The BIG Horror Pack 1

by Iain Rob Wright

  “Oi, mate?”

  Andrew stopped in his tracks and frowned. Obviously he was wrong. No matter.

  “Oi, mate, you fuckin’ deaf?”

  Andrew turned to the youths, who were a few feet down the road. Sets of gleaming eyeballs stared back at him, scrutinising him from beneath the glow of the streetlights. He cleared his throat and tried to speak calmly. “Excuse me?”

  One of the youths stepped away from the others: a tightly-muscled teenager in a red woollen hat pulled low over his forehead. The lad had a thin scar across his lower lip and seemed to twitch periodically.

  “Got a cigarette, mate?” the lad asked, twitching.

  “I’m afraid I don’t smoke,” Andrew replied honestly.

  The lad just stared at him, almost as if he recognised Andrew somehow, so was the spark of familiarity glinting in his eyes. It wasn’t possible though. Andrew had never set eyes on the boy before.

  “I said I don’t smoke. I don’t have a cigarette to give you.”

  The lad continued staring. His nervous twitch seemed to have increased its intensity.

  “Okay then,” he eventually said. “No worries.”

  Andrew resumed his journey towards the shops. See, no problem at all. A slight lack of manners, admittedly, but no worse than that.

  “Get us some fags from the shop then.”

  Andrew stopped again and wondered if he’d just heard correctly. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, thinking what to say in reply to such an audacious demand. It was probably best not let it get to him and to just remain courteous.

  “Okay,” Andrew said. “I’m on my way to the shops anyway. You want to give me the money now or when I get back?”

  The whole gang laughed like a pack of hyenas, but the twitching teenager in the red woollen hat did not find anything amusing. He marched forward, closing in enough that he was almost nose-to-nose with Andrew. The stench of stale beer permeated the young man’s every breath as he spoke. “Don’t think you understand, mate. You’re going to buy me some fags because you like me.”

  Andrew took a step backwards, reclaiming some of his personal space. He attempted a laugh, but it came out as an asphyxiated splutter. “I-I…I don’t think so, son. Get your own bloody cigarettes, okay?”

  The teenager took another step forward and this time snarled right in Andrew’s face. The stench of beer was nauseating. “Listen, cunt. If you get back from that shop without my fucking cigarettes, your head is going to hit this cement. You get me?”

  Andrew tumbled backwards under what he could only describe as utter shock. Such threats and brutish behaviour were beyond his comprehension. He was furious. He was livid. That this wretched little thug felt he had any right to threaten him this way...

  Yet, for some reason, all he did was walk away with his head down, his mouth closed. He heard the word ‘prick’ muttered by a female voice behind him, but he did not turn back. A numb kind of disbelief had washed over Andrew and the feeling in the pit of his stomach was like a white-hot poker thudding against his ribs.

  It was a good five minutes before he regained control over his thoughts enough that he could begin to process what had just happened, but by that time he was already several hundred yards away from the gang and almost at the small row of shops that marked his destination. The chip shop was just up ahead.

  He shook his head in disbelief. I can’t believe that…that thug…spoke to me like that. How dare he threaten me! Who does he think he is? To think I was sticking up for those bloody kids not thirty minutes ago…

  Andrew scratched at the stubble on his chin and hissed at the night. Pen had been right. They were all a bunch of troublemakers. He crossed the road and headed into the chip shop, determined not to let the nasty little exchange affect him a minute more than it already had. Inside was a member of staff he recognised – a young blond girl who’d served him several times before. They’d never spoken in a personal way but she always had a warm smile to greet him with. Tonight was no exception and he felt a little less angry as the girl showed her usual politeness by welcoming him in from the cold. Not all teenagers were bad.

  He quickly placed his order for his and Penelope’s food, as well as Bex’s – salt, no vinegar – before standing aside and warming himself on the chip shop’s hot metal counter. His entire body seemed to unload its weight onto his elbows as he leaned, like he’d been fighting off the urge to fall down this whole time without realising it. The amount of anger he felt was worrying, yet he felt strangely vacant at the same time. It was as if the encounter with the gang had sent him into some sort of daze.

