Short Shocks 2

by Andy Love

“It…it seems…we’re finished. I’ll tidy the words later.” He stacked the paper and inserted them into his satchel. “I’ll publish it as soon as I can.”

  A pair of Town Guards stormed through the doors of the Inn. They were well known in the area for their bullish distribution of head-cracking investigations. Their red jackets instantly drew attention. The white belts created a large cross over their chest, and the bright red arms alerted folk, with black and yellow cuffs. There were a lot of excited voices and scuffles at the back of the Inn.

  “Look out, Toun Rats are here!” A voice shouted.

  Mr. Hunter clattered the large brass bell over the bar. “LAST ORDERS GENTS!” He yelled over the ringing.

  The slim unshaven guard stomped his long black boots to the other end of the Inn. His jacket was splayed from the chest, and showed the waistcoat. The long and unkempt greasy hair snaked round his neck, with every turn of his head under a black crescent moon like hat. His deep-set eyes peered into the dark recesses of the Inn. He snarled through infected gums as he sought the caller of names. Wielded by no gentle hand, he hooked people with the end of his Lochaber axe. He pulled them to see their faces, and threaten the weapon's narrow, single edged blade. The rich and poor seethed at the injustice of threats and persecution from the vile town guards.

  The Innkeeper knew immediate attention to the Toun Guards made sense, and would save her customers who might leave. Mrs. Hunter watched the stout guard at the other end of the bar, and heard the din the other created. She pulled her bust line down and moved briskly to serve the guard. She placed up four tankards of ale, which enticed the slim guard to join the other.

  “How can I help you good Sirs tonight?” Mrs. Hunter nodded toward the ale. “Have a drink on the house?”

  The town guard elevated his mutton-chop whiskers and raised his gruff Gaelic voice. “We’re looking for something out of the ordinary: anyone new in the toun or, anything unusual.” The portly guard paused and looked around. Mrs. Hunter stepped forward and opened her mouth to answer, but the guard scowled at her then continued to speak. “Bodies have been dug up in lots of Edinburgh graveyards. Rotting corpses were found around the graves. Arms and legs were pulled from the bodies. The bones were stripped of meat. We couldn’t find a complete carcass anywhere. The barber thinks an animal gnawed the bones.”

  Andrew turned in his seat, pressed his hand on the table for purchase and raised his body. He recognised the guard from previous business. Jacob looked confused. “Where are you going?”

  “I know that town guard, we got on well when last we met. Come on.”

  Jacob reluctantly followed behind, as both men approached the guard. Andrew slapped his hand on the bar next to the guard.

  “Hello there, Bert. Your toil never seems to end.”

  The guard faced Andrew and grunted. “Ah, I know. I saw you hiding in the corner. Who’s your shadow?” He nodded and took a few steps toward Jacob. Andrew blocked the guard with a side step, placed his hand on the guard's arm and made introductions. The guard stared at the hand on his arm and frowned. Andrew removed his hand.

  “Who him? Don’t worry about him, Bert. Jacob’s a poor stupid wretch. He can’t talk or hear anything." The guard narrowed his eyes, studied at Jacob’s attire from head to foot. He viewed the dirt and worn rags Jacob used to keep warm. His suspicion quenched, the guard eventually nodded to Andrew, although still distrustful of Jacob.

  “Be on your way freak.” The guard warned Jacob, before he turned to face Andrew. “Send him on his way.”

  Mrs. Hunter leaned on the scarred bar, and mesmerised the first guard. She placed her huge bust on the bar and yanked the low cut top further down. It was drawn down so far, her nipple showed slightly when she moved. Once the attentions of both guards were on Mrs. Hunter’s flesh, she winked at Andrew and Jacob. She added to the guard’s distraction, with a question, which disgusted close-by drinkers.

  “What kind of an animal feeds on the dead?”

  The portly guard supped his ale before he answered. “There’s a trail of bodies from the west end, to the latest one in the East end of old Edinburgh. Our duty is to find any new faces in town. They’ll want to blame any criminal, to stop the town folk moaning about feeling unsafe. The last thing we want is for our King James the eighth to find out.”

