The Unexpected Occurrence of Thaddeus Hobble

by Gareth Wiles

  ‘What do you mean?’ Peter asked, bemused, albeit quietly pleased at the free drinks. He was too tired to be on his game with The Space and try to peer inside the barman’s mind for the answer.

  ‘That Aubrey and his two minions were in here singing sad songs of your impending departure. A mere eight days left for dear Peter Smith.’ He started crying, in a half-hearted sort of way, and didn’t bother wiping away his tears. ‘You will never know what it is to be old like me.’

  Peter had lived thrice over, the first two times with only the same set of years. This third life was destined to end the same with just days to go. He never would learn the reality of old age – the privilege of singular longevity.

  ‘Tis very sad,’ Stephen consoled, putting his arm around Peter’s shoulders as he brought his tankard to his lips. ‘Very sad indeed.’

  ‘I am not sad,’ Peter replied stoically. ‘I welcome inevitability – the end of this set of years. They haven’t been the most interesting.’ He grinned at the barman, who squinted back in confusion. ‘I do hope I forget who I am next time around… I hope we all forget. At least that way there will be some respite from this drudgery.’

  ‘He is delirious with his sickness,’ the barman wept.

  ‘Far from it – I have never been more focused in all my lives. And for now, I have the motivation of bringing to justice the murderer of these defenceless women.’

  ‘Tis a plague on Myrtleville,’ Stephen responded with sadness.

  ‘Aye,’ the barman cut in, ‘or, as Lissy calls it, the culling.’

  ‘The culling?’ Peter questioned. ‘Rather an odd way of putting it.’

  ‘Almost like this Lissy thinks these murders a necessary occurrence,’ Stephen added.

  ‘This isn’t old Eric Lissy, is it? Where can we find him this eve?’

  ‘Him?’ the barman laughed, which turned into a pained cough. ‘You can find Molly Lissy right over there.’ He pointed to the farthest point of the room, from where most of the frivolous noise was emanating, and stayed put to enjoy the impending scene.

  ‘No, it can’t be,’ Peter gasped as he caught sight of a young woman standing on a table and swooshing her dress about. ‘That’s not Eric Lissy’s little girl, is it?’

  ‘Not so little any longer,’ the barman chipped in, full of mirth. ‘One of my best customers.’

  Peter and Stephen briskly moved towards her, catching sight of her long bare legs as they danced about before their eyes.

  ‘She is a delight to my vision,’ Stephen uttered, taking in her long curly red hair and chubby freckled cheeks.

  ‘I thought you were already taken with Willemina Hobble?’

  ‘Tis advisable to keep your options open, my friend.’

  Rather too distracted, Stephen now bumped into a particularly bulky man, knocking the drink from his hand. Stephen, still safely clasping his own drink, took a large gulp from it and smiled back as the big man froze in shock. His eyes, which had been so happily fixed on Molly as he and the other lecherous men had ogled her, slowly moved to look down on Stephen. Look down they did, for this beast of a creature stood a good foot taller than he. Stephen was not a small man by any means – far from it, in fact – it just so happened that this creature had been built with no height restrictions in place. Before he could react, Stephen had the man’s bear claw around his neck and he was squeezing the life out of him. Confident he could not die before his time, neither Stephen nor Peter did anything about this attack. Angered at the removal of the attention from herself, Molly dropped her skirt and snatched a glass from another man’s hand, which she brought crashing down on the hefty’s head. Instantly he let go of Stephen and momentarily stumbled around in a daze, before his swelled frame came crashing down with an almighty thud. Overcome with some unearthly thrill, Molly roared as she jumped down off the table and landed on the unconscious man’s back. She jumped up and down on him as the rest of her gathering goaded her on.

  ‘Who are you two little weeds, then?’ she shouted out to the new arrivals. Peter and Stephen looked at each other in dismay. Before they could answer, her feet came slamming onto the floor as they left the man’s back, and she skipped off towards the bar. There, the barman poured her a drink, which she downed in one go. Rubbing her moist mouth, and shaking some spillage off her top, she turned to Peter and Stephen. ‘What are you after, a good hiding like Davy over there? Some men enjoy a good spanking from a strong woman.’ She leant in and winked.