  He still had to walk back past them to get home.

  What the hell should he do? He wasn’t going to let them scare him into not walking the street outside his own home. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He should have said something – stood up to them. They were probably a bunch of cowards faced with a responsible adult. If they were still there on the way back, Andrew decided he was going to say something. He couldn’t let this stand.

  “-ful they’re hot.”

  Andrew looked up from the counter. “Huh?”

  The blond girl nodded to a plastic bag in front of him. “I said, careful they’re hot.”

  Andrew took the bag full of food and thanked her, then paid her. He wandered towards the door, but before he got there, the girl called after him.

  “Are you okay?”

  Andrew turned back around, wondering what it was about him that had caused the girl concern. Was it so obvious that he was rattled?

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Just had a run in with a gang of youths. Haven’t quite calmed down about it yet.”

  The girl’s face dropped. “You don’t mean Frankie Walker, do you?”

  Andrew shrugged. “Don’t know their names.”

  “Red beanie hat? Has a twitch?”

  Andrew nodded.

  The girl shook her head and wore a grim expression. “I’d be careful if I were you. He just got out of a young offender’s home and he’s been messed up ever since – in fact he was pretty messed up before.”

  Andrew huffed. “He’s just a boy. I’m not going to let him intimidate me.”

  “Just watch yourself, okay? I mean it. He’s a nasty-piece of work.”

  Andrew stood in the doorway and thought for a moment. It felt wrong to let a teenaged boy frighten him. This was a country where everyone had the right to be free, safe, and happy. No one had the right to take those things away from him. He wouldn’t allow it.

  “What’s your name?” Andrew asked the girl behind the counter.

  “Charlie.”

  “Well, Charlie,” he did his best to smile, “thanks for the advice, but I think I’ll be just fine. You take care, okay?” He pulled open the door and stepped back out into the cold. The night had arrived fully since he’d been inside the chip shop and the world had gone dark beyond the streetlights that lit the small shopping area with their narrow cones of light.

  As he started his walk down the road, the warming aroma of hot chips and acrid vinegar made his mouth water, and suddenly he couldn’t wait to get home. It was a greasy, unhealthy dinner, but he could stand to put a few pounds on his slender frame anyway. A bit of junk food never hurt anybody. He picked up speed, hunger encouraging him onwards. Rounding the final corner before home, he thought about the youths again. It was surprising that his mind had briefly turned to other things, but it’d been easier once he’d decided that this Frankie and his followers were not going to intimidate him. Despite that, it was a relief when it turned out the group of youths had gone, moved on from their previous spot. The corner was free of their presence and the cones of light from the streetlights illuminated nothing now but the cracked and worn pavement of the road.

  The cowards didn’t have the courage to stay and go through with their threats.

  Andrew was just about to smile with satisfaction when he heard voices. He strained his eyes, seeking out bodies in the darkness
, but ended up having to use his ears to hone in on the appropriate direction. The noise was coming from several yards ahead.

  The youths were loitering around a Mercedes sat on the curb in front of his Andrew’s house –it was his Mercedes. Frankie was sat on the bonnet, leaning back on his elbows and laughing loudly.

  “Cretin!” Andrew almost spat the word as he headed across the street.

  Frankie saw him coming and waved happily.

  Andrew gritted his teeth. Don’t you wave at me, you insolent little shit.

  “Hey, mate,” Frankie said, his eyes narrowed beneath the brow of his beanie hat. “You got my cigarettes?”

  Andrew rushed over to the group and this time felt none of the shock or anxiety that had plagued him during his earlier encounter. This time he was angry. “No, I haven’t got your goddamn cigarettes! Get the hell off my car.”

  Frankie did as he was told. He slid off the bright red bonnet of Andrew’s car and then looked back behind him, admiring the vehicle. “Nice motor, mate. What is it, an SLK, yeah?”

  “Yes,” said Andrew. Impatience now enveloped every word that came out of his mouth. “Just step away from it, please. It’s brand new.”

