I Know Him Better Than You!

I Know Him Better Than You!

 

1.

From darkness came a sudden burst of brilliant light in front of their very eyes. The people gasped and cheered, clapped and yelled as the oh-so familiar music, the tackiest of tacky game show theme tunes that I guarantee you have ever heard blasted out of the speakers high above the plush TV studio.

Once it was done the noise of the crowd did not wane, it only grew to an uproar, a monsoon of cheers and applause. The audience gripped by the sheer excitement certainly let it show. Anyone that may be outside the studio might think this is monumental occasion, a once in a lifetime spectacular. They would however be wrong, this was not the birth of a new princess, the launch of a spacecraft heading for Mars or even a wet T-shirt contest held by Angelina Jolie; this is simply another episode of a game show that had become exceptionally popular with the ill-educated working classes, or “chavs” to you and me. The show was sponsored by Lidel for heaven’s sake.

The ambience changed by the light’s hue moving onto a turquoise tone and concentrating on the centre of the stage. Smoke clouds began to rise on either side leaving a small gap between them. A huge drum roll could be heard as a man’s deep but rich in excitement bellowing voice came from nowhere, “Ladies and Gentleman,” it shouted in its friendly but over-exaggerated tenor, “welcome to I Know Him Better than You!” The crowds went crazy, now raising their sorry asses clear off their plastic chairs and shouting inaudible chants. For many off them it was the fastest they moved since the dole queue earlier that week.

The voice continued as the drum roll came to a sudden stop, “And here is your host……….” He paused for an unnecessary length of time; some might argue it was for the purpose of suspense, other, more sensible people would argue it bulked out an otherwise weak concept for game show that would have ended before it began had such delays not been in action. “……………………..the amazing…………………” Even the more inane brains began to melt in the pause, “……………….Mr………….Wayne Kerrrrrrrrrrrrrr!”

A large circle in the floor of the centre stage began to lift as the crowds picked up their levels of noise, it began to rise, from it came another until the perfect hairstyle of a man’s head became visible. Up from that very floor like magic rose a figure in silhouette, he was broad of shoulder but posed with a suspiciously camp posture, hand on hip, other arm reaching out to the crowds. A dazzle of glitter fell from above, a magnificent boom and a huge flitter of the lights came to expose the silhouette in full sprightly contrast. It was him, it really was they thought as he gave his expensive signature smile, the full range of faultless teeth sparkled from his award winning grin as he raised his hands in the air to increase the applause. The whole effect was quite sickening even to most healthy of individual but these knuckle-brains were sucking up to it like elephants to peanuts.

Wayne moved his hands down to his side to indicate they begin to temporarily kill off the noise, like disciples they did exactly this and he kept rigid as a post until the point where you could hear a pin drop. “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you so much, you are such a lovely audience, I want to take you all home with me and let you ride me like a sweepstake winner!” The crowds laughed an insane giggle as if he had said the funniest joke known to man, as he pointed out one man in the front of the audience, “….except you sir, my gosh darling, did you go to Burton’s?”

“Yes!” shouted the man in chuckles. 

“Was they closed, or what?” Wayne asked as the crowd increased their laughter to uneasy proportions. Wayne waved his hand, “oh deary, I’m only joking, only joking…..now, welcome one and all to another spectacular show, the show where we sort the men from the boys, in accordance with the two loves of their life. Welcome to I Know Him Better Than You!” He threw himself around the stage like Jimmy Somerville in an Ibiza foam party as more tacky music blasted out. Now positioned around the back of a green and blue podium he held his hands out and let them drop to indicate yet again that the crowds should shut it and let him babble some more in his camp voice.

After a quick tasteless monologue about what a disaster his week was, which was clearly read from an auto-queue and practised twenty times or more the camp presenter yelled, “So my lovelies; shall we call out the man of the moment? Well, here he is….its Mark from Buckinghamshire!” A nervous looking man in jeans and shirt that were far too clean to be his own and looking slightly paranoid of his stage makeup came from the left side of the stage and Wayne scurried over to me like a puppy dog that hasn’t seen their master all day and he threw himself at the man, wrapping his arms around him and pressing his crotch into the man’s leg as he did so, rather more than the man seemed to appreciate, “Isn’t he a dream ladies? Oh I could eat him up right here!”

The man laughed a fake laugh as he tried desperately to wriggle himself free, “get off!” he whispered to the host but Wayne just replied under his breath, “Don’t be so touchy, it’s all just an act!” Now he had detached himself from the guest and moved back over to the podium, he gave a backwards kick of his leg from the knee down and little grin as he went on his way, the crowds for some reason found this amusing.

“So Mark, gorgeous Mark, you are forty years young, from Buckinghamshire you own a poultry farm is that right?”

Mark stood, now relieved that he was about as far as he could be from this overtly homosexual and simply said “yes that is right Wayne.”

“So, you think you’ve seen more cock than me?” questioned Wayne to which the crowd roared with laughter.

Mark just disguised his nausea with a bogus smirk and dropped his head with a shake for no.

Wayne could see that he wasn’t going to play the game and professionalised his tune, “right, get on with the game shall we? Now we know that if I could I would be up Mark’s trouser legs and seeing what I could have for breakfast faster than you could blink an eyelid and I am sure most of the lovely ladies out there would want to follow me like little lost sheep but I have to announce that Mark is in actual fact spoken for…………….” A female over-practised drone of “OH!” followed this as Wayne hesitated and continued, “………..but he has two women in his life!”

“Ooooooooooo!” called the entire crowd.

“Yes folks, do you want to meet them?”

“YES!” they bellowed.

“I said do you want to meet them?” he called louder with his hand on his ear.

“YES!!!!” the crowd replied even louder.

“OK, your wife of five years, Lauren and your mother of 40 years, Joan! Come on out girls!!” Two women, one clearly older than the other came through the back of the stage to the tacky theme music and puffs of green smoke. The crowds cheered.

“Ok ladies, it’s so lovely to meet you, you lucky, lucky girls!” Wayne said as Mark sighed as he saw them both walk over to the podium, just as rehearsed. Mark decided that he had changed his mind, he didn’t want to go through with this, he could see the sharp daggers swapping direction between Lauren and his mother, but, it was too late now.

2.

The squeaky clean game show host that made Dale Winton look like the leader of a hells angel gang gave the girls a quick going over with his carry-on styled observations then sent Mark off with a pinch of his bottom to a sound proof cubicle whereby he routinely put on some pink fluffy earmuffs and Wayne gave a him a wink and a compliment to the ear attire. Then he addressed the girls, “right, ladies, as you know yesterday our hunky hero was left to his own devises in our mock-up house filled with hidden cameras. Now,” he pointed out a large screen which lowered from the top of the stage above their heads and showed a bed with ruffled up duvet clearly and a body underneath it, “here he is, doesn’t he look cosy?” the crowds gave an “Awl!!”

“Now, we are going to wake him up with an alarm call at 6AM. You girls have to decide, will he get up or will he snooze that alarm?”

The girls looked hazy at each other and wrote their answers on a piece of card. “Now, let’s see what you wrote…..” they both held up their cards. “Oh, Joan of little faith,” he squeaked, “snooze it you say!”

“Well Wayne, he never good in the mornings,” slyly observed Marks mother.

