“Stop the car!” yelled Leonard looking down through the window at the grass verges below.
“What?” asked a very concerned Gareth, stopping the motion of the wheels.
Leonard opened the door and threw himself out, “look! Tyre tracks!”
Gareth grabbed his torch and got out hastily. Battling against the heavy rainfall he moved around to the other side of the vehicle joining Leonard. He looked down at where Leonard was pointing, he was right, “Quite fresh too,” commented Gareth in a low whisper, “they are lost here in the long grass though….”
“I suggest we look for footprints,” said Leonard.
“I cannot see any boots walking here,” replied Gareth, “we cannot be sure the vehicle that made these tracks actually stopped here, we must move up the track, get back in the car.”
“Not human prints, we need to look for animal footprints,” claimed Leonard.
“Get back in the car now Mr Humphries!” ordered Gareth, this has gone too far, he thought.
They got back in the car and Gareth moved over to Leonard’s side of the car, right over his body. Suddenly Leonard felt cold steel on his wrists as Gareth grappled with his arms. He slipped the other end of the handcuffs to the steering wheel, “unless you can tell me what you know or what you are really worried about Mr Humphries I can only deduce that your actions are trying to wavier me off the track from finding your son, therefore I am placing under arrest for the suspicion that you are somehow involved in the abduction of your son. Do you understand the reasons why I am doing this, what you have been arrested for Mr Humphries?” Gareth was sure being proactive but considered it the safest option for both himself and his passenger. Leonard was becoming uncontrollable, he resisted pulled and grunted, complaining about his discomfort.
“I am sorry to do this Leonard, but you have the right to remain silent. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something you later rely on in court.… Right, I will continue investigating these tracks on foot, you will stay here. I will return and hopefully we can put this silliness to bed.” Gareth got out of the car and took one last look back at the distressed man tied to his steering wheel, considered it was for the best, flicked his torch on and made his way up the track.
The track was dark but the moonlight coming beaming through the trees was becoming stronger every step he strode up the path. It was barely a path now, overgrown with weeds and high grass. Gareth shone the torch to the ground and could clearly make out a line where the grass was flattened; a vehicle had driven this way not so long ago. With the hope that he may not be too late after all he picked up the pace. The moon now was fully up in the sky, brightening up the gaps even more.
Suddenly Gareth stopped dead in his tracks to the audible screech of a human in extreme pain; it rang out yards in front of him, a horrific scream which startled him beyond compare. He threw his torch’s beam ahead but could not make anything out, other than dense forestation. He changed his jog into a sprint, sweat dripping off him in anticipation and fear chilled him as it hit the cold midnight air.
Seconds passed into minutes as he haphazardly raced up the track, the forest getting denser as he went, tripping over shrubs and tree stumps. Finally when he thought he could take the pace no longer he stopped and shone his torch ahead, there, in a small clearing stood the shadowy figure of a van, it looked deserted, one back door hung open and after he ceased his panting from his breathless lungs he could hear the metallic and rusty creak as it swayed in the gentle wind. A puff of perspiration blew smoke into the night air and as it cleared he set his sights on the van, he had to get there.
Struggling now he completed his journey exhausted. Gareth could clearly see the front cab, there was no one in there, the headlights were off but the inside light was flickering as the driver’s door swayed too. He concluded that the driver had jumped out and ran to the rear of his van, he could see the way the grass around it had been trodden down. He crouched down behind the driver’s door and shuffled his way to the back of the van. Through the gap caused by the door on its hinges he could see blood, it was beginning to drip from the step of the van. He held tight to his breath, fear struck him as to what might be welcoming him from inside the van. There was still no sound, no rustling of feet or human breath, Gareth estimated that no one alive remained in the van.
Quickening the pace he grabbed at the handle and yanked the door off its hinges, “Freeze!” he shouted just in case but as soon as he did so he could see that it was void of life. There was, however a bloody mess of human body parts, torn limb from limb. He pulled his face back from the horrific scene and looking down he spotted a severed arm clearly with pierced holes like the teeth marks of a wild animal. It looked as if the animal, whatever it was tore the victim limb from limb in a frenzied attack. That poor kid, thought Gareth as he turned his head away in disgust, what has happened to him for fucks sake?
As the thoughts flushed through his mind as to what exactly could have happened, the image behind him that he was hiding his face from formed in his mind and he felt his stomach in his mouth. He regurgitated and fell to his knees, vomit launching itself from his throat and wrenching his guts from the very pit of his stomach.
After the initial shock all was deadly quiet and cold once again save the swinging hinge of the driver’s door. Gareth took a moment to take in the silence and get a grip of his predicament. Abruptly the silence was broken by the incredibly shocking sound of a buzz in his pocket and the ringtone of a 1990s pop classic. It flooded a certain reality check back into Gareth and he fumbled for his phone. Without looking at the number ID he answered it cautiously, “hello?”
“Is that Mr Evans?” the phone caller asked, he recognised the voice but was so out of place himself he failed to identify it.
“Y…Yes….who is this?” he quivered.
“Mr Evans, its Boyce. I have some new information from my research that may be of help to you…..”
