Tink & Taylor: A Christmas Dirge

Every generation has its Tink and Taylor’s: gentlemen of a simpler nature; one might call buffoons to be spiteful, but good natured to be sure. The Victorian age of enlightenment was no different and there we can find Tink and Taylor ready to indulge in a bit of petty thievery, but surely for the best of reasons –they felt aggrieved by a certain gentleman we shall call E. for history has other tales to tell.

December was a hard month; bad enough if you were industrious and worked in such crippling conditions but neither Tink nor Taylor knew much of industry. They tried selling hot chestnuts in the middle of summer and then, at the present time, ‘mint bullets’ (a sweet that was neither crunchy nor chewy, but a stage inbetwixt. It didn’t taste much like mint either!). They had the misfortune of borrowing money from E. during the harshest winter and it was a time that no one wanted sweets, let alone funny tasting mint ones.

They were down to their last few pennies and couldn’t afford to pay the rent any more. They tried to petition E. for leniency and even tried to offer him free sweets as a part payment. E. wanted none of this and walked away with a scornful: “Mint bullets? Humbug is more like it! You have a few more days, gentlemen, to supply me with what is rightfully mine otherwise I will take what is rightfully yours, Christmas or no Christmas!”

Tink and Taylor looked at each other with dismay.

“What are we going to do? Do you think we should have sold chestnuts like the rest of ‘em?” Tink asked, scratching his beard.

“We’re just men of vision –no one appreciates men of vision.” Taylor replied. “Until they’re dead.”

“So… I don’t want to die in order to become rich.. at least, I don’t think I do. What do you we do next then?”

“I don’t think we can get money the honest way.” Taylor stated matter-of-factly. “We’ve tried, God knows we’ve tried.. but whether this business succeeds or fails I wants a bit of satisfaction with old misery there. I wants me own back on ‘im.”

“What do you suggest, like? I don’t like ‘im, but I don’t’s want to ‘urt ‘im either.”

“I suggest we frighten the old bugger.” Taylor replied. Taylor was a large, portly chap and not one to annoy, except when he was in his cups and merry… which was most of the time. Tink was always good natured, just a little more simple than most.

Both had read Sir Walter Scott’s ‘Wandering Willie’s Tale’ and Washington Irving’s “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” and knew of the concept of hauntings and could think of no better way than to frighten the money out of E. They had it in mind to dress up as ghosts, cover themselves in cheap bed linen and douse themselves in flour so they would leave ghostly vapours in their midst. The plan couldn’t fail.

The first night they tried to scare the fortune out of him, they managed to sneak into his abode before he locked it up for the night. Tiptoeing up the stairs they tried their best to hide their merriment, both having partaken several mugs of their own brand of scrumpy cider for courage (Since the dawn of time the Tink and Taylors of the world have always managed to create alcohol from whatever was around them, the Victorian era was no different.). As they neared E.’s bedroom however they heard something already disturbing the scene. The door was open a crack and both tried to listen to what was happening.

““What! Would you so soon put out, with worldly hands, the light I give? Is it not enough that you are one of those whose passions made this cap, and force me through whole trains of years to wear it low upon my brow!”

Tink had his ear closest to the door and shook his head, he couldn’t fathom what was happening or just who was talking to who.

“What’s wrong, Tink? What’s going on?” Taylor asked, trying to push his way in.

“I dunno, but looks like someone’s beaten us to it.” Tink whispered. “There’s someone already in there with ‘im!”

“What? What are they saying?”

“The geezer’s tellin’ ‘im about ‘at’s! I think ‘ee was an ‘abberdasher that’s gone out of business!”
“See, it’s not just us ‘e’s victimising. E’ll go after anyone!” Taylor replied.

“Wait a minute, scarper – they’re coming this way!” Tink hissed, watching in horror as the two started walking towards them. He backed away, knowing there wasn’t anywhere to hide, yet no one exited the room causing Taylor to poke his head round the doorway. To their surprise there was no one in the room at all.

“What ‘appened, Tink? I thought you said they were both in there!”

Tink barged into the room and was shocked to see that they’d both disappeared. “Bloody ‘ell. I swear’s to you, Taylor –they were right there!”

“I guess we’ll ‘ave to try tomorrow night then!”

“Phew, that means we’ll be able to get out of these bloody sheets!”

The next evening they elected to try again, this time without the sheets. It was far better to use trickery strange voices than show physical embodiments –the sheets were very unwieldy and, what was worse, the flour made them sneeze.

Sneaking stealthily up the stairs they were determined to get inside E.’s bedroom this night. Once inside they would be able to hide and throw their voices (or shout very loudly, if nothing else) and frighten E. into giving them money and food.

The bedroom door was ajar again and once again there was someone else inside with E. This time both men could see who it was. It was a giant of a man, dressed in a simple green robe, bordered with white fur showing his hairy chest. His hair was rich and curly too with a holly wreath atop. The man seemed merry but E. was anything but, cowering and shivering in front of him, despite a roaring fire.

“You have never seen the like of me before!” exclaimed the giant man.

“Never,” E. replied, cowering.

 “Have never walked forth with the younger members of my family; meaning (for I am very young) my elder brothers born in these later years?”

Tink looked at Taylor and shrugged as they shuffled back into the hall.

“Someone else is playing a number on old E.” Taylor hissed.

“Think it’s sumfink we can get a look in on?” Taylor replied.

“I dunno, ‘e looked a big bugger; I wouldn’t want to go messing in with him, would you?”

“There’s two of us…” Taylor chided.

“But there only needs to be one of ‘im! And god knows ‘oo else ‘e ‘as wif ‘im.” Tink explained. Taylor hadn’t thought of that so they took one last look into the room. To their shock and dismay neither the giant nor E. were there.

“Twice? This has happened twice to us now, Tink. Now I’m not a superstitious sort but there’s something goin’ on ‘ere, and there’s no mistake.”

“Look – ‘e’s left something behind, that giant bloke.” Tink said pointing to a sack by the fire. Inside the sack were two flowing robes, of the deepest green, that were similar to what the giant wore.

“Waste not, want not.” Taylor said, snatching the robes and giving one to Tink.

“Who know’s, maybe we can use these tomorrow.” Tink replied. “I say we give it one more try. Third times the charm, right?”

