by Park, J. R.
The turnout for the carnival even surpassed the enthusiastic and optimistic visions of its organisers. The town square and high street were full of revelers and each one had made an effort to dress up. Amongst the pirates, super heroes and whatever else the residents and visitors had decided to come as, circus performers engaged in acts of skillful entertainment from plate spinning to fire breathing to close up magic tricks. The crowd whooped with joy and ignored the light drizzle of rain that had begun to sprinkle on their celebrations. Kaspar was dressed as a clown whilst his mum, Grete, had come as a slinky, black cat complete with a velvet tail and painted on whiskers. Kaspar watched in awe as fireworks lit up the night sky. This was the signal that the procession of floats and marching bands were to make their way through the streets.
The police hurriedly moved through the crowd. The sea of costumed revelers made it a difficult task to search for the man dressed in the Punch costume. Here and there they caught hold of people thinking they might have spotted the insane killer but each time it turned out to be a clown or a jester. Each costume was not quite the same as the twisted evil they had been shown from the CCTV footage.
As the marching bands played and the majorettes stepped to the beat, twirling their batons, the floats burst into life with a garish mixture of bright lights and loud music. Pippa and her friends danced on a trailer that been decorated with flashing disco lights, glitter and pink feathers. The heat from the coloured bulbs kept the cold at bay as they performed their planned routines wearing lacy basques, feather boas, fish net stockings and stiletto heels.
‘Police seem to be a bit rough down there tonight,’ Sally said to Pippa as they looked down at the crowd that had lined the streets.
They watched the officers pushing their way through and questioning people with increasing force and desperation.
‘Yeah, what the hell’s going on?’ Pippa wondered with concerned curiosity.
The bat dragged along the ground, but this time it screeched and grinded like the sound of a broken dentist’s drill. Nails had been crudely driven into the end of the wooden weapon; they jutted out at all manner of angles and scratched at the ground as its carrier walked through the deserted backstreets.
‘There!’ shouted Sergeant Jack as he pointed at Pippa. ‘I want a group of officers following that float.’
Four constables and specials squeezed through the spectators and took up position, two either side of the float, and walked alongside it. Their eyes were trained on the crowd, looking out for the crazed and maniacal Punch.
The nails ripped white trails into the stone as their sharp ends were pulled across the paving slabs. Blood slowly dripped down the shaft of the weapon and Punch’s knuckles grew white under his gloves as he clenched the bat tight with vengeful hate.
‘We have the girl secured sir,’ PC Andrews radioed to Jack as he kept his watch by the side of the decorated trailer, ‘no sign of Powell or the costume.’
‘Good, stay with her,’ Jack radioed back.
The sergeant stayed within the throng of the crowd, glancing at every window, every alleyway, every person over five and a half feet tall in fancy dress. Punch could be anywhere, anyone, hiding in plain sight!
‘I can’t see a thing in this crowd,’ Jack radioed through to his team by the float.
‘Don’t worry sir,’ Andrews called back with confidence, ‘if he’s here he’s not getting past us.’
The dustbins bent and folded as easy as kitchen foil as an enraged Punch smashed his bat into them. The extra strength of the nails in the end adding both weight and force to the murderous weapon he carried.
The procession was reaching halfway although there was a slight bottleneck going through the old town gates. They weren’t designed for large trailers to travel through and so the drivers had to take it slow. The sides of the floats were barely a foot away from the edge as they made it under the archway. This allowed Sergeant Jack and his men more time to check the crowd on the other side before Pippa and her float were to pass through. At last something was going in their favour.
Grete danced with Kaspar to the music of the marching band and then glanced at her watch.
‘Come on Kaspar,’ she said, ‘I have a surprise for you.’
The two walked out of the crowd, hand in hand and towards the pier.
