She winced as she watched this and then turned towards the pub which had become a black and charred ruin of its former self. She looked up and the sky was a deep crimson red and then she heard a bloodcurdling cry as a bird flew by. It took a second for Clara to realise it was not a bird at all. At least not what she would call a bird; this was some sort of winged beast that she could only compare to what she had seen in old dinosaur movies. It looked very much like a pterodactyl and as big as a hang glider.
It swooped down on some unsuspecting creature and sunk its claws into its flesh before flying off again into the crimson sky with its victim leaving behind nothing but another bloodcurdling cry.
The farmer that had been cut down had got up and was now chasing the dog monkey in the tractor but he was holding his garrotted head in front of him in one hand as he ran so that he could see where the dog monkey had gone while he was shaking his other fist in the air.
This would actually have been a comical sight to Clara, had it not been so horrid. In another field behind the dragon on the tree there was a picnic area but in this picnic area there were what looked to be a family of pigs. They were all stood on their hind legs just like humans would. One of them even had a white blood spattered apron on as he was carving meat from the spit roast that was turning above the flames. There were two little pigs running around on their back legs whilst their mother moved from the picnic table and benches to collect the meat from the father of the pig clan.
Only now Clara could hear the terrifying and saddening screams that came from the “meat” as it seemed these pigs liked their meat rare. On the spit roast was a man and he was still alive as he turned and turned slowly above the unforgiving flames, she could hear his skin blistering and popping in the heat as he was begging for his freedom whilst slice after slice of charred skin was taken from his sides and abdomen. The pigs only then... when their plates were full got down onto all fours and began to eat like the pigs they were. The man was still alive as he watched them eating his flesh, he was still screaming but his screams were getting weaker and weaker as Clara watched.
As the revulsion in her stomach began to raise its ugly head she turned to look away from the macabre sight in front of her only to see the farmer running down the hill with his arms outstretched. His head was rolling before him and she thought it looked as if he had dropped his own head and was now trying to catch it to replace back onto his neck. But his body actually tripped over the head and went rolling down the hill itself and the head came to a standstill before the giant dragon from the tree settled on the ground before her. Clara wanted to help but didn't see how she could.
As she was watching the body of the farmer pick itself up and feel its way towards its head two plain white doves flew down from the trees and landed on the head. They picked at the eyeballs with what looked to be razor sharp teeth until they had their prize and flew off into the crimson sky with their ill gotten trophies trailing behind them in their vicious claws.
The head was wailing as blood poured from its empty eye sockets but still seemed to look towards Clara as so did the body which had now given up the chase and was lay on the floor with its hands reaching out towards its head, although it would be of no use anymore.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When the dragons finally gave up their hold on Clara and let her down to the earth, she was in a state of such despair. Although she had thought some of the sights in front of her were comical, such as the pig family on their hind legs as if they were on a family outing. All they needed to complete the scene was a camper van parked nearby or for the little piggy’s to be throwing a frisby or such between them. And then of course there was the farmer tripping over his own head. Yes it did look comical she thought, but is that what will become of the world?
As her feet touched the ground finally she could not tear her gaze away from the liberated head. It was just slightly to the right of her but she could not stop herself from watching it as the blood ran in fresh rivulets down its cheeks whilst the imploring head questioned its very existence.
“Clara... walk straight towards me and do not stop for anything” she heard the voice in her head command. It was the voice of Tien-Lung she knew and decided to follow its command but as she did the hand grabbed hold of her trouser leg and she froze in fear knowing before she even lowered her head to question what had touched her. It was of course the hand of the farmer. It had somehow managed to crawl over to her although, she imagined that the head had somehow guided it, but then again realised the head no longer had eyes to guide with. The first instinct was to kick the hand away and run. Run towards Tien-lung which she did, and the smell of the lavender as she got closer to the behemoth on the ground in front of her was so intoxicating that she swooned onto one of the disproportionate legs of Tien-lung and slept.
Clara slept for what felt to her like an eternity and while she did, the two dragons spoke to her and told her what must be done. As they spoke, the breath from their mouths formed clouds which floated up to the sky and became part of the clouds formed by their brethren.
She was safe in the arms of the dragons, there was no evil on earth that could have touched her at that moment, in that magical protective ring that the dragons’ arms gave to her. Not the dog monkey, nor the gargantuan bird from above, or even the creatures from the very depths of hell itself. At that moment in time Clara was in the safest of hands that anyone could ever be. She was in the hands of Mother Nature’s divine power itself. And if Mother Nature wants it to be, no matter what it is... then so shall it be.
The first thing she sees when she comes round is the tapestry. She is still staring into the dragonfire but her legs feel as if they are about to betray her as she staggers backwards into the empty chair with the picture of her Stanley to the side. She sinks deep into the chair and doesn’t take her eyes off the tapestry in front of her. She sat there for almost an hour, maybe more, she couldn’t tell anymore. Time was irrelevant to her, but she sat with her hands clasped on her stomach just looking at the two dragons and it was now evident that they were not fighting at all but they were holding the talisman, or the dragonfire in their flames as this was how they protected it.
