by Lex Sinclair
Paul didn’t even notice their upset and anger directed at him for his drastic alteration in personality. The foreman didn’t bother inquiring as Paul was doing more work than anyone else by almost double. This was the main reason they got to finish ten minutes to three instead of working until dusk to finish the job.
The last four days, Tommy had offered to give Paul a lift home. Paul declined even after persuasion. Then he walked the mile home to his bungalow. The trail that led through the Eucalyptus grove was bone dry. Paul recognised it as the place where he’d first seen the robed figure and pale white horse.
Until then he’d assumed the meeting with the one he could only identify as the Grim Reaper was something his mind had conjured up. Yet as he saw the opening and the path give way to a road and the gate he’d reached he knew then without doubt that what he’d seen had been as real as going to work today.
When he unlocked the front door, Paul absentmindedly went and had a shower. The only way he knew he had been in the shower at all was when his mind snapped back on as he stood before the window above the sink and he saw his reflection, dripping wet with a towel wrapped around his waist. Then he dried himself, got changed into denim jeans and a plaid shirt.
At the sound of his two children, Emma and Roy, Paul made certain to go to his bedroom and lock the door behind him.
He stretched out on his bed and listened to his wife returning home from work. Ann greeted her children, and then he heard her asking them where he was. They said they hadn’t seen him or heard him. At that point, Paul shot up from the mattress and unlocked the bedroom door then returned to the mattress and closed his eyes.
Ann entered the room not five minutes later. ‘Oh, you’re home,’ she said, pleasantly surprised.
Paul pretended to blink away sleep and then sat up. ‘I must’ve dropped off to sleep,’ he said.
‘Oh, well, it’s Friday. You haven’t gotta be up early tomorrow, have you?’
‘The job’s done,’ Paul said, matter-of-factly.
Ann smiled. ‘The kids want to eat now. Are you gonna eat with us?’
Paul was about to say no, but something he couldn’t see, only sense made him say, ‘Yes.’
*
For dinner they had Emma’s favourite: mashed potato, sausages and peas. Paul had devoured his mashed potato before anyone had even began cutting their sausages up. Then suddenly, after his second mouthful of peas and a sip of lemonade, Paul rose and said in a voice unlike his own, ‘Excuse me, I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘Yes, sire. Certainly,’ Emma said in her imitation of a posh voice.
Roy coughed up the peas he’d been chewing, laughing.
Paul heard the comment but didn’t bat an eyelid. He continued down the short hallway, opened the bureau and took out a set of keys and selected the small, brass Yale for the shed. He closed the front door gently behind him and crossed the lawn to the timber shed.
Upon opening the shed the radiant sunlight brightened the musty interior and revealed the dust motes. It took Paul’s eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom, but when they did they widened when he found what he was looking for.
The axe was propped up against the side, blade glinting in the sun. Paul hefted it up by its long, thick wooden handle, marvelling at the tool as though he’d never seen one before. He nodded his approval, turning the axe around and around in his grasp, then smiled.
He closed the shed door behind him but left it unlocked. Then he returned to the house ignoring his neighbour, Bob, next door who called out to him. The front door closed on Bob’s voice and the sunlight vanished. Paul gripped the axe with white knuckles, his broad smile broadening into a maniacal sneer.
*
THE DAILY MIRROR
AXE MURDERER BUTCHERS FAMILY!
CRAIG EVENSON
Yesterday afternoon, police were alerted when a neighbour claimed to hear screams of terror from his neighbour’s residence in Gloucestershire, after witnessing his neighbour, Paul Dickens (43) marching into his home, wielding an axe.
Local PCSO’s were horrified at what they saw when they arrived. They discovered the remains of the Dickens’ family in the kitchen where the bloody murders took place and found the body of the Paul Dickens in the bathroom, his throat cut.
The homicide/suicide crime has shocked the local community. “Nothing like this has ever happened in this quiet town to anyone’s knowledge,” PCSO Daniels said.
Bob Harris (55) who phoned the police said, “I can’t fathom it for one second. In all the years I have lived next to Dickens family, I have never suspected any violence or shouting matches. Paul Dickens built me a brick wall for my back yard and an alcove for my barbecue. He never once showed any signs of distress, anger or bitterness. He looked like a different person when I saw him with that axe and called out to him. The Paul Dickens I knew would never have ignored me or even considered doing what he did. My thoughts and condolences are with the rest of the family at this time.”
Police have started an investigation. Colleagues, who for legal reasons cannot be identified, have made statements claiming, “Paul hadn’t spoken hardly a word all week and was very distant; not at all like his usual-self.”
Nobody quite knows or understands the momentary act of sheer madness and rage. It is that element that makes the crime, apart from the murders themselves, the most unsettling and horrid.
Superintendent David Atkins said this: “Although these murders and suicide are as gruesome as they are tragic, no one really knows what goes on behind closed doors. It appears that the perpetrator, Paul Dickens, had some kind of mental breakdown and acted in haste and out of character. The news has devastated our quiet, pleasant community. I am deeply saddened by this macabre occurrence, as are the friends and acquaintances of the Dickens family.”
