The Tapestry

by Wigmore, Paul

  He was already wrapped up in his old blue flannel trousers and two hefty woollen sweaters (they looked and smelled about as old as he was) but he decided to wrap the throwover from his chair in the corner around himself too for good measure. It stunk of old nicotine and stale beer but that wasn’t something he ever noticed as it had the same odour as he did.

  He clumsily waddled the four or five short steps from the chair to the window overlooking the high st which had the radiator underneath it. His breathing had already become laborious as he reached his hand out to test the warmth of the radiator. Once again, he wasn’t surprised to find that it seemed to be working quite efficiently. He would have burned his hand if he had actually placed it on the iron of the heater. So why was it he could still see the breath in front of his face, stood right here? Whatever it was, it wasn’t gonna get fixed tonight. He decided it best to stop worrying about it and tomorrow he would get on to that paki landlord that owned the curry house downstairs and make him fix it one way or another.

  As he finally got back to his chair and flicked the sports channel on he began to hear that same stupid song in his head that he had heard earlier. At first he had thought it was the church on the corner over the road, but his windows weren’t open and when he’d investigated, it was quite clear there was no one at the church, at least the singing wasn’t coming from there anyway. It had stuck with him most of the day like a bad headache but had eased off a while ago. Now it was back, but only now it was louder. It was is if the voices were coming from within his tiny little room somehow. He pressed the mute button on the tele, knowing this wouldn’t help but it was worth a shot. He sat there leaning slightly forward in his chair looking into the corner of the room which led to the bedroom listening intently, and as he did the pitch rose higher and it seemed as if more voices joined the ghostly choir.

  He tried to get up to investigate, or maybe just so that he was doing something, rather than just sitting there listening to that noise. But as he did so his head was sent reeling backwards and he fell straight back into the chair, arms spread out at his sides smashing the old glass lamp with the nicotine blanket to the floor in a thousand pieces, although he felt it was his head that had been smashed into a thousand pieces.

  His tiny brain had been sent into shock mode so the words on his lips immediately were what the fuck is happening and who’s there, but they came out in one unpronounceable word ‘whathefuwho?’

  ‘Been a long time “Daaaaad”... did you miss me? Of course the man in the chair was no more Gavin’s dad than Gavin was the chief of police but it had the desired effect on “the man”.

  He looked up towards Gavin whilst attempting to rub the blood away from his nose but only succeeding in smothering it up one side of his face.

  The recognition in his face was as evident as a sledgehammer would have been to, well... to his face.

  ‘I saw you...in my dreams... I saw you’ the now very nervous man said trying to push himself further and further into the back of the chair as if it offered some means of escape.

  ‘Aw, look at you... all scared and confused’ He pushed the tv off the kitchen chair it had been balanced on and let it drop to the floor as he turned the chair around, so he could sit astride it like in some of those old cop films he used to like.

  ‘They weren’t your dreams old fella... they were premonitions... you cowering in the corner, eating that crappy old stew off the floor... nah, they weren’t dreams, they were premonitions’

  The old man gathered himself and sat forward in his chair, blood still trickling from the blow Gavin had dealt earlier.

  ‘Oh... and are you gonna be the one to make my dreams come true then ya little shit? I remember your sister knocked you out one time, yeah, smashed ya head against the wall she did and ya dropped like a lead weight ya little pansy, haha come on then Gail’

  There was an incident when Gavin and Lala were both a lot younger, maybe pre teen when the man had made them fight for his enjoyment, his sister in her frustration at having to beat her little brother had smashed Gavins head against the wall. He knew his sister didn’t want to hurt him, but she had no choice but to hit him, otherwise she would suffer the wrath of the man so he had decided to end it there and then as he didn’t want to hurt lala but if she carried on hitting him, he knew he would so when she smashed his head against the wall, he slid down the wall in a faint, as if he had the breath knocked out of him, eyes shut and holding his breath. Seeing Gavin on the floor unconscious seemed to be enough to placate the man and he went back to his Sunday racing channel, leaving Gavin lay on the floor while his sister celebrated although she didn’t really know what she was celebrating as the hurt inside her for what she had just done was stabbing at her heart as she looked at her brother lay on the floor, but she couldn’t say.

  ‘Come on then dumb fuck, come on then Gail’ the fat man teased, ‘lets fucking have it’

  He got up finally out of his chair,

  ‘Come on my little number one’ he reached his hand out to Gavin and stroked his cheek... ‘You were always my number one...you know that, why fight? You know you were always my favourite... I always loved you the most’

  Gavin quickly brushed his hand away, he felt a sick feeling inside of his stomach, a feeling that made him think that he would never be able to return to normality, what was he doing here, why was he here now in front of this sick twisted bastard that had robbed him of his childhood, why was he even letting him speak to him, why was he even letting the piece of shit carry on breathing. He could snap his neck right now and be done with it. But then he remembered something, he remembered that after all these years since his tormented childhood, he had only one question to put to the man. It was a simple enough question so he asked it simply enough; he looked the old man in the face and asked

  ‘Why didn’t you ever love me?

