by David Scott
“Hey, Si! There you are!”
Carl suddenly noticed the outside crowd, and the merriment surrounding them.
“Wow, look at all the people. This party is awesome.”
Carl grabbed Simon by the waist and started dancing with him, slowly and sexily. Some of the guys standing nearby looked across towards them, more due to the noise Carl was making than the act.
Still, it was enough encouragement for Carl’s mischievousness. He quickly put his arms around Simon’s neck and gave him a quick peck on the mouth. He laughed, touched Simon’s cheek with his hand, and then bobbed back down the path, dancing in time to the music.
Carl had decided to leave Vaughn and Si to have a moment together. It felt important to do so and, even in his inebriated state, he knew it was a conversation best left to the two of them.
Carl was in high spirits. The old gang were back together at last. He had been reunited with his beloved sidekick, Si. Vaughn was his cheery, carefree self again. Everything was going to be alright. Another drink to celebrate was definitely in order.
Sitting on the floor next to the dwindling stockpile of drinks, Carl saw two teenagers chattering. They looked identical, with spikey blond hair, blue eyes, pointed faces and long, lean bodies. Except, one had underscored her eyes with glittery aquamarine eyeshadow, and had painted her mouth with a shocking-pink lipstick. They wore the same white t-shirts, with a big love heart with the “1980’s” written into the middle of it, and ice-blue, ripped jeans.
They had not noticed Carl yet, so he sat down at the head of the nearby wooden dining table. He looked over to them, leaning against the wall. They did not stop talking. He coughed loudly to get their attention. A deliberately unsubtle introduction.
Carl barked loudly again when they looked at him, suddenly embarrassed, and trying to make it look like he really did have a cough, to disguise how blatant he had been in trying to get their attention.
Mandy and Max quickly looked Carl up and down, before turning to one another with a knowing look. The game was on. He was worth their attention, at least for a short while.
The twins had agreed to mess with people tonight, just to amuse themselves. Max had put on some make-up, and Mandy deliberately deepened her voice. They were now pretending to be each other. Having already toyed with their original dates, and lost interest, a new play-thing was welcome.
“You had better have a drink to cure that cough.” Mandy said with a gruff voice, as Max smiled sweetly at Carl.
Well, at least it had worked. Carl smiled back at them, and nodded.
“I think that is good advice, my good fellow. Do you both care to join me?”
Carl’s ridiculous sounding English accent had returned. He sometimes did this when he was nervous and trying to come across as confident, worried to reveal his true self so early.
Carl followed them with his eyes, as they both approached him from either side, like a pack of predators might circle around their prey. Mandy poured some drinks, as Max ran his fingers across Carl’s shoulders seductively. Carl shifted in his seat, unnerved by such a direct approach. It also tickled him, and made the hairs on his neck stand up.
Max reached over Carl’s shoulder, hugging him from behind, and downed the shot of vodka poured out by his sister. Toying with his emotions, like some louche lover, Max gently kissed his temple, leaving a pink lipstick stain on the vein throbbing gently underneath Carl’s skin. They both then floated away and sat back down against the wall, smiling to themselves.
Carl realised that he hadn’t breathed for some time, and gulped in the air. He then took another mouthful of his drink, and tried to think of unpleasant thoughts to quieten his arousal.
“There is more where that came from, if you’d like?” Max whispered sensuously, submissively lowering his head, and fluttering his eyelashes.
Carl was confused but thought to himself there was nothing wrong with a bit of drunken fun; nothing ventured, nothing gained, and all that.
“Well, yes, I think I would like that. A lot. Yes, that sounds good.” Carl replied.
The twins chuckled, fixing him with their impish stares.
“What are you laughing at?” Carl asked, paranoia creeping in.
“Oh, nothing. Just you have lipstick on the side of your face.” Mandy said in her false, bass tones. “Come over here. I will get it off for you, buddy.”
Carl knelt down between the two of them, as Mandy rubbed away the outline of her brother’s lips. Max started kissing him again. Over and over.
