The Butcher's Husband and Other Stories

by Amy Cross

  I hesitate for a moment.

  “No,” I say finally, “I'd better not.”

  “Scared?”

  “I'm just really not supposed to.” I know I sound so boring, but I really don't want to do something stupid, especially not on my first night. Not just to impress some girl, even if she is extremely hot.

  “Pity,” she replies. “It might've been fun.” She checks her watch. “You know, I really should be getting back, anyway. I have work in the morning. The joy of holding down two jobs, huh?” She grins at me. “Maybe see you around another night.”

  “Sure. Definitely.”

  “And remember the rule that everyone talks about,” she adds. “Maybe I shouldn't have suggested it just now. Maybe you should stick to the big scary rule about not going out onto the pier, even if you think you've seen someone out there. I really don't know what I think about hokey stuff like that but, hey, I guess it's better to be safe than sorry.”

  I watch as she turns and walks away. I want to call after her, to say something witty and memorable, but I can't think of anything. After a moment, as she heads across the street, I realize that I didn't even tell her my name, and she didn't tell me her name. She must think I'm completely disinterested in her. She probably won't remember me in the morning. If she does remember me, it'll be as that guy who looked like a robot sitting in a little booth. She'll probably think my name is Zoltar.

  “Great,” I say with a sigh, although – as I get back to my book – I'm still glad that I didn't unlock the gate and go onto the pier with the girl. “I bet she thinks I'm a complete idiot.”

  IV

  “Local couple open bakery,” I mutter out loud as I scroll down the page of the local news site. “Local couple John and Gladys Marks have opened a bakery catering to dog owners and their furry friends.”

  I continue scrolling.

  “Next,” I say with a sigh.

  It's a little after 3am, and I have never been so bored in all my life.

  “Telephone box to get defibrillator support,” I read as I scroll to the next news item. “Campaigners say they've hit the target needed for a defibrillator to be installed in a popular, unused phone box.”

  I sigh and scroll on.

  How popular can a phone box be, if it's also unused?

  “Missing man spotted in area,” I read from the next item. “Police believe Martin Carver, 46, is in the area after he escaped from a psychiatric hospital. Carver's wife Vanessa, a butcher in Redford, has asked locals to be vigilant. Her husband is described as thick-set and heavily-bearded. Clothes were found discarded near a road, so Mr. Carver is also believed to be naked.”

  I can't help rolling my eyes.

  “Loony,” I mutter.

  I scroll down. As I do so, I glance over at the road, and at the pub opposite. That weird girl left the lights on, but it's not my problem. Still, for a moment I can't help staring at the empty building and thinking about all the empty rooms. I've been in that pub a few times, even though I'm not exactly a heavy drinker, and there have always been stories about the place being haunted. Not that I believe in ghosts, of course, but I can't help feeling just a little spooked as I continue to watch the building.

  Finally, forcing myself to look back down at my phone, I scroll to the next news story.

  “Excuse me, do you have the time?”

  Startled, I look up, but there's no sign of anyone near the booth. I turn around, and for a moment I don't see anyone. Then, finally, I'm shocked to see a man standing over by the gate.

  No, wait.

  He's on the other side of the gate.

  “What the -”

  Getting to my feet, I feel my heart start racing.

  “Do you have the time?” the man asks again.

  I stare at him. I can't see his face, since he's standing in darkness, but his silhouette is impossible to miss. Earlier, when I thought I saw a figure at the far end of the pier, I was able to tell myself that I was wrong. I was able to blame the shadows. Now, as I continue to stare at the man, there can be no more doubt.

  There is a man on the pier.

  I hesitate for a moment longer, and then I open the door and step out of the booth.

  “Do you have the time?” the man asks yet again. “I know it's late, but... I need to know the time. It's important.”

  “How did you get there?” I reply, as I look down at the padlock and see that it's still in place. “The pier's closed for the night, you can't be out there.”