  The man took in a deep breath and seemed to ponder over the question, looking Gavin straight in the eyes as he brought his hand up to his bristly face to scrub at his whiskers before replying.

  ‘Didn’t love your mum enough to bother with you little shits too’ the man laughed as he hawked his flem back down his throat.

  Gavin saw red at this last comment and threw his hand towards his childhood tormentor.

  ‘You’re nothing to me, nothing more than a bad memory now’ he screamed and the mans insides were suddenly on the outside, his intestines and other such entrails were stuck to the ceiling as the man looked on. Suddenly not so cocky, he lifted his head to the ceiling to follow the trail of blood and guts. Gavin held his hand out towards the ceiling and kept repeating the same words.

  “We all fall down”

  “We all fall down”

  The man spun round and round and as he did so, the entrails of his stomach came out inch by inch and he could do nothing more than look up to the ceiling and watch as his organs twisted around each other. He was numb with the pain, such exquisite pain. His eyes began to pop as he looked upon the thread of life that joined him to the ceiling. Gavin stood and laughed a maniacal laugh as he watched the life ebb away from the slowly spinning carcass that had dared to think he was anything more than a dead man when Gavin came calling.

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  When Clara opened her eyes that morning, she didn’t feel fresh or rejuvenated at all. She had woken in a cold sweat, heart beating ten to the dozen and for a second, only a split second, she tried to convince herself that the dream had been nothing more than a nightmare. A very realistic one, but a nightmare all the same. The hope flitted on by like a leaf in a storm when she realised she had hold of the talisman in her hands as if in some death grip. And if that wasn’t proof enough then the scratch marks on her arms from when the girl/koarth, had attacked her was the nail in the coffin for her, (although she hoped not.)

  It didn’t take long at all for the pair of them to get to Wirksworth in the Lakes. Clara had no time to explain anything to Seb over coffee and toast this morning. “Just get
your stuff together, we’re leaving now” was the rather terse reply he got after enquiring about the sudden rush to be there before breakfast. He could tell just from her tone and darkness of eyes that this wasn’t a good time to joke about how he would hate to see her with a hangover in the morning. After all...Mother Nature was a force to be reckoned with when riled.

  They had travelled mostly in silent trepidation after Clara had explained in the car what had happened and shown the war wounds of her dream/ nightmare?, to him.

  The village of Wirksworth was an old lead mining village and the facades of the houses and shops had remained virtually untouched since the 1700’s. There were a maze of little alleyways and ginnels which would make it impossible to navigate around in a car, also the architecture was so oldy worldy in that it looked so unplanned and haphazard as to make it charming. The roads were cobbled, something Clara hadn’t seen for many a year and an old church, “The Parish of St Mary the Virgin” with a strange path that completely encircled the churchyard, giving it the look of an old cathedral.

  On any other day this would have been a rare treat for both of them, to have found such unspoiled beauty in the heart of the English countryside and on what was looking to be a beautiful Summers day too. Unfortunately they had no time for sightseeing or to even consider exploring what looked to be many wondrous trails through the hills, all leading off from the village. There was only one trail on their mind, and that one led to the pub atop the hill overlooking the village.

  They parked the car behind the church and began the walk through the village in the general direction of “The Trident”.

  Seb had the idea that if they hadn’t arrived in the middle of what looked to be tourist season for this little village then their very arrival would have bought them some unwelcome stares from locals. He imagined them with pitchforks and flaming torches, probably making human sacrifices to their sun god in the hopes of a good crop next season.

  It wasn’t hard for them to find the correct path as they neared the hill looming over the village, there were signs pointing to a rugged looking pathway that snaked its way up the hillside with “Trident Path” in faded yellow letters daubed across them.

  The climb looked steady but arduous as the two of them stood at the bottom of the path, Clara with her hand resting on a fence post, presumably to divide the village from the hills.

  ‘Well...let’s go see the wizard’ joked Seb nervously as he turned to look at Clara, and for some reason, held her hand tighter than he had before. Not wanting to let go, fearing that if he let go, then he may never hold it again. His usual boyish charm was off duty and he seemed to be lost without it. The look he gave her wasn’t one filled with confidence but one of hope. He hoped to god that she knew what she was doing, he hoped to god that he wasn’t going to lose her and that together, they would defeat whatever evil was waiting for them at the top of “Trident Hill” as he had begun to call it.

  Gavin had arrived back at the warehouse the previous evening and was soon put to work with Lilith and Saul, the three of them chanting the deadly song over an empty wine goblet...well empty but for a flea.

  Even the demonic pets on the all too realistic ceiling had grown quiet at the sight of the three of them. They stared down and watched the flea as it jumped back to life once all three had given their blood to the glass. Lilith had pulled out a vicious looking blade from the confines of her luxurious mane and sliced the palms of each as they chanted the familiar nursery rhyme, till the blood reached the flea at the bottom of the glass and it suddenly sprang back to life. Once it had its fill, it sprang from the glass and another appeared in its place, then another and another. After a while, they didn’t appear singularly but two at a time, then four, then eight and so on and so on until they came at a rate of probably two to three thousand or more. They just appeared in the glass, took a sip of the blood and then were gone.

