Sacrifices

Doctor Douglas Watt looked up from his desk as his first patient came into his room.

“Good morning Mrs Heskith,” Douglas said rising to his feet to usher the old lady in. “How are we feeling this morning?”

“Oh, doctor,” wailed Mrs Heskith. “It’s me lumbago. It’s playing up something cruel!”

Doctor Watt grimaced behind the old lady’s back. Oh Lord, he thought. How many hours till I start my holiday?

The morning surgery went by quickly with its long list of ailments. Rheumatism, sickness, diahorroea, flu jags and of course, the inevitable case of ‘I just feel out of sorts, Doctor’.

Soon, it was over and Mrs Jennings, the office manager came in to collect the patients’ files.

“Well, Douglas, you’ll want to get away. When does your plane leave?”

“Ah, Gloria, I was just daydreaming. The plane leaves at five o’clock and hopefully arrives at Joball four hours later. I just can’t wait. Sand, sea, and sangria, what more could a man ask for?”

“You just watch out that you don’t bring any strange, exotic bugs back with you,” admonished Gloria, wagging her finger at him. “I need you back here, ‘bright eyed and bushy tailed’, in two weeks.”

Douglas stood up and raising his right hand said loudly, “I promise that I will behave myself.”

Gloria gave a smile and left the room humming the tune to the song ‘That’ll Be the Day’.

The plane roared down the runway at Heathrow and Douglas felt as he always felt at times like this – scared!

I hate these bits, the takeoff and the landing, he thought. Don’t mind the bit between though.

The plane gave a lurch and suddenly they were up in the air and the air hostesses were moving down the aisle giving out drinks.

Douglas must have fallen asleep for he found himself experiencing a very pleasant dream, or rather it began pleasantly enough, but the end was not anything he would have wanted.

The scene was a hotel room somewhere that he did not recognise. It was very warm and the maid or someone had left the window open. The net curtains moved in and out like someone breathing and Douglas could feel the cool breeze.

The room was very well furnished and everything looked very expensive. Oil paintings hung on the wall and ornate light fixtures gleamed brightly.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door and Douglas moved across the room to open it. As he neared the door a feeling of terror suddenly overcame him. It was if he instinctively knew that there was something, which would harm him, on the other side of the door! He stepped back quickly and searched the room with his eyes, to find somewhere to hide, but as he deliberated the door suddenly burst in towards him and a darkness poured into the room, engulfing him totally!

“Sir! Sir!” a voice sounded insistently, waking him from his nightmare. “You’re just having a bad dream. Wake up please!”

One of the air hostesses was gently shaking him by the shoulder and Douglas realised where he was.

“I am sorry,” he said, blushing. “ It was so real.”

After a stiff drink Douglas felt a little better, but he found it hard to shake off the feeling of misgiving that the dream had engendered. He gave a little shiver as he looked out of the aircraft’s window at the large fluffy clouds that surrounded them.

I must be more in need of a holiday, than I thought I was, he thought.

As the taxi moved through the little houses and shops that made up Tija, the main village on the island of Joball, Douglas felt all the tension of the flight drift away. He was eager to get to his hotel, unpack and get down on the beach for some much needed ‘R&R’. The sun was very hot and a gentle breeze moved the branches in the tall eucalyptus trees. The setting was idyllic and Douglas knew that here, he would get all the rest he needed.

The maid, a young dark eyed girl led him to his room in the hotel. As they climbed the carpeted staircase Douglas looked about him at the paintings and photographs that hung on the walls.

“It seems a very popular place,” he said to the maid. “Is this the busiest time for you?”

“Oh no,” replied the girl. “This is sort of ‘off season’. In fact we will be closing the hotel down in three weeks time. The weather will turn stormy soon and visitors tend not to come then.”

“That’s a pity for it is a lovely little island,” Douglas said. “Bur, I suppose you will all get a holiday yourselves then.”

As Douglas stepped into his room, he felt a slight pang of fear, when he recalled his dream on the aircraft. But, upon looking about him, he realised that this was not the room of his nightmare. He breathed a sigh of relief.

