by Ian Todd
“I never wanted to hurt you, Collette, dear,” she whispered tae the grey leaden sky, jist visible through the barred windae oan the wall o’er tae her left, as she burst intae tears, while David Bowie’s voice reached her fae another prisoner’s radio in the distance, as he sang repetitively aboot the meaning ae ‘Five Years.’
Chapter Fifteen
The fact that he’d missed the obvious efter opening the ootside door and stepping oot intae the sunshine, only served tae convince him that his doubts aboot the effectiveness, or no, ae that radar ae his since leaving the toon, hid been spot oan. There wis nae other way tae explain it. It hid been a near miss wae Senga as well, especially wae her concern aboot being followed by some big crow. The sun hid been oot since the crack ae dawn. Maybe his eagerness tae get oot there, intae the fresh air, wis tae blame fur him no noticing it, as the happy wee tune that she’d been humming in the bath followed in his footsteps, as he disappeared roond the side ae the hoose tae where the hosepipe wis hinging up above the water tap. Thank Christ she hidnae clocked it when she’d come bouncing doon the stairs intae the living room tae eat her toast. She wid’ve hid a hairy fit. It wis only when he wis hosing doon the other side ae her car, facing the hoose and he noticed Mr Hopkins gaun batchy, that he’d realised something wis up. The interruption, wae the cat growling and hissing, jumping up at the front ae the door hid alerted him. Even efter he’d been confronted wae it, he’d still thought his eyes hid been playing tricks oan him. Recently, they’d been pleasantly surprised that wee birds hid started tae fly aboot the crofthoose, landing in the yard, pecking oan the ground and grass. He’d also convinced himsel that there wis bats oan the go. According tae Senga’s wee bird book, the new arrivals wur bullfinches. The lack ae any bird life aboot the place, apart fae Senga’s mysterious big crow that he hidnae so far clocked, hid been an on-going topic ae conversation between them since they’d moved in. He’d been tempted tae tell her aboot the crow conversation he’d hid while he’d been in theatre up at The Royal efter being rushed in and ambulance fae Dumfries Young Offenders Institution, bit thought better ae it fur the time being. He still wisnae sure if he’d been imagining the conversation. They’d jist put the lack ae birds doon tae the presence ae Mr Hopkins. Fur the past few nights though, Senga, himself and the cat hid sat ootside at dusk, watching them swirling roond the buildings and sheds in circles. As far as they knew, the cat hidnae caught any yet. The usual wee pastime him and Mr Hopkins enjoyed wis sitting watching the seagulls fighting, chasing efter each other, when wan ae the birds came across a scavenged bit ae rotten fish or crab and hid it clamped in their beak doon oan the beach in Vestey’s Bay. As well as the other bird life in the area, so far, they hidnae come across any seagulls up near the crofthoose. He’d drapped the hose and walked across tae see whit the score wis wae the cat and the front door. As he’d drawn closer, he’d thought his eyes wur playing tricks oan him. At first glance, it looked as if the big crow hid flown straight intae the door wae a massive splat. It wis only wance he wis in front ae it, wae the cat still jumping up between them, that he’d noticed a screw in each ae the spread oot wings. The poor thing hid been screwed tae the door, the wings ae its feathers spread oot in a semi-arched curve, its heid flopped doon tae the wan side. He’d jist hid time tae wrench it aff the door, when Senga rushed oot ae the living room, slinging her work bag across her shoulder, gied him a quick peck on the lips, before she wis in the car and aff doon the track wae a honk ae her wee pathetic horn.
“Great,” she’d said, gieing the flaked door a cursory glance oan the way past, as he’d stood there trying no tae look guilty wae the poor crow behind his back. “Ah’d keep it the same colour.”
“Piss aff, Mr Hopkins,” he shooshed, as the annoying wee basturt carried oan jumping up at his haun, howling, determined tae sink his fangs intae the carcass as he went roond the side ae the hoose and drapped it intae the midgie bin.
He’d mooched aboot maist ae the morning, his heid burling, wondering whit the fuck wis gaun oan. Despite Senga’s misgivings, he’d goat used tae the idea ae a crow taking up residence. The fact that she wis paranoid aboot the thing following her hid gied weight that his hospital conversation hidnae been a dream. He’d nipped up and oot ae his bed earlier wae a spring in his step, keen tae start a new chapter in the book efter gieing Betsy a hose doon. That plan hid soon bitten the dust. The cat hid reluctantly gied up his whining and curiosity efter accepting that he wisnae gonnae manage tae topple the lid aff the bin. He’d then jist sat brooding oan the deckchair, staring at the front door fur maist ae the morning. The crow hid been freaking Senga oot fur a while noo. He’d deliberately dismissed her theory aboot being followed by it, before she’d goat started oan the story ae some ghostly crow terrifying the local population doon in Lochinver back in the auld days. She’d gied up telling him the rest ae the story auld Miss MacKenzie hid telt her efter blaming the crow oan some local wummin hivving a stillborn baby. Despite being as bright as a button, she’d been taken in by some auld diabetic nurse who wis intae spinning the local folklore. The auld bat hid freaked her oot and noo she wis feart ae anything wae black wings. That in turn, meant that it could’ve become a problem fur him later oan. Of course, he’d tried tae dismiss where she’d been coming fae. He wondered noo, if it hid been him that hid been taken in.