  By the time Clara and Seb reached the top of “Trident Hill” the next morning, millions, if not billions of infected fleas had been released upon the world by the deadly trio.

  ‘Well, here we are... now what?’ asked Seb as they finally reached the top of the climb. Clara sat down on a bench outside the pub and took in the view, not really listening to Seb. She had been fighting her own demons ever since she had woke that morning and all the way up the hill that would lead her to defeat or victory. Although she had a feeling that whatever happened now it could only be a bittersweet victory or a shattering defeat. Why was Gavin caught up in all of this? And why did she have to be the one to bring him down. She had buried him not so long ago and she didn’t know if she had it in her to be the one to bring him down for a second time.

  She had tried getting through to him all morning, but it was as if a barrier had been put up all around him. Even on the climb up the hill, she had still been trying to penetrate through to him, but his mind was like a mass of dark clouds that she just couldn’t navigate through. This along with the climb is why she felt so exhausted when she reached the top.

  She watched Seb as he wandered over to the other side of the pub to get a better look at “The Trident” hung on the outside wall.

  ‘I hope you figure out how to use this thing’ he called to her as she walked past the front opening of the pub towards Seb and “The Trident” In front there were three steps which led down into a garden area with benches and a number of bushes bordering the garden area before you reached the entrance to the pub itself. There didn’t seem to be anyone around as she looked in the windows as she walked past. Not a soul stirred inside which was probably not as strange as it would be in the city at this time of day.

  Their previous guess had been a complete under estimation. The Trident was roughly ten foot long and looked as heavy as a house. They both stood there at the side of the white walled pub, just staring stupidly up at “The Trident”. None of them wanting to speak aloud the obvious question, how to get the darn thing down?

  It was fixed to the wall with two large metal brackets, one at the bottom and the other fixed just under the base of the three prongs. Seb was just about to suggest going back into the village to buy a spanner which he hoped would do the job of loosening the bolts when they both felt the warm caress of wind on their faces and the sweet smell of lavender envelop them. Clara knew instantly,

  ‘They’re here’ she said with a smile and took Sebs hand in hers as the dragons snaked their way across the sky to them for the second visit that Liu had foretold.

  When that very first flea had taken its fill of the infected blood from the wine goblet, instantly every other flea across the globe had also become infected with the disease. Saul had just produced more to ensure that the job was done with haste. He had waited long enough for this moment and didn’t want to waste a moments time. He could literally taste his freedom from the accursed hallowed ground. The fleas were given one job, and one job alone. It was to infect every living child on the planet with the plague. It was also a job they did well and expediently. Within hours there were reports of major flea infestations taking hold of every building in every city across the globe. Nobody seemed to have a hold of the situation at all. It began with local reports pointing the finger at the governments sanitation departments until the reports from across the globe began to pour in. Possibly the strangest theory was one of a terrorist plot although not one person could quite explain why? Or what benefit it would have to their cause at all.

  People were running out of buildings into the streets to escape them, scratching themselves and literally tearing their contaminated clothes from their bodies. In the city of Manchester itself a bus travelling along Portland Street had suddenly been overcome with the little parasites and people began jumping from their seats, itching at their skin and shouting at the driver to stop the bus. He however was madly swatting at his arms and slapping his face as if he were being attacked by a swarm of mosquitoes. He lost control of the bus and slammed into the front of the Britannia Hotel taking at least three people
under the bus before he went into the wall.

  A passenger jet from Liverpool to Prague with three hundred and eighteen travellers came hurtling through the skies over Germany and imbedded itself into the Notre-Dame cathedral, with no survivors but for the fleas.

  Looting had become rife in every major city as shop owners ran from their stores to rid themselves of the pesky insects. The looters didn’t seem to care that the counters were covered with millions of fleas. They ran in and grabbed what they could carry although most of them abandoned their loot further down the street as they could no longer carry the tv or stereo because of the biting from the fleas. Cars were also being abandoned on the streets which were causing more and more collisions. Emergency services were nothing more than useless as they had no protection of their own. In fact an ambulance responding to a blaze that started in the kitchen of a cafe on New st in Birmingham but had spread next door to the bookies, had actually crashed through the front window into the writhing mass of smoke while the driver had been trying to rid himself of the thousand or so fleas that had swarmed his body only seconds before.

  In the early stages of the contamination, (the first hour or two) it was just blind panic that filled the cities and villages. After a while most cities across the globe had begun to look the same. Flames were licking the skies turning them a deep orange and soot black. The main cause of the fires were the chefs or cooks that had ran from their stoves without turning the heat off, or even knocking pans over in their haste to get out of their flea ridden kitchens, although there was no escape outside either. Emergency services all over were stretched to their limit and were still all but useless. There were people jumping from buildings, hoping trees or bushes below would cushion their fall to escape the flames and the smoke, whilst others not brave enough to attempt a leap of faith, died much slower, surrendering to the suffocating fumes before the lick of the flames could be felt at their skin.