One thing I find quite common in fans of horror like myself is we were exposed to the genre from an early age. For some this was an exciting experience. For others, myself included, it was – not to put too fine a point it – horrifying.
Poltergeist, IT (the original series with Tim Curry) and Child’s play were just some of the movies I saw when I was arguably way too young. I was always an imaginative child so the scenes these movies presented, as corny as they may be now, played on my mind and formed lifelong phobias. Those lifelong phobias, I just happened to turn into a career.
Lets start with Pennywise. Released in the early nineties I was still in primary school when I first saw it. What stuck out most to me was the vibrancy of Pennywise’s red hair. It stood out to me against the duller, New England backdrop. The colours made him more eyecatching, more threatening. Even as a youngster I never saw clowns as anything less than nightmre fuel.
Then there was Chucky. The doll possessed with the spirit of an evil man. Another red head. As an imaginative kid with little to no real friends toys, stuffed animals and dolls were my most treasured companions. To see what a doll was capable of doing, at least by movie standards, was horrifying.
Cut to several decades later and I find myself still lost in that imagination. I do still have treasured toys and dolls, Pennywise and Chucky being one of them. I also sport vibrant (yes you guessed it) red hair. I knew there were some correlations between how my approach to creativity was shaped by these old horror movies as a child. However, it wasn’t until I started to write this blog I began to realise just how much.
The villainy, the vibrancy, the outldandish plots and the reactions from viewers were something that became embedded in my ambition. I came to enjoy writing material that made a reader shriek, gasp or become unsettled. I could have written happy little stories with lovely endings. I ask though, were would be the fun in that!?
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Also known as the Le Grande, Central Theatre is the largest and most respected theatre in the city. With productions of the most popular plays to the annual carol concert from St Alban’s choir, the stage at Central has seen it all.
Famed actors such as VERA BERGMAN and LAURENCE DU BOIS have trod the boards there. It also hosts royal guests regularly. Queen Rita of Penn and Main was a well known patron carrying a long held tradition of the ladies in her lineage. Members of the Chamberlain crown have also been known to frequent.
Like most places in Coldford, there are stories to tell behind the scenes. The theatre is owned by the Towsely family. It has been in their hands since the industrial age. They procure the finest talent, the finest productions and when the lights go down and the curtains fall, legendary orgies.
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There are so many platitudes that can start this off.
“We all make mistakes.”
My favourite is:
“To never make mistakes is to never learn.”
We’re only human at the end of the day. I wanted to take a look at those platitudes and consider the mistakes I’ve made in my own life. Some have been silly, others have had much more dire consequences.
I’m a clumsy mess some days. I’m a mixed bag of efficient, logical thinking and ham-handed to the point of sitcom humour. I can also be scatterbrained and yet suprisingly strong for my stature. With that kind of make up, mistakes are inevitable.
I’m not just talking about knocking the coffee mug off the counter. I’m talking about mistakes that run a little deeper. Trusting the wrong person, refusing to take care of yourself properly or even taking an easier route out of a sticky situation that makes matters worse. I think we’re all guilty of those in our lives. If you haven’t been, then I wish you the best and may that never come to you.
I was asking myself, just the other day, what the biggest mistake I ever made was. I was unable to pick one. We lose count of the amount of times we have gone wrong in life. The thing about mistakes is even if they seem so daunting at the time, upon reflection they are so much easier to wrap your head around. Yes, you may have trusted the wrong person. That person isn’t in your life anymore. They now stand as a memory. You drank too much, ate to much of the wrong food. You maybe even took substances you knew you shouldn’t. If you’re realising this now, then that means the mistake has been made and you have time to heal. You chose the easy way out. Maybe you left a friend in the lurch to protect your yourself. Maybe guilt even eats at you as you think about it. That guilt, is a sign of learning. You know it was a mistake.
Mistakes truly are something we can all learn from. None of us are the same person we were even just a month ago. We are always growing, learning, making mistakes and recovering. The most beautiful thing about the human spirit is it’s capacity for adapting. We can and always will do better. Make no mistake about that!
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“Alright everyone, listen up!” Irvine Stoker, ringmaster of Stoker Circus called to his troupe who had gathered inside their Big Top tent set up in Allford, just outside their carnival. “It’s that time of year again. The best time of the year. It’s garden party season and that means billionaire bunce! First up we have Beckingridge Manor. We just need a small troupe so who’s going to make the cut?”
His brother’s, Valdrick and Felix were on either side of him. Felix seemed to be making his own assessments and completely disregarding anything his brother was saying. Val was wondering how it came to be that Irvine was making the calls when he was the eldest and it was rightfully his place. Irvine scrutinised his performers closely.
“Word is, Ernie Beckingridge loves clowns so Olga and Cyril, you guys are in.”
“Yey!” Olga and Cyril clutched each other and leapt up and down with excitement.
Continuing to pick his crew Irvine said, “we need a good headlining act. We need a real showstopper. We need something people are going to really want to throw bunce at.”
The trapeezy easy’s, Errol and Ethel, stood side by side, an arm around each other’s shoulders, with expectant looks on their faces. They had been headlining Stoker acts for a while, they were real Big Top sensations.
“Easys?” said Irivine.
“Yeah …” they grinned.
“You’re out.”
Their expressions fell. “What? Why?”
Irvine folded their arms and raised his eyebrows. “Because you’re always up there, swinging around, showing off. Quite frankly you make the rest of us look bad. Until you’re ready to be team players you’re out.”
Val took over. “Besides. We heard you’ve been taking sponsorships elsewhere.”
