Deadweight | Novella | Thornhurst

by Forster, Paul

  Paul Forster

  Thornhurst

  A Deadweight Novella

  Copyright © 2020 by Paul Forster

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  First edition

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  Contents

  Day One

  Day Two

  Day Three

  Day Four

  Day Five

  Day Ten

  About the Author

  Day One

  Thornhurst was an idyllic English village. It was a living postcard that had changed little for over a hundred years. The village store still stood in the centre of the high street, but now branded with a national store chain’s logo. The pub was still the village hub; the villagers enjoying it as generations had done before them, but now a fruit machine and a selection of alcopops were available besides a slender selection of ales. A tea room and an antiques shop lured in outsiders to the village, providing a valuable income to the community that had struggled in recent years. Surrounded by countryside and farms, it was the largest of the villages in the area.

  The tea room hosted several of its regulars, enjoying a cup of tea and a nice cake. Edith, Rose and Edward were all well into their seventies and had lived in the village their entire lives. Now well into their retirement, they enjoyed a regular catch up. Edith’s husband had passed nearly a year ago, and the foursome had become a trio. Rose and Edward had been married for nearly fifty years and were still very much in love.

  “Have you seen this nonsense in the towns?” Edward had been enjoying a newspaper whilst his companions chatted.

  “London?” Rose offered.

  “No, all of them. The cities, even Burgess Hill is listed here. People are going spastic,” Edward spat out.

  “You can’t say that Edward,” Edith scolded him, all too aware his language was inappropriate.

  “People are going feral, attacking each other and the police. Look at this.” Edward showed the women a few pictures from the paper, the images deemed gruesome enough for the editor to blur out some details.

  “Edward, I don’t want to see that whilst eating my Victoria sponge.” Edith turned away in disgust.

  “I bet it’s drugs, it’s always drugs,” Edward offered his opinion.

  “Or war, are they protesting about a war?” Rose countered.

  “Or the weather. The kids today are always talking about the climate,” Edith was certain.

  “It doesn’t say, just that it’s happening everywhere,” Edward remarked as he took a big gulp of his tea. “We should make sure we lock the door tonight.”

  “You should come over to ours Edith, we’ll make the spare room up for you.” Rose had been concerned about Edith since she had become a widow. A storm or even a hint of snow and she would make sure the spare room was ready.

  “I wouldn’t want to be a bother.” Edith had been very independent, but the gruesome censored images had disturbed her. Their lovely little village surely wouldn’t be affected, but she was all on her own.

  “Don’t be silly, we can get a shepherd’s pie out of the freezer and break out some board games,” Edward joined his wife in convincing Edith.

  “Well, only if you don’t mind.” Rose was relieved. The violence in the towns was one thing, but some company would be lovely too.

  Without warning, a police car flew through the village, its lights and sirens in action catching everyone off guard. No one said a word, all worried that maybe the silly idea of their village succumbing to the violence of the towns could actually happen.

  * * *

  The much loved pub, The Plough, was still closed, but Tina, an attractive barmaid in her mid-twenties, had already been tasked with getting the pub ready for opening time. It was the middle of the week, a few errant pint glasses and bottles to be collected and a quick sweep of the outside before she could sit back and relax with her phone. She would do little more until the landlord, George, turned up. She didn’t have any intention of serving beer to the idiot locals of Thornhurst for the rest of her life. Most loved the village, Tina resented it. Her parents divorced when she was just five, and she had moved with her mother to her grandparents’ small house on the edge of the village. She had rose-tinted memories of her young life before Thornhurst and of her father. Tina knew her way out of this hell.

  Francis was in his late forties, married with two daughters, but it was a recent large inheritance that had brought him to Tina’s attention. He may have had money, but until recently he had been grossly overweight. At nearly six feet tall, he had been an unhealthy nineteen-stone, but when Tina took an interest, he wanted to look better. A late night advert for a new fat busting drug seemed worth the investment money wasn’t in short supply, but women like Tina were. The drug had worked and the more weight he lost, the more Tina was in to him. They had been sleeping together for nearly a week. In that time, he had already showered Tina with expensive jewellery and booked a dirty weekend away for the following month. She was getting what she wanted, and he was having a great time. His wife and two daughters weren’t enjoying life nearly as much.

  Tina saw Francis walking up the street in a hurry. He looked a mess. His skin was pale. He was sweating profusely and struggling to carry three full white plastic bags. He was distracted and didn’t even look up at her.

  “Frannie! Francis!” as she called his head remained down. “Are we still on for tonight? I get off at six, I can get you off at eight!”

  “I’ll call you,” he coughed the words out, offering her only a glance.

  He carried on walking at full speed, and Tina wasn’t happy. She was doing this old prick a favour by shagging him. She at least deserved some respect. Deciding she’d take it out on him later, Tina carried on her task with a little more haste, and a dash extra anger than before.

