Short Shocks 2

by Andy Love

  The mains-powered radio sat on the kitchen worktop, and churned out another 1950’s song of summer. Pete gazed in the direction of the repulsively happy sound and wagged his index finger to the beat.

  Nellie's eyebrows knitted together in disbelieve, as her eyes followed his gaze. Old doubts rushed to the front of her mind. ‘Surly he wouldn’t, there’s no need to. Is he really that bad?’

  “Pete. What are you doing, honey?”

  A cacophony of dark voices whispered around in his head and drowned the music. He pursed his lips, closed his eyes and whispered, “Shhh…” His eyes opened again, and his callous stare drilled into Nellie’s soul.

  “Do you want to play a game, Nellie?”

  Her feet became colder as the water ebbed against her toes.

  “I’ve not got time to play with you now, Pete.”

  “It’s an easy game. Who can scream the longest?”

  “No, Pete. Go and try to keep out of trouble. I’ve got this mess to clean up.”

  The teenager reached out his hands, and grabbed either side of the radio. He held it over the wet floor as the heat from the glass valves warmed his fingers.

  “You don’t need to clean up anything. I can help.”

  “No Pete, be a good boy.”

  Pete laughed aloud. “Too late. Now scream.”

  He extended his arms and quickly opened his grasp. The Bakelite case shattered on the tiled floor. Water reached in, caressed the valves, capacitors and resistors, and eventually reached the transformers power source. The electricity raced its way through the fluid and excited the skin on Nellie’s feet. She screamed and Pete joined in.

  The current multiplied, gained strength as it tracked over the skin. Her muscles became spasmodic as she fell to the floor, flopped, splashed and juddered in squeals and grunts. Pete leaned against the door jam again. His laughter threatened to slump his body. He watched Nellie’s body flop around on the floor, in a fatal dance to the radios previous tune.

  Suddenly, the fuse blew and Nellie eventually stopped juddering. He stood upright, pursed his lips again and nodded.

  “I win.”

  The house and his mind became steeped in an eerie, painless silence, except for the Grandfather clock in the hallway. Its pendulum measured time with the thud of each slow heartbeat. He turned and whistled a happy tune as the front door closed behind him. He smiled, and gazed at the blue sky and white clouds. Pete made his way to the comfort of the subdued light in the woods, where the whispers wilted in his head.

  Pete threw his head back and stared at the padded ceiling of the car. His Adam’s apple bobbed like a tennis ball floating on the tide, as he swallowed hard. He peered at the clean and clinical whiteness, how soft the texture appeared. It looked to him, as clouds on a summer day, when he used to stroll through the woods and listened to the whispers.

  The more he stared at the soft pallor on the roof; more intense visions and smells of summer filled his senses. His mouth closed, but his lips widened across his face, which protruded two pillars of tendons on his neck. When the strain became too much, his jaw dropped open and a vocal rasp escaped his throat.

  “HA!” A short pause, his head bounced frantically left and right. “HA!”

  He continued a dozen times, abruptly stopped. His mouth tightly closed, and chin buried into the chest, he appeared to be frozen in place. Deeply frowned eyebrows seemed to be one, like a balcony over his black and emotionally empty eyes. He stared straight ahead, no movement. Beads of sweat rolled down his face, and exposed his pretence of a stone exterior. His mind embroiled with remembrance of Bill Mackenzie, when they camped in the woods.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Three years after Bill Mackenzie’s wife died, he walked home from the Off-Licence and noticed Doctor John Ingram approach. He scanned Bill from head to foot, and noticed a whiskey bottle, which peeked out the brown paper in his coat pocket.

  “Hi there, Bill. How are you doing? I’ve not seen you since…a couple of years now? Nellie’s funeral?”

  Bill shook his head at the Doctor’s inability to remember how long he’d been without his wife. “I’m fine, Ellie’s fine, we’re all just dandy. We have been for the last three years, Doc. I need to… go. I’ve got a lot to do.”

  “You should come to the clinic, Bill. We could have a proper chat. How are you coping with Pete?”