“Well, Wayne, I think he got straight up, Mark is not one for lying in bed; he likes to get on……”

The crowd laughed, Lauren wondered how they could possibly have created an double entendre out of what she said but the pose from Wayne told her different, “Oh, I bet he does Lauren, I bet he does, rise early does he?! Ha-ha, well, let’s see who is right shall we?!”

Everyone looked up at the screen, the alarm went off and Mark stumbled straight out of bed. “Well, who would have thought it? It’s 20 points to Lauren!” Lauren smiled as the mother-in-law snarled at her.

“Now,” continued Wayne, “that is only the beginning, let’s really see who knows this man better, let’s move swiftly on shall we? He is going to go downstairs where his choice of breakfast will be muesli or Co-co Pops, what will he choose ladies?”

Again the girls scribbled down their answers. “Ok, let’s see your answers please!”

“I think he will have the muesli Wayne, we always have muesli in the house; it’s all he eats in the morning,” pointed out Lauren, confident with her answer.

“Oh no,” added Joan, screwing up her face as if sucking a lemon, “he always loved his Co-co Pops, he will go for them, I know my baby!”

They all looked at the screen, Mark could clearly be seen at the breakfast table; he picked up his tea and examined the two boxes of cereal. Smirking to himself he muttered, “Co-co Pops, I haven’t had them for ages!” and he picked up the box with the monkey on it and poured himself a bowl-full. The crowd went wild as Lauren’s so far triumphant face fell. As she looked half-heartedly at her mother-in-law she threw a nasty smirk at her.

“Well,” uttered the host, “it looks like its 20 points to Joan, go girl!” he waved a wobbly wrist at her and gained another pointless giggle from the audience. “Now onto round two, whereby he has three choices and if neither of you get it the points go to little ol’ me…..and so without further ado, for 60 points what happens next, does he A- take his bowl to the sink and wash it up. B- Take his bowl to the sink but just throw it in without washing it up or C- leave his bowl on the table for someone else to do it?” Wayne jiggled his bottom to the quick theme music as the women thought and wrote their answers on the cards.

The mother started, “Well, I think he leaves the bowl exactly where it is, he never picked up a thing nor cleaned or tidied the lazy little sh…..”

“Ok, ok,” laughed Wayne over her curse, “what about you Lauren, what do you think happened?”

“Well Wayne, I would like to add that just because he was like this when he lived with his mother as she would wrap him up in cotton wall and do everything for him, teenagers lap his up but he is a man now, a modern man and he has learned to change. It is obvious to me that he would indeed wash his bowl up.”

“I see, I see, I say he may have changed that much but it takes a special lover to change a man that much, you can’t just mould him with nagging you know, I say he takes the bowl to the sink but fails to wash it up,” suggests Wayne to an audience that nod in approval. They watch the screen and Mark does indeed take his bowl to the sink but just launches it in and doesn’t bother to wash it up. Wayne gives a little dance, “hey what do you? I think I know your man better than you ladies, the 60 points goes to me!”

The ladies are snarling at each other now even harder. “Now,” continues Wayne after a little burst of music, “Here is the biggie, meet Charlotte our beautiful actress!” An amazingly gorgeous girl with flowing blond hair, legs that go on forever and a cleavage you could ski down comes from backstage to a barrage of wolf whistles. Mark sees her from the booth and his head drops into his hands. The girls stop the vicious stares at each other and concentrate them all on Charlotte.

“Now, when our lovely Charlotte rings the doorbell, asks to comes in to try and sell him some life insurance she comes over a bit, shall we say, flirty? So will Mark, A; politely refuse her advances and tell her that he is married, or will he B; kiss her a bit, realise his mistake and tell to her to get off or will he C; take the bait and snog her until he blue in face?”

Both of the ladies quickly wrote down their answers very confidently and Wayne spent no time in asking them to reveal them. Lauren went first and with an exceptionally serious tone, “He loves me Wayne and so he would politely refuse, if he has any appreciation of his arms and legs.”

Mark’s mother laughed, “And what makes you think you’re so special? Have you seen that vixen? She would turn a man’s head if he was married to Marilyn Monroe,” the mother went on without turning to check Lauren’s expression of revulsion building in her red swollen face, “…..you see Wayne, I know my boy is a good boy, he always has been, he wouldn’t fraternise with young floozies like her but then he is only human, I mean he picked this one here didn’t he?” she pointed at Lauren but didn’t take her eyes of the audience who were sucking up her opinion, “so I would say he did give her a quick peck, its only natural, but realised that when this hardy bitch saw it and tried to rip off his pretty little head he changed his mind .”

Wayne signalled a prepare sign to the bouncers waiting behind the scenes, he knew this was going to get heated and his face erupted with the biggest, smuggest smirk he had yet performed this show, and that was saying something, “well, ladies and gentleman, the moment of truth has arrived, let us see what Mark did shall we?”

The screen showed Mark sitting on the sofa watching football and scratching his parts, as men do, when the doorbell went to an “oooo” sound from the audience. Then wolf whistles begin as Charlotte appears at the door, posing very provocatively. They talk for a moment and Mark invites her in. The beauty wastes no time in seducing Mark and he seems to be suckering into it all. In the booth Mark begins to look very scared. The girl throws her arms around the Mark on the screen and kisses him. Mark in the booth knows exactly what happens as Mark on the screen plants himself all over her, fondling her breasts, squeezing her bum and trying to move her over to the sofa.

Lauren sees red and flies like a bird of prey from the podium across the studio; Mark jumps up and tries to exit the booth in haste and beads of perspiration dripping from his forehead. Two huge bouncers intercept the raging girl as she heads for the booth like a bull at a gate. She promptly kicks the first bouncer in the privates who cowers over in pain. She grabs him by the ears, a man three times her size and swings him head on into the other bouncer, who shocked, is bashed off the stage.

Wayne giggles and shies away in the corner as Mark frantically tries to escape the booth. Lauren is too fast for him; she tears the door to the booth clean off its hinges like a she-hulk and roars an almighty roar. Her arms reach out for him and Mark braces himself. Just then two hardened hands land on Lauren’s shoulders and pull her clean off her feet. “Leave my baby alone!” bellows the mother-in-law.

Now the two girls are locked in a fierce, evenly matched battle. Punches, kicks and head-butts are exchanged as the crowd roar with excitement. Just then a delicate hand reaches out of the smoke machine and presents itself to Mark. He hopes its Charlotte’s, a voice whispers, “come with me if you want to live!”

 

3.

Mark looks about him impressed with what he sees. A designer lounge with every gadget known to man, a 165” plasma 3D HD TV adorns the wall, a DVD drive with every album ever made and every movie ever produced downloaded onto a hard drive, a PlayStation 6, a prototype, not even in the shops for another 3 Christmas’s. The sofa he sits on is so luxurious, it melts into you, massages your body with a remote controlled foot spa and a mini fridge loaded with beer and expensive savoury snacks.

All around him is the male epiphany of decadence; a butler stands in the corner with more knowledge about the beautiful game than Gary Linker and three gorgeous French maids in their sexy attire giggle as they scatter around the furniture leaning provocatively over to clean things that need not to have the attention.

“This is a nice place you have here,” he says making small talk.

“Thanks,” said Wayne as he smugly perched on the other end of the sofa, “this is what the showbiz life brings you Mark. Mind you, I’ve been in the game for some time……”

Wayne, picking up on Mark’s sudden downturned frown as he recalled the events of the previous hour, changed the subject, “…..don’t worry about either of them Mark, see this as sudden realisation of the faults in your life. Your mother mothered you way too much, she needs to let you go, you are a man now, she simply will never understand. Your wife is a raging bull, she is nasty believe me. I know women, all they want to do is mould you into a shape of their own choosing; they want to command you, own you. You can’t do that Mark, you are not an item in their handbag, they cannot own you, no one can own you, you are free, a freeman, you do as you choose, you make your own decisions, you are the man.”