“Oh dear! More mess for you to clean. And some more. And more.” Max said, teasingly.
Carl blushed, and the lipstick stains were lost in the deep red tones of his embarrassment. He turned and quickly sat back down at the table, to hide his growing interest.
“Excuse me lover. I just need to powder my nose.” Max said, before heading off to the bathroom.
Max returned swiftly, having washed his face to remove any make-up. The twins looked at Carl with identical, innocent faces. Carl was confused and squinted at them to try to discern the difference.
They spoke together, with one voice. Rehearsed lines, performed on numerous previous occasions.
“So, which one of us do you like now?”
“Do you like me?” Mandy said, in a monotone.
“Or, do you prefer me?” Max asked, in the same voice.
The twins thought this hysterical, and rolled around in the floor in laughter, revelling at the shocked look on Carl’s face.
Carl’s mind raced, and he sat silent for a while. This really had thrown him. Undoubtedly, he had felt an attraction towards the androgynous-looking twins. Did the minimal cosmetics really make such a difference? He had never really questioned his sexuality before but he could not deny that he felt an allure towards the twins.
Now wasn’t the time or place for such thoughts. He needed to get back to Si and Vaughn. He picked up his drink and stepped over Max and Mandy, who were still on the floor, wiping away their tears of laughter.
The guys who had been watching Simon and Carl kiss, made a whooping noise and clapped in approval. Simon could have killed Carl for doing that. At the same time, it was a strong statement and, as Carl had anticipated, showed that most young people nowadays are a lot more relaxed about sexuality. It really was a different era.
Vaughn stood looking at Simon.
“So, I guess we have a few things to catch-up on Si?”
“I suspect not, Vaughn. If I know Carl, he has already told you I’m gay.”
“He did. And, as I know Carl, I bet that he has already told you everything about me and Molly.”
“Yes, and I am so happy for you two, Vaughn.”
“Thanks Si, that means a lot to me. I was worried that you would think less of us, seeing as how Molly had a boyfriend when we were seeing each other in Ireland.”
“Vaughn, you and Molly are my friends and I will be there for you no matter what.” Simon paused briefly, before continuing, “Are you ok with me being … you know, gay?”
Simon found it hard to say aloud and almost whispered it. After all, Vaughn was only the second person he had told directly.
“Of course, Si. As you said, we stick together no matter what. I also kind of knew you were gay. Molly did too.”
“You too! I really need to stop dancing so flamboyantly to Madonna!”
They both hugged each other tightly. More whoops came from nearby. They laughed, and moved apart.
As he stepped back from Vaughn, some movement in the distance caught Simon’s attention. Something was approaching the cheerleaders dancing at the end of the path. Two, focused red beams of light coming from an outline figure, just visible in the darkness. Simon’s first thought was that the newcomer to the party must be using some sort of laser pens. And then the girls suddenly dropped to the ground.
“Vaughn! Vaughn, look! What is happening?”
It was not Pulcinella’s intention to be at the farm that night. Its target h
ad been a sell-out indie concert in a nearby nightclub with a 250-person capacity. When the gig had been cancelled on the day of the performance, Pulcinella had been forced to make an urgent recalculation.
Wicked chance gave it the opportunity to overhear a conversation between two youths who were talking excitedly about a party at a nearby, isolated farm. They spoke of hundreds of people attending but this was only a turn-of-phrase. Pulcinella did not know this, and activated the alternative venue.
It now realised that there were only 43 people within the immediate vicinity. It would have to suffice for this month.
Unbeknown to Simon, Pulcinella was the first person to arrive for his party; it had arrived several hours before the others, silently mapping out all of the buildings, signal points, entrances and exits, hazards, resources, electrical equipment, and surveillance devices.
A nearby walker’s dog had barked at it, but this was the only warning anyone had of Pulcinella’s presence. Its plastic hues modifying intermittently from varying shades of purple to black to camouflage itself in the darkness of night. It was stalking low, invisible, like a tiger in the Savannah watching its prey, and waiting.
