White Walls and Straitjackets

by David Owain Hughes

  “What’s perky tits so fucking cheerful about?” Harry growled.

  “Shh!” Crystal said.

  “I’m warning you, bitch,” Harry said. “Don’t fucking hush me down, or I’ll put you down.”

  “Okay, but please, Harry, let me do the talking here.”

  “Fine.”

  Crystal wound her window down using the handle on the panel of the driver’s side door. “Hi”, she called to the young girl approaching the van.

  “Fill her up, for you?” she asked Crystal.

  “Forty pounds worth, please,” Crystal said.

  “Since when did they come out and put your fuel in around here?” Harry piped in.

  “Yeah, weird.”

  Crystal traced the young girl to the back of the van by using her wing mirror. Pretty thing, she thought, as she watched the youngster put the pump nozzle deep into the petrol tank’s throat – the young girl then left the pump and came back to Crystal’s window.

  “Would you like me to give the window a wipe down for you?”

  “Erm,” Crystal said, looking at the glass covered in squashed insects. “Yes, okay.”

  The young girl smiled at Crystal, popped back into the office, then come back out again with a cloth and a bottle of glass cleaner. She gave the petrol tank a quick look, saw it was close to finishing, and stepped over to it.

  After replacing the pump, she went to the front of the van and started to shine the glass. She smiled in at Harry, as she worked hard at the window. Crystal was sure she saw the young tart wink at him, as Harry tried to cover his sneaky looks at her tits by hiding behind the book – but Crystal could see it all over his face and she noticed the bulge in his trousers. Fucking tramp, as she is, flouncing it around the place. Enticing my Harry. Crystal cracked her knuckles. I’ll fix you, missy, she thought, and got out of the van.

  Crystal looked down at the floor. It was concrete. Good. It won’t leave tyre marks. She also looked for cameras. None. Even better. The place also seemed deserted of other workers, Crystal thought, scanning the windows and work areas. She went to the back of the van, where the girl had just been standing, and called her in her dumbest sounding tone.

  “Excuse me?”

  The girl poked her head around the bonnet of the van. “Yes, what is it?”

  “I think there is something wrong with the wheel here,” Crystal said, chewing on a nail. “It looks broke.”

  “Oh, I’ll come and have a look for you now,” the girl said, smiling.

  Crystal had a hard time keeping the smile off her own face.

  The young girl finished up what she was doing, and walked over to Crystal.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “There,” Crystal pointed down at the back tyre. “There’s a gouge in the wheel.”

  “Hmm, I don’t see anything,” the girl said, bending over to take a closer look.

  “There, right there,” Crystal persisted and pointed.

  The girl bent down further still, and that’s when Crystal took here chance, firstly she swiped the girl’s hat off her head, then, grabbing her by her dirty blonde hair, she dragged her back to a standing position, twirled her around, and slammed her back and head against the side of the van with such force that it rocked on its chasse.

  “Don’t. You. Ever. Look. At. My. Harry.” Crystal snarled at the girl with bared teeth, slamming her head against the van between every word spat in the girl’s face. The girl’s eyes rolled around inside her dazed head, and blood trickled out her nose. “I’ll fucking teach you for eyeing up another woman’s man.”

  The girl tried mumbling something. But it was incoherent in her stunned state.

  Crystal unhooked the diesel pump from its perch.

  “You want something stiff in your mouth, suck on this!” Crystal yelled, ramming the nozzle down the girl’s open mouth until it wouldn’t go any further. Spew burst out at the side of the pump, and trickled down her mouth and chin. Crystal triggered the pump, and soon diesel started jetting down the girl’s throat.

  “Drink up, bitch!”

  Her screams were muffled, as she gagged on the pipe, diesel, blood and vomit. Crystal could only imagine what it was doing to her insides, as it ran down into her gut, melting everything in its path. Blood leaked out of the girl’s nose, ears and eyes, as she jigged in Crystal’s grip. The younger woman had been no match for Crystal, what with her being much bigger, and stronger.