Mark fiddled with the TV gadget, taking in all that Wayne was telling him but he had nothing to reply with, thinking how right he was, all the way through the speech.

Wayne continued, “These women are not your controllers, they will fight until the death because they both want you to be their plaything. I’ve seen this many times while hosting the show Mark, it is not uncommon for the man to realise how the wool has been pulled over his eyes. You see, since the onset of female equality men have slowly given in, we have in effect allowed these women to take over and they know no compromise, they will not except you are just a man with a primeval instinct. This was not your fault Mark, you cannot blame yourself, this was them, and their brute rulings that oppress you that made them fight. There is no going back now, face up to it; your old life is over.”

A tear dropped from Marks eye, Wayne noticed it, hid his evil smirk by ever so slightly shuffling closer to Mark and he lowered his tone, “I am sorry, the truth can hurt. However, you know what you decide to do now is your own. The thing is I always figure is what is the point in it all?” He threw his hands in the air, gently dropping one over the back of the sofa where Mark sat, “you know what I mean? I mean you get out of it, you see your escape route and you make a dash but you cannot run away from yourself. It is you, not them. Sure you will find it fun and groovy for the first month then you will get lonely, find another woman. That will be fun for a month or two then you will realise that she is trying to remould you to her liking, she is now the one taking advantage. You Mark, are caught in an endless circle, a very vicious one; you saw how those girls were out to kill each other? Women; they are all the same; the female of the species is more deadly than the male!”

Mark looked up; the TV presenter that he watched on the box every Saturday was here, with him, consoling him. It was quite unbelievable really, this celebrity, he was here, spending his precious time with him. He was the grand, nice chap that comes across in his TV personality. His persona did match what he was like on the show except here and now he was far less camp and silly, he was serious and intelligent, the sort of guy that doesn’t take that pathetic macho stereotype of not wanting to discuss problems, not wanting to address concerns. Opening up was good, he couldn’t do this with any of his male friends, and they would laugh, flick a peanut at him and tell him to get pissed. Just because he was blatantly homosexual did not mean he was after him, it just meant he was comfortable with male bonding and the fact that Wayne had slipped his arm around him did not mean anything other than he was concerned for him.

Wayne did just that and moved in even closer, “you know, a trouble shared is…..”

“That is what I was just thinking,” said an alarmed Mark.

“You see me, my life is here. Showbiz is in my blood. I surround myself with these things, these luxuries, the TV, the entertainment system, my condo, my Hawaii apartment, the yacht and the private jet, the endless invitations to parties with rich and famous celebrities, the freebies from various car companies, the classics or the sports cars, I take my pick but it all comes at a price, it is hard to find someone that understands me, someone to share it all with……..” Wayne finished on a long silence, allowing Mark to stew in the thoughts of his life versus that of this TV host.

After a few moments Wayne looked at Mark, “you know, you’ve got one of those faces, yes, yes, I think it would work you know……”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh just some Hollywood director I’m friends with, Spielberg or something or other. Anyway he was looking for a man just like you….if you liked I could ask him for a screen test…..yes, I think you’ve got exactly what he’s looking for you know…….”

“Really?” asked a surprised Mark.

“Oh yes, really. Let me just get his number….where is my phone again, oh silly me, I’m always forgetting where I left it…..hold on,” said Wayne, looking lost and flustered, “…I think its slipped behind the cushions over by you, yes, that is where I left it…” he muttered as he moved his whole body across, stretching over Mark.

Mark froze, “oh its ermm okay, I think I can get…..”

“No, no, you just stay there, I won’t be a moment………….”

 

4.

 

The pub just outside the TV studio, The Cock and Cheese was normally a quiet, conservative establishment but today the barman was getting frustrated with two women that seemed intent on arguing with each other. “How very dare you!” shouted the older lady.

“I called you here to put an end to this,” yelled the other, younger girl, “instead you seem to intent on slagging me off!”

“You bitch, how dare you attack my son like that, he is good boy!”

“He is not a boy; he is a man, spelt T-W-A-T!”

Joan leapt across the bar table, knocking drinks far and wide. She grabbed for Lauren’s hair, Lauren shouts “he deserved it, he cheated on me, on television, how humiliated do you think you’re wonderful, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth son made me feel?”

“It was a set up wasn’t it, that bimbo clearly could give him something that you never could, they call it personality!” screeched Joan at the top of her voice, tugging that hair.

Lauren picked up her drink and threw the contents over her shoulder, splashing her mother-in-law in the face, “gurgle! You slapper, you would have done the same thing in his position, he was set up!” the older lady screamed, “but that is beside the point, you are gonna get it now!”

The barman came over and tried to break them up when just then a huge hulk of a man entered the pub, the barman beckoned him over, “Geoff! Help me get these nutty cows out of here!”

The man walked up to the table, calmly suggesting, “ladies I think you’ve had quite enough for this year and you should be leaving…..” then as Lauren looked up at him he saw that she was the woman from the show. He was overtaken by a sudden wave of fear as Lauren recognised him as one of the bouncers, the one she had invaded his private area with her stiletto. Rather than curl away from the man she took quite a fancy to his large, muscly frame and his missing teeth, “hi,” she whimpered, “I am ever so sorry about the well, you know,” and without think she quickly rubbed his crotch area then realised what she was doing and gave another quick apology.

The man didn’t seem to mind, men never do and he told her that he would accept her apology. They both moved over to the bar for a chat leaving the mother in law on the floor, wet, stinking of lager and with a clump of Lauren’s hair in her hand. The mother-in-law was furious.

Lauren put to the bouncer that all men are bastards; he laughed and agreed, “Yeah, I know we are but we just need a woman to point it out to us. Mark was simply following his dick; he didn’t mean anything by it and certainly didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“How can you be so sure?” she asked inquisitively.

“We all think alike; men function on the same basis. Right now I’m trying to help you but secretly,” he leaned in a whispered, “I’m wondering what your knickers would look like on my bedroom floor.”

Lauren giggled like a schoolgirl and blushed, the man smiled but before this could go any further the mother-in-law had stormed over like a tornado, “see, you slapper, you’re hitting on this guy?”

Lauren looked up all innocent but with a slight hint of deviousness, “I most certainly am not!”

“You’re just a cheap slapper!” announced Joan, irately.

“You can piss off and take your mummies-boy with you, it’s over between us!” screamed Lauren waving a threatening fist in the older woman’s direction. At this the mother-in-law launched herself at Lauren’s hair again; determine this time to rip the lot out. The bouncer intercepted the kerfuffle shouting “now, now, we won’t be having any of that again!”

“Do you want another kick in the bollocks, this time from a real woman?!” queried Joan.

“Not really, but you see this is getting us nowhere. You young lady should realise that I’m happily married and was not making a pass at you. I was just explaining that pass or not, fancy or not, men will always imagine themselves bunked up with you; that is simply the way we think. I have no intentions of taking that any further. You both have to realise that why you are both fighting over this Mark guy he is currently being converted by the host of the show.”

“What do you mean?” both ladies stopped in their tracks and asked simultaneously.