Both Easys scowled and lowered their heads.
Irvine was pulled back as Gretel climbed up his back. He threw her from his shoulder, landing her on the Big Top floor with a hiss.
“Not you, Gretel. We will not be taking any freaks. George Beckingridge is freak enough. That means you’re out too Heidi.”
Lizard woman Heidi, who also happened to be Irvine’s wife rasped her fork tongue at him causing him to step back and push Val forward.
“You’re doing it all wrong!” cried an old man in a wheelchair watching on.
Irvine rolled his eyes. Felix was still focused on his own plans.
It was Val that called back. “No one asked you, Hanz.”
Hanz Stoker grumbled something under his breath, adjusting the blanket over his lap. The only reason he had come down to Allford was because he knew it was garden party season and he suddenly felt the need to spend some time with his family. The nurses obliged. His nephews dismissed him so he continued to observe.
Felix finally spoke up, “what about some animal acts? The animal acts are great for garden parties.”
Both Irvine and Val looked to their little brother.
“We have lion tamer without a lion, the doves were put into the hat last year and they haven’t been seen since and the donkeys completely refuse to do dressage,” explained Irvine impatiently.
“Then we get proper dressage horses,” was Felix’s suggestion.
Val looked at him like he had spoken a different language. Irvine looked like he wanted to slap him.
“Are you going to talk to the Stanis and get us some of those golden horses? Do you have any idea how difficult it is to pinch from a bloody Stani? You want to try and steal a golden horse from under them, grow up Felix,” Irvine griped.
Felix shook his head. Then he gave it some more thought. “Why are you the one making the decisions when Val is the eldest?”
Val turned to Irvine. “That’s a good point. Who put you in charge?”
Never one to be backed into a corner, Irvine looked between his brothers and said, “because, Adrien, our dear father, said to me, he said, ‘Irvine, my most goodest boy. When I’m gone all of this will be yours’ he was indicating the circus. ‘I want you to take charge of everything. Valdrick doesn’t have the head for it and Felix just drools a lot – you were a baby at the time. That’s what he said.”
“No he didn’t!” Hanz called from his wheelchair.
Irvine turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Aren’t you just full of opinions no one asked for.”
“Adrien did not say that,” Hanz maintained.
“And that’s your opinion.”
“I’ll take the headlining spot,” Felix stated with confidence. “My act always goes down well.”
“Knives? Throwing knives at Beckingridge manor with Elizabeth around?” Val put to him. “Actually that might not be such a bad idea. Elizabeth gets a knife to the skull one of the other Beckingridges are bound to give us a huge tip.”
“Good point,” Irvine agreed. “You do have some good ideas every now and again Val.”
“That’s not a good idea,” the youngest brother corrected.
Irvine placed his hands on his hips and stuck his chin out. “I know your game. You are just trying to push us out. Can you believe that Val? Our own brother is trying to push us out.”
Maintaining eye contact with Irvine, Felix said, “we could use a juggling act too. those are always great for garden parties.”
Val beamed. He wrapped an arm around Felix. Now the both of them were assessing Irvine. Irvine was aghast. “Fine! Fine! You want to play favourites? Then let’s play favourites.”
“You’re doing it all wrong!” Hanz called from his wheelchair again. “The Beckingridges are old money. If you want to impress them you need a an old school act.”
“Is that you then Hanz?” Val asked, his tones dripping with sarcasm. “You can barely walk the length of yourself and you expect to climb up on your stilts?”
Hanz grumbled again and waved them off with a sneer.
“We can use juggling, knives and whatever it is that Irvine does,” Felix suggested. “We split the takings between us. If we do a good job we can make enough off the Beckingridge’s to see us through the winter.”
“Share?” Val and Irvine asked together. Irvine felt a little bile in the throat at the idea. Then they hesitantly agreed.
“Sure, Felix. We’ll share.”
Neither had any intention of sharing which I’m sure you can gather by now, dear readers. That was why the morning of the garden party at Beckingridge Manor Irvine slipped away an hour before the agreed departure time. At least he tried to. He climbed into his car – a red and blue Cooper named Smiler – and gave himself a mental pat on the back that he would be at the Manor first.
‘Leave it all to me. You just come and see me for payment, Mr Beckingridge. Do you want some personal clown lessons? I could teach you a few things for a moderate fee.’
Irvine sure had it all worked out. He started the car and made to drive off when Val sat up from the back seat where he had stowed away.
Irvine gave a cry of fright. “What the Hell are you doing back there!?”
“I knew you’d do the dirty. I can’t even trust my own brother,” Val complained.
“Why didn’t you just take the car?”
“I was going to then I saw you coming so I hid in the back.”
“Fine. Let’s just get out of here before we have to share with Felix too.”
Clang! Something landed on the roof, or someone. Irvine slammed on the brakes and Felix popped his head down to the front passenger window. With a knife in hand he tapped it against the glass.
TINK. TINK. TINK.
“Let me in Irvine,” Felix demanded.
“You’re too late,” Irvine replied.
The youngest brother warned, “you’re going to have to bloody carry me all the way to Filton one way or another.”
Irvine grinned as he put his foot to the floor. “Then I hope you have a good grip!”
They sped off and Felix made the travel hanging on. Irvine assumed he would have shaken him off as they took the city bypass. Felix was determined though. Val opened his window when they reached the outskirts of Main. Felix reached in and grabbed him by the throat so he whacked him off and closed the window again.
