‘Nice. Tony’s got the bag for the barrel’ Sue said. Ernie took the bag from Tony and put his hand in it. Taking out the contents. Metallic and long. He looked shocked then dropped it on the table.
‘What the bloody hell is that?’ Sue rushed over and looked at the object on the table. She couldn’t place it. Then it hit her right between the eyes.
‘It’s a spare part for my washing machine. Tony, you picked up the wrong bag.’ She said. Ernie sat down mock clutching at his heart.
‘Blow me….I thought it was a marital aid!’ Sue burst out laughing.
‘I don’t need any help in that way.’ Tony said. He walked towards the door to get the other bag.
The door banged open and Liz and Andy walked in. Liz looked white and weak. Her hair was stuck together in clumps and she was wearing her jumper inside out. Andy is carrying both instrument cases.
‘Liz! You look terrible!’ Ernie said.
‘Thanks a bunch Ern. Glad I made the effort now.’
‘It's much appreciated but if you have a bug, I would rather you be at home and not infect the others.'
‘It's not a bug. Andy hasn’t got it. I just don’t fancy any food and I feel shaky and want to sleep all the time.’ She drops herself into a chair near the counter and weakly starts to get her instrument out.
‘Maybe you are in the family way,’ says Ernie.
‘No!’ Andy and Liz reply together.
‘It's not that at all. It’s since the weekend. The day after the party. I have been having such weird dreams too.’
‘Did you eat prawns?’ Tony asks knowledgeably.
‘No.’
‘Pork?’ asks Susan.
Liz thinks hard and then says, ‘I had a vegetarian hotdog.’
‘There’s no pork in them. Only earholes and eyelashes. The same as real hotdogs,’ laughed Ernie.
‘Thanks. That’s taken the queasiness off completely,’ Liz said as she rolled her eyes.
‘Why did you let her come in, Andy?’
‘She bloody insisted didn’t she. Said if she didn’t come with me, she would drive herself here, in her car, after I had left. So I had to bring her. This is Liz you are talking about, you know.’ Andy shakes his head.
‘I see that would be difficult,’ Tony said, winking at Andy.
‘You probably just need a Tonic. One with iron in it,’ Sue says. ‘Or an old fashioned posset.’
‘Oooh. A posset. I fancy one of them,’ said Ernie.
‘What’s one of them?’ Asked Andy. ‘If it will help Liz, we will get it.’
‘Well, you take half a pint of milk in a pan, warm it, not boiling though.’ Said Sue.
‘Or you’ll cook the egg,’ shouted Lynn as she came in from out of the music library.
‘What egg?’ Asked Liz.
‘Ok, while you are warming the milk, you take an egg, beat it, stir in about a tablespoon of black treacle.’ Sue said.
‘Not golden syrup either, never!’ Ernie interrupted angrily, looking at Lynn. ‘If you don’t have the ingredients, don’t cobble it together, like someone I know. The black treacle is important.’
‘Then you add the warm milk to the egg and treacle combination, and stir it gently together, melting the treacle. Finally you sprinkle a bit of nutmeg on the top.’ Sue smiled.
‘Not cinnamon. That is forbidden too.’ Ernie looked at Lynn, shaking his head.
‘I did all this, one time. And you have never let me forget it, have you. It must have been fifteen years ago now.’ Lynn said
‘I can’t forget it Lynn. Anyway, Liz, take it to bed, drink it down, go to sleep. It fixes anything.’
‘That sounds nice. I’ll call and get something on the way home tonight. Thanks Sue and Ernie. There’s not many here tonight.’
‘No. They are dropping like flies. Not heard from Sophie or Diane. Or the Thompsons. Various tales about all the others, but they were all members of the ten piece so this food poisoning theory of mine, might be right….even if that food wasn’t prawns.’
They could hear a car engine outside and Tony looked out of the window as he was just beside it, getting his trombone out of its case. The security light came on and he recognized the BMW 4x4.
‘It’s Roger,’ He said, and drew his nose even further towards the window, straining his eyes to see through the darkness. ‘He’s got Sophie with him.’
