by Simon King
The initials RP were engraved into its rear casing, the gold watch having belonged to a certain policeman who was now busy pushing up daisies from his final resting place. I don’t know how he happened to come into possession of Royce’s pocket watch, but what I can tell you with a high level of confidence, is that said drifter had nothing to do with Royce Packard’s death. Of that killing, I hereby take full responsibility.
6.
It didn’t surprise many people that my father had finally shot through. According to several local businesses, he’d racked up enough credit “to purchase half of main street”. At least that’s how the newspaper put it. He was never seen again and as the old homestead had passed from my grandfather to my father, it now passed to me.
During the following days and weeks, I did everything I could to rid myself of any memory of the Lightman history. I burned what I could, not even considering selling any of it. I destroyed photos, heirlooms, paintings, anything that had held any sort of meaning. I needed to cleanse the world of the Lightmans, a piece at a time.
7.
But it was the taste that refused to leave my mind. And I’m not talking about the physical taste of flesh and blood. I’m talking about the taste of the fear that I sensed whenever I, or Loui, sank our teeth into an arm or leg. It was the overwhelming taste of control that took charge, running through my own veins the way liquor took my father. Yes, it gave my non-existent dick a bit of a tickle, but the urge went much deeper than that. I can’t describe it, other than feeling like an insatiable thirst I couldn’t quench until I tasted blood again.
8.
Life turned around quite quickly with the house now completely mine. I managed to hang onto the job at the mill for a while, Darren picking me up each morning and dropping me back home in the late afternoon. Sometimes we were alone, other times joined by workers who were offered rides.
I had an uncle, my mother’s brother, who once showed up out of the blue. I’d been at work that day and when Darren dropped me at the foot of the drive, saw him sitting on the front porch.
“Who’s that?” Darren asked.
“Not sure,” I replied, but when my chauffeur offered to stick around, I said I was fine. I’d almost reached the ripe old age of 19 by then and was handling things much better. The shy exterior I had portrayed for so long was finally starting to give way to a confidence I actually enjoyed.
I hopped out of the car, gave Darren a final wave and watched as he swung the car back onto the road. Once he disappeared in a cloud of dust over the crest of the hill, I turned back towards the house and the man still sitting on the steps.
As I neared, he stood, removed his hat and held it in front of himself, looking sheepishly at me. He looked about 50, a scar running down the side of his face. It was the scar that gave his identity away.
“Uncle Mick?” I asked as I shook his hand, his fingers feeling limp and unsure of themselves.
“Harry, wow. You’ve grown so much.”
I hadn’t seen my uncle in well over a decade. I vaguely remember him coming around after my mother had ‘taken her fall’. He’d been asking my father about her, refusing to believe that she’d ‘taken off with another man’ as my father had put it.
They eventually got into a fight, the now visible scar a result of my father’s ring tearing across his face from a severe uppercut that almost missed. It was Royce Packard that had intervened that day, dragging my uncle down to the station and threatening to charge him if he didn’t leave town immediately.
I was too little to remember all the details from that moment in time, but I do remember his sadness, the expression that was written on his face never leaving my mind. He’d been close with my mum, their relationship only separating when my father came between them. It was he that moved her away from her family, taking her to another part of the country where he could control her and keep her segregated for himself.
“What brings you out this way?” I asked, waving him into the house.
9.
“I need your help,” he said as I set a cup of tea before him. He took the mug and cupped it into both hands, peering at me across the rim.
“Help?” I asked, sipping my own and sitting across from him. I remember thinking that he was sitting in the exact spot where my father had been when he “met Loui”.
“Things aren’t good on the farm. Your Aunt Jean is sick and we’re struggling to make ends meet. I’ve had to let 2 of my workers go and without them, can hardly get things done.”
My mother had grown up on a dairy farm on the outskirts of a small town called Korumburra. I’d visited the place on a single occasion, but don’t remember the details. I don’t think it matters much. Once my mum died, there was no contact from that side of the world and I never spared a second thought for them until just then.
“You need my help?” I asked. Weirdly, I actually thought that he was asking for him to move his family into my home. But that wasn’t it.
“Would you consider working for me? Maybe just for a year or two. We have a worker’s cottage; you could live there. It’s far enough away from the main home to offer you some privacy. Plus, we have a few head of sheep that we keep for meat. There’s a large enough vegetable garden which Jean always tends to. Just for a year or two, Harry,” he repeated.
“Are you offering me a job, Uncle Mick?” I asked. He seemed to consider, actually blushed a little and took a long drink of tea.
“I couldn’t offer you a lot of money. We had to take out a mortgage on the farm and the bank is, well-” He paused and I could see he was struggling.
I wasn’t really the spending type and because I’d been working my butt off at the mill, actually had quite a bit of savings to fall back on. The house was mine, so what little bit I had to pay out, didn’t really amount to much.
“But I have a job right here, at the mill.” I don’t know why, but I suddenly felt that I didn’t want to make things too easy for him. I wasn’t expecting him to grovel, but I did want to see just how badly he wanted me to help him.
“It would be great to have you stay with us for a bit, you know. On account of being family and all.”