When they reached Beckingride manor Felix found himself with a head start when Irvine slammed on the breaks and Felix finally came flying off the car. He fell into a roll, back onto his feet and darted towards the manor gates. Irvine leapt like a gazelle close behind him. Irvine tackled Felix to the ground and Val gained the lead. The three tried to trip each other, hair was snatched, jackets were pulled off, knives prodded backsides, juggling pins were crashed over heads. The brothers shouldered each other and Val managed to be the one to ring the bell.
A man in a finely tailored suit answered to them. “Can I help you gentlemen?” asked he.
The clownish trio were busy trying to correct themselves and hold the others at bay. Irvine spoke on their behalf. “We’re the entertainment for the garden party,” he explained. “We’re the Stokers.”
“Are you?” asked the greeter.
Felix took note of the man. He wore a red cravat. His straggly, thinning grey hair had been combed. Even his bushy eyebrows had been tidied.
“Hanz!?”
“Old school, boys. Old school. This is a closed party. No riff raff allowed,” Hanz grinned and the door was slammed closed on them.
We may ring in new years but some things are best to be remembered. Like, for instance, when a billionaire is hosting a garden party you can fight over who gets to be the entertainment or you can have lived long enough to know to go straight to the money man himself.
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I’m going to begin this with a confession. I’m not the most graceful person. Thinking back, I never have been.
I won ‘Miss Personality of the Year’ back in the 90’s and that was for a majorettes competition. I had been so frog legged and entertaining in my attempts to throw a baton, the judges had decided I deserved a whole new accolade of my own.
I’m used to that. Despite my lack of grace and poise I do like to keep active. I cycle, walk and go to the gym. I’m in my late thirties and I’m only five foot tall. I still carry a bit too much weight for my height, despite that generally active lifestyle. Luck of the genes I guess.
I’m no stranger to the gym and as such I’m no stranger either to the enthusiasts that tend to reside there. The ‘lycra clad’ bunnies and ‘cut of sleeve’ bros spending more time on setting their phones to the right angles than actually working out. Uploading to Insta is their cardio.
Anyway, there’s me, following my usual routine – treadmill, rowing, bicycle. It makes no difference to me being amongst these people. It did get me thinking of those who may be a little more insecure in themselves than I am.
I read a few stories about some being gawked at the minimum and being completely ridiculed at the worst. Firstly, that is a terrible way to behave towards anyone. Secondly, If a person is overweight and struggling with health issues, isn’t the gym the right place to be?
Whenever I see someone who is heavy set, at the gym, my first thought is ‘well done’. They are going out of their way to improve their health and that is always admirable.
More than once, I have mentioned to friends and partners about going to the gym and they have replied, ‘but you look great.’
Whilst I appreciate the compliment, I remind them I don’t go to the gym for aesthetic reasons. I have heart issues and it does me good to keep active. Not only that it is good for my mental health. Muscles and trim bods are good and all, but happy and healthy is the most attractive no matter your natural size and shape.
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The Walden family vineyards have been providing the best wine to Coldford for centuries. Lloyd Walden, youngest son, has been riding those coattails throughout his entire life.
LLoyd is considered a braggart by all those who know him. He’s showy and likes to believe he’s quite the lad. Picking up on the misogynistic views of his father, Harris, Lloyd can be disrespectful.
Compared quite often to boxing champion, SIMON PENN, Lloyd doesn’t have the skill nor the family name to match up. That doesn’t stop him from trying. He’s constantly vying for notoriety.
Underneath it all lurks a decent man who could prove himself if he just allowed it. If for a few moments stopped ‘faking it to making it’ he would find he has a lot of potential and he would receive much more genuine adoration.
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He had been so focused on Tabitha he hadn’t noticed Reggie Penn until the triplet’s fingers tangled in his hair and yanked his head back.
“Who’s done?” he asked.
Reggie pushed Mr Heath’s head into his own lap as Tabitha made a call to Marcus on the upper floor.
“Marcus, handsome. Show these people how very fucking serious I am.”
Bodies rained past the window as the first victims of the Freefall Massacre plummeted from the top of Beckingridge Tower.
Ring ring. Ring ring.
A short while later, Reggie’s phone chimed. He answered, still keeping Mr Heath pressed down. Reggie raised his knee up and pressed it the banker’s back as he clutched the phone to his ear.
“Yeah?”
It was Simon who was calling. “We need you up here.”
“What’s wrong.”
“We could use some extra hands,” Simon told him. “Actually, you had better bring Tabs with you too.”
“Lock the meeting room,” Reggie could hear Marcus instruct in the background. “The Heaths and the last of the investors are welcome to take the more direct root should they wish.”
When they got to the upper floor there were still quite a number of drugged and drunken bodies around that would be exiting the tower via the window. They weren’t the concern at that point.
“What’s going on?” Tabitha demanded to know. “I was just about to give the old Fullerton troll her last rights.”
“We met a little resistance,” said Marcus.
Tabitha rolled her eyes. “You mean like the resistance of the old boy in the reception on security? We just walked past him. He exhausted himself trying to pull a taser. Simon had to help him to a seat. He’s still catching his fucking breath.”
“Not that resistance,” Marcus told her. “I mean this.”
The eldest triplet led them down to a back room where a monstrously fat woman had fallen from her scooter. The flab of her arms and legs were flailing as she tried to correct herself. She was number nineteen, Kayleigh Clifton.
“There was some hor D’ouvers set up here. One can only assume it came down to feed. We can’t switch the lifts back on so It’s going to take all of us to get it up off the floor, roll it up the stairs and out the window,” said Marcus.