It has been reported that when the bodies are released the family will be buried together on the same plot. Paul Dickens’ remains will be buried separately.
*
Reverend Perkins was sitting in his vicarage residence, watching TV while he ate a beef roll before packing some of his clothes and heading to his sister’s home in Bristol.
A news reporter who couldn’t have been any older than twenty-five with high accentuated cheekbones and solemn expression that diminished her beauty stared right at him through the camera lens. ‘Yesterday morning at 8:54am an Ohio State student who moved to the U.S. fourteen years ago from the U.K. has reportedly ended his all-night rampage. Armed police chased suspect, now identified as Lucas Thompson, down to the high school behind me where he took position in an abandoned building across the street and proceeded to shoot students as they filed out of the school bus. He also murdered two armed officers before being gunned down.
‘The rampage which commenced around four a.m. yesterday by the eighteen-year old assailant ended on this street. Five other students that cannot be named were also injured; two in critical condition.
‘It is believed that in total, Lucas Thompson, has killed 31 innocent people. The killing spree started in an all-night gymnasium. Police are investigating footage of Lucas locking the front entrance, and firing at BodyTalk’s customers. From there he used his semi-automatic to gun down a group of women emerging from a nightclub before moving on to pedestrians and early risers.
‘There is no concrete explanation as to what the reason was that induced Lucas Thompson to take his father’s licensed guns from the safe in his home and proceed the way he did. Although some, students have made similar statements that indicate that Lucas “believed he’d been chosen by the Death itself to give as many souls over to the dark side.” Another student said, “Lucas said the end of times was pending.” Prior to these murders, the student believed Lucas to be talking nonsense, and merely “attempting to scare him.”
‘More updates will follow this tragic happening that has enraged citizens of Ohio and America, pleading with the government for “gun control”.
‘This is Angela Blackwood, reporting fo
r the BBC news.’
The camera returned forgivingly to the studio where the anchorman raised an eyebrow and muttered, ‘That’s very disturbing. Of course, we’ll keep you up-to-date with forthcoming news regarding that incident.’ Then he moved on to another grim story of a murder of a Caucasian man who was brutally battered to death last night by a gang of Turkish men. ‘His family will be notified in due course.’
Feeling nauseous, Rev Perkins used the remote and changed channels to an episode of The Simpsons. All of a sudden he no longer felt famished. He finished the rest of his beef roll with difficulty. Then he washed it down with some Pepsi Max.
Once that was accomplished he made his way to his bedroom and started packing some clothes and toiletries into a suitcase, glad for something to do to take his mind off his graphic dreams/visions and the prophecy by someone in the Vatican that John Hayes had passed on to him.
There really needed to be some good to counter all this bad, he thought as he finished packing. He checked he had everything for his stay with his pregnant sister, double-checked the doors and windows were locked prior to stepping outside and locking the front door.
He had his mobile which also received emails so there was no need to lug his laptop with him to Bristol. The drive itself usually took just over an hour, although with traffic it might be closer to two hours by the time he arrived outside Nadine’s home and prepared himself for the untimely funeral of his brother-in-law.
The confines of the car seemed to suffocate his pain. For it was then that it suddenly dawned on him with perfect clarification that Larry Moretz would never see the birth of his only child.
In a fit of vexation, Rev Perkins struck the steering wheel three times, inadvertently blasting the horn and hurting his wrist in doing so. He wept for five minutes then ordered himself to cry no more while in the company of his grieving sister.
Then he started the motor and began his journey…
7.
CENTRAL LONDON
A WEEK had passed since the birth of baby Elias Benullo. Frank was still at work and Sammy was given maternity leave and wouldn’t be returning to work until next year. He was delighted with the fact that he was now officially a father but found the enormity somewhat daunting. He’d rationalised that this was perfectly normal behaviour, and that all first time parents experienced the jitters.
He’d briefly read a web page regarding fatherhood. Yet what he decided would be best was to do the household chores and make life as easy and as comfortable as possible for his wife and child.
The good news for Frank was that his fraternity leave was starting after work today and would last six weeks. This would make his job of making sure his wife and son didn’t have to do anything arduous for some time.
Once he’d seen his last patient for the day, Frank shut down the computer, slipped into his suit jacket, grabbed his briefcase and left his office. Colleagues who were loitering around the reception desk congratulated him again on becoming a father and wished him all the best now that he’d be absent for six weeks. He offered a smile and thanked them then ambled down a short hallway to the heavy glass-panelled door that led to the employees’ car park.
On the way home as he was in high-spirits, Frank turned on the radio hoping for an upbeat ballad. Instead his euphoria dissolved into concern.
‘Breaking news!’ the reporter exclaimed. ‘Thirteen girls aged between eight and ten in Newcastle have committed suicide in the local woods in what appears to be some sort of suicide pact.
