by Billy Young
“They’ve been in the FORT OF DOOM,” Micky tried to sound scary by deepening his voice and slowing his speech as he gave the name of the walled garden.
“Oh yeah, the new ride,” Andy remember that the day before he’d heard them talking about it.
“Yeah, they were putting the last of it together today,” Micky stretched his back as he walked, lifting the bags in his hands as he did so.
“Do you think it will be ready for tomorrow?”
“No,” Micky shook his head slightly, “it’s still to be tested, it will be after Easter before it opens for the public,” he added.
“You really think?” Andy asked with surprise that it would be so long.
“It could be the summer before they open it,” Micky nodded, “after all they’ve got to get all the bugs out it before that.”
“I suppose but the summer seems a bit long doesn’t it?” Andy felt astounded at this news.
“Well it has to be safe for the punters to go on, after all they don’t want to see folks thrown through the air out of it,” Micky gave a giggle at the image this conjured in his mind as they turned into the gates to the canteen building.
Loud voices came from an open window as they carried their load on past the building to the rear and the large industrial skip that the park used for all of its waste. The black receptacles were tossed unceremoniously into the giant trash bin.
Both men were soon around the building to the front and in to the cabins locker-room to collect their lunchboxes before entering the double room used by the staff for refreshments.
“Hey, it’s the part timers,” Charlie the head of maintenance said as they walked through the doorway.
“Where have you two been hiding then?” Johnny, the park carpenter or Chippy as everyone called him, asked cheekily.
“We could ask you the same,” Micky countered to the mirth of the other seven men in the room.
“Hey, by the way Micky what are you two doing later?” Charlie asked as his jollity subsided.
“After lunch we’re brushing up the walled garden,” Micky said before asking hopefully, “Why do you need us for something?”
“Yeah, we might later on with putting the cars on the new ride,” Charlie looked up from his plate of steaming spaghetti and toast with a large mug of tea beside it.
“No problem,” Micky said with a nod as he sat his lunch on a table opposite the man then headed to the sink at the back of the large room to wash his hands and make himself some coffee.
A large urn bubbled away in one corner on top of the extended kitchen worktop the sink in the other. He dried his hands on a paper towel he took from the pile sitting by the draining board as did Andy; then deposited it in the large bin sitting near by.
Taking his cup from where he’d left it earlier on the draining board Micky soon had his coffee adding milk from the large fridge near the sink and waste receptacle before taking a seat with Andy joining him at the same table they’d deposited their lunches.
“So what you been up to the day then?” Chippy asked Micky, as he took another large bite of a sandwich held firmly in his right hand, washing it down with a swig from a large half pint size mug.
“We finished painting the fence you put up last week and brushing up the drive from the booths down at the front of the park up to the walled garden,” Micky explained as he too tucked into his lunch.
“Why are you sweeping up the drive? There’s a road sweeper coming in tomorrow to do that,” Charlie shook his head at the stupidity as he thought of half a dozen other things that still needed doing around the park.
“Just doing as the gaffer told us,” Micky shrugged his shoulders, unbothered by the pointlessness of the task he had been asked to do.
“Who? The new rides manager?” Charlie pulled his eyebrows down as he answered his own question with the other.
“Yeah,” Micky said between mouthfuls.
“By the way you never told us your girlfriend was having a baby,” Chippy said after a moment.
“Well she’s not due till August so I never thought, still letting it sink in,” he told the carpenter.
“How long since you found out?” Charlie spooned another helping of spaghetti up to his mouth slurping as some tried to escape being eaten.
“Just a couple of weeks,” Micky answered after he swallowed.
“And it’s still not sunk in yet,” Chippy joked.
“And it won’t till it arrives then you’ll know all about it,” Charlie stated, knowing to well what it was like.
“Yeah, maybe,” Micky took a sip from his cup but found the liquid still to hot to take more than that.
“Just wait till you’ve got a really stinking nappy to change,” Charlie screwed up his face at the memory.
“I’ll not be changing the nappies, no way, that’s her job,” Micky gave a short incredulous chuckle.
“Just you wait,” Chippy nodded consciously, “before you know it you find you’ve no choice.”
“I’m telling you there’s no chance you’ll get me near a shitty nappy,” Micky was defiant.
“Okay, say the girlfriends not in, what you going to do then?” Charlie began, “you can’t just leave the baby in a nappy filled with crap, can you?”
“Well, she can stay in till it’s out of them,” Micky sounded cocky.
“You just wait, you don’t know what’s hit you yet,” Charlie laughed with Chippy joining him.
Andy sat quietly eating, listening intently to the conversation leaning back in his chair.
“Andy was wondering when the new ride was going to be open by the way,” Micky change the topic.
“Oh, that won’t be till May at least,” Charlie slurped up another mouthful of his meal, cutting a corner of toast with his spoon then shovelled that into his mouth too.
“What’s it going to be called?” Andy piped up.
The head of maintenance took a moment to answer as chewed noisily trying to remember what the management had decided to call the Troika, as the ride was originally known. “The Cradle Of Fear,” he finally said dismissively as he cut another piece of toast.
