Horror Showcase

  Horror Showcase

  By Stuart Neild, Ian Woodhead & Dave Jeffery

  Spicy Meat, Two Skins, Beg the Other Man, Sewing Lessons ©Ian Woodhead 2010

  The Smoking Assassin, Special Boy, The Return of Borley Rectory, So You Think You’re a Werewolf? ©Stuart Neild 2010

  Daddy Dearest, The Last Rose of Summer, Wish You Were Here?

  Foresight ©Dave Jeffery

  Cover Design: Michelle Woodhead

  This free eBook may not be copied, distributed, reposted, reprinted and shared, without the written consent of the contributing authors

  The Smoking Assassin by Stuart Neild

  They say that I’m the greatest assassin, note assassin, not killer, that ever lived. That title, I can, surprisingly enough, live with and, believe me, I’ve lived a long time and don’t intend on dying anytime soon.

  Not that I don’t know what death is. I’m hardly a stranger to it, or it to me. You cannot be a killer or assassin, call it what you will, and not be on some kind of terms with the grim reaper. I wouldn’t say we were personal friends, modesty doesn’t permit me that much, but, we have brushed shoulders on more than the odd occasion and death has never complained at the work I have thrown his way.

  Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever heard death speak, who has? Certainly not anyone that’s living to tell the tale. He’s not the kind of guy to waste his breath, unless he has to. I suppose he knows how precious breath is. He should know, he goes around stealing the final breath from everybody and everything.

  In the cold light of day, death, or the grim reaper, call him what you will, has a much better hit ratio than I or anyone else throughout history. I can’t see that changing. I know I’m not going to live forever and as surprising as it might seem to some people, I don’t want to live forever. Who in their right mind does?

  I think what surprises people more, is that I do have a mind of my own. Well, let’s be perfectly honest, of course it does. Yes, I think that’s what surprises them the most of all. If I do give them the benefit of a rare last request, a very rare benefit I might add and they hear my voice and take note of the intelligence, the actual thought behind what I say, what I do and how I do it, how could they fail to be surprised. They wouldn’t see that knockout punch coming at them from the left side.

  Did I mention I’m a big fan of boxing, a massive fan actually? All the divisions, heavyweight, middleweight, lightweight, I’m there, title or non title fight. I must admit I have a particular liking for the lighter weight fights. I suppose it’s because I identify with them more. I have to be pretty light on my feet if you get the joke. You see, I have a sense of humour, you didn’t expect that. Like I already pointed out, they never do.

  But where was I? Oh yes, the importance of being as light or rather lighter than the proverbial feather, when one is going about their calling. And it is a calling. People call me and off I go, to do their dirty business for them. You should see some of the people that request my services, you just would not believe. Little old ladies, little old men, the young, the old, the obese, the slim, all ages, sizes, creeds and colours, from all walks of life. There is no one set of democratic that use me. I can honestly say, hand on heart, if I had one that is, I really am an equal opportunities assassin.

  Take this one guy for instance; he was C of E, that’s Church of England to the not so educated. You see, I told you I was smart. Anyway, this C of E guy, he wanted his neighbour - a Jehovah’s Witness - knocking off. The C of E guy went through the right channels and rituals and Bob’s your Uncle, Fanny’s your Aunt and I choke the life of this little Jehovah’s guy. Now there was nothing anti Jehovah’s Witness on my part or on the C of E guys part. No, it wasn’t the fact that the Jehovah’s Witness religion had offended him or his C of E religion, no sir, no siree, it was the fact he thought the Jehovah had been knocking off his wife. It turns out it wasn’t the Jehovah but some atheist down the road from him. Not that he knows that to this day. But I knew it, I knew it at the time but, well, it wasn’t my place to say.

  Did I get away with it? Well of course. I’m here aren’t I, in all my glory in front of you. I always get away. I always get in and I always get out. Even in this era of DNA and finger prints. I only leave the traces of things I want them to find and even if the authorities do find out about me, what are they going to do? I am as they say, untouchable. And as if finger prints or DNA would apply to me.