  ‘We’re here about the murders,’ Peter called back over the din. Suddenly, Molly’s carefree demeanour soured. She stood there, rigid, staring intently back at the two men. Slamming her empty glass down on the bar, she growled. The barman filled it up again and it barely touched the sides of her mouth as she gulped it down.

  ‘We hear you’re calling these murders the culling,’ Stephen added.

  She grabbed the pair and dragged them across the Inn and out through the door. Before they knew it, they were in the ditch across the lane with Molly on top of them. ‘Shh,’ she whispered, placing a finger each to both man’s lips. ‘You can never be too careful who’s listening in.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Peter whispered back.

  ‘There are wicked people all over Myrtleville – not one of us can drop our guard,’ she said fearfully, getting closer to the men. They did not complain. Peter, in particular, felt his heart racing as her bosom pressed up against his own chest. He at that very moment wished Stephen was not with them – that he and Molly were alone and free to do as they wished… or as he wished. Alas, Stephen was there and he could read Peter like a book. Literally, for a simple stretch in the right direction gave him grace to leap right into Peter’s mind and hear his thoughts.

  ‘You are safe with us,’ Stephen called out, rather too loudly, breaking the physical contact of the two and delivering more pressure from Molly’s finger against his lips. ‘Your hands are coarse for a girl your age,’ he carried on, taking hold of them and rubbing the palms. ‘They have seen much work, I would not impugn. Yet, they are equally as tender – I would have them explore my flesh at the drop of a hat.’ His face creased as he eyed the young girl seedily. Peter rolled his eyes and felt a bit queasy. Still, he himself had only just had thoughts of that very nature regarding Molly.

  ‘I am but 16 years of age, you old dog,’ Molly snapped back, slapping Stephen across the face. ‘You are old enough to be my father.’

  ‘I am not yet 30!’ Stephen gasped. ‘Peter is older than I am,’ he hastened to add, noting the coy look the pair had just given each other.

  ‘I may appear forthcoming, but that is just my nature. I am not to be had by any man, least of all either of you wrinkled old toads,’ she finished.

  ‘Very well,’ Peter responded with some sadness, ‘not that that is the intention of either of us. No, we are at you to dig deeper into the mystery of these murders.’

  ‘Why do you call them the culling?’ Stephen iterated.

  ‘That is simply what I overheard at the Aubrey residence.’

  ‘Aubrey residence?!’

  ‘Yes – I am employed as a handy girl. I can put my hand to any task calling.’

  Stephen and Peter didn’t need to look at each other or utter a single word to know what the other was now thinking – Darren Aubrey had turned to murder. They both jumped the gun, conjuring up images in their minds that showed Darren actually doing the deeds. Were these to prove to be real or imagined would be the next discovery that these intrepid investigators were hoping to uncover.

  * * *

  Peter jotted something in his notebook, swiftly pocketing it as Stephen attempted a glimpse at its contents.

  ‘You may well be a fool scribing all of these happenings,’ Stephen mused, half seeing the secrets within those pages via The Space’s help. ‘They could fall into the wrong hands.’

  Peter raised an eyebrow, thinking it unwise to do anything else. In fact, most of his energy was being used up trying to keep his mental wa
ll up to deter prying from Stephen and others into his mind. It was becoming exhausting. The pair crouched down behind some shrubs outside Aubrey Manor – a rather grand title for a building which equated to far less than Hobble’s abode. Nevertheless, Darren had managed to achieve minor wealth and enjoyed a relative life of comfort and ease due to activities likely enhanced by his connection to The Space. The man himself looked on from a small window in the roof, knowing full well what Peter and Stephen were up to. Next to him stood Anthony the silent, his bottom lip gaped and moist. His bulky arms lay clumsily by his sides as he stared vacantly at the inclined wall of this attic room. Darren clicked his fingers at the encroaching, yet dormant, giant and immediately Anthony turned to face him.

  ‘They are here, Tony – they have come to disrupt our enjoyment of things.’