Micky and Andy sat eating in silence as the rest of the group talked amongst themselves about the Troika as well as other rides in the park before turning to the big match on Saturday.
“Well I’ll be watching Celtic kick Rangers’ arses.”
“You mean Rangers knock six past your lot.”
“You think.”
“I don’t think I know mate.”
“Look at it this way, the way Rangers has been playing this season they’ll be lucky if they can even get a touch of the ball.”
“At home to you lot and you really think you stand a chance against us.”
“More than a chance it will be a walk over more like.”
“Ha ha-ha.”
“Glad you lot find it funny but you know what they say he who laughs last and all that.”
“Yeah, I know that one does it not go something like; he who laughs last doesn’t laugh at all.” This brought hoots of glee for the Rangers fans and jeers from those who supported Celtic as the one or two that didn’t follow football shook their heads in amusement.
“Right you lot enough of talking shit ‘cause you know it makes no difference who wins with you’s as in the end Killie will beat the both of you blind folded,” the ever diehard Kilmarnock fan Charlie brought the light-hearted squabble to an end in the usual way by declaring his misguided belief in his team.
Both sides turned on him reminding how far down the league his team was. He defended by saying that they were merely giving all the other teams a chance before they show them all how to play. At this the laughter became riotous from all sides.
As the laughter subsided Micky drank the last of his coffee whilst looking at his watch noticing it was time to get back to work. He collected his trash, as he got up to rinse out his cup, putting it in the bin as he passed on the way to the sink.
Andy didn’t
bother to clean his cup tossing it in to his lunchbox with his waste for his mother to bin when he got home. “So what time do we finish today?” he asked Micky as he got his sandwich box from the table.
“What you scared still of the witch?” Micky teased.
“Who’s scared of the witch?” Chippy asked.
“Andy is,” Micky smiled.
“Oh, well you shouldn’t jest about them things,” Charlie warned half seriously.
“Yeah, she might come out and give him a big love bite,” Micky laughed.
“Have you not pissed her off already last year,” Chippy reminded Micky of last years ribbing he got for using the old cottage on the way home as stop off to relieve himself.
“What did he do?” Andy sounded nervous as he asked the question.
“Oh-ho,” came from the now listening crowd.
“What didn’t he do,” began Chippy, “tried to lure the witch out with his tackle, didn’t you, you dirty bugger.”
“What?” Andy looked mystified first at Chippy, then the rest of those present.
“I was caught short,” Micky countered as the others laughed at his embarrassment.
It slowly dawned on Andy, “You had a piss in her house.”
“Oh indeedy,” Charlie said shaking his head, “and not just the once, did you?”
“Ah, you don’t believe in that shit any more than I do, so stop scaring the lad, anyway we should be finished before midnight anyway,” Micky defended himself.
“It doesn’t have to be midnight for the ghost to come out to play though,” Chippy tried to tease Andy through Micky.
“What can a ghost do anyway? Walk through you and give you a chill?” Micky joked.
“Yeah, well just remember those teenagers in sixty eight,” Charlie reminded them all of the local legend.
“What, those drugged out hippies that freaked out on acid or something?” Micky smiled at Charlie knowing he was just trying to pull Andy’s leg.
“Well that’s what the police tried to say but they couldn’t really tell what happened, just that they ended up dead,” Charlie continued to tease.
“What ever,” Micky dismissed the story, “we’d better get back to our sweeping. Give us a shout when you need us.”
Charlie gave a chuckle of amusement. “Okay, just keep an eye out for the witch by the way,” he added as Micky and Andy turned to leave.
Micky shook his head as he left the canteen. He put his things away into his locker then headed for the toilets before going back to work.
Chapter 12
A scurrying sound drifted through the wall separating the cellar from her hidden room. At first she hopefully believed it might be someone to scare so listened quietly. When the noise came again she recognized it as just some rodent sniffing around looking for something to eat. She felt a small wave of disappointment that no one was there.
“There’s nothing for you here little beastie,” she croaked dryly in the direction of the sound. It stopped for a second before resuming as the creature continued its search.
She listened as she mulled the past over in her mind, one of the few things she had during the light of day; that and playing with her collection in the jar. She almost loved remembering the terror she had caused in the past almost as much as hunting for new prey.
Her mind wandered to the night of the visit by the Minister Adams and after he crossed over leaving her to the curse she had become.
The inquisitor had returned to the area on the behest to the Minister in the neighbouring parish. He was just too pleased to return; after all he knew it would mean a large bag of coin. Lodgings were arranged for him at the local inn on the outskirts of New Mills an easy ride to the main manor house of the laird.
She had learned all of this from the last victim as he pleaded for her to forgive him for his lies. She had no mercy though even if she had let him babble on spilling everything he knew in the vain hope of life. She had found as the fear spread through the glen that the guilty seemed eager to appease her though she showed them little reason to suggest they might be able to bargain for their lives.