In fact, the room resembled several of the rooms that he had stayed in, during past holidays. It was furnished in a utilitarian fashion; wardrobe, bed, writing desk and ‘en suite’ bathroom. It was not as if he intended living in his hotel room!

Next day, Douglas spread his towel on the sand and rigged up his windbreak or suntrap as it was known as nowadays.

The beach wasn’t very busy and Douglas had had his pick for spots to sunbathe. He remembered what the maid had said about the resort closing down in three weeks and tried to imagine the beach being pounded by angry surf brought on by a storm.

Lying down on his towel, he opened the detective novel that he had brought with him. It was the latest in a series of crime stories by this author and Douglas had found the previous titles very exciting to read.

As the day passed and the sun rose to its highest point in the sky, Douglas realised that he had had enough heat for the day. No point overdoing it, he thought. It would just be like me to get sunstroke on my first day. It was time to sit on the hotel’s veranda and sip some cool drinks. He might be able to have a chat with some of the other visitors.

It was at the point when he was packing up he noticed a little figure moving slowly up the beach towards him. As the figure got closer, Douglas realised that he was a little boy and he was stopping to talk to some of the other sunbathers on the beach. In his hand he held a bag and what looked like a notebook.

As he approached Douglas he raised his head and Douglas saw, with a start, that the boy only had one eye. The other had been rather crudely sewn shut.

“Excuse me mister,” began the boy politely. “Do you want to go on a tour to the catacombs?”

“What…?” stammered Douglas rather taken aback by the boy’s disfigurement. “What happened to your face, son?”

The boy laughed and raised his hand to the injury. “I had an accident. The local doctor fixed it for me.”

“Not very well,” retorted Douglas angrily. “You really need plastic surgery.”

Looking down at the ground, the boy stammered,” my family cannot afford it, but it is ok. I can see just fine.”

Feeling a little ashamed of himself for embarrassing the lad he asked, “what was the trip you are collecting names for?”

“The catacombs mister,” the boy replied. “My father runs a bus to them. It doesn’t cost much.”

Douglas put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a wad of notes. “Put me down on your list. When does it leave?”

The boy pocketed the money and as Douglas spelt his name out, carefully wrote it down on his list. “Outside your hotel at three o’clock mister,” he said as he turned and made his way up the beach.

The bus had seen better days and Douglas wondered how far it was to the catacombs and whether the rusty vehicle would make it.

A few other residents from the hotel boarded after Douglas and as they took their seats nodded politely to him.

All at once a large, fat man got onboard. He was dressed in a vest and jeans and on his feet he wore flipflops. He was missing a hand and in its place was an evil looking hook.

Looking down the bus’ interior, he counted heads. “You all for the catacombs?” he shouted and upon receiving positive replies, collapsed into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

The route was by a cliff path which gave the passengers beautiful, if terrifying glimpses of the sea and coastline far below. The path itself was strewn with rocks and various bits of debris, but the physically challenged, bus driver drove faultlessly and soon the bus was making its way inland. The terrain was very rocky and the few visible mountain peaks looked volcanic in origin. The vegetation was very stunted up there unlike the more lush trees and bushes in Tiga. Skeletal trees stood about like spectres and tumbleweed blew about the road.

The approach to the catacombs was situated in a ravine and the path down was quite steep. The burial site had been chiselled out of the rock and must have taken many months to carry out with primitive tools. A wild, dusty wind howled through the rocky cleft plucking at our clothes.

Seven passengers, including Douglas, got off the bus and were herded towards a wide cave like hole in the cliff face, by the driver. Oil lamps hung from the wall and once out of the sun, the atmosphere felt damp and cold. The air in the catacombs smelt dank and fetid like a month old corpse.

“You alright, mister?” asked the driver as he noticed Douglas looking a little shaken. “The trip down to the burial niches will not take too long.”

“How did you lose your hand?” asked Douglas, hoping he was not causing offence. “Was it an accident?”

The driver lifted the hook on the end of his arm and laughed. “We all must make sacrifices,” he said enigmatically. “Now, let us go and visit our ancestors.”

