Ventriloquists

by David Mathew

  Until the torchlight was extinguished.

  ‘Hey!’

  As soon as the light went out, the smell changed dramatically, and this change was accompanied by a hissing sound.

  In the filthy darkness, Shyleen tensed.

  Hiss.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Shyleen demanded.

  The smell had moved closer to her senses – claustrophobically close, in fact. The stink of burnt sugar and of muck-spreading on countryside pastures… It assaulted her nostrils while the hissing sound continued. The hissing sound –

  Hissssss…

  …like an aerosol can… spraying –

  Spraying me.

  - spraying its poison into the localised atmosphere.

  In order to block her nose as best she could, Shyleen raised her hands to her face. Both her nose and her eyes had started to leak; both her mucous and her tears seemed as hot as bathwater – hot and abrasive… Wanting instinctively nothing more than to scream or to voice a protest (she wasn’t sure which), Shyleen opened her mouth; not only the stench but a foul taste flooded in, and Shyleen choked. She coughed.

  Surely she had swallowed perfumed fire. No words could she squeeze out; a coughing fit had overtaken her, but Shyleen knew that she had to get out of the room. She had to get out of the house… but one step at a time. Bent at the waist and coughing madly, she walked in the direction that she believed the door to be in - the direction directly opposite the night-blackened window.

  Whatever Benny had squirted at Shyleen was affecting her vision – her sense of balance also. Her throat was as raw as gravel; her eyes burned. She couldn’t speak. However, what was worst of all was the way that the darkness had started to launch itself directly at her face. She ducked deeper.

  …spraying me…

  ‘You are feeling very sleepy,’ Benny intoned in a mock-illusionist’s stage voice, lightly accented.

  The darkness was sapping Shyleen’s strength; her consciousness had all but retreated. To the throb in her temples – insistent as a parade’s bass drum – she fell down on the stinking single bed that the room contained.

  Her mouth was dry.

  …spraying me… she thought once more before her consciousness flew away on wings fetid and dark.

  10.

  Gripping his canister like a truncheon (at shoulder height), Benny waited until Shyleen’s breathing had levelled out; until she had exhaled away her panic. Then he flicked on the torch and shone the jaundiced beam at his victim. The approach of her unconsciousness had paralysed her facial features into a mask of horror that could not have been bettered on the face of a French mime. Her mouth was open - invitingly so, in Benny’s opinion.

  ‘How long do I have, I wonder?’ he whispered to himself.

  Shortly after meeting Shyleen for the first time, Benny had pictured her lowering the fly of his trousers with her pursed lips. After all, it had been a long time since he’d stripped and fucked an Asian girl. (And never before had he shared his erection with an Asian boy. He had high hopes for Yasser.)

  ‘Why not, as the actress said to the bishop.’

  Benny squeezed his trouser pocket – to check on the progress of his tumescence… Nothing doing; soft as a Labrador’s turd. But there was time. There was time. If either of the other two outside were to enter the house, Benny would hear the intrusion, even in the throes of passion. He could disengage quickly, and –

  ‘Fuck it,’ Benny whispered. Laboriously kneeling down by the side of the bed, he sat about removing Shyleen’s trousers.

  He’d always been speedy in the sack.

  Old age or no old age.

  11.

  The first thing he thought was that he’d been mugged again.

  Thirteen years earlier, he’d been mugged outside London Bridge station, near a throbbing flock of black cabs. A prick with a flick had demanded money. Chris had said no. And the wanker had not understood the mass of the situation. Not willing to practise what he preached, he had held the knife but hadn’t used it: he’d lost his bottle. He had fought Chris with fists alone.

  And lost.

  Chris had pushed the wanker down a flight of stairs and had left him for dead. The wanker had hit his head on a wall. His head had resembled a Bolognese. And Chris had left him.

  He’d felt good.

  But he didn’t feel good right now. Chris imagined that he was the one who had been abandoned at the foot of the stairs. For a few seconds.