The George was as crowded as the streets outside. The alcohol flowed freely as did the money, which made Greg smile. He always had his regulars but it was nights like tonight that really kept his business afloat. Even the most hardened of locals had made an effort for the carnival and had come in fancy dress. It wasn’t really Greg’s sort of thing, he felt a bit past it at fifty-two, but to show willing he wore an eye patch and made the sound of a pirate when taking orders. This seemed to raise a few smiles amongst the busy crush at the bar.
‘Judith,’ Greg called to his barmaid, ‘can you look after the bar for a moment, I’m just popping out back to change a barrel.’
Judith smiled and dutifully held the fort whilst the barman headed out towards the back of the pub. He stepped outside into the alleyway behind the George and put a cigarette in his mouth. The air was a little cold and a fine mist of rain was coming down, but neither of these things bothered him. On the contrary they seemed to refresh him from his evening’s work. Greg lit the cigarette and took a few steps into the alley. The security light flicked on revealing his bins to have been knocked over, rubbish was strewn everywhere.
‘Bloody seagulls,’ he muttered as he set to work righting the fallen bins.
A noise echoed down the alleyway. Unsure of what it was Greg looked through the shadows but could see no one.
‘Hello?’ he called out. ‘Anyone there?’
He waited a few moments before cursing the seagulls once more.
The noise grew louder, a vile, scraping sound that pricked his ears; the aural equivalent of splinters under your fingernails. Greg gritted his teeth as the noise intensified. At first all he could make out was an evil grin that seemed to glow in the dark, but slowly the stranger became clearer. Punch emerged from the night, scratching his bat along the ground. The halogen security light illuminated Punch, detailing every burn and blood stain in minute glory.
The cigarette fell from Greg’s startled, open mouth, but before he could react Punch swung his bat. It hit the barman on the back of the head; the nails that had been so crudely driven in punctured his skull and stuck fast. Punch pulled the bat backwards and brought Greg’s convulsing body crashing into the dustbins. He still remained attached to the bat, which was swung viciously against the wooden fence next to them. Again and again Punch launched the bat at the fence, driving Greg’s face into the panels. His nose splintered into fragments and his teeth were smashed out of their gums.
‘Thank you for my lovely pint of beer this afternoon,’ Punch mocked the dead man as he continued his onslaught. ‘I’ll make sure to come again!’
A red circle of gore grew wider on the fence with each impact like a twisted Rorschach diagram as his forehead cracked and his face was reduced to a crumbled mess of blood so thick it looked black. Punch placed his foot on top of the corpses head and slowly levered the bat from his skull. The crunch of bone filled the alley as the nails were prised away, pieces of hair and brain still clinging to the end of his horrific weapon.
‘Please sir.’
The voice gave Punch a start as he turned round, ready to attack. From out of the shadows stepped an old man with long, grey, unwashed hair. His clothes were dirty and stained with grime. He wore sunglasses and held a white cane in his left hand that gently waved through the air as he shuffled towards the dead man and his killer.
‘Can you spare a bit of a change for a poor, blind man?’
Punch lowered his bat and silently regarded the sightless hobo.
The police kept their watch on the crowd, but as Pippa’s float traveled through the archway of the old town gates those that followed the float had to abandon their posts and walk round th
e other side. It was just too narrow to walk alongside. It was whilst the four officers were walking round that they heard a scream come from the other end. Racing round they found the body of Patrick Taylor, he was the local tramp and blind. His lifeless body lay on the road under the wheels of a tractor that had been pulling one of the floats, his long, grey hair stained red with blood.
‘What happened?’ asked PC Andrews to a shocked crowd.
Punch stood on top of the archway and watched the mayhem below. His plan of throwing the body of the old man in the way of the traffic to cause a disturbance and stop the procession had worked. He turned to face the other side of the archway.
Below him was the burlesque float.
Below him was Pippa.
She was in costume but he still recognised her from their brief encounter and the photographs he’d found in her house. Revenge keeps the senses keen. This was his chance, the police were at the other side of the old gates and it would take them a while to get back round. Whilst the distraction was in full flow it was time to act.