  Mr. Mackenzie raised his head, the bloodshot eyes looked wearily at John.

  “Pete wears a man down, with his tantrums and wanting, all the time. He’s a teenager now, and still acts like a kid. I don’t know if I can stand it anymore. Not that you or any other snotty-nosed town fucker’s care. I’m ignored, we’re ignored, any time I asked for help.”

  John placed his hand on Bill’s shoulder.

  “I hope you're taking proper care of Pete, he’s had a hard time with his real parents. It’d do you both good to get into the fresh air, try to bond. Try to be there for each other? Go camping or something.”

  “I already told you, we’re doing fine. Just leave us the fuck alone and mind your own business.”

  John watched Bill’s slow and painfully stooped gait shuffle down the street, to the boarded up café he calls home. The Doctor caught up with Bill, grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face him.

  “If I don’t see you at my office next week to discuss you both, I’ll have to inform the authorities. It’s my job.”

  Bill pulled his arm away from the Doctor and his coat swung back against the wall of the shop with a smash. The alcohol poured through his pocket and onto the pavement. Both men looked down at the puddle.

  “I’m so sorry, Bill. I didn’t mean…”

  Mr. Mackenzie watched with anger as the liquid, dripped from his coat. He could smell what would have been a little bit of peace for him, at least for the rest of today. His heart sank lower as tonight’s escapism pooled on the pavement, and evaporated in the sun.

  “Just, go, away. Doctor someone else. Leave us alone!”

  He went into the shop and slammed the door closed, which made John blink. The noise and waft of stale air hit his face.

  Bill clenched his teeth as he shook through the first sober night. The only time he’s been dry, since Nellie wore a wooden jacket and slept in the earth. He sat in the lounge and supped coffee. His appearance reflected the inability to eat. Bill’s dark blue dressing gown hung down the outside either leg, and contrasted his off-white long johns. His hair drooped over his ears, longer than he preferred, and a facial growth, a few days away from a beard. His gaze lifted from the mess on the coffee table: sugar granules, spots of tomato sauce and grease, to his faded apron, which hanged on the wall.

  Mr. Mackenzie remembered his dear wife, and a flush of shame overcame him. Nellie worked hard to keep the café open and to make a profit. He realised he’d pissed most of their funds on self-pity and booze. She would turn her corpse from him in disgust, if he allowed the shop to die too.

  He heard soft footfalls in the hallway and looked up to see Pete creep down the stairs. He probably headed for his beloved woods. Bill decided their lives should get back to some kind of normality.

  “Hey,“ he said in a gravely voice. He took a drink of coffee, but couldn’t hear any movement and the stairs were void of life. “Pete. Can we talk?” Footsteps got closer and Pete appeared in the lounge doorway.

  “What about?”

  “Come and sit with me, Son. I realise I’ve not been there for you, since Nellie’s… accident. I think we should get to know each other again, to make plans for the future. What do you think?”

  Bill slid out a spare chair at the table and patted the base with his hand.

  “Come on, have a seat. I won’t bite, honest.”

  He forced a smile and his lips drag against sticky teeth. Bill lifted his feet up onto the coffee table and closed the dressing gown over his legs. Pete stepped forward with caution, looked at the seat and grinned.

  “There’s nothing to talk about, Bill. You drink,
I watch you die. I’ve been happy with it so far. Don’t spoil it.”

  “Come on Pete, you know me by now. I’ve always told you the truth.”

  The young man thought for a second, and decided the old man to be correct.

  “Your point is?”

  “It’s simple, Pete. I was talking to our local dick-of-a Doc, and it sounds like he means to cause trouble for us. He threatened me about Social Services being brought in, if we’re not seen to be getting along and living a normal life. You’ll be taken into care by the authorities and me? I’ll probably end up in jail. We’re meant to be like the do-gooders in this shite little town,”

  “Why should I bother what happens to you, Bill? I’m not your Son.”

  “Well, Son. If they take you into care, you’ll have to live by their rules. Do what your told, when you’re told, or else.”