‘Talk of the devil,’ Ernie said grinning.
Roger entered. An elderly wealthy man, who was always well dressed and liked the finer things in life. Sophie was just behind him. They shut the door and Sophie announced breezily ‘Me Mam’s not coming. She’s ill.’
‘What’s up with her?’ Ernie asked, ‘I can guess that it’s probably food poisoning.’
‘No Ernie, You’re wrong as usual. It’s migraine.’
‘Oh. Fair enough,’ cheeky madam, he thought.
Sophie stood by the coat rack and started to take off her coat. ‘She’s been in her room with the curtains closed since t’weekend, not seen her going the loo, so I think its migraine. She’s had them before.’
Liz got up wearily out of her seat and walked past Sophie. ‘Yeah, usually after every weekend. To be fair Sophie, she was really drunk at the concert and we all know she likes a good time,’ Liz said.
‘Piss off Liz. I see you are looking gorgeous as usual,’ she snapped.
‘Didn’t you ask, what was wrong with her or ask if she wanted anything?’ asked Sue.
‘I’ve been out with my mates, most of the weekend and I’ve looked in, but she looks asleep.’
‘She could be dead as far as you know,’ Andy said.
‘Just leave it.’ Sophie snapped back.
‘Lets get on with the practice, everyone’ Ernie said diplomatically.
Everyone took their seats. Liz and Sophie, shooting daggers across the room at each other with their eyes. They had never been the best of friends. Ernie walked to the front to make his announcements. ‘Right everyone, we have got a few absent after the other nights food poisoning or shenanigans – I wasn’t there, I don’t know. I have heard that the band played beautifully, and that’s all I am bothered about. Not heard off the Thompsons yet, which is unusual. I will keep you informed. We are practicing a few new Carols tonight amongst other things for the Christmas concert with Friarmere Primary in December. Barry has got a few things out of the music library for us to go through and those are in your music pads, courtesy of Fred. Ok. Over to Barry.’
‘Right band, get out Carol of the Bells,’ sighed Barry.
Woody sat in his living room. The room was just lit by the light of the television. Even that got too bright at some points. The sound was off and Eastenders was on. He wasn’t watching Ian Beale in the Café though. He felt like he was falling into a bottomless pit. Desperate to eat, his stomach groaned, but he knew he couldn’t eat or else he would be sick. He hated being ill. Plus, he was in a vile temper and didn’t know why. His wife, Janet wanted to stay at home and look after him. Or make him soup, or tea or put a blanket on him. But every word she said, even her presence in the room made him want to kill her. Not just kill her, no….rip, eviscerate, destroy her. He had never felt like this in his life and never wanted to again. He loved Janet. Sometimes he felt lucid. He knew what he was feeling was only temporary and alien. Then 5 minutes later, he would want to embrace these feelings, still in anger and immense hunger again. He definitely wasn’t going to go into work again tomorrow. Or even to the shops. He didn’t want to go out. Didn’t want to see anyone. Didn’t want Janet to come home. He was too afraid. Too afraid of her getting to close to him and what he might be capable of.
Diane lay in her bed the pillow was wet with cold sweat. She had felt dreadful the next morning after the party. She had a bad hangover. It seemed it happened less and less these days. But this was bad. She couldn’t face food, or water. It was lasting much longer than usual. But after many hours of tortured dreams and tortured wakefulness, she knew what would make h
er feel better. The hair of the dog that bit her. It crossed her mind for a split second, that she was becoming an alcoholic, but then she discarded that notion with a snort. She had taken a bottle of wine from the party when there was no one else in the room. Stephen had clumsily taken two and Diane thought she would blame him, if questions were asked. She weakly reached into her bag and took out the bottle of wine. The corks had been removed, to let the wine breathe and a stopper had been inserted. As she removed the stopper, the slightest scent of salvation came from the bottle. She shivered all over and took a sip. The effect was almost orgasmic. Each drop was wonderful, but she knew she could not take a lot at a time. Tonight this tasted so rich, even thick. So she had another wonderful sip and put the cork back in the bottle. She felt so much better, but then had a sudden realization. Had Norman drugged them? Diane had experience in drugs and knew that she had been craving something that wasn’t just alcohol and was withdrawing from it. That substance was in the bottle. She thought she cared, then realized she didn’t. Then sleep finally came to take her.
