The Shuffling Dead Box-set

by Ian Woodhead

  “Are you going to ask your mum for some aspirin or what?”

  He heard the front door slamming shut, which did not bode well, he guessed that his loving sister had returned from wherever the hell she went, a few hours earlier than he expected. Something had happened, something had gone wrong.

  Bugger, there was no way that he’d go downstairs now.

  “I wonder what’s going on out there.” Thom muttered. He walked past Kevin while gazing out of the window.

  He turned around and followed Thom’s gave. The night sky was lit up like a Christmas tree; there were lights from cop cars everywhere. Kevin opened the window and peered out.

  “Can you see anything?”

  He shook his head; he didn’t think any of the cars were actually in the estate, just around the perimeter. A robbery perhaps? There were a load of shops just beyond the estate, including two banks, so it was a possibility.

  “I bet it’s a murder. That’s the only reason why there’ll be so many pigs crawling around.”

  Kevin was about to gently suggest that his idea about a robbery was more probable when he stopped and bit his lips, he may have found a way to get him out of his bedroom. He picked up his binoculars, “Why don’t we go have a look?”

  The big lad smiled, “Sounds like a good plan to me. Are those things any good?”

  He handed them over, “Focus in on that house over the road. The one with the high brick fence around it, you can even count the petals on the roses with those beauties.”

  Thom kneeled down and brought the glasses up to his face, after a moment he put them back down, “What are you on about? There are no flowers in that garden, just a great big bloody hole in the middle of the lawn.”

  Kevin heard Claire banging about in the kitchen, it really did sound like she was in a bloody foul mood. A sense of urgency crept in; there was no way that he could suffer a confrontation with her tonight.

  Thom stood up; he noticed that the lad hadn’t given him back those binoculars. Kevin got the uncomfortable feeling that he’d never hold them again. Was the loss of a vintage pair of binoculars a small price to pay to get this lump of meat out of his bedroom? After some considerable thought, Kevin decided that it was.

  “He’s probably planting a tree or something,” he said. “Even so, you have to admit, the detail is pretty sharp.”

  “I’ve seen better.” Thom replied.

  Kevin doubted it.

  The boy walked over to the bed and picked up his coat. “You ain’t gonna puke on me if there is a dead body are you?”

  “Of course not,” Kevin replied, grinning. “I didn’t throw up when they buried my grandma a couple of years ago; in fact I was the only one who didn’t cry.” Kevin wept out a large puddle when his grandma died but Thom wouldn’t know that. He heard someone making their way up the stairs.

  Shitting hell! That’ll be Claire, no doubt looking for some poor bastard to unleash her temper on. He headed for the door. Bugger it; he’ll let Thom take the flak.

  “I won’t be a moment, I just need to piss.”

  He hurried out and pushed open the door next to his. Kevin was reluctant to leave Thom in there by himself as he had loads of valuable gear in his bedroom but what else could he do? There was no way that he could suffer another showdown with his sister.

  Kevin locked the door and padded over to the toilet, his mind was in turmoil, what if Thom said something about him spying on the woman when they went back to school on Monday? His life would be made even worse, if that was even possible.

  There was nothing else for it; somehow Kevin would just have to persuade Thom to come back tomorrow night. Andrea’s mum had yet to miss a performance on a Saturday. Last week had been very exciting; especially when she stood on something to reach the top of the curtains, Kevin’s eyes had almost popped out of his head when her bush came into view.

  Kevin knew for a fact that if Thom saw something like that tomorrow, he’d never tell anyone, it would be their special secret; it might even bring them closer together.

  He unzipped his fly and lifted the toilet lid while wondering who else on the estate watched her strip off and dance naked in front of her window, Kevin couldn’t be the only one who eagerly waited for her performances. He bet that he was the only one who had a decent set of binoculars though.

  The tiles received a spray of piss when someone hammered on the bathroom door. He clenched his teeth so he wouldn’t say anything that would earn him a slapping.

  “For fuck’s sake, come on you annoying little bastard, I need a shit.”

