Wednesday, September 23, 2015

The Price

The yacht was docked and gently swaying with the waves and the early evening breeze brought some respite from the heat of the day, causing a gentle echo of sail lines ringing off masts.  He scanned the other boats along the marina.  Most were unoccupied but those that weren’t were too far away to care.  He usually liked the solitude here.  
“Jim, no one cares enough about you to want to hurt you.”  Tom finished his drink and wiggled the glass over his head.
“Of course they do.  Everyone hates me for who I am and what I have.”  A girl arrived and topped up Tom’s glass, she glanced at Jim's.  A minimal finger wag was enough to for her to turn around and leave.
“I don’t.”  Tom said sipping the cool wine.
“Well I know you don’t hate me.”
“No, I meant I don’t hate you for who you are and what you have,  I hate because you’re a pain in the ass.”
Jim slipped his sunglasses to the end of his nose.  “Yeah, but I’m a rich pain in the ass.”  His grin was wide for effect.
“Yeah, that’s true.  But let’s not focus on the adjective in this case. Seriously though, you don’t actually believe you are being….what did you say….’hunted’?”
 “I do.  And it’s not as crazy as it sounds.”
“That’s not saying much Jim.  Cos it sounds off the wall mental.”
Jim sipped at his drink.  He stared back at Tom.  He was wondering if he should have told him any of this.  Tom knew him long enough to be able to talk back to him like this, but he still got annoyed when he did.  Power and money had given him a force field.  It was a barrier that shielded him from negative comments.  People seemed to believe that because he had money, he had superpowers.  To criticise him was to risk losing their place on his coattails.  He hated it and hated them.
He looked around.  He felt cold, but it didn’t seem to be caused by the weather.
 “Yeah, I know.  I just can’t shake the feeling.  I’ve been just on edge I suppose.”
“Yes.  Now can we just get drunk and drop this whole stupid business.  The girls will be —”
There was a loud crash from the galley, followed by a scream and further sounds of shattering glass and splintering wood.
Jim jumped to his feet.  “Oh no.”
“Stop it Jim.”
Something rolled along the deck.   The sound became more pronounced in the aftermath of the earlier racket.  It had a rhythmic cadence to it as it crept towards Tom.
“It’s got a dent in it.”  Tom showed Jim the source of the rolling noise.  “And why do you have canned soup here anyway.”
“Because I can’t cook, and is that really what you are most concerned with right now?”
Tom looked into the fear frozen face of Jim.  “Ah Jim, relax, it’s just Gloria.  She probable slipped and knocked over something.”
“No.  I’m telling you.  Something is trying to kill me.”
“Something?”  Tom looked from Jim to the galley and back.  “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Something or someone, I don’t know.”  Tom’s eyes were as wide as poker chips.
The doors leading to the deck shattered.  They burst outward from the point the creature touched them and spread to the edges in a ripple of shards and twigs.  The creature took a lumbering step towards them and stopped.  It seemed to take up more space than its physical presence, as if its shadow had mass.  The two men itched to cover their noses but were afraid to move as the stench crawled its way into them.
“So, here we are.”  Said a mild voice.  It didn’t fit the beast. 
Jim looked to Tom in confusion, but Tom was rigid, a wet patch around his groin.   He sounded like he was trying to talk or scream but his voice was fighting against letting him.
A slight man walked around from behind the beast and strode calmly towards Jim.
“You owe me.”
Jim started to nod, but caught himself.  “I don’t know what you mean.”
The smile from the little man didn’t even have a hint of warmth in it.  It contained pleasure, but only for himself. 
“We made a deal, didn’t we.”
“What did you do to Gloria?”
“She’s fine.”
The amount of time that passed between the can of soup striking the little man’s head and the creature reaching Tom was practically non-existent.  It began peeling Tom apart.  He was lifted in one of its hands as the other one ripped away parts of him, his torso was cracked and snapped into a damp red bundle and dropped in a sticky mess to the deck. 
The little man rubbed his temple but never looked.  “You owe me.”
“What do you want?  Anything!  I promise!”
“That’s more like it.”  The man said.
“I want you.  I own you.”  The man pointed to the beast.  “That one is done now.”
Jim looked at the giant of hair and bone, it seemed to be sagging.
“I need a new one.”
The beast wasn’t actually shrinking but still seemed to becoming less of itself.  It was still there, but it held less of a presence.  The little man smiled at Jim. 

Jim felt it deep inside himself.  It wasn’t a pain, more of a pressure.  He felt himself stretch and solidify at the same time.  He suddenly understood and looked at the creature one last time.  He heard snapping of his bones as they reshaped and reformed.  The pain began now, not a physical pain, but one of loss.  His life was over.  His new life was about to begin.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Dead Reckoning


“Wow this place is quiet.”  Bob said.
“Really?  Is that your first impression?  Quiet?”  Ted had started breathing again.  Only an exhale, he was still hoping he could avoid an inhale.
“Yeah.  I’d say there would be a great echo in here.”
This was his worst nightmare.  Ted had to jog passed cemeteries, and forget about getting him in one.  The cold comfort of the bodies being six feet under and dead for years was supplanted by the sheer number of them.   Funerals were the opposite.  He only had to cope with one body, but the freshness was off putting and having only a thin piece of wood separating it from him was too much.  But now here he was, standing with anxious sweats, and Bob, in a morgue.
“Don’t you dare!”  Ted looked at the smirk on Bob’s face.
“As if.  I’m just saying.”