“But, your son… his injury?” Douglas began to say, but the driver ignored him and began to shepherd the visitors down the narrow passageway.

They seemed to descend for miles, but Douglas knew that the combination of the conditions and the claustrophobic feel to the place would tend to dilate time.

Soon crude drawings could be seen on the walls. Stick like figures with animals, some looking like cows and horses. Another drawing showed a figure lying on a stone block with what looked like blood coming from it.

Eventually large niches began to be seen in the walls. Within the holes brown bones could be seen mixed in with rags of clothing. Amongst the remains, Douglas could see bits of pottery, flint knives and beads.

Douglas got quite a fright when the driver whispered right by his ear, “the living give gifts to their dead ancestors, mister.”

On and on they went, niche after niche, some with skeletal remains, others with mouldering humps of carrion, long mummified.

The driver then raised his hand and announced to the visitors, “That is the end of the tour. We can go no further.”

Douglas could see that there was a large wooden door set into the wall behind where the driver stood. The wall had a large painting on it. It depicted a large wave approaching a crowd of stick like people who were standing with their hands raised. It was very old and some of the paint had flaked off.

“What is behind the door?” asked Douglas loudly. “Can’t we have a look?”

The driver raised his good hand and made a sign in front of his face. “No, it is private. No one is allowed inside. Now let us return to the surface.” He began ushering people up the passage.

Douglas hung back and concealed himself behind one of the rocky pillars. He had decided that he would look whatever the outcome. He hadn’t descended a dirty, old passage to be turned back at the last moment. He would look behind the door. I mean what can they do to me, thought Douglas, hang me?

The door creaked horribly as Douglas pushed it open. He looked up the passage in case the driver, upon hearing the shriek, realised what he was doing, but apart from the departing voices, he could hear nothing else.

Upon entering the area behind the door, Douglas was disappointed to see nothing more than a large stone block covered with rubbish and detritus. The atmosphere had a sickly, pungent small.

 The light from the oil lamps in the passage outside shone weakly into the chamber and it was not until Douglas was close up to the block that he realised what was covering its surface.

Hacked off arms, legs, fingers and toes lay rotting. Blow flies swarmed over the blackening flesh. Douglas felt his gorge rise and was sick on the floor. What the hell was this? he thought wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It looked like a butcher shop! Turning, his gaze fell again on the carrion as he made to leave the chamber, but the sight of several rotten eyeballs propped up on the bits of body, made his head swim and Douglas staggered back.

Clutching behind him he sought something to support him, when he felt a sharp pain in his hand. Warmth suddenly ran down his arm and he could hear liquid falling on the floor. He had cut himself and from the sound of it, he was losing copious amounts of blood.

Somehow he staggered through the door and began to run up the cramped passage.

He stopped partway to rip some of the mildewed rags out of a niche, to wrap round the wound, in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood.

Eventually he spotted the visitors being led by the driver; he screamed for them to help him and then collapsed on to the passage floor. Everything went black.

When Douglas regained consciousness, he found that he was lying on a stretcher in the reception area of his hotel. The concierge was kneeling by his side, looking very worried. “Doctor Watt! Doctor Watt! Can you hear me? Are you alright?”

Douglas opened his eyes and gave the hotel manager a rather sour looking smile. “So I made it back? Was it the driver of the bus who attended to my wounds? He raised his injured arm to see that it had been bandaged quite professionally.

“Yes,” replied the hotel manager, “he and some of the other visitors carried you out of the catacombs to the bus, where your condition was attended to.”

“I must thank them…” Douglas began to say, then again felt dizzy and lay back down.

“You will need attention, Dr Watt,” said the manager, “so we have moved you to another room. It will cost you no more, I promise you.”

Douglas lay on the stretcher and tried to remember what had happened in the catacombs. He remembered going through the door and seeing the stone block covered with…what was it? He couldn’t remember clearly. It was as if he had a blank space in his memory. How had he injured himself? He had clearly cut himself on something sharp as he remembered the sound of the blood dripping on to the floor. Oh well, he thought, I’ll just relax and my memory will return. I’m sure of it.

