by Lex Sinclair
“‘Jonathan explained softly to me, that it was important to grieve; not to show everyone how much I missed Claire - but for myself. He said it was no good keeping everything festering away and pretending the hurt and the sorrow would ease and go away soon, because until I confronted my inner emotions they would always be there, eating away inside me. He was right. Everything he told me had been right.
“‘Jonathan was no child molester or any other kind of harmful being. But the townsfolk didn’t know him the way I did. They insisted the awful rumours were true and wanted him murdered for his terrible, sickening crimes.
“‘The truth was Jonathan had committed a sin by interfering with a human- being. He’d found a young boy lying on a rubbish bag in an alleyway with multiple stab wounds in his chest. The boy evidently was dying a very slow, agonising death. Jonathan, being the creature he was, (notice I said creature and not man. Because I firmly believe Jonathan’s gifts were far beyond any human’s capabilities) couldn’t bear the thought of simply standing by this terrified boy, who must’ve been no more than twelve, watching him without doing anything to help, in spite of the amazing powers he could wield. For he told me one night by the fire, that he was forbidden to use his gifts as it was against the higher powers’ will.
“‘Normally I would have laughed at such a ridiculous remark, but ever since Jonathan told me Claire was in a better place, where there was no such thing as pain, only eternal love, I believed in the supernatural. And that her love for me would never die. She wanted me to know that she was all right, and that when my time came to be ‘lifted up’ she would see me again - but not yet. To prove his point, Jonathan recited secrets only I and Claire could have possibly known.
“‘Anyway, Jonathan saw this poor boy, breathing his few remaining ragged breaths, and decided to interfere, knowing he would certainly be punished by a force far greater than him for doing so. He made the stab wounds disappear. Not a single mark was left on the boy’s torso where he’d been stabbed profusely.
The boy was extremely grateful, as anyone you might expect, then thanked Jonathan. Then the boy ran off like nothing bad had happened to him that day.
“‘However, the boy’s innocence and amazement made him run home as fast as he could to tell his parents about the wonderful ‘miracle-man’, who’d cured him, and saved him from his certain, agonising death, would back-fire on my dear friend. Of course the parents didn’t believe the boy’s imaginative yarn about being stabbed plentiful times in the chest as there were no wounds or even bruises anywhere on his body. But they became infuriated, scared and appalled when the boy mentioned that Jonathan ran his hands over the wounds (which he did), and made them vanish, they thought the worse. The boy’s father declared an immediate meeting with his friends to get Jonathan, the supposed child molester, and give him a thrashing he would never forget for touching his son.
“‘They tortured Jonathan, so I heard, till he was nothing except raw, bloodied meat lying facedown in the dirt in an irrigation ditch on a farmer’s meadow.
They stabbed him with garden forks and other sharp weapons. Eventually they ended Jonathan’s life by sawing their way into his neck, till his head was torn from the rest of his lifeless body. The father of the son, who Jonathan had saved, stuck the decapitated head on one of the spokes on the garden fork, so he could take it back to the town and show the residents what they had done. They wanted to send a message to any perverts or child molesters residing in their town, that this is what befell you if you were caught.
“‘I was bowled over by the tragic, horrific news, but no one else had been, except me and the boy.
“‘I was surprised the women had been equally as ecstatic as the men. I thought, if not all of them, then the strong majority of them would’ve been disgusted by this gruesome murder - again I was proved very wrong, indeed.
They were just as glad. The adults even joked about how Jonathan was murdered to the children. The whole town shocked and sickened me. It was only then did I realise who shared the same streets as me. The children would then run around town shouting “The molester’s dead! The molester’s dead!” And the adults would approve and even encouraged the horrid, untrue chants.
“‘Only the boy and I, whom Jonathan saved, were saddened by his untimely passing. The boy was the only child who did not make awful chants. And I was the only adult who did not celebrate.’”
