Fuck the Rules

by Chizmar, Richard

  Harvey’s shiver had nothing to do with the cold that still lingered in his body. “I can’t explain what happened to me but it was very real at the time. I’ll have nightmares about it for years to come. That Hanging Wood is more than just trees growing on a hill. It’s an evil place, take it from me.”

  “I wouldn’t go up there myself after dark,” the farmer admitted. “Not that I’ve seen or heard anything out of the ordinary at any time but I just wouldn’t risk it. Following your dog was bad enough but I knew I had to find you. Thank God that I did. Tell you what, come Spring me and my workers are going to fell that wood, cut the trees up for logs and burn ‘em. That way, whoever you saw up there tonight, if they exist, won’t have any trees to hang anybody on. The Hanging Wood will be gone forever, maybe even forgotten in years to come. It’s an evil place, take it from me!”

  Carnage

  Rose Garnett

  Marnie knew there were three men following her as she walked down the rain-slicked pavement in the early hours of Saturday morning. The tap, tap, tap of her high heels echoed around the deserted street. A muffled snigger from one of the trio and she increased her pace, cursing the red stilettos that had seemed a good idea five hours ago in the safety of her flat.

  She had been out on the hunt tonight, but hadn’t met any decent candidates – and now, here she was, playing the part of someone else’s prey. She pulled at her short, ruffled skirt, as though it would magically stretch to cover long, tanned legs. If she could get to her flat and the security of her pack, everything would be okay. Marsha had warned her not to get separated from the others as they worked the bars and, once again, she’d paid no attention. Everyone knew bad things happened to girls who didn’t listen; it was the way of the world. She had put herself in harm’s way once too often and now her luck had run out.

  Marnie was about level with the entrance to the Meadows, a park she would normally cross as a quick route home. But now, chancing a swift glance behind her, she knew that was out of the question – she should stick to the comparatively bright main street.

  They were gaining on her.

  “It’s got a sizeable arse on it, I’ll give it that,” one of them shouted.

  “Room for two on that, at least,” said another, higher voice.

  From the cat-calls and laughter, she judged they were young, all wearing a uniform of tracksuit bottoms and oversized parkas, hoods up, hiding their faces. It was such a muggy summer night despite the earlier rain that the coats stood out as an odd choice – were they concealing weapons?

  Scanning the street in front of her, there wasn’t a soul in sight. But then she realised her error as two more parka-clad men appeared from a side street, arms outspread as though in welcome. She calculated the odds of crossing the road – it was no use, she’d never make it. Whipping round in the direction of the park, she had no choice.

  “Christ, she’s gagging for it, this one,” someone said.

  As she made a run for it into the dark, tree-lined depths of the park, she realised they had been herding her in that direction all along. There was no CCTV in the Meadows and the good citizens of Edinburgh avoided the place after the sun set if they knew what was good for them.

  Kicking off her shoes and dropping her bag, she sprinted down Middle Meadow Walk, intent on keeping to the path and making it across the common before they caught up with her.

  Don’t stray from the path.

  Refusing to think about what would happen even if she did make it to the road on the other side, she ran as fast as she could, oblivious to the pain in her already bleeding feet.

  It took her precious seconds to grasp there were no sounds of pursuit and she soon found out why.

  As though at a pre-arranged signal, a horde of silent figures in parkas stepped out of the gloom and into the meagre light of the few old-fashioned streetlamps that lined the path.

  What the fuck is going on?

  Someone stepped out in front of her and she collided with them, falling to the ground, grazing her knees.

  “What do you want?” she screamed.

  “What do you want,” someone mimicked in a high falsetto.

  A beat of silence. A breeze, bringing with it the scent of newly mown grass, ruffled the cherry blossom in the trees and dappled the dim orange glow of the streetlights. From far off, she could hear the occasional rumble of lorries as they motored by, oblivious to her plight.

  She was yanked to her feet by her long hair and dragged, kicking and protesting, deep into a darkened grassy area. Thrown onto the ground, she struggled to stand, but was pushed back down by insistent hands. The crowd fanned out around her, forming a circle of hooded, jeering figures.