  I’ll tell you another favourite little anecdote of mine. There was this leader; well he said he was a leader, more like a little tin pot dictator if my opinion counts for anything. This leader of some Godforsaken government in some Godforsaken land, he thought he was untouchable, that nothing could get at him. Little did he know I was the untouchable one and that no matter how many guards, or how many precautions he took, he was not stopping me from getting into his building or any building for that matter.

  Anytime, any place, anywhere. Satisfaction is always guaranteed with my services. The individual that required me to, how can I put it, snuff out, the dictator was, you’ll never guess, a little girl. When I say little, she was ten years old and had some help from her grandmother, who knew a little more about these things, but that’s by the wayside, this dictator, he had so many enemies, so many attempts on his life, from inside his regime and out of it and not one got anywhere near to getting the job done.

  I did what numerous heads of state, politicians, kings, queens, armies, spies, bombs, weapons of mass destruction and your ordinary garden variety of killer could not. I was in and out like a puff of smoke if you pardon the pun. And all on a little girls say so, with, as I pointed out, a little guidance from her grandmother. It seemed this particular dictator picked on the wrong one when he butchered this particular little girl’s father. I guess sometimes, that’s just the way it goes.

  Now, I can see you quaking. I think the realisation has hit home to you what this is really about. Take your time, swallow hard. I know it’s a shock, it always is. You thought nobody or nothing could get to you. You were wrong, you realise that now, but don’t blame yourself. Even if you had taken precautions, what precautions could you have taken for this? What fail safes could you have put in place?

  Very little and none that would have worked, even if I do say so myself.

  You see it’s the luck of the draw. You knew you had enemies, hey; we all have our haters and those that we hate. It’s just that one of your haters got the jump on you, before you did on them. They had that bit more knowledge, that bit more belief.

  So here I am, a demon from the darkest parts of I wouldn’t care to say where and you wouldn’t want to hear anyway. You wouldn’t want scaring to death and that’s certainly not what I’m about anyway.

  In case you hadn’t guessed it, but I’m sure you already have, I’m a smoke demon, plain and simple. I waft along on the breeze; I trickle through the slightest of openings and use my very essence, to fill my victim’s lungs with enough smoke, so that they’ll never breathe a drop of fresh air again. In fact they won’t breathe any air again.

  Not if I do my job right.

  Which I always do.

  Now where are you going? You know you can’t run away from me and even if you could, I’d always be waiting.

  Would the cigarette that attractive lady lit up in the corner, really be just a cigarette, or would the smoke coming out of it, be not just cigarette smoke, but me?

  Would that smoky face in your children’s bonfire really be just bonfire smoke, or would it be my reflection, laughing at you, knowing full well that when you slept that night, I would drift into your room and you would never wake again?

  I think you catch my drift.

  Anyway as much as it’s been pleasant talking to you and honoured
you are, as I pointed out, I could have crept in on your unconscious form, I really must get on with things. You have no last requests apart from me letting you live? Oh you are such a card. I knew you’d ask that one.

  Now just relax and sleep. I promise you it will be painless. Just close your eyes and we’ll drift off together.

  Spicy Meat by Ian Woodhead

  1

  Jim nearly fell off the stool in his back room when his shop door flew open. Bloody hell, he must have dozed off. His eyes shot up to the clock and almost wept when he saw the time. It was nearly three in the morning, oh shit. That meant the customers who had somehow found their way here were now part of Jim’s bargain, he hoped to Christ that they weren’t locals.

  He watched the three youths stumble into the shop through the security camera. They weren’t from around here which was a blessed relief. Jim clocked the shaven heads, hard lean bodies and unmistakable swagger. He recognised this type of customer. He hoped the thugs in sports clothes wouldn’t turn violent.

  Aiden rapped his fist on the scratched glass counter, his rings, several on each finger, left a few more marks on the ancient surface.