‘The thirteen suicides attended four different schools and yet were all members of the choir of three separate churches in Tyne and Wear. Parents claim that there couldn’t be any possible way all the girls knew each other as there was nothing linking them all together. Apart from their age group and the fact that they sang in their local choirs there is nothing that relates these girls together. Parents claim that all thirteen girls lived happy lives and were content. There was no indication of any depression or long-term melancholy from any of the girls.
‘A rambler discovered the thirteen bodies hanging side-by-side from a large oak tree and had to be treated by EMT’s for shock and trauma. Police officers who arrived at the scene of the suicide said they’d never seen anything as creepy as the sight of the thirteen girls.
‘Police and parents alike are baffled as to how the girls came into contact with each other and arranged a rendezvous for the group suicide pact. Apparently, the girls had not only met and discussed and agreed to the suicide but had also gone to extreme lengths of planning to choose a place where they could execute their plan, away from prying eyes.’
Frank exhaled deeply and switched the radio off. He continued his drive home in silence, unable to delete the graphic image of thirteen girls hanging lifelessly, toes inches away from the forest floor, dressed in choir attire.
Once the red light eventually changed to green and the queue of traffic rolled forward, Frank used the turn signal and got onto his street. Vehicles parked on either side of the road outside shops and homes made the road twice as narrow as it ought to have been. He had to slow down twice to allow cars heading in the opposite direction to pass.
Having parked the car twenty yards away from outside his house, Frank got out and felt the first drops of rain. He arched his head up and blinked as droplets landed in his eyes. The black clouds leaden with rain and most likely thunder and lighting diminished the daylight and encouraged night to embrace the capital city.
Sensing someone close by, Frank looked back over his shoulder and saw a thin, middle-aged man wearing a raincoat with matching hat. The out-of-place man wasn’t walking or moving. He simply stood next to a streetlight, staring fixedly at Frank. Unnerved by this, Frank cordially gestured to the forbidding dark clouds. ‘Supposed to be the summer,’ he said, rolling his eyes for dramatic effect.
The man across the street stared at him fixedly.
Okaaaaaaaay. That didn’t work. This guy is kinda creepy. Best just leave him to move along in his own time. Probably thinks you’re staring at him. He looks like he belongs in an institution. Just leave him and he’ll soon go away.
Frank raised his hand in a goodbye gesture then turned and entered his four-story, alabaster stucco residence. He closed the door behind him and exhaled, not realising he’d been holding his breath.
The sound of the TV in the room to his right comforted him. Frank headed towards it already putting the strange man across the street to the back of his mind.
*
Frank and Sammy were enjoying a chicken korma curry after feeding Elias and changing his nappy. The TV was on, although Frank deliberately asked if they would not watch the news programmes. When Sammy inquired why he’d told her about the story he’d heard on the radio in the car.
‘I just wanna enjoy this time off and not think about bad things; if that’s all right?’
Sammy, disturbed by the story, told him that they were still warring in Israel and Afghanistan; hundreds dead due to missiles being fired at towns. Then she mentioned how an aircraft flying from Japan to South Africa had crashed after some sort of malfunction. Again hundreds had died. So Sammy was more than happy to watch an episode of Friends.
*
At 9:32pm Frank watched Sammy place Elias in his cot on the other side of their bedroom. She sat there watching his eyes roam the ceiling overhead as she sung a lullaby to him. Frank went to the bathroom to get in his pyjama bottoms and brush his teeth.
When he came back into the bedroom, Sammy was lying in bed on her side gazing at Elias who was very quickly drifting off to sleep. It was early for Sammy and him to be retiring for the day, but they’d both been up early and knew it was better for all of them to go to bed at a sensible time.
Frank crossed the bedroom to close the curtains when he froze.
Sammy didn’t notice the rigid, motionless stance of her husband with his back to her. She continued to gaze at Elias until she too felt her heavy-lidded eyes start to close.
/> Beyond the bedroom window, across the street four and a half hours after he’d returned home, Frank’s eyes met that of the man in a raincoat staring at him fixedly.
To articulate it to someone wouldn’t have sounded sinister in the least, but to be standing in front of the window seeing the motionless figure by the streetlight in the exact same posture he was earlier on was something else. Frank could feel the first tendrils of black fingers tightening around his heart. The most frightening aspect of all was the way the man in a raincoat had chosen to stare at him outside his residence for hours on end.
He didn’t know what to do. Sammy was falling asleep as was his son, and hard, pelting ran bolted down from the black skies. If he alerted his wife to what he was seeing she would become distressed. If he did call the police what exactly would he say: ‘There’s a member of the public standing on a public pavement?’
Of course if a police constable were here right now they’d see for themselves that there was much more to the man’s unblinking stare and lack of movement. Yet as soon as they saw the patrol car coming down the street they would disappear into one of the many alleyways or claim they were just going for a walk when the rain came and stopped where there was some shelter to stop getting soaked to the skin. There was no substantial evidence to support Frank’s claims and what he would have achieved would be upsetting for his wife and son with all the commotion.
Staring back at the ashen-faced man, Frank decided he’d wait until morning. If the man was still there – Heaven forbid – then he’d bring it to Sammy’s attention and phone the law.