“You heard; that is what the legend that is Wayne Kerr does. It is the only reason why he does the show. He gets the ladies pissed off with the men, he gets the men pissed off with their ladies, then he woes the man by convincing them that women are just too much work and they would be better off being gay!” The bouncer stepped back when he made the claim, for protection.

“Mark is not a shirt-lifter!” screeched Lauren.

“My baby doesn’t stroll along the Bourneville Boulevard!” screamed her mother-in-law.

 The bouncer smiled, “at least you agree on something. Nevertheless Mr Ker has a pretty convincing argument and manages to convert most of them if only long enough just to squeeze into their long-johns the one time. So, perhaps you should be joining forces to get your man back……..”

5.

 

“I don’t quite think this is…..ermm…..” quivered Mark as the celebrity host cradled over him seductively brushing his hands down the side of his pelvis pretending to find his phone.

“Just relax Mark, you will soon see how wrong your life has been, there is a way, a way to find love without the burden of women, us guys have got to stick together……” he continued not fazed by the struggling man underneath him.

“Please, I think you have the wrong idea,” added Mark, wondering why he wasn’t completely enraged by Wayne’s advances, he decided quickly that it was fear. Wayne of course picked up on this emotion.

“Do not fear me my lovely, you will realise with time that I mean you no harm. Do not be afraid of the feeling between us.”

Mark struggled even harder, “no really, I don’t think it’s mutual!” However the more he struggled the more the TV host pushed down on him, locking him in his seat.

“Really, don’t be so tetchy about it Mark, you’re getting really rather hot, why don’t you slip out of those thick jeans?”

“NO!” screamed Mark and just then they both stopped their activities to the sound of a French window smashing, glass splintering everywhere and a sudden, booming voice shouting, “Get your hands off my man!”

The operation took no time at all. In a split second the TV celebrity was lying unconscious on the expensive carpet with a red swollen lump on his head and golden television award lying next to him. Lauren had Mark in an embrace and they were both apologising profusely to each other, “I’m here for you now honey!” said the brave Lauren.

“Thank you, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to kiss that girl, she threw herself at me, I was told to get in on the act, that I should make it as entertaining as possible. No thrill no show they said, they encouraged me to do it….now I know why…….” whimpered Mark.

“I understand, we should have more trust in each other,” pointed out Lauren cradling him like a baby.

“Yes, I am sorry about my mother too, she can be very protective,” cried Mark.

“Your mother and I have split our differences, we both love you Mark, and we both must accept that and try to get on together........”

Now Mark was sure he was dreaming, he never thought for a moment that either of them would make such a bond. Lauren continued, “….. She told me that love is more powerful than the sum of us, love will guide us, show us the way, love presides over all things and that with love we need not argue and bicker. Besides, who do you think lumped that bastard with the award?”

From behind them came another voice, stern and to the point, “and you should always listen to your mother. I told you this was a bad idea. Now come to mummy!”

  

 

 

 

 

Days of Cheese.

When I was young back in the winter of 92,

I worked at an employment agency for a lady named Sue,

She said to me “I have a job for you if you please,

It’s working in a factory packing cheese,”

The very next day I was putting labels on a bag,

Eight hours of that really was a drag,

Soon I’ll be vacuum packing they said,

Under the supervision of a man called Ted,

I figured this is not the career I seek,

So I lasted just the week,

But from then on there was a curious ache in my belly,

Was I destined to go back to that place so smelly?

Sue gave me a call, homing in on my greatest fears,

So I went back there and stayed for six long years,

The thing was after a while you got used to the smell,

And it did pay really rather well,

Looking back on it now factories are just not like this anymore,

Conditions and pay these days are really rather poor,

Anchor looked after me and gave quite a bit,

Even if the job itself was really rather shit,

For the most part I worked in preparation,

Scraping calcium off cheese was the operation,

They armed me with a scraper and a knife,

I saw more cheese in one day then you’ve seen in your life,

A ton of cheddar passed my eyes in less than ten minutes flat,

I scraped and scraped them all like a fucking twat,

The harder the calcium was once the maturity was set,

Still I scraped them all shift long in my wellies and hairnet,

You make up your own entertainment in a job that sucks,

Like sabotage, throwing cheese or racing fork-lift trucks,

There always was a laugh to be had every day,

That is what I would like to say,

That the people that worked there were really the salt of the earth,

Lots of fun, good personalities with ridicule and mirth,

Except for one that wouldn’t ever chill,

He was a twat; I think his name was Neil,

He came to me once angry, wearing a great big frown,

So I turned that hosepipe on him and hosed that fucker down,

Looking back you only see the good times and forget about the worse,

Reflecting closer though that place really had a curse,

They moved the goalposts so often it really was a joke,

Like moving to a 24 hour rotating shift or stopping breaks to smoke,

The new management removed all the perks,

The bunch of fucking jerks,

Finally they out sourced to a company more abundant,

They paid us off and made us all redundant,

I took the cash and went off to Barbados which was really kind of cool,

So as I lay there on my back in the swimming pool,

Looking up at the palm trees swaying in the gentle breeze,

I raised my glass of rum and said “thank you Anchor’s cheese!”

 

Sunday. by Darren Worrow

 

 

Gary held his head, spun around and marched off with his arms held in the air only to flap them down to his sides again seconds later. Clearly he was frustrated. His boss looked on, angry with him, “this letter isn’t worth the paper it’s written on; you know how busy we are!”

“You could have asked me instead of just sneaking my name on the rota!” Gary snorted red in face and not looking back over his shoulder. He was walking out of there, he had made his point and it was final. They would have to realise that just because they employed him they did not own him. He felt like a prisoner, they didn’t care about his personal life, they didn’t care that he had young children in his family, all they thought about was the business. Gary had been working there for eons now, at least it sure felt like it. The boss never gave praise, he never thanked Gary for all his hard work, then he goes to the press as this shining example of a great man; it’s just a front. Gary should tell the world what a hypocritical parasite he really is, he should talk to the press about his real persona, a mean old man that cared not about his employees.

Gary leaned up against the wall, he was concerned that his actions could result in a serious reprimand, how many warning had he now got? So many he forgets, the verbal, the written, a second written perhaps, how far can he take this? He looked out across the road, the transport moving to and fro, busy, busy they say, I know its busy, all the more reason to respect his employees, if I did a runner now they would suffer, they would never find someone to replace him before Christmas.

All he wanted was his Sunday back, he had bought tickets to a show; it was going to be a family day out that they were all looking forward to; then the old man stuck the rota up. Gary didn’t check it but rumours among the staff went round that he had pencilled in a Sunday on the rota. Gary then walked up to see his name down to work that day. They never normally work a Sunday, if Gary had known then maybe he would have done it but, well, he bought the tickets now. He marched right up to his line manager, told him he had no intention of turning up on a Sunday. His line manger ignored him, told him he would have to see him; the line manager wanted nothing to do with it.

Gary didn’t want to see the boss for he knew how he would react, angrily. He was grateful when it was his secretary in his office; she was filing but only her nails at the desk. She gave him a fake smile, it could be taken flirtatious but Gary knew she was not interested, she did this to all of them, it was a power thing, as she worked closer to the boss she figured that she was more important than the shop floor workers. Her smile turned sneer when he told her that he could not work it and she sighed and told him that she would pass the message on. Just as he was about to leave, pleased that his grievance with the Sunday had been noted and he need not approach the man himself, she pressed a button on her intercom and announced that Gary was in her office and he was refusing to work the Sunday. Gary froze on the spot, a deathly silence was heard from the other end of the intercom, a frosty reception he would receive when the boss burst the door from its hinges, “Well,” he bellowed entering the office in a brash and outraged tone of his voice, “it’s not negotiable! I expect to see you here Gary.” With that he slammed the door. Gary’s response of “well I can’t,” was barely audible over the slamming of the door.