They looked around the room, getting their bearings.   It was nondescript, but this is what it looked like; square.  There was a table in the centre of the room and around the walls were lockers.  Ted didn't know if that was the correct word for them but that's what they looked like.  There were seven per row, three rows per wall, on three walls.  So 63 naked bodies lurking behind the slender metal locker doors.
“Let’s just do this and get out as fast as possible.”   He shivered and tried to pass if off as being due to the chill in the room.
A smile crept along Bobs face.  “You’re afraid aren’t you?”  and it exploded in his eyes.
“Whaaat?”  Ted said an octave too high.
“You ARE!”  Bob started to hop with excitement.  “I can’t believe it!  Big man Ted is afraid of morgues!”
“Shut up will ya, someone will hear you!”
“Maybe one of them?”  Bob said gesturing around the room, “and maybe they’ll answer back!”  Bob was really enjoying this.
“STOP!  If you say one more word.”  Ted was managing to enunciate clearly through his clenched jaw.  “I’ll make sure you get the next free slot in here.”
Bobs laugh echoed around room making Ted freeze, making Bob laugh again.  He slapped Ted on the back.
“Ah it’s only a bit of fun.  Relax!”
Ted was far from relaxed, far from being able to relax.
“Just quit it will ya!”  Ted took a deep breath. “You know you’re really starting to annoy me.  Has anyone every told you how much of a pain in the ass you are?”
“Nope.  But a lot of people ask me that.”

Ted took a few cautious steps into the central area.  He could feel his nerves jangle, but he was gaining a bit of self-confidence.  If he didn’t get this situation under his control, Bob might spread stories about him later.  Rational fear of lost reputation was taking over from irrational fear of dead bodies.
“Did you bring the marker?”  Ted asked.
“Yep.”
“And it’s permanent?”
“Yep.”
“OK, let’s find him.   What box is he in?”
Bob looked back into Ted’s enquiring face.  If Ted though he was being annoying before he was really going to love this.  “I don’t know.  I thought you did.”
Ted stopped breathing again as the room felt like it was shrinking, while the number of boxes seemed to simultaneously multiply.
“Are you kidding me?”
“No.  Greg told me that he told Sam to make sure that Jimmy passed on the box number to Harry.  Didn’t you meet Harry?”
“Harry never said anything about Jimmy.  He said that he told Frank to text Mack with the box and he was going to pass it on to Sam for you.”
“But I haven’t seen Sam in weeks.”
“Oh Sweet Jesus.”   Ted dragged his hand over his face.  He counted the boxes again, calming slightly when it was still 63.
“Ah no big deal.”  Bob said.  “Maybe they’re not all full.”
“But if we don’t do this right, Johnny boy will kill us.”

“OK, let’s work this out.”  Bob said, sounding serious for the first time. “We know he’s a man, so we can rule out any women.  We know he was Irish so we can rule out any foreign looking bodies.”
“No we can’t!”  Ted was suppressing a scream.
“Why not?”
“Irish just means being born in Ireland.”
“Yeah?”
“So you can be black and be born in Ireland.  You can be Asian and be born in Ireland.  How you look has no bearing at all on your Irishness.”
“Yeah but if you were born in Ireland you’d still know they were Irish once they spoke.”   Bob didn’t like being made feel foolish, but you’d think he’d be used to it.
Ted stared at him, waiting for logic to kick in and join up all the individual facts.
“Oh yeah.”  Bob finally said.
“OK.  Get the marker, let’s just do this.”
“How?”  Bob was as confused as he looked.
“Like you said, we can rule out half of them and some lockers might be empty.”
“Well, you’re assuming that half of the bodies in here are women.  Might not be true.”   Bob said in a flash of statistical insight.
“Just shut UP!!!”
“There are going to be a lot of pissed off families, and closed caskets.”  Bob said smiling.
“As long as it includes the one we want, that’ll just have to be.  Johnny wants to humiliate him even if he’s dead.”
Bob tapped the marker against his lips, as Ted pulled out the first corpse.
“I’m thinking a pair of glasses and a mustache.”
“I don’t care what you draw, just get on with it.”
Bob’s tongue poked out of his mouth as his artistic nature kicked in.  Ted scanned the room.  62 to go.

Thursday, January 1, 2015

First of Jan

Just like the queues of well meaning unfit people outside gyms, I'm here on my blog with the hungover and well meaning notion that in 2015 I'll resurrect this blog and try to write here more often.

We'll have to wait and see I suppose.