Punch

by Park, J. R.

  ‘Hey buddy,’ the man in the crocodile outfit called out, ‘didn’t you hear me? I said we were closing.’

  Ignoring Colin’s words Punch carried on across the café, bashing tables and chairs out of his way as he continued on his path to revenge. The furniture smashed into pieces as it crashed against the walls and disintegrated under the force of his bat.

  ‘What the fuck?’

  Colin was taken aback by this sudden act of violence but he was not the kind of guy to run from a threat. He picked up a chair and threw it at the approaching maniac. The chair broke into three as Punch batted it away before it could hit him. Grabbing the stool he had been sat on, Colin lifted it above his head and hurled it. Again Punch swatted it from the air.

  ‘Motherfucker,’ Colin looked around for something more substantial he could use as weapon.

  Taking hold of a table in front of him, Colin lifted it into the air, but before he had chance to project his new piece of artillery Punch came charging at him. With a swing from his bat he hit Colin in the stomach. Winded, he dropped the table as he stumbled backwards. A kick to the legs brought Colin crashing down on the counter. Dazed and injured he lay, slumped over the counter, helpless as Punch approached him.

  Taking his time, Punch lined his bat up against the man’s head as it hung over the counter edge. Raising the bat high above him he paused, savouring the moment, before smashing it down on Colin’s skull.

  Jo had almost finished getting changed in the backroom. She had taken a while to sort out the frills around her neck and to get her hair tied up and neatly tucked away under the headpiece. The headpiece had two bells; each one hung off a point and jingled as she moved. Jo had worried the sound may annoy her later in the night but at that moment she couldn’t hear anything over the music coming through her headphones. She applied the finishing touches to her black and white face paints oblivious to the silhouette of Punch through the frosted glass behind her. The silhouette swung its bat again and again, with each swing more blood sprayed against the window.

  ‘Don’t forget the bolt,’ she called out to her boyfriend in a voice unsure of its own volume.

  She waited a moment for a reply. Taking her headphones out of her ears Jo listened again but the café was silent.

  ‘Hun? Colin?’ Jo called out. ‘Can you make sure the bolt is down.’

  Still not hearing anything Jo inquisitively walked through the door and back out into the dining area. The sight that met her was so horrific it took the screams from her throat. Illuminated by the light from the back room like some cruel spotlight, her boyfriend’s body lay, slumped over the counter, his neck ending in a mess of ragged, torn flesh and protruding bone as the splintered spinal column jutted out at an awkward angle. The room was soaked in blood from floor to ceiling and his headless corpse still twitched in a pool of its own scarlet fluids.

  Terrified, Jo began to whimper when all of sudden the back room light went out leaving the café in total darkness. Collecting her wits she made a dash to the exit. She turned the handle and pulled at the door but it would not budge. The door was locked!

  She turned to face the café again; frightened that someone might be creeping up behind her in the darkness. She strained her eyes but couldn’t see anything in the inky blackness. Outside two police cars pulled up by the pier, their flashing lights began to wash the café in a strobing, blue light. Jo watched four policemen emerge from their vehicles and head towards the amusement arcade. She called out and banged on the glass, desperate to draw their attention, but they couldn’t hear her through the double glazed windows. What Jo needed was something to break the glass. As she turned back to the carnage in the café, to find something heavy enough to use, she froze. Standing in front of her was Punch, flickering in and out of vision with the flashing of the police lights. Slowly he began to circle her like a hungry wolf, his image captured in the strobe effect like lights on the spokes of a wheel.

  ‘What do you want?’ Jo screamed out hysterically.

  ‘Do you not recognise me?’ Punch asked. ‘You recognised me the other day didn’t you? I have one of those faces.’

  ‘Oh my god,’ Jo remembered their exchange and realised who was lurking behind that deformed mask, ‘Martin Powell?’

  ‘You destroyed Martin Powell years ago,’ he spoke with vehement disgust. ‘You and your friend destroyed that poor man with your lies.’

  ‘We didn’t mean to,’ she cried with genuine regret.