  Mrs. Hunter interrupted the guard to seek clarification. “The Old Chevalier?”

  The guard scowled at her. “Aye, The Old Chevalier as he’s known by common folk, like you. He’s well known for dealing out bloodshed to all.”

  Andrew knew when a town guard nodded to you at the bar; this meant he wanted a free nip of whisky. He caught the attention of the barmaid, gestured two shots of whisky then pointed to the guards. When the libation appeared in front of the town guard, he gave his unauthorised view in a strong Gaelic accent.

  “I’ll tell you what I think it was. Yup, I’ll tell you alright.” He gulped down half the whisky then continued. “It’s those Surgeons, they’re animals. I mean, why dig up a body then rip it apart, and take off the meat? They took some parts and messed up the graveyard with the leftover bits? Somebody has to clean up that rotting chaos.”

  Jacob whispered behind his friend’s back.

  “They’ve found me, Draugar are here.”

  Andrew turned to speak to his friend, but the Inn dog stood in Jacob’s place and wagged its tail. A cold damp draft wafted through the bar, and the Inn door clattered to a close.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Dead Beat

  Hector Docherty mumbled to his wife, as he finished the last mouthful of food. “It’s almost dark, Liz. Those bloody kids will be out on the streets, to terrify the good people of Leith.” He moaned. “I need to get dressed and go to work.”

  “Leave the children alone.” She rebuked. “They only want some fun and to celebrate All Hallows Eve.”

  He looked at her in the chair by the one window in the house, where she tried to knit in the dim light. “Where’s my work clothes, woman?”

  “You know fine well where they are Hector…in the bedroom…same as always.”

  “I’ll get the clothes myself then, will I?” He waited to see if his wife would get up. When she didn’t, her husband left the table and walked to the bedroom. “I wouldn’t want you to help the worker of the house.” He moaned. ”I'm the one who brings in money, to pay for the roof over your head? I'm the one that goes out to work!”

  Liz clucked her tongue, placed her knitting on the windowsill and followed him into the bedroom. “See, it’s all laid out on the bed for you,” she pointed from the doorway.

  He pushed her back into the lounge. “Don’t you ‘tut’ me, hen. You need to start earning your keep around here.”

  She returned to the armchair as she rubbed her shoulder and shook her head. The burly man with muttonchops dressed for work. His size eleven feet thudded into the lounge as he approached the window. Liz turned her body away from the hulk before her. She anticipated the slap, which always made her ears ring with pain.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?” Hector shouted.

  “I’m sick of being treated like a servant…” Liz raised her voice in retaliation, her face hidden from view.

  Hector stabbed his chest with a rigid finger. “I’ve been working this job for over twelve years. I took this night shift ‘cause you wanted another mouth to feed…”

  “Don’t you stand there and blame this all on me now, Hector Docherty. You said you wanted a bairn too. Don’t you?”

  “I agreed ‘cause I thought it’d make my life easier. I hoped it’d stop you nagging about it all the time.”

  “I’m sick of this arguing, I really am.”

  “That makes two of us, Liz.” A small silence followed as he confirmed in his mind, before he reiterated his certainty. “That makes two of us.”

  Their raised voices reverberated around the sparsely furnished room, until the echoes faded. A long tense silence filled the room. Hector looked over at hi
s wife, took a step toward her and pointed at the window. She flinched as he continued to rant in a subdued, but savage tone. “You could tend to your husband better, if you dragged your saggy arse away from the window. I don’t work myself to the bone, just for you to look at the street all day.”

  His wife gazed at the glow from the street lamp. A fear built inside her, scared to move, to expose a part of her body, which could be punched. She unfastened a few buttons at the top of the plain dress, and rubbed her chest with a tremble in her hand.

  “Button yourself up, woman.” Hector demanded, as jealousy surfaced, and his fists clenched at his side. Liz looked down at her chest.

  “It’s not like anyone can see, only you. If you're not interested, what makes you think anyone else would care about me? Certainly not you nowadays.”

  This unconscious defiance might push him to retaliate, but she needed to express her trepidation. Would this entice his chauvinistic tendencies to surface, to goad a punch to the head?