Dressed in their stately green robes Tink and Taylor were more than prepared to forego the haunting and march straight into E.’s room and demand recompense. They were obviously not the first people to have grievances against him but the way this was going there might not be any money left for them.

This third night they were ready to storm through his bedroom door and make a scene but to their dismay yet another person was already there. This time E. was actually kneeling to the stranger, who was shrouded in a deep black garment. Neither Tink nor Taylor could see his face but both had a sense of immense dread. The air around seemed far colder but that wasn’t the only reason they shook. They were about to leave when they heard E. implore the man.

““I fear you more than any spectre I have seen. But as I know your purpose is to do me good, and as I hope to live to be another man from what I was, I am prepared to bear you company, and do it with a thankful heart. Will you not speak to me?”

“Rather ‘im than me.” Tink whispered to Taylor who was still rooted to the spot. Tink turned to leave, but couldn’t. The man in the robe turned to them and pointed. Tink saw the arm stretch out in their direction and was horrified when he saw there was nothing but a skeletal hand; just bone.

“Nope – E. can keep ‘is money! I’m outta here!” And they both fled out into the Christmas Eve night. Behind them the room lay empty, the two men had somehow disappeared again!

Christmas Day was abysmal for Tink and Taylor. Their sweet trolley was on its last legs and there was no one about to buy any of their odd-tasting confectionary. The only thing that was in their favour were the green cloaks that they wore. They were about to call it a day and retreat to the local watering hole when they saw Mr E. storm up to them. Unfortunately there was nowhere for them to hide so they prepared themselves for his tongue-lashing.

“Gentlemen!! My fine, fine gentlemen!” Mr E. said, beaming; his arms outstretched in greeting.

“Does ‘e means us?” Tink asked Taylor.

“Can’t do!” Taylor replied and Mr E. clapped him on the back laughing.

“Native cockney wit, eh? Nothing else like it! Merry Christmas to you both!”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Mr Scrooge.” Tink and Taylor said in unison.

“Have you got any of those delicious sweets left? I should like to buy a load, if I may. They really are my favourite!” Tink and Taylor looked at each other, shocked by the revelation. They had to be dreaming!

“Of course, Sir. How much do you want?” Tink asked, after Taylor kicked him in the shins.

“Let me see… I know… I want to go into partnership with you two, actually. This could be a new venture for me! I’ve been such a sour old man, hated by all that I need a sweeter outlook on life –so what could be greater?” He laughed heartily again.

‘E’s gone of his rocker.’ Tink thought to himself and just nodded in agreement, not knowing what else to say. Taylor did the same.

“Humbug!” Scrooge suddenly exclaimed and Tink wondered what had happened to suddenly change the old bugger’s mind! “HUMBUG! That’s what I’m going to call these wonderful little sweets! HUMBUGS!!”

Taylor let out a sigh of relief and nodded. “That’s a very good idea, Mr Scrooge. Mint humbugs!”

“Mint? They were supposed to be mint?” With that Scrooge roared with laughter. “I thought they were meant to be lavender flavoured!! No matter, we can talk about that later on. Come back with me to my house, I’m feeling generous!”

And go back they did where Mr E. Scrooge bestowed upon them such gifts that they could hardly carry it all home with them: gold coins, mince pies, bottles of claret and a huge turkey! This was surely going to be the best Christmas yet!

And it would have been excepting that on the way home the two, slightly inebriated gentlemen found themselves accosted by a small group of ragamuffins; street urchins out for a quick buck.

“’Ere – what we got going on then? You coming to deliver us our presents then, gents?” The eldest of the lads said with a sly grin. He wore a large top hat obviously denoting his rank.

“We were on our way home… well, we are on our way home.” Tink replied nonchalantly. Taylor kicked him again.

“What my esteemed colleague means to say is that what is ours is yours!”

The urchins cheered and started to help themselves to the duo’s newly given treasure, much to Tink’s dismay.

“’ang on a minute! Time’s is tough for us all, lads –we’ve only just been given all this. You can’t take it all away from us else we’ll be no better off than you!”

“What do you mean?” Asked one of the smaller lads, finer faced with still a glimmer of innocence in eyes.

“We’re so poor I’ve even ‘ad to use me britches for kindling!” Tink replied. The lads laughed at that, and Taylor, seeing an opportunity chipped in.

“That’s right, lads. We don’t call ‘im nickerless for nuttin’! E’s so ‘umble, he should be sainted!”

“Saint Nickerless it is then, lads! Suits you, with that green coat an’ all! We’ll call you St Nickerless in future and leave you be, just don’t forget us when you makes it rich!” The top hatted youth said, grinning his cheeky grin. “And I’ll let you keep the turkey as well, just for making us laugh! Merry Christmas, gents!”

“Merry Christmas, boys!” Tink and Taylor replied. When the kids had run off they looked at each other and smiled.
“Well… we are going to need a workforce if the humbugs take off, like.” Taylor said, and Tink agreed. They still had the turkey and the business proposition to look forward to –it did indeed look as if things were going to pick up for them in future.

“’ere’s to you.” Taylor said, smiling. “And ‘ere’s to Scrooge ‘imself… an’ ‘ere’s to St Nickerless!”

One last lullaby

You may think me mad, and mad I am for it is death that I am waiting for –though it be a long time in coming; she will make sure of that. Each night she takes it from me in exquisite agony. Do you know that there is a point when sensation becomes so intense it is near impossible to tell pleasure from pain? I had heard this but never sought to discover whether it was true or not; now each night takes me further and further past that point and each night I become less of a man.

The story; my story started off with so much hope: a young man seeking his fortune, cock-sure of himself; born of poor parents who sent him out in the world with nothing more than a song in his heart, the clothes on his back and the luck of the ragged. I was a quick learner and educated myself by the road, picking up whatever language I could from those I passed. You have heard this story many times, I’m sure, but I was happy to be the living testament to it – I believed most strongly that we create our own luck; and for a time this was true.

I had many adventures –the life of a vagabond is varied and no two days are the same. One day you can be sleeping under the stars with a roasted coney in your belly and a warm fire by your side, the next hiding from the local militia in a cave, shivering ‘mongst the cold and slimy walls. Hardships I could always endure for it was those that made the good times so much sweeter.