  Frankie nodded his head and whistled. “You hear that everyone? Brand new Mercedes. Nice.”

  “Yeah,” said a young girl beside him. Her unkind face was caked in gaudy make-up and framed by streaky-blonde hair. Her breasts were practically hanging out of her top despite the chilly weather. “Thinks he’s well bling, innit,” she said, “with his flash motor.”

  Andrew stared at the girl and shook his head. “Do you know how stupid you sound, young lady?”

  “Thinks his shit don’t stink,” added a Black youth, identical to the lad standing next to him. They were obviously twins, matching in both genetics and clothing – they wore the exact same blue jeans and none-descript white t-shirts.

  “I don’t think anything like that,” said Andrew. “I just think you should respect other people’s property, and that pretty young girls should be home this time of night.”

  Andrew didn’t know why he used the word ‘pretty’, as she was anything but. It was meant only as a placating gesture to try and stem the animosity. It seemed to do the opposite, though, and the girl scowled and spat right at him.

  “Fucking Perv,” she said. “You’re a pedo, innit? A kiddie-fiddler!”

  Andrew’s temper broke its bonds. “How dare you. Show some bloody respect to your elders, you spiteful brat.”

  Frankie shot forward and shoved Andrew in the shoulder, jarring the plastic bag from his hand and spilling the chips all over the road. Then he poked Andrew hard in the chest, repeating the stabbing gesture with each word that came out of his mouth. “I…think…you…need…to…respect…me…”

  The sudden fright flooded Andrew’s system with adrenaline and his stomach turned over so violently that he was almost sick over the teenager’s shoes.

  But he wasn’t going to allow himself to be intimidated by this hooligan again. No way in hell.

  Andrew snarled. “Why the hell would I respect an idiot like you? You’re nothing but a pathetic bully trying to show off in front of his friends.”

  Frankie seemed to enjoy Andrew’s reaction. He turned and looked over his shoulder at his cronies. They were all laughing and their loose circle tightened around what they no doubt considered to be light entertainment.

  “Now, now,” said Frankie in a voice so patronising it sounded like he was trying to talk to a child. “No need to get upset, mate. We’re just talking. In fact, it’s me what should be upset.”

  Andrew huffed. “Why, exactly, is that?”

  Frankie punched Andrew in the stomach. The sudden pain was excruciating and took away his breath so completely that it felt like he no longer had lungs. He fell to his knees, clutching at the air desperately for help.

  Frankie crouched down beside him and whispered in his ear. “I asked you for a pack of cigarettes and you just mugged me off – not to mention perving at my girlfriend. I thought we were understood each other, mate, but you hurt my feelings.”

  Andrew couldn’t speak. The tightness in his chest and stomach seemed like it would never let up, like he’d never manage to take another breath again. Mortal panic took control of every cell in his body as he struggled to suck in even the tiniest morsel of oxygen.

  Frankie straightened up and kissed his boney fist like a trophy. Then he chuckled. “Come on, gangsters,” he said to his giggling cronies. “Let’s leave this piece of shit to eat his chips up off the floor. We’ll carry this on another day. Nice trainers by the way, mate. Got to get me a pair of those.”

  Andrew rolled onto his side and groaned as the youths left him. Gradually – very gradually – his breath came back to him in great heaving gasps. Part of him wished for his family to run out and comfort him, but another part – a bigger part – made the thought of them seeing him like this intolerable. He tried to get to his feet, using his palms against the floor to steady him. He was shaken and sick, but his stomach just about managed to control itself. When he looked down at the scattered chips and mashed-up cod on the floor Andrew realised he was crying. Several lonely tears crept down his cheeks and left freezing-cold trails behind them. He didn’t know if they’d been caused by pain and fear, or shame and humiliation. The fact that someone had frightened him to such a point made him pathetic. The fact that it was a child made him feel even more worthless.

  He shot forward and heaved up the meagre contents of his near-empty stomach, coating the discarded chips on the floor in a hot broth of undigested coffee and biscuits he’d eaten earlier. Three minutes later, he wiped his mouth and started the long, lonely journey up the path to his house. It no longer felt like home.