  Hector couldn’t deny the accusation, her rebellion noticed, he moved closer. His arm sprang from his side and punched Liz just above her ear. Her head bounced off a small glass pane, her hand immediately raised to the pain. The warm and wet texture in her hair slid between her fingers.

  “Less of your lip, and cover up.” Hector shouted, “You’re acting like a cheap whore from the docks.”

  She buttoned her dress, but left the top one open. “I hope you don’t parade yourself like that outside, we’re meant to be respected citizens.”

  Liz nursed her head and gazed at her lap to avert eye contact with her husband. “Not from what people have told me, about the great Hector Docherty. You turn a blind eye, and get paid by dock dirt. I don’t know what you get up to on night shift.”

  He clenched his fists again, and raised his arm slightly as rage formed on his face. He kicked a chair to the other side of the room. It crashed against the wall and broke. Hector stomped to the front door, but hated to leave…unsure if Liz flaunted her body when he’s not here. The thought of her with another man ate into his sensibility, and rendered him unable to concentrate. It made him so mad he could almost kill. The front door thundered to a close, and a West coast voice from another room in the building complained.

  “God sake, Hector, give the noise a rest.”

  “Hold your tongue, Jimmy Jack, and go about your business.” Hector retorted.

  Jimmy spewed out a chunk of truth, his wife gossiped about for months, a truth his neighbour couldn’t face up to. “You should tend to your own business and fuck yer wife now and then, or are you happy for others to do that?”

  Liz’s husband grumbled. “Maybe your wife should learn to keep her legs and gob shut for a change.” He raised his voice. “She should let you be the man of the house!”

  A door on the next floor up slammed shut, and echoed through the staircase. Hector heard a snigger behind his door. As he walked down the steep narrow steps, effluvia attacked his sense of smell. He emerged from the stink of the building and breathed deeply, the familiar smell of smoke, tinged with some cooked animal. All sorts of waste were thrown from the households. It created a wretched smell, which constantly hung around Rotton Row. He wished the vagabonds would take the stray dogs that shit in his close and roast them for lunch.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Hector ambled to work, and averted the piles of horse dung as they steamed in the cold air. His highly polished shoes, which he spent so much time on, were now grimy. He noticed a cobbler on the other side of the street. The cart showed an ornate but faded red sign, emblazoned across its side: Shoemaker & Cobbler. Established since 1818. The merchant, Billy was frequently seen on the streets of Leith and Edinburgh. He always yelled about quality shoes and repairs in a strong Irish accent.

  Billy derived pleasure from the motions of a hussy at the window above. Hector looked up and saw his wife lean out the window, her top unbuttoned, and skin on show. She smiled and waved at the cobbler, until she noticed her husband, withdrew her flaunt and closed the window.

  Hector punched the cobbler in the face, but he lay in the dirty street and chuckled through bloody teeth, until the assailant walked away.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Their once happy life, crumbled to match the squalid building they lived in. They longed for a child, but couldn’t afford parenthood on his pay. His old employers withdrew police pension, because one button on his uniform came undone. Resentment and anger consumed the good in Hector over the years. It left a bitter and empty husk of an old man. Arguments always circled money, resentment instilled anger and frustration to a strained marriage.

  The long hours and brutal conditions as a Leith Dock Guard on night shift, eventually took its toll. Leith Dock Commission were the new owners of the docks, but the pay and conditions remained, if not worse.

  The Police force despised the Leith Dock Guards. The locals always commented on their commonality of dress. They also fuelled the feud, when they referred to the Guards as Police too.

  “You’re thick as two short planks, if you think we’re the same.” The Police shouted at locals. “The collar on the Guards clearly states LDC.” They were viewed as no more than Guardians of a malodorous dock.

