“…We interrupt the current show, as more updates have become available to us regarding the escapees from Castell Hirwaun, a hospital for the criminally insane. It was reported earlier this morning that three patients had broken out of their cells when a supposed power outage occurred within the hospital late last night…Though details are sketchy, an insider at the hospital has come forward and stated that the escapees may have had inside help…This is to be confirmed. Also, it appears that more than three may have escaped in the melee, but no names have been mentioned as of yet…The police hope to release names and images of all escaped patients later today…”
Norm let a titter escape him. “Oh, Angharad, you are a naughty girl!” he said, keeping his eyes glued to the road. “By the time the police gather all the information, I’ll be reunited with you, my beloved. Nothing will stop us – we’ll skip town and head for the border,” he told himself.
He had it all worked out in his mind.
Nothing would get in his or his wife’s way – uh-huh. And if they did, he would cut them down with his axe. He always kept a spare one hidden under some tarpaulin in the back of the truck.
His smile widened at the thought of dismembering people.
It was fun! he remembered. The crunch of bone. The sound of blood sprinkling.
With those happy thoughts in mind, Norm started to whistle along to the song currently playing. Soon the funfair of Porthcawl came into view, but it looked quiet. None of the rides appeared to be moving. Then he remembered it was early morning – nothing would be going at this hour, he thought, and then tutted to himself.
The electronic guide took him past the fair and onto a busy section of road, which appeared to take him out of Porthcawl. With five miles still to travel, Norm started to think he’d put the wrong address in to his Sat-Nav. “Where the bloody hell…?” Norm started when he noticed he was being led down a country lane.
With a quizzical look on his face, he kept going. He was down to one mile of travelling left. When a lay-by came into view, Norm was about to use it to turn around, but then he saw a signpost that filled him with all the confidence he needed:
Eagle Moss Avenue/Mansion ¼
Smiling, he continued down the path until he came to the right turn. The junction took him down another path, which opened onto a residential street. On passing another signpost, he noticed it was called Eagle Moss Av. Looking at house numbers, he realised he was at the bottom end of the street.
Driving on, Norm stopped every now and then to check the house numbers, which were now in the three hundreds. “Where the hell is three-seven-nine?” he mouthed to himself, noticing the houses came to an end after three-seven-eight.
Following the road around and up, he saw a signpost for Eagle Moss Mansion, and so he kept going. Eventually, the steep, windy road brought him to a wrought iron gate. In the distance, beyond the barred entry, lay a massive mansion. On one of the concrete pillars the gate was attached to, Norm saw the number of this house: 379.
“Okay, so now I know where to come tonight,” he said, looking at the long drive, which had neatly trimmed hedges, trees and foliage either side of it. It led all the way up to the impressive house at the end, but Norm couldn’t see much of it from here. “Whoever owns it must be a right flash bastard.”
Norm turned his vehicle around and headed back the way he had come. “Now, if only I can find a place to check in to…”
As he made his way back onto the main road, Norm kept his eyes peeled for a place to lay low for the day. Anything would do, he thought as he drove around the area.
Spotting a pub, The Seagull Inn, which had its own car park, Norm pulled in. He couldn’t believe his luck, as he was only a stone’s throw away from Eagle Moss Mansion. Taking up a parking space, he turned the engine off and grabbed his bag. Inside, he found the spare cash he’d been given. “There should be plenty to get me a room for the night,” he said, looking at the shabby building before him.
Getting out of his pickup, Norm went to the back compartment. He wanted to make sure his axe was still there. Seeing the tarp, he threw it back and found what he was hoping to find. His wood cutting instrument lay on its side with pride – the axe head gleamed as the sun reached it. The wooden shaft looked brand new.
Sighing, he replaced the tarp and walked over to the entrance of the pub. I could be taking a risk, he thought. What if images of me have gone public by now? They could easily capture me and turn me in!
Looking back at his pickup, he wondered if he could just sleep in it instead? But I’d need to freshen up ahead of tonight. Come on, he told himself, let’s bloody well risk it. That radio report was only broadcast an hour ago – the police don’t work that fast.