Douglas must have passed out again for when he opened his eyes he had been moved to his room, or more especially, his new room.

It certainly was very nice, much nicer than his previous one. There were oil paintings on the wall and bright, gleaming light fixtures. The window had been opened and a thin gauzy curtain swung to and fro with the incoming breeze. Suddenly Douglas knew that he had been in this room before! Of course, in his dream! And what had happened next? Someone had knocked at the door. Yes! That was what happened and he had gone to open the door…!

All at once as in the dream, a knock sounded on the door and once again, Douglas felt his hackles rise and his heart starting to beat in terror. He couldn’t let it in, he just couldn’t…!

“Go away!” screamed Douglas. “Go away please! Please!”

The door suddenly began to swing open and Douglas felt he knew what was about to enter. He lost control of his consciousness and sank into oblivion.

Douglas was a sad sight as he was transported off the plane at Heathrow in a wheelchair. The nurse that had been dispatched with him from the little hospital in Joball passed him over to a representative from a nursing home in Surry where he was being sent to recover.

“I don’t know the full story,” said the nurse from Joball. “He had been brought back from a trip with an injury, but after a few hours in his hotel room, he just lost the plot when the local doctor came to see him. He was found crawling over the floor screaming and shouting about something outside his door! Oh well, nice to meet you. I am on the next flight back to the island, so goodbye.”

“Oh you are lucky being out in all that sunshine,” said the nursing home rep. “ I wish I was working out there instead of in this cold, rain drenched country!”

It took six months of intensive care before Douglas was fit to return to his medical practice. He was taking pills for anxiety and panic attacks, but after all the therapeutic help, he was well on the way to recovery.

His partners were unhappy when he returned, telling him, he should take it easy for a bit. Some insensitive person suggested a holiday which caused Douglas to start shaking uncontrollably, but after recovering his cool agreed to work two days a week to start with. Gloria Jennings offered to sort all his appointments for him, to reduce any stress he may feel during consultations.

So the great day came when Dr. Douglas Watt stepped out of his car in the car park and entered his Medical Practice. The secretaries gave him a round of applause as he entered and a large bouquet of flowers sat on his desk next to a ‘Welcome Back’ greetings card signed by everyone in the building.

Shutting his office door Douglas sat down behind his desk and stroked its smooth top with the palms of his hands, “I’m so glad to be back,” he whispered to himself.

Looking down at the neat pile of folders on his desk he realised that his first patient was to be old, Mrs Heskith. Douglas thought about when he had last seen the lady and with a shudder promised that he would never tire of General Practice Medicine ever again.

The door swung open and Gloria led Mrs Heskith into the room.

“I’ll just be outside Doctor,” said his office manager and shut the door behind her.

“And how have you been Mrs Heskith?” enquired Douglas politely.

“Oh, not too bad, Doctor, if the lumbago would ease a bit,” replied the old lady. “Did you have a nice holiday? Where did you go?”

Douglas forced himself to reply, “I went to Joball, Mrs Heskith, you probably haven’t heard about it, have you?”

Mrs Heskith turned towards Douglas and as he watched the old woman’s eyes became black and glistening.

“Oh yes, the island of Joball, where the inhabitants make little sacrifices to please the Dead. Their ancestors intercede for them with the dark forces and prevent any repercussion of the tidal wave that hit the island three hundred years ago. Oh, I know of Jobal, Doctor Watt. And remember something else… We must all make sacrifices…”

Mrs Heskith’s jaw swung down and dislocated like a snakes’ and from her maw an oily darkness poured out and over Douglas totally engulfing him.

The last thing he heard on this earth was an echo of Mrs Heskith’s advice,

“We all must make sacrifices….!”

……………………………………………+……………………………………23/02/14 Cairniehill

North Wind Blowing

The wind had begun blowing quite hard as I stepped down on to the platform at Dounitch railway station. This was to be an interim stop on my route north. My connecting train wasn’t due until eight o’clock that evening and the thought of hanging around a draughty station was not my idea of pleasure, so I had decided to explore the town for the next four hours.

