically remove his gaze from the box. But he didn’t look Mike in the eyes; he just kept staring into the darkness of the room.

  ‘Urmm… yeah, Mr Thatcham. Just me, you and Miss Daisy. No one else saw it. If they did then they will be silenced.’

  Mike nodded in acknowledgment. He liked Doyle. Much like himself, a much younger himself, but none the less; he had the guts to get things done even if they were a little messy. Good at finding loop holes and ways around things, was Mr Cartwright, and all in the name of making money.

  ‘And that is how it shall stay. For the time being at least. Not until we know what it is and what we can do with it.’ Mike leaned back over toward the box but he was stopped getting too close by the hand of Miss Hicks.

  ‘I think we should remove ourselves from its presence for the time being. I can feel her trying to reach out even though she’s locked in the box.’ Daisy’s’ voice was low as if she didn’t want whatever it was in the box to overhear her words.

  Mike looked over to her, his eyes full of questions.

  ‘Trust me, Mike.’ Daisy continued nodding over to the man on her far right, ‘you too, Doyle. We must be careful.’

  Daisy wasn’t in Mikes good books but she was needed in the long run. The brains of the bunch were our young Miss Hicks. Barely twenty and already knee deep in all types of fakery that will one day see her rich beyond her wildest dreams. But for the time being she was Mikes little helper. A pretty face that wows the buyers and ups the money no matter what the situation and as Mike is always keen to tell Doyle ‘if a man thinks he can get a sniff of a pussy or the squeeze of a titty then it drives the sale home’ Daisy sure could get the buyers buying at high prices and the sellers selling at a low one.

  Doyle stepped back and shook his head. Daisy followed suite, followed shortly after by Mike. The three of them turned their backs upon the wooden box and talked amongst themselves. A conversation that’s not for our ears.

  We should be more interested in the wooden box, don’t you think? This box that is as old as the mountains and made of ironwood so hard it could survive the toughest of blows. It looked the part, dark and foreboding and as wretched as the souls that have found it. When they found the box it had been buried deep, deep enough to keep it quiet and to keep it safe. But not all things like to be kept quiet, not all things want us kept safe. On the lid of the box carved deep into the dark wood is a single letter and later on, in the deepest part of the night, when the box is back at the home of Mr Mike Thatcham he will etch his finger along the groves of that letter until his skin breaks, bleeds and the blood flows around that markings.

  In blood, the letter V will glisten in the candlelight and the Fate of a few hangs in the balance.

  4

  The next morning Mike woke up with a start. He couldn’t remember what he had been dreaming of but whatever it was it awakened him with a fright. His eyes blinked slowly as he stared up at the ceiling. His body was wet with sweat, the sheets thrown off him during some fit in the night. Mikes heart was going ten to the dozen and he struggled to calm himself.

  He closed his eyes and tried to remember what the dream had been about but could think of nothing. His body wouldn’t relax back to sleep so he laid there with his eyes shut, the sun blocked by heavy black curtains, the room in darkness for some time, until he sighed heavy and opened his eyes meaning to get up out of bed.

  But he couldn’t move. As much as he wanted to he couldn’t move. He tried to move his legs, but nothing. His arms were as heavy as lead and his head was like an iron encased in rock. His calmed heart pulsed frantically and his breaths became shallow and quick.

  It was then that Mike felt the air grow stale, stinking of old mules and dung. The curtains were moving to and fro in a breeze that was not caused by the wind. He tried to move again, with a force that would have sprang him from the bed but this time only served to tire him further and cause his heart to do jumps in his chest.

  His eyes darted from left to right but he could see very little. He was alone in his bed as always and there was no one to help him.

  Scream! Shout you bloody fool! His mind instructed but he could not. Trapped in his bed Mike’s nervous system frantically tried to move his body but it could do nothing.

  ‘Feeling tied down, Mike?’ A voice asked.

  Mike tried to look over to see who was speaking; the voice sounding like it came from the foot of his bed.

  The voice laughed. ‘No good in trying, Mike. You are stuck there and that is how it shall be until I am finished.’

  Mikes eyes darted furiously as he struggled to look at whoever it was at the end of his bed. He briefly thought of the box downstairs.

  ‘Do not think too much of her, Mike. She will destroy you quicker than I ever could.’