Keith felt like shit. He refused to stay at home. Absolutely refused. He had always said he would go to work with two broken legs if he had to. He had been brought up by a strict father and old fashioned mother and they had instilled in him that you attended school and work every day. Spare the rod, spoil the child. The adult Keith thought that weakness or illness were to be despised and he was pompous, loudmouthed and unpopular. Tall and unattractive, with the kind of skin that told of many acne plagued years, he was a heavy smoker and recently had become quite hunched in the shoulders. At fifty-three he was a Police Constable, regretting he hadn’t achieved a greater rank. One of many source’s of his bitterness. He also wished he was a better musician and had never been a father, so a child had never softened his approach to the young either. His wife Yvonne, who he thought might turn into some kind of sex kitten had ended up just like him. Shrew-faced, bitter, childless, selfish. At least they had someone to talk to at night as they had no other friends, apart from the people at Friarmere Band. There was no one he spoke to. The other officers avoided him and he was a very negative energy. Life was tough enough in the Police Force, without some misery bringing everyone down.
So, apart from all Keith’s other natural and normal ways, there was a certain added blackness about him tonight. No…more than that. A need to inflict pain, misery on others that he had not experienced before. The rain and cold matched his mood. As he started through the streets he was determined to suffer no fools gladly tonight.
Maurice didn’t feel too well. Like indigestion but a bit different. An acidic taste in his mouth definitely. But a hunger that was fierce. A man of his age knew though, if you have acid indigestion, you don’t put more food in your belly for it to raise the acid levels further. He thought back to when he had had a last meal. Maybe it was when he had that left over food from the party. Yes, yes that was it. Obviously too much pastry. Or maybe it was on the turn. He couldn’t quite remember when that meal was though. Maurice remembered the following morning feeling very unwell and forcing himself to eat that food for strength. After all, he lived on his own, so if he got into a proper state, who would help him? He had to walk everywhere, even in the house, with his stick. Immediately after that food, he had a good sleep and woke up feeling quite refreshed. He felt like he might have a headache on its way though, probably too much sleep, and he hadn’t opened his curtains. Coming to think about it now, he hadn’t opened them since the weekend. Tonight he had rang Ernie and said he couldn’t blow his cornet with a load of acid at the back of his throat and Ernie agreed. He thought for a while about fixing himself up. Now, did he have a couple of rogue antacid tablets in his medicine box? It was quite full of all his other medications and he hadn’t needed them for ages. Getting up, he walked slowly to the kitchen and opened the cupboard, containing his tablets. Rummaging around for a minute in there he wondered if he had thrown them out and had forgotten about it. Just when he had lost all hope, he saw the bent packet underneath an old tin of Fiery Jack rubbing ointment. Luckily, there were two tablets left. Popping them out of their blister pack onto the kitchen counter, the smell of mint was overpowering. He fumbled about with them, on the counter and wondered if this was such a good idea at all. The smell of mint made him more nauseous. Flaring his nostrils he took deep breaths to try and not succumb. He waited a couple of minutes, deep breathing but it wasn’t going away. In a decision of all or nothing, taking the tablets in the palm of his hand he threw them into his mouth and started to chew. Almost immediately he started to heave, his gag reflex showing its immense strength by forcing him to disgorge his mouth’s contents, straight back up onto the counter. Oh bloody hell, that’s the end of that, he thought. Wiping his mess up with some snowman kitchen paper he put the medicine box away. Wondering what on earth to do next. Deciding it might just be best to take his mind of it, he walked back into his front room, switching the Radio 3 on as he passed it. There might be some brass band music on. Sitting down, his hand touched his stick, his old friend for many years, which has been there for the whole time he was in the kitchen. That stick had been his old friend for years now. Unable to get up out of the chair without it, never mind walk into the other room. Well fancy that!! Swings and roundabouts he thought. I might not be able to eat and have a chest and throat that feels like fire, but I’ve just bloody walked at least fifty steps without my stick. Like everyone, he always took his health for granted when he was younger. Running, walking, dancing, weren’t things to be grateful for, were they? That was until his motorbike crash. Everything changed then. His leg was damaged forever. The knee, useless. The leg was thinner, the muscles unused and wasted. There was very little sensation and a general sense of numbness about it. Maurice was just thankful at the time that he hadn’t lost it.