“Fuck’s sake, Senga. See you and the lassies? Doon the road it wis scary psycho films, noo it’s giant crows. Whit’s next, cross-eyed zombie sheep?”
“Oh, piss aff, Johnboy,” she’d growled, throwing a wet cloth at him, efter he’d sat there wae a cynical expression splashed across his face a few nights earlier.
Well, wan thing wis fur sure. She widnae need tae be bothered aboot a giant crow following her doon the track tae her work noo. His conversation up at The Royal hid been nothing bit a dream. Whit an embarrassment. Thank Christ he hidnae spilled the beans tae her. The crow wis a goner. He’d been sitting fur a while, trying tae contain his emotions, which wur shooting aw o’er the place, like a tumbling rollercoaster that hid left the tracks. Wan minute he’d sorted whit he thought the situation wis in that heid ae his and then the next, he wis aff doon another route, before arriving back tae where he’d started. Other than nipping inside tae grab a cup ae tea or a glass ae Irn Bru, he’d remained in his deckchair, lost in thought. He wis surprised that he hidnae been mair raging than whit he actually wis efter the initial shock hid thawed oot a wee bit. As he’d sat there, trying tae figure oot the implications fur them…him, the realisation that they wur actually being targeted hid dawned oan him. Aw the wan aff wee strange happenings leading up tae the crow oan the door, started tae make sense, when tying everything thegither that hid happened since they’d moved in a few months earlier. The morning efter him and Senga hid hid tae jump oot ae the bedroom windae in the middle ae the night, he’d climbed up oan tae the roof tae check oot the chimney stack efter she’d heided tae her work. He’d discovered an auld sack lodged in the chimney pot. He remembered sitting up there, haudin oan tae the stack, trying tae stoap himsel fae being blown aff by the howling wind, scanning the surrounding area, trying tae rationalise how a sack hid managed tae get itsel lodged doon a chimney pot in the middle ae a snow storm. Of course, wae the strength ae the wind that night, the sack could easily hiv blown doon fae the barren hill facing the hoose and goat itsel stuck doon their chimney, he’d convinced himsel…if ye believed that pigs could fucking fly, that wis. He remembered speculating oan whit odds Fast Track Dave, Wan-bob’s auld bookie fae Springburn, wid’ve gied against an auld hemp sack getting stuck doon a clay chimney pot, the very chimney pot oot ae the three that jist happened tae hiv a dampened doon fire at the bottom ae it. Coincidence? He’d never believed in coincidences. That’s why The Mankys hid lasted fur as long as they hid. Even Senga hid questioned his rationale efter he’d shown her the size ae it when she’d arrived hame fae her work that night.
“So, did ye see it sticking up oot ae the pot, like?” she’d asked, peering
doon at the offending article that hid nearly asphyxiated them and the cat.
And that hid been the point. He hidnae. The bloody thing hid been stuck, well doon. He’d hid tae gie it a right good tug tae get it oot ae the pot.
“Maybe we need tae get some wire mesh…tae cover the opening ae the chimney pots,” wis aw she’d said, keen tae inspect the hoose fur any smoke damage.
Despite his misgivings at the time, there wis nothing they could dae aboot it. If he’d confessed tae Senga whit he really thought, she wid’ve accused him ae trying tae sabotage their move up fae Glesga. Her raving aboot how amazing the place wis and her excitement aboot her new job wis a running commentary o’er the dinner table maist nights. Then there hid been the water. Even though the water wis as fresh as ye’d get anywhere, it wis piped doon tae the crofthoose, straight fae a wee burn jist up the hill fae them, via a wellhead tank sunk intae the ground. When he’d explained tae her how the collecting process worked efter they’d went up tae inspect it the first time, she’d started her usual song and dance routine aboot if it wis safe enough tae drink. Efter that, she’d insisted that the water they drank hid tae be boiled first before being transferred intae gallon containers. Luckily, the decision tae boil the water hid been taken well before he’d telt her aboot the rotten sheep lying deid up at the burn.
“There’s something wrang wae the water,” she’d declared o’er her toast wan morning.