  Anthony frowned, which made Darren smirk all the more. He turned momentarily from Anthony to gaze upon a portrait of a brightly coloured parrot. Its beak open, and mirth and merriment writ upon the rest of the feathered face, Darren couldn’t help but pet the image with a pat and a chin tickle. Anthony did not watch, instead focussing on anything and nothing. Perhaps he saw more than anyone else did – perhaps he saw nothing at all.

  At that moment Molly walked in with a moist brown rag and proceeded to swing it loosely about the cobwebbed room.

  ‘What are you doing in here, girl?’ Darren snapped, his attention taken from both the parrot portrait and the men outside in the shrubbery.

  ‘Cleaning,’ she responded joyously, a twinkle in her eye.

  ‘Tis not needed here, the dust helps preserve my painting – move along and spruce other areas of my building.’ He tapped his chin, adding: ‘Prepare a cold meal for Anthony… his concentration is beginning to slacken.’ Molly huffed and departed, the door closing behind her. ‘Petulant thing,’ Darren sulked, turning once again to look down on Peter and Stephen. They were gone. ‘Living off seeds,’ Darren pondered, turning back to the parrot portrait, ‘what an existence.’ Now he thought about Peter Smith, and he felt overwhelmed with loss. ‘He judges me,’ he told the portrait, ‘he stands in judgement over me, yet The Space came to me also. Peter is as righteous as the rest of us – oh indeed!’ He turned towards Anthony, to find the silent one had moved closer to him. ‘You are loyal no matter what miseries I wage upon you,’ he said of the bigger man. ‘I see many miseries waged both upon and by me – are the two kinds any different?’ There was no answer from Anthony save for a vacant stare. ‘Pity.’

  * * *

  Peter and Stephen had reached the building and were scurrying along it. The former was leading and pushed a huge thick bramble out of his way, which sprung back and caught the latter right across the face.

  ‘Careful,’ Stephen winced as he pulled the thorny growth from his skin. Peter kept on moving forward. ‘Count yourself lucky you are to die in a few days,’ he mumbled under his breath.

  As he looked up ahead at Peter moving steadily along, his mind filled with the plain woman. It was as though both men were not actually attempting to gain access to Darren’s house at all, but were instead in competition to reach her. He saw her just beyond Peter – who was nearer than he – and he quickened his pace, feeling he should have the lead and not his competitor. Faster he moved, desperation taking hold as he sensed Peter holding the advantage. It was not really to his true advantage, however, as his face was the first to meet with the huge log that Anthony swung at them from around the corner of the house. The Space had not warned them, and Stephen was not quick enough to react; he too went tumbling to the ground upon finding his face smashed with the heavy rough object. Darren appeared from behind his man to survey the carnage as Anthony lifted the log into the air, ready to bring it crashing down again upon the men. His master gently eased it down.

  ‘No, not yet – first we bring them inside,’ he whispered joyously to the silent one. ‘I have made plans.’

  * * *

  ‘The culling is a necessity, though I am not the perpetrator,’ Darren explained as Peter and Stephen lay flat out on stone beds. Their arms were secured above their heads and their legs below, stretched out as tightly as Anthony could manage to pull. He now stood and watched from a distance in the dark stone-walled room as Darren waxed lyrical. ‘The deaths illuminate a very salient point of mine – The Space aides us only in bad.’ He stepped up to Peter, poking his finger into one of the bloody gashes on his face. Peter cried in agony. ‘Not one accurate vision of the murders has been delivered to any of The Great Collective, nor indeed was a vision of the impending smashing of your faces. Bad is good.’

  ‘No, lies,’ Peter yelled out, twisting his body as he tried desperately to free himself.

  ‘He’s right, Peter,’ Stephen whimpered, overcome with pain and apparent epiphany. Darren roared with joy.

  ‘The identity of the murderer isn’t at all important here, it is the demonstration of The Space’s preferences that we must focus on.’

  ‘It is a reflection of us,’ Peter tried to argue.

  Stephen began to weep. ‘You are truly right, Aubrey. Truly, truly,’ he sobbed.

  Darren nodded to Anthony, who came over and loosened Stephen’s bonds. The pair helped him off the stone slab and eased him onto his feet. ‘You will join us, the new Great Collective – controllers of humanity’s destiny.’