Gary sighed, he went home upset and he couldn’t face telling his wife and kids. His wife picked up on his downright troubled expression though and asked him what was wrong. He told her, told her that he had no intention of working the Sunday, it was a special day; they had all been looking forward to the show. He had never taken the kids to a pantomime, they would love it. She suggested that he write a letter to his boss, expressing his concern.

Gary thought it sounded like a great idea, so he sat and down and plotted his literary masterpiece, it expressed just how he felt, it was solid, formal and conveyed just what he wanted to say, perhaps without the bad language and all the offensive thoughts he had about the boss. He read it back to himself, grinned and folded it into an envelope.

Next day he posted that letter, now it was sealed, he would not have to work now. But the boss came to him and still demanded he worked. So here he was, staring out to the road. Behind him he could hear those obnoxious boots coming towards him, “Gary,” the voice spoke in his jolly tone, it was all so fake “I don’t ask you to work every Sunday, it is the week before Christmas and you know; we are so busy.”

“What about my kids?” Gary sighed, “I promised them.”

“I promise lots of kids,” His boss said, “they rely on us Gary.”

“If you don’t like it sack me!” protested Gary, he was serious too.

“Where else would you go?” the boss asked, “There is nothing out there.”

Gary looked out, his boss was right, there were just snow-capped mountains. Gary sighed, his boss looked at him, “you are needed here, your life is here Gary, and there is nowhere else for an elf like you to go.”

Gary stood up, that was it, how dare he refer to him as an elf, he was better than that, he was more than that. That is all this guy wanted, an elf, a drone, a robotic worker that didn’t know his own mind. He would walk out; there was more to life than this. Flustered and frustrated he snarled at his boss, pointed a waggy finger at him and turned away to walk off, “I Quit!” he shouted, rubbed his pointy ear and made his way into the snow covered forest.

His boss stood there for a while, he was upset but knew it would pass. He had seen elves like him come and go, it was a shame, he was a good worker, made some great toys. Chances are he would be back, grovelling at his big black boots, tugging on his red suit begging for his job back. He smiled a wry smile, scratched his big white beard and went back inside the grotto. Perhaps he could do without him this year, perhaps they had enough elves working the Sunday after all, he certainly showed some front to face up to me, I need people like that in my business, he considered all this and then smiled pressing the intercom as he did so. He called the secretary, “tell Gary to take his kids to the show, Santa said he’s back on the good list.”

 

Please check out my new book, a compilation of great stories from 10 amazing authors. All the proceeds go to The Devizes Opportunity Centre, a registered charity that helps kids with disabilities and learning difficulties get a good start to life.

 

www.iamnotfrazzle.webs.com

 

Thank you and I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. 

I Am Not Frazzle!

Hey there, normal blogging will resume, I have a few short stories to tell, just got to write the fucking things is all!

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Huzzah! It’s here at last, “I Am Not Frazzle – and other stories for grownups!” 10 great stories from 10 great authors, all the proceeds go to the registered children’s charity, The Devizes and District Opportunity Centre. Authors include: Darren Worrow, Maria Miller, James Cruickshank and James Penhaligon, Richelle E. Goodrich, Cecily Magnon, Holly M. Kothe, Nancy Brooks, Paul Howard, Graham Downs and David Darby.

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The Hounds of Hellington

Darren Worrow

 

1.

Gareth’s hand swiped over the mirror, removing a section of the steam he frowned at the old face staring back at him; shit, I’ve aged 10 years in 10 minutes, he thought to himself. Picking up his razor he swished it down the left side of his chin and felt it contact his skin, “Shit!” he muttered through his foam covered lips. He turned to the toilet roll holder, stealing a small bit of the tissue, rolling it into a ball and attaching it to the blood covered spot on his chin.

He finished the job, slower but still stressing to push on. When it was done he swashed his face with cold water, dried it and then sprayed some deodorant under both arms. I can’t believe this has happened in Hellington, it’s just the kind of shit I moved out of the city to avoid; he pondered in a frustrated manner.

After getting dressed in his uniform he raced down the stairs like a bull at a gate, his wife was in the kitchen wondering what the fuss was about, she asked him; “what’s up dear?”

He picked up the cup of tea, swigged it, burnt his mouth, swore and put it back on the kitchen’s worktop. “No time to explain, I’ve got to get to work, darling…..I’ll call you later.” With that he grabbed at the cold piece of toast on the side, flipped it up into his mouth, snatched some car keys from the table, his phone from the worktop, swung the kitchen door nearly off its hinges and jumped outside to face the cool morning air.

Within minutes he was in Henry Crescent, pulled his car over onto a grass verge and leap out. There were a number of police cars already at the scene, people surrounded the grass area central to the crescent of houses, some were residents, clearly frustrated and confused, the others were Gareth’s colleagues, the small Hellington  police force of six. Gareth knew that soon the city police force would be here, trying to take over; they can have the job, he thought, I came here for a peaceful life.

Constable Jones, a young Welshman and Gareth’s favourite came running over to his car, “what is the situation Jones?” Gareth asked him.

“Chief Inspector, it’s not good. About 6:30AM a man called Leonard Humphries came out of his abode at number 14 to let his cat out. His son, 6 years old, name of Daniel flew out of the house and Leonard called him back. When he didn’t come back he went out to get him. Just at that point a white van came into speeding into the crescent, stopping in-between Leonard and his son, swiped up the kid and abducted him.  The father only got WH20 from his vehicle reg before it sped off. We are checking out all registration details that match Gareth, but no luck so far.”

Gareth rubbed his chin, upsetting the shaving cut’s blood that had until then began to clot, “and where are the parents?” he asked.

“Inside the house with Sheri, they are pretty broken up as you can imagine. Shit like this just doesn’t happen here, the whole neighbourhood are shocked.”

“I need you and Gary, Bob and Sue in the cars, search this entire village and beyond for this white van, I will take over of the enquiries here.”

“Quite a few of the neighbours are already circling the village but my guess is that he is miles away by now,” figured Jones, “I will get our team on it, most likely Ginger will be here soon.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that, those guys will want to take over Jones, lets prove we can handle this shit shall we, find this kid, now!”

“Yes sir, don’t worry……”

“We need the press distracted for now constable, keep ‘em away until I have spoken with the parents, ok?”

“…If you want me on the search party sir?” Jones questioned.

“Yeah, I do, fuck, we haven’t got enough men,” Gareth looked annoyed, staring around the small housing estate for the right number house, it was obvious, people were hanging around there. He walked over to it; this was the bit he really hated.

It was a modest, well-kept council property, he walked into the house, put his hand on Sheri’s shoulder and she looked around, “oh Gareth,” she wined, “thank god you are here, this is…….”

 “Mr and Mrs Humphries, yes I know, thank you Sheri,” he turned to address the couple that were sitting hunched together on a sofa in the living room. The man was consoling the woman; she had her head in his chest so far you couldn’t make out her blotchy face. “We will find your son Mrs Humphries, I promise you that.” Then he looked back to Sheri, “I need you to get some progress on the registration search, we need to find who that van belongs to. I have sent the others out on patrol. I want you also to try and keep the neighbours calm, tell them that the police will handle this; if they know or saw anything please question them but I don’t want a bunch of vigilantes roaming around.”

