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  Aiden then saw her, a young woman, about their age, on the other side of the street. She was un-fucking-believably beautiful. He pictured himself kissing that heart shaped face and running his hands through her raven black hair, then slowly peeling off that thin, short dress. Oh Jesus, he was drooling again, fuck, he so wanted that woman.

  Aiden’s fears of being lost were swept aside as his young mind went into sexual overdrive. He wanted the bitch and he was going to have her. His lust for her was interrupted when he found himself sprawled, face down on the cobbled street.

  “Get your beady fucking eyes back in your bastard head. I saw her first.” Trevor reached into his back pocket and pulled out his knife, the thin blade snapped open with an audible snick. “She’s mine.”

  He slowly stood up and made a show of brushing the dirt off his black pants. Aiden was in no hurry, he knew that he could take the cunt, with or without his little pig sticker.

  “You had to wait for my back to be turned first didn’t you? It’s the one and only time you’ll touch me you red haired fucker.” Aiden sensed Trevor’s brother running up behind him. What would he do? Aiden had no fear of taking both of them on, George may have balls of steel but he lacked any real fighting skill. If the little bastard had ideas above his station as well, he would soon put the cunt back in his place. The girl was his.

  “Jesus Trev,” gasped George. “What the fuck are you playing at? Aiden’s your mate. He’s the only one you have left.”

  “But I saw her first.”

  “Come on bruv. Put the knife away.”

  Aiden just stood where he was, staying silent. Watching the exchange with interest.

  Tears were now streaming down Trevor’s face. He looked at the boy standing in the road. “It isn’t fucking fair. I’ve tried to be like you all my bastard life. So why does everybody hate me?” Trevor gazed at his little brother. “Even that cunt there likes you more than me and now you want to take her off me.” Trevor stepped off the kerb. “Well, it ain’t fucking happening.”

  Aiden licked his lips; his heart was thudding in his chest. He couldn’t believe he was going to say this. “We could share her.”

  Trevor let his hand fall to his side. “What?”

  “It’s what mates do innit. We could each take turns while the others hold her down.” Aiden licked his lips again and watched his vision of loveliness get farther and farther away. “We could make her last all night.”

  Both brothers’s nodded as one; it wasn’t difficult to imagine what sick, depraved and violent fantasies were going through their minds, no doubt they were very similar to what were going through his mind.

  “We’d better get a move on,” said Trevor. “She’s getting away.”

  The three youths raced across the road, the sound of their boots slapping on the stone cobbles sounded like thunder to Aiden’s ears. Something was wrong; the girl wasn’t reacting how she ought to. Why wasn’t she running? Why wasn’t she screaming? She must have heard them running towards her.

  His thoughts of lust and violent sex began to evaporate as his heightened sense of self preservation kicked in. He started to slow down. The two brothers raced on ahead, they hadn’t noticed anything wrong.

  Trevor got to the girl first; he reached out, grabbed a handful of hair and pulled her back. Encouraged by his brother’s actions, George had one hand trying to unbuckle his belt while the other was desperate to get inside the front of her dress.

  “I wanna go first,” he panted.

  The girl reacted to the sound of his voice by screaming, it was a sound of rage, not terror. She pulled her head forward and Trevor found himself holding a handful of black hair attached to nothing. She turned and leaped into the air, still screaming. She landed on George, knocking him to the floor; the girl straddled his body, grabbed both sides of his head then pressed her thumbs against his closed eyelids. George wiggled like a speared fish, his meaty arms came up again and again, striking her body everywhere but the girl was like a limpet, she would not let go. Finally his arms slapped to the ground as she pushed her thumbs through his eyeballs and into his brain.

  Trevor whimpered and turned to run when she climbed off his brother’s inert body. She sprinted after him at an impossible speed. The girl leapt again and caught his ear with her outstretched hand; she dragged him along the path like a dog before pushing him hard against a building. She licked her lips looked into his terrified eyes then sank her teeth into his cheek. Trevor’s screams turned Aiden’s blood to water. He struggled like mad, just like his brother had, but could get her off him.