My journey had begun at Garthwood city where I had been living. The flat I had occupied was ‘bijou’ which meant that you couldn’t swing a cat round in it, but it did me as I was working down at one of the city’s eating houses. The boss was a fair man who cooked wonderful meals but paid minimum wage to his workers. Often I would wait behind after the restaurant had closed to get any of the left overs.

One morning when I had awakened, yet again feeling as if the walls were falling in on me and decided that this was my last day in Garthwood. Surely I could get a better job further up north where most of the country’s affluence was. I had collected a little bit of money from eating ‘left overs’ or not eating at all and I could live for at least a week on what I had. So… now was the time. Every journey starts with one step and other well known sayings.

My boss at the restaurant was not happy when I told him I intended moving on the next day, but eventually he gave me my pay up to date and grudgingly wished me good luck, for, as he added, I was going to need it.

Dounitch town looked deserted as I left the station after putting my bits of luggage into one of the lockable cabinets by the ticket office. A spoor of snow blew around the street and the trees by the road shook menacingly as an icy gust tugged at their branches. A bill board message warned of impending blizzards forecast for that weekend with an icy stretch of weather to follow. I realised that my proposed journey north should have waited for a few months. Ah well, I thought, too late now.

As I walked up the road I looked up at the houses on either side. Curtains were drawn and in some cases, storm shutters had been pulled across. It looked like a town in a state of besiege awaiting the arrival of an adversary. The shops were battened down and from what I could make out through the windows; the shelves were nearly empty of any goods. Surely, somewhere must still be open, I reasoned with myself.

A bit ahead I saw a long stretch of light on the road. It was shining from a doorway above which a rickety sign hung. The joints screeched as the wind plucked at it. It was weather-beaten, but a welcome sight. The King’s Head Public House. A harbour, for a wandering soul in need of shelter and some liquid comfort on such a night as this.

The door hinges creaked as I pushed them open and stepped inside. Ahead of me stood a bar behind which sat numerous bottles on shelves. Two or three optics hung at the end of the bar with several beer siphons at the fore. A man with a knitted cardigan stood behind the bar.

“Cold night,” I grunted to the man, whom I took to be the publican. “Can I have a whisky please?”

The man looked behind him and taking a glass drew some liquid from the optic.

“Will it be a large or small one?”  he asked.

“Better make it a large one,” I laughed, “I’m freezing.”

The fiery liquid coursed its way down my throat and I felt a warmth spread through my body. I had sat down at the nearest table and after removing my coat and scarf surveyed the scene about me.

The room had been some sort of old meeting room and the walls were covered with dark wood embellished with carvings. Rosettes, branches of ivy and egg and dart designs covered the walls and ceiling. An odour of antiquity permeated the surroundings and lent an ambience of past grandeur to the place

“What was this place originally, “I asked the landlord. “Was it a club house of some sort?”

He grunted and finished drying a glass before he replied.

“It was the meeting place of the Gentle. They were like the Quakers, went about helping poor folk who had fallen on hard times.”

“What happened to them?” I asked.

“What happens to all those who try to fight against something larger than themselves. They realised that it was a ‘no win’ situation. Eventually they just moved on…somewhere else.”

The entry door squeaked as three burly men came in.

“Evening Jeb,” said one of the men to the barman. He was a giant of a man, at least 6 and half feet tall and built like a brick…wall. He sported a gold ring in his ear and a black beard. He glanced at me suspiciously.

“Hi there, Mory,” replied the barman. “Hell of a night!”

Mory and the two other men sat at a table over on the far side of the bar. They talked among themselves and then one of the other men, a small mousy looking creature approached the bar.

“I-I-I w-w-want t-t-t-two whiskies and a r-r-r-rum,” he stuttered painfully.

“Ok, ok, Guy, I’ll bring them over to you,” Jeb the publican replied, trying not to smile. He looked over at me to see if I found anything amusing, but I put on my disinterested, poker face and he returned to making up Guy’s order.