Entering the stale pub, a waft of beer and smoke hit him like a heavy weight punch. It caught at the back of his throat, causing him to cough. “Jesus, what a stench!” Somewhere in the distance, a Hoover worked the carpets. “I hope it’s much cleaner upstairs!”
When he walked along the carpet to the reception/bar area, his feet made a crunching noise. It turned his guts, but he pushed the sounds and thoughts from his mind.
“Help ya?!” the barman asked, wiping pint glasses with a tea towel. He eyed Norm with suspicion.
Do I really look that dodgy? he wondered. Maybe I look nervous? He tried to loosen up as he smiled and walked over to the barman. “I was wondering if you had any spare rooms?”
“Yeah,” the man spat. “How many nights?”
“Er, just the one. Please.”
“That’ll be fifty quid, mate.”
“That’s fine,” Norm said as he counted the cash out.
“Breakfast will cost you more, mind you.”
“No, I’m not looking to have breakfast.”
“Fifty it is ‘en!” the barman said, setting the glass and rag down. With one free hand, he snatched the money off the counter and threw a key towards Norm. “Room six. Top of the stairs.” He grunted, then turned and went back to cleaning glasses.
What an ignorant bastard, Norm thought as he took the key off the counter. As he was about to turn to leave for his room, he noticed the TV was on – it was situated above the barman, who could easily lift his head and see what was on.
A breath caught in Norm’s throat as it flashed up on the screen about the escape. Thank God the sound’s down, he thought, watching.
“Anything else?” the barman asked.
“No!” Norm blurted, and ripped his gaze away from the TV.
As the barman turned to see what Norm was looking at, the news programme switched to something else. Norm let his clutched breath free.
“Good,” the barman said, turning back to face Norm.
But Norm had already gone, and was now making his way upstairs to his room.
THE THIRD ARRIVAL…
The first thing I need to do is get rid of this fucking car, he thought. This limo is going to look a bit conspicuous when I get to a more populated area. Klaws hadn’t pulled over for a rest – he’d kept going through the night, intending to get to his destination as soon as possible.
Even though he’d destroyed all the notes he’d been given, the address he was supposed to go to tonight was lodged in his head. My memory might be shit with all other kinds of information, but not addresses, he thought. I wouldn’t be much of a Santa if I couldn’t remember where all the naughty little boys and girls lived, now would I?
That brought a smile to his face as he sat and looked out the windshield. He’d found a disused car park, which was situated opposite Porthcawl’s fairground. The car may have been big, but he’d made sure to park it between two massive bottle banks – trees and shrubbery were at the back of the car, so only the front could be seen. Not that there were many people around at the moment…
Klaws had watched the sun rise over the sea, thinking it a magical site for a Christmas morning. The ball of fire, now high in the sky, had brought with it a blue, serene sky. Gulls flew low as others picked at food
on the floor and in the bins. The promenade was deserted, with the odd car passing now and then.
Klaws felt calm as he sat and watched.
What am I going to do? I have hours to kill before tonight! Well, I do have a limo. I could stretch out in the back and demolish the booze cabinet. It’s well stocked, he thought, then smiled. There’s even enough room for me to be able to change out of these clothes.
Hmm, that’s a thought – what have I got in that bag that was given to me? Making sure to take the keys with him, he got out of the limo and sat in the back seat. Once inside, he locked the doors.
“Now, let’s have a look and see what we have,” he said as he tipped the bag upside down. Some of the contents spilled onto the plush leather seats whilst other bits hit the floor. With the stuff on the seat, he sifted through it – all that appeared to be there was his black Santa suit.
On the floor lay a bundle of money.
“Huh, a fat lot of good money will do Klaws,” he said.
He unrolled the suit and saw there was a selection of T-shirts wrapped in it. He checked the tags – they were in his size: 4XL. “Perfect.” As he thumbed through them, he noticed they all had quirky things written on them.