  * * *

  Francis’ house was a good size, but since his inheritance it wasn’t big enough. An estate agent’s sign outside advertised its availability. The cottage was just over one hundred years old and had been the Jenkin’s family home for twenty years. France and Patricia moved in shortly after they married, both daughters were born in the master bedroom. The girls loved the house and the village; it was a shame for them that Francis felt he had outgrown both.

  Francis fumbled for his keys and dropped one of the white plastic bags, spilling its contents of raw meat and offal onto the doorstep. With the door propped open, Francis frantically scooped the meat back into the bag and lunged inside, out of sight of the street. He shut the door behind him and looked at the cold blood dripping down his hands from the meat. He couldn’t help himself as he began licking it clean. The taster was a tease, and he sat himself on the floor and began shoving handfuls of the uncooked meat straight into his mouth. The relief was instant.

  “Dad, please let us out. Where’s Mum, is she okay? Dad! Please!” Eve was eighteen, a bright girl, blonde and attractive, she was a popular figure in the village. Her muffled voice was hard to hear from behind the locked door and above the sounds of tearing flesh, but Francis did hear her. He couldn’t bring himself to answer.

  The last few days had been tough on Francis. His nagging twang of hunger had developed into a desire he couldn’t control. It wasn’t his fault. If Patricia hadn’t walked in, if she hadn’t seen him devouring the contents of the fridge, they might not have
had that fight. She might not have taunted him about making a fool of himself with Tina, and he might not have struck her. He didn’t realise he had hit her so hard, the glancing blow on the edge of the kitchen counter finishing the job. She was still there, where she fell last night. When Claire had arrived home from school, Francis ushered her to her room and locked her in. She didn’t know what was going on, and her father’s reassurances that it would be okay really didn’t settle her. She was a typical sixteen-year-old, insecurities were her specialty, and she blamed her father’s erratic behaviour on herself. An hour later, Eve had arrived home from helping at the village hall and she too was taken to Claire’s room and locked inside. That was the last time they had seen their father, or so much as heard him talk. The small windows were painted shut. They wouldn’t have fitted even if they had tried to climb through. The room faced the back garden, no one would see them signalling for help. They had to see how this would play out, Eve had spent the night with her arm around her younger sister, telling her it would be okay.

  Eve had tried to force the door open whilst their father was out, but when they heard him return she stopped. The sounds of his grunting were disturbing, but no more so than his actions of imprisoning them the previous day.

  “Dad, it’s okay. Please, can we come out?” Eve tried to remain calm for Claire’s sake.

  Francis was eating the meat, but it wasn’t holding his attention now as it had done previously. Each bite tasted blander than the last, the satisfaction it gave him diminishing until he stopped. He sniffed at the air, and the scent made him climb back to his feet. He followed his nose to the kitchen, back to her. Francis didn’t think before he leapt on her, he was barely capable of thought anymore. The first bite was ecstasy. Finally, the itch was scratched. Everything until now had just dulled the desire, this satisfied it completely. Francis tore chunks off Patricia, swallowing her as quickly as possible, eager for the next piece of flesh to pass his lips. They had been happy once, now she had made him happy for the last time.

  Eve and Claire had no idea of the horror that was happening downstairs in the kitchen. “What’s wrong with Dad?” Claire whispered, too afraid that her father might hear her.

  “There’s been a lot of pressure on him, I’m sure he’ll be okay.” Eve didn’t believe that for an instant. Something was wrong, and she knew that when that door opened, they might have to fight their way out. She didn’t want to scare her younger sister, but she needed to be ready.

  “I’m worried about Mum, I’ve not seen her since yesterday morning before school.” Claire was thinking only about what happened, unable to process their situation.

  “Claire, when Dad opens that door, you need to follow my lead.” Eve knew they were in trouble and didn’t want to waste any more time on what had happened, she was only thinking about what happens next and regaining control.

  “I don’t understand,” Claire whispered. She really didn’t. Everything was so surreal.

  “It might all be okay, I’m sure it will be, but we need to be ready. We might need to run, we might need to fight.” Eve was already eyeing up potential weapons in the room. A sixteen-year-old girls’ bedroom wasn’t an ideal armoury.

  “But it’s Dad.” There was a hint of protest in Claire’s voice that was slowly being drowned out by resignation.

  “I know, but he’s not himself, we need to be ready.” Eve started searching the wardrobe and under the bed, producing a tennis racket. She gave it a few sideways on practice swings. This could work, she thought to herself, but why couldn’t Claire have joined the cricket team?

  Francis felt full, but he couldn’t stop eating his wife, her naked, bloody corpse calling him after every mouthful. He had to take a break, just for a moment. He laid himself next to her and looked into her still sad eyes. He didn’t feel upset, or shocked at what he had done. He felt greed; he wanted more of her. He pulled her hand towards his face and started lazily stripping flesh from each finger with his teeth.