  “I need to know the time,” he says, stepping closer but somehow remaining in darkness. “Why won't you just tell me?”

  I open my mouth to reply, but for a moment the words simply catch in my mouth. I know Frank told me that under no circumstances should I go onto the pier to check whether there's someone out there, but I'm pretty sure that rule only applied in some kind of spooky situation. Right now, this guy – whoever he is – is standing just a few feet from me, and I seriously doubt that Frank would want me to just leave him there. I could call Frank, of course, or I could contact the police, but at the same time maybe I should simply use my initiative.

  “Wait right there,” I tell the guy, as I turn and head back into the booth so that I can retrieve the key. “I'm going to let you out.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Huh?” I glance at my phone. “Oh, it's 3.10 in the morning.”

  I grab the key and head back out.

  “It's really late,” I continue. “Have you -”

  Stopping suddenly as I reach the gate, I see that there's no sign of the man. I look around, but he's gone. I can't see anywhere he could hide, and there's no way he could have made it all the way back along the pier while I wasn't looking. Nobody can be that fast.

  I wait, with the key still in my hand, but now I seem to be all alone.

  Stepping back, I look along the street. Even though I know it's impossible for anyone to have broken through the gate, I still half expect to see that the man has somehow made it toward the center of town. I don't see anyone, of course, so after a moment I have no choice but to turn back and look along the pier once more. As I do so, I hear Frank's words echoing in my mind again.

  If you think you see someone, it's a trick of the light. Do not go and check. Never go out there. Call for help if you have to, but never, ever go out there. Do you understand?

  I mean, sure, I understand what he told me.

  But...

  But he meant that I shouldn't go out to check. Right now, I don't need to check. The man wasn't some kind of tricky shadow that briefly deceived my senses. He was an actual, flesh and blood man, and there's absolutely no doubt whatsoever that he's out there somewhere on the pier. Maybe I should call Frank, or I should call the police, but deep down I don't want to seem like I can't handle things. I don't want to seem like a wimp who lacks initiative. I don't want Mum to be right about me.

  I can deal with this.

  I can get the man off the pier, and then Frank and Mum will both be really impressed.

  I hesitate for a moment longer, still wondering whether this is absolutely my best option, and then I step forward. My hands are trembling slightly, but I undo the padlock and swing the gate open, and then I step through. I immediately turn and put the padlock back in place, just in case some random drunk comes wandering past, and then I turn and take a few steps forward before stopping again. I look out along the pier. I slip the key into my pocket and take a deep breath, and I tell myself that I'm doing the right thing. The responsible thing. I'm not a child. I'm a man.

  I step forward, and I start making my way out along the pitch-black pier.

  V

  “Hello?” I call out as I reach the halfway point and stop to look all around. “Is there anyone here?”

  I wait, but all I hear is the sound of water hitting the pier legs far below.

  There are several small shelters along the length of the pier, places where fishermen and holiday-makers tend to congregate during the
day. At night, the shelters take on lives of their own, they become dark patches that suddenly seem as if they could be harboring all sorts of threats. Each time I approach one of the shelters, I have to raise my flashlight and aim it directly into the darkness, and each time I feel a flicker of relief when I see that there's no-one lurking and waiting for me.

  Which is crazy, because I actually want to find this guy.

  Then again, as I start walking again, I start to wonder whether I might be in danger. I was so relieved when I realized that the guy isn't a ghost – because clearly he can't be – that I didn't stop to consider the possibility that maybe he's dangerous. He kept asking me the same thing over and over again, and I guess it's possible that he's totally crazy. What if he's got a gun or a knife? All I have is a flashlight, a phone and my fists, and I'm really not much of a fighter. Not that I've ever tried but, I mean, I assume I'm not good at that sort of thing.

  Finally I reach the cafe at the far end of the pier, and I turn to look over my shoulder. The beach looks so far away now, and it occurs to me that no-one would be able to hear me screaming. Not that I have any intention of screaming, but... I guess I just feel a little lonely out here, that's all.