  Chapter Two

  Andrew sank down onto the bench in his porch and took some deep breaths – each one was painful. He kicked off his trainers and just sat there a while. He’d already hung up his coat and was ready to go inside, but for some reason he just couldn’t. Once he’d sat down it was impossible to get back up. Something held him in place, as though his very presence inside the house would infect his family with something terrible.

  Maybe he was just too ashamed to face them?

  But I can’t stay here all night.

  No one had come out during the attack and that could only mean Pen and Bex hadn’t witnessed what’d happened. It was a major relief, but still didn’t change the fact that Andrew had just been assaulted.

  What the hell should he do? Call the police?

  His mind was a muddle. He couldn’t think straight. In a lot of ways he’d not yet fully accepted reality to the point of resolution. The answers were still murky and unclear. For now, he decided to will himself back to his feet and go back inside the house. He wouldn’t find any answers alone inside the porch.

  He stepped through into the hallway where Pen was coming down the stairs. She wore her fluffy pink dressing gown and was rubbing at her hair with a towel. Obviously she’d decided to fit in a quick shower while he’d gone to get the chips.

  Damn it! The chips… What did he say?

  “Hi, hun,” Pen said, smiling. “You okay?”

  Andrew nodded. “Fine.”

  “Where’s the food?”

  “It’s…well it’s…”

  Penelope stepped up to him and placed a hand against his cheek. “Andrew, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he answered quickly. “Bloody chip shop had a problem with their fryers and had to close early. Wasted journey.”

  “That’s okay,” she said soothingly, probably knowing something was up with him. “We’ll just order Chinese.”

  “Sounds good.” Andrew felt like breaking down in her arms and sobbing, but he didn’t.

  “Honey, has something happened?”

  Andrew shook his head and pushed her away. “I’ve just got a stomach-ache coming on. Think I’ll have a bath and go to bed. You and Bex eat without me, okay?”

&nb
sp; Pen frowned at him. “You said you’d watch a film with her.”

  Andrew started up the stairs. “Sorry for getting ill. I’ll try not to be so fucking inconsiderate next time.”

  There was no reply behind him and Andrew knew it was because his wife was shocked. Swearing was not his style at all.

  He closed his eyes and chided himself. I shouldn’t take things out on her. She’s just concerned about me.

  Hell, I’m concerned about me.

  He reached the top of the stairs and turned left towards the bathroom, where he opened the door and stepped inside, pulling the plastic dolphin on the light-cord. The bulb flickered on and hurt his eyes with its harsh glare reflecting off the white wall-tiles. Somehow the pain in his retinas seemed to reactivate the pain in his abdomen and he doubled over. He dropped down to his knees and leant over the bathtub, reaching across and turning on both taps at once. He listened to the soothing gush of fresh water for a few seconds, then slipped the plug into the drain and let the tub fill up.

  When it was halfway full, Andrew stood up and peeled off his shirt. He caught a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror fixed to the back of the bathroom door and hissed. A deep, grey blemish of a developing bruise bloomed beneath the ribs on his right side. Gently, he ran a finger over the injury and pressed down slightly. The action was immediately met with a sharp, stabbing pain that radiated through his entire torso. His stomach fluttered with approaching nausea and forced him to lean over the sink and take deep breaths. It took several minutes before his insides calmed down again.

  Hands shaking, he unfastened his jeans and let them fall around his ankles, his underwear too. Then he stepped out of the clothes and pulled off his socks using his toes, unable to bend down and pull them off by hand. Once he was completely naked, he stepped over into the bath and gingerly lowered himself down. The warm water sent fresh stabs of pain through his ribs, but after a few seconds the agony subsided and was even alleviated slightly as the therapeutic heat massaged his body. He slid back and placed his head down on the spongy bath pillow that Pen had brought needlessly on one of her extravagant shopping trips. He was grateful for it now, though, and the softness against the back of his skull made him feel sleepy.