Punch leapt from the top of the archway and landed on the float covered in pink feathers and disco lights. Wildly he swung his bat at the performers. It caught one on her side and knocked her to the floor. The ragged nails tore a huge gash through her skin and blood gushed from the wound. The others screamed and hysterically ran in all directions, not knowing where to go but knowing they had to flee. Punch swiped his bat left and right, not aiming for anyone in particular but catching targets in the melee, the screams of his victims egging on his psychotic aggression. Pippa looked on, frozen with terror as she watched Punch get ever closer.
It took a good five minutes to battle through the panic-stricken crowd and fight the tide of terrified townsfolk as they fled the scene of the attack. By the time the police officers had reached the other side of the archway and boarded Pippa’s float they found a scene worse than any they had yet encountered tonight. Girls lay in blood soaked pools, some dead already, others slowly fading from this life. Sally looked up at the officers with her one remaining eye; her left leg was split open at the thigh with a cut so deep you could see the splintered bone. Her jaw hung by slivers of muscle and was cracked in two whilst the right side of her face looked like it had been clawed off by some wild animal.
Sergeant Jack boarded the float and surveyed the chaos.
‘Get an ambulance down here right now!’ he barked at his dumbfounded team. ‘Back those people up,’ he gestured at the horrified crowd, ‘nobody goes anywhere.’
He forced himself to look past the horrendous scenes of brutality and suffering that lay before him; he needed to check the float. Where was that murderous bastard Punch? And was Pippa among the wounded and dead?
‘Damn it,’ his heart sank as he realised, ‘they’ve gone.’
Pippa slowly came back to consciousness, her eyes drifting round the room as her brain made sense of her surroundings. The only source of light came from an ineffectual bulb that hung from the centre of the small room. It flickered and buzzed but seemed to leave more shadows than light in the darkened enclosure. There were no windows and only one door that she could make out; its rusty hinges staining the panels. The floors, walls and ceiling were all made of the same wood paneling that had blackened in the corners from damp and cultivated stretches of moss across its surface. The floor under her feet felt slippery and the air smelt musty and moist. As she regained control of her thoughts and body she found herself slumped on a small, wooden chair that creaked even under her sleight frame.
It was the next sight that caused her senses to sharpen. She tried to back away, tipping the chair up on its hind legs and sending both her and the rickety piece of furniture crashing to the ground. In front of her, just before the door, stood a small striped tent. She recognised it from her childhood as the Punch & Judy tent they used to watch on the beach. But this tattered, grimy canopy did not bring back any halcyon memories. The material was stained and mould grew on its surface creating foul patches of black. The edges were ragged and there were holes dotted throughout the covering, no doubt from the rats and mice that had chewed the fabric throughout its years of neglect.
It stood empty and still, but its eerie presence put Pippa into a panic. She quickly got to her feet and ran to the furthest corner away from the tent, pushing her body firmly against the opposite wall. She grabbed the chair and held it in front of her like a weapon.
She paused for a moment, watching the tent, studying it for any movement, but nothing happened. Pippa knew she had to escape but the only door was on the other side of the small, dark room, behind the ominous object. Putting the chair down and not daring to breathe, the scared girl tip toed across the room, keeping her back to the wall at all times. Time slowed and her heartbeat raced as she approached the Punch & Judy tent. Step by step she made her way round the side and slowly to the door. Pippa wrenched the door handle, but it would not budge. She shook it in its frame and pushed and pulled, but despite its decrepit appearance the door stood strong and blocked her exit.
Turning back to the tent for fear that her sudden noise might have awoken something unpleasant she was just as unsettled to discover it remained still. Its monolithic lack of motion taking on a menacing power of its own.
As slowly as she had crept round it to the door, Pippa crept back, all the while her gaze was fixed on the battered, old tent. A whisper began to swirl around the room, so faint to begin with that she couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it first caught her ears. But gradually the whisper increased in volume.