And there were good times; there was always wine, good food and women if you knew how to look and how to take! I was blessed with good looks and a boyish charm that hid the cold nature of my inner most. It was easy to tell the young girls what they wanted to hear in the various villages on the way and then leave when I had taken my fill with nary a thought to them excepting a notch on my walking crook.

But it was whilst I was sitting minding my own at the local inn at Dunninsford where I met him that was to change my life. I had recently charmed a few crowns out of a local doxy who took a shining to me –she believed my sob story about my parents dying; gave me a lay for free and the crowns to boot. (All I can say is that she can’t have been on the game for long; most other scut’s I know have raised their cynicism up to the level of an art form!) I was quietly smug and took no notice to the other people that were around me –I found it best to mind my own. Trouble only finds you if you go looking for it (or so I thought at the time). Consequently I didn’t see the man eyeing me; sizing me up –it could have been for a casket or to mark me as a fool.  In the end it could well have been for both of those as he turned to me and asked a simple question.

“How would you like to earn the wages of a Prince for doing no more work than a pauper?” I looked at him: the eyes bedevilled and bloodshot, recessed in a hollow stare; a stubbled and fear etched face hiding the clothes of a noble man, no less. These were no rags of a street seller or beggar but fine silks and embroidery. His hair was finely cut too; albeit bestraggled and unkept. I turned away from him and laughed briefly.

“There’s nout you can spin me that I haven’t tried myself, mate; nothing you could give me that you wouldn’t steal back when my back was turned. I’ve been doing this too long; go back to your pint and I to mine and we’ll both be much better off.” I replied but he weren’t having any of it.

“This is no joke. I have need of a strong, smart man… with his wits about him and that can hold his own.” He explained, motioning to the bar keep to serve drinks to the both of us. He tipped the bar man in gold. “You can see I have wealth; I have no need to rob you of yours.”

“Having wealth don’t mean you’re not desiring of more. In some ways it just makes you more determined.” I replied, nodding to the barman for the beer. I drank the first mouth full and knew that I had nothing else to lose by hearing this man out so I turned back to him and bade him continue.

“Well, I am determined. Determined to live at all costs… and this is where you can help me, and for doing nothing than to watch me sleep.” I laughed at this and immediately realised what he was getting at.

“I ain’t no god-cursed buggering soddomite. I suggest you leave now, matey whilst you still can.”

“You misunderstand me, Sir. I ask for nothing more than what I have said already –someone to watch over me and protect me whilst I sleep…” His eyes glassed over, the gaze pleading.

“You have made enemies then?” I ventured.

“Yes; enemies that would think twice if they saw another watching over me. You have arms of your own? Weapons?”

“No… save a small paring knife.” I lied. One of the first rules is to lie regarding weapons. If people know what you are carrying then you are easily disarmed; the less they know the more damage you will be able to do should the need arise.

“That’s ok; I have plenty. God willing you won’t need them.. .but it always pays to be forewarned.” There was a slight twitch in his eye when he said that but I thought nothing of it. “It could be dangerous, but you will be well rewarded when all is done. In the meantime you will live in my humble abode and what is mine will be yours until the job is over. Is this agreeable to you?” I nodded and finished my beer in a few gulps before being shown to the man’s abode –a castle no less!

Gerbert of Auriliac was a man of means –or at least his father was; and it was actually his son that I was to oversee the next few nights –he had wanted to keep his son’s reputation free from scandal, hence the lies.. Gerbert’s father, Raymond, explained to me that his son had become infatuated with the beautiful daughter of a local university dean. So enraptured had he become that even when she turned him down, due to his lowly birth-right and lack of social standing, he took matters into his own hand.

We had just entered the castle threshold and upon hearing this information I stopped before Raymond shut the door behind me.

“Now look; vagabond I may be but I’ll not actively break the laws so flagrantly –especially not when witnesses abound. I won’t do anything that’ll end me up in jail.” I said.

“No.. Please don’t think he did anything like that.” He looked shocked as if the very prospect was abhorrent to him. I bade him continue, mollified by his apparent genuineness. “He wanted her to love him more than anything in the world, but he’s not practical. I’m afraid his mother doted on him too much when he was a child and filled his head with all the wrong notions. She had leanings towards… witchcraft, would you believe? And this is how much I am trusting you now, young sir, for such a thing could ruin me if it became knowledge. Would I part with such if I were going to trick or double cross you?”

“It depends on whether I would be alive by the end of this transaction.” I replied.

“I give you my word – you will not be harmed by either myself or my son. We have no wish to see harm come to you at all!”

“Very well then; go on with your tall tale.”

“I wish it were such; alas..” He replied, closing the heavy wrought door. The castle seemed very quiet, haunted even. The walls dense with despair and dampness; it seemed far colder within than it did outside. “Are you hungry, Sir?” Raymond asked, changing tack before telling me any more of the story. I hadn’t eaten for a while and one of the rules of the road is never turn down the offer of a meal so I shook my head. He led me to the kitchen and found some joints of meat.

“No kitchen staff or servants? Are you that hard up?” I asked.

“No; I have given them time to themselves. They were distraught over what was happening to my son and he needs peace and protection not people cloying over him.” This didn’t ring true but I had no reason to doubt what he said; I made a mental note and bade him continue with the narrative regarding his son. “Gerbert became infatuated with this lady and, through his mother’s contacts, sought out a wild woman from the woods around here. You know the sort I mean, I take it.” I nodded; some were indeed wild; though not all of them wise. “She made him a draught; a love potion which he succeeded in slipping into her wine one evening. Since then she has visited him at all times of the night; though God knows how. I have taken great pains to lock the castle down each night but she still manages to torment him. That is why I have come to you; a man of the world, who has seen many things on his travels. Can you help me? Can you help my son?”

I thought this over. I knew the strength of some of these potions and philtres; some were indeed intoxicating –some people said that they could even grant spirit powers to those who desperately needed them. Could such a thing have happened here by mistake? I doubted this very much; no doubt it would be little more than a love-stricken harlot that could easily be dissuaded by someone of a much more manly physique. Who knows, this might even be fun! I agreed and a princely sum of one purse of gold pieces was agreed and I was shown up to Gerbert’s room, up in the tallest tower. How anything, let alone any slip of a girl, find their way up there during the day time –let alone at night- was a testament indeed. I was given a rather uncomfortable chair to sit on, level with Gerbert’s head and told to watch over him whilst he slept.

