by Simon Parker
Her husband was a schmuck for leaving her alone so many nights like this. She shook her head and smiled, thinking about the joys of the next couple of hours as the doorbell rang out. She undid the top two buttons of her blouse as she walked to the door and opened it, expectantly. She was not disappointed. It was Mark, her neighbour.
“Mark,” she said in a loud voice. “What a surprise!”
“I seem to have run out of milk,” he answered, just as loudly and held up a measuring cup. “Would you mind?”
“Of course not. Come in.”
They cast furtive glances up and down the street before Mark entered. The measuring cup clunked against Kathy’s head as he grabbed her and kissed her until she could hardly breathe. Pulling back, she nuzzled the hand he cupped around her cheek, then ran her fingers over the prison tattoos on his knuckles. She jumped up and threw her legs around him, giggling as he lifted her and carried her into to living room.
“You remember you said you’d do anything for me?” she breathed heavily as she nibbled his earlobe. “How’d you feel about bumping off my old man?”
The Old Man of the Village
The time was 11:45pm, the place a little house just south of Cambridge in a village with a population of just one thousand. The villagers said the house was haunted by the ghost of a little old man. Years ago, it was said, when the house was young, he’d been found hung by the neck in the inglenook.
The door stood dark and tall, reminding George of the one he pictured in his mind when he read The Raven. Poe was one of his favourites. It creaked spookily as it swung open and he walked in, undaunted. The room was dominated by an open fireplace, the biggest he had ever seen. He stared into the cold blue grate and pictured what it must have looked like when in full flame, back in the days when the house had been inhabited by a family and happiness had reigned. When had it last cast its warm rays around the now barren room? Maybe at Christmas, with a tree full of bright candles, a table filled with tantalising food. His heart filled with joyful memories of many a Christmas spent in the glow of an open fire with his own family.
His thoughts scattered like the smooth image in a pond when a stone is dropped. What had disturbed his mind from its happy destination? He stood stock still, just listening. His head turned, snapping with the speed of a hunted fox scenting danger. Had that sound been rats in the attic or something on the overgrown driveway that ran beneath the picture window opposite the inglenook? Maybe it was all his imagination.
The sharp clatter of hooves made him jump but assured him that he hadn’t imagined the threatening noise. Swiftly, he retreated to the next room, terrified at the thought of being caught in the house that wasn’t his. The heavy dark door swung inward again, not creaking its complaint this time. Silhouetted against the darkness outside stood the huge figure of a man, a giant mound of flesh and muscle, tense and ready to spring.
George cowered in the next room, staring through the keyhole at the cloaked figure that stood like a shadow from another time just feet away. The figure began pacing up and down in front of the fireplace, as if tasting for a scent. George decided he must try to escape before he was detected. Maybe he could get out through the large window to his right.
Feeling a sudden surge of hope and elation at the possibility of flight from this dire situation, he rose from his submissive crouch and crept towards the window. He managed to get almost half way across the room when the pacing stopped for a second that seemed like an hour, then started again, more rapid and getting closer. Whoever the figure was, he was coming!
George froze, torn between blind terror and absolute hysteria. The footsteps stopped once more. Too late! He was trapped!
The door creaked slowly open. The tall figure in the cloak entered the room and stood a few feet inside the doorway, just staring around in the gloom. Maybe he was waiting for his vision to adjust.
The thought of fighting this massive chunk of sinew and muscle terrified the coward. Cold beads of sweat coursed down George’s back. Others glistened on his forehead in anticipation of what was to come.
The cloaked figure took a few more steps into the darkness of the room, as if waiting for the smallest indication of a noise from his prey. He was no more than three feet from George, who trembled, still frozen to the spot in horror and awe at the overpowering presence of this dominant hulk. The huge man lowered the hood of his cloak and then flicked his head as if he had only just noticed George right in front of him. The man-mountain looked startled but strong and confident in his vitriolic mission.
George squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of the rain of blows he expected to follow, but none came. The dark figure drew himself up to his daunting full height and drew a small black book from a pocket inside his cloak. The moonlight streaming in the huge windows bathed the room in a silvery glow. The cloaked man was still staring into the space just over George’s shoulder. With a vacant look in his eyes, the figure began to read from the book in a strange tongue, a mumble at first but soon ascending in its speed and intensity. George felt a new sense of dread come over him. He had no idea what was going to happen to him, but he was certain it would involve pain beyond the realms of sanity. Why he was so sure of this, he didn’t know, but the uneasiness made a home in his soul, creeping in with icy fingers that made him shake violently.
A sharp pain exploded in the middle of his head, the pins of a thousand seamstresses all shredding the grey matter. The world began to spin. The figure became a blur and the chanting a scream. Was this what insanity felt like? Cold sweat flowed freely down George’s brow, running into the corner of his eyes and adding its own stinging insult. He fell to his knees, weak and vulnerable, unable to withstand the insatiable pain any more. Waiting for the uncompromising darkness to overwhelm him, he began to sob. The incantations cut into him, slashing his mind like a razor, white hot wires stitched through every nerve ending. The pain ascended to new levels. His agony increased as the shouting turned to roaring, a furious vortex of confusion. Why did these words have the power to pierce him so? This pain was so intense it was almost sublime, a premonition of hell from the devil’s tongue.
George suddenly felt as if he were suspended, as if by hooks in a vacuum. The wailing had stopped, everything had stopped and the silence was deafening. No more pain, no more noise, no more thought, no more fear. It was like a wave had crashed and left a feeling of peace and contentment in its wake.
The cloaked figure fell to his knees, sobbing with joy. The harrowing work had drained him, physically, mentally and emotionally, but it had been worth the effort. His family, murdered fifty years ago on Christmas Eve in this very house, was vindicated. The Old Man of the Village had been exorcised.
The Sea Monster
He stood like a stone, unmoved by the tide of humanity that washed around him. On their way home, on their way to work, he neither knew nor cared. A notion had been forming in his mind for days now, but as he stared at the strange metal structure on the huge piling in the bay, it arrived, dawning like a spring morning after a long winter, fully formed and urging him into action.
He would do it today, must do it now, before he lost his nerve…and his lunch. If he did it this moment, he would be seen of course, but it would take him until nightfall to complete the preparations. The chains that bound him to the spot on the pavement gave way at some silent internal command. Anchor weighed, he allowed himself to be drawn along in the current of people eddying around him, drawn along the seafront toward his brother’s house.
He paused when he reached the immense black door, the portal to the hellhole that was his brother’s domain. Once that demon portal was opened, there would be no going back. This was a one-way street, the point of no return. A quake of fear rocked him briefly, but he was determined. He had come here to end this relentless cycle.
The shadowy, panelled carapace swung wide, revealing a darkness within that rivalled that of the obsidian-painted door. His brother’s grinning countenance bade him enter, the
sweeping arm inviting him in like a ringmaster drawing in a crowd. He crossed the stygian threshold, entering a new life.
Three hours later, once the longed-for darkness had drawn its silky cloak over the smooth seascape, he rowed across the starless bay. He found amusing irony in the fact that his brother’s pristine rowing boat was carrying the now ruined and segmented corpse of its owner.
He reached the immense piling, rowing around it until he found the familiar ladder that led up to the hatch of the metal structure above. In a much rehearsed routine, he tied off the boat and transferred the eight double-wrapped dustbin bags up onto the ledge near the red metal hatch. He smiled as he opened it, its rusted hinges screaming in pain but not resisting his will. His agony was almost over. No longer would he be his brother’s minion. No longer would he be forced to do his demonic sibling’s bidding.