  Men seemed near to death at the end of a night shift, and it destroyed weak relationships. They wished to be dead, than to patrol another night on a slimy, putrid and merciless dock. The Guards tired quickly of their job, to pound sore feet in the cold. They investigated dark nooks and crannies, with hesitation and an unhealthy dose of fear. The lonely silence bred a nervous tension. The men on night patrol were always wary it might be their last. These are some of the reasons old Guards nicknamed it Dead Beat. You could easily die from the conditions, hours or smugglers.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  After a late night breakfast and argument with Liz, indigestion boiled in Hector’s chest. He looked forward to some peace and quiet, at least for one night. The guard walked into the mist in the direction of Leith Docks. He passed dilapidated buildings, which stank of raw sewage. He also dodged a waste-littered pavement, but the poor locals called it home. Born in the area, Hector played on the diseased streets as a lad, but the smell always repulsed him.

  A gang of kids ran from a vennel. Each of the children covered their heads with a grimy old cloth: two holes torn for eye sockets and sheep blood smeared over it for effect. The All Hallows Eve terror worked, as Hector jumped with fright. The kids ran circles round him, and pulled the tails of his jacket as they screamed.

  “Fuck off ya little bastards, or I’ll boot yer arses.” The kids laughed and chanted at the 43 year old man as they ran down the street. “Go on, bugger off and leave folk in peace.” Hector yelled.

  He straightened his jacket and plodded through the mist. The children’s laughter irritated him as it faded into the distance.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  The guard arrived at the entrance to the docks, happy to be off the darkened streets. Hugh Allardyce, an old relative of Liz, immediately approached. He always made Hector uncomfortable, with his handsome looks: premature grey hair, impeccably dressed and over confidant. His wife didn’t see any of those irritations.

  When Mr. Allardyce called him Son, it immediately angered Hector, especially since he’s a few months older than the old man. He didn’t like Hugh, but couldn’t quite put his finger on what irked him.

  “Hello Hector, nice to see you.” He extended a hand to greet, but Liz’s husband looked at it then stared at his face. Hugh put his hand in his pocket, to hide the embarrassment of refusal and cleared his throat. “Watch out for the dark places Son, and stay away from shadows between three and four.”

  “Aye right, Hugh. You’re full of shite. You know how long I’ve been working on this dock, and you expect me to believe that drivel?”

  “I know you won’t believe me, Son; but I couldn’t live with myself, if I didn’t at least warn you. Be careful. Especially tonight.”

  Hector clenched his jaw in anger before h
is irritation manifested as words. “Away an’ no haver, Hugh. I’m glad to be earning. It might help pay for the extras Liz wants.”

  “Hector, you must…”

  “I have to do it, whether I like it or not. What else would I do with my time?” He interrupted.

  He pointed to the baton of wood Hugh held. The old guard passed the baton to Hector, nodded with subdued agreement and consideration. “Don’t stay on the Dead Beat too long. Get what you need and get out, or we’ll have to measure you up for a pine box.” Hugh walked toward the gate and stopped, came back to Hector and whispered. “Don’t look at the shadows tonight." His finger pointed at the younger man. “Remember now, don’t come moaning to me when you’re dead.” Hugh laughed.

  Hector closed the side gate and secured his safety in the confines of the huge Leith Docks.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Outside the dock gates, Hugh met with a friend he drank every night with, in the Old Black Bull Inn.

  “Hello Hugh, did you hear about Albert last night?”

  “Aye, I know. Poor bastard. They say his old ticker died, just in the warehouse there.” He thumbed a direction of the dock warehouse behind him.

  “Stupid old beggar was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. He knew not to go near the darkness on Dead Beat.”

  The grey-haired guard pressed his index finger to his lips and requested hush. He ushered his friend toward the Old Black Bull Inn. “You never know who’s listening.” Hugh moved closer to his friend and whispered. “The rumour is; his face still had terror on it. Guess he saw the Shadow People, the old fool?”

  “He can only blame himself, he was warned.”

  The men’s images were swallowed by thick haar, and their voices muffled in the distance. The docks slipped into an eerie stillness.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Hector sat in the guard hut on a cold and misty All Hallows Eve. When the mug of spiked tea was finished, he banged the mug on to the table, with a refreshed gasp. Tools were collected for his job: lifted the shaft from an old pick, ensured his old handcuffs were in a pocket, and lifted the lantern. He locked the hut, and strolled into another hushed night patrol on Leith docks.