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| Shuckie prt 2 | |
| By philkent | ||||||||||||
| 08 June 2007 | ||||||||||||
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Part two here, rather than keep endlessly tidying it up I think I'll just post it and act on the feedback I (hopefully) get. I'm expecting some issues with spelling and grammar lol just want to see if the plot, pace, character, motivation etc need rethinking/improving. The next fifteen minutes were spent wiping down everything he could have possibly touched. Careful not to leave his prints on anything, he attended to the banister and doorknobs. For good measure he went into the garden and did the same with the table and chairs as well as dropping the glass and tea cup he’d drunk from into a bin liner extracted from his case, along with the laminate folder, picked up for the job from an estate agents that morning, followed by the apron. After that it was simply a question of leaving enough mess to make it look like some passing itinerant had broken in, killed the old cow, ransacked the place then fled. He took one last look outside ensuring no one was about then began pulling out drawers, scattering the contents over the floor. She was obviously a woman of some wealth, judging by the quality of the pieces. Being naturally greedy he was tempted to hang onto them, fence them at some later date but greed was tempered by an instinctive caution which reasoned that they would be too easily traced. No they would be disposed of, dumped into some river or submerged quarry at a later date. He would earn more than enough from this job as it was. Si -not his real name but as he’d said earlier it would do- was unusual in a line of work renowned for it’s detached, perfunctory brutality. He enjoyed taking his time spinning the job out. Most hit men would’ve off’d the old dear the moment they’d gained access but he took pleasure in sating his curiosity about the victim, creating an elaborate pretence, relishing the play as they happily welcomed him into their homes. There was a macabre, anticipatory sense of power in choosing the moment when he would shatter life in one savage instant. Despite that he generally asked very few questions about those employing his services. All he knew about his client was that he was a local, with a lot of fingers in a lot of pies and obviously desperate enough to get his hands on this land judging by the eye popping financial incentive offered to Si. Coming back into the rapidly darkening hall he glanced into the half open door of the study opposite. Quickly checking his watch he debated whether to bye pass it altogether but decided it was best to take a quick look, mess things up a little just to make it look good. It was probably one of the smallest rooms in the whole house yet the walls were lined with bookshelves groaning under the weight of dusty tomes. Along one wall nestling beneath a small, high set window sat a writing bureau, crammed with books and papers. It was obviously used regularly the usual patina of dust almost completely absent from its surface. Casually he began opening drawers and scattering papers across the floor, his gloved hands moving like skittering black spiders. They paused as he pulled out a deep, wide drawer set in the left hand side of the desk and he spied what lay within. Drawing out a thick hardbound notebook he read the elegant scrawl on the front. Edna Guthry. Private Journal. Idly he flicked through it. Pages of elegant script shimmered before his eyes in varying hues of blacks, blues and indigo. He hesitated, tempted to spend a few minutes perusing their contents, curious to discover the minutia, thoughts and secrets that made up the life of the woman he’d murdered. Each entry was dated carefully. 2nd January. A New Year! Loneliness, fear, my usual lot planned out for me as it always is. Happy Ha Ha! He grimaced but continued to peruse the contents quickly. Sometimes there were no entries for days, weeks. He turned the pages, intent on his task, paying attention to the content. April 24th. Walked into the village. As usual they stare and whisper. Old Penfield in the green grocers could barely bring himself to meet my eye as he took my order, no doubt he will do the same when he delivers. Bastards! Happy to reap the benefits that my sacrifice has brought but not one shred of gratitude or empathy. How they hated me for not marrying. I vowed I never would when I discovered the truth. They worry what will happen when I’m gone. Good! Shuckie howling for food all night! The sound goes through my head. What is all this? His fingers flicked the pages, eager to get to the bottom of the mystery. Squinting at the words, he realized the window had become opaque. The shadows in the room rose and stretched indolently like awakening phantoms. He fumbled for the switch on the table lamp on the side of the desk. A waxy yellow pool illuminated the wooden surface. So many sad anniversaries, Thomas, Mother! How did you manage to keep this from us for so long, you and the villagers conniving and plotting, marrying an outsider and tricking her into breeding your successors? How many times did I or Thomas spy a fleeting shape, a watching shadow from the wood?. We were awe struck, considered ourselves, privileged to see a myth come to life, little suspecting the truth. I cursed you as you drew your dying breath, planning to run once you were gone but even in that you tricked me, you’re death sealed my fate! Si frowned, flicking through the book but the pages suddenly ran blank. He thought of Mrs Guthry’s body lying next door, face waxy and pale amidst the gloom, eyes staring lifeless and unconcerned, any secrets