I sat gazing into space as I counted the minutes mentally before I could escape from this place where I felt as welcome as the Black Death and catch my train.

Checking my watch I realised that at least two of the hours had passed and with only another two hours, one hundred and twenty minutes, seven thousand, two hundred seconds, I could brush the dust of the town of Dounitch from my shoes and get on with my life, or so I thought.

“It’s a whiteout!” came a voice from the front door as it screeched open. A man rushed into the pub shaking snow off his coat. “At least two inches and a lot more to come!”

Jeb stepped forward and began drawing a beer for the arrival.

“Do you reckon it’ll stop the buses running, Saul?” he asked as the frothy ale splashed into the glass.

“Reckon everything will stop in an hour unless it lets up.” Saul said as he accepted his drink.

Jeb looked over at me.

“You got far to go tonight?” he asked not unkindly.

“I have a train out at eight o’clock this evening,” I replied. “I’m heading up North.”

A burst of laughter came from the three men at the far table.

“No way any trains will be running tonight, not with this snow.” chortled Mory.

“N-n-no way j-j-j-jose!” Guy mocked in a high pitched staccato voice.

The third man of the group stood up and came over to where I was sitting.

“Sorry, if we find your misfortune a joke, my friend,” he drawled. “It’s just we don’t get many strangers in our little town. My name is Eli Fallon and I’m the town’s undertaker.

He proffered his hand which I shook.

“I’m Joe Ritton, new in from Garthwood, but that’s ok, Mr Fallon,” I replied. “It’s just that it looks like I’ll have to spend the night in the railway station waiting room.”

Eli Fallon stroked his clean shaven chin and looked thoughtful.

“I think that will be the simplest solution,” he replied before going back to his table and sitting down.

I sat considering my options. I realised the bar would be shutting sometime near eleven o’clock. It would be the landlord’s discretion, but I couldn’t see good old Jeb, keeping the bar open for one minute extra than he had to. Sometime thereafter I must have nodded off. The whisky, the warmth and the mumbling of the three men at the far table had a strong soporific effect on me and I dropped gratefully into a welcome sleep.

Suddenly I was awoken by the clamour of people talking, arguing and making their points very loudly. The room was full of men dressed in dark clothes. Some of them sported bushy beards, but the most of them were clean shaven. The bar, the three men at the far table, Jeb and his customer had vanished and all I could see was a sea of faces.

All at once the men parted to let something come towards me. It was a female deer and her eyes were wide with terror.

“You must help her!” shouted one of the men.

“It is in your power to do it!” screamed another.

“Yes and we will aid you.” whispered a voice by my left ear.

The poor animal was terrified and did not know which way to turn to escape from the throng. I felt powerless to do anything except put my hand out and attempt to let it smell my scent in an effort to calm it.

“Sir! Sir!” a voice called out awakening me from my sleep. “Mr Ritton are you alright?” It was Jeb, he had come over to collect my glass when he had seen me in some distress.

“No…thanks, I’m fine,” I mumbled, a little embarrassed. “I just fell asleep and had a cracking nightmare.”

“Well, you better prepare yourself for a shock, the snow is about a foot deep outside and I don’t think you have any chance of making it to the station tonight!” Jeb said.

“Well, I haven’t got much of a choice have I?” I grunted. “You’ll be shutting up soon, wont you?”

Just at that moment there was a loud scream from outside the front door of the pub. The door gave an almighty squeal and a loud thump resounded in the vestibule.

“What the hell?” shouted Jeb. “It looks like a woman.”

Mr Fallon jumped up from his chair and went across to where the person lay on the floor.

“You’re right, it is a woman and it looks as if she is injured!” he shouted.

Mory came over and looked down at her with distaste.

“It’s Skanky Eve from the caravan park. She has obviously fallen out with someone. She is bad news”

“Y-y-yes, i-i-its her,” stuttered Guy. “R-r-reckon you s-s-should k-k-ick h-h-her b-backside out o-o-of h-h-here.”

Saul helped the woman to her feet and sat her down at one of the tables.