She then saw that the talisman still sat at the bottom of the picture frame. It sat there denying her wish that in some vain hope that somehow this could still be a very strange dream. She knew it wasn’t, but seeing that little disc in front of her shot all hopes of that out of the water.
‘Well Stan my love, I may be joining you sooner than I thought’ she said out loud to nobody as she walked towards the now glowing talisman.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
What a result thought Pinky as he led the girl to the waiting taxi. What was her name? Well fuck it; she would be screaming his name soon enough anyway he thought as he opened the door for her.
‘Yeah I’m a real gent, long as I’m gettin’ you outa that dress later babe’
‘Well I was hoping you would help hun’ she said with the sexiest smile Pinky had ever seen. He closed the door on her and ran round the other side of the silver Astra with the yellow “United Taxis” stickers emblazoned all over it, barely able to contain his excitement. He felt as if his zipper would burst open any second under the strain.
He had been in 21’s club in Manchester town centre, which really is nothing more than a cattle market and most of the clientele were actually under the age that the name of the club suggested you should be, which is just the way he liked it.
He and the lads had an unspoken rule that, ya gotta look after the priorities. And priority number one when out with the lads was getting laid... nothing else mattered. You only left the group if you had a dead cert on your arm, and then you were free to fuck off at a moments notice, and give ‘er one for us.
He’d been at one of the many bars surrounding the dance floor which at 1am was now starting to smell just like the sweat pit it resembled. He was leant back with both his elbows resting on the bar behind him watching the club da
ncers on the podiums, teasing the drunks that couldn’t do anything with it if they got it, when she appeared next to him and asked if she could get him a drink. The first thing that went through his head (after he noticed the dark eyes above those sensual, perfect blow job lips with the dark wavy hair cascading all around the face that framed them, and the most perfect set of chest weapons he’d ever seen barely held in by the little pink top that looked stretched to its limit, with such a cute little stomach and legs that really needed to be wrapped around something... hopefully him) was the fact that she had offered to get him a drink?
He was able to hear her clearly enough above the banging music but for some reason didn’t think she would be able to hear him when he answered so he shouted,
‘that would be great if you let me pay you for it later’. He was half drunk by now and really wasn’t expecting a positive response but he got it when she grabbed his arm and brought his head down to hers so that she could whisper in his ear,
‘promise you’ll be with me later to pay me’.
And now he was keeping that promise, by god was he ever gonna keep that promise. They left the club and got in the nearest taxi and the best thing was that she was staying at a cheap hotel in the city centre for a couple of days as she was on a training course from work. She did tell him all about it but she may as well have read the ftse index to him for all the notice he took. He was just glad he had somewhere to go with her and he didn't even have to pay for the room. Could this night get any better?
When they got up to the room she told him to make use of the mini bar while she went to shower and freshen up for him. Pinky still could not believe his luck, but wasn’t going to waste his time questioning it. He looked around the room for the mini bar and there it was on the other side of the bed. The room consisted mainly of a bed, t.v and wardrobes by the door with the coathangers that you couldn’t actually take off the rail, and a naff sofa at the side. As he opened the minibar to see what delights were inside, he wondered if anyone actually used those sofas.
He poured himself a jd and coke and undressed while he waited for her to finish with her shower. He lay there naked on the bed, and as he waited, he pictured her in there. Lathering herself up and he could see the water trickling all over her gorgeous body that she was about to give to him. He followed the trails of water from her head, and along her neck, over her slender shoulders as it made its journey over her ample bosom and then following the curve underneath, to race down the flat beautiful stomach, the steam from the shower brushing past her body like a fog in 1940’s London as the little drop of water carried on it’s journey just past the most heavenly of places down her upper thigh and over her sweet little knee onto the top of the work boot that had no place being there.
He shook his head as if trying to shake the image away, what the hell was that all about? He asked himself, but before he could form an answer of any kind he felt a familiar but not so familiar feeling. His foreskin was slowly moving up and down the shaft of his penis and yet there was nobody else in the room with him, and he wasn’t doing it himself for once.
He tried to move, tried to stop it somehow but it was as if he were pinned to the bed by some invisible force and it was not letting go. As he lay there just watching helplessly the ghostly sexual favour speeded up and he could do nothing but just watch in absolute terror as he was being spirit raped and the strange disembodied sexual act got to a speed that was really beginning to hurt him. And then Gavin walked out of the bathroom but he had no idea at this time that it was Gavin. He begged her to help him; he couldn’t understand why she was just stood at the bottom of the bed watching him. That was until he managed to lift his head up and see the thing that had come out of the bathroom.
‘Oh my god you’re dead’ he cried. ‘Help me please, somebody help me’
‘Yes I am’ was all Gavin said.