  When Crystal was convinced the girl was dead, she savagely withdrew the pump, which chipped and shattered her teeth. She was sure she could see a thin trail of smoke coming from the girl’s mouth. Serves the bitch’s right, trying to mess with my Harry.

  Crystal slid the side door to the van open, and threw the dead girl in. Harry turned in his seat, and looked over at her.

  “That gives a new meaning to ‘fill her up,’ hey?” he said, breaking out into a fit of laughter.

  Crystal said nothing. Thumping the side door shut. She got back behind the wheel. She wasted no time in starting the van and getting them on the move again. She felt good. In control. Even though she was breathless and rage still aggressively tore through her.

  “Another story, my dear?” Harry asked, smiling.

  “Yes, please,” she said, smiling all innocently over at Harry, as though nothing had happened, whilst blowing air out of her nostrils in violent bursts.

  “Okay, I think you deserve it after that magnificent display of affection, but what about her?” Harry asked, pointing back at the dead girl with his thumb.

  This made Crystal smile even harder. “I’ll dump her in a little spot I know of on the mountain. She won’t be found for days. If ever.”

  “Good girl, Crystal. The next tale is called. Erm, hang on, I’ve lost the page…Ah, here we are – it’s called “Mr. Tickles.”

  MR. TICKLES

  He felt sluggish. He picked up the milk crate, placing it in front of the mirror. He sat his enormous, six-foot-five, seventeen stone frame down on it. It creaked. He narrowed his eyes, as he sat there eyeballing his reflection in the glass – his lips were dry, chapped and cracked; his eyes bloodshot, the pupils black. As ever, the white, black and red make-up which he wore hid his crows-feet and tramlines; his joyless face was masked by his joyful camouflage.

  “Fucking grand,” he said, then opened his mouth in a manic fashion, and laughed hysterically whilst shaking his head from side to side, making his cheeks wobble. He took a gulp of whisky from the bottle that had stood on his dressing table in front of him. He breathed out, and sniffed at the pungent odour. He then wiped his mouth.

  “Ahh!” he exclaimed loudly.

  A hooped, pirate-style earring graced his left ear; a cutlass pendant hung from it. He wore a dirty green, curly wig that’s a frizz - shooting hair into every direction; on top of his head is a bowler hat. His teeth were yellow. Abused by many years of smoking, and some were filed to points. People couldn’t tell whether Mr. Tickles was altogether human or not. This thought made him smile.

  He stood up, so that he could inspect his outfit from hat to shoe: the mirror revealed the black and white ruffles around his neck as torn and cheerless. This matched his sullied, out-of-date costume, which was moth-eaten; the glass reflection pointed out tiny holes. The top was half red and half black, with the trousers the same, but the colours on the opposite side to that of the top. Mr. Tickles then looked at his black bulbous shoes that were scuffed and mud-spattered. He liked that look, it added something to his costume, but he didn’t know what.

  He smiled, and looked himself in the eye, thinking that the mirror never lies. He knew that from all the years he’d spent in front of them. They were his friend. Every time he looked in one, he liked to look for the person he’d once been, before Mr. Tickles had taken over, to see if he was there anymore; the scared patient who had run away from the hospital to join the circus. But he wasn’t there – he never was.

  He drank more whisky. “Need some Alice,” he smiled. “Got to h
ave my Alice before a show, see,” he told his reflection.

  Bending over, he put his CD player on. The words that erupted from the speakers were only too familiar, as they seeped into his ears. He closed his eyes, and smiled.

  Make the coffee black as coal Aide me through the night

  I know they’re craving for me

  I'm meat but I'm sugary as can be

  And if I do too much ale

  I begin to slumber

  I hear the big old floppy shoes

  It's right,

  I'm meat, not chewed

  “Ah, better. Can’t be going out there without my fix of Alice, see,” he slurred, this time wagging his finger at his reflection, as if scolding himself. He grinned, but as quick as the smile appeared – it died. He just sat there looking at himself in the weak light cast by the bulbs that skirted the glass. Some of which were out.