As he entered the doorway, the stench of decay hit him like a hammer blow. He carried the bags in near-darkness over to the shaft that descended beyond the seabed inside the huge piling. He started to chuckle as a damp smoosh sounded from deep inside the pit with each bag he unceremoniously kicked over the edge. His brother would do no more harm. It was fitting that the demon spend eternity interred with the many other decomposing segments of his victims.
Freed from his brother’s tyranny, a tortured, submissive twin no more, his howling laughter echoed in the metal structure and pierced the stillness of the night.
Time Heals All Wounds
The white lines were a mere blur as they vanished beneath her bumper. The top was down and the warm welcoming breeze teased Elizabeth’s hair, rippling it like a sheet of pure silk. With the sun shining in her face, she smiled as she tore down the deserted country lane, feeling more alive than she had done in a long time. She had her favourite music blasting out as she drove, nodding her head to the rhythm. The brand new Jeep Wrangler was a real poser’s car, but she loved it. Twelve months ago, it would have been a different story, but events had led her to pursue a richer, more fulfilled zest for life.
The car was frivolous, the music gaudy and too loud, but what the hell. She wanted to live life to the fullest, doing things she never would have before, things she may not even have imagined doing had circumstances been different. Her heart was full of love and her head was full of freedom as she hurtled along the beautiful, scenic road in early summer.
As she rounded the corner, she saw a young man with a rucksack on his back, looking exhausted. He stuck out his thumb for a lift, and she had begun to slow and pull in before she’d really thought about her actions, her usual caution blown away with the summer breeze. A broad smile creased the hitchhiker’s handsome tanned features, revealing pearly white teeth. Elizabeth felt a mixture of fear and pleasure as he climbed in to her passenger seat, casting his back pack into the rear seat.
“Thank you,” he said in a husky voice that sent a pleasant chill through Elizabeth. “You don’t get too many cars down these lanes, and even less that will consider stopping for a stranger. I appreciate it.”
He slumped back in the seat and heaved a sighed. Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile to herself, relieved that he seemed to be a normal person and not a homicidal maniac. She pulled away from the kerb.
“My name is Elizabeth,” she said by way of breaking the ice a little, although she didn’t feel frosty at all. “Whereabouts are you heading?” She knew the answer before he responded. The road only led one way.
“I go where the wind blows me.” He sighed again, adding, “I’ve got a couple of weeks’ leave and I just love to travel.” This put her further at ease, knowing he wasn’t a desperate vagrant.
They chatted as if they had been friends for many years. She felt comfortable and safe in his company. He told her his name was Peter and that he mostly did charity work. He was such a happy and carefree man that he made her laugh often, and it melted away some of the anxiety of the past few months, bringing back some small measure of the happiness she had so badly missed.
There was a genuine air of gentleness around Peter, an almost serene composure. Elizabeth felt her heart, so cynical and indifferent over the last few months, begin to soften. She began to feel like a whole person again, even if only for a few moments. There was something about him, something that just made her feel good.
“Would you like to join me for dinner tonight?” she blurted out, almost unaware of her own actions. Peter beamed a gentle smile. She felt a little tingle in the pit of her stomach.
“I would be honoured to share a meal with such a beautiful young lady, but why don’t we eat at my place tonight?”
Her brow wrinkled slightly at the mischievous look on his face, and curiosity about where he lived filled her. This would normally be a definite no-go zone, but nothing about today felt normal. She should have felt alarm at how safe she felt in his presence, but she was sure that no harm would come to her.
“Okay, you’re on,” she replied before she had time to think about it. “Do you live near here then?”
“No, no, my place is under the stars with the gods!” He grinned at her. Now Elizabeth understood the impish look and she smiled back. In a few miles, they found a gorgeous secluded spot, just a short distance from the sea and miles from the nearest house or town.
More quickly than she could have imagined, Peter built and lit a small fire and produced an amazing array of foods from his small pack. Elizabeth sat in the fading daylight, watching him and sensing her own emotional freedom. The dramatic scenery of Scotland’s west coast and her new state of wellbeing made her heart melt.