  ‘Evil!’ Punch shouted before diving towards her.

  He swung his bat at her legs and knocked her to the floor. Jo collapsed in pain and screamed as she held her thigh. Already she could feel the bruised area throb. The young girl climbed back on to her unsteady feet, but as soon as she did so he swung his bat again. It struck the same thigh, and with a powerful blow sent her crashing to the ground. Not waiting for her to get up this time he took another swipe, hitting her ankle with a loud crack. Jo howled in pain as her foot bent round, forming a right angle with her leg. She clutched at her ankle, knowing it was broken.

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ she begged, ‘it wasn’t me!’

  Jo struggled to her feet, but as she tried to stand her legs gave out and she fell to the floor. She tried again but collapsed in an agonizing scream. Unable to stand she began to crawl to the window.

  There must be a way of signaling to the officers outside.

  Punch watched the pathetic scene as Jo pulled herself across the bloodied floor with her arms and banged on the window. The glass was too thick to let out any sound and her cries for help went unheard. The police had their attention focused in the opposite direction, but even if they did turnaround and look towards her the café was so dark that there would be little to make out from so far away.

  Punch walked over to the girl and stood above her, straddling Jo as she lay on the floor crying at the window.

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ she cried, ‘it was all Pippa’s idea.’

  ‘I’m sure it was,’ Punch was not impressed.

  ‘It was…It was!’ Jo begged him.

  ‘And where’s Pippa?’ he asked. ‘Where?’

  ‘Twelve Quick Lane,’ Jo found herself saying in desperation to stave off the attack. ‘Please-’

  Punch felt no sympathy or remorse as he drove the bat down into her head. With a gleeful frenzy that had been building for a decade he bludgeoned her skull until it cracked and brain matter spilled into the headpiece of her costume. The pink, jelly-like substance oozed from the wounds as her lifeless hand ran down the glass, her potential saviours only metres away.

  ‘Hey baby, I’m sorry.’

  Chloe was perched on the kitchen work surface with a phone against her ear. She was a petite girl with a homely charm. She played with her ginger hair, curling it around her fingers whilst she talked to her boyfriend. She had been a little disappointed not to be heading out to the carnival this year but when Pippa called and offered her a premium rate to baby sit it was an offer she couldn’t turn down.

  ‘Sorry you can’t come over,’ she said to her boyfriend, Jim, who was growing horny on the other end of the phone. ‘If she finds out you came over tonight she’ll freak. We’ll have to wait for another time.’

  Chloe laid back on the kitchen counter and began to rub her crotch, stimulating her clitoris through the fabric of her jeans. She smiled a dirty smile as she listened to Jim talk suggestively with breathy tones.

  ‘Hey listen,’ she said, ‘if I’m a good girl tonight, look after the baby and behave myself then maybe I’ll be able to have that party next week, and then I can be a bad girl.’

  She giggled as she listened to the response of her lustful boyfriend.

  Police sirens screamed down the street and past the house causing Chloe to sit up with a start.

  ‘Wow it must be a wild night in town,’ she remarked.

  A bang echoed round the house as the back door swung open and slammed against the inside wall. It startled Chloe for a moment until she worked
out what it was.

  ‘Stupid dog,’ she sighed. ‘Sorry Jim, the damn dog has pushed the door open again. Give me a few minutes, I’ll call you back later.’

  Chloe blew kisses down the phone then hung up.

  ‘Stupid dog,’ she muttered again as she slid off the counter. ‘Toby, wait until I get hold of you. Toby!’ Chloe called out.

  On command a black Labrador came bounding down the stairs.

  ‘Toby!’ Chloe looked confused, ‘If you’ve been upstairs then…?’

  Her voice trailed off as she nervously pointed to the back door that swung back and forth by the evening wind. Her dismissive attitude was suddenly taken over by a sense of fear. No one else should be here and she was certain she closed the door earlier. She picked up the phone from the side and cautiously the teenager approached the door. She looked out into the night, the wind howled in her face and thunder gently rumbled in the distance. The back garden, however, was empty. With a sense of relief Chloe slammed the door shut, this time taking care to turn the lock.