“Maybe we just leave her to last,” suggested Reggie.
Simon disagreed, stretching his neck. “No this is one you want to get out the way early.”
Tabitha started to chuckle. She hadn’t taken her eyes off the heap on the floor.
“I know you,” she said. “You think you run the Shanties. I was kind enough to send you a gift from the Knock Knock Club and you didn’t even thank me.”
***
“C’mon Tabs!” Reggie cried. “I’m going to miss out. We should have been there ages ago.”
“It’s not my fault you had to stop and smoke a spliffy or whatever. My feet are killing me in these shoes already.”
What had gotten Reggie so excited was the release of the new Coby Game – Plague Survivor. It was releasing at noon and crowds had already started gathering.
“Your dad is King of Main,” Tabitha went on. Couldn’t he have just told the game store to hold one for you?”
“No,” Reggie grumbled. “He said he wasn’t calling in special favours. He said if I really wanted the game I had to queue like everyone else. C’mon they’ll be opening the doors soon.”
‘Junior gets lifted and laid way too much,’ had been the king’s sentiments. ‘He needs to learn if he wants something sometimes effort has to go into it.’
“Urgh. You owe me, cunt,” Tabitha claimed.
“We’ll get to the movie. I’ll get you a milkshake at Bobby’s too,” Reggie offered as compensation. “Here hop on my back.”
Relieving the strain of the kitten heels Tabitha had been wearing, she climbed onto Reggie’s back and he carried her into City Main’s Coby Game store.
Tabitha had been browsing the oldies music in the jukebox room when Reggie emerged again beaming with pride having managed to get a copy of the new release. Tabitha pursed her lips and gave a sardonic applause for his effort. He stuffed it in his back pack and pulled back a headphone.
“What are you listening to?” he asked.
Sharing the headphones their attention was caught by a huge mountain of flesh on a scooter barging its way through those still waiting to get a copy of the new release, screaming about being disabled.
“What a cunt,” Tabitha sneered, peeling off the headphones.
“She’d be able to walk if they drained some of that fat,” stated Reggie.
“You want a grease fire to burn down the whole city?” Tabitha remarked, chuckling at how witty she found herself.
The smell of body odour from the rotund creature lingered. It didn’t take long before she came zipping back out again with the last game in hand. Still crying about being disabled to whomever was disapproving of her rudely pushing through those that had been waiting some time for their chance.
It would seem someone had told Kayleigh Clifton that the game was going to be popular, so she snapped up a copy with the intention of making some profit on it.
There was a young man there with what Tabitha and Reggie assumed to be his mother. He was a sweet, smiling sort with Down’s syndrome. They had been waiting in the queue patiently. They would have been the next ones in.
“Was that the last one?” the mother asked.
The bloated cretin on the scooter replied, “aye it was.”
The young man was a little upset. The mother hushed him. Then again it could have been the heavy stench of sweat that was doing it. That was upsetting Reggie and Tabitha too.
“If you want you can buy it from me,” Kayleigh offered.
“That’s kind of you,” the mother supposed.
“A hunner.”
“Hunner? Hundred?” the woman was astonished. The game only cost sixty. That was quite a mark up for Kayleigh’s fully loaded behind to carry it out of the room.
“I’m disabled,” she cried again, lifting the parts of her body that had folded over the scooter and adjusting herself so it could carry her immense frame. “I had to come all the way into Main. A hunner and it’s yours.”
Tabitha took Reggie’s arm and the two left the music booth and crossed the hall to address the situation.
“Put your money away,” Reggie suggested. “She’s a conning bastard, like. Excuse my language, ma’am.”
Kayleigh Clifton’s fleshy face rippled into a sneer. “Who the fuck asked you?”
“Do you want me to pop you like a fucking balloon?” Tabitha snapped.
“Suit yourselves,” Kayleigh spat. “I don’t have time for this shite. Get out my road. Fucking chancers.”
At that she zipped off again.
“Sorry about that,” said Reggie to the mother.
“It was a long shot,” she replied. The young man still seemed a little upset. “He just loves those games.”
“What’s your name?” Reggie asked him.
“Jack,” the young man replied.
Reggie smiled. Jack beamed too. Then the triplet reached into his backpack and produced his copy of the game.
“Tell you what Jack, since we’re mates you can have my copy.”
“Oh he couldn’t do that,” the mother insisted.
“It’s fine,” Reggie told them. “You can pass it back when you’re done. No spoilers though.” Jack grinned as Reggie passed him the game over. “I’m Reggie. This is Tabitha.”
“Reggie?” the mother gasped. “I thought you were one of the triplets. You’re Reginald Junior?”
“That’s right,” Reggie confirmed. He drew his phone from his pocket. “You got a gamer tag, Jack?”
“JackAnory,” the young man told him.
Reggie typed it in. “Reg3Online. That’s me. You can add me if you like. I’ve got tonnes of game links I can send you.”
Jack clutched the game tighter.
“Thanks!”
“At least let me give you something for it,” the mother insisted.
“No need, ma’am,” said Reggie. “You can just give me a shout when you’re done, huh Jack?”
“I will,” Jack agreed. He reached out and clasped Reggie in a hug. Then he did the same for Tabitha.
“We’re going to a movie right now but if you’re still in Main a little later we’re having milkshakes at Bobby’s. You should join us,” Reggie offered.
“You’re too kind,” the mother replied.
“I appreciate it,” said Jack.