  His sister had such an eloquent way with words. “I won’t be long.” he shouted back.

  She brayed on the door again. Bloody hell! Couldn’t she just leave him alone for a couple more minutes? What was she doing out there? It sounded like she was trying to dig her way through the bloody wood.

  “I said, I won’t be long." he shouted as he zipped up.

  This was so unfair, it looked like he was going to get his confrontation after all, Kevin should have stayed where he was, him and Thom could have then slipped out while she went to the bog.

  Kevin unlocked the door and grabbed the handle, knowing for a fact that this day just couldn’t get any worse. As he turned the handle, the door flew back, almost knocking him into the bath. Kevin gasped in horror as two figures spilled into the room. Claire fell onto the hard floor with the other boy landing on her stomach.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Thom?”

  Kevin jumped back as Thom’s arm snaked out and tried to grab his leg. The blows that Claire rained down on her assailant were having no effect, her eyes met Kevin’s, the look of desperation and terror he saw in there kicked him into action.

  He ran forward and grabbed the back of Thom’s hair and pulled, he found himself flying back into the wall, holding a handful of black hair. Thom didn’t even scream out.

  “Get the fuck off her.” he moaned.

  Thom lunged towards the screaming girl, her shrieks intensified as he fastened his teeth on her cheek and bit down. Her shrieking abruptly stopped when Thom pulled his head back, leaving behind a bloodied red hole in the side of her face.

  Kevin tore his gaze away from the dying light in his sister’s eyes and looked at the boy sat on Claire’s chest, chewing like a contented cow.

  Thom turned his head, he stopped chewing and began to moan, and Kevin’s eyes widened in disbelief when Claire began to move again and started to moan too.

  “Claire?”

  Her eyes were as still as those in a filleted fish, he knew that she was dead and yet she still moved. His mind tilted to one side and threatened to shut down completely. His instinct for self preservation only reasserted itself when he spotted that Thom still had hold of his pissing binoculars. He snatched them from his fingers and brought them down upon the top of Thom’s head.

  “These are mine, you fucking murderer.” he sobbed.

  Kevin pulled them out of the top of his head, watching in morbid fascination as the circular indentation began to fill up with dark red blood. Thom didn’t seem to notice that he’d been hurt. He brought them down again, harder this time then jumped over the sprawl of legs and arms. He looked back to see Claire pushing the now still body off her.

  There was no doubt that his sister had become just like Thom.

  “I’m sorry.” he said as tears ran down his face.

  She groaned louder when he took a step back.

  “I’ll get help, I promise. Don’t you…”

  Kevin groaned himself as he gazed down the stairs and saw another one, wrapped in filthy rags and wet mud as it heaved its broken torso up the steps one at a time while leaving behind a slug trail of dirt.

  Kevin shrieked and raced for his bedroom.

  Chapter Three

  That sneaky landlord had changed the beer again; he’d swapped the expensive stuff for a barrel of cheapo homebrew. Ernest would put money down on it. He lifted the remainder of the pint to his lips and drai
ned the dregs.

  “Same again?”

  Ernest nodded. Not that he was complaining. The stuff sliding down his throat tonight didn’t taste that bad; in fact it was a damn sight better than the swill they usually served in the Horse and Jockey.

  He watched his drinking pal, Jeff; wobble over to the bar for refills. The next lot would be pint number five, judging by Jeff’s coordination, or lack of, maybe they ought to slow down. If the stuff they were chucking down their necks was indeed home-brew, Christ knew how strong it was. Hell, the potency probably altered with each pint. Besides, Ernest had to get up early for work in the morning.

  He leaned back and absently dug his finger into one of the numerous holes sliced into the once plush green upholstery and smiled to himself. Listen to him, getting sensible all of a sudden. Ernest frowned; only it wasn’t all of a sudden was it? His house-breaking days were well and truly over. It must be nearly nine years now since he’d last done a burglary, he’d been working at the mini-market for Mr. Singh for six years now.