The house seemed to know that its deadly comrade had arrived, at last; the lights illuminated the interior, and its windows twinkled in delight.
Pulcinella calculated that it could easily shut down the area, and kill everyone in the immediate vicinity. Total success was assured at nightfall, and so Pulcinella waited for its reliable accomplice to arrive. It then immediately stirred from its dormant state, and walked towards its first victim of the night.
In the dairy parlour, two rows of cows stood either side of a sunken, narrow, concrete passageway.
Simon’s father walked down it, checking the measuring gauges as he went, as mechanical compressions steadily sucked out the cows’ milk from their reddened udders. The white juices shot through thick plastic tubes; funnelled away to the adjoining room, holding various storage tanks.
The cows mooed in accompaniment to the repeating, rhythmic sounds of the machines. They accepted this invasion and indignity in return for unlimited feed, which steadily filtered into the chrome troughs alongside the edge of the wall.
Simon’s father wore an oversized, plastic green apron; this was his body shield against the manure splatters which intermittently rained down on him from the over-full cows standing above. It was soiled and stunk of manure but at least it kept his navy overalls relatively clean.
Systematically, he started to remove the suckers from each teat of the cow at the front of the row. He knew every cow by heart due to the differing shapes and colours of their hides. This was number 98, with a heart-like white patch at the top of its left leg. She brayed in relief at being released from the greedy device, which now hung down like a metal chandelier; thick, steel canisters suspended by thick, black tubes. It almost looked pretty as the spot lights on the ceiling shone on to it.
The cows knew this routine and started to stamp impatiently, demanding to be seen to next. Tails swished. Hooves pounded on concrete; many novices had received broken bones and bad bruises as a result of such feckless footfall. Not Simon’s father, he was a stalwart of the farm and had spent many years engaged in milking cows. Much more time than he had ever spent with his family. He had never really been motivated to try anything different but still held on to his private dreams.
He noticed that number 75 was trying to steal food from number 115, and reached over to direct her head back into her own feeding trough. He thought it typical of animal behaviour; despite having its own unlimited feed, it wanted more. People were no different; always coveting what others have, never satisfied with their own lot.
Pulcinella entered the area unnoticed, any noise covered by the baying cow choir. It noted the thin channel would be difficult to move down quickly, with its inhospitable dimensions, tangles of pipes, and maze of monitors. The knuckle gun activated, the target easily within range. Simon’s father looked up, sensing something, and then felt a deep pain in his heart.
He slumped to the ground, ripping off the suckers from a nearby cow to try to stop his fall, but there was no energy in his limbs to hold on. Milk poured out and started to race down the channel. Blood poured out of Simon’s father, creating a stream of pink milkshake. The cows continued to call out to be set free, not noticing or caring that their keeper was dead. Pulcinella logged the death and moved on apace towards the house.
Pulcinella slowed down as it approached the dimly-lit path leading to the house. It could not dim the solar lights, as they were not connected to an electrical system, so it changed its flesh tone to match the colour of the night; a purply-black hue glistened over its plastic body, its chameleon-like flesh hiding it from the nearby revellers. Except its red eyes stared out of its body, surveying the territory, moving back and forth, like some sort of ominous lighthouse.
Pulcinella had verified that the majority of people in the area were situated on or around this path, and, from this position, it could quickly dispatch several rounds of muffled ammunition without attracting too much attention to its presence. With a perfect aim assured every time, it quickly felled 15 people.
After that, Pulcinella had to move quickly. It sent its systems into overdrive and transformed into a mechanical maelstrom.
Easton sat on the damp grass. He couldn’t see what he was sitting on and hoped for the best, his heavy frame flattening the area around him. He grabbed a beer and rested back on his elbows, watching Candice and Melisandre dance on the nearby path.
Easton was pleased to relax. He was physically exhausted from too much training, in preparation for the big game. The coach wanted to get the best out of them, and worked them hard. Easton wondered whether it was really necessary but the coach had a string of successes to her name, so maybe she did know best.