Gerbert was already asleep and his pallor was as white as the stone that lined his room; had he not moaned at that precise moment I would have thought the deed over before it had begun. Raymond left me then and wished me luck, for his son’s sake. I nodded and started my vigil. I wasn’t concerned for I was, as the father had surmised, well-travelled and would easily be able to handle whatever life threw at me. What a fool I was!

It was to be a quiet night. Nothing happened for at least the first few hours and I admit that I fell asleep very quickly. I knew there was no truth to the story I had been told, knew not why I had been chosen for such a task but was happy, nonetheless, to take the man’s money.

Whether it was the intense cold that surrounded me or the sound of such tortured moaning that woke me up I’m not sure, but wake I did. What I saw astonished me!

Gerbert writhing in what I assumed to be the throes of sexual ecstasy until I saw the look of terror on his face –he was still asleep! I tried to shake him awake, ashamed that I had fallen asleep and hoped that I could make amends. Strangely enough my hands gripped something else instead of Gerbert’s shoulders –something far more lithe and scaly! There was something lying on top of Gerbert and it was attacking him somehow, forcing him to do things. I had no clear thoughts of what to do; it can’t have been the woman that Raymond had told me about as the door to the bedroom was still closed and there was no way anyone could have scaled the walls.

I moved around the bed quickly to try and see if there was anything interfering with him; to my horror there was. There was… something straddling Gerbert, I could see an outline against the open window and the stars outside. This form was writhing and bucking against his naked body causing him no end of pain. He cried out again and I did the only thing I could; grabbed at the.. thing and pulled it off of him. It was surprisingly light and again there was the feeling of cold scales where it should have been skin. I was horrified and backed off when it suddenly revealed itself to me.

It was female; that I could discern in the gloom but it had wings! I could feel the currents of air beat me as it hovered in front of me. There were indeed scales where there should have been flesh and it looked at me and leered. What had I done? What was I a party to?

“That was foolish, mortal.” It leered at me, the voice rasping from hell itself. “He was a willing slave to me but by interrupting us you have become my next and I have a feeling your torments will be longer lasting still. Until tomorrow.” And then it furled its wings around itself, the air around it shimmered before it disappeared. I went to see if Gerbert was ok but felt my head go light, my body went numb and I just felt myself fall in to a place that had no end.

I woke thinking that only a few minutes had passed, but upon trying to move my limbs I realised that I could not. Opening my eyes I realised that I was in the same bed that Gerbert had occupied and my arms and legs were now chained to the posts. I was naked as well, the bed clothes barely covering me. The window had been blocked up with stone but I could see Raymond sitting on the chair that I had sat at just a few hours ago and Gerbert stood by the door looking at me with pity.

“I did not tell you the whole truth, after all.” Raymond explained, his voice little more than a whisper. “How could I? What would you have done, had you known?”

“What have you done?” I shouted and thrashed violently, trying to extricate myself. “What’s going on?”

“You’re quite secure there; there’s no escaping. I’m sorry.” And he was, as strange as it might sound, he was genuinely sorry. “I told you half-truths, I’m afraid. My son did go to a wild woman when his beloved scorned him, but she did not give him a love potion; for that was not what he wanted. He wanted to be free of the lust that plagued him and sought the services of a succubus that could drain him of those energies so he could live a normal life. However he knew not what he was asking; indeed even the wild woman did not understand his request, had she done I’m sure she would have dissuaded him of such an action.”

“That was a succubus that I interfered with?” I shouted, cursing my own stupidity; of course it was! What else could it have been, and why the hell hadn’t I realised it before?

“You see, even you –a mere tramp knows of the dangers of such a spirit. So, why then didn’t my son? Why should he suffer for such ignorance?”

“So I’m to suffer instead?” I asked, trying my best to talk my way out of this.

“No doubt you have done much worse in your life; how many people have you used for your own purposes?”

“But you’re condemning me to death!”

“So that my son can live. For a father there are no depths I won’t plunder; you would feel the same, I’m sure. No one knows you are here and no one will miss you when you’re gone. The same can not be said of my Son, who will grow to great things now. Thanks to your sacrifice he will live to be pure of heart and noble of purpose. Can the same be said of you?”

“You said that I would be unharmed!” I snapped as a last desperate gamble.

“And neither my son nor myself have or will harm you. To be fair, neither will the succubus; all she offers is love after all.” He looked at me one last time before leaning over and kissing me on the forehead. “I thank you for your sacrifice. You will not be forgotten”. He then walked to the door, ushering his son to do the same.

I then hear the sound of the door being blocked up; now that his son had been rescued it was safe for Raymond’s servants to return –he did not wish them to be victim’s themselves. Oh no; far better to be some traveller that no one would ever miss to bear the burden!

So I wait, chained to this bed, and I can tell that the hour is getting close again. They say that the kiss of a succubus is to die for, but death is often the last thing she will bring. Madness and delirium first, followed by exhaustion –only when there is nothing more to take will she leave one last lullaby; a kiss before dying.

The Meldings (8) - The Handle

“What can you tell me about Granma Josephine?” Smidge asked her mum and watched as the colour drained from her face. Less than half an hour had passed since Smidge had woken up from a three week coma. Three weeks? For Smidge only hours had elapsed since escaping from the trap that the school bully, Gert, had set for her. Gert had made her life hell ever since Smidge had moved to a new school and had almost succeeded in killing her and her mother at least twice.

Smidge, who had been gifted with the ability to open ‘magic’ doorways from one place to another, had tried confronting Gert by pushing her into an unattached room, but Gert had somehow escaped, leaving the room to disintegrate around her. Smidge found herself in a limbo and had met her Grandmother, of all people, who had been trapped for years –apparently ever since her mother had sent her there. Smidge barely got out with her life; but there was something else there ‘behind’ her Grandmother that was immensely powerful. When she escaped from the limbo Smidge found herself back in her own bed only to be told that three weeks had elapsed. Now she wanted answers to what had been going on and the cornerstone to that was finding out about Grandma Josephine. Mrs Norn was there, she looked at Smidge’s mum and nodded.

“So you both know.” Smidge said trying to curb her anger.

“I think that its best you tell her, Julia.” Mrs Norn said. Smidges mum sighed.

“I’m sorry, darling – part of me wanted to tell you when you were old enough; but the rest of me hoped it would never come to this. It nearly missed me.”