  * * *

  The pub would open for lunchtime soon, the usual selection of toasties and the renowned ploughman’s lunch gracing tables for the regulars to enjoy. Until then, Tina tried to make herself comfortable and started playing on her phone. She shuffled in her seat, not feeling at ease. She felt hungry, but it was different. She didn’t know what she was craving, so she helped herself to a packet of pork scratchings. One wouldn’t be missed. She crunched through the packet in no time at all; it did nothing for her. Maybe one more. Five packets later and she looked around for something else. The kitchen beckoned her, and she went straight to the fridge, a chunk of ham, a handful of cheese. It was no good. She saw it and knew. It was disgusting, but it was what she craved.

  After eating the two large catering packets of uncooked sausages, she felt a sense of relief. She also felt shame. George entered the kitchen, his arms laden with shopping bags. He stared at her in disbelief.

  “Hungry, Tina?” George carried on. He was a man in his seventies and he’d given up trying to understand what younger people got up to. If Tina wanted to get sick, she was going the right way about it. “That’s coming out of your wages.”

  Tina could barely look at him. She scurried back out to the bar, wiping her mouth of any remnants of the raw sausage meat.

  Day Two

  The evening had been as uneventful as any in Thornhurst as Rose and Edward enjoyed playing host to Edith. A meal, a few glasses of wine and a contentious game of Monopoly provided the entertainment. Edward had been the first up that morning. He found his way downstairs and was upset to discover the morning paper had yet to be delivered. He turned the radio on and made a pot of tea, knowing Rose would follow him down shortly. His usual national radio station provided nothing but static, forcing him to flick through the stations until he found a local one that was working. The presenter was a young woman; she was trying to be professional, but was obviously very nervous.

  “To repeat, the government has issued an official statement warning people to stay in-doors and keep their doors and windows secure. The ongoing security incident is being dealt with and help is on its way. The territorial army, police and regular army have been deployed and are providing assistance. Do not approach anyone acting strangely.”

  Edward sat himself down, not really comprehending what he had just heard. Surely it was a joke? Rose joined him and took over the tea-making duties.

  “Everything okay?” Rose was bright and breezy, still happy from a lovely evening.

  “The radio, they’re saying that thing has got worse. They say we should stay indoors.” Edward was still thinking, trying to put a plan together.

  “Don’t be silly, Edward, it’s too early in the morning.” Rose was sure Edward was teasing her like he enjoyed doing.

  Edward rose to his feet to turn the radio volume up.

  “We expect to hear from the Prime Minister shortly, but as I’m sure you understand, we are a little at the mercy of the current circumstances. I’m not sure how much longer we will remain on air, but when we go off air, an emergency broadcast will provide updates.”

  Edward signalled at the radio. “See, it’s got worse.”

  Rose made her way to the front window and peeked out through the net curtains. Thornhurst was still very much Thornhurst. No riots, no looters, and no fuss. “It all looks okay.”

  “Maybe we should stay in today until they sort this all out?” Edward was worried, but remained calm for his wife.

  Edith joined them in the kitchen. “I slept like a baby last night, that mattress is simply divine.”

  “I think you should sit down and have a cup of tea. I think you will be staying a little longer.” Rose patted her friend on the back as she listened for the radio.

  “I’m being told the Prime Minister won’t be making a statement and that we are evacuating the studio. Keep inside, keep safe, and help will come. Help will fucking come.”

  All three of the pensioners were in shock. This wasn’t a joke.
/>   * * *

  Tina paced up and down outside of Francis’ house. She wasn’t used to being ignored. She had thrown herself at Francis, and now he didn’t even have the good grace to pick up the damn phone when she called. She felt rotten; she was a sweaty mess and she couldn’t stop eating, only pausing when she ran out of food. Tina had barely slept so had got up early to confront him. She had waited outside, not sure whether she should go through with it, but she didn’t care if his ugly old wife knew, that was his problem and the least he deserved. By the time she would have finished ruining his life, the cafe would be open and she could get something to eat. She was ready. Tina banged on the door and waited.

  Francis had picked most of Patricia’s corpse clean of its flesh. He had spent the night slowly nibbling on her, unable to stop. He couldn’t put together structured thoughts any more. He just wanted to eat. The banging at the door grabbed his attention and Francis stumbled to his feet, shuffling towards it. The blood around his mouth and torso offset his grey skin. The last remnants of his humanity instinctively opened the door, and Tina burst in past him.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are!” She was so angry she hadn’t looked at him. “I’m doing you a favour fucking you, sucking your dick, letting you put your grubby old hands on me,” Tina finally turned to see him and was aghast at the blood and his complexion. “What the hell happened to you?” Tina edged back from Francis towards the kitchen.

  His nostrils flared as he sniffed the air. Francis strode towards her then into the kitchen, ignoring Tina.

  “Help us, please!” the girls cried from upstairs.

  Tina wanted to run, she heard the voices pleading for help, but it wasn’t her problem. The front door was clear, she could get out, run from Francis, he’d obviously gone insane. Then she heard the sound but couldn’t place what it was. Again the disturbing sound grabbed her attention, as if someone was ripping leather. She should have run, but she didn’t. She had to see what Francis was doing. Slowly, she edged closer to the kitchen and gingerly peeked in.