So it was when Reverend Adams had visited her, to save her, she was preparing to seek out her greatest tormentor in her final days of flesh. If he had come sooner, before she had taken so many he might have had a chance to reach out to her but that time had been to long in the past.
After he left she found it hard to go out in search of the man that found pleasure in torturing others for profit. Once she left the small house she felt a renewed energy course through her as if not going with her old friend had made her more powerful, by accepting damnation she gained the right to judge those beneath her. She was now transformed she felt into the angel of judgement, the banshee.
She followed him as he rode his stallion to his lodgings after visiting the laird. Her plans formed in her consciousness as she moved from shadow to shadow in the bright moonlight, as he rode on blissfully unaware of his impending doom.
He entered the inn, carrying his saddle bags over his shoulder, leaving the inns stable hand to see to his horse; then approached the landlord behind the bar. “Can I have a jug of claret and some grub sent up to the room?” He enquired.
“No but you can take it with you if you want? Just bring down the jug and plate in the morning,” the landlord answered amused at the thought that a guest could believe that they might get served in their room, as if they were royalty.
“Fine then that will need to do,” the inquisitor said, hating the lack of curtsies in these small back water inns; though he did like the fact, that often because of the lack of visitors, he often got a room to himself as he now enjoyed.
The proprietor brought the ordered sustenance to the waiting man as he surveyed the few patrons sitting at the far end of the grimy, claret stained bar. He gave them a nod as he headed for the far door to the stairs to the upper rooms; they in turn gruffly sounded their acknowledgements as they eyed him warily.
The rough wooden door to his room had no lock as was the norm, just a simple latch for this reason he tended to keep all his possessions with him where ever he went. Over the years he had acted as the self appointed inquisitor for those willing to pay he had learned that inn keepers were about the least honest of individuals and not above riffling through a patron’s things if left unattended.
He placed his bag on the empty bed next to the one he used for sleeping because he believed it to have fewer bedbugs than any of the other three squeezed into the room. There was little other than the beds, even the windows were bare to the night sky and a stool he pulled over next to the bed, sitting his refreshments onto it once it was in the right position for him.
She waited hidden in the dark shadows of the nearby buildings for him to settle in for the night. She watched as the innkeeper saw the last of his regulars off home then began too lock everything up for the night. Still she waited so as to let the proprietor get to his bed as well as the man she had come to bring justice to.
Finally she slipped her way through the walls of the inn. Her search didn’t take long, finding him with relative ease. He lay sleeping as if he hadn’t a guilt in the world to keep him from a sound nights sleep. She felt repulsed as she slipped under the covers next to him, yet knew he too would find what disgust was.
She cuddled in close to him, her skin crawling as she did, fighting to hold down her rage. He slowly woke from his slumber, at first he was surprised at someone being in the same bed as himself, after all there were plenty others for them to have to themselves. The surprise though quickly turned as he realized that it was a female that was sharing his bed.
“And who might you be wench,” he said softly.
“Oh, sir don’t you remember me, I am saddened,” she whispered back straining to hold the hate under control, only managing to hide it from her voice.
“Should I,” his brow furrowed as he tried to think who she might be, for he was sure he hadn’t been with any female company when he was last
here.
“Well, I just thought after last time that you would remember me, after all I’m sure I shall never forget,” she strained to hold the sarcasm from showing in her words.
“Last time, eh,” he pulled her close as he said this, his lips locked on hers as her hand slipped down his chest, as he dismissed any other thoughts, other than the lust that rose in his manhood.
The taste of putrefying burnt flesh filled his senses as her tongue pushed its way into his mouth. He tried to push her away but found her stronger than any woman he had ever encountered before. He tried harder yet still found her fixed against his flesh as the stench of death and rotting meat filled the room, he began to gag.
Somehow he found himself pinned flat to the bed as a coldness reached into his chest and around his heart. His strength vanished as she pulled away from the kiss her ghostly hand still locked around the still beating organ.
“Oh, how disappointing that you don’t remember our last time,” her voice sounded different, courser, dryer to him as the light from the moon shone once again as cloud was carried away from covering the bright celestial body.
Vomit prevented him answering, from breathing. His eyes bulged as sick dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He tried to turn to the side in an attempt to clear the regurgitated matter. She held him firm though as his life ebbed with the lack of air reaching his lungs.
Pleasure filled her as she watched his life fading till finally she couldn’t hold on to her scream of exultation. Letting it loose as she ripped his spirit from its dying husk, her screeching wail filled the night waking the barkeep from his restful sleep, as shivers of ice spread down his spine on hearing the ghastly wail something he would never forget.
She had held his soul firmly in her grasp as she sailed through the night back to her home to imprison it like those before in her glass prison. She cackled as those held within beseeched her for mercy. ‘Mercy indeed,’ she thought, ‘what mercy did you show me?’
The night began to fade as she hid her jar back below the cold stone where she kept it hidden from anyone who might come nosing about her cottage for there had been one or two since her death, seeking for any valuables not already taken by those that came before; she too had remained in hiding in those early days.