The sun glazed the dark waves before disappearing. She watched Peter in the dancing flickers of orange firelight as he prepared a veritable feast for them. She smiled and shook her head. Such a strange feeling inside her. She was transfixed by his personality and couldn’t understand how she could build such a strong connection to someone she had known barely three hours.
Their chatter over dinner turned to matters spiritual: of guardian angels, destiny, fulfilment, and the value of true honesty with one’s self. She found herself opening up to Peter, letting out feelings that had been buried, resentments that had been hiding behind fears and pretences. But there was one major truth she kept hidden. She wanted him to like her for who she was. She knew if she told him her truth, he would only feel sympathy for her. She’d had enough sympathy to last her a lifetime, so she decided it was better that he didn’t know.
They talked, leaning with their backs to the Jeep, sharing the magnificent banquet that had sprung from such meagre beginnings. They stared out across the sea’s chromed reflections of the moon and the enchanting dance of diamonds across the blanket of night sky. The stars were amazing, so many visible without the light pollution of the town.
They fell silent eventually, their reverence for the god’s creations enough for a time. A while later, Peter spoke.
“You know, you don’t have to worry any more, Elizabeth. The cancer will go and you will live a long and happy life.”
Elizabeth snapped from her sweet state of reverie and glared at him, speechless. How did he know? She hadn’t told him. He must’ve guessed, but how? Did it show? Why? Why did he have to spoil the moment like this? Then something struck her.
“What do you mean ‘it will go’?” she whispered, almost afraid to receive the answer.
“The growth has been decreasing in size all day. By the time you visit the hospital tomorrow afternoon, you will be completely clear of it.” He smiled, the calm smile she had found so wonderful before, but now thought infuriating.
“You’re mad. They’ve given me six months, tops. That’s what they’ve said.” A savage frown clouded her confusion and she leapt to her feet. “You’re cruel to taunt me like this, to offer me hope where there is none. None!”
Peter held out his hands and opened his mouth as if to speak, but Elizabeth had already turned to leave. As she started the Jeep, he stood and said simply, “Trust me, Elizabeth, you will know.” And with one of hi
s beautiful smiles, he vanished. Not walked away or hid. He just plain vanished right in front of her eyes!
Elizabeth slammed the gearstick, grating it into first and speeding off as if she were being pursued by the hounds of hell. She drove over one hundred miles that night, until she reached her mother’s house. Still shaky and feeling a subtle blend of anger, fear and elusive hope, she reeled under the questions that chased through her head. Who was he? Where had he come from? What did he mean? And how the hell had he vanished like that? Too freaky for words.
After a sleepless night, Elizabeth woke her mother, Jenny, with her rantings. They sat and talked over a hot sweet tea, and then without warning Jenny burst into floods of tears.
“Mum, what’s wrong?” Elizabeth moved to comfort her mother, distracted momentarily from her own feelings. Jenny clung to her daughter and wept into her neck.
“Your Peter just sounds so much like your Uncle and I realised how much I still miss him,” Jenny sobbed.
“My Uncle? But he only lives in Brighton. It’s not like it’s a million miles away. I don’t understand, Mum.” Elizabeth tried to placate her distraught mother, but Jenny smiled through her tears and left the room. She returned a few seconds later with a photo album under her arm.
“I’m not talking about Uncle Mark. I’m talking about my brother, Peter. He died when you were about three. You probably don’t even remember him, do you?”
Elizabeth shook her head, stunned as her mother mentioned her uncle’s work in spiritual healing.
“He died so young,” Jenny added, her eyes filling with tears again.
She opened the dusty old photo album and Elizabeth gasped. There before her was the handsome, smiling face of the enigmatic man she’d shared her day with. As the charismatic aura beamed from the picture into her heart, she knew absolutely that tomorrow’s appointment at the hospital would be her last.