  Two pints slopped down on the table.

  “What’s up with you, Ernest? You’ve got a face like a smacked arse. Is that Paki at work giving you a hard time again?”

  Ernest shook his head. “Don’t call him that, my boss is a decent bloke, Mr. Singh treats me okay. He’s worked hard to get where he is.”

  Jeff laughed, and then carefully picked up his glass. “You worked hard to get where you were and then you gave it all away to stack fucking beans on a shelf for peanuts.”

  He picked up his own pint and took a swallow; he didn’t want to go down this road again. Jeff went over the same old ground at least once a week. He tried to think of something else to say but his mind kept coming up with blanks, he’d known Jeff ever since they were kids and after over forty years of friendship, they must have exhausted all topics of conversation at least twice over.

  “What do you think of the beer?” he asked. Hoping Jeff would take the hint and lay off with the ‘worst career move you ever did’ speech. Christ knows what he’d say if he told him that his lad, Darren, was following in his father’s footsteps despite Ernest giving him all those dire warnings. Knowing Jeff he’d probably say that it was a good career move.

  Jeff nodded. “This is bloody good stuff, mind you my taste buds are all shot to fuckery tonight anyway. I made myself a well hot curry for tea.”

  “Since when did you like curries?”

  Jeff shook his head and downed a half pint of liquid before answering. “I can’t stand the stuff.” He belched. “But I read this article somewhere that hot and spicy food gets shut of migraines, so I thought I’d give it a go. I also raided the medicine cabinet too. I’m telling you Ernest, my belly’s fucking rattling.”

  “Our Brenda’s had a headache all day, maybe there’s something going round.”

  “I doubt it, Ernest. She’s a woman, they always have headaches, what I’ve got is something worse. I may have to see the doctor about it in the morning.”

  The way Jeff was slinging those drinks back, Ernest doubted that he’d see the morning. He slowly got to his feet; it was time to empty the old bladder.

  “While you’re up, you may as well get the next ones in.”

  Ernest didn’t really want another one, at least not yet. Hell, he’d only taken a sip out of this glass. Besides, he only had a couple of notes to last him until next week. He looked down at Jeff’s smirking face and lifted up his almost full pint; he swallowed before opening his mouth and knocking back the beer.

  He nodded to Jeff, picked up both glasses and wandered over to the bar, it had to be done, he couldn’t discuss money problems with Jeff; the conversation would just wind back to the inevitable. Ernest placed the glasses on the bar.

  “Fill ‘em up again will you sweetheart?”

  The barmaid smiled and nodded before reaching for the glasses.

  “Wait on! I was here first.”

  Ernest and the barmaid both looked at the short man slumped against the bar. He silently groaned when he saw who it was; Steve Reynolds had been his personal pain in the arse ever since nursery. He lived a couple of streets away from Ernest, just behind the old graveyard. As a kid, Ernest often had fantasies of burying him in there, preferably still alive. Come to think of it, he’d still like to put him in there.

  Steve gripped the edges of the bar and turned to face Ernest; it took a moment for the man’s eyes to focus but when they did, Steve scowled. “I should have fucking known it would be you. Buy me a fucking beer you cunt.”

  Oh great, the man was as pissed as a bloody fart, Reynolds was a bastard at the best of times but when he had beer inside him, he just got plain mean.

  He nodded over to the woman, “One for him as well.”

  Ernest was going to end up with bugger all at this rate, but it was best to keep on Steve’s good side, when his mouth stopped talking, the fists came out to play. His Brenda had told him loads of times how he knocked the crap out of his wife and kids when he’d had a skinful. Ernest never understood why Brenda hung around with her in the first place. She knew full well the history he and Steve had.

  He wondered what the pissed up knob-end would do if he ever found out that it was Ernest who broke into his home fifteen years ago and stole the family’s savings he’d found in the cornflake box in the kitchen, and then trashed the place. Ernest would have loved to have seen Steve’s face when he arrived home that day, especially when he climbed the stairs and looked into his bedroom to see that huge turd in the middle of his bed.