“No again?” he’d said sarcastically.
“Naw, Ah’m serious. There’s an awful smell when Ah flush the pan, so there is.”
“There’s supposed tae be,” he’d reminded her, still dismissing her paranoia.
“Ah’m telling ye. Ah kin smell it aff the bath water as well, even when Ah’ve put bath salts in.”
“Ah’ve never smelled anything and Ah’m in there every day, so Ah am.”
“Aye, well, you widnae,” she’d drawled, heidin fur the door, as him and the cat hid padded efter her.
“Look, Ah’ll take a hike up tae the well and hiv a wee gander, if it makes ye feel any better,” he’d said, as she smiled at him sweetly, before driving aff.
He could smell the rotten carcass fae at least a hunner yards before he’d reached it. Even Mr Hopkins, well known fur rolling in sheep shit, stayed well back, grabbing a seat oan a wee lichen-covered rock, watching him. He’d hid tae go back doon tae the shed and return wae a rope, decked oot in an auld pair ae giant welly fishing boots that came aw the way up tae his crotch. The stench hid stayed in his nostrils fur o’er a week. Even cooking their tea at night hid made him want tae puke up, it hid been that bad. The first gagging puke that day hid been when he wis trying tae push the rope underneath the body so he could tie it tae the other end. He’d been staunin in the middle ae the burn and hid slipped, the side ae his face slamming aff the wet, matted, rotten face. The second time hid been when he’d spent an hour trying tae haul the bloody thing up and oot ae the water, trying tae ignore its grimacing, bared buck-teeth through the rotten cheeks, its hauf eaten eye sockets staring accusingly up at him. It hid been like something oot ae a horror film. At first, he’d tried tae set it oan fire efter traipsing back doon and bringing up a gallon can ae petrol fae the shed, bit it wis too wet. The following day, efter eight trips wae stacks ae dried, auld wooden 4x4 posts oan that back and shoulders ae his, he’d managed tae burn maist ae whit wisnae still in the water away, allowing him tae pull up the rest ae it and dump it well away fae the burn. It wis only at that point, that the cat hid made up his mind tae venture closer, the smell ae roasting rotten flesh fae the bonfire winning the day. Of course, the sheep could’ve jist lain doon and died. When he’d thought aboot it later, he’d hauf convinced himsel that the hills and the sides ae the mountains roond aboot the crofthoose, wid’ve been full ae deid sheep. Christ, it wisnae difficult tae wonder how anything could survive oot in the open at that time ae the year, hardy sheep or no. It hid been the back ae the sheep’s heid and neck that hid clinched it fur him. Granted, the thing must’ve lain up there fur a wee while, rotting away, bit even when he’d stood gagging, peering doon at it, he’d been convinced that the wound oan the back ae the heid and neck hid been made wae the blast fae a shotgun. He hidnae mentioned his suspicion tae Senga at the time fur the same reason as he never mentioned that the sack hid been stuffed at least twelve inches doon the inside ae the chimney pot. And noo this. A big fucking crow nailed tae their front door? The basturt who’d left it there wis obviously getting impatient, believing that the message wisnae getting through. Well it wis noo, he cursed tae himsel. The question wis who wis targeting them? He looked aboot, swishing away a big bumblebee that wis in danger ae landing in his mug ae tea. The cat wis lying spread-eagled oan his back wae his mooth open, snoring contently away tae himsel, warming they hairy baws ae his in the sun. He’d initially wondered if they wur being targeted by whit wis left ae The Big man’s crowd or The McGregors maybe? Nobody, other than The Mankys, knew their address. As far as anywan knew, they lived in a desolate place up in the Highlands near a place called Ledmore Junction. Granted, if any ae that heavy mob in the toon wanted tae find them, then the fact that they didnae hiv their postal address widnae hiv been that hard tae resolve. Oan the other haun, even if there wis a Glesga connection, who the hell wid fart aboot, clogging up chimneys in the middle ae a stormy night, shooting a sheep in the back ae the heid, before dumping it in their drinking water and then nailing a crow tae the front door ae the hoose? If it wis a come-back fae the toon, he wid’ve been dealt wae long before noo. None ae they mental basturts doon there wid’ve pissed aboot. They wid’ve jist turned up and done the damage before heidin straight doon the road the same day…nae question aboot that. It hid tae be local. The only person he knew that hid threatened him, and wae a shotgun at that, hid been Grizzly Chops, across there at the caravan site. The fact that they…he, wis being targeted, wis beyond a shadow ae a doubt. The question gnawing away at him wis why? He’d come across plenty ae scary psychos in the jail doon through the years…mad fuckers who widnae