‘Oh, you’re gonna play the family card,’ I thought to myself. Always easy to pull out the family card and use that to win the hand.
The thing is, I actually wanted to go. I felt excited at seeing where my mum grew up, to spend time with her family. Although having an income was great, it wasn’t my main driver.
“I’ll come,” I said, and just like that the deal was sealed. I held my hand out and Uncle Mick reached out and shook. His fingers felt a little firmer that time, his enthusiasm having grown considerable.
10.
Although I agreed to go, I felt I needed to do the right thing by the mill and thus gave them a couple of weeks’ notice the next day. Darren actually looked sad when I told him as we drove to the mill that day.
“Won’t be forever,” I said. “I’m sure I’ll be back eventually. Hopefully I’ll get my job back then?”
“You betcha, kid. You’re a fine worker, Harry. Just make sure to tell Sadler this morning.”
I did as he asked, the boss taking it on the chin. I worked the final couple of weeks and when my last day came, was taken out to the pub by the lads. It was actually fun, although the drink certainly wasn’t something I particularly enjoyed.
The highlight of the night was Darren sculling several jugs of beer in a row. He certainly lived up to his name, The Keg living it up that night. It was a great time and when the evening eventually ended, was a little sad to be leaving the crew behind.
But I knew that I had no choice. There was a new sense of burning inside, one that I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold for much longer. Not unless I fed the beast that kept calling to me in my dreams.
Changing my environment was hopefully going to dull Loui a little, the inner rampage feeling harder to contain with each passing day. I was hoping that by moving to the farm, I would be distracte
d with other things, ones that took my mind off the evil inside.
I walked home from the pub that night, the full moon lighting the way for me. It was so peaceful, the only sounds coming from the occasional cow from some paddock. I peered at the darkened houses that I passed, remembering the people that were sleeping fast behind their doors.
They were the same people that stood beside Reedy in the school yard; the same ones that chose to pick on a small kid who’d lost his mum. They were the ones that whispered to each other as I passed them in the halls. They were the ones that snickered when I asked to join in their games.
As I walked along the roads, watching the houses pass me on either side, I thought about how much I wanted to introduce them to my big brother. As if feeling himself called, I suddenly felt Loui come forward, just enough to let me feel his presence. He hovered there for a moment, peering out at the darkened homes.
“We’ll come back for ‘em,” he whispered, then retreated back into the darkness of my mind.
I smiled as I continued walking, knowing that Loui always kept his promises. There was a beast living inside me, one that needed fulfillment. He had his sights set on revenge and the homes that filled this town would soon come to realise that Loui was not someone they wanted to fuck with. They might be safe for the time being, but this beast was sure to return in time. A time when hell’s gates would open and his wrath would make them pay.
Chapter 5
1.
The farm turned out to be a pleasant surprise. I had never really left the confines of Cider Hill in my own living memory, so the scenery was one thing that immediately grabbed me. There were rolling hills in all directions.
The main house was sitting below one of the dozen or so peaks that dotted the immediate area and there was a cattle yard about a hundred yards to one side. My own little cottage was on the opposite side of one of those peaks and as Uncle Mick had promised, was quite isolated from the rest of the property.
Auntie Jean wasn’t feeling up to coming out to greet me, but Uncle Mick was waiting on the porch when I arrived. The train had dropped me at the local station and he’d sent one of his workers to come fetch me in a horse and cart. The ride back to the farm took around an hour and by the time we rolled through the entrance gates, I felt both hungry and thirsty.
“Harry, welcome. Sorry I couldn’t come get you myself. Jean’s been quite unwell these past few days.” He stepped down and grabbed one of my bags from the cart. After thanking George, the worker, he ushered me into his home, a house that had been in the family for almost 70 years.
I followed Uncle Mick inside, the home not much bigger than the one left to me back in Cider Hill. Although it was painted in a fresh white coat, its age was apparent, some of the timber looking old and worn beneath. The floor that led down the hallway was chipped, the faded boards begging replacement.
I heard a voice cry out from somewhere out the back and Uncle Mick excused himself, dropping my bag and hurrying towards his wife’s calls. I watched as he hurried for her, turning into the front sitting room where a fire crackled.
It was quite small, a lonely rocking chair sitting in front of the fireplace. There was a sideboard against one wall and several pieces of fine china adorned the top shelf. There were also a few books but I’d never been much of a reader. I left my bags by the door and went to warm myself by the crackling fire.
2.
Now before you think that this is where I start sharing wonderful memories from better days, guess again, James. Yes, it may have been a moment in my life where I finally had a chance to meet and spend time with family I hardly knew. To build a different life to the one I was headed towards back in Cider Hill.
At the time, I truly thought this place was going to be anything but building happy memories. What I had planned all along was to better myself. To learn how to kill people without getting caught. I had a list of things I needed to develop and this isolated hut in the middle of nowhere was going to be my practice ground.
So, while it may come across that I was happily welcoming my distant family back into my life, those naïve fuckers had no idea what was about to happen to them. Because they had not only invited me into their home, but Loui as well, and Loui had an appetite that needed feeding.