“Ok sir, I will do the best I can…..”

“I know I’m asking a lot, it’s just until Ginger gets here with his troop,” he turned away from her and addressed the distressed couple, “I know this is a very upsetting time, I sympathise with you, however if I may ask just a few questions and you can answer them as best you can, is that ok?”

The man nodded, the woman did not look up from her husband’s chest.

“Are there any reasons why anyone you know might wish to kidnap your son? For instance, do you owe anyone money, have a grievance with anyone or know of any other reason why this has happened?”

The man looked up, he was in his late thirties, “I do not know who has taken him nor why, please find my son Inspector.”

“I have our team working on it, that I can assure you. If there is anything else you can tell me…..” he leaned over to the sideboard, “I take it this is your son?” he asked picking up a photo frame.

“Yes,” quivered the man, he stood up when his wife sounded calmer, “if you’ll excuse me Inspector, I need to find my son.”

“I urge you to stay here Mr Humphries,” suggested Gareth, “see that your wife gets the support she needs, the police will……”

“The police will what?” snapped the man, “The police here are not equipped for such a matter, I can help……”

“The city forces will be here very soon and everything will be handled, the best bet is for you to stay at home,” Gareth said, fronting the man up, “I except this is hard for you to except, I would do the same if I was in your shoes but you must understand that I am only acting in your best interest.”

Frustrated the man sat back down, “he is a good son, a real good boy, why?” he cried and his wife joined him, they cuddled each other and wept in pain. Gareth did not know what to do next, he wasn’t used to this kind of thing and he had sent Sheri off. This is going to be a long day, he thought to himself. 

 

2.

 

Gareth watched impatiently while the counties Chief Commissioner pulled his lanky body from out of his swanky car. He was easily noticed, the one with the copper coloured top, Gareth would utter. They all took a great deal of humour from his bright red hair and it came to the point where he really didn’t batter an eyelid when called Ginger, so much so he often referred to himself by this nickname.

At this point in time though Gareth was not in the mood for jokes, he had gotten nowhere with the case and feared Ginger’s men would take over. There was no time or reasons for pleasantries, not that Ginger gave them out much anyway; “What’s the latest Gareth?” he stubbornly asked.

“Not much, I have all my men out searching the area but I need more. The villagers have gathered around and are also organising a search party; due to the lack of resources I allowed them to do it under police supervision, but I need more men.”

Ginger addressed the officer next to him, “John, see that there is one officer for every ten men at least, ensure they are briefed.”

“Yes sir!” he shouted and turned on his heel.

“They tell me we have part of a registration of the van, any news?”

“I am working on that, allow me to go and check their progress if you can organise the search teams, don’t scrub me out of this job sir, I know we can do it.”

“Very well,” Ginger said, “get to it, the rest leave up to me.”

Gareth moved away, walking over to the car he spotted the father, Leonard approaching him, “please inspector, can I assist now; a social officer is with my wife; I need to do something?”

“Yes, you can, I am sorry about before; there was little you could do to help. Please go and see that man there, he is the chief commissioner; he will find you a job to do in the search.”

“I would rather work with you, if you don’t mind?”

“Very well, I understand,” Gareth was slightly flattered; it cheered him up a bit, “I am going back to the station to check out some research on the van. I will be back as soon as I can and we can search too.”

The man agreed and Gareth put his hand on his shoulder, “we are doing all we can, hold on in there.”

The village police station was little more than a house situated on side of the green; it was usually adequate for their needs but he knew that very soon a makeshift station would be erected out of canvas on the green space at the centre of the crescent by Ginger’s army. He arrived at his office and jumped out. Sheri was inside, sitting tapping frantically away on a laptop computer. “Ginger is here,” said Gareth, “any progress.”

“Good timing Sarge, its coming through now,” she stopped her typing and stared in wonder at the list scrolling up the screen. “There are ten similar registrations within a thirty mile radius from here; it could have been any one of them.”

“Narrow the search, I have a hunch this guy is more local, say, 10 miles.”

Sheri did so and waited, “Got one; Farnsworth, David: 11 Hunter Avenue. I know David, he is a strange one, wouldn’t have thought he would do this though Sarge.”

Gareth picked up his phone and pressed buttons with haste, it rang: “Johnson, we have a white van matching the reg; David Farnsworth, 11 Hunter Avenue, get over there now!” He slammed the phone down. “Are there any other possible matches, say, within a 20 mile radius; cross reference them with criminal records and email them to my phone.”

“Are you going to the address?” she asked.

“Of course,” he replied and sped back to his car. Without waiting he went to the address, it was a large village but only took a few minutes to get around. When he arrived at Hunter Avenue Johnson was already there with Bob, they were coming back around to the front of the house. “Permission to break in sir, no one is around?” Bob asked.

“We have good reason to Bob, go for it.”

Just then Gareth’s phone rang; he snapped it up, a number unknown. The voice of an old man sounded out; “hello, is this Chief Inspector Gareth Evans?”

“Yes, who is this?” demanded Gareth.

“I have heard about the missing child, I may have something of interest to you. Please come to my house; I am at The Gables, you know where that is?”

“Of course, I will be right there,” replied Gareth and promptly put the phone down. “Right, Johnson, get Ginger on the phone, we need a team down here. Wait for them, and then go in. I want a report of what you find as soon as possible.” With that Gareth took to his feet, it would be far quicker to run over to the Gables from here, by the time he started the car and driven out of the village and down its track, there was a footpath which run all the way to it.

It was an old, run down farm house which looked bleak and inhabited from a distance; this better be worthwhile, he thought as he trudged up the muddy path and banged the door knocker until it shook the whole door.

 

3.

An old man in a green worn out, hand-knitted Jersey opened the door, “do come in please Mr Evans,” he said in a crumbling voice. His grey hair was randomly placed on his head and far from anything you might deem as a regular haircut shape. Even his eyebrows were a mess and his ears were hugely round, his nose even more so, just redder.

Gareth stepped inside, by its décor and rough, dirty appearance it was obvious that this man was somewhat of an eccentric. “Please take a seat Mr Evans.”

Gareth did not, he was far too anxious, “please Mr, say what you have to say, I am a very busy man.”

“I was walking the dog earlier and I spoke to one of your officers, I am quite concerned as a man came to see me not so long ago, his name was David Farnsworth and he drove up here in a white van matching the description your officer told me. My name is Boyce; I am a local historian and genealogist. He was very concerned, this lad, he had done a bit of research on his family tree, you see? We found out that his family line leads back to the old owners of Hellington Manor, a Henry Farnsworth. Do you know the story of the family Mr Evans?”

“No, I do not but please, is this relevant, we just need to locate him?” asked Gareth, he seemed to be getting tiresome of this man already; he fumbled his words and spoke very slowly.  

His bony finger pointed at the inspector, “It may be crucial Mr Evans, I promise you that,” he grinned as he said it, making Gareth suspicious. “Hellington Manor was sold after the news of this tale got out to the village, it was 1789; the family were rich and owned most of the land around here. When a series of young children went missing a team of farmers and villagers went out to locate them. They found their bodies in the wood, mutated like they had been in a fight with a pack of wolves Mr Evans. After some time the lord of the manor was spotted out late at night, he was roaming the woods. A bunch of wolves were seen not long after that in the same location. Things as they were at the time led the villagers to believe that he was in fact a werewolf. Legend has it that many villagers noted this as fact, hunted him down and he fled the manor and was never seen again. The manor was later sold to the Cook family who still reside there today.”

