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Shady Shorts

Hotel of Vice

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A small restaurant in the Hotel de Vice is where the scene I now describe takes place. It was past midnight and the restaurant had long closed for dinner. The lights had been lowered. The waiting staff had all gone home. Only the Maitre’d remained behind. Three men were still seated at a table, laughing boorishly. Empty glasses and bottles filled the area and the one in the middle was opening another bottle of the Walden’s Eighty Five. He was a dark-haired fellow with an angular face. He laughed and smiled with his companions without any real joviality about him. He was a cold soul, marked by the way he gritted his teeth as he pulled the cork from the bottle.  

“She left in shame,” he was guffawing with his companions. “A tired old maid like that ought to think herself lucky. She wouldn’t have feigned shame so much if she hadn’t enjoyed herself.”  

This caused the boorish laughter to erupt again.  

“You’re awful, Nolan,” said one – Albert Chamberlain – who was greying before his time.  

“Awful? Don’t talk to me about awful. When we broke in there, she practically threw herself at me.”  

“She wanted to save her charges,” said the other. He was sounding sluggish, leaning forward, barely able to keep his eyes open. The Maitre’d hoped they would pass out or the story would urge the group to move on.  

Nolan slapped the drunkard on the back. He looked like he was going to vomit. Nolan passed him another drink.  

Looking across the hall he called, “you there! Any chance of supper up here, old boy? My companions and I worked up quite an appetite.” 

“The kitchen is closed, milord,” the Maitre’d replied. “It has been for some time.”  

Nolan slammed the bottle down on the table. “What kind of place is this?” he groaned. He knocked some of the glasses over. “Clear some of these, will you?” he snapped. He managed to find his humour again when he returned to his companions. “She didn’t want to protect her charges. She just wanted all the fun for herself.”  

Earlier that evening, Nolan and his company had broken into a hostel nearby. It was home to the devoted sisters of the Albans Order. Nolan had gotten it into his head that he really wanted to fuck a nun. The Mother had tried to fend them off on behalf of the novices. She gave herself to Nolan so the others may remain unharmed.  

“She was a feisty one too,” Nolan commented. “She spread her legs and she prayed.”  

“They’ll banish her from the order,” said Chamberlain. 

This amused Nolan all over again. “I hope they do. What use is an old slut like that to them now anyway?”  

The Maitre’d was struggling, listening to their nonsense. Luckily it was all interrupted by the ring of the telephone. 

“A call for you Lord Cibe,” he beckoned Nolan. “It’s your brother.”  

Nolan rolled his eyes. “Trust him to track me down.”  

He stumbled across the hall, took the receiver and clasped it to his ear.  

“Yes, Malcolm?” he asked. “I’m in the middle of something of a celebration. I won a bet this evening. What can I do you for?”  

The brother’s voice on the other end sounded far and hoarse.  

“Get out of there right now. I heard what you did. The whole God damn town is talking about it.”  

Nolan tried to play innocent. “I don’t know what you mean.”  

“They’re going to hang that nun for breaking her oaths,” said the brother. Nolan couldn’t care less about that revelation. “You’re on Penn land. Get out of there now!” he was warned. 

Nolan knew full well he was on Penn land. The alcohol had dulled his consideration of the consequences. His brother’s reminder sobered him. Malcolm didn’t say much more. He rang off leaving his brother to make a departure from the hotel.  

Before they could make their leave, another group entered the restaurant. Chamberlain recognised one of them as Claude Emmerson, the grandson of the Comte du Maurier and the son of Renaud Penn, Reginald. Reginald stopped to shake the hand of the Maitre’d. They shared some words; all the while Emmerson kept his focus on Nolan Cibe. The three remained seated as Reginald crossed the hall to them with his Loyal close. Chamberlain attempted to leave his seat. Emmerson gripped his shoulder and sat him back down. Reginald snatched Nolan by the hair and slammed his face onto the table. Albert Chamberlain tried to stand. Emmerson kept him seated. With his free hand Reginald picked up a bottle, smashed it on the table, holding it towards the others with a snarl. 

“Reginald. Leave him be,” he was instructed by his father who had just arrived on scene with Eric du Maurier by his side. 

Nolan spat a breath across the table, scattering some of the shards of broken glass. Reginald loosened his grip. He stepped into the shadow his father had cast. Renaud raised his right hand, which was wrapped in a great thick chain. He reached over and clasped Nolan’s chin with the left, looking into his eyes. He shook his head and released his grip again.  

WHACK! WHACK!  

Renaud brought the chain down on Nolan’s skull twice, causing his body to fall forward.  

WHACK! WHACK!  

Twice more and Nolan gave an audible sob, choked by the blood that ran down his face.  

WHACK!  

The strongest hit yet caused the sphenoid bone to crack. A final whack smashed the eye socket.  

Renaud took a breath and stepped back. Eric passed a napkin to him to wipe some of the blood and skull matter from the chains. Renaud dropped the sodden handkerchief in front of Albert Chamberlain. The drunkard, although quickly sobering, had fallen into a daze, swaying in his chair with tears in his eyes.  

“He didn’t have to die,” he whimpered.  

“No,” said Renaud. “He did not. A perfectly innocent woman didn’t need to be violated either. It means death for her so it’s only right it meant death for him too.”  

Chamberlain tried to stop himself looking at Nolan. He wasn’t quite dead yet. His lips were parting slowly as he continued to gasp his last.  

“You are going to take your friend’s body from here. You will clean any mess or damage you have caused. You’ll pay the Maitre’d Hotel handsomely for having to put up with your coarse behaviour as long as he did. More importantly you will never show your face around here again. If you do you will not find me as courteous as I am now.”  

Renaud and most of the Loyal departed. Reginald, Emmerson and some of the others remained behind to see that the task was carried out.  