  Aiden felt his bowels and bladder loosen. Some part of his brain was telling him that this couldn’t be happening while another part was ordering Aiden to get the fuck out of here before she went after him, but his feet felt like they were glued to the floor. Trevor’s knife fell from his limp hand and fell onto the cobbles.

  The girl held Trevor by his neck and pulled off another piece of his cheek with her teeth, she looked at Aiden whilst chewing and winked. He watched her swallow before diving back into the open wound.

  Aiden could take no more of this; he pulled up what little strength he had left, turned the other way and ran for his life. His heavy footfalls were soon joined by the sound of bare feet hitting stone. He let out a hoarse shriek when he felt her hand brush against his collar.

  3

  Jim already had the garage door open by the time the first of the screaming started. He would give it another five minutes before he made his move. Jim had no wish to be caught in the siren’s spell too.

  The preparations had already been made. The mincing machine, electric saw and tables had all been sterilised and were ready for use. All that remained was to pick up his part of the bargain. Jim hoped that she’d leave him some this time.

  The stock he had left would barely last another night.

  Her time was up. Jim slipped on his latex gloves, zipped up the raincoat and picked up his wheelbarrow before heading off into the night.

  Wish You Were Here? by Dave Jeffery

  It started as a joke; a whimsy to entertain its instigators as they traveled on their two week tour of southwest England. But like the four men who climbed inside the large red camper van with Mr. Rowling’s prized garden gnome sitting on their dash board, jokes come in all shapes and sizes. There are big jokes, small jokes, the simple and the complex. Yet jokes are unique in that they are often flavoured by the demeanor of their creators. If a person is mean their jokes taste bad. And the theft of Rowling’s gnome had meanness at its heart; so it turned very sour, very quickly.

  And in the most unexpected of ways.

  It wasn’t as if Mr. Rowling was the epitome of goodness and light. He too had a streak of meanness that was deep and thick, but at some point in time, the retired grave digger had been honest enough to make a decision to divorce himself from people. Not that he disliked people per se; he just didn’t like the ones that could still walk over his pristine front lawn and talked garbage. As far as Mr. Rowling was concerned human beings were a lot less objectionable when they were as dead as a cassette tape.

  His frequent rants at those who dared to step a millimeter across his boundary, were often watched by his small army of gnomes, cheery faces un-blighted by his cussing. Rowling considered these brightly painted allies his only true friends, accumulated over twenty years and more reliable and loyal than the living variety. His gnomes didn’t judge or criticize or deride him. If he considered his gnomes as his allies then their leader had to be Liam, the first he had ever bought. It had been over twenty years ago now that Rowling had see the little ceramic man, face beaming out from beneath a red, pointy hat at a car boot sale, of all places. And Liam had pride of place on Rowling’s front porch, his chubby hands resting on his big belly, clad in a green coat with huge golden, painted buttons.

  Yes, Liam was very dear to Mr. Rowling which made him the prime target for kidnapping when the grumpy grave digger unleashed a torrent of abuse on the f
our drunken men who staggered onto his lawn on the eve of their summer holiday.

  As they relaxed in their camper, they had great plans ahead: sun, sea and sending pictures and postcards of Liam the Gnome’s southwest tour.

  ‘I wish I could see that guy’s miserable face when he gets the photos of his poxy gnome surfing in Newquay!’ Neil Jones scoffed as he kicked back in his seat.

  ‘It’ll be great,’ replied his best friend, Aled ‘Taffy’ Jeffery. ‘The guy’s as sour as a grapefruit.’

  ‘At least a grapefruit is useful,’ Colin Jewkes chuckled patting the gnome sitting in front of him on the head.. ‘Hey, Billy, you want to shoot the first picture?’

  ‘You bet, my man,’ William Thompson said delving into his pocket and pulling free a slim digital camera. ‘Say cheesy garden ornament!’

  They laughed as a double flash white washed their space for a moment.

  ‘What you putting on the postcard, Taffy?’ Neil asked with a broad grin.

  Aled thought for a moment, ‘I think we should introduce this little guy’s traveling companions. That’ll really get the guy fired up, right?’