Charles took his spectacles off and closed his bloodshot eyes.
‘Are you all right?’ Carlton asked.
Charles sighed. ‘My eyes are burning. I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.’
Tom put his beer down on the table. He would never have thought he would hear himself say what he was about to, but seeing how bloodshot Charles’s eyes were, he said, ‘Do you guys wanna stay here for the night? It’s getting kinda late. And it’s already dark outside. It’s a long drive back home for you both.’
Before he could stop himself from being laughed at and feeling embarrassed, Carlton blurted, ‘I’ll have to call my mum and let her know I won’t be home...’
Notwithstanding all that they’d been through, the group couldn’t help themselves from bursting into belly-jiggling laughter at Carlton’s expense. It wasn’t particularly funny, but because everything had the sense of profound melancholy all day long, the hasty, childlike comment broke the heavy apprehension in the ambience. There was a rotting corpse walking about somewhere, and yet they could still manage a laugh and smile together - although they all knew it wouldn’t last.
***
The group lounged in the living room devouring their ham sandwiches; their appetite returning enough so they could fill their empty stomachs for the first time that day.
‘So what happened next?’ Tom wanted to know. ‘What’s it got to do with colours in the sky?’
Charles handed the book to Tom and said, ‘I can’t read any more my eyes are stinging. You read from where I put the red bookmark. That’s the page.’
Tom took the large tome off him. It was heavier than he expected it to be. He almost dropped it. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked. ‘I mean you’re the storyteller.’
‘Go ahead,’ the old man said rubbing his red-rimmed eyes.
Tom opened the book to the page Charles had been reading from, reread what he’d already heard, and then continued where Charles stopped.
“‘The cold, thick frost came early that year. I worked long hours at the garage, building up a sweat just so I could keep warm throughout the day. The year was drawing to a close, thank God. It had been a dreadful year for me. Perhaps the worst year of my life. Not only had Claire passed away so suddenly, but my best friend, Jonathan had been brutally murdered. And there was absolutely nothing that could be done about it. The gang of murderers had, allegedly, taken the headless cadaver to the hillside overlooking the town, and left the body to decay for the end of time.’
Tom looked up from the page and glimpsed the other three. Were they thinking the same thing? he wondered. ‘This is starting to sound very familiar,’ he pointed out, sounding grim.
He went on. ‘I ascended the hill to see if I could find the dead body of my deceased friend and give him a proper burial service. It was the least he deserved. It’s the least anyone deserves in my opinion. Anyway, not through lack of trying, I was unable to find the cadaver. The eye of the day closed before I knew it. I’d been searching for the body all day long. I was too tired to head back home, so I sat behind the wheel of my truck - my hands covered in mud and soil - gazing up at the stars seeded in the clear night sky. As I did, a luminous, incandescent purple light ripped across the night like a shooting star - but much different.
“‘A broad grin spread across my face. I’d never seen anything so picturesque before. It was truly amazing. I bet some astronomer could tell me exactly what it was, but I thought it was better for some things to go unknown
and to be left alone. I waited until the colour purple faded into the darkness. Then I drove back down the incline to my home.
“‘A week later, I was informed by the local newspapers that four men had died in macabre circumstances later that same night I saw the colour purple in the sky. They were the same four men who had decapitated and buried my friend Jonathan. I found out from the town’s gossip that the four murderers died in their sleep. The flesh on their face had been devoured by something or someone, and all that had been left was four intact male bodies (apart from the fact they were dead) and four skulls. There were no traces of blood in any of the uncanny deaths. No coroner or medical examiner could explain their deaths.
Although, one theory was someone had sedated them, then coated their heads while the four men slept with something like barbecue sauce and poured flesh- eating ants on them. But that like lot of notions was wild assumption. Just picturing that in my imagination, though, brought an icy chill to my bones.