  Christ, there must be hundreds of them.

  An expectant hush was broken by a large, burly man who strode up to her and punched her, hard, in the face. Crack, a warm rush of blood – her nose was broken.

  “Please, tell me what you want. I’ve got money – it’s yours – just let me go,” she gabbled through blood and snot.

  The burly man took his hood down and shone a torch under his jowly, bearded face. Thin grey hair struggled to make it past pock-marked cheeks. “It’s you we want, don’t we, boys?”

  “Oi, what about us?” shouted an unseen woman.

  “You women’s libbers, what are you like?” The big man rolled his eyes and grinned, revealing brown, rat-like teeth.

  “Who are you?” quavered Marnie.

  Some of the mob pretended to sob and someone threw a large stone that thunked her on the forehead – she reeled, almost passing out.

  Even if, by some miracle, she escaped this horror, Marsha would kill her for breaking one of the cardinal pack rules – getting caught by humans. If they found out what she was…

  “I’m Brother Brian, and I’ll be your attacker for tonight,” said the big man to hoots of laughter, holding a hand over his heart. “That’s me, but who are we collectively though, that’s the more interesting question, isn’t it, ladies and gents?”

  A roar of approval went up from the assembled crowd.

  “Please,” Marnie sobbed, “just let me go. I won’t tell anyone, I promise!”

  “You’re not really getting this, are you? Okay, here’s what I’ll do for you. Before we, eh, have a go, as it were – and since you’ve asked – I’m going to tell you about the new setup. Don’t say I’m not good to you,” he said, switching the torch off.

  A soft groan to her left – Marnie turned towards it. In the distance, a police siren faded into nothing.

  “Show her what we’ve made,” yelled a voice.

  “Now, we don’t want to scare the poor little thing to death, do we?” said Brother Brian. “Not before we get what we came for, surely?”

  “Show her, show her, show her,” chanted the mob.

  “Oh, alright, can’t hurt – take her over to say hello. I’m just a big softy, me,” said Brother Brian, gurning as he kicked what looked like a large sack, once, twice, three times. Whatever was imprisoned inside screamed, high and shrill, before breaking down into a hopeless sobbing.

  Marnie was seized and hauled over to where the noise had come from. A dark mound towered in front of her, as though someone had built a huge bonfire and forgotten to light it.

  “She can’t see it – where’s the fun in that?” a guttural voice rasped.

  Brian sighed. “You don’t deserve me, you really don’t,” he said, switching the torch back on.

  “Don’t do that – someone’ll see,” shouted a young man, rushing forward, ginger dreads and waist-length beard flying.

  “Fuck that, Brother Simon. Our days of skulking in dark corners are over – or haven’t you been paying attention?” roared Brother Brian, voice rising as he stabbed the air for emphasis. “Besides, we’re too far in – aren’t we, boys and girls?”

  A crescendo of whoops and wolf-whistles greeted his words.

  “Alright, you dirty buggers, calm down,” Brother Brian continued. “There’
s time for that after we’ve given our guest the guided tour.”

  The fact that these lunatics weren’t bothering to conceal their identities now she had been captured was the latest in a road trip of bad signs that led nowhere she wanted to go.

  I wouldn’t be here now if I’d listened to Marsha.

  She didn’t follow the thin beam of light as it played over the mound, but Brother Simon grabbed hold of her and forced her head round.

  “If you don’t open your eyes, we’ll cut off your eye-lids,” he told her in a posh, Morningside accent.

  “That’s my boy,” shouted a woman from the crowd.

  “That’s not what you said last night, you filthy bitch,” said another, to the raucous laughter of the mob.

  But Marnie scarcely heard as she tracked the torch in its progress. The beam lingered on a bloodied head rammed onto a stick, mouth agape and stuffed with tender, fleshy parts, one eye a glistening, red ruin. Then a dismembered arm, a glint of bone protruding from the shoulder joint. More limbs than she could count; a detached breast, coated with blood and thicker matter, decorated with the imprint of human teeth where the nipple should have been. A male torso, with pride of place on top of the pile, words carved into the flesh of the stomach in jagged, bloody letters.