The first one he saw had: “I Shaved My Balls For This?!” Whilst this made him laugh, it didn’t quite feel right, and so he placed it to one side. Not to say he would never wear it; it just wouldn’t be right for today or tonight.
T-shirt number two was inscribed with: “Hitler was right – Doughnuts Are Delicious!” The third, which was a frontrunner, had “I’d Rather Be Snorting Cocaine Off A Hooker’s Arse” on it.
“Ha-ha, I do believe I’ll be wearing that one tonight,” he said aloud, slapping his knee. Putting the black T-shirt with white lettering to one side, Klaws pulled a bottle of whiskey from the rack in front of him. He uncapped it and took a massive swallow.
“Ah, tastes damn fucking fine that!” he yelled, and then thumped the limo roof with his free hand.
Putting the bottle down, he looked at the last T-shirt in the pile. “Looks like the best was saved for last,” he said as he set the item of clothing to one side. “Think I’ll use this one tonight, instead of option number three. I’ll wear that one today.”
With his attire picked out, Klaws pulled his hospital top off. Hidden beneath the garment was a huge tattoo – the inked image was of an unkindness of zombie ravens, six of them in total. Flesh hung from their bloodied beaks whilst guts and eyeballs were clutched in their talons. Their eyes were crimson-orange orbs of fire; their bodies were ravaged and pulpy. Clumps of feathering had been torn from the birds.
Some were looking skyward with their beaks open in mid-screech, whilst others looked forward. Looking down at the image, Klaws had forgotten he had it or when he’d had it done.
Shrugging, he put the “I’d Rather Be Snorting Cocaine Off A Hooker’s Arse” T-shirt on before slipping his hospital trousers off. I could stay in them, he thought, but I’d rather be comfy. He pulled on his black Santa trousers, but left the jacket and hat off for now.
Looking on the floor, he noticed boots had also been supplied. “Brilliant!” he exclaimed, then kicked off the slipper-sandals the hospital had issued him. With his boots on, he felt much, much better. “Time to meet my public, I think.”
Getting back out of the car, Klaws stretched his back. When his bones cracked, he let out sounds of satisfaction, and then rolled his head and cracked his knuckles. Feeling loose, he stepped away from the car and pushed the little button on the fob. All the lights around the limo flashed, indicating it was locked. The car alarm set.
Pleased, Klaws made his way across the road. For some strange reason, the fairground seemed to be calling his name. I have plenty of time to kill, and a stroll isn’t going to harm me. Maybe I’ll be able to find some grub along the way? he thought, his belly rumbling.
Exiting the open-air car park, Klaws crossed the road and walked up to the gates of the fair. They were locked. “Damn it!” he said, then stamped his foot. The gate was too high to climb, and so he walked along the wall, searching for a more suitable climbing spot.
Making sure nobody was watching him, Klaws made his way around the back of the huge fairground. The wall was nowhere near low enough to scale. Even if it had been, it was trimmed with razor sharp barb, broken glass and six-inch nails.
“Don’t fancy ripping my sack open on them!” he said, which was followed by a “Ho-ho-ho! You can’t beat crappy Christmas jokes!”
Continuing his walk around the perimeter, Klaws came across a second gate, which appeared to be open. Beyond the gate was a ride operator, who seemed to be guarding the entrance.
From where he stood, Klaws monitored the shabby-looking man’s movements. He doesn’t appear to be doing much guarding! Klaws thought as he watched the man tinker with the motor of a shitty rollercoaster ride called “The Punisher.”
“Charlie,” the man called. “Charlie! Get that fucking jack out here, ya lazy fuck!”
“Coming, Dad!”
Klaws couldn’t help but smile. “That’s the way to keep the little fuckers in line!” he uttered.
When Charlie appeared with a jack in tow, Klaws immediately thought the boy could do with several decent meals to put some meat on his bone. “Looks as though someone has draped some clothes over a bamboo shoot!”
Sniggering, Klaws watched as father and son jacked up one section of the ride. Once enough space had been made, the father got on his back and slid under the massive machine.
“Stay there and watch that jack!” the father bellowed.