  I check my phone, but of course there's no signal.

  “Great,” I mutter, before looking over at the entrance to the pier's east arm. That's where I saw – or thought I saw – the figure earlier in the night, but there's clearly no-one there now.

  I wander over to take a closer look, but it's pretty obvious that I'm alone. I can hear the waves far below, but otherwise it's very calm and peaceful out here, albeit a little chilly as a cold wind blows in from the sea. I look out toward the dark horizon, and I spot a couple of blinking lights in the distance. There are boats out there, making their way to various ports, and I can't help imagining sailors sitting on the decks of those boats. If I feel lonely standing on a pier, how lonely must they feel when they're stuck on a boat?

  “Hello?” I say again, turning and looking all around. “Is anyone here?”

  The answer is in the wind, and in the silence. Yet I know that I saw the man, and I know he was real, so he must be here somewhere.

  I raise the flashlight and cast the beam out onto the east arm, but of course there's no sign of him. I guess he's hiding from me, which isn't very encouraging, but at least he doesn't seem to be some kind of psycho. Or is he? I mean, sane people don't tend to wander around on closed piers in the middle of the night, do they? Not unless they're paid to do so, obviously.

  Once I'm satisfied that there's no-one on the east arm, I make my way around the side of the cafe. My footsteps ring out loud against the creaking wooden boards, and when I glance down I see that I'm about to step onto the metal walkway. I stop and look at the gaps in the walkway, but all I see is darkness. I can hear the sea, however, and I know that those cold waves are just a short drop from where I'm standing. I step onto the walkway and continue my patrol, but deep down I'm just a little nervous in case the metal section suddenly gives way.

  Let's just say that I'm relieved once I get back onto the wooden boards.

  I make my way around to the rear of the cafe, but then suddenly I stop as I see a figure standing a little distance ahead.

  It's the same man from earlier, of that I'm certain. He's standing on one of the benches, which is forbidden, and he seems to be staring over the edge, as if he's simply watching the waves. I open my mouth to call out to him, but for a moment I'm too scared to say anything. There's something strange about this man, something hanging in the air all around me, and it takes a moment before I spot the thin cord that's running from his neck to one of the nearby posts.

  “What are you...”

  My voice trails off for a moment as I feel a flicker of fear in my chest.

  “Excuse me,” I say finally, struggling to keep the fear from my voice, “but, uh, you're not supposed to be out here.”

  I wait, but he doesn't respond.

  “You can't be out here at night,” I continue, taking a step forward. “Please, you have to leave. I can't let you be here.”

  I take a few more steps closer, until I feel the air getting colder. I want to reach out and grab the guy, but I'm worried that he might topple over the edge. From here, I can see that the cord around his neck is glistening slightly, and after a moment I start to slowly raise my flashlight. This whole situation is starting to feel really creepy, and I just want to get it resolved as fast as possible.

  “Hey,” I say, trying to not sound too officious, “I really need you to come with me. What are you doing out here, anyway? What -”

  Suddenly, as the flashlight catches the side of his face, he turns and looks straight at me.

  I swallow hard.

  He looks normal, or at least more normal than I'd expected. There are dark rings under his eyes, and he has a kind of haggard, forlorn expression, and he's staring at me with an intensity that I don't think I've ever experienced before.

  “What time is it?” he asks again.

  “I already -”

  “What time is it?” he snaps, sounding frustrated.

  Sighing, I check my phone.

  “It's almost half three in the morning,” I tell him.

  “Half three.” He stares at me for a moment, and then he turns and looks down mournfully toward the sea far below. “Well,” he adds, “that seems about right.”

  I furrow my brow.

  “Sorry?” I say cautiously. “I'm not sure what you -”

  Suddenly he steps over the edge, and I watch in horror as he plummets out of sight.