Stephen sat in his bedroom on the end of his bed. Opposite him, was his games console which he was playing on now. This console was a ‘collective’ Christmas present about five years ago and it was getting pretty old now. Being old had its advantages as he could buy games cheaply. This made the fact he could not complete any game not hurt as much. At least not financially. This wasn’t because he didn’t want to, but because he had thick clumsy fingers and his hand to eye co-ordination was slow. This meant he got frustrated when he came to a difficult bit and got angry at the game and at himself and would not play for a while. He got angry about a lot of things. That he was made fun of at most places he went to, because of his slowness. That he could not play the baritone as well as the other baritone player. The fact that he lived with his brother, at twenty-nine years old. Most of all, it was because he wanted a girlfriend. He was lonely. Everyone he knew from school, had someone. Some were married, or even had children. When was it his turn.
He hadn’t felt like going to band tonight. Which was very unusual. He never missed band. They were his only friends and he really enjoyed talking to Liz and a few of the others. But tonight he couldn’t’ face it, but not really knowing the reason why. He was distracted, floating from one thing to another. He had ventured out of his room to find his brother earlier and to say he would have to give his excuses to band tonight, but Michael wasn’t in. The car was missing. Stephen supposed he would be back before band, to pick him up and at that point, he would tell him he wasn’t going. Needing a distraction from the way he felt, he started to play. It did distract him and playing for so long he lost track of time and did not realise that the time for band had long gone. Carrying on playing, he wasn’t getting sick of it tonight. Stephen had never got such high scores before on this game, he was killing zombies left right and centre, his fingers reacted to every impulse his brain sent, a stone cold killer tonight. He started to laugh, and laugh. Large guffaws, which got louder and louder. If there was anyone left in the house, they would have said it was maniacal.
Keith felt that if people weren’t committing crime on the streets, they were trying to hide it from him. He hadn’t found anyone up to
no good tonight and it wasn’t enough for him. It couldn’t be true that all people were law abiding and some preparing to go to bed. He wanted, no needed to get someone good and proper.
Michael stood outside the bandroom in amongst the trees. He didn’t need to camouflage himself really and there was no one outside or even due to come later. But even if there were, they would never see him as he was so far back in amongst the undergrowth. Norman stood beside him. They stood in silence for a while. Then Michael spoke.
‘What are we doing, here, Master?’
‘It is rude to question me, Michael, but I will forgive you as you are in training, and you have been chosen for other qualities. I am your teacher and will make you into a fine predator. I am here to study my prey. I do not presume to know everything about them or their habits. And Michael, I can hear them. I hear their plans and it will make it easier for me to snare them, yes?’ He lifted his hand, palm upwards and seemed to grab quickly at the air as he pronounced the word ‘snare’.
‘Oh, yes. Of course. I knew that. I feel I am already far greater than I was. A much better man. I feel King of the World already. You have made me, what I always should have been and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Also for giving me the lovely Kate, who I definitely feel is my soulmate.'
‘Michael, Michael,’ Norman laughs, ‘you are nowhere near what you will become. You are just a shadow of what you must be. But we will get there, will we not?’
‘Yes. Oh yes. But I was wondering. When will I be like Kate and the others?'
‘When you are ready. Such a gift has to be earned and I think you should be honoured to know that I have picked you amongst all others to be my special servant. You may see others get turned before you, but they will not be in the same class as yourself. I need you to be just the way you are for the moment. You still have Kate to keep you content for a while.’
‘Ha, Ha. Yes. Whilst it’s just us guys together, wow, what that Kate can do…..she does this little thing with her..’
Sticky Valves: Book 1 of the Saddleworth Vampire Series Page 5