  “Service, you fucker! Come on, there are people out here starving to fucking death.”

  “Maybe they just forgot to lock the door.”

  Aiden growled and turned, he resisted the urge to give the cunt a slap. George had been coming out with dumb fucking comments like that all night. He booted George’s brother instead.

  “Oi! What the fuck did you do that for?” Trevor asked rubbing his shin.

  “Stop with the complaining. I only tapped you for fuck’s sake. You got that cos I don’t hit girls do I? Now why don’t you explain to your thick as fuck sister why the shop ain’t closed. Explain the basics.”

  Aiden spun back round and leaned over the counter, where the fuck were the food people? While he was here he thrust his arm over to the till. What a fucking shame, a couple more inches, he’d be able to reach the buttons. Instead he swiped a menu, chose what he wanted and made the menu into an airplane. He listened to Trevor tell his brother off and smiled. George wasn’t a bad lad to have around; he was just a bit slow on the uptake that’s all.

  Considering how small he was, the kid was still a hard little fucker and handy with his fists. George had proved that earlier tonight when they set upon those four trendy fuckers queuing up outside that nightclub. The cunts thought they were really hard, impressing those girls with them and everything. It was the worst mistake of their lives when they all started gobbing off. George hadn’t hesitated when Aiden and Trevor jumped them, he piled in too, punching, booting and screaming and at one point, even biting. God, it was well funny, it was like he was possessed or something. In the end, he had to pull him off when they heard the approach of sirens.

  George reminded Aiden of himself when he was sixteen, only he wasn’t so fucking dumb.

  “Can I help you?”

  Aiden jumped. Where the fuck did he come from? He gave the man the once over, wondering if he could take him, then Aiden noticed the man’s hand casually resting on something below the counter and sighed. He probably had something close by like a cricket bat or pickaxe handle or something. It’s what he would have, especially at this time in the morning. Although it would be a good laugh to drag the fat fuck over his own counter and give him a good kicking, who’d feed him and Aiden was well fucking hungry.

  “Do you shove onion in your salad?”

  The man shook his head.

  “Right, in that case I want an extra large donner with salad and shit loads of chilli sauce and don’t fucking skimp on the chilli.”

  “I’ll have the same,” Trevor replied. He looked at George. “What about you?”

  “Can I have a pizza?”

  Aiden launched the plane at him. “No, you can’t have a fucking pizza. Pizzas take fucking ages and we ain’t waiting.”

  George sighed. “Fair enough, I’ll have the same.”

  “Have you got all that, cunt?” Aiden said.

  But the man was already preparing them. God, the bloke was fucking quick, he’d done two already. When the man turned, Aiden leaned over the counter again, this time he looked the other direction. He grinned when he spotted the baseball bat leaning against the wall. He’d hammered in a few nails into the business end. What an evil bastard, Aiden’s respect for the kebab man went up a few notches.

  “Oi! If that’s my kebab, don’t skimp on the meat.”

  The man added a few more strips, winked at Aiden then added a few more.

  He was going to have to remember this place; the cunt behind the counter defiantly knew the basics.

  The man handed over three parcels, he made a point of ensuring the overloaded behemoth went to Aiden.

  “If you are paying together gentlemen, that will be £15.”

  Trevor slapped a pound coin on the top. “That’s all I’ve got you cunt. Take it or leave it.”

  Aiden sighed; he took out his battered wallet and gave the bloke a twenty pound note. “Here you go mate, keep the change.”

  The brothers stared at him as if he’d gone fucking mental.

  “What’s with the fucking eyeballing?” he shouted. “This is a top bloke, show him a bit of respect.” He picked the coin off the counter and threw it at Trevor. “Shove yer change out of yer arse and get out of the shop.”

  He nodded to the bloke and followed the brothers out into the cold night. He didn’t see the man smirking to himself.

  2

  The brothers were already tucking into their food; Aiden kicked their discarded wrappers into the road. “What’s the verdict lads?”