  He looked intently into Pete’s face for a reaction and noticed the person in front of him lost his boyish looks. A young man with stubble and deep voice spoke with the old man. None of what he said seemed to matter, or register any concern with Pete. He knew what would get his attention.

  “You know, if they take you in; there’ll be no more visits to the woods. No camping out overnight? Could you handle that?”

  Pete shook his head slowly in denial and his grin faded. He stared down at Bill as fury spread over his face.

  “You and me are not finished, old man.”

  A shiver overcame him as Pete turned to leave. “Pete, when did you start to hate me? We used to be such friends.”

  “Were we ever friends?” Pete answered coldly, as he slowly turned to face the man who antagonised him again.

  “How about you stay in tonight, eh? We can make plans to go camping tomorrow in the woods. We’ll stay for a week. We could have some fun before we get down to work on our return?”

  The young man thought for a moment before he turned his back. “OK, we’ll do that. The great outdoors, and the danger of Mother Nature.” He reached the sideboard and mumbled, “I’ll enjoy every minute of it. I’m sure.” He bounded the stairs to his room.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  The next morning, both men hiked through the hills north of town. The goal of seven miles east toward the woods seemed too far. Bill finished a fit of coughs and wiped remnants of puke from his chin. He admired the physic of the fit and muscular young man in front of him as he leapt over a dead tree. Jealousy reared as his once lean body succumbed to the curse of age and wrinkles.

  “This is nice, isn’t it Pete? Both of us with nature. It’s so peaceful and quiet. Nobody to hassle us, and totally alone. Free to talk about anything.”

  His chest tightened as he awaited a response, but Pete stared into the canopy of trees and grinned, oblivious to reality. The old man slapped the teenager playfully across the arm to get his attention. Pete turned so fast he lost his balance on the log, and stumbled back. His jacket dangled in the dirt and leafs, until Pete grabbed him with one hand, as if he snatched a fly from flight. Rage surfaced to Pete’s face, as he stared down at the old man.

  “What!” He shouted, and raised Bill to vertical again. His face softened to a leer as he brushed leafs and dirt from Bill’s jacket.

  “Let’s go,” he ordered. “We need to find a good place to camp before night.”

  Pete skipped up the hill. Once Bill caught up with the lad, he tried to strike a conversation again.

  “You really love being in the woods, don’t you Pete?”

  “Yup.” He replied and continued to walk without elaboration.

  Bill tried to push the question a bit further, to get the teenager to confide in him. To know the boy, to confirm his suspicions. “You remember back when Nellie died?” he asked, as his fingers fidgeted and shook.

  “Yup. So very sad.” He answered.

  “Well, it’s probably a good thing you were in the woods, when Nellie’s accident happened…it still confuses a lot of people, including the police. I frankly don’t understand how the radio fell off the counter, all on it’s own. Nobody can work that one out. The one solution would be—someone must have been there.” Bill paused, but no reaction or reply from the lad. “I suppose that would be murder. We can’t have this happen in our squeaky-clean little shit-hole-of-a-town.” He studied Pete’s face for any sign of acknowledgment, but none. “Can we Pete?” Bill asked a little too loud.

  “I’ve already been questioned, you know.” Pete defended.

  It sounded to him, like an interrogation. Bill became too nosey, and too close. He saw the intense look on the young man’s face and treaded carefully.

  “I’m just saying, Pete. It’s curious, is all. Just curious.”

  He faced Bill, with his head inclined and those black eyes, fixed. “Shit happens!”

  “Less of that language, young man.” Bill chastised.

  “Or what, old man?”

  Bill shook his head and clucked his tongue in disapproval.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  They hiked through a long day. The old man insisted on being short with the teenager, denying every suggestion or request.

  Pete’s head hurt, deep inside.

  Many chances arose at the wrong time during the day, to take away Bill’s life. The whispers command death, and he obeys. They reached a glade in the woods at the same time, and set up camp and each other, with pointless arguments.

  Bill wrestled through the night, without the spirits to keep him numb, while Pete sat on the ground, and agreed with the whispers all night.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  When morning arrived, they ate breakfast, packed up and set on their way. They hiked through the hills and further into the woods. The old man reached the edge of a cliff, and leaned on the one visible strand of barbed wire left between the fence posts. The middle and bottom wires were trampled into the ground and overgrown with grass. He stooped slightly, looked wearily at the scenery and breathed in the fresh mountain air.