By the time they got out of the store Tabitha and Reggie had spotted Kayleigh Clifton heave her immense frame from her scooter and hobble to the grey, high rise vehicle she drove. After collecting said scooter, some Clifton handymen had to push her into her vehicle before she drove off.
“Fat, greedy cunt,” Tabitha growled.
“Yeah,” Reggie agreed. “She makes me fucking sick.”
***
“How much do you think it weighs?”
“About 3 – 400 pounds I’d say.”
As the triplets discussed the practicality of moving number nineteen, Tabitha still couldn’t keep her eyes off it.
“Could you lift that, Si?”
“I did 350 the other day. Got it right above my head,” Simon boasted.
“So, get that fat heap off the floor,” Reggie pushed.
“There’s just one problem,” Simon put in. “When you’re lifting weights you have bars to grip, space to take the proper stance and a belt so you don’t shit out your fucking spine, Reg.”
“Fuck you!” Kayleigh spat from the ground.
“No, fuck you!” Simon snapped back. “You greedy, fat cunt. Ever heard of a salad?”
“That’s enough,” Marcus intervened. “Between us we can get it back up the stairs and to the window.”
“I’m not going under an armpit,” Reggie objected.
“You’ve been worse places,” Simon teased.
“Not many.”
“Grab an arm each and I’ll push from here,” Marcus instructed. “We don’t have much time. Once the security guard catches his breath he may very well call the authorities. We need to be prepped before they get here. We have to get it up the stairs and we can roll it to the window from there.”
The removal of Kayleigh Clifton’s lard filled bulk commenced. They managed to get to the first landing with Tabitha following behind the triplets.
The triplets lined up and caught their breath.
Marcus sighed, “Alright, if we shoulder together we can shove it to the bottom of the next stairs … Reggie! Get off it!”
Reggie had laid himself across Kayleigh’s stomach and was rising up and down with her staggered wheezy breaths.
“It’s kinda like a waterbed,” chuckled the youngest. Simon snatched his arm and pulled him back onto his feet.
“Eugh. I’m all sticky now,” Reggie stated, causing Simon to shove him away.
“Can we focus?” Marcus barked at them. “We do have other guests waiting.”
The triplets lined up again. The scrummed together like they were in a rugby match and charged. Kayleigh was bowled over. Reggie let out a shriek as his hand slipped further than he intended into a somewhat tight, moist space.
“Ahhh!” he bawled. “I’m in it! I’m in it. Get me out!”
Simon pulled him back. Reggie’s arm freed with an audible thwoop!
“It was just one of the fat folds,” Simon observed. He didn’t want to be the one but he had to ask, “are you even wearing anything under that tent?”
“Why don’t you lift it up and see for yourself ya peacocking prick.”
Simon and Reggie shared a look. Then they committed to a game of stone, scissors, paper. Simon chose paper to cover Reggie’s rock. He gave a fist bump of relief so genuine you could have sworn Coldford City had won a penalty shootout. Reggie raised the floral tent Kayleigh was covered in releasing a stench of urine and more body odour.
“It’s hard to tell,” he said. “If there was anything in here it’s been sucked up.”
Marcus was starting to lose his patience. Hair was straying from the neat ponytail he wore.
“Can we please, for the love of all that is righteous, just get this disgusting behemoth out of the God damned window!”
Having rolled her to the second stairwell, Reggie and Simon lifted a leg each and Marcus clasped it from the top. A revolting cloud of flatulence engulfed them.
“Please tell me that was you, Reggie,” Simon said, hopefully.
Reggie’s nose wrinkled. He was trying not to vomit. Tabitha had started gagging quite dramatically too.
“Aye, ye’s are so scary I shit maself,” Kayleigh cried, defiantly.
Simon started to heave too.
“Will you hold it together,” Marcus ordered.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” said Simon.
“Vomit in your own time. We still have these stairs to get up.”
“I’m disabled,” Kayleigh cried.
“I’m going to be disabled by the time we get you to that fucking window,” Simon yelled. He had to stop himself as his stomach lurched again.
“I was just thinking,” said Reggie, resting a leg on his shoulder. “Do you think those kids that went missing are in there? Maybe it ate them?” He lifted the tent dress again. “Marley? Are you in there little man?”
“Those kids didn’t go missing,” said Tabitha. “Your blob there left them with no choice but go to the docks.”
The greed that Kayleigh Clifton personified was not to be underestimated. Tabitha would slice off the face of anyone without too much thought. However, as far as her triplet Penn family were concerned, valid reason had to be given for such drastic action. Kayleigh’s unapologetic theft and selfish discord through the Shanties and beyond left many desperate. The young people, lost to the docks, most likely faced a fate worse than death.
“You disgust me” Marcus had told Kayleigh and he meant it.
So they kept pushing and heaving up the second set of steps. Simon became conscious of being so close to the asshole end. Knowing shit had to come dripping from somewhere he raised his shoulder a bit so the chances were it would drip towards Reggie.
“Let’s switch places,” he eventually suggested to Marcus.
Marcus popped up from the other side of the heap.
“You really think it’s much easier up here?” asked the crown prince. “Madame, if you don’t stop trying to bite me I will extract your teeth!”
“Fucking try it, specky.”
Marcus disappeared behind the heap again. When he reappeared he was laughing a little hysterically, clasping a set of old filthy dentures. He snapped them at his brother. “Still want to take my place?”
“Nah, you’re alright,” Simon decided.
“Then keep pushing. We’re almost there.”
“You’re for it now, cunt.”
“Yes, thank you Tabitha.”