  “Can you read that, bitch?” hissed Brother Simon into her ear as she struggled to be free of him, the goaty reek of his beard almost making her vomit. “No? Well, I’ll tell you,” he continued. “It says ‘Take Back The Night’. Do you know what that means?” he screamed, spitting into her face. “Do you? You bitches used too moan about it often enough. Well, you’re playing by our rules now, slut – and guess what, we win.”

  Marnie wasn’t listening. Everything was in slow motion as it hit home that the mound in front of her was a pile of dead bodies – one she was clearly supposed to join.

  I’ve died and gone to hell.

  A groan from the pile.

  Someone lit a row of homemade torches: large planks of wood, crowned with cloth, stuck into the ground. Flames crackled and danced, birthing flickering shadows that played over the mutilated corpses.

  “You fuckers couldn’t break a fucking taboo if you had it bent over your knees, arse up,” yelled a fat woman, pounding over to the corpses and throwing body parts around like skittles. “Right – where are you, you bastard?”

  Brother Simon released Marnie, but she was rooted to the spot, paralysed.

  “If you’re going to kill me, get it over with,” she said, all hope seeping from her.

  The fat woman had found the groaner, a slight adolescent of indeterminate sex. Casting around for a weapon, she picked up a large stone, already slick and dark with a substance that looked like blood. Hefting it in her hand like an expert, she began to pound the head of the juvenile, the wet crunch of bone finally giving way to a watery slapping as the skull shattered.

  “That’ll learn ya, you little fuck,” she screeched, burying her head in the youngster’s naked belly, biting through the flesh, her long unbound hair falling forward into the uncovered intestines.

  But the youth still wasn’t dead, a soft phlppph issuing from the ruin that had been its face as the woman guzzled down bloody chunks of its internal organs. An acrid stench drenched the warm air, and Marnie guessed the youngster’s bowel had been pierced.

  “Oh, we’re not getting anything over anytime soon, my impatient little pussy cat,” said Brother Brian to screams of mirth. “I still haven’t told you who we are,” he said, torch again ensconced under his chin.

  “I don’t give a fuck,” said Marnie, offering the only resistance she could, aware it was futile.

  “Well, that’s too bad, because we do,” whined Brother Simon.

  “As the words carved into that cop’s chest say, we’re taking back the night and there’s nothing you or the moral majority can do about it,” said Brother Brian, pulling something fleshy from the pile of body parts and taking an enormous bite.

  Marnie struggled against instantaneous nausea. “What are you talking about? You’ll never get away with this – you’re all crazy,” she screamed.

  Hands closed around her, hauling her up and onto an impromptu cross. Her arms and legs were tied crucifixion style.

  The pain was excruciating as her arms took the strain of her entire weight.

  Meanwhile, below her, the fat woman and some others arranged kindling around the base of the cross, singing ‘Whistle While You Work’.

  Wait, isn’t this like that terrible film – what was it – The Surge or something?

  “If you think you can get away with a night of chaos, you’re wrong, you bastards,” she shouted with her last reserves. Her weight bowed her arms further – any minute they’d be free from the life-long tyranny of their own sockets.

  Brother Simon sniggered, a line of snot falling onto his ginger beard. “She thinks this is about one night of freedom.”

  The expanding crowd laughed and whistled in response.

  “Well, it’s not,” he continued, whipping round to point a shaking finger at her. “It’s the rest of our lives.”

  “Aye, okay lad,” said Brother Brian, tone paternal. “Okay. The bitch has it wrong. Is that not ever the way though?” he appealed to the crowd, arms wide.

  They roared their approbation.

  “Don’t worry though,” Brother Brian continued. “She’s still got her very own fry-up to enjoy. Then we’ll see how gobby she is.”