spend a second attempting tae rationalise as tae why they went efter people as sport. Wis Grizzly Chops some sort ae psycho? They blazing eyes ae his looked as mad as a hatter, bit psycho material? He wisnae sure. Look at that film, Deliverance…noo there wis psycho stuff. He reckoned that Grizzly Chops must be in his late fifties, early sixties or thereaboots. Could somewan like him hiv survived in a wee community like Lochinver acting like that, withoot detection before noo? Whose other sheep hid he been shooting and dumping in their wells? He thought aboot Silent. He’d managed tae get past the psychologists and psychiatrists a lot doon the years, despite his obvious problems. Bit then again, Silent hid hid a support network among The Mankys tae cover his back and tracks. And then there wis Senga. Despite the odds seeming zero at the time, she’d somehow survived the clutches ae Wan-bob Broon and Charlie Hastie, efter her flatmate, Lizzie Mathieson, hid overheard Haufwit Murray blurt oot aw kinds ae shite tae The Stalker up in Stobhill Hospital back in 1974. Her and that flatmate ae hers hid been extremely fortunate considering who’d come efter them. Despite the odds stacked up against them o’er the years, Senga and him hid survived intact. He hidnae goat involved efter he’d signed himsel oot ae The Royal, despite pressure tae dae otherwise. Why aw this grief noo? Surely it hid tae be local…bit why? Could it really be because he jist happened tae saunter intae a rundoon caravan site tae ask if there wur any jobs oan the go? Of course, he knew they’d hiv tae move, bit tae where? Senga wid go aff her trolley if he even hinted at such a thing. Fur a start, she’d want tae know why. She’d even believed that he’d been exaggerating efter he’d telt her aboot that Grizzly Adams wan, pulling a shooter oan him.
“Look, we’re here tae stay, Johnboy. Ah’ve telt ye. This is me,” she’d said wae a spread ae baith erms in the living room. “Ah bloody well warned ye…naw, pleaded wae ye tae stay oot ae trouble and noo, here ye ur, trying tae upset me again. Ah’m telling ye right noo, Ah’m no prepared tae put up wae any ae your
nonsense again. Ah hid enough ae that back doon the road.”
“Whit nonsense?” he’d hit her wae, annoyed that she wis blaming him.
“You.”
“Look, the basturt aimed a fucking shotgun at me. Wid ye prefer me tae keep quiet aboot something like that? Ah thought ye wanted me tae tell ye the truth aboot things that happen in oor life? If ye don’t believe me, fair enough. Ah know exactly whit happened.”
“So, why don’t we get in touch wae the polis if he did as you’re claiming? If you don’t report him, then the chances ur he’ll dae it tae somewan else…whit?”
“There’s no way Ah’m involving the polis. You should know better than that.”
“Ah thought ye said ye’d changed…that ye wur starting afresh?”
“Aye, bit no fucking involving the local PC Shiny Buttons patrol. Look, don’t take this the wrang way, bit when Ah said Ah’d changed, it didnae mean running aboot wae the Keystone Kops as ma pals,” hid been the last words oan the subject.
Bit whit tae dae aboot it, that wis the question. Sit back until the next time or go and nip whitever the issue wis in the bud? He stood up. He wis melting and didnae want tae get burned by sitting in the sun too long. She’d go aff her heid at him. He nipped intae the hoose and returned wae a dish towel, jist in time tae catch Mr Hopkins yawning, gieing himsel a good long stretch, before he ran tae catch up wae him as he crossed the yard tae the shed. He locked the door behind them efter wan final glance across tae the track. He lifted doon the ladder that wis hinging horizontally oan pegs alang the back wall. Efter placing it against the rafter in the roof, he climbed up.
“Right, piss aff, cat,” he turned and growled, as the cat halted and looked up at him fae the fifth step and meowed.
He stretched up and fumbled behind the crossbeam wae his right haun, quickly finding and gripping the waterproof package he’d hidden the day efter they’d moved in, back at the end ae March. Wae the cat sitting purring oan his right and wae a clear view across tae the track through the dirty windae, he loosened the leather shoelace and unfurled the package. He looked at the contents fur a few seconds, before he transferred the Walther PPK-L semi-automatic pistol and the two cartridge magazines oan tae the spread oot dishtowel. Despite hivving a loaded chamber indicator oan it, he checked tae make sure the gun wis empty and the two magazines wur fully loaded wae the .32 bullets. Satisfied that he hid sixteen bullets, seven plus the wan fur the chamber wance he loaded it, he picked the gun up and swivelled roond in his seat. Wae baith erms ootstretched, he aimed at the lightbulb and pulled the trigger as the cat suddenly disappeared at the same time as the bulb exploded intae smithereens. He chuckled, remembering the last time he’d held it in his haun proper.