  Pete staggered through the woods, bombarded with the echoed whispers, which stuffed his head with searing agony. He reached the top of the hill, stopped inside the tree line and watched Bill lean on the fence. ‘I bet he wishes dead Nellie was with him. Can you hear him beg for release?’ The whispers encouraged. ‘He needs to be set free. Help him die, Pete!” They demanded. The whispers grew loud and painful as always, until he submitted to their bid. ‘Release him, Pete. It’ll make you happy. We’ll be happy, and he’ll fly as an angel, like his wife.’

  The torture pulsed with a high-pitched whine. His head seamed to balloon; to inhale and exhale. He needed to ease the explosions of agony.

  There was no choice.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Bill drank in the sober views and shouted. “Hey Pete, you have to see this view. It’d take your breath away, really.”

  Pete ran full force and pushed him over the fence. The old man dangled from the barbed, which pierced his hand. The warm blood flooded his clenched fist and ran down his wrist. His body swung over the cliff edge, and his weight ripped the little rusty spikes deeper into his skin. Bill looked down at the grey rocks in the distance. A sweaty fear escaped his pores, as he realised Nellie’s company to be a fall away. He strained to peer at the sky, to see the single fence post, and tuffs of grass above. The blood trickled down his knuckles and up his forearm as he screamed an echo of help. Suddenly the young man’s smirk appeared above a tuft of grass.

  “I’ll help you meet your wife, Bill.”

  “No, Pete. Help me up. We need to stick together. God help me!”

  “God’s not here just now. Just me.”

  His face disappeared and the old man heard a thud. A wire shivered and his body jolted downward about six inches. The spikes embedded in his hand and the pain coursed up his arm.

  ‘I must keep hold, no matter what.’ He thought. The post above leaned toward him. A louder thud followed and a tremor ripped through his bloody hands. The base of the wooden post cracked before it collapsed.

  Pete’s face pe
ered over the edge again and grinned. Bill could see the horizontal post protrude from the cliff edge. The barbed wire snapped, and his hand shredded down its length as he dropped half his body height. The old man plummeted to the ground with an outstretched arm, and his murderer’s face diminished as he descended. The rocks macerated his carcass on impact. Splintered bones jutted through torn material and fluid burst through gaping holes.

  Pete heard a dull wet sound of the old man’s death and saw the little red blot it made on the rocks below. A satisfied look swept over his face, as the whispers stopped and his head returned to a form of normality.

  “Dear oh dear. What a mess you’ve made, Bill.” He raised up and brushed debris off his knees and hands. “Good job done.”

  The young man sang with the birds as he walked down the hills for home. He encouraged ignorance with laugher, unable to comprehend the heinous act. There dwelled a necessity to be rid of the annoyance, so the task is complete. He needed to satisfy, to erase the voices again, at least for a short time.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Pete Bonner rocked his mature physic back and forth in the vehicle’s PVC seat. A little squeak emanated from the material. He sang a discordant and seasonally inappropriate song.

  “Deck the halls with bits of body. Tra la laa la laaa…paint the floor with blood from folly. Tra la la la la, ha ha ha ha…”

  His face reflected in the car window, but it seemed to change as a dark cloud slid overhead. The facial image reminded him of his father, as the disembodied face appeared clearly in the window. The mouth of the mirage moved in faint speech, until clarity prevailed. The formed words reflected the tone of ‘Sir’. ‘What are you doing, boy? You’re a useless piece of shit!’

  He became infuriated, terrified of the sound. ‘He’s back.’ It looked and sounded so real; he could even smell the stale alcohol from its breath, as it continued to gripe.

  ‘You need a good fuckin’ beatin’. What’s your choice, boy? Buckle or knuckle?’

  An awkward pause teased him, before the image bellowed another order.

  ‘Come on boy; make up your mind. I ain’t got all fuckin’ day.’