  He went over to where she hung, her clothes in shreds, a line of piss leaking down into the assembled garbage at the bottom of the cross. “It’s not one night, whore. It’s all of them. Do you still not understand?”

  Hoping this would delay the moment where she was set alight, she shook her head, the effort almost beyond her.

  “They have names for people like us: perverts, paedophiles, murderers, rapists, arsonists, peeping toms, cannibals, predators, sexual fetishists, sadists – sinners all, or so we’re told. They tell us we're criminals – the dregs of society – and that’s without having the slightest understanding of a way of life that demands qualities the rest of the drones can’t even comprehend, never mind have. I’m talking about free-thinking, ingenuity, passion, commitment.”

  Brother Brian spat out the words like bullets, one hand hammering the palm of the other for emphasis. “That may be so, but we’re everywhere and we’ve had e-fucking-nough of being made to feel like we’ve got something to be ashamed of. We’ve been infiltrating your kind for years – we’re your doctors, lawyers, surgeons, prison officers, brickies, factory workers, civil servants, your world fucking leaders, and we’ve penetrated every last inch of this so-called moral society.

  “You haven’t been able to get rid of us or jail us all, whatever new-thought crime strategy you’ve come up with. But most importantly, you can’t defeat us if we stand together. And, oh, we do stand together, my friends, don’t we?”

  The crowd was transfixed, all eyes on the orator.

  “And this isn’t just for a night or a week or a month – it’s from now on. Despite our persecution, we have endured and become stronger. And now – we are fucking legion!” bellowed Brother Brian, beating his chest.

  The instantaneous, mighty roar from those assembled made Marnie close her eyes. A twin track of tears ran down both cheeks.

  What have I done to deserve this?

  “And we’ve had enough,” he continued.

  Marnie groaned, praying for a quick death that refused to come.

  “Well, the straights have had their chance and screwed things up good and proper. We live in a world where you’re not allowed to so much as sniff your own farts without some nosy, interfering bastard popping up to tap you on the shoulder, telling you what you can and can’t do. But now it’s our turn to come out of the closet, into the light and take up the reins of power that are rightfully ours. Our time has come, brothers and sisters, it has come!”

  The crowd howled and cheered its approval.

  T
hen, out of the night, a hooded figure hurled itself on Brother Brian.

  “What the fuck?” he demanded, brandishing a knife at the newcomer.

  “Sorry, Mister,” said the figure, taking down its hood to reveal the smooth pale face of a young boy of around eight or nine. “My name’s Brother Steven, and I’ve been sent by Brother Isaac to tell you there’s a mass gangbang on the south side. There must be fifteen of them – the crowd are going nuts. Brother Isaac says to come now or they won’t last what’s being done to them. They’ve got blowtorches and everything. It’s so cool!” The boy's eyes shone in the reflected light of the torches, his thin body quivering with excitement.

  “Boys or girls, Brother Steven?” asked Brother Brian, stroking his beard.

  “Boys and girls,” said the child with obvious pride, as though talking about ice-cream flavours.

  “We can’t leave this little slag,” moaned Brother Simon.

  Brother Brian looked up at where Marnie hung and their eyes met. Pursing his mouth, he said, “Skinny bitch can keep – not enough of her to go round, truth be told. Too much cannibalism and too little hot sex action make Brother Brian a very dull boy. Let’s go, brethren.”

  Marnie scarcely dared breathe.

  “But someone might find and rescue her,” Brother Simon persisted.

  The big man eyed him and then his face cracked into a grin. “Haven’t we just mounted a takeover? Half the cops in St Leonards are brothers now. I don’t think there’ll be any rescue anytime soon. Let’s go and have some fun – whaddya say, brothers and sisters, eh? Quickly, before those south-siders get all the good stuff.”

  The crowd were incandescent now, shouting, whooping and screaming their ecstasy as they streamed off into the night.

  In the eerie, sudden silence, she risked calling out, only too aware it might attract one of the monsters who had put her here.

  “Please, help me. Help me,” she croaked, but her voice was only a dry husk.