  “No!” I yell, rushing forward just as the cord pulls tight right in front of me.

  For a moment, I'm too shocked to know what to do, but then I force myself to go over to the edge and look down. I immediately see the man down there, struggling wildly as the cord pulls against his throat.

  “Wait!” I shout. “I'll get help!”

  I check my phone, but there's still no signal, and then I freeze for a few seconds before finally realizing that I'm going to have to do this myself. I rush over to the cord and grab it tight, intending to pull the man up, but I immediately feel something sharp slicing through my hands. I pull away and look down, and sure enough my palms have been lacerated by what must be some kind of extra-sharp fishing wire. The pain is intense, but I quickly force myself to stay focused. I look back over the edge and see that the man is still struggling, and then I turn and look toward the metal steps that lead down under the fishing arm.

  I have to save this man's life!

  VI

  “I'm coming!” I yell as I race down the rickety, shuddering metal steps that lead into the darkness beneath the fishing arm. “Just hold on!”

  Stopping after a moment, I suddenly realize that I don't quite have my bearings. I fumble in my pocket for my flashlight, and as I do so I feel the stairs shaking beneath my feet. These steps are strictly off-limits to the general public, and with good reason. The steps are usually used purely for inspection, so that the pier team can check the underside of the arm for damage. Suspended about fifteen feet above the dark, choppy waves, I finally manage to get the flashlight activated, and I let out a gasp of shock as soon as I see the walkway ahead.

  I'm at the bottom of the steps, and I'm facing a narrow metal path with a single chain running along each side for safety.

  I step forward, and I immediately stop as soon as I feel the walkway shaking violently beneath my feet. I aim the flashlight down, and for a moment I see the huge waves far below. Turning, I shine the flashlight up, and I see the glistening undersides of the wooden boards. The air down here is moist and salty, and the sound from the sea is magnified by the boards. A moment later I turn and shine the flashlight straight ahead, and I see the silhouetted man still struggling as he hangs from the razor wire noose around his neck.

  “Wait!” I shout.

  As soon as I start running toward him again, the walkway shudders and bucks beneath my feet, but I for
ce myself to keep going. I can't just come out here and half save this man. If I'm going to prove myself, I need to get him down and drag him to safety.

  “I've got you!” I yell as I reach the end of the walkway, which stops a few feet short of where the man is hanging.

  I look around for a moment, trying to work out what I can do next, but finally I realize that my only option is to climb out onto one of the pier's huge concrete legs and cling to the metal hooks as I try to get the man down. I look down again at the waves, and then I tell myself that for once in my life I have to be brave. I have to be strong. I have to do the right thing. And who knows? Maybe the girl from the pub will hear about my exploits, and maybe she'll be impressed. Maybe she'll want to hang out.

  “I'm coming,” I mutter. “I'm going to save you.”

  This is perfectly safe.

  I'm not doing anything that men and women haven't done before.

  Even so, as I reach out and grab one of the metal hooks, I can't help but feel absolutely terrified. The hooks and the small platforms are specifically designed so that inspectors can come down and check the pier's legs, but at least they're trained for that sort of thing. I'm not a hero, I'm not even brave. I was hoping that maybe I'd somehow become brave while I'm trying to save the man, that I'd be filled with a sudden burst of pure adrenaline-fueled bravery that would transform me, but instead I find myself shivering in the cold as I try to figure out my next move.

  I reach out toward the man, but I can't quite reach him.

  He's still struggling, though, and gasping for air, which I guess at least means that he's alive.

  Once I've steadied my purchase, I force myself to edge carefully out onto another of the platforms. I never realized until this moment, but it turns out that I don't particularly like heights. Still, I force myself to not think about the rough water far below, and instead I reach out and try to grab the man.

  This time, thanks to some kind of miracle, I'm able to take hold of his sleeve.

  “I've got you!” I yell triumphantly, amazed that I've already reached the man.