Punk and Skinhead Novels Box Set

by Marcus Blakeston

  “One day, The Snatcher decided this wasn’t evil enough for her, and set in place her plan to rule the country so that she may steal much more than a baby’s milk. So The Snatcher tricked the people of That Lunn Don into making her their queen. She promised them riches beyond imagination, said they would own their own dwellings and places of work if only they would make her their queen. But the people of That Lunn Don did not know her true intentions, for The Snatcher was wise and cunning as well as wicked and evil. On the very day she was crowned queen, The Snatcher set her dastardly plan into motion.

  “She passed new laws to set the money lenders free from their chains. She created an army of Lords of the Land who were free to charge the people of That Lunn Don rents far in excess of what they could afford, making them reliant on charity to survive. Many travelling minstrels of the time sang songs of protest, but these fell on deaf ears and The Snatcher ruled for many years with an iron fist.

  “It was not long before The Snatcher turned her steel gaze to the land of Yarksher and the riches it contained. The Under-dwellers, who had been supplying the village of That Lunn Don with their magical black rocks for many years, were the first of her targets. This angered The Under-dwellers, and they sent forth their champion, Scar Gill, to do battle with The Snatcher. Scar Gill was a mighty warrior, with many scalps to his name, but he was also a man of great compassion. He attempted to reason with The Snatcher, but his words fell on deaf, uncaring ears.”

  Scar Gill felt an immense pride well up within him as he listened from behind the oak tree. He imagined his warrior ancestor dressed in battle armour, standing bravely before the evil Snatcher. How The Snatcher would have trembled before him if it were not for her guards and their impenetrable ring of steel around her. How he, if he were the real Scar Gill of legend, would have fought through the guards and chopped The Snatcher’s head off, put an end to her years of torment forever. He sighed. The sad part of the story was coming up.

  “In retaliation for Scar Gill’s effrontery,” the elder continued, “The Snatcher decreed that she would seal up the caves from which The Under-dwellers extracted their magical black rocks. Without the black rocks to trade for food, The Under-dwellers were left hungry and destitute. Some of The Under-dwellers were so destitute they developed scabs upon their bodies, and The Snatcher took advantage of this. She used her evil powers to control the scabbed ones, to turn them against their fellow Under-dwellers.”

  Scar Gill wanted to shout “Boooooo,” along with the children. But he knew he was too old for such things. He contented himself with striking his fist into his palm, cursing the scabbed ones for their traitorous ways.

  “But Scar Gill held strong. His loyal Under-dwellers fought ferocious battles with the scabbed ones, and cast them from the villages of Yarksher for all time.”

  Scar Gill nodded to himself. Even to this day, the scabbed ones were still banished from Yarksher, and lived their cursed lives in the wastelands to the south of Barn Slay, in the ruins of Notty Ham. Sometimes they would try to sneak back into Yarksher under cover of darkness and steal sheep, but they were always driven away because they were such a cowardly race.

  The first time Scar Gill had seen a scabbed one he was just a small child. His father, Gold Thor’s sheep watcher at the time, had caught a scabbed one on the fringes of the village one night, and paraded him through the village, bound in rope, the following morning. Scar Gill watched as the scabbed one was stoned to death by the whole village. He felt no pity. The scabbed ones deserved much worse than death for their betrayal in the times of The Snatcher.

  “The Snatcher was not happy with the defeat of the scabbed ones,” the elder continued. “She sent forth her Army of Blue Men from the village of That Lunn Don to lay siege against The Under-dwellers of Yarksher and their families. There was a great battle at the village of Org Reeve that took many lives on both sides of the conflict. But the Army of Blue Men had far superior weaponry to the sticks and stones of The Under-dwellers, and The Under-dwellers were defeated with mighty clubs and giant beasts.

  “The caves of The Under-dwellers were sealed for all time. Entire villages who relied on trade from The Under-dwellers shrivelled and died. The Snatcher cackled in her castle while The Under-dwellers were forced to beg for scraps of food. All the riches of Yarksher were transferred to the village of That Lunn Don, while the people of Yarksher went hungry.