  Mike felt a hand reach down and touch is bare foot. Cold fingers caressed it and they sent shivers down his spine. The thought of what those hands might do made his belly twist and he felt sick.

  ‘Calm down, Mike. No harm shall come to you today. I am here with a brief message.’

  Mike breathed in hard, sharp breaths the hand caressing his foot tightened as it reached his fat ankle.

  ‘Do not fuck with her, Mike. Do not fuck with her. She is not meant for you she is meant for me. Give her what she wants and nothing else. I will be back soon to get her.’

  Within a heartbeat both of Mike’s ankles were grasped and squeezed tight. Mikes brain filled with images of fire, dead bodies, twisted faces of pain, screams of children and blood. He was sure that the sick would rise up and spray the room. He swallowed hard to control it.

  ‘If I find that you have not done as she has asked, if I find that you have tried to run off with her, if I find that you have fucked with me, Mike, like you fucked with your wife, like you fucked with everybody, Mike, I will find you and I will…………’ in the briefest of moments Mike saw himself hanging from a tree, crows ripping his eyeballs out. Then the image was gone.

  Mike moved his feet away quick and jumped out of bed tripping over his slippers and careening into his bed side chest. He stumbled for a moment his eyes scanning the room.

  Nobody was there. The room was cool, smelling of sleep and sweat. The curtains were not swaying and looking around again the room was as it has always been since Mike had killed his wife some ten years previous; empty apart from him. His heart raced and he struggled to regain balance. Holding onto his chest he tried to tap his heart back in to line.

  5

  Daisy Hicks wakes at five every morning. She makes a coffee, dresses then walks her dog Marley before returning home to wash the night before dishes and to ready herself for work. If it was a Saturday or Sunday then she would go to her garden to tend to her flowers or she would read or visit the shops. Today was a Thursday; a working day. But at seven thirty when she should be readying herself for work at the library she was sat in her dining room; her body stuck fast to the chair, the sun’s rays beaming through the window and into her eyes causing them to water.

  She was disabled and blind.

  Her breaths were deep and slow the opposite of Mikes not ten minutes ago. She was terrified but in a calm manner. Her mother had had fits like this before her death. She would seize up and be unable to move, unable to speak, unable to see and this could last for up to three or four hours. At first it was terrifying for both of them but after months had passed it became easier to deal with. Daisy herself had had two of the attacks in the last year or so but today’s attack had come with such ferocity that she was starting to get frightened.

  Her eyes looked quickly left and right but all they could see was whiteness. Her eyes were stinging with it. The sun was strong today and the glass in her window only made it worse. She couldn’t call anyone for help.

  ‘I was disappointed that you didn’t freak out as much as Old Man Thatcham.’

  The voice was fla
t, monotone, and almost meaningless. Daisy held her breath sharply and looked straight ahead to where the voice came from. Whoever was there was hidden in the whiteout of the suns glare.

  ‘But your mother prepared you for this, I suppose. I understand you don’t like it, that it reminds you of her and for that I shall get straight to the point.’

  Daisy heard shuffling. She breathed in hard; the air in her house changing from spring flowers to the scent of horse dung.

  ‘You were shown something last night. A something that you know all too well.’

  Daisy thought about the wooden box and what she knew it contained.

  ‘Don’t think too much of her, Daisy. She is dangerous and you should let Mike do what he has to do and you will do what you have to do. What she wants you to do.’

  The man shuffled again. Daisy tried to keep calm but it was getting harder now. She was completely defenceless, open to anything and she had no chance to stop her thoughts going back to that summer’s night by the river when the two men had…

  ‘Don’t you worry about that, Daisy. You need to forget about that and worry about the next few days.’

  Daisy began to cry and her breathing was getting out of control. There was silence in the room as her breathing got shallower, faster and faster until she was sure her very heart would explode. She was hoping that the man had left, that he wasn’t going to hurt her, that she could try and get out of this when what felt like a finger touched her between her legs. It was no good looking at what was doing it as her eyes were shut tight.

  ‘If I find that you haven’t listened to Mike. If I find that you haven’t listened to her. If I find that you haven’t listened to me, Daisy, I will hurt you…’

  As the finger moved away the young girl slipped from the chair and screamed until her breath was gone.

  Marley sat in the doorway too scared to go to his master.

  6