  Pain information sank codes into Chris’s brain. His head pulsed: a headache from the end of the world; an Armageddon migraine… Chris tested the rear of his scalp with numb fingers. He felt wetness, an adhesive quality.

  ‘You piece of shit,’ he murmured while attempting to stand.

  His fingertips his only guide, he left the bedroom.

  He heard commotion. The sounds were distant and extraterrestrial.

  ‘You prick,’ he muttered; and believing that the angel’s wing might have saved him from a certain death, and that his luck had held for one more day, he crossed the landing…

  12.

  ‘I really don’t like this,’ said Yasser.

  ‘Nor me.’

  Yasser waited. In the field behind the house, a couple of owls performed a brief duet.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked finally.

  ‘You know what’s going on. He told us to wait,’ said Maggie.

  ‘I’m not talking about Benny. I’m talking about your matches and petrol.’

  ‘Oh that.’

  ‘Yes, oh that… What were you thinking?’

  ‘I’m paving me way.’

  ‘To what?’

  ‘To me future.’

  ‘Oh. And that’s cool, I suppose.’

  ‘Quite hot, I’d imagine.’

  ‘…Is that supposed to be a joke?’

  Now it was Maggie who waited. The owls sang again and Maggie said, ‘That’s two owls, by the way. One does the turwit and the other one does the turwoo. Did you know that?’

  ‘I did as a matter of fact.’

  ‘But don’t you wonder why the second owl doesn’t start the conversation some time? Might be nice to hear turwoo turwit.’

  ‘We don’t get too many owls in Bury Park,’ Yasser answered, and then he realised what Maggie could be saying. ‘We’re the owls, you mean? You want to speak first?’

  ‘Heaven forfend! Just an observation… Do you think many people were hurt in the fire?’

  ‘That’s between you and your conscience, I’d say. You’ll find out soon enough when you’re in court. On charges of arson and manslaughter. If you’re lucky.’

  ‘Oh I won’t be going to court, Yasser. I’ll die first. By me own hand, as they say. I can’t say I haven’t thought about it for long enough.’

  Again, the owls made whoopee. A bat flapped over the garden.

  Yasser said, ‘I started to think you wanted me to do it for you.’

  ‘Take my life?’ Maggie smiled. ‘You could if you wanted to; I wouldn’t fight much. Not if I could help it, anyway. But I don’t know what my instinct for self-preservation would throw up in your way. We’d be on the voyage together, as virgins.’

  Yasser shook his head. ‘It’s not a voyage I’m going to take, Maggie.’

  ‘But how do you know? Imagine your afterlife! A thousand vestal virgins for killing scum!’ Maggie laughed. ‘I’m your passport to Paradise and you don’t even know it.’

  ‘You’re a fruit loop, is what you are,’ Yasser mumbled, walking away in the direction of the house once more. ‘Where are they? I’m going in,’ he called over his shoulder (a light twinkled on in an upstairs window of the house next door). ‘Are you coming with me?’

  13.

  Benny had placed the torch on a shelf near the door; the light it provided was fai
rly strong but not focussed on what was happening in the room. This defect in illumination combined with the torrents of pain in Chris’s skull, and it took Chris a few beats to work out what was going on.

  ‘Get off her!’ he shouted.

  Benny turned by rotating his shoulder as best he could. He had positioned Shyleen so that she was only just on the bed’s edge, on her back, her ankles on Benny’s shoulders. Benny himself was kneeling on the floor, pushing his groin against hers in hurried spasms.

  Chris crossed the room in four strides – faster than Benny could disconnect and stand up. Chris fell on Benny’s body, the two of them landing on the squelchy mattress. Rage burned in Chris’s brain – it was hotter than the agony – and punch after punch he landed on Benny’s face. Throughout the attack he swore fluently amid tangled, complicated breaths.

  ‘You tried to kill me,’ Chris eventually managed to say. By this point he had straddled Benny’s torso; apart from the laboured heaving of chests, all action had ceased.

  ‘I thought I had, mate.’ Benny gasped breath. ‘You must be tougher than you look. I whacked you a coupla good ‘uns. You’re no use to me, I’m afraid.’