  “But still The Snatcher was not satisfied. She created a new tax, one which everyone in Yarksher was forced to pay even if they were destitute and could not afford to do so. She used her Army of Blue Men to enforce the tax, throwing people into dungeons for the rest of their lives if they refused to pay.

  “Scar Gill was angered by this. Although forced to live on the surface, The Under-dwellers had remained strong and formed communities together, so Scar Gill did not find it difficult to rally his army. They marched on the village of That Lunn Don, where they were joined by other armies. Armies from outside Yarksher. Armies from a land far away, where men wore skirts and spoke in a strange tongue.”

  A child giggled, and was hushed by the elder. Scar Gill smiled. He knew why the child had laughed. While the wives of The Under-dwellers themselves were fierce and strong, and fought alongside their men in the battles with The Snatcher’s Army of Blue Men, the idea of men wearing skirts was preposterous. Somewhere down the ages, as the story was passed from generation to generation, this absurdity had entered the legend. Scar Gill vowed that if he lived long enough to become the village elder he would change this part of the story to make it more believable.

  “Yes,” the village elder said, “the men of this strange army wore skirts. For they were a mighty warrior tribe who didn’t care what anyone thought of them. The Snatcher sent forth her Army of Blue Men to smite both armies. But the armies, seeing they were allies with a common enemy, joined forces and rampaged through the streets of That Lunn Don. They destroyed what they could destroy, chanting ‘Can’t pay won’t pay,’ as they battled their way toward The Snatcher’s fortress with pitchforks and flaming torches.

  “Many lives were lost in the ensuing bloody battle, and the armies were ultimately defeated, but the message had been sent. No longer would Yarksher put up with the tyranny of The Snatcher. The Snatcher was forced to recant her new tax, and abdicated her throne in shame soon after. She went to live in exile, where she was never heard from again for another generation.

  “Scar Gill spent many years in search of The Snatcher’s hiding place, so he could avenge The Under-dwellers and the people of Yarksher for the wrongs done to them. But his search proved futile and The Snatcher remained in hiding.

  “Until one day, long after Scar Gill had given up his quest, one of The Snatcher’s cohorts announced she was dead and ordered the country to mourn for her passing. There was much rejoicing throughout the land of Yarksher, and street parties were held in celebration. The surviving Under-dwellers looked forward to the day when they could visit The Snatcher’s grave and urinate on it, but The Snatcher’s cohort decreed that she should be burned at the stake and her ashes sealed in a vault to protect them.

  “Some say, before she died, The Snatcher passed her spirit to a new body, leaving an empty shell behind, so that she could continue her evil work from beyond the grave. Others say she made a pact with the devil and lives on to this day, plotting her revenge on the people of Yarksher, using the scabbed ones to do her bidding just as she did during her reign of terror. Nobody knows for sure.

  “And so we remain vigilant, and watch out for the scabbed ones. We guard our homes, we guard our sheep, and we guard our children’s milk. Because these things are important to us. And we will never let them be taken from us again.”

  “Amen,” chanted a chorus of children.

  “Amen,” whispered Scar Gill to himself. He looked out to his sheep, satisfied himself they were safely grazing in their field.

  A flutter of movement in a nearby bush caught Scar Gill’s attention. He watched, rais
ing himself up from the ground. A stranger, his hairless, naked body covered in scabs and boils, darted out from the bush.

  “Scabbed ones!” Scar Gill shouted. He pulled an axe from his belt and ran at the stranger.

  Warrior in Woolworths

  I watched the two punks push through the Woolworths entrance door laughing to themselves, no doubt about something illegal they had just done or were planning to do. I glared at them, asserting my authority as custodian of the law in this shop, but they didn’t seem to be taking any notice of what was happening around them. If they had they wouldn’t have let the door swing shut and smack an old lady in the face as she was entering behind them. Or maybe they would. No fucking manners, these punk bastards.