The beer disappeared too quickly. Easton did not have to bother to try to engage in conversation, he was naturally popular. Maybe it was his lack of interest in others that kept them coming back to him, the ‘treat them mean, keep them keen’ philosophy certainly worked for Easton. And the more popular you become, the more people want you to like them. There had been an exponential surge in his appeal.
He sat with a group now around him, part of a long conversation in which he hadn’t said a word. Easton gave the occasional nod or smile but his only focus was the beer, and trying to zone out for a while.
Candice and Melisandre seemed to be having a great time; dancing for themselves and just enjoying the music, reaching up to the heavens under the spotlight of the moon and stars, enhanced by the gentle up-lighting lining the path. Their musical motions were delicately hypnotic to Easton, not in a sexual way but rather like watching a pendulum or metronome swinging back and forth in perpetual motion.
Easton started to unwind and he felt his body relax, as a faint fuzziness started to soothe his murderous mind. Easton closed his eyes and began to forget the pressure on him to win the forthcoming baseball match.
Easton heard a commotion. Screams and shouts quickly silenced. He opened his eyes and looked around, he saw dead bodies on the ground next to him; ripped open, and slashed apart, in some kind of machete mayhem. Easton couldn’t take it in. He wondered whether maybe his drink had been spiked with a fierce hallucinogenic. And then he noticed a tall figure towering above him. Glowing red eyes stared down, emotionless. Easton felt impotent with fear. Steel pierced through his ribs, leaving him breathless. Easton’s heart murmured timidly. He lay still, helpless and defeated. He was not dead but almost. Pulcinella automatically calculated that the wound would prove fatal, and quickly moved on.
Dancing divas fell gracelessly as its blades cut neatly through their crepe-paper skin, leaving them in bloody tatters on the ground. Splashes of red adorning their new, designer rags.
The firm abdomens of the sports team offered no protection against razor-sharp steel. They ripped open just as easily as any other flesh. Pulcinella was unimpressed by beautiful bodies,
they were merely numbers to it, indistinguishable from one another.
Couples kissing in the dark found their hidden embraces rudely interrupted, as skulls were crushed together, leaving them limp on the grass; pressing, heavily together much sooner than they had anticipated. It didn’t care about ending the lives of young lovers. It simply did not compute.
It continued down the path towards Simon, Vaughn, and Carl, who had just re-joined them, having seen the climax of their conversation.
“Where is Molly?” Vaughn shouted, with a desperation in his voice.
“She, she’s gone to get the food. I told her to come back in the front door. She could arrive any minute.” Simon stuttered, shock taking hold, as he stared ahead seeing everything but not understanding anything.
“I have to go and warn her, Si. You and Carl get out of here. Quickly, run!”
“No, we have to stick together, Vaughn. I can’t leave you. I don’t want to.” Carl said sobbing, as if regressing to become a little boy again.
Simon’s heart felt a heavy sadness. He knew these could be the last words that the brothers spoke to one another.
“Listen to me Carl. You have to run and don’t look back. Please, I beg you. I love you little brother. Never forget that. Si, take him, please.”
Simon’s mind raced. Where to go? What to do? He had no idea. All he knew was that he had to get away with Carl now. His mind then caught up with him. His dad. Simon had to warn him. And he would probably know what to do. He always did.
“Carl, let’s go. Carl! Now!” Simon yelled.
Carl did not reply, still looking at his brother. Simon gave Vaughn a knowing nod, grabbed Carl firmly by the wrist, and pulled him away. They sprinted together into the darkness, veering off the path, and on towards the dairy. With a brief sideways glance, Simon saw a tall, dark figure spinning around with such speed and ferocity, polished blades glinting in the flecks of illumination from the solar lights. Bodies falling all around. Screams filling the night air.
They had not been noticed, or so Simon thought. Of course, he was wrong. Pulcinella’s focus on killing did not distract from its surveillance operations, and their every move had been logged.