“Can we have a brandy for her, Jeb? She seems to have had a bit of tussle with someone. She has blood on her face”

“And who’s going to pay for it? She won’t have any money on her if I know her of old!” Jeb grunted.

All at once I stood up and reaching into my pocket pulled out a five pound note.

“Here,” I said. “Take it out of this.”

Mory, Guy and Mr Fallon went back to their table and made ready to leave. They began putting their coats on and wrapping scarves about their necks.

Saul had gone to get some water to wipe the blood from Eve’s brow. It looked as if she would have a black eye in the morning.

I sat close to her not knowing what to say.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Eve asked.

“No,” I replied hesitantly. I just stopped off here on my way north.”

Saul arrived back with a damp cloth and between us we managed to make Eve look a little more presentable.

Mr Fallon and his two comrades paused at our table as they made their way to the door.

“I trust you have recovered my dear?” the undertaker said. Mory and Guy just glared at Eve.

Eve looked at the three of them and smiled. “Yes, thank you and I’ll get back to my part of town as soon as is possible,” she replied sarcastically.

Five minutes later the three men returned.

“It’s hellish out there Jeb!” said Eli Fallon brushing the snow from his shoulders. “It’s a foot and a half deep and the wind chill factor is in the low minuses. You could die out there!”

Mori approached the bar and looking at Jeb said,

“You can keep the bar open all night, can’t you? At your discretion?”

Jeb looked uncomfortable. “Well, yes I could, but my licence only allows me to serve alcohol until midnight.”

“A-a-all w-w-we w-w-want is s-s-somewhere w-w-warm to w-w-wait out the s-s-snowstorm!” pleaded Guy.

“We won’t trouble you for drinks after hours, Jeb,” Mr Fallon confirmed.

Eve had relaxed as the night wore on. Every so often someone would check outside, but the storm roared on unabated.

I decided to find out where Eve had come from that night and who had assaulted her.

“My boyfriend has been dealing in drugs and had just received a large shipment. I hid them from him and wouldn’t tell him where they were.” she confided to Saul and I. “He and his three buddies were roughing me up to give them the location of the drugs when I escaped and ran out into the storm. Lucky in a way it was so wild, I was able to hide from them.”

“But…won’t they be looking for you now?” I asked in a horrified voice.

“Nah,” said Eve disdainfully. “They are a load of pansies, scared to get their Gucci shoes wet or their hair blown out of shape!”

The evening rolled on and as the midnight hour approached Jeb announced ‘last orders’. I had a whisky as a night cap and Saul and Eve had a brandy apiece, paid for by yours truly.

The three men at the far table had dozed off and Saul had found a couch to lie down on leaving Eve and I sitting alone.

“Why is it no one seems to like you?” I asked.

“Ah… it’s because my family and our relations live on the east side of town in caravans,” she confided. “The town’s folk call us trash and no better than tramps, but we’re just not as well off as a lot of them.”

“What will happen when your boyfriend catches up with you tomorrow,” I asked, fearing the answer.

“He’s got to catch me first,” Eve laughed. “I’ll give him a run for his money.”

“But why did you pinch his drugs? Do you use them?”

It was as if someone had flicked a switch. One moment Eve was sitting quietly and speaking quietly then suddenly she was on her feet, her eyes flashing and angry.

“I have never done drugs! And I have no intention of ever taking them! My young brother died last year after taking one tablet! It destroyed my parents, Dad left home not long after. He felt somehow responsible!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! “I repeated over and over. “That was a stupid thing I said.”

Eve seemed to calm down and after a few minutes asked if she could lay her head on my shoulder to get a few hours of sleep. I gratefully agreed and soon her sweet warm breath was tickling my chin. I admired her secretly as she slept. Eve had long brown hair, green eyes and a pixie like nose. Truly a beauty, I thought as I too slipped into a doze.

Once again I was back in the room where the black clothed men gathered. The deer had blood on its body and was breathing in short gasps.

“She is in great danger!” one of the men shouted.

“You hold her fate in your hands,” another hissed.