“But it didn’t miss you, did it, mum?”

“No. I guess I was just trying to be overprotective.”

“What happened?” Smidge snapped.

“I think you should calm down a bit, Smidge.” Mrs Norn replied.

“Don’t call me Smidge. I don’t know you anymore –the person I thought you were would never have set me up the way you did.”

“I’m sorry, Sarah. You’re right, but this is hard for us all.” Mrs Norn replied.

“You say that, but how do I know unless you tell me?” Smidge looked back to her mum again. “Tell me, Julia. Tell me what I need to know.” Smidge regretted the look of hurt in her mum’s eye but knew that it was the only way to find out the truth.

“The woman you met in limbo was your Gran. Josephine was my mum.”

“Is your mum, surely?” Smidge interrupted.

“I don’t know who you met but my mother is dead. She couldn’t accept that the Gift was not a birth rite; it only passed to those who were deemed worthy.” Julia paused, waiting to see whether Smidge was going to make a snide comment and then continued. “I often wondered why mother used to keep such a tight rein on me; she never let me out of her sight until I met your father. Quite what she was thinking I’ll never know, but I knew nothing of the gift until I found it whilst in a car accident.

“It was our second date –your father and I- the car must have hit some spilt diesel; we spun and then somersaulted out of control on the A23 after being slammed into by a van. We couldn’t get out of the car; it was on its side and the seatbelts were barely holding us. God knows how, but I wasn’t hurt badly and managed to get out of my seat belt.. your father wasn’t quite so lucky, he had badly broken his leg and arm due to the impact and he was in a bad way.

“I knew we had to get out but had no idea what to do; I’m afraid at that stage I was panicking, my mind had just gone blank. The next thing I knew we were outside the car, both your father and I and in my hand was the handle; the same handle that you now use. Why it chose that particular time to appear I have no idea but it saved us both.”

Smidge could hardly believe what she was hearing, it all seemed so fantastical but made perfect sense to her now. Mrs Norn confirmed what she had already surmised.

“The handle chose that time to materialise because your mind was of one clear intent –to get out. Up until that point your mother had over-shadowed you and you would not have been allowed to use it properly.”

“Yes, that’s what I thought.” Smidge replied, nodding.

“You’ve grown up so much, Smidge; I barely recognise my daughter now.” Her mum replied, trying to hold back the tears.

“Please tell me more, mum –what happened next?”

“I couldn’t tell your father what had happened; there was no way he would understand it –I barely understood it myself. I asked the only one I could go to; the only one I had ever gone to –my mother.. and that’s where things fell apart.

“The look on her face when I showed her the handle… I’ve never seen such twisted hatred; she didn’t care what had happened to me, all she saw was the handle in my hand. The fact that I nearly died meant nothing to her –all she asked was why I was holding on to her birth-right. She accused me of stealing from her, usurping what was rightfully hers.”

“What did you do?” Smidge asked, shocked by the revelation.

“Nothing I did, nothing I said made any difference – she actually threw me out; that very night. I had no one else to go to. The only person I could think of was my old geography teacher; someone who had always been there for me in college –Mrs Norn.”

“So you were mum’s teacher as well?” Smidge asked Mrs Norn.

“I wasn’t very good at Geography, which is why I changed to RI.”

“You can’t be that old.” Smidge replied, bemused by this change of events.

“I’ll take that as a compliment…. But I think I can clear some of your confusion. I was sent to watch over your mother, as I have been over you. My role has always been only to advise, not to get involved –unless certain circumstances prevailed.”

“Like now.”

“Yes… like now.” Sarah turned back to her mum.

“So what caused the confrontation?”

“What confrontation?” Julia replied.

“Well, I’m guessing that something had to happen for your mum, Nana Josephine, to get banished to limbo like that. I’m guessing it had something to do with dad?”

“Yes. Your nan couldn’t get it out of her head that the handle, and the power that it represented wasn’t hers –it was never supposed to be hers- and through her rage, her feelings of betrayal, something.. contacted her.”

“This is the Sunder?” Smidge interrupted. Julia and Mrs Norn looked at each other.

“Yes. Somehow the Sunder knew of Josephine’s desires; her hatred of me and it used that for its own ends. I knew nothing of this, and had moved in with your father. We got married and never heard from your nan for months after that, or so I thought. What I didn’t know was she had been… talking to your father on the sly, without telling me…. Filling him with stories about me and the power behind the handle. Mrs Norn had been training me by that stage and I could consciously open doorways; doing my best to keep it away from your dad. He didn’t believe in anything that couldn’t be explained by science so I didn’t try.

“One day he didn’t return from work and I received a phone call from your nan saying that he was with her. He wanted a divorce because I had been holding out on him. She had obviously been telling him that the handle and all it represented was evil and they wanted to stage some kind of intervention to get me to see sense.

“I went over to see her, unsure of what would be waiting for me. I was pregnant with you at that time and he didn’t want the mother of his child to be trafficking with anything demonic. The stuff that was coming out of his mouth.. it wasn’t like him at all; she had managed to pervert him completely, or rather the Sunder had. He tried to take the handle off of me but couldn’t. He forced me to make a choice between him or the power behind the handle. I chose him, obviously –what else was I to do? I had lost my mother to the responsibility… this burden that lies behind the handle; I couldn’t lose him as well.

“She… she tried to take it; snatch it away from me and we struggled for it. I fell awkwardly, badly… somehow I opened a doorway without thinking where it was going and I just wanted to send the handle there where it could cause no more pain. She lunged for it, tried to stop me from doing this but.. fell through the rift…. I’ve never seen her again.”

“Couldn’t you find her?”

“How could I? I just opened the door blindly, not thinking of an exit point.” Julia hung her head and cried.

“What happened then?”

“Your father took me to hospital; he was worried about you, about the scuffle… but after that he left me. Once you were safe he just left; he couldn’t reconcile what had happened and his part in it all. He couldn’t bear the guilt and just left… so I did lose him as well in the long run. Soon after that you were born and I tried to forget about everything that happened and prayed that you’d never have to endure anything like it yourself.”

“Oh mum… I’m so sorry… I never realised.” Smidge said, sobbing now.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. I should have told you all this before now, but I just wanted to protect you.” They hugged and Mrs Norn just looked on passively, knowing far more than she let on.