  Stephen nodded in agreement.

  ‘No, no, NO,’ Peter kept on.

  ‘Oh do be quiet. Tis a shame, you have a superb mind when pointed in the correct direction,’ Darren cooed. ‘You have what, six, seven days left to live? You will live them down here in my dungeon, bound and starved. I trust you shall suffer… with any luck.’

  The threesome made their exit, sealing the door shut and leaving Peter to his fate. He lay there, stretching his mind toward The Space, wondering whether it best he indeed just stay down here to rot. He had suffered before, and would suffer again – there was nothing he couldn’t handle. In a way he felt quite pleased that Darren had removed him from the outside world to perish down here. It saved him having to do anything else.

  The Space was at once with him, he knew it. He saw everything that ever was, is or will be rushing through his mind – the overbearing completeness crushing him down like an avalanche. It was all too much to comprehend, all too much to try and pick out what he wanted to know. It dawned on him that he didn’t want to know anything – he wanted to die right there and then and never return. What he had witnessed so far in his lives was enough to set him wholly against this ‘gift’ from The Space. The good was drowned out by all the evil, which far outweighed its counterpart – even the good, Peter now saw as a tiny step away from cruelty. He was completely resigned, completely accepting of the total extinction of himself.

  From out of the shadows emerged a true guardian angel, the abundance of curly golden reddish hair falling about as she struggled to undo the binds Anthony had tied. It was Molly, come to rescue him. Peter wanted to feel devastation at this easy escape, but he couldn’t help feeling some kind of appreciation for Molly for risking her own neck to do it. He now pushed The Space away in an attempt to block any intrusion from Darren into what was occurring. He could escape, he could solve the murders… he could make a life with Molly. No. He had just a week to live. He could make nothing whatsoever with Molly, or anyone else for that matter, and it was this that hurt him the most. There was the plain blonde woman – she would save him. Molly, who was currently saving him, helped him to his feet.

  ‘Your face looks a sorry sight,’ she remarked, unable to take her piercing blue eyes off it.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What now?’ Molly wondered, aiding Peter’s pained steps toward the door.

  ‘We inform Hobble that we have found our murderer.’

  ‘Master Aubrey? But, I heard, he says he was not responsible.’

  ‘That may be, but you can collect the reward and we can cause some trouble for Darren,’ Peter chuckled through gritted teeth. ‘You will be
your own kept woman with the money.’

  ‘And what about you, you will surely want some coin?’

  ‘Not I.’

  Molly looked distrustingly at him. ‘What about doing the right thing? The real murderer will remain at large.’

  ‘Maybe Darren did commit them, perhaps he is lying?’

  She moved from Peter ever so slightly. ‘You have changed.’

  ‘I am seeing more clearly now,’ was his quick response.

  ‘You are seeing what you want to see, not what you should see.’

  Peter narrowed his eyes, responding with: ‘You are saying what you think you should say, not what you-’

  ‘Do not speak to me like that,’ Molly snapped back.

  ‘You are but a girl, I shall speak to you as I see fit,’ Peter roared back, growing annoyed by this canon in front of him.

  She slapped him sharply, which sent him tumbling to the floor. There he cried, unable to stop himself though not knowing why.

  ‘Now look what you made me do,’ she huffed, folding her arms to keep them from doing any more damage.

  ‘You are so beautiful,’ was the lump of flesh’s sad reply.

  ‘And you are ugly,’ she shot back. Peter looked rather accepting of and agreeable to this. Molly suddenly felt she had been a bit harsh. Yes, she did not find him attractive, but to hurt the man at such a weak moment for him wasn’t the nicest thing to do. ‘Is my physical state the only thing that sets me apart from any others your sight may fall upon?’

  ‘I do try to see beyond the mere physical,’ Peter flubbed, clearing his tears. ‘Such a thing is a difficult task for men.’

  ‘And for women,’ Molly added.

  ‘Then, perhaps, we are on an equal footing?’

  ‘We are not equal,’ she laughed, sticking her hand out towards him. At first he flinched, but eventually accepted her aid and got back on his feet with her help. ‘We shall go and see Hobble, but only to warn him about Aubrey and not accuse him.’