“Really, werewolves huh?” uttered Gareth, now he really wanted to get out of here, “just tell me Mr Boyce, do you know the location of this Farnsworth bloke, I haven’t the time for ghost stories?”

“I do not know, however I can tell you that David was upset when I told him the tale, he said that it explains everything and he ran out of this house. I must have scared him somewhat but he seemed more than scared, as if he was suffering symptoms of some discomfort, which I likened to the beginning stages of a werewolf metamorphosis. I am doing some more research into the myth at the moment, I ermm…….”

“Honestly, Mr Boyce, are you suggesting that he is a werewolf?” Gareth put his hands over his face and let them go again, he made his way to the door, “if you have anything better than that I would like to hear it but for now I am very busy, like I said.”

“Please try the woods, but, be careful……”

With that Gareth left the house in an utter state of disbelief, he could have him arrested for wasting police time, but considered that he was just a crazy old man, not worth the effort.

 

4.

 

Ten hours had pasted now since the boy had been abducted, Ginger had his team searching the entire area while Gareth had returned to the police station wondering what time he should start giving up hope that the boy might be found alive. There were three possible vans’ that matched the beginning part of the registration plate that were still unaccounted for, Sheri was making inquiries.

Gareth paced the his office, chewing his fingernail, “time is running out Sheri,”

“I know sir, I have located the second van, he is returning from work in Cambridge. The man was working early this morning but not in this area. The company, a Cambridge based logistics firm are sending me a detailed account of his route via his tracker. The third van is still mysterious, owned by a gardening company; Bob is making his way there.”

“Good stuff, I still need more on the whereabouts of this Farnsworth character, have you seen his report? The flat was overflowing with his family research and books on the legend of the werewolves……..”

“You are not suggesting that you believe that mad old man Gareth?” she asked concerned as she swung her swivel chair around to face him.

“Don’t be so stupid Sheri, werewolf shit indeed! However is it not possible that if this guy heard that his ancestors were thought of as being werewolves that he has not become obsessed by the idea and perhaps believes that he is a werewolf too?”

“Highly unlikely, but certainly possible,” she considered, “pretty fucked up thing to think though……”

“It’s a pretty fucked up thing to abduct a child, wouldn’t you say?”

Sheri did not answer it, she sat and thought about it then shrugged her shoulders and returned to her work. Gareth paced the room again, “Damn! I’m calling that ginger bastard!” He did and received only the same answer, no luck yet. Gareth bite his tongue, “I

know this sounds crazy sir but I’ve had a bizarre tip-off from a, well, he’s rather eccentric. I think we need to concentrate more effort on the woods….yeah…..yeah…..I know you have, I need the whole place….what? What do you mean you have no more labour? Find some!”

Gareth hung up, “bollocks!”

“What?” asked Sheri.

“He says they have reason to believe that this guy Farnsworth has him held hostage in one of the houses and suggests that they concentrate the majority of their efforts doing a house to house search.” Gareth flicked the blinds on the curtains, “fuck these winter evenings, it’s getting dark already!”

Just then they heard a thump at the door, “come in!” he yelled.

The father of the missing child, Leonard appeared, framed in doorway, backlit by the dim, yellow street light beyond, “Mr Evans, how are things going?” he asked sternly.

“As well as can be expected, I am so very sorry that we still have no news,” whimpered Gareth, there was something off-putting about Leonard’s stance and posture; he seemed much more powerful than he was before. Probably understandable, thought Gareth, the bloke has had a very hard day, he must be so agitated. “How is your wife taking the news?” he asked and then regretted it, what a fucking stupid thing to ask!

“She is still in shock, her sister is with her and so I am here now to help in any way I can,” again his tone was deeper than before, so much more serious.

“Leonard, I am always, in cases like this, overthrown by the forces that be; the city investigators have taken over the show and have got the idea from somewhere that your boy is being held captive in one of the houses in the village. I assure you that a full search is taking place. However, I have heard from, not the best of sources, but…well, that he may well have been taken him to the woods. I understand that as it is getting dark many of the volunteers from the village are giving up searching the woods. Perhaps if you would like to escort me for a little drive around the woods, see if we can’t come up with something. I mean, it’s a longshot……..”

“….but it is better than standing on our laurels….” added Leonard.

“I just don’t want you to raise your hopes, the source is rather confused, and, well, I have good reason to suspect he is, shall we say, not playing with a full deck of cards.”

“Never-the-less,” Leonard said, gesturing him to the door, “we need to check, please Mr Evans.”

 “Please call me Gareth,” said Gareth as he nodded to Sheri, picked up his phone and opened the police station door.

 

5.

 

The woods were eerily silent and as dusk set upon them, Gareth’s car churned up the mud as its wheels span slightly up the track, he was concerned about Leonard; he had been very quiet the whole journey. He finally spoke, “this looks like a good place to check….urgh!”

“What is wrong Leonard?” asked Garth alarmed.

“Nothing, I am fine, just a stitch, I have had no food today. I don’t think I would have been able to keep it down, what with the worry and all,” he answered, holding his stomach.

“Can’t see much up here,” pointed out Gareth, shining his full beam over the trees.

“We must find him soon,” said Leonard, his tone was getting much more agitated; Gareth was sympathetic to his grave concerns. If he did locate a body he had to consider how to get Leonard out of its way so he wasn’t too shocked.

Leonard looked up at the sky, a thin layer of moon was shining above the horizon, “we have to get to them soon, before midnight………”

“Why midnight?” asked Gareth.

“Because it is a full moon,” answered Leonard in all seriousness.

Gareth slowed the car and took it out of gear, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“It is a full moon tonight, I say. I have heard things about this village, stories…….”

“Who have you been talking to today Leonard?” asked Gareth, now very concerned that Boyce had made contact with him and planted some crazy notion in his mind, which was already weakened from the stress.

Leonard looked around at Gareth, he had a look of fear on his face, “please,” he went on, “I have heard from a man about, well, it’s silly really, but werewolves, do you believe in werewolves Gareth?”

“I certainly do not,” protested Gareth, “listen, Leonard; I don’t know who has put this notion in your head but I suggest that you forget it right now. It is not going to do this search any good, ok?”

Suddenly and without warning Gareth heard a thunderclap and a burst of rain fell upon the windscreen, he jumped out of his skin. He pulled the wiper lever up and at first it squeaked but as the rain fell harder it wiped droplets from the windscreen away in silence.

“There are things you don’t understand,” said Leonard, his tone was wry, drawn out and cold. It shook Gareth’s bones.

He looked at the man sitting next to him, “What are you telling me Leonard? If you know something that you are not telling me I suggest you spill the beans right now.”

“I cannot, for they are just rumours, village folklore….”

“I am getting suspicious of your actions Mr Humphries, very suspicious, there are no such things as werewolves, you realise that don’t you?” Gareth asked, he was indeed suspicious, was this man trying to hide something, trying to take him off the scent?

“Stop the car!” yelled Leonard looking down through the window at the grass verges below.

“What?” asked a very concerned Gareth, stopping the motion of the wheels.

Leonard opened the door and threw himself out, “look! Tyre tracks!”