After a while, when Smidge had dried her eyes, she knew that now was the time for healing and answers.

“Mrs Norn – I’ve had enough of this. This has gone on long enough; you know far more than you’re telling. I want to know what the handle is; what the power is that it represents. And you’re going to tell me now or I will give it back to Limbo and make sure that the Sunder knows where it is. So for the last time… tell me now.”

Sprung

“Typical… bloody typical…” Simeon thought; if he hadn’t been bleeding out he might have seen the funny side of things and laughed at the absurdity of it all, but as it was he hurt too much for that. The blood was now soaking into his vest and topcoat, his once pristine white corset stained black in the gaslight. He could still taste the clove-rock sweet he had been sucking on only minutes before, now lost amidst the struggle. Simeon knew he only had himself to blame; court the devil and this is what comes of it, but how could he have foreseen it would end like this?

He cast his gaze through the fogged night to when he first concocted their strange plan. To all intents and purposes it had started out as a jape, something to pass the endless tedium of life under ‘Her Great Majesty, the fat glob of lard, Queen Victoria’.

It was his idea to take his Grandfathers mantel and reform the Hellfire Club. He was a Dashwood and lived up the name in personality and epitomised the description; so much so that he wanted to surpass his Grandfather. Whilst Sir Frances Dashwood’s ‘Order of the Friars of St Francis of Wycombe’ (in its more colourful nomenclature) was merely interested in senseless wenching, banqueting and drunken debauchery (all under a pathetic pagan / demonic mockery) Simeon was more of a prankster, wanting to cause an upset to the social structure he so detested.

He had formed the group from friends that he’d known (or picked up) over the years; they all detested royalty and the matriarchal clutches. The believed in chaos, freedom and anarchy. ‘Do what thou wilt’ was foremost in their mind and their motto, especially when it came to Simeon’s latest brainwave. Despite their growing notoriety of being delinquent malcontents they never actually did anything daring to deserve their reputation and this rankled Simeon; he wanted to change that.

His idea was to create a series of pranks that would strike fear and discord in to the hearts of the so-called Elite society. The pranks would be harmless in themselves but unsettling, and it was decided that it would be best to create a new monster that could terrorise London in the same way that the Hammersmith Ghost had some years did before. All were keen enthusiasts of Gothic horror and between them the devil himself was conjured.

“We need a disguise; an identity that can protect us from being discovered.” Simeon said, his jaw square set in determination. Asa was less than enthusiastic.

“Us? Why us? It’s your damn idea.” Asa was the sickly relative of the group, less of a hell raiser and more of a milksop. He was Simeon’s fag from university and time had done nothing to extricate him from the shadow.

“For three reasons, my dear Asa.” Simeon sneered. “For anonymity and alibi. If we all play the part we can all vouch for each other and the witness statements will differ when they come to describe the physical characteristics of this scoundrel.”

“And the third reason?” Bennet asked.

“Well… If I’m going down I want to ensure that I take you all with me!”

Bennet laughed hard. “Well… in that case, I’m in! All for one and no one gets hung!” Out of them Bennet was the most sure of himself. Short and squat he might have been but he had the luxury of being comfortable in his own skin –a rare thing in Victorian London. He didn’t suffer from little-man’s syndrome and nor did he suffer fools gladly –which is why he clashed with the sycophantic Asa.  He was most similar in his personality to Simeon, whom he grew up with, in all but one way: he had a conscience.

“So what kind of disguise are you thinking of?” Bertram asked. He enjoyed a laugh, but being rake thin and prone to acne he lacked the strength of his convictions, and although he was tallest in the group he felt woefully inadequate. Bennet was the only one who noticed this and stuck up for him.

“Just wait and see.” Simeon said with obvious relish and ducked behind an ornate vanity screen.

“He’s gone off the deep end this time!” Jasper remarked. Even though his parents were far richer than the others in the circle people gave him none of the respect he thought he deserved. He was, what would be termed later as, an upper class twit; the lisp and monocle that perched snugly into his chubby face did nothing to dispel this image.

“Thut up, Jathper.” Asa spat back. “If you’ve got a better idea then out with it!”

“I didn’t say I had a better idea… but it’s lame; even you have to admit to that!”

“Lame or not, it might still have some legs on it.” Bennet replied.

“You do know that I can hear everything you’re saying, don’t you.” Simeon said from behind the screen.

“Hurry up, you bespwaling idiot!” Bennet shouted back.

“Don’t you know that you can’t rush perfection? Good things come to those who wait!” With that Simeon kicked back the screen. He was greeted by stunned silence before the guffaws and bellows of laughter took over. And with good reason: he was dressed in a tight fitting black oilskin, thick black trousers, a large black cloak –which he had splayed outwards- and a black helmet with two small, what looked to be, bat wings protruding from the top. He also had red glassed circular spectacles and some kind of clawed gloves on. The oilskin had thick white lines on it that traced where his ribcage would have been, making him look like walking skeleton.. The laughter still hadn’t died down.

“It will look better after dark, mark my words.” Simeon promised, hiding his embarrassment as best he could.

The intention was to instil fear in the upper classes, to create a stalking terror that could strike on the unwary at any time. The attacks would be totally at random, further seeding the feeling of helplessness; anyone could be the next victim.

Simeon was the first to take the mantel as it was his idea. It was mid-October and out of the five members of the club Simeon was the most sensibly dressed for the cold, as the costume –garish as it was- was extremely warm. The rest of them just shuddered and shivered amongst the bushes on Clapham Common.

Despite the late hour there were still people crossing on their way to Lavender Hill, but despite how many times Bennet or Jasper ventured to pick the first victim Simeon was resolute. He had a specific type in mind and the victim had to be perfect. This gave Bennet the first inkling that maybe everything wasn’t as random as Simeon had made it out to be.

They then heard the familiar sound of worn boots clomping on the pavement towards them. From the footfall it was a woman, possibly on the rotund side, she sounded out of sorts as if after a long, hard day at work.

“This is her.” Simeon whispered and tensed himself for the leap.

The girl never knew what happened. In an instant Simeon was all over her, tightly pinning her arms to her side, he began to lick her face all over like an animal about to devour its prey; whispering all the while: “Lovely… you’re lovely. Jack’s a lucky boy.” He then used his claws to rip at her clothes, leaving red welts over her distended body. As it turned out, much to the ignorance of the other fellows, the girl, Mary Stevens, was heavily pregnant. Mary screamed and Simeon pushed her over before disappearing into the bushes.