  In the forty years he’d been ‘entertaining’, and travelling with the Circus of Fear, he always played Alice Cooper before gracing the stage – it was a necessity. And it always had to be the song “Can’t Sleep, Clowns Will Eat Me”. His song.

  I won't shut my eyes,

  I can't shut my eyes,

  I never shut my eyes

  See, they're always here with that multi-coloured hair,

  Oh, I'm so terrified

  “Best I touch up my make-up,” he said, and laughed as he zoomed his face up close to the glass, before pulling it back sharply. He grinned, then licked at his lips, before starting to flick his tongue in a provocative way, whilst he grunted and thought about his show tonight. Then he started pulling macabre faces, and put his finger to his throat, and made a slitting gesture, before finally putting on an exaggerated sad face, with his lips pointing downward. He laughed, and honked his imaginary clown nose. “Honk-honk!” he shouted.

  Screeching from behind Mr. Tickles turned his attention from his funny games, to Custard, who was beating his big wings hastily as he screamed. He was hungry. He sat on a swing-perch just behind Mr. Tickles.

  “Alright, butty, I’m coming,” Mr. Tickles said, as he bent down and picked up the big rat trap on the floor beside him. Crushed beneath the spring-loaded arm was a large black rat; its body still warm. Blood had soaked into the hay flooring. “Nice fresh one for you Custard, bach.”

  “How long have we been together now then? Must be close to twenty years, if not more,” he told the large raven, as it devoured it tore and ripped at the warm flesh of the rodent. “I still remember the day I found you out on Barry beach, I do.” He stroked the top of the bird’s head very gently.

  He sat back in front of his mirror, just as he heard the ringmaster warming up the crowd out front –

  “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, prepare to be shocked and disturbed by the Circus of Fear…Dear parents, please mind your children, as some of our acts do tend to bite, eat and devour our smaller members of the crowd – especially Mr. Tickles and his freakish assistant, Miss Sideshow Necrotic…

  Mr. Tickles smiled. It was almost time to go on. No chance to fix his make-up now, not that he really wanted to anyway. He picked up her chain, which lay on the hay-scattered floor, and pulled on it, fiercely, knowing it would choke her. He touched himself.

  “Come on, whore. Work time,” he chided, as he stood up, and wobbled slightly on his legs. He could hear her choked sounds somewhere in the dark – she was probably getting off on it too, like himself.

  “Whore, whore, whore, whore,” scratched out Custard, who had been trained to say a few words by Mr. Tickles’.

  “Whore, whore, whore,” Mr. Tickles said, imitating Custard’s inhuman voice. “She’s a whore!”

  “Kill, kill, kill,” Custard retorted.

  Mr Tickles smiled at this outburst from Custard. “Come Sideshow, come.” He yanked hard on the thick chain again, and watched with a rush of sexual pleasure as he spotted her crawling on all fours towards him. Her green and purple make-up smudged. Her clothes ripped, exposing the curve of her left breast. The jester hat she wore had only the one bell on it, and it jangled with her crawling movements.

  “That’s it you bitch, come to daddy,” Mr. Tickles said. “It’s time to meet, greet and eat the crowd.”

  * * * *

  “These stories are pretty messed up,” Crystal said. “Who’s the author?”

  Harry shut the book, and tried to find the author’s name. “The name of the writer doesn’t appear to be on here,” Harry said. “That’s pretty weird. Where did you say it came from again?”

  “I didn’t,” Crystal said. “The first time I’d seen it, was when you pulled it out of the glove compartment.”

  “Strange. It’s fucking cool, though.”

  “Yeah, I’m liking the stuff in there myself,” Crystal said. “Is there more?”

  “Yeah, plenty. Want another one?”

  “I’d best dump her off first,” Crystal said.

  As they climbed the Rhigos mountain the towns of Treherbert, Blaencwm and Blanrhondda could be seen. Traffic had also started to build up on the roads, as cars were now starting to pass them more frequently.

  “Best we do it soon then,” Harry recommended.

  “Yeah,” Crystal said, with a slight worried tone in her voice.

  “Well, what you waiting for?”