“Okay, Stan!” the son said.
“For fuck’s sake, would it harm you to call me ‘Dad’ once in a fucking Goddamn while?!”
“Maybe. That’s why I don’t want to find out!”
“Fucking smart arse – you’re no better than your grease-monkey father here!”
“Don’t I know it!” Charlie muttered.
“What the fuck did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“Good, now keep your Snicker chute shut and hand me that spanner by your feet.”
When Charlie turned his back to get the spanner, Klaws made a stealth-like move through the gate and into the fairground. Nobody appears to be around, apart from these bozos, Klaws thought.
“Here you go,” Charlie said, handing the spanner to his dad.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“Oh, and do me a favour, close that gate. I meant to do it, but I bloody forgot to.”
“You popped out?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah, I had to go and get a part from the car.”
“Okay…”
Before the youngster could turn around, Klaws had picked up a hammer from off the floor nearby. He smashed the ballpoint part through the lad’s skull. His body crumpled like a house of cards and made a sickening thud as it hit the dirt.
“Charlie, what the fuck are you doing?! You better not be fucking around…” Before he could finish his sentence, he started screaming like a girl as Klaws pushed the body of his son under the ride with him. “Charlie!”
“Ho-ho-ho!” Klaws bellowed as he released the jack.
The speed at which the machine dropped gave Stan little time to react; his and his son’s heads were squashed like a couple of grapes. Squirts of blood fired from beneath “The Punisher” as Stan’s legs thrashed for a few moments. His heels clicked against the gravel, which reminded Klaws of an energetic tap dancer doing his thing.
“Merry Christmas!” he spat before moving on.
What shadows there were, Klaws stayed in them, as other fairground workers rushed to see what all the noise was about. It didn’t take long for all the gasps and sobs to follow.
Sniggering, Klaws moved away from his mess as quickly as he could. The last thing he heard before moving out of earshot was, “Looks to be a tragic accident, people,” which made him smile all the more.
As he passed stalls and attracti
ons aimlessly, Klaws couldn’t understand what he was doing. His mind was a jumble. Where am I heading? What am I doing in here? How am I going to get out? As the questions assaulted his mind, he kept moving, not totally aware of his surroundings.
When the big top came into view, he stopped and looked up at it. His lips formed a perfect O shape as he gazed on in wide wonder. “She’s beautiful!” he gasped. I need to see the inside, he thought.
Walking up to the canvas big top, Klaws tried to lift a section of it but noticed it was all pegged to the ground. “Damn it!” he said, then moved around the tent until he came to a small opening – nobody appeared to be in sight, and so he slipped inside.
“Wow!” escaped him, as he looked at all the rows of empty seats – the vastness inside was breathtaking. Looking up, he couldn’t believe how high up the point of the big top was. Whilst looking, he noticed the tight ropes.
Creeping forward, Klaws had a good look around, convinced there was nobody about to catch him. As he walked to the opposite end, he used the canvas exit and found himself among rides and stalls once again.
As he was about to go back the other way, a sound caught his attention. It was coming from his left. “Hmm,” he said, then moved in that direction. Rounding a corner, he noticed a few smaller tents, along with a couple of caravans and a stable for horses.
“Mr. Tickles and associates” was written across one of the tents. “Mr. Tickles?” he mouthed.
Moving closer to that tent whilst making sure nobody spotted him, Klaws pulled aside a section of canvas entryway and poked his head in. He heard a voice in the distance, and so Klaws walked in. Visibility inside was poor, as it was gloomy.
A rank odour clung to the air – it reminded Klaws of dead animals and rotting flesh. It didn’t bother him in the least; rather, it further intrigued him, so he pushed on. When figures became visible, he ducked behind a few crates and peeked out.
He tried to make out the large shape standing before him, but the lighting was too poor – he needed to get closer. Creeping through the shadows, Klaws moved as close as he could. Boxes and other objects blocked his path as he went, but he managed to sidestep around them with ease, making little to no noise.
Escapees and Fevered Minds Page 9