Pinky could do nothing but lay there while the speed and the ferocity of this ghostly wank got too much to bear. And then he heard a wet slushy ripping noise as his foreskin was torn from it‘s base and slapped against the wall opposite the bed. He watched the bloody mess roll down the wall and flop onto the cabinet before he passed out.
Gavin then set to work on breaking every single bone in Pinkies’ body rather meticulously before he turned the body inside out and folded it up into a nice bloody little package for the chambermaids to find in the morning before he left.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The knocking had seeped through his dream into reality. Obviously it was what had woken him up at this ungodly hour, Sebastian, (or Mr Bishop as his pupils called him, although to a close few he was just Seb and he preferred that much better, much less formal or poncy.) pulled the sheets over and dragged himself out of bed, glancing at the glaring led alarm on his nightstand which was silently announcing the time to be 03:14 am.
Seb was forty years young but never really admitted that he was a year over the age of thirty five. He was a high school religious studies teacher and groaned something about,
‘It’s a good job it’s bloody weekend’ as he ambled down the stairs, still with one arm stuck in the sleeve of his dressing gown as he hadn’t quite woken up yet, therefore not quite able to co-ordinate the usual tasks of getting up and dressing oneself yet. His brain was still in denial that it had been ripped from the world of the soft core beauty that he had just been about to get his hands on. Isn’t that always the way he thought to himself.
Knock, knock, knock. The hammering on the door was becoming more incessant and somehow more desperate. As Seb got to the bottom of the stairs he wrapped the belt around his dressing gown as he caught a glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror to his right. He still had a full head of dark wavy hair although at the moment it was plastered to one side of his head, and the bags under his eyes told a tale in themselves, basically that he should still be in bed. He was usually complimented on his chiselled looks but he didn’t feel quite so “chiselled” right now. He was now feeling like he didn’t want to actually open the door. Nobody comes knocking in those hours of the morning, unless it’s terribly bad news he thought. Whatever it was, once he had opened that door, there was no going back.
His daughter Sophia now lived in London and was on her way to becoming a successful photographer. Or at least that was her dream, she had moved down to London only a few months ago and Seb didn’t really want her to go but he also knew he couldn’t hold her back just to keep her near him. He had to let her go and was getting used to the idea that she was now eighteen and needed to make her own choices.
He had paid for her to study at a media college in London as all she had ever wanted to be was a photographer and you got the best of everything in London. Yes, she was a big girl and wise enough to look after her self, but that didn’t stop him worrying about her every night. Her mother had left when she was fourteen with one of their “mutual friends” and Sophia had decided that she wanted to stay with her Dad. She had never really forgiven her mother for this betrayal and although Seb did try to persuade her that “what’s done is done” and “you should try to understand your mother, for both your sakes” he had always been secretly glad that Sophia had not gone with her mother. That would have been the worst betrayal in his mind.
Now he was worried that behind that door could be a police officer, come to tell him that something awful had happened to his daughter, his heart began to beat a samba as he tried to make out the shape behind the distorted glass in the panels of the door.
‘Seb, I can see you there, it’s me Clara, please open the door. I need to talk to you now... please’ he jolted away from the door with a little shock from the voice. He certainly hadn’t been expecting Clara to come calling at this time of the night or morning, or whatever it was.
Once he realised who it was and it wasn’t the police with bad tidings, he immediately opened the door and ushered his friend inside.
‘Whatever’s the matter? You look terrible.’ all thoughts of his own worrie
s now forgotten.
‘Brandy first, talk later... Please?’
He led her into the lounge area and turned on the wall lamps, he never liked to have the main lights on when it was still dark outside. She sat on one of the two white leather sofas, the one in front of the large bay window which overlooked the beautifully manicured lawn bordered by rose bushes and begonias, although the long dark drapes were drawn to the garden right now.
‘I’m sorry to wake you at this hour, but I couldn’t think who to talk to, and I really need to talk to somebody, I thought I was going mad at first, but then... well, then I realised I wasn’t. And I think that may be worse... worse for all of us’. Her voice trembled when she said this and Seb could see she was more than a little scared. She was holding a disc in her hand and slowly rotating it over and over in her palm as she spoke.
‘It’s ok, whatever it is I’m sure it cant be that bad, let me get you a drink and we’ll talk ok, I’ll be back in a minute’
She watched him disappear into the kitchen and then her eyes led her back to the talisman. It was a heavy weight in her hands, in more ways than one. She silently cursed the cancer that had taken her Stanley, her soul mate from her too soon. Wherever you are Stanley, please come and help me through this. I shouldn’t burden Seb with this but I have no other choice. Please find your way to me my love, I know you can do it, wherever you are... come and find me.
Clara’s husband Stanley had been Seb’s mentor at St Michaels before his illness had gotten the better of him. He had also become a good friend and when he passed, it was around the same time that Sophia's mother Donna had left so they had been there for each other ever since. So Clara turning up on his doorstep at three thirty in the morning in such a state of disarray was slightly disconcerting to him. She was now what he considered to be his best friend.
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