  George nodded then burped and his brother held up a chill-stained greasy thumb.

  “The meat’s a lot fucking nicer then our local shop,” he said in between chewing. “It’s well fucking hot.”

  He had yet to open his, Aiden saw how much the man had piled on and he didn’t want to look like a total cock by spilling it all over the pavement. He stopped under an old fashioned streetlamp and carefully took off the first layer of paper. Oh god, the spicy meat aroma coming through the shiny paper was incredible; it was like the best smelling donner meat ever. If he didn’t get this down his gob like yesterday, he’d end up drowning in his own fucking drool.

  Aiden ripped off the remaining layer and dug through the salad, eager to find a nice, juicy strip of meat. He found a good sized piece and popped it into his mouth. Aiden chewed contentedly, the taste was divine and lived up to the reputation hinted from the initial aroma. The lad was in the land of bliss and set about demolishing the rest of it, thinking what an all round top night it had been.

  The only problem was that, due to his unexpected generosity, his wallet was a bit lighter. That cash was part of his Ma’s board money for the week. His Pa would knock the fuck out of him if he handed over less than what was owed.

  “The salad’s full of fucking onion by the way,” remarked Trevor.

  “Its white cabbage you dozy bastard. Do I have to explain the basics?”

  Trevor grinned, “Bollocks, its fucking onion. I swear.”

  Aiden decided there and then that Trevor would give him the note, it made sense in a way. Trevor had been a right cocky fucker all night, if he got all smart then he’s just stamp on the ginger cunt’s head. It would be interesting to see how George would react to that. He threw the soggy pitta bread and the rest of the salad onto the cracked paving slabs. He didn’t want it now, that fucker had put him off.

  “Where the fuck are we anyhow?” asked George.

  “You dip-shit, we are just outside…” Aiden spun around; he didn’t have a clue where they were.

  The gaudy neon signs and metal shutters had been replaced by huge blackened stone mills on either side of the narrow street. He hadn’t seen a single car since the kebab shop. He looked behind him. There was no sign of the place, had they really walked that far?

  “Where are we Aiden?”

  He coul
d hear that undertone of panic creeping into Trevor’s voice. He shrugged and shook his head, not wanting to speak in case the same panicked tone was heard in his voice too.

  “Why can’t we just fucking calling a taxi?” George dug into his pocket; I’ve still got a fiver left.”

  “Cos we don’t know where the fuck we are! How the fuck can we tell em where to go you thick fuck,” snapped Trevor.

  George pulled his mobile out of his other pocket and marched off down the road.

  “And just where the fuck are you going?” asked his brother.

  “Away from you two cunts, I’m gonna find a street sign. I’m sick of you two having a go at me.”

  Trevor growled. “That’s it, I’m gonna chin the midget.”

  Aiden caught Trevor’s shoulder as he rushed past. He shook his head. “Leave him be Trev. Besides, looking for a street sign is a well top idea. Come on.”

  He hurried after George. To be honest, he wasn’t really bothered if Trevor was behind him or not, he was getting a bit sick of him lording it over George. That was supposed to be his job.

  George come to a halt at the first junction, he looked well fucked off. He stopped next to the lad and followed the lad’s gaze. Aiden hadn’t noticed before, but all the roads were cobbled.

  “It’s not cunting fair, there’s no bastard signs anywhere. What’s all that about?”

  He almost felt sorry for the little lad, he so wanted to get one up on his older brother.

  Trevor hadn’t noticed his brother’s anxiety, he had his back to them, the boy was just standing there, a few feet away, not moving.

  “Oi! Gobshite. What’s up with you?” Aiden walked over, curious at Trevor’s odd behaviour. “I’m talking to you, Trevor.”

  Aiden was a little pissed off at Trevor’s lack of response. If he was having a game with him, he was so going to kick his fucking arse. “I said I was talking to you Trevor. Don’t you fucking ignore me.”

  The older brother turned around, he put his finger up to his lips then turned back. “I think I’m in love,” he whispered.