“‘When the story died down and the authorities packed their things away and departed, the townsfolk genuinely believed that the four men, who had killed Jonathan were murdered in cold vengeance by someone, or something, they hadn’t seen or heard of. From that day forth no one, not even I, said a word about this to anyone.
“‘It was then the townsfolk understood that Jonathan was not from our world, and that he could perform miracles - but you trespass against him, the way those four men did, and he will reveal his ugly, evil side.
“‘A few weeks later someone discovered Jonathan’s body buried in a soil patch on the hill in a block of frozen ice. This person didn’t touch it, and when he told the gossipers, they advised him and everyone else to leave it well alone.
I would’ve gone up there to give my friend a proper burial and a final goodbye, but even I was too afraid...’”
Kate wrapped her arms around breasts, hugging herself. She looked like a little girl, unnerved and terribly afraid.
Tom stared at Charles and said, ‘Well, I think it’s safe to say we are neck- deep in shit, more than we first thought. Wouldn’t you?’
‘Maybe not,’ Charles said. ‘See, not that I don’t deem those tales to be true, because obviously they are. There’s no denying that. We all agree with one another on that one. But, perhaps we’ve done this Frozen Man a favour by bringing him back here, melting the block of ice which encased him for God knows how many years.’
‘I guess, if he was dead, then he sure as hell wouldn’t be walking around right now,’ Carlton added.
Charles nodded. ‘Yeah.’
Tom glanced at them both, and then at his wife. ‘Then how come Kate and I feel this overpowering dread? My instincts tell me that we’ve got a colossal problem on our hands.’
‘Let’s just see what happens. That’s all we can do, anyway. We’ve searched the whole house for the body and came up empty handed. What more can we do?’
Tom closed the book. ‘Doesn’t it scare the shit out of you two, though, that there’s an actual dead body lurking out there somewhere, right now?’
Charles sighed. ‘I dunno what else we can do, Tom. The body is not in the front yard, it’s not in the back yard, it’s nowhere we can see it.’
‘It scares me,’ Kate said. ‘This is impossible...’
‘For all we know, this whole thing could be a set up,’ Tom said.
Charles met Kate’s anxious gaze and said softly, ‘I’m scared too. But maybe the corpse not being here any longer is a good thing for all of us. I came here to come and collect the body because you didn’t want in your house any more.
Now it’s gone. It saved me the trouble of hiding it, and it’s taken a huge load off your mind. Isn’t that so?’
Kate absorbed what he said. He was spot on. The body disappeared by itself.
Thus no one had possession of it, which made life much easier for them all, didn’t it? There was nothing to worry about any more. So why didn’t she feel relieved and calm? she wondered.
That night Carlton and Charles slept downstairs on the sofa and the armchair, after finally concluding their alarming discussion and confessing their deepest concerns.
***
Tom and Kate stood on the doorstep the next morning and waved goodbye to Carlton and Charles as they tooted the horn and drove down their quiet street, around the corner and out of their peripheral vision, minus the corpse.
12
A couple of hours later, Charles brought the Jeep to a halt outside Carlton’s home. He lived in a white multi-garbled detached house with blue shutters on a plush tree-lined street in the suburbs. It was his parents’ house. Carlton, like most young men and women in their early twenties, couldn’t afford a house at his age. Carlton worked part-time as a labourer for a small building firm.
‘Hey, Carlton.’
‘What’s up?’ he said, sliding out of the Jeep and stretching his numb legs.
‘You haven’t mentioned this to anyone else, have you?’
Carlton shook his head. ‘No way, bro. I don’t want my friends and family to think I’m a weirdo.’
Charles chuckled. He liked Carlton a lot. He was direct and said precisely what was on his mind. You couldn’t fault that. ‘I’d just thought I’d ask. You know - just to make sure, that sort of thing.’
‘No problem, man.’
‘You’ve got my phone number, haven’t you?’ Carlton nodded. ‘If you ever feel like talking about this or anything else just gimme a bell, ‘kay?’