  ‘Once we’ve stopped for a breather let’s get some tourist to get us all together. That way, he’ll be able to see what a great time we’re all having with his pal.’

  And this is what they did. A young French girl took the photo, and even asked them to take one of her giving Liam a kiss on his porcelain cheek. The girl’s lipstick remained on his face for a few days afterwards. And she would later give evidence to the police that the four boys didn’t look like they had a care or enemy in the world.

  Colin drove the first one hundred and sixty odd miles, completing his stint by pulling into a Holiday Inn just off of the M5 at Exeter. Here the men shot a photo of Liam at a table in Burger King with a huge burger and fries heaped in front of him.

  ‘Here, let me help you out with that, you little porcelain dipstick,’ Taffy giggled as he hoisted the burger from the carton.

  ‘Careful, Taffy,’ Neil said with mock seriousness, ‘That gnome’s got Rowling’s meanness in it. You’d better watch your teasing.’

  ‘I’m thinking that we’d better make sure that this fella has a really good trip. A bit like the condemned man’s last twenty four hours,’ Taffy replied mischievously.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Billy queried.

  ‘Well, we’re going to Land’s End, right?’ Taffy explained. ‘How ‘bout if we take a picture of this sorry piece of porcelain sky diving into the Atlantic? Make a great farewell for Rowling, eh?’

  ‘I’m not too sure about that, Taffy,’ Colin said and the way he said it made them all realize that he wasn’t kidding. ‘That does still belong to Rowling. It’s a bit cruel to just bin it.’

  ‘Oh, Colin!’ Neil chastised, ‘It’s just a battered old gnome. Rowling will bitch about it for a while and then console himself with the other five hundred he owns!’

  ‘It’s just a laugh, right?’ Taffy reassured him.

  ‘I guess so,’ Colin said though it was strained.

  The others chose to ignore it. A decision they would soon come to regret.

  The group set off on the next leg of their journey, this time Neil taking up the driving honours, but traveling only forty miles before parking up at a picnic area on the edge of Dartmoor National Park. The plan was very simple, a mile walk to The Hoops Inn where they’d dig in for the night, drinking their body weight in real ale, then a walk back to their camper.

  Well that was the initial plan.

  ‘What do you mean you’re not coming?’ Neil said to Colin astounded.

  ‘I just want to chill for a bit,’ Colin said. ‘I want to check out that place.’

  They all followed his raised arm and pointing finger. In the middle distance there was a black shape nestled in the folds of the plush green landscape.

  ‘Let’s get this right,’ Taffy said suppressing a smile. ‘You’d rather go and check out a moldy old building than came and spend the night drinking?’

  ‘Come on guys,’ Colin said with a shrug. ‘You know I’m a sucker for history.’

  ‘Colin, The Hoops Inn has been in existence since the thirteenth century. Now that’s history!’

  ‘I’d like to do this, guys,’ Colin laughed.

  ‘Hey, it’s your holiday too,’ Billy said shaking his head in disbelief.

  ‘I’ll get some shots of the little fella while I’m there,’ Colin said nodding towards Liam the Gnome who was standing on the campers’ veneered table.

  ‘Well you two have yourselves a wonderful evening,’ Neil winked. ‘Don’t wait up!’

  The evening was still and bright as Colin made his way towards the misshapen building he’d seen from the roadside. As he approached he was disappointed to find that the place was a derelict oast house and not a place of historical significance at all.

  ‘Oh well,’ he said to Liam whose head was poking out of a rucksack lashed to Colin’s back. ‘I guess I’ll take a few photos of you and the oast house and catch the guys up.’

  Colin unbridled the rucksack and set Liam free. He approached a low stone wall where he sat the gnome slightly angled away from the camera, as though scanning the long, flat horizon. He lifted his camera, framed the picture in the view finder and took three shots.

  Smiling to himself, Colin punched the camera into review mode then peered at the first image on the tiny screen. There was the gnome looking off into the distance as thought lost in thought. The picture was slightly blurred, the camera shake icon winking accusingly.

  Colin forwarded the screen onto the next image. This time the camera was trembling in his hands in real time. Because the image showed Colin that the gnome had moved. It no longer had its cheery face in relief against the azure evening skies.