Normally Gareth would have hung up on this time waster but under the circumstances he was just happy to hear the sound of another human being. The voice continued, “I’m sorry to call you so late like this Mr Evans; it’s just that, well, I have been to the manor and been allowed access to its extensive library. I found hidden, a diary from one of the butlers of the manor, Jenkins, was his name; he worked at the time of the incident I mentioned. In it states this: Though I fear for my life I feel I must make it evident to anyone that finds this manuscript the truth behind the horrific goings on here of recent. The village have begun a witch-hunt for Lord Farnsworth; however I have seen the distress on his face, knowing what he knows as he shared his darkest thoughts before departing on that fateful day. For he, the accused is not possessed with evil at all, rather he is covering for a man in his employment that he fears so much that he knows he must confess to a crime and then flee to save himself and his family from their evil doing. I make my statement here with intentions to take myself far away from here also, in some hope of survival and if you read of this I suggest you do the same. For the gardener is the true man-wolf and I have seen him in his altered state so I know it to be true, god help us…….”
“Right, ok,” said Gareth, now not knowing what to think, “Listen, Boyce; I am a bit wrapped up here at present but……”
“I am sorry to press on with it; I know you are sceptical about all this Mr Evan’s I just thought you should know that I have found the name of the gardener in question….his name is Alfred, Alfred Humphries……”
“You mean…………..” Gareth couldn’t believe what he was hearing and he took a sudden flashback at the severed arm he examined for those brief seconds. He hung up the phone before he could hear the truth and leaned back to the van door and opened it. Just as he thought now, the arm was far too large to be that of a small boy, it clearly belonged to a man. He slowly put a finger to it, pressed at its raw flesh and wiped a finger mark of the blood away from it, clearly black hairs
, that of a fully grown man. He jumped up inside the van and took one step closer to the body, crouch over to where the bulk of the body was, a head that was turned away from him was his target, he turned it by pulling the blood-drenched hair, the face of David Farnsworth confronted him and he threw his body back in horror.
He jumped clear of the van and back into the still night air, he peered over at the moon in its fullness and suddenly the silence was again broken, this time by the distant howl of a wolf. Then he heard another, not so far off and remembered the father still handcuffed in his car.
He ran as fast as he could back to the car but when he got back the man had gone, “Leonard, where the fuck are you?” he yelled and he heard a howl as a reply. He examined the cuffs, they were still attached to the steering wheel intact and he noticed that they had shreds of grey fur between the gaps in the chain. Gareth looked back up at the full moon, it was shining brightly.
The Pet Shit Boys.
“Straight down the pub after work huh John; something up with your new gaff, or what?”
“Hi Alf, well you could say that, you know I’ve rented that ground floor flat off Josie while she has gone to make her fame and fortune in Brighton, said to me that she couldn’t have pets at the place where she is so she asked if I could look after the cats for a while…..oh a pint of my usual please Sandy…..”
“Oh yeah, so what’s up, don’t like cats?”
“Oh, I don’t mind cats, I thought she meant a couple of cats like, I don’t mind that, but when I open the door I see three at the door, another two of ‘em in the front garden and inside I start counting a further five!”
“She got nine cats John?”
“No, three add two add another five makes ten Alf, she got ten of the little fuckers!”
“Oh!”
“Oh indeed, and do you know what? They shit everywhere, all over the house. I ain’t got time after work to clean all that up so here’s what happened, you ain’t gonna believe it mate…….”
Alf took a sip of his pint and listened to John’s story.
So the other day right, I get in, cat shit all over the house again, they’ve got one litter tray between the lot of them but you’d think that they could just do it outside but you know what Josie is like, she treats them like they were her babies; probably don’t train ‘em properly. So anyway I see this ad in the paper, it says: Need Help Tiding up Your Pet’s Mess? Call the Pet Shit Boys for all your hygienic pet problems! So I think right, that sounds good and I get them to come around for a quote.
So they knock on the door right, hours after they said they would get here and the tall one is overdressed for the job, in a tuxedo of all things, and this, like, long coat and sunglasses. The other smaller bloke has a stripy black t-shirt on, jeans and a hat that says “boy,” on it; I guess he was looking for some reassurance that he was one as he did look, well a bit y’know.
I said to them, “Oh hi, you’re really late.”
The tall bloke said to me, “I am sorry but we were lost in the High Street, where the dogs run and my mum had her hairdo to be done.”
I thought it was a strange answer, familiar even, but I ignore it for now and invite them inside. I showed them the problem and said, “well, you can see the problem is quite big, I don’t know how much you have on at the moment so errr…”
The tall guy talks again, he says, “oh well, there’s lots of things I should have said or done, I never took the time.”
Now I’m getting a bit freaked out like, I mean the tall one does all the talking but just stands there rigid as a post, the small guy says nothing but wanders around looking at the cat shit and rubbing his chin. I inform them, “I know it seems like quite a lot of ermm, cat poo but you see well…..there is this girl that…..”
“Don’t worry,” the tall one interrupted, “Sooner or later this happens to everyone, everyone.” He turns towards me and continues, “You can live a life of luxury, if that’s what you want, taste forbidden pleasures, whatever you want, you can fly away to the end of the world but where does it get you to? Cause just when you least expect it, just what you least expect, love comes quickly, you know.”