Gareth grabbed his torch and got out hastily. Battling against the heavy rainfall he moved around to the other side of the vehicle joining Leonard. He looked down at where Leonard was pointing, he was right, “Quite fresh too,” commented Gareth in a low whisper, “they are lost here in the long grass though….”

“I suggest we look for footprints,” said Leonard.

“I cannot see any boots walking here,” replied Gareth, “we cannot be sure the vehicle that made these tracks actually stopped here, we must move up the track, get back in the car.”

“Not human prints, we need to look for animal footprints,” claimed Leonard.

“Get back in the car now Mr Humphries!” ordered Gareth, this has gone too far, he thought.

They got back in the car and Gareth moved over to Leonard’s side of the car, right over his body. Suddenly Leonard felt cold steel on his wrists as Gareth grappled with his arms. He slipped the other end of the handcuffs to the steering wheel, “unless you can tell me what you know or what you are really worried about Mr Humphries I can only deduce that your actions are trying to wavier me off the track from finding your son, therefore I am placing under arrest for the suspicion that you are somehow involved in the abduction of your son. Do you understand the reasons why I am doing this, what you have been arrested for Mr Humphries?” Gareth was sure being proactive but considered it the safest option for both himself and his passenger. Leonard was becoming uncontrollable, he resisted pulled and grunted, complaining about his discomfort.

“I am sorry to do this Leonard, but you have the right to remain silent. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something you later rely on in court.… Right, I will continue investigating these tracks on foot, you will stay here. I will return and hopefully we can put this silliness to bed.” Gareth got out of the car and took one last look back at the distressed man tied to his steering wheel, considered it was for the best, flicked his torch on and made his way up the track.

The track was dark but the moonlight coming beaming through the trees was becoming stronger every step he strode up the path. It was barely a path now, overgrown with weeds and high grass. Gareth shone the torch to the ground and could clearly make out a line where the grass was flattened; a vehicle had driven this way not so long ago. With the hope that he may not be too late after all he picked up the pace. The moon now was fully up in the sky, brightening up the gaps even more.

Suddenly Gareth stopped dead in his tracks to the audible screech of a human in extreme pain; it rang out yards in front of him, a horrific scream which startled him beyond compare. He threw his torch’s beam ahead but could not make anything out, other than dense forestation. He changed his jog into a sprint, sweat dripping off him in anticipation and fear chilled him as it hit the cold midnight air.

Seconds passed into minutes as he haphazardly raced up the track, the forest getting denser as he went, tripping over shrubs and tree stumps. Finally when he thought he could take the pace no longer he stopped and shone his torch ahead, there, in a small clearing stood the shadowy figure of a van, it looked deserted, one back door hung open and after he ceased his panting from his breathless lungs he could hear the metallic and rusty creak as it swayed in the gentle wind. A puff of perspiration blew smoke into the night air and as it cleared he set his sights on the van, he had to get there.

Struggling now he completed his journey exhausted. Gareth could clearly see the front cab, there was no one in there, the headlights were off but the inside light was flickering as the driver’s door swayed too. He concluded that the driver had jumped out and ran to the rear of his van, he could see the way the grass around it had been trodden down. He crouched down behind the driver’s door and shuffled his way to the back of the van. Through the gap caused by the door on its hinges he could see blood, it was beginning to drip from the step of the van. He held tight to his breath, fear struck him as to what might be welcoming him from inside the van.  There was still no sound, no rustling of feet or human breath, Gareth estimated that no one alive remained in the van.

Quickening the pace he grabbed at the handle and yanked the door off its hinges, “Freeze!” he shouted just in case but as soon as he did so he could see that it was void of life. There was, however a bloody mess of human body parts, torn limb from limb. He pulled his face back from the horrific scene and looking down he spotted a severed arm clearly with pierced holes like the teeth marks of a wild animal. It looked as if the animal, whatever it was tore the victim limb from limb in a frenzied attack. That poor kid, thought Gareth as he turned his head away in disgust, what has happened to him for fucks sake?

As the thoughts flushed through his mind as to what exactly could have happened, the image behind him that he was hiding his face from formed in his mind and he felt his stomach in his mouth. He regurgitated and fell to his knees, vomit launching itself from his throat and wrenching his guts from the very pit of his stomach.

After the initial shock all was deadly quiet and cold once again save the swinging hinge of the driver’s door. Gareth took a moment to take in the silence and get a grip of his predicament. Abruptly the silence was broken by the incredibly shocking sound of a buzz in his pocket and the ringtone of a 1990s pop classic. It flooded a certain reality check back into Gareth and he fumbled for his phone. Without looking at the number ID he answered it cautiously, “hello?”

“Is that Mr Evans?” the phone caller asked, he recognised the voice but was so out of place himself he failed to identify it.     

“Y…Yes….who is this?” he quivered.

“Mr Evans, its Boyce. I have some new information from my research that may be of help to you…..”

Normally Gareth would have hung up on this time waster but under the circumstances he was just happy to hear the sound of another human being. The voice continued, “I’m sorry to call you so late like this Mr Evans; it’s just that, well, I have been to the manor and been allowed access to its extensive library. I found hidden, a diary from one of the butlers of

the manor, Jenkins, was his name; he worked at the time of the incident I mentioned. In it states this: Though I fear for my life I feel I must make it evident to anyone that finds this manuscript the truth behind the horrific goings on here of recent. The village have begun a witch-hunt for Lord Farnsworth; however I have seen the distress on his face, knowing what he knows as he shared his darkest thoughts before departing on that fateful day. For he, the accused is not possessed with evil at all, rather he is covering for a man in his employment that he fears so much that he knows he must confess to a crime and then flee to save himself and his family from their evil doing. I make my statement here with intentions to take myself far away from here also, in some hope of survival and if you read of this I suggest you do the same.  For the gardener is the true man-wolf and I have seen him in his altered state so I know it to be true, god help us…….”

“Right, ok,” said Gareth, now not knowing what to think, “Listen, Boyce; I am a bit wrapped up here at present but……”

 “I am sorry to press on with it; I know you are sceptical about all this Mr Evan’s I just thought you should know that I have found the name of the gardener in question….his name is Alfred, Alfred Humphries……”

“You mean…………..” Gareth couldn’t believe what he was hearing and he took a sudden flashback at the severed arm he examined for those brief seconds. He hung up the phone before he could hear the truth and leaned back to the van door and opened it. Just as he thought now, the arm was far too large to be that of a small boy, it clearly belonged to a man. He slowly put a finger to it, pressed at its raw flesh and wiped a finger mark of the blood away from it, clearly black hairs, that of a fully grown man. He jumped up inside the van and took one step closer to the body, crouch over to where the bulk of the body was, a head that was turned away from him was his target, he turned it by pulling the blood-drenched hair, the face of David Farnsworth confronted him and he threw his body back in horror.

He jumped clear of the van and back into the still night air, he peered over at the moon in its fullness and suddenly the silence was again broken, this time by the distant howl of a wolf. Then he heard another, not so far off and remembered the father still handcuffed in his car.

He ran as fast as he could back to the car but when he got back the man had gone, “Leonard, where the fuck are you?” he yelled and he heard a howl as a reply. He examined the cuffs, they were still attached to the steering wheel intact and he noticed that they had shreds of grey fur between the gaps in the chain. Gareth looked back up at the full moon, it was shining brightly.

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Not that scary huh? Oh well, try this for size...........................

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