  It was staring right into camera!

  Morbid curiosity made him pull up the third and final frame, and that was when Colin threw the camera away from him as though it had changed into a deadly, poisonous creature. It landed on the soft grass, its tiny screen impossible to see; but Colin knew what was on it: the gnome, still smiling but the eyes - oh God, those eyes - no longer full of cheer, but a terrible wickedness turning its face into a mask of cruelty.

  He found himself instinctively searching the wall for the gnome, part of his mind still telling him that he was imagining things, that maybe he should just turn round and head for The Hoops Inn.

  When he saw that the gnome was no longer on the wall, Colin panicked. Instead of bolting back to the camper van he ran towards the derelict building; maybe it was instinct, the way a startled rabbit bolts for the nearest hole, even if it is a badger’s set.

  Inside the building was a grey world of light and shade. Dusty sunlight poured through several holes in the corrugated roof, and the corners were pooled in the blackest of shadows. From high in the rafters, chains and pulleys swayed like the ambling vines, the click of metal punctuating the silence.

  Then he heard a giggle. It sounded playful, but in a mischievous, unsetting way. Colin’s heart pounded, blood rushed in his ears, his body was going into an anxiety driven meltdown. ‘This isn’t happening?’ he called out pathetically. ‘It’s not possible!’

  ‘Oh anything’s possible, Colin!’ a small voice replied from the dark. ‘As you will soon see!’ These last words came as a vicious hiss and then Colin saw it step from the shadows, the gnome standing with its hands on hips and that smile now an ugly leer.

  ‘Better accept that yer goin’ to be hanging around fer a while, Colin,’ it said hopping from one foot to the other.

  Before Colin could question either his mind or the strange creature standing not three feet away from him, a length of chain appeared to come alive and wrap itself about his throat. Colin’s hands clawed at their vice-like grip but to no avail. His kicking, gasping body was yanked high into the rafters where it danced like a faulty marionette for some time; while, far below, the gnome watched intently and did a jig of its own.


  It was dark when Taffy got back, though the camper’s interior lights were burning brightly. Taffy went inside, his gait lurching and alcohol fuelled.

  ‘Hey, Colin?’ In his drunken mind Taffy thought he’d whispered the words but in reality they were loud enough to wake the dead. Well, not quite.

  ‘You sleeping, pal? You’re missin’ a great night. I’m under orders to bring you back with me. No excuses.!’

  ‘Colin would love to come out to play, Taffy,’ said a small voice. ‘But he’s, sort of, dead as a nail.’

  Confused, Taffy stumbled around, trying to locate the source of the voice.

  ‘Who is that? Colin, you joker, come on out and stop messing around.’

  ‘I got pictures,’ the tiny voice said. ‘Colin’s swinging like the pendulum of a grandfather clock, Taffy. Want to see?’

  Taffy had been shocked sober, his wide eyes now looking at Colin’s camera which was lying on the kitchenette table; its tiny screen winking through frame after frame of Colin’s body hanging in the derelict oast house.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Taffy muttered and tried to lurch towards the exit. But just as he was about to clutch at the door frame, he felt something land on his shoulder.

  ‘Heads up, Taffy!’ Liam said as he introduced the sharpe blade of a bread knife to Taffy’s soft pink throat.

  The man didn’t get chance to scream before blood arced out into the night air.

  And Liam filled in the blanks with whoops of delight.

  A mile away, Neil was squinting at his watch as though he’d never seen it before.

  ‘Where have those two got to?’ He mumbled, his tongue not quite behaving as it should.

  ‘Taffy probably never got to the camper,’ Billy laughed. ‘He’s probably asleep in a ditch by now!’

  They both howled with laughter, oblivious to the locals staring at them.

  ‘We’d better go and see,’ Neil said wiping tears from his eyes. ‘I’m about done anyhow.’

  The two men shambled out of the pub after loudly bidding everyone a good night. No-one reciprocated., not that either of them noticed. Neil and Billy held each other up as they staggered up the asphalt towards their camper van.