***
It had been a warm afternoon when Rita Penn had been making her way to the headquarters of the City Youth Fund. She was flanked on either side by sons, Marcus and Simon. She had a phone clasped to her ear, held in conversation with Tawny.
“The food drive up here was such a success,” the queen was explaining. “We’ve got some packages to send down your way.”
“Yer a star, honey!” Tawny cheered. “We’re going to get as many to Knock Knock as we can and whip up some hot meals.
Simon skipped forward and opened the door.
“I’m just on my way now,” said Rita, “I’ll give you a call back.”
Rita stepped into the hall, giving her son an affectionate pat on the face. “Thank you, baby.”
The hall was filled with volunteers and people still bringing in canned goods. Molly Walden was the one to greet them upon arrival.
“We’ve done well, ma’am,” said the wine merchant with a smile. “We’ve got a lot of cans. Some of the volunteers sorted some baby items and made up some gift packs for expecting mas.”
“That’s brilliant,” said Rita sincerely. “It’s really a job well done. I’ve let the Headliners know we’ll be sending some down their way. The Jolly Shopper said they’ll bring in some bread too.”
Molly placed her hands on her hips and took in the princes.
“And how are my boys?” she asked.
“Very well, thank you, Mrs Walden,” Marcus answered for them.
Molly chuckled.
“I’ve got a fight coming up, Mrs Walden,” Simon told her excitedly. “If you’re free this weekend are you able to come along and see?”
“I’ll be there,” Molly confirmed. “If you get into trouble I’ll jump in,” she jested jabbing the air. To Rita she said, “Mr Rugato is here, ma’am.”
Marcus and Simon followed their mother to a table where Mr Rugato, a potential patron of the CYF, was seated with his two daughters.
Mr Rugato of Tokashima had recently set up an electronics store in Main. he was also a professor of robotics at Cardyne college. When he heard of the Youth Fund he expressed an interest in making a sizeable donation. Molly had invited him along to the annual drive to see what progress was being made, accompanied by his two lovely daughters Amane and Izen. He was a round faced, cheerful sort of fellow dressed in a fine suit. He gave a courteous nod to the Queen of Main after which introductions were made.
“These are my sons, Marcus and Simon.”
Mr Rugato gave a bow to them. The daughters followed the behaviour of their father.
“You will have to meet some of our volunteers,” said Rita to the would be patron. “My boys would be happy to keep the young ladies company.”
“Of course, mother,” Marcus agreed. “Mrs Walden has been kind enough to provide some coffee and pastries if you would like to join us.”
The young ladies were quite thrilled at that idea. Amane clasped Simon’s arm firmly.
Pleasantries were exchanged, coffee and pastries were provided. The daughters regaled the triplets with tales from their homeland. Marcus and Simon offered some anecdotes about life in Coldford.
“So you’re twins then?” Amane asked, fluttering her eyelashes.
“We’re triplets, actually,” Simon explained.
“We’re missing the complete set today,” Marcus added causing Izen to giggle coquettishly.
Meanwhile, Mr Rogatu was speaking to one of the volunteers whilst Rita and Molly tended to the workers from Williams Distribution who would be packaging the food parcels and distributing them to where they were needed most.
“I fell pregnant. I was still really young,” the volunteer was explaining. “My parents didn’t want to know. They kicked me out. Luckily I had the CYF to turn to. Her Majesty – eh Mrs Penn – she set me up with help. Mrs Walden and others helped take care of me too. They made sure I got the medical care I needed and we all share babysitting duties so we can work or go to school. I just finished taking a night class in accountancy and Mrs Penn arranged a flat share for me. My baby and I have a nice little home now.”
Mr Rugato was impressed. “And you volunteer?”
“Most of us end up doing that. It’s nice to give a little back. There’s lots of help for troubled kids here too. We’ve set up sports teams, activities and a buddy system for some of the younger ones. Most recently we did the food drive you can see here. The Coldford City team got in on it. They did huge collections at the stadium of tins, baby items, hygiene products, whatever they could get. It went so well we’re gathering it all up and sharing some with other vulnerable parts of the city.”
Mr Rugato was confident in his decision to support the City Youth Fund. The chat with the young volunteer, seeing Rita’s personal dedication he couldn’t ask for more. Then trouble arrived as Kayleigh Clifton came crashing into the hall on her scooter, struggling to carry her weight. Her smell flowed over her immense body and beads of sweat were running down her wide back. Naturally she made a charge towards the pastries, barging owner of the tram system, Rufus Clarke and his son Ralph, out of the way who had been told by Molly to grab some refreshments after they had handed in more boxes of donated goods. When they saw Kayleigh reach out her great trunk of an arm and scoop up the last of the tarts, pressing her dirty thumbs into the icing with her eagerness, they decided it wouldn’t be much use. Nothing was going to be left anyway!
“I’m disabled!” Simon heard her yelling at someone who was objecting to her greed. She was already trying to stuff a tart into the gaping hole in her face. Marcus was consciously trying to keep his nose from wrinkling as Izen was telling him a delightful story of how she had written a book of Haikus and a waft of putrid flatulence came over them.
Having collected pastries, Kayleigh zipped across to the food parcels. On the way she bumped into Amane, sending the poor girl scoffing forward. Simon stood.
“You want to watch where you’re going?” he balled at her.
Kayleigh pulled the scooter around. She glared back at Simon. At least he assumed there was a glare under there.
She made her war cry. “I’m disabled!”
“Unless shameless rudeness is a symptom of your disability ma’am, you owe an apology,” Simon returned.