  ‘You took my money fast enough,’ Chris argued, immediately regretting the inappropriateness of the remark.

  ‘Overheads,’ Benny said simply.

  ‘And what about her? Have you killed her too?’ Chris’s voice rose in amazed disgust. ‘Is she no use to you either. You were fucking her, man!’

  Benny sniggered. ‘Tell me you’ve never been tempted to crack open a cold one.’

  Chris punched him in the face. The nose broke.

  ‘Jesus! No! No I didn’t all right! She’s breathing and she’ll just have a bad hangover… I need her. For my collection. First Indian woman, see.’

  ‘My God…’ muttered Chris, feeling nauseous, afraid, tired (his biceps ached) – even mildly affronted at not being required by this murdering maniac. ‘What do you mean, collection? Are you collecting people?’

  ‘No, I’m collecting stamps.’

  ‘I’m warning you, mate.’

  ‘Benny?’

  This was Yasser’s voice, from below.

  ‘Up here!’ Chris shouted. ‘Quickly!’

  Benny did not wriggle beneath Chris’s weight. Motionlessly they awaited Yasser’s arrival, joined together in something like prayer.

  Entering the bedroom, Yasser assessed the situation, or as much of it as could be assessed, and demanded to know what was going on.

  ‘Your monkey attacked me,’ said Benny. ‘When I told him he couldn’t have his money back.’

  ‘You liar!’ Chris protested. ‘Look at the state of me! He hit me with a bat or something!’

  ‘Self-defence,’ Benny explained.

  ‘Get off him, Chris,’ said Yasser. ‘And what’s up with Shyleen?’

  ‘He was raping her!’

  ‘Bollocks!’

  ‘Your fly’s still undone! Her knickers are on the floor somewhere, Yasser – with her trousers.’

  Yasser reached for the torch on the shelf; he swung the light across the bed for a better look at everything, including his cousin’s vagina. Something bubbled in Yasser’s emotions: it might have been jealousy. The reality of Chris having had sex with Shyleen in his house had been bad enough; but to learn that one or both of these wankers had been sliding it to her while she was unconscious… it was too much. It was simply too much. Rage took hold of his reins.

  ‘I told you to get off him, Chris. I meant it,’ Yasser said in a determined voice.

  Chris complied. His objections, however, were far from over.

  ‘He said he was collecting people.’

  But Yasser ignored him. ‘We’ll soon find out who was raping my cousin when she wasn’t even awake, you filthy bastards.’

  ‘Now wait a minute,’ Chris said. ‘I never raped no one.’

  Sitting up comfortably, Benny took no noticed of the torch’s glare; indeed, as he fastened his trouser zip with little self-consciousness at all, he appeared to be on the verge of grinning inanely, amused by the squalor of it all.

  ‘I must admit, son, I have been a silly,’ he said. ‘I’ve completely forgotten to bring my forensic spunk-testing kit with me tonight. You wouldn’t have one on your person, would you, by any chance?’

  ‘The police will have one,’ Yasser answered calmly. ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘Snake poison. Extracted and distilled by my own two hands.’ Benny showed Yasser the palms of his hands.

  Chris stood up.

  ‘Stay where you are, Chris,’ Yasser told him.

  ‘You don’t think I did this, do you?’ Chris asked. ‘Shine your light on my face; I can taste my own blood! He fucking belted me one!’

  ‘I can see your blood, mate,’ Yasser replied. Then to Benny: ‘What does the poison do?’

  ‘What does it look like? It makes the victim dance a jig! It puts the victim into a coma; she’s aware of everything, believe it or not, she just can’t move. She’ll be fine.’

  ‘But why?’ Yasser wanted to know. ‘Why all the bullshit about another dimension?’ Immediately he answered his own question. ‘To get us up here one by one?’

  Benny nodded his head, and Chris said, ‘I told you. He’s collecting people – he said it as loud as anything!’

  ‘For what reason, though?’ Yasser went on.