Due to the foggy darkness none of the other men had an inkling what had really happened, all were trying their best to contain their mirth at this new form of entertainment. They quickly ran from the prostrate, screaming girl and were jockeying as to who would be the next one to wear the costume.

It was Asa’s turn the next day and they deliberately picked dusk when the light was failing so that people would have difficulty noticing that the size and shape of the assailant was different. This time Asa bungled the attempt at jumping out at someone; it had been a swarthy sailor rather than a woman –the red glasses made it difficult for him to see clearly. The sailor actually gave chase and Asa narrowly avoided being run over by a fast approaching carriage. The coachman lost control of the horses and nearly ran over the sailor, prompting more merriment that evening. The costume was proving to be a complete success!

The character received its christening the next day for its fleetness of foot. Bertram read out the headlines of the first story: ‘Terror in London –Spring heeled killer on the loose.” But he was then shocked by what he read further down the page.

“Christ! We’ve gone too far, Simeon. That bird you jumped out on was pregnant!”

“So? How was I to know?”

“She lost the baby, Simeon!”

“So? She lost it… it was either that or it would have been born a bastard as she would no doubt have died in childbirth. I probably did the silly bitch a favour!” Bertram, not normally known for his temper, slammed Simeon in the jaw. “I take it this means that none of you wish to take part in this grand venture anymore?”

“Do you think us fools? This is tantamount to murder! Can’t you understand that?” Bertram insisted.

“So you don’t want to hear the latest wheeze then?” Simeon replied, incredulous.

“What are you talking about?” Jasper enquired.

“Ahem.. ‘I came from pandemonium, if they get me I’ll go back; Meanwhile I’ll jump, Spring-heeled Jack.”

“You’re crazy!” Bertram concluded.

“Hardly; it’s a stroke of genius. I even sent a copy to the Times. London will be up in arms.”

“I want nothing more of this.” Bennet made the gesture to show that he washed his hands of the whole affair and walked out; the rest of them followed suit, except Asa.

“Spineless milksops.” Simeon shouted out when they’d gone.

“You should have told them, Simeon.” Asa said when he was sure there was no one else to overhear. “You should have at least told Bennet.”

“Oh shut up, Asa.”

Days passed into weeks; Bennet did his best to forget about Simeon and his ‘creation’; that is until he was paid a visit by Asa and things became clearer.

There was a knock on Simeon’s door; it was late and he was about to go out on one of his drunken debaucheries. Checking through the spyhole he saw it was Bennet.

“Tell me why I should let you in.” He asked imperiously.

“Fais ce que tu voudrais.” Bennet replied in a monotone; it was their secret passcode. Simeon opened the door and walked down the corridor, Bennet closed it behind him.

“Ha – ‘do what thou wilt indeed’ Your the only one that truly understood that, Bennet.” Simeon carried on, walking into his lavish parlour. “Have you seen the latest? There are even reports of Jack as far away as Sussex! Now unless one of the milksops have tried to beat me at my own game, it looks as if we have a copycat! What do you think of that, Bennet? Eh?”

It was Bennet’s time to strike Simeon now, hard. “You bastard. You never told us that you’d laid Mary Stevens! That was your baby that you.. killed that evening!”

“He told you, didn’t he? That fucking mutton-shunter, Asa. Still, no matter. What are you going to do about it?”

“Take you to the peelers.”

“I can’t see you doing that.” Simeon replied smugly. “You wouldn’t want to be implicated as an accessory, would you? You’d all go down with me, I can assure you of that.”

“Bastard.” Bennet replied, but Simeon was right. “Do anything more like this and I’ll kill you myself.”

“I’ve stopped, Bennet! Didn’t you hear me? I…” But Bennet had already left.

Later on that night, walking back to his apartment after a grand evening, Simeon was firmly in his cups and sucking contentedly on his favourite sweet, a Clove Rock. He had hated growing up, his parents never had any time for him; the thought of having a child of his own sent shivers down his spine; especially one from such a lower caste. Still, part of him regretted killing it.

It was then that he heard a rustle in the bushes beside him.

“Hello?” The rustling continued, in front of him this time. “I can assure you that this is not in the least bit amusing.” He carried on walking, intent on ignoring whatever it was.

Suddenly something leapt out at him with great force; the size and shape of a large man. It knocked him to the ground.

“Fuck!” Simeon shouted. “Is that you, Bennet? Is this your idea of retribution?”

He was quickly grabbed from behind and lifted up in one swift motion, spun round, as if he was nothing. Simeon now faced the visage of a fiend from hell. The face was more like a rodents with long protruding teeth, thick bushy moustache and flaming red eyes.

“Jeesus Christ!” Simeon shrieked. “What the hell are you?”

“You can call me Jack.”

The Meldings (7) Revolution

When she was younger Sarah Midgen (affectionately known as Smidge) loved roller coasters; the exhilaration and adrenaline rush –there was nothing else like it. That was until her mother took her on The Revolution at Blackpool’s Pleasure Beach –a simple loop-the-loop with a twist that Sarah never saw coming.

After completing the first loop Sarah turned to her mother and said: “That was great! We’re getting off now, yeah?” Her mum just shook her head.

“You are about to experience the Revolution 360° looping roller-coaster…” went the sudden tannoy announcement. “BACKWARDS.”

Smidge looked over her shoulder in horror as the cars behind her juddered and then moved in a contrary direction to the one she wanted to go in. The worst part was when she saw the cars disappear, knowing that any second hers would be next.

This highlighted just how little control she really had over her life. True, there was no real difference between the two experiences; they were perfectly safe (if anything the reverse experience was even more thrilling) but it was the unexpected development and the fact that her mum had hidden that knowledge from her. It made her feel helpless.

All this was brought back to her in an instant as she now found herself falling backwards again; but into what? Things had been mirroring the Revolution ride recently: Sarah had been gifted with the ability to open doorways between places and while it had been helpful in escaping the school bully, Gert; there wasn’t much use for it at first. Then Gert took her revenge by trapping her mum and two friends in a fire; it was through quick thinking that Smidge had used the handle to escape once again. That was the last straw for Smidge, she forced a confrontation and pushed Gert into a newly formed ‘room’ to try and understand why all this was happening, but things didn’t go as planned. Gert now had a similar ability herself; one that had been given to her by another entity.