“Oh,” I say, “it’s not like that, I’m not in love with her, just lodging here in her….”
“Yes, I understand,” he said, “you phone her up in the evening, buy her caviar, take her to restaurants off Broadway, you tell her who you are, you never ever argue, never calculate the currency you’ve spent, she loves you, you’re paying her rent.”
“Well, maybe,” he could be right I suppose, “I never asked her how she feels about me,” I say like but I want to try and change the subject, “so, anyway, what about this job, can you do it?”
“It’s better than nothing I suppose,” He said, “Some doors have opened, others have closed, but I couldn’t see you exposed to the horrors behind some of those.”
I wish the guy would make sense, I mean he talks in riddles but everything he says I get that strange deja-vu feeling, you know, like I’ve heard them before, like I know them from somewhere. Perhaps by asking them more about their jobs I can tell what is going on here, I mean are they phoneys or what? So I say to the tall one, “So, how did you get started in this, err, game?”
“Oh, well I had enough of scheming, messing around with jerks,” he said, “my car is parked outside but I’m afraid it doesn’t work, so I went looking for a partner, one who gets things done, someone who gets things fixed, and I asked him this question, do you want to be rich?”
“Oh, right,” I look over to the other guy, still examining the poo, “and what did he say?”
“He said that he had the brains, I had the looks, let’s make lots of money.”
I was curious now, “And do you make lots of money, I mean is there a lot of interest in this line of work?”
“It wasn’t easy,” he said, “I mean sometimes it feels like you’re better off dead, there’s a gun in your hand pointing at your head, you think you’re mad, too unstable, kicking in chairs and knocking down tables, in a restaurant, in a west end town, call the police there’s a mad man around!”
“Right,” I say backing off. This confirms it; I have heard enough of this, I have to get these nutters out of my house. I may well have to call the police. So I ask them outright, “look, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“NO!” he shouted, “Look I’ll buy you flowers, I’ll read your books and talk to you for hours, everyday; buy the drinks, such pretty flowers, so tell me, what have I, what have I, what have I done to deserve this?”
Now they really are getting to me, they are acting so weird right it’s spinning my head, I get angry, start to push the tall guy to the door. The other one follows us. “GET OUT!” I shout.
“You sir are living a law short of delusion, when we fall in love there’s confusion, This must be the place I’ve waited years to leave….and how, how long?”
“Now!!!” I scream at the top of my voice, I’m going to slap him in a minute. Then, suddenly I recall where I remember them from; I know now where I have heard this crap. But it can’t be can it? Can illegal downloading effect the music business so bad that….that they have to resort to…….?
The tall man is out of the door, he looks upset. The little guy finally says something, he asks, “But you don’t understand, where can we go?”
Now, I’m really pissed off, I shout “Where can you go huh? Where can you go? I’ll tell you where you can go shall I? Somewhere where it is peaceful, somewhere in the open air, somewhere where the skies are blue, I’ll tell you what you’re going to do….” And I booted him up the backside, pushing him firmly out of the door, “…..GO FUCKING WEST!”
“Ha-ha-ha-ha!” laughed Alf and took another sip of his pint.
Armstrong’s Bogey.
No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that the introduction to HG Well’s book “War of the Worlds” would be altered so much by influences gre
ater than disco. No one could have understood Jeff Wayne’s reasons as he scrutinised and bluffed, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a recording contract might scrutinise the transient pop stars, like David Essex that swarm and multiply in a pop chart. With infinite complacency Jeff went to and fro over this globe proudly showing off his gatefold sleeve, serene in his assurance that his successful empire would matter decades on. However only to Gary Barlow was it so. It is possible that the infusoria under the microscope do the same, they just don’t have such nice hairdos.
Decades on, no one gave a thought to the developing worlds of space as sources of human danger, or thought of them only to dismiss the idea that life could mutate, evolve and multiply from human nasal waste upon them as impossible, improbable or just plain dirty. It is curious to recall some of the mental habits of those departed days, Blake’s Seven especially so. At most terrestrial men fancied there might be other men upon Mars, perhaps inferior to themselves and ready to welcome a missionary enterprise, so they named a chocolate bar after it, yeah they are sure to like that. Yet across the gulf of space, minds that are to our minds as ours are to that of Steven Fry, intellects low, pathetic and a bit squidgy round the edges, regarded this earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely drew their plans against us, with big wax crayons on a wall that washed away with the rain. And early in the thirtieth century came the great disillusionment, the Bogey came back and this time it was god damn pissed off, like a teenager that was forced to watch Question Time.
“Stop picking your nose!” screamed Commander James Lovell, “this is supposed to be a sterile area!”
July 16th 1969, Neil Armstrong is worried, to be understood and expected, he was going to be the first man to land on the moon and his commander was treating him like he was his mum or something. In a sterile room at Kennedy Space Centre in Merritt Island in Florida he carefully put on his heavy spacesuit, “blast this damn cold,” he muttered to himself, sneezing. “What was that?” asked Commander James Lovell.
Tales of Worrow Volume I Page 4