now locked away forever. He had no shred of remorse, but his curiosity was now ablaze. Outside the window the last light of day was being siphoned away in a molten red stream. Sitting at the desk in the only patch of light in the whole of the silent dark house he cast about for clues. Some intuition made him reach out for the thick leather bound book that perched at the edge of the desk. He hefted it up before his eyes and read the title on the ox blood cover. Coren and Harpers Compendium of Auld Lore! The book had the well thumbed stained appearance of something often perused. Idly he began turning the pages, seeing colour prints and old wood cuts of fantastic looking beasts, fairies and creatures of myth. The book was heavy and thick, it would take all night to read cover to cover, flicking through it, he came across a page marked with a cross, it’s corner turned down. Traditions concerning family ghosts and/or entities such as the Irish Banshee, have already been covered elsewhere in this book but another tradition, especially prevalent in certain parts of Britain speak of a more ancient relationship between archaic, local families and what are pertained to as animal totems. Spirits or familiars of various creatures such as dogs, bears and wolves who it was believed were the guardians of the local landscape, bestowing fortune and favour on the locality in return for service from an elected member of the community. Often patriarchal, the service was carried on down through the generations. This lore was believed to involve some kind of human sacrifice, the practice stretching all the way back to Neolithic times it’s remnants can still be glimpsed today in legends concerning sightings of spectral black dogs or Black Shucks as they were named locally. Black Shuck! He looked up for a moment, staring unseeingly at the wallpaper, faded like everything else in this mausoleum. Then the sound drifted from the woods, arcing through the twilight air. Howling! It was distant, far away somewhere deep in the woods. Shuckie! He looked back at the yellowing page once more. That was it! The old woman was mad? Convinced she was being haunted by some ghost and conspired against by the villagers. Did she think her peke or whatever damn flea pit she fed and watered was some supernatural spectre. Small wonder no one visited, that the locals kept their distance. She really had been loop, the fucking, loop. Suddenly it all made sense. Another howl drifted from the trees, closer now. Chuckling indulgently, guided by the last of the coppery light he carefully negotiated through the kitchen past the large pine table and huge black range brooding along one wall. Wrenching at the door he stepped out into the summer evening taking a deep satisfied breath. The sky was drawing down a gauzy curtain above the treetops, a montage of shape and shadow looming far above the house, the air cooling yet still balmy. Grinning he cupped his hands to his mouth and leant back. ‘Shuckie!’ He called out mischievously. ‘Shuckie come and see mummy!’ He sniggered, wondering what the little darling would make of Mummy now. ‘Come and see what Mummy’s got for you! See what she’s left on the rug!’ Smiling he turned. The howl exploded from the trees and hit him like a shock wave. Stumbling on the step he spun around to stare transfixed. It was as if someone had let blast a ships foghorn from the forests edge. His heart leapt juddering into his throat. Even in his alarm he recognized the sound, massively amplified as its author had drawn closer. He gazed stupidly as the treetops began to quiver and disintegrate in a widening swathe. Something rushed through the trees, something large, immense. The next howl almost ruptured his eardrums. Si fell backwards through the door. Fumbling, staring bug eyed with alarm, he shot the bolt and turned a rusted key in the lock just as a large, dark shape, blurred by the dusk and distorted by the frosted glass, burst from the edge of the trees and loped over the six-foot fence towards the house. Two red smears the size of dinner plates cut the gloom, dipping and weaving closer. Si shrieked, lurching from the kitchen into the welcoming darkness of the hallway, slamming the door shut and cowering against the wall. He crouched there his mind racing. Logic told him to make a bolt through the front door and into the car but fear enfolded him in powerful, paralysing arms. A long, ominous scraping thud intruded from the kitchen. Something brushed serpentine against the buildings exterior. His eyes stared out livid in the dark at the door between him and the kitchen. The phone rang. He jerked, emitting a shrill cry at the sudden discordant sound. Impervious it continued to ring on its small table at the end of the hall, an old fashioned thing black and blocky. He lurched towards it scrabbling with still begloved fingers for the receiver, snatching it up and opening his mouth to bellow for help, yet even in the midst of his terror some wily instinct cut in, stilling his tongue. Through the door opposite Mrs Guthry’s legs protruded from the darkness. If help were summoned how could he explain that? ‘Edna!’ A voice gruff and provincial spat from the earpiece. Si’s lips trembled, uncertain and terrified, not knowing what to do. ‘Edna!’ The voice, definitely male, spoke out again, an air of urgency creeping into its tone. ‘Edna are you there?’ From the back of the house Si heard a low, churning grunt that made his gut drop like a weighted sack, he was incapable of stifling the whimper that trickled like spittle from his lips. There was a pause, then the voice spoke out speculatively . ‘Mr Williams?’ He stared at the receiver nonplussed. ‘Crebbin?’ Si whispered, the only other person who knew the psuedonym agreed on during that furtive meeting weeks ago. His client. ‘I’m so glad it’s you Mr Williams!’ The statement came out of left field. Si couldn’t think straight but caught the faintly triumphant tone. He opened his mouth to speak but the sounds from the back of the house kept intruding into his thought process, freezing him. His mind felt sluggish, weighted with terror. ‘Please help’ he pleaded eventually. ‘I did the job but there’s a fucking monster outside the house, it’s...’ ‘Shuckie’s alright for the moment.’ Crebbin interjected business like. We were hoping you’d get here more promptly; there was concern. Still you did it in the end and as long you came of your own violition.’ ‘I don’t know what you mean!’ Si stammered. ‘I presume you left no clue as to your whereabouts today.’ A knowing chuckle. ‘No of course you didn’t you’re far too canny for that.’ ‘What are you talking about?’ Si gabbled idiotically. ‘Are you insane. There’s a monster outside. It’s trying to get in.’ ‘We were looking for a solution to our dilemma and your name came to our attention. I have to admit it was a long shot, we really thought one of our own would have to be elected this time, but you took the bait hook line and sinker. Si’s mind may have been sluggish, the cogs turning exceeding slow but turn they did. The old woman’s words came back to him. They worry about what will happen when I’m gone good! ‘She provided no heir! We need someone to take on the obligation. Tradition dictates that in such circumstances the person who attends the old keepers death is the one to take on the responsibility. You more than attended to it!’ ‘Responsibility!’ He echoed faintly. ‘Duties if you prefer.’ Crebbin offered. His mouth opened and shut like a landed fish. ‘Edna’s sole job was to provide the offering. Now she’s dead you’ll have to do it!’ Crebbins grew impatient at the horrified exclamation. ‘Don’t be so fucking wet, he wont hurt you, he always knows his provider. He seems to know everything, he knew Edna was dead, began keening. We all heard it, that’s why I called.’ ‘You’re mad! You’re fucking mad!’ Fear and confusion overwhelmed him, spilling out in an enraged scream. The food’s down in the cellar, in a large chest freezer.’ Crebbin went on, ignoring the outburst. ‘Cut up and bagged for ease of movement. Shuckie doesn’t need any thing whole, just an arm or leg. He’s happy with that!’ A single low bark rang out as though in accord, juddering the windows in their frames. He began to cry, long hopeless sobs. ‘This is a joke! Please… tell me it‘s a joke!’ ‘You of all people, squeamish!’ Crebbins exclaimed in mock surprise.’ A lone traveller, a vagrant here or there disappears. Surely no worse than your nefarious dealings, ‘cept we‘ve been doing it for longer of course, a lot longer! By the way don’t try to phone out for help, it only accepts incoming calls and don’t think about trying to run either…He’s never far away. Go any further than the village and he knows. He don’t take kindly to disloyalty, he’ll bring you down Mr Williams, it‘s a terrible way to go.’ From the back of the house a deep primeval grunt punched the air in warning. Si’s mind thought back to the diary entries, the despair, fear, the embittered jottings. His sobs redoubled. Cribbens laughed, loud and hearty. ‘Try to see it as an honour, a vocation! You’ll have everything you need delivered to your door, sustenance, magazines, books,’ he paused. ‘And Shuckies little tid bits of course.’ He chuckled again. ‘Most of the time your free to act at your leisure, take an occasional stroll down to the village if you like or a walk through the fields…although not too far, ‘he warned. ‘We might even provide you with a woman, so you can breed your successor. Why do you think this area is so affluent, so blessed? It’s not just luck. We pay our dues. And you’re the new middle man!’ Si began to babble and plead but Crebbins cut him off. ‘Try to get comfortable for the night; someone will be around tomorrow to explain things more fully and clear up the mess. I’d give him something to eat if I were you,’ he advised. ‘He’s due a feed, might keep you awake all night if not.’ The line went dead. ‘Crebbins!’ Si shouted hysterically into the mouthpiece. He slammed down the receiver, lifted it and tried to dial out. He could get no connection. Si stared feverishly at the front door, his thoughts strayed to the car outside, the mobile phone in the glove compartment. Another warning snarl. Dropping the phone he stood in the darkness, blank and uncomprehending, minutes or maybe hours passed. Shuckie continued to growl and snuffle impatiently at the back of the house, the sound grotesque, enormous. Any time he so much as looked at the front door or began formulating a plan that same low warning grunt rent the air. Slowly realization spread through him like an infection, galvanising him with a fever of frustration and rage. Jerking mannequin like he crashed his way into the parlour and began aiming savage kicks at the cooling corpse on the floor, screaming into the heavy air, screaming until his lungs were empty. Eventually he collapsed exhausted against the wall, gasping as the darkness washed over him. At some point past midnight Shuckie began howling in earnest, the sound like a chainsaw cutting into his brain, continuing on and on…endlessly. When he could stand it no longer he stirred himself. Switching on the lights, his deadened expression barely flinching at the sudden, harsh illumination, he made his way to the cellar.
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great story! great writing!
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