Gert also knew what happened to her mum (which was more than Smidge knew), she then disappeared leaving Sarah alone. It was then that the room started to putrefy quickly, too quickly for her to make the door outwards. The next thing she knew Smidge was falling.

The feelings of helplessness welled up again, threatening to overtake her once more, but Smidge realised that she had to keep things under control. Nothing untoward had happened yet and it was only the fear of the unknown that made things difficult… but that was what life was all about –living in the moment. It was only a fool who knew exactly what was going to happen from one moment to the next. Life was about living with the unknown, at least that was what her mum had said, and making friends with the darkness. Maybe her mum knew more than she had let on and in her own way she had been preparing Smidge for these ordeals.

Suddenly the sense of falling stopped… but there was no ground; nothing solid to fall on to. She was just suspended weightless. Smidge could move her hands, legs, feet; everything worked as it should do but there was no feeling of motion. All around her was creeping blackness and moving her limbs through it was like wading through treacle.

Smidge stopped trying and focused on what she knew. She had this special ability that allowed her to open doorways if there was something physical on which she could create a door. This was a gift that her mum had once possessed but something had happened and she either walked away from it or it had been taken away from her. Gert alluded to this, but what about Gert herself?

She started out as just another bully but Smidge had managed to get even with her and thought that had made them equal. It couldn’t be further from the truth, things had escalated fast and it now seemed that Gert had acquired a similar power to hers.

Wait a minute. It wasn’t a doorway that Gert created but a tear; a rent in the room which then caused it to disintegrate. It was an opposite force; the antithesis to her power which could be conceived as a joining of spaces.

Suddenly she had a flash of a single, simple image in her mind: a circle with two parts; one black fish swimming after a white fish. The black fish had a white eye and the white fish had a black dot for an eye.

“Sarah… is that you?” Came a soft voice from the nowhere, interrupting her vision.

“Mum?” Smidge asked with a shimmer of hope, but then she realised that although there was a similarity to her mum’s voice it was actually older; slightly harsher with an edge to it. She was also aware that she had just given away her presence to whatever was out there.

“No, I’m your Nana, dear. Nana Joesephine.”

“What are you doing here? Where is here?” Smidge had never met her Nan –on either side. Mum never talked about her mum at all, it was as if she never existed. So what was she doing here now?

“I’ve been here ever since your mum cast me down here fifteen years ago; and I need your help to get me back.” There was much that didn’t make sense: how did her mum send Joesephine here? Why would she? Was this linked to the bigger picture that no one wanted to tell her about? Someone owed her an explanation when she got out; Smidge needed to know the truth!

But getting out was the primary goal now; she needed something to focus on. There was too much… nothing around which made it difficult for her to focus her concentration; that was the source of her power.

“Will you help me, Sarah?” It seemed that, whatever it was, it didn’t want her to focus; but she could still work this to her advantage.

“How do I know that you’re my Gran?” Smidge didn’t want to use the word Nana just yet, it just didn’t feel right; it was too creepy.

“My name is Joesephine Bell; I’m your grandmother, Sarah. Even though we’ve never met you feel it to be true, don’t you?”

“Go on. Tell me about my mum and why you think she sent you here. Why would she do that? What did you do to her?”

“Don’t take that tone of voice with me, young lady!” The voice suddenly betrayed its true character, snapping that way. Smidge had deliberately bated it and now she was a little frightened by its reply. Whatever it was, she now knew it to be malevolent.

“I’m sorry… Nana…. Please tell me. I’ve never been told anything about you.” Smidge realised that it was best to play it safe now; find as much as she could until such time as she could escape.

“Your mother took possession of a power that was rightfully mine; one that I believe you currently weld, Sarah. It’s a wondrous power that opens all sorts of doors.” The voice chuckled and Sarah laughed along, even though she felt chilled to the marrow.

“Please can I see you, Nana; I so want to see you. It’s unfair that we’ve been parted for so long.”

“I don’t see why not –you’re right that it’s not fair that you’ve never seen your Nana with your own eyes.” A form materialised out of the darkness. Again, at first glance, it seemed to be the vision of her mum but the woman was far older, more haggard in the face and body; with a hollowness in her eyes. “The power you have allows you to pull together the Memory Palace; it will allow me to become whole. Your mother didn’t want that to happen; she chose her husband over me and damned me to this hell. You wouldn’t do that to me, would you, dear?”

It was obvious that there was much her gran wasn’t telling Smidge (if it truly was her gran); and she was speaking to her as if to a child, which really rankled her.  Seeing her gran in front of her made things around her seem more solid. For the first time since she arrived in limbo she knew she could get out.. and how.

“Of course not, Nana. What’s more I can help you get out.”

“Oh, dearest; if only you could.. Do you still have the handle on you?”

“No.. I don’t need it anymore.”

“Really? That is news.. good news, as well. You’re progressed more than we expected.” We, thought Smidge; this had suddenly taken a much darker turn. Smidge should never have mentioned not needing the handle. She had to get out; now.

“I can open a doorway that will help you back to the Memory Palace.” Smidge replied, not missing a beat. This would require firecracker timing; she’d never attempted something like this before. It was through her fear and desire to see her mum again that gave her the added focus she needed.

She felt the air around her become more solid as her gran walked towards her, the air shimmering around her like a petrol haze. Smidge opened the door and waited for her gran to start walking through it. Without warning Smidge suddenly pushed her gran through the open door before slamming it shut behind her. Her hands tingled from touching her.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she opened the next door, imagining her mum and Mrs Norn.  As she walked through she suddenly saw the fleeting image of her gran running towards her, her clawed hand swiping through Smidge as the door closed around her to blackness.

When Smidge opened her eyes she realised that she was back home in her own bed, with her mum staring intently at her.

“Thank God, Smidge! Thank God that you’re back; we were so worried about you!” They hugged, tears streaming down both their cheeks. How had Smidge managed to get back in her own bed like this, and why was her mum looking so relieved?

“What’s wrong, mum? Why the tears? How long have I been here?”

“You mustn’t worry, darling. Everything is going to be fine now that you’re back.”

“Mother… tell me!”

“You’ve been like this.. unrespon… away from us… for three weeks.”