  I’d been watching them loitering around outside for about twenty minutes, mentally daring them to enter my lair. I can’t do anything about them being outside, you see, on account of it being a public highway. But once they come in here, things are different. This is my domain, and what I say goes. It’s my job to protect Woolworths property from thieving scum like that, and I’m very good at my job.

  I hate punks, me. Hate them with a passion. They’re just a bunch of idle bastards sponging off the state while I pay my taxes to keep them in a life of luxury. Willie Whitelaw is right, a short sharp shock is what they need. If I had my way they would all be shipped off to the Falklands to fight the Argies, not lying around in bed all day. I would have been there myself in a heartbeat if it wasn’t for the shrapnel in my leg, a souvenir from my last tour in Belfast. Put these punk bastards in the army and they wouldn’t know what hit them. Hell, just get them out of bed in the morning and they’d probably faint from the exertion.

  I watched the old lady struggle with the door, rubbing her cheek with one hand where it had hit her in the face, while she pulled a shopping trolley laden with groceries behind her. It was quite comical to watch, and I couldn’t help smiling. But then I saw Barbara on the till watching me intently and frowning. She’s a good ten years younger than me, so there’s not much of a chance of getting into her knickers, but it never hurts to keep your options open. There’s always the next staff Christmas party.

  My eyes darted between Barbara, the two punks, and the old woman. The punks didn’t seem to have stolen anything yet, so they could wait a bit longer. I sighed, and walked over to the door, and held it open for the old woman. I glanced over at Barbara, and she was smiling at me. Result.

  The old woman didn’t seem to be in any hurry to walk through the door, though. In fact she just stood there and looked at me.

  “Thank you dear,” she said, and, get this, she stood her shopping trolley up and transferred it to her other hand before she walked through. And talk about walking slow. You would think she was the one with shrapnel in her leg the way she hobbled around.

  I grunted at her when she eventually got around to entering the shop fully, and let the door swing closed behind her. I watched her saunter towards the pick and mix sweets, put down her shopping trolley, and lift up the lid to the tub of fruit gums. I watched long enough to make sure she didn’t pop any sweets into her mouth instead of paying for them, then turned my attention back to the two punks. They were making their way through the shop in the direction of the escalator, as if they had a god given right to be there.

  Following them, I reached for the radio in my inside jacket pocket and pressed the transmit button.

  “Sam, you there?”

  Sam is my subordinate. He’s always slacking off somewhere, he doesn’t seem to take the job seriously at all. So it didn’t come as any surprise when he didn’t reply for several seconds.

  “What’s up, John?”

  “Two punks, heading up the escalator to the first floor. I’ll keep an eye on them and let you know if I need backup.”

  “Roger, John. I’ll be on standby.”

  Yeah, right. Like he’s ever on anything but standing by while I do all the work.

  I put the radio back in my pocket, and with a final glance at the old woman to check she was putting the sweets in the correct paper bag, I made my way to the foot of the escalator. They were already half way up it when I arrived, and one of them turned in my direction so I darted to one side, where the pots and pans are displayed. I didn’t think I had been seen, but it had certainly been a close call. Luckily my army training had made me quick witted, so I was able to blend into the background in time.

  I picked up a chrome-plated kettle and used it as a mirror to check the coast was clear. Holding it at arm’s length and tilting it around, I was able to gain a good view of the entire escalator from top to bottom. They were snickering to themselves about something, but they didn’t look around again.

  When the punks stepped off the escalator on the first floor, I put the kettle carefully back in its proper place on the shelf, and twisted it around so that it matched the exact same profile as all the other kettles around it. Then I took out my hanky and wiped away the greasy fingerprints I had left on it, before I stepped onto the escalator to follow the punks.