‘Yeah, no worries. And thanks for the lift, man. I appreciate it.’
‘You’re welcome. I’ll speak to you soon. Take care,’ Charles said, and gave him a thumbs’ up gesture.
‘And you,’ he said, and slammed the passenger door closed.
Charles waved at Carlton as he started to make his journey home. The young lad reciprocated his cordial gesture. If nothing else, this terrible ordeal had brought them closer. Charles had gained a good friend he would have never have known under normal circumstances - and for that he was extremely grateful.
***
Carlton was a popular guy in school and in college - yet he’d never been friends with an older man until he met Charles’s acquaintance. He was close with his granddad, when he’d been alive, but that was different. They were family. Carlton was a typical guy his age. He liked football, drinking excessive amounts of alcohol and getting close to the opposite sex. His demeanour didn’t exactly exude intelligence. He looked like a gangster or a rapper. Yet because Carlton had stayed calm throughout the meeting in the café and came up with a solution the animosity Tom felt over Charles had ebbed. He’d really grown quite fond of Charles, Tom and Kate. They were indisputably nice people caught up in a terrible set of circumstances, that’s all. He was glad Tom hadn’t punched Charles in the café when his anger had got the better of them, otherwise they wouldn’t have solved anything.
He’d been trembling with fear when they arrived at Tom and Kate’s home and went up into the loft to get the corpse, regardless of convincing the group that he wasn’t scared at all. It was a perfect natural emotion. Then his heart began beating like a drum in a rock band when they realised the dead body was gone.
But now in the safety and assurance of his own home, Carlton felt relaxed and more like his usual self. He was exhausted from the uncomfortable on/off slumber in the armchair at Tom and Kate’s house, so he retired to his bedroom, put his headphones on, plugged into his IPOD, got into bed and listened to some of his favourite soul tunes.
For the remainder of the day, Carlton ate, drank and watched a couple of classic gangster DVD’s in his room until nightfall. He brushed his teeth, got undressed and climbed under the warm quilt. He fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow, unaware he would never wake up ever again.
***
The long, meande
ring road leading to Charles’s cottage was still wet from the heavy rainfall yesterday and all last night. In some parts where the road dipped there were deep puddles, which he had to slow for, to avoid aquaplaning and crashing.
Charles, like Carlton, was so tired from all the long driving he’d done over the last two days he felt as though he could sleep for a week. And perhaps that wasn’t such a bad idea after the ordeal he’d put himself and everyone else through. He eased off the accelerator, applied pressure to brake pedal gently, and then drove through a deep puddle up over another small rise. When the Jeep reached the zenith, Charles gasped at the sky. High above him in the night sky, beneath the stars, was an incandescent purple mist, lighting up the rolling pastures below that belonged to the owner of the moss-coated cottage... his home.
Charles indicated right, and then slowed down to a stop when he reached the gate. He hopped out of the Jeep, opened the gate, drove past, then got out again to close the gate prior to rolling the Jeep up the beaten dirt road all the way up to his beloved, isolated residence. He gazed out of the windscreen at the purple mist, aghast. This was the purple colour in the sky, just like what had been described in the tome on the passenger seat beside.
‘God almighty,’ he gasped.
The purple mist seemed to be motionless. Not like any other kind of vapour he’d seen floating in the sky, like a cloud or billowing smoke fumes. This purple glow wasn’t any of those things, he knew. This was something far beyond his comprehension. In the tome, the colour in the sky represented doom.
Charles felt a shiver crawl down his spine, induced by a deliberating dread.
The library book he’d borrowed was proving itself more and more accurate throughout the weekend. Finally, he grabbed the heavy book off the passenger seat and clutched it against his chest, tightly, wondering what kind of phenomena might befall him tonight. He wasn’t afraid of death as such. In fact on some nights when his arthritis got really painful he even welcomed the perpetual end. What terrified him to the core was the fear of the unknown.