  “I can’t just do it here, in the middle of the road, Harry.”

  “Where’s this ‘secret’ fucking place of yours, then?”

  “It’s coming up, Harry, calm down. You’re setting me on edge.”

  “You sure you know what you’re doing, woman?”

  “I think I’ve done this enough times, thank you, Harry.”

  “Watch that fucking tone, or you will get the back of my hand.”

  Crystal didn’t say anything, instead she kept her concentration on the road ahead and the flow of traffic. The place she had in mind for dumping the girl’s carcass was perfect. But they were still a couple of miles from the area, and by the time they got there, the road could have lots of cars on it, which risked her being spotted by someone. But It was a risk she was willing to take, though.

  The further up the mountain they went the smaller and smaller the towns below became. The rugby fields were no more than the size of decent back gardens, and the rows and rows of attached terrace houses were mere dots. The sun that was now shining bright upon the valley made everything drip gold, and the grassy mountains and hills made the place look lush, with running streams and the wild sheep grazing.

  “The valley is such a lovely place to live Harry, don’t you think?”

  “Fan-fucking-tastic,” he said.

  “Tut, Harry.”

  “What? The place is filled with shitbag chavs, drug pushers and takers, and filthy little fucking whores, who’d rather pump out kids, than work a day in their worthless lives. Execute the fuckers, I say. Vermin as they are.”

  Crystal chuckled. “Well, you may have a slight point there, Harry. But there are a lot of decent people here, too.”

  “You keeping this fucking van moving is all I’m giving a shit about at the moment. Not to mention the dead bimbo in the back.”

  “I’ll get it sorted, Harry. Almost there.” He muttered something under his breath and turned back to the book. “Don’t read any of it without me Harry, will you, please?”

  “I’m looking at the art for T.M.M again. Is that fucking okay with you?”

  Again, she ignored him, and powered the van around the twisty roads. After rounding a bend which took her back on herself, Crystal saw the hidden pull-in she’d had in mind. She checked her mirror, and saw nothing behind her. With that, she guided the van to the left, off the road, and onto a dirt track, making the van bounce, shake and rattle.

  “What the fucking hell are you doing?!”

  Crystal couldn’t help but chuckle. She knew where Harry’s eyes would be, even though he was pissed off with the bumpiness of the ride.

  “This is the area I was telling you about,” she s
aid, bringing the van to a stop. It was no more than a lay-by, with overhanging trees, which shaded the van. “Just beyond those trees,” she said, pointing over to the left. “Is a wooded hill, and at the bottom of it is a short drop down to a reservoir. If she rolls that far down, and plops in, nobody will find her for days, maybe weeks on end. We’ll be long gone.”

  Harry turned to face her, a smile growing tight across his face. “Fuck me, you’re evil. I knew there was a reason why I kept you around,” Harry said.

  “You going to help?”

  “No. You have it all under control,” he said.

  Crystal huffed, got quickly out of the van, and rushed to the side door. She slid it back, grabbing the young girl by the ankles, and ripped her out. She came out with such force, that her head bounded off the gravelled patch of road they were on with a sickening smack.

  “Did that hurt?” Crystal asked the dead girl, her face and eyes withdrawn from the corrosion she’d undergone from the diesel. “Did it burn? Poor baby,” Crystal cooed with pouted lips. She turned around, with the girls ankles still in her hands, and dragged the body along the ground behind her. The sharp stones and twigs ripped at the girl. “Into the drink with you, pig.”

  At the top of the wooded hill, Crystal stopped. Dropping the girl’s legs, she sucked in a lungful of air. Getting the girl into a standing position, she faced her forward, and then grabbed her by the scruff with one hand, whilst balling a load of her overall’s into the other. She counted to three, before she threw the girl down the hill.

  Crystal watched as the top of the girl’s head connected with the hard dirt floor, which sent her into a tumbling effect.

  “Roll with it, bitch,” Crystal called after her.

  She could hear the girl’s bones crack and snap as she snowballed to the bottom, before slipping off the edge. Crystal heard a faint splash. She was satisfied the job was complete.