What was it saying? Where was it coming from?
It could be coming from the tent but Pippa couldn’t be sure. Her curiosity grew and she found herself edging towards it. The front had a large square opening where the performance would usually be played out, but this remained empty and in shadow. Slowly she inched her head closer and closer. What was that sound? Could she see something in there? If she could get just get that little bit closer…
She screamed in fright and fell backwards as the puppet of Mr Punch burst into the performance window of the booth, laughing in his characteristically crazed manner. Pippa tried to catch her balance but failed and fell back into the chair she had woken on. It creaked under the impact of her landing.
With nowhere to run and no way to fight she stared, transfixed on the bizarre sight in front of her.
‘Hello Pippa,’ the puppet Mr Punch began, ‘what a lovely day. It is nice to be by the sea.’
The puppet’s arms flailed around with the wild exaggerated movements he made.
A female puppet appeared, but not that of Judy.
‘Helllllloooo,’ Mr Punch whooped, ‘who is this pretty lady?’
‘Hello Mr Punch,’ the female puppet replied, ‘my name is Polly.’
‘Pretty Polly I should say. You are beautiful,’ he swooned, ‘would you like to have dinner with me?’
‘Oh Mr Punch,’ the high pitched voice of Polly shrieked, ‘you are very handsome. I would dearly love to do that.’
‘I’ll go get ready,’ said Mr Punch.
He disappeared from view and was replaced by the puppet of a boxer, with long extending arms.
‘You don’t want to go anywhere near him Pretty Polly,’ the boxer spoke in a low gruff voice, ‘Mr Punch is a bad man.’
The boxer placed his mouth to Polly’s ear and mimed a whisper to her.
‘Oh no!’ Polly cried.
With that the boxer ducked from view and Mr Punch re-entered.
‘I’m ready Pretty Polly,’ Mr Punch called excitedly, ‘let’s go.’
‘Oh Mr Punch! I’ve heard all about you and what you did. How could you! I never want to see you again.’
Disgusted by the stories she’d been told Polly left the performance. The boxer reappeared laughing with a broad tone as he emerged in view.
‘Take that Mr Punch,’ he scoffed as his long arms hit the other puppet in the face. ‘We don’t want you here, no-one does.’
M
r Punch hollered in slapstick pain. The boxer ducked from view and was replaced by a police constable.
‘Alright Mr Punch, we’ve heard you’ve been causing trouble’ the policeman said knowingly.
‘No, no, no. It wasn’t me. I haven’t done anything,’ Mr Punch protested.
‘We’ve heard that all before, believe me.’ The constable waved his arm to suggest a wagging finger, ‘You’re going to prison.’
‘Noooooo!’ Mr Punch wailed as both puppets exited.
For a moment there was silence. Pippa was mesmerized, still in shock from the events of the evening and unable to fathom what was happening next.
A backdrop appeared in the booth’s performance. It was grey and had pictures of bars like a jail. Mr Punch appeared, his head hung low.
‘Oooooh no. I’m in prison, what is to become of me?’
A hangman appeared with his black hood. Mr Punch stopped sobbing and took notice of the entrant.
‘Not the noose,’ Mr Punch cried. ‘Please hangman, I don’t deserve the noose!’
The hangman replied very solemnly, ‘I’ve come to inform you, Mr Punch, that your house has been burnt down. Everything you owned and cherished has been destroyed. You have nothing. You are nothing. You may as well have the noose.’
With his grave news delivered the hangman left Mr Punch.
The poor puppet sobbed as he considered his predicament, ‘What am I to do? I have nothing left, nothing!’
As Mr Punch sat in his cell and drowned in despair a puppet of the Devil suddenly appeared.
‘Hello Mr Punch,’ the Devil spoke in a cool and collected manner.
‘Oh no!’ Mr Punch screamed with fear.
But the Devil was not there to harm Mr Punch, at least not in a way we might expect.