  Chris wasn’t finished. ‘Only I’m not good enough for him, apparently. Me he just wanted out of the way. So he whacked me blind.’

  ‘Not blind enough,’ Benny interjected. ‘And definitely not mute enough.’

  ‘You need a hospital,’ Yasser thought aloud. He took out his mobile and thumbed the buttons to get rid of his text display and to set up a new call.

  ‘Do you know,’ said Benny. ‘There’s a black snake that can pretend to be a rattlesnake to scare off predators? He taps his tail on dried leaves to make the noise.‘

  ‘Shut up, Benny.’ Yasser’s thumb hovered over the third of the three nines that would connect him to the emergency services. It was not only the choice of which service he would name when he was invited to do so – police or ambulance – that made him hesitate. It was also the realisation that he was trespassing; the realisation that there were no innocent parties anymore.

  Benny did not shut up. ‘Other snakes work together – different species of snakes, I mean. One of em does a dance to hypnotise the prey.’ Benny used his right arm to show what he meant. ‘Then the other cunt nips in and bites the victim on the scrotum. Ingenious, when you think about it.’

  ‘I said: shut up, Benny!’

  ‘Bob’s your uncle and Fanny’s your aunt. Both snakes eat the prey.’

  In the hard wind of Benny’s persistent enthusiasm, Yasser could do no better than to shake his head in exasperation. ‘Why are you telling me this? Why now?’

  ‘It’s called ironic poignancy, son.’ Benny smirked directly into the torchlight. ‘If I’m the first snake, Yasser… who’s the second?’

  Yasser span on his heels, as hard as he could: it was too late. He had not heard Maggie follow him through the house and up the stairs. Indeed, he had been distracted; he’d been hypnotised.

  ‘Sorry, Yasser,’ she whispered.

  ‘Give it him, girl!’ said Benny; and what Maggie sprayed into Yasser’s face felt dry and cold, with an animal house odour and a burning sensation when it hit the back of his throat.

  He choked.

  Yasser dropped to his knees, clawing at his neck with short-nailed fingers. He couldn’t breathe. His eyes were hot and streaming… he was aware of commotion behind him… he didn’t know where he was… his temples throbbed… sickness weakened him… choking…

  ‘Don’t fight it, Yasser,’ a woman’s voice said. Maggie’s voice.

  He was choking, choking�
��

  …too much darkness… weird light… no air… no… things no

  Nothing.

  Faithful Following

  1.

  ‘Okay, got it,’ the first man said into his phone, ‘reverse and then… yeah, got it… be there in… yeah, Benny, I got it. We’ll be there in about five minutes. Cool, mate.’ He clipped his mobile phone shut. ‘Did you get that?’ he asked the second man, who was driving the van with one hand splayed limply on the wheel.

  ‘Something about reverse.’

  ‘He wants us to reverse up the drive and back into the garage. Then we go in the house round the back and load up. Five bags. Five hundred quid each for fifteen minutes’ work, not including the delivery of three and the disposal of two. A grand for ninety minutes? You having a laugh? Fair exchange is no robbery, mate!’

  ‘I know. But Dad –‘

  ‘Den. Call me Den.’

  ‘But Den,’ the younger man continued, ‘why won’t he tell us what’s in the bags?’

  ‘I didn’t ask. None of my business. Bloke’s paying us good money not to know, that’s all.’ Den paused, then went on with a sighed confidence. ‘But he’s a scientist, right? I expect they’re bodies.’

  ‘Yeah. I think they are too,’ the son replied. ‘That’s what creeps me out.’

  ‘Why?’ Den laughed. ‘We can’t have new medicines without testing em first, can we?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No, of course not. So what? So he’s got five bags of dead rabbits or summing. Big deal! All we need to know is where we’re taking the bags for his keepsies, and where he wants us to take the other two for cremation. Right?’

  ‘Right. Yeah okay.’

  ‘Good boy.’ Den laughed again. ‘Mean, it’s not as if they’re gonna be human.’

  ‘Nah. Nah they won’t be human.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Exactly!’ the son agreed.