  Toby had been stood where he was called, watching the babysitter lock the door when all of a sudden he began to bark wildly and growl. His large canines where shown in a display of aggression as he stared, focused on the door.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  The door shook and rattled as someone started hammering it from the other side. Out of fright Chloe jumped, dropping the phone, and ran behind the Labrador for protection.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  The sounds grew in volume as the blows increased with power. The door shook in its frame and threatened to burst from its hinges.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Cracks began to appear down the body of the door and the screws chimed as they bounced off the tiled floor. Chloe crouched to her knees and held her head in her hands. She began to panic as the door showed signs of yielding to the attacker. Any rational thought had been replaced by terror as she let out an ear splitting scream.

  All of a sudden the banging ceased. Toby stopped barking. Everything was still.

  Chloe needed to get help. Running out the front door was an option, but what if the attacker was there waiting for her? Her best option was to call someone. The police? Jim? It didn’t matter. The phone lay at the foot of the back door where she had dropped it in fright. Unsure if the attacker might still be out there she edged, inch by inch, to the damaged frame, daring not to breathe as if the door itself would notice her and come to life. Keeping as far away as she could Chloe stretched out her hand then, with a fast motion, grabbed the receiver.

  A doorbell rang and gave her a start.

  She realised it was the front door. Was it the attacker or a friend? Running to the front door Chloe placed her eye to the spy hole and looked through. She smiled with relief to see a friendly face the other side. Unbolting the door in a hurry she raced to let her rescuer in.

  ‘Oh Colin it’s so good to see-’

  Chloe lost the words to finish her sentence. As she opened the door she saw Punch stood in front of her holding Colin’s decapitated head by the hair. Blood still dribbled from the crudely severed neck. The babysitter walked backwards, falling over her own feet, and landed heavily on the floor. Within an instant Toby launched himself at the costumed killer, but before he could land an attack he was knocked to the floor, hit in mid air by Punch’s bat. Toby had no time to get to his paws as Punch immediately set on him. Chloe watched, transfixed in horror, as Punch pulverized the poor animal to a bloody paste.

  ‘Well, well if it isn’t Pippa,’ he turned to the girl. ‘You ruined my life.’

  ‘I’m not Pippa,’ Chloe protested.

  ‘Lies! I’d thought you’d have grown out of them by now,’ he screamed as he swung his bat, his mind confused and clouded by bloodlust.

  Chloe dodged his weapon as it just missed her and crashed onto the kitchen surface. Her pathway to the front door was blocked but if she could get through the already broken back door she could escape. Sprinting on her heels she ran to the back of the house. Punch gave chase and caught her ankle with his bat. She tripped and fell into the conservatory, crashing into shelves lined with tools and spilling their contents to the floor. Picking up a handful of nails that had fallen out of a box she threw them at Punch. They bounced off him with little effect.

  ‘You’ve hurt me once already,’ he taunted, ‘you couldn’t possibly do me any more damage you little bitch!’

  The phone began to ring in the kitchen. Chloe looked across to the receiver, she was cornered in the conservatory and the only way to it was through Punch. He swung at the young girl and struck her, knocking her to the floor.

  ‘No one can save you now,’ he roared.

  He stood above the defenceless babysitter as blood streamed from a cut across her forehead. She was conscious but dazed. He raised his bat above his head ready to take his revenge when the answerphone started up, playing the message on loudspeaker.

  ‘Hi it’s Pippa,’ the speaker buzzed with the message being left.

  Punch turned his ear and listened to the call.

  ‘Hope you’re okay,’ it continued, ‘the carnival is going great. The burlesque idea was brilliant. The judges seem to be really going for it and we are set to win. The procession is about to head off round the streets so I have to go. It’s raining but I’ll be okay.’

  His mind began to clear and slowly it sank in to Punch that he had the wrong person. This wasn’t Pippa! This wasn’t who he’d bumped into in the supermarket! Enraged he turned back to the girl only to find she had gone. She must have taken the opportunity whilst he’d been distracted and run off. Where moments before lay a ginger haired girl, all that was there now was a small pool of blood and a floor strewn with nails. He prodded the nails idly with his bat whilst he formulated his next plan. It was time to go to the carnival.