  “Him? Who the fuck is ‘him’ supposed to be, the cat’s father?”

  “Sorry, I meant Steve.” He hastily replied.

  Ernest backed off and headed over to the toilets before Steve could have another pop at him.

  “Wait up you, I ain’t finished.”

  Ernest’s heart began to speed up, so the line had already been crossed, oh great. He watched Steve slide off the barstool.

  “Come on Steve, aren’t we a little too old for this type of nonsense?” he said, desperately trying to defuse the situation.

  “What, so I’m too old am I now?”

  He looked over to Jeff, hoping to attract his attention but he had his head resting on the table. Oh bloody hell; he had no wish to get into a fight. His skin was saved as the door behind the bar creaked open. The barmaid came out followed by Desmond Naylor. That came as a bit of a shock to Ernest, he’d heard rumours that Des was seeing Annie but he had no idea that he was staying in the pub.

  Des nodded to Ernest. “You alright?”

  Ernest nodded back, unintentionally copying the big man’s posture. Desmond’s hair was soaked and his t-shirt clung to his bare chest, he had some soap in his ear, Ernest wondered if he dared tell him. He breathed a sigh of relief, safe in the knowledge that the tosser wouldn’t dare try anything on with him Des standing right behind him.

  “I hope you ain’t upsetting folk again shortarse.”

  Steve visibly cringed and tried to smile, it was not a pretty sight. “Of course not,” he replied, “We’re just having a bit of a laugh that’s all. Ernest offered to buy me a drink.”

  He made that announcement sound as if Ernest buying that nasty fucking dwarf a pint was somehow genuine proof of their everlasting friendship.

  Desmond laughed out loud; a fresh pint had magically appeared next to the big man’s left hand. “Don’t you try to bullshit me; you’ve been a right little twat to Ernest ever since he was knee high to a grasshopper.”

  To be fair, Desmond did a fair amount of slapping when they were both kids as well but that stopped when they’d both turned over a warehouse on the outskirts of Bradford fifteen years ago.

  “I think you’ll find that it’s you who’s buying Ernest a drink.”

  “Don’t forget me!” shouted a voice from their table.

  That was just like Jeff, where the hell was his friend when Steve was having a go at him? He retreated to the toilets, grinning from ear to ear when he he
ard Desmond calmly informing Steve that he was paying for his pint too.

  Ernest was grateful that the gents were deserted, he leaned back against the tiles and closed his eyes, enjoying the silence and the solitude; he waited for his heart to slow down before he padded over to the urinals.

  That Steve Reynolds had been inside for the best part of five years, he’d only just been released. Those bliss-filled nights of being able to walk into his favourite watering hole without risk of being hassled were well and truly over.

  The Horse and Jockey was the only pub in the middle of the estate. There were a couple of other pubs within walking distance, the Crown and the Black Bull but there was no way that he’d dare show his face in either of those two. The locals from the Breakspear Rise estate had claimed them.

  Ernest finished his business and made his way to the door, he didn’t want to go to another pub anyway. Why the bloody hell should he? He liked it here; this place had been his second home since he was sixteen.

  He jumped back when the door pushed open from the other side and a young lad wearing a lime green shirt wandered in. He nodded to Ernest and he nodded back. He didn’t know the lad from Adam. Oh, he’d seen him in the pub a few times but that was about as far as it went, but they both drank in the same place so therefore they nodded to each other. The regulars in the Horse and Jockey all considered themselves to be part of the same family. It was that fucking Steve Reynolds who didn’t belong; he was the one who ought to bugger off.

  Ernest grabbed the door handle and wished for the bastard to get sent down again. He re-entered the lounge and wandered up to the bar to collect his drinks. Ernest noted with great relief that Steve’s bar stool was now vacant, he hoped that the man had pissed off out of the pub or, even better had an heart attack and died.

  His own heart sank when he spotted him in the games room, arguing with one of the youngsters next to the dart board.