“Fuck you,” Kayleigh spat, sending crumbs from the most recent tart she devoured flying the young boxer’s way. Marcus stood too. Kayleigh saw this as a challenge.
Marcus knew Simon would already be seething enough to do something stupid so he maintained his own calm.
“Madame, you are an ill mannered, selfish glutton. What’s more you are choking this entire hall with your stench. Offer an apology that is richly deserved and move along.”
“Aye, sorry, whatever.”
Kayleigh then zipped off.
“Sorry about that, ladies,” said Simon to their company. “Unfortunately, good charity brings out some chancers.”
The middle triplet was indeed correct in that. Said chancer found her way to the table where Mr Rugato was being shown the food parcels. Kayleigh had moved the meat where her belly and breasts seemed to merge and was filling the basket in the front of her scooter with some of the donated goods.
“Are you a member of the fund?” the would be patron had been curious to know.
“Am fae the Shanties,” she declared.
“Is that a yes?”
“I own the Shanties,” she stated again.
Clifton Alley, Cliton Lane, most of Forresterhill as well as the Kirkton flats certainly were in the name of Clifton. Kayleigh’s claim to her brother’s estate was tentative at best. She did fancy herself head of the Shanties whilst Clifton Hall reigned in Hollyburn thanks to her brother and his wife, Valerie Flynn.
“Aw fuck. Fat arse is here,” Molly groaned. “Excuse the French ma’am. Molly was forgiven the language. Rita completely understood the sentiment. When she saw Kayleigh Clifton fill her basket with donated goods she approached to diffuse the situation.
“Those are donated goods, madame,” Rita confronted.
“Charity begins at home,” Kayleigh sneered. “I’m head of the Shanties.”
“Ha ha,” Rita chuckled. Then her expression fell serious. “No you’re not. The Chief speaks for the people of the Shanties and they decided their home is the Knock Knock Club. Good friends of mine run the place.”
“And who the fuck are you?” Kayleigh dared to ask.
Rita’s eyebrows raised with the sheer shock.
“Who am I!?”
Molly intervened. “Get on your way, ya fat cow. We all know you’re either going to eat it all yourself or sell it on for a profit. People need these parcels.”
“Walden?” Kayleigh turned her focus on Molly. The fucking turncoat. You a Mainer now. You forget where you come fae.”
Some people forget where they come from. Others can’t see where there going for that fat laying over the buckling scooter.
***
As she was rolled up to the window, Kayleigh could see twenty or so more bodies scattered around. There was some groaning among them. They were all heavily inebriated. Most of them had been three sheets to the wind by the time she got there.
As she was propped against the ledge one of the triplets gave a gasp, most likely Reginald Junior. She didn’t make it easy for them. She was a tough one to move. If they really wanted her to fall from Beckingridge Tower they would get her piss and shit all over them. The little bitch – Tabitha – opened the window as Reginald Penn’s triplets continued pushing her towards the ledge. Number twenty five – Derek Williams – glanced up at her. He knew he’d soon follow. The sight of Simon really putting his shoulder into it sobered him up.
“What if the fall doesn’t kill it?” Reggie wondered.
“It’s a 200ft high tower.”
“Yeah, but what if it bounces?”
Reggie took a look out of the window. “Do you think we could hit the Jeff Beckingridge statue from here?”
Tabitha waited by the window with her hands on her hips.
“Out you go, cunt,” she said.
Kayleigh should have known. She had been warned.
“Some little witch in a red dress,” Valerie had informed her. She has the Chief backing her. The Penns of Main have practically adopted her as one of their own. She’s pissed at the way the Shanties are run and she won’t stop.”
Laziness, greed, selfishness – all of those things made Kayleigh what she was.
She literally took from starving children. She held vital medicines to ransom. She exploited desperate families, forcing them to pay for their dignity all so she could feed an insatiable hunger. I can’t and won’t condone what happened at Beck Tower that night. However, what I can agree with Tabitha and the triplets on was something had to be done.
“You think you know the Shanties? You’re a little Filton tart,” Kayleigh had said to Tabitha.
“Hey!” Simon barked. “Don’t talk to her like that.” His frustration caused him to bump against her body. The bump caused a ripple effect, flicking Reggie at his end with some sweat.
“Ewwww! You just flicked fat juice in my face,” the youngest complained.
Simon laughed. This didn’t appease his brother. Reggie pursed his lips and pushed the belly sending the ripple back towards the middle one. A sprinkle of putrid moisture caught the boxer.
“Uggggh. I didn’t get you anywhere near as much as that,” Simon moaned. Before he could push the belly back again Marcus halted them.
“When you two are quite finished.” Asking the Boss Lady, Marcus continued, “You wished to say something, Tabitha?”
“You’ll be pleased to know what you leave behind will pay back the ones you stole from, at least the ones that survived the starvation and exposure on the streets.” She took a moment to take Kayleigh Clifton in again. There was a lot to observe.
Marcus took over.
“Madame, your gluttonous appetite left innocent others in need. That cannot be allowed. A recession is causing a city wide suffering and that is because of people like you. As you fall …”
Marcus stopped and took a deep breath.
“I don’t even have the energy to finish what I had to say. Let’s just get it out of here it’s stinking up the place.”
HEAVE! HEAVE! HEAVE!
“Should have said thank you, cunt,” Tabitha reminded her.
At that Kayleigh Clifton plummeted from Beckingridge Tower, number nineteen in the Freefall Massacre. The sheer weight of her greed pulled her down.
SPLAT!