“But what would you have me do?” I pleaded to the assembly as the wounded animal moved back and forward.

“Well, well, well!” came a loud braying voice. “Isn’t this cosy!”

A brutish looking young man stood just inside the door. Behind him stood three other thug like youths. I felt Eve awake and cringe as she took in the scene.

“Lommie!” she spluttered. “It’s not what you think…!”

“And what should I think my little beauty or should I say thief!” Lommie spat at her. “Where have you put my stash? Bommo said he left it for me and I still have to pay for it or else he will be looking for me like I have been hunting for YOU!”

“Lommie, you don’t need the drugs. Give them up!” Eve pleaded.

Lommie looked uncomfortable and glanced around the room nervously. “That’s right girl, involve all these good people. They don’t need to know anything! Get your coat on, we’re going!” Lommie looked around again, but this time with menace, daring anyone to intervene.

Mory and Guy looked down at their feet and Eli Fallon raised his hands in placation. Jeb and Saul looked on uncomfortably.

“No, Lommie. I want to stay here!” Eve shrieked.

A knife suddenly appeared in Lommie’s hand and he walked over to where Eve sat and grabbing her by the arm, yanked her to her feet.

“Please Lommie…!” Eve sobbed struggling.

All at once I heard the voice by my left ear whisper,

“Save her, she is in great danger!”

Lommie was dragging Eve to the door as I leapt to my feet. With a clenched fist I struck Lommie on the side of the face. He let Eve go and turned on me snarling like a wild animal. He swung the knife to and fro looking for an opening to stab me. I jumped back and began to step side to side in an effort to put his aim off.

“Right lads!” screamed Lommie to his three allies. “Get him, we’ll take ‘em both and have some fun!”

“Your not taking Eve anywhere!” I shouted as the three youths approached me in a pincer fashion. I can’t take them all, I thought desperately.

“And who’s going to stop us?” sneered brave Lommie as he and his ‘men’ prepared to take on one unarmed man.

“We will! Wont we guys?” came a loud voice from behind the group of four youths.

Mori and Eli stood shoulder to shoulder and all at once began to wade into the opposition. It was obviously a rallying cry for next Jeb and then Saul joined the fray. Even little stuttering Guy had been endowed with a solid right hook and knew how to use it.

Oh, Lommie’s gang were the typical bullies, plenty of bull but little bottle; but they bled and wailed like the rest of us.

Soon it was over and the four drugees turned and ran out into an unforgiving night where even Nature had turned on them.

Jeb opened the bar again and handed out drinks ‘on the house’.

We stood together like comrades after a long, hard battle and toasted each other’s bravery.

“These little buggers needed sorting out. They’ve ruined Dounitch with their blessed drugs. It’s time we all made a stand!” Jeb said filling up my glass for the umpteenth time.

Early that following morning the wind had dropped and a massive thaw was under way. We all felt like sole survivors emerging from a shelter as we walked out onto the street, but now with the snow only recognisable as little piles here and there, we realised that it was business as usual in Dounitch. The milkman drove by us in his van, the dustcart was collecting the bins and several of the inhabitants of the town were clearing slush from the front of their houses.

I had had an experience that I was not liable to forget in a hurry. As I remembered that assembly of men dressed in black, I wondered who they could have been. Could it have been a spiritual residue of the Gentles? Maybe they hadn’t just gone away as Jeb had said, maybe they were part and parcel of the fabric of the town of Dounitch in the background, but still influencing good in people. I like to think that was what it was.

The train pulled away from the station and I waved goodbye to my four new friends who had insisted they see me off. Did I say four friends? Well my fifth friend decided to come with me on my sojourn north. Until Lommie was sorted out by his supplier, Bommo and associates, Dounitch was not a place Eve wished to remain in and anyway I think something might develop between us – given time.

“Where did you hide Lommie’s drugs?” I asked my beautiful travelling companion.

“In the back of his mum’s fire,” she replied, looking at her watch. “The old girl will just be about to light it up! I hope there aren’t any birds by the chimney!”

Cairniehill

  31/01/14

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