  Stooping down slightly as I reached the top of the escalator so that I wouldn’t be seen, I stepped off and looked around the upper floor. The punks were loitering around one of the toy aisles, so I made my way casually towards them, deliberately looking up and down the other aisles so that they wouldn’t suspect they were under surveillance. They were obviously up to no good because when they did see me they darted out of sight down one of the parallel rows of aisles.

  Quickening my step, and cursing that Irish bastard and his bomb, I limped towards the end of the aisle in which I had seen the punks last. I paused before entering the aisle, and listened for any sounds that might give away the punks’ location. I couldn’t hear anything, so I risked a quick reconnoitre by stepping briskly to the next aisle and relying on my excellent peripheral vision.

  The punks were at the opposite end of the shop, and as I walked past I saw them move into the next aisle, in the opposite direction that I was travelling in. I decided stealth was my best option if I was going to catch these two at whatever it was they were up to. I entered the aisle I had last seen them in, and stopped in the middle, listening for any sounds. I carefully parted some boxes containing Barbie doll furniture, and peered through the small gap I had created between them.

  The punks were standing in front of the Action Man range, sniggering to themselves. I couldn’t see what they were doing, they had their backs to me and were standing too close together for me to see, but whatever they were doing it was sure to be something illegal.

  I watched them for a minute or so, and then decided I had better investigate before things went too far. They were acting suspiciously, so I was perfectly within my rights to apprehend them so that they could be searched for stolen property. And if I got a bit rough with them I could always say I had to defend myself. The way these scruffy bastards were dressed, one look at them would satisfy the police who the real aggressors were. In fact they probably had a criminal record a mile long anyway, so they would certainly be known to the police.

  My legal requirements satisfied, I saw no more need for stealth so I slid the Barbie boxes back into their correct place and made my way to the end of the aisle. When I got there, the punks were gone. I limped to the end of the aisle and looked down the adjacent aisles, but they were nowhere to be seen.

  I was about to give up and go and inspect the Action Man toys for any damage the punks may have caused, when I heard a faint cough behind me. I spun around to face the direction of the cough, and there they were at the opposite end of the aisle I was looking into. Staring at me with stupid grins on their faces.

  “Oi you two, come here,” I shouted, taking a step towards them. But the two punks ignored my direct order, and ran towards the first floor exit. I gave chase. If they got out into the rest of the shopping centre, or even worse, into one of the other shops, I would lose them. But the best I could manage was a brisk limping walk, and they were running at full pelt the way that
criminals do when they know they’ve been rumbled, so I knew my chances of catching them were somewhat remote.

  But wait, there they were standing in the doorway as if they hadn’t done anything wrong. I still had a chance of catching them and bringing them to justice. I thought about shouting out to them, ordering them to stay there. But they had already proved they were incapable of following simple orders. I reverted back to stealth mode and crept towards them, hugging the wall as much as possible to remain out of sight until I was ready to pounce.

  I got within fifteen feet of them before I saw their reflections in the glass door. They were staring straight at me, a stupid grin on their ugly faces. I realised my mistake long before they turned around and waved at me before darting out of the exit, and I cursed my stupidity. I should have circled around the shop and taken them from a different angle. I strode to the door, hoping I might still be able to apprehend them, but they were already gone by the time I got there.

  I hid behind a large cardboard cutout of ET the Extra Terrestrial for a few minutes in case they came back. They didn’t. No doubt they would already be half way to the second hand shop selling whatever it was they had stolen so that they could buy drugs.

  With a sigh, I decided to resume my normal duties. I wondered if the old woman downstairs had paid for her sweets, but realised there would be nothing I could do now if she hadn’t. Maybe I should have told Sam about her so that he could observe the woman while I was busy watching the punks. Too late now.

  I remembered the punks had been doing something suspicious near the Action Man range, so I decided I had better investigate that. I would know instantly if there was any missing because I know that range very well. If only my wife had had a boy instead of a girl, then I would have been able to use them to teach him what army life was all about. Stupid woman couldn’t even do that right.