  Today was a nightmare before Sergeant Jack had even stepped foot onto the horrific crime scene in the Minstrel café. The carnival was always going to stretch the town’s limited police force, but the minor riot that ended in the burning down of Martin Powell’s house had put them over their resource threshold. Overtime and Specials were going to be called for. And it was whilst he was worrying about this that the report came through: three bodies had been found, murdered on the pier. Not just murdered, but bludgeoned, taken apart. Nothing like this had happened in Stanswick Sands and it needed his utmost attention. Whilst driving to the sea front to speak with the investigating team already there another call came through, two more bodies had been discovered in the Minstrel café, opposite the aging pier. As he stepped through the crime scene tape and into the café, still splattered floor to ceiling with blood, he realised it was actually only one and a half bodies. This fact made his stomach twitch as he felt some bile rise to the back of his throat.

  ‘What the fuck is this?’ Jack pointed at a black and white image on a TV screen.

  The CCTV had captured scenes of Punch in the café whilst on his murderous rampage. The footage had been paused on the clearest image of the figure as he stood in the dining area, weapon in hand. The viewing screen was small and the picture grainy but his wild grin and hooked nose were clear to see.

  ‘It’s Mr Punch, sir,’ came the reply from Constable Rawlings.

  ‘I can see it’s Mr Punch!’ The sergeant began to pace, ‘What the fuck is going on? We have dead bodies all over the place and now it seems some maniac in a Punch outfit is running around clubbing people to death.’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt,‘ Constable Knew apologised with an ashen colour face, a look filled with dread, ‘we’ve just had a report from PC Comer, she went up to Martin Powell’s house to check on Williams. She found Williams in the house. He’s dead. Beaten to death.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Jack shook his head, this night was getting worse by the minute, ‘has anyone contacted Williams’s family?’

  ‘Control are on it,’ Knew replied.

  ‘And what of Powell?’ Jack’s voice sounded weary, unsure if he wan
ted to know the answer.

  ‘No sign of him,’ Knew answered.

  ‘Do we have any IDs on these victims?’ Jack turned to Rawlings.

  ‘We still haven’t found this guy’s head,’ Rawlings pointed to the decapitated corpse, ‘but according to his wallet this is Colin Kiln. And that over there is his girlfriend a Miss Joanna King.’

  ‘Wasn’t the King girl involved in the Powell case?’ Knew asked.

  ‘She was one of the victims he abused when she was a little girl,’ PC Rawlings replied, ‘poor lass.’

  ‘And those lads at the pier,’ Jack asked them both, ‘any connection to the Powell case?’

  ‘Not really,’ came Rawlings reply.

  ‘Not really?’ Jack sounded astonished by the uncertainty in his answer.

  ‘Well no connection to the case,’ Knew piped up, adding clarity, ‘but they were the ones that gave him a right good kicking outside the George this afternoon.’

  ‘Really,’ Jack’s forehead began to crease with worry, ‘and this girl wasn’t the only one involved in the case. There was another, a Pippa Starr.’

  ‘That’s correct,’ PC Knew nodded.

  ‘And where is Starr now?’

  Rawlings spoke like it was obvious, ‘She’ll be at the carnival. She’s on one of the floats tonight. A head turning burlesque theme and looking pretty fine.’

  As he finished his sentence his tone lightened and the two constables sniggered briefly to one another. The inappropriate and crude mood was missed by their boss as he pondered for a moment. The pieces were fitting together and as wild as the theory was that brewed in Sergeant Jack’s mind, it was the best they had.

  ‘You don’t think she’s in trouble do you, sir?’ PC Rawlings saw the grave expression on his face.

  ‘I can’t say for certain, but Powell is missing and the King girl is dead. If it is Powell and he is seeking revenge then sure as hell Pippa Starr will be the next target. Radio ahead, we need to get to the carnival, find Pippa and find that damn maniac!’