Reginald indicated the tablecloth.  

“You’ll replace that too. It’s a fine cloth and those stains don’t come out.”  

Chamberlain and the drunkard were both shaken.  

“Cunts,” muttered Reginald under his breath. 

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Myths and Tales

Bully Posion (Part of the Myths and Tales collection)

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“What is it?” he asked eagerly. “Tell me!” Charlie urged.

“I am a witch.” said Aunt Trudy softly and slowly.

Charlie’s eyes lit with joy. He had always known there was something unusual about his lovable aunt. “Does that mean I’m a witch too?” he asked excitedly.

“Don’t be stupid boy,” said Trudy. Charlie’s hopes were dashed in an instant. When Trudy saw his sad little face she continued, “Being a witch takes years of practice. I will show you but in the meantime … What to do about those bullies…” her voice trailed off as she heaved a heavy, dusty, green leather bound book, slammed it on the table and proceeded to unbuckle the golden clip that held the book closed. Dust flew from the pages as they were turned. Aunt Trudy ran her finger slowly over the hand written words. The writing was so scribbled and hurried it was difficult to read.

“Aha!” announced Aunt Trudy in triumph disturbing their quiet contemplation. “This ought to do the trick!”

Aunt Trudy’s first spell: Removing an enemies voice

With lizard tails,

And an old woman’s nails,

Take a frog and a pot of snails.

Mush them together in one big stew,

Add a drop of blood but it must be new,

Along with rat tails, not one but two.

Give to your enemy; they must drink it fast,

Every single drop or the effects won’t last,

Now they won’t say a word until you ask.

“Lucky we have all the ingredients right here,” said Aunt Trudy cheerfully pulling bottles from the shelf. Charlie picked up a jar labelled ‘pickled raven’s claw’. He opened the lid and brought the jar to his nose. Aunt Trudy snatched it back from him. “Don’t sniff that, not unless you want a pig snout,” she warned.

“I’m not sure about this,” the nephew said hesitantly.

Aunt Trudy began pouring the ingredients into a black ceramic bowl. The contents were bubbling, mixing together to form an orange paste. “Don’t be silly, that bully will learn.” There was a crazed look in Aunt Trudy’s eyes that Charlie didn’t like one bit.

Charlie asked “Will they get hurt?”

“Not unless you want them to.” Aunt Trudy took the bowl, held it high above her head and whispered the magic words. “Munchlum Doodledum Frooglepop.”

She took some to their garden, Charlie followed. The neighbours’ dog, Benny, had managed to climb onto their grass again ruining Aunt Trudy’s vegetable patch and leaving canine deposits everywhere. Benny was yapping uncontrollably.

“What are you doing?” the little boy asked when he noticed his aunt staring at the dog.

Aunt Trudy held the bowl out in front of her. “First rule of witchcraft Charlie, take out the neighbour’s pesky pet.” Benny was wagging his tail eagerly and still yapping. Trudy lowered the bowl to him and he took several large gulps not stopping to sniff. He started yapping again. Charlie folded his arms across his chest in disappointment. “Give it a moment,” Trudy said. They both watched the dog. Suddenly Benny’s voice was lost. His horrid screeching bark became silent. His jaws were open and his lungs were pushing but no sound came out. “I do that when I want to shut that thing up,” said the aunt. “Now you know how it works, give it to your bully.”

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Myths and Tales

Stand and Grow Tall

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Timothy Hardship is my name. With that you would think I’ve had a hard life but its really the opposite. The truth is I was a bright and happy boy. That was until I accidentally made myself as tall as a house. Now, simple things like going to school, playing with my friends and other regular kid things present more of a challenge.

Grandad always used to tell me that little kids should give up their seats for adults because they need to stand and grow tall. I was one of the smallest boys in my class so I took my grandad’s advice and kept on my feet as much as possible, thinking it would stretch me out.

Tiny Tim they called me. Well, one day I had had enough.

I was looking through a catalogue that had been lying around the house for years. It was one of those useless things that for some reason my mum wouldn’t throw away. My finger stopped on a very eye catching, star shaped ad. ‘Make yourself as tall as a house!’ it read. A lot of hoodwink and pish posh I thought but since it claimed it was free and all you had to do was call a toll free number I thought ‘why not?’

My parents had been visiting a neighbour who had just had a new baby so I was home alone. I picked up the phone and dialled 0800 – GET – TALL. The ad was so old that I had expected the number to have been disconnected. To my surprise an automated voice came on the other end.

“One moment please,” it said in its computerised, honeyed tone. Then there was a click and the line went dead.

‘Well I don’t feel taller,” I said to myself, putting the phone down with just a little disappointment.

***

I went to the bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face. I was starting to feel really hot. I hoped I was coming down with something so I could have a day or two off school.

I felt dizzy. I looked down at the sink. It looked a lot smaller and a lot further away than it had a moment ago. I felt something bump against my head. It was the roof! I climbed out of the bathroom and charged downstairs like a stilt walker and squeezed out the front door.

I waved my arms like great boat sails. I could now see in my bedroom window on the top floor.

My tiny mum and miniscule dad came walking down the pathway. Mum shrieked and fell faint. Dad gave a very firm, “Oh my!” and twitched his moustache.

After mum finally recovered I explained to them what had happened. Dad opened the window so I could talk to them, hunching down and peeping in. Dad tried calling the maker of the ad but they had closed business. It seems there wasn’t much business for people wanting to be as big as houses.

***

I’ve had to make a few adjustments. A sky high house has been built for me to live in. I have to sit in the school yard and listen to my lessons through the window, even when its raining. Mum was shocked at first but she says she loves me no matter my size. I’ll be big until dad can track down the owner of ‘Getting Tall’. At least they don’t call me Tiny Tim anymore.

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