3.
From what I could gather, my Uncle Mick had been the main beneficiary from the death of his father, the man who’d passed down the farm. Uncle Mick’s wife, Jean, would inherit everything if he died. And with Jean sick in bed suffering from some type of feverish disease, her passing meant everything would pass to me.
They did have two sons, Thomas and Edward, but both had been keen to show their courage half a world away, heading off to war to fight for king and country. Both had managed to join the army, eventually dropping into the trenches in France where they were cut down by the same machine gun.
While that fact may have saddened some, it only served to ease my own actions, Jean and Mick having no other heirs. I was thrilled to know that there was no-one standing between me and an inheritance except these two.
4.
But while all of my murderous intentions began to play out in my mind, it turned out that I didn’t need to do a single thing. It would seem fate wanted to play a helping hand, coming around at a near-perfect time.
Auntie Jean slipped into a coma shortly after I arrived and although the doctor was summoned and arrived within a couple of hours, she died later the following afternoon. I never got to meet my auntie, despite travelling all that way to meet her. The bitch escaped from my clutches, denying me the pleasure of ending her myself.
The funeral was held a few days later and Uncle Mick buried his wife down by the creek that crossed the property between the homestead and main road. It was a beautiful spot, nestled right under a Weeping Willow. I remember listening to the wind as it whistled through its leaves, the breeze strong enough to rustle the branches about.
But it wasn’t strong enough to drown out Uncle Mick’s weeping, the priest struggling himself to speak above the grieving man’s constant lamentation. I wanted to smack him in the back of the head at one point, his cries almost to the point of embarrassment. But I held back, wanting to give a good impression to the folks that had travelled to the farm for the funeral.
There were maybe a dozen solemn faces standing around the open hole me and George had dug. George was the man who picked me up from the station upon my arrival. He was also the foreman, having worked the farm for almost a decade.
I did my best, standing there, waiting for the ceremony to end. I kept my mind occupied throughout by listening to Eddie whistle. At first, I couldn’t make out the melody, despite recognizing it. It was a tune that didn’t hold fond memories for me. It tensed me as I listened to it, but although he whistled it a number of times, I just couldn’t place it.
It wasn’t until the priest finally finished his endless droning and the crowd peeled off and headed back to the main house that it finally hit me. It was that fucking tune Royce Packard always whistled. I was pretty sure it was called Fur Elise and I don’t know why he would be whistling it. It wasn’t a song that held any good feelings and yet he kept repeating it, over and over. That was until Loui told him to quit it.
5.
George Hamilton was a string-bean of a man, standing a few inches above six feet with a few strands of hair that he combed from one side of his head to the other. It was one of the worst comb-overs I’d ever seen and wanted nothing more than to grab them with both hands and rip them out.
But he was also a very friendly man, happy to teach me everything there was to know about dairy farming. Most people may have been grateful for the lessons, but to tell you the truth, I couldn’t care less. I wanted to knock Uncle Mick the second I had the chance, inherit the farm and make George my new head farmer, or whatever title they held. I just needed the patience to wait until I had my chance.
6.
A few days after Auntie Jean’s funeral, a car rolled down
the road towards the main house. George and I were fixing a fence in one of the adjoining paddocks and saw the dust kicked up by the car as it scooted towards the house.
“There’s that damn lawyer. Was wonderin’ when he was gonna show up,” George said, clearing his throat then dropping a piece of phlegm near his boot. He returned his gaze at the string of wire I was holding up, coughing raspily in my ear. The man had no hygiene skills and I gagged as I looked down at his lung tissue now lying between us.
The Model T had reached the house and I saw Uncle Mick emerge, waiting on the stoop as the car stopped in front of him. A man wearing what looked like an old bowler hat got out, walked towards Uncle Mick and the pair shook as they came together. It was a great vantage point where we were working.
“What do you think he wants?” I asked, curious to know why my Uncle would summon his lawyer out in the middle of the week.
“Prolly to try and get him to sell again.” I paused, my ears pricking genuinely for the first time.
“Sell?” I asked, trying not to sound overly interested.
“Yup. That there is Ben Fordham. He’s been in cahoots with your uncle for years. Before my time here, anyway. But he’s also legal counsel for Jim Steinberg.”
“Who’s that?”
“Only the second biggest dairy farmer in the whole country. Steinberg Milk? That’s him.” George paused with the fence and fished a cigarette from his pocket. He offered me one but I waved it away, thanking him.
“And this Steinberg wants to buy the farm?” My curiosity was growing, enough for Eddie to temporarily pause whistling inside my head.
“Aha. Needs the land. This here farm is but a tiny blip when compared to the Steinberg’s. I used to work for them before here. I just couldn’t deal with their bureaucratic bullshit anymore.” But I was no longer listening, looking up the hill where Uncle Mick was herding the lawyer through the front door.
7.
It was about an hour later that we saw the dust trail kick up for the second time, this time as the old Ford headed back to the main road. I looked up and saw the man flash us a wave as he passed about 50 yards before us. I waved, looking at the moon-faced smile of the man behind the wheel.