“Missed the statue,” said Reggie.
“I’ve just thought of something,” said Simon. “She’s meant to be disabled so she’s never took her fat arse off that scooter. Don’t you think the authorities are going to find it a bit of a stretch when they’re told she walked up those stairs, to the window and threw herself out?”
“How much do you think that scooter weighs?
“God fucking damnit.”
Chaos is unfolding in Coldford City as an event that would become known as the Freefall massacre sees fifty nine bank executives fall to their deaths.
Read Issue 17 of the Knock Knock series free online HERE
Adrien wouldn’t consider himself a citizen of any particular place. Sure, he has family and his family may hail from the unforgiving country of Levinkrantz, their touring circus leaves them nomads.
Having lived such an uncertain life on the road, Adrien is no stranger to theft and fleecing. He has to survive somehow and it’s a tough old world out there, mucker.
What makes Adrien different from the rest of the nefarious scoundrels in his tents is his vision of a better future for his family. Cheaters and swindlers isn’t exactly the legacy he was his circus to carry forward.
He firmly believed no one should leave his tents said – a little lighter in the pocket maybe? But not sad.
When war broke in Levinkrantz and bombs started to fall, Adrien gained perspective. Too many were having to break his golden rule, fleeing from the aggression. Kiddies could no longer enjoy his shows for fear of the soldiers on the streets as the dreaded Yugasov regime took over the country.
Adrien had a choice. He could find the advantage in such dire circumstances or he could help the audience he claimed to love so much.
He chose the latter.
Using his unique flair for performance and all the tricks he had up his sleeve, he rescued hundreds from the bomb blitzes, cementing himself as a notable hero in the resistance against the oppression.
Stoker Circus is filled with pickpockets, con tricks and back stabbers. Son of the Amazing Adrien, Val Stoker is offered an opportunity too good to miss and a lot of bunce. Trouble is, will his father’s legacy influence his choice or will the almighty coin?
*Caution: Contains scenes and themes some may find distressing
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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Angelique’s grandmother. A stern, older woman who is dedicated to her family. She has an air of aristocracy about her. She should speak in a French accent, but that’s not entirely necessary.
Ambrose (m):
Angelique’s older cousin and Madame’s grandson. A gruff-looking young man.
Carlos (m)
The coach of Angelique’s football team.
Location
A small hospital room.
Time
Takes place in an unknown time, but with some modern styling.
SETTING: A small hospital room
AT RISE:ANGELIQUE is seated, dressed in a hospital gown. There is a newborn baby in a cot next to her that she has recently given birth to. MADAME arrives, accompanied by AMBROSE. ANGELIQUE looks up and smiles as she sees them. MADAME takes a look at the baby.
MADAME
Let’s see her then!
[cooing over the child]
AMBROSE
How are you feeling?
ANGELIQUE
I’m tired. She’s here now though and doctors say she’s as healthy as they come. I’ve decided to name her Charmaine.
AMBROSE
After your mum? She would be pleased.
ANGELIQUE
[Calling to MADAME]
Grandma? They will let us go home soon. The doctor said they’ve never seen a healthier baby.
MADAME
[smiling at the infant]
She is precious.
AMBROSE
You’re still so young Angé. You’re going to have to take care of her. It’s a big responsibility. You’ve not finished school yet. Your football career could be over.
ANGELIQUE
[Shaking her head]
I’ll think of something.
AMBROSE
Start by telling me who the father is. I’ll make sure he plays his part. It’s his responsibility too.
ANGELIQUE
Just leave it.
AMBROSE
Who is he Angé? Some little dickhead in your class? Does he even know.
MADAME
[Chastising her grandson]
Enough! She needs to rest. As long as mother and baby are healthy that’s all that matters right now. Everything else, we’ll figure out.
AMBROSE
[Taking in the infant in the cot]
She’s a real bonny one.
[A knock signifies someone is joining them in the hospital room. Enter CARLOS – an older man dressed in a football coach outfit.]
CARLOS
I heard the new arrival made it safely.
AMBROSE
She’s still a bairn herself, coach. She’s got a tough road ahead of her.
CARLOS
At least she’s still young enough to have the energy to run after a kid.
AMBROSE
Just last year she was using that energy on the football pitch. Don’t get me wrong, we’re here to support her. It’s just, I don’t think she realises what she’s gotten herself into.
CARLOS
There’s plenty of time to worry about that.
MADAME
Would you like to see her?
CARLOS
[Taking a look at the infant. He shows his admiration.]
Beautiful. Just like her mum. I just stopped by to see if you needed anything. I still feel the need to look out for my best player.
AMBROSE
Once she’s recovered, do you think she can get back on the team again?
ANGELIQUE
I don’t want to.
AMBROSE
[Seeming to not hear his cousin’s protests.]
She was always one of the best. She lived for football and so was really close to going professional.
ANGELIQUE
I said I didn’t want to!
[The others take notice of her frustration. MADAME draws herself away from the baby.]
CARLOS
[Smiling a little awkwardly.]
We can discuss that later. You have other priorities right now.
MADAME
You need rest. Come Ambrose. We’ll find a doctor and see when she’ll be ready to go home.
[AMBROSE and MADAME exit. CARLOS lingers behind.]
CARLOS
You didn’t tell them then?
ANGELIQUE
I promised I wouldn’t.
CARLOS
Good girl. You know I’d get into a lot of trouble if anyone found out. More than that, it would ruin lives, including your own. You want to have a future, don’t you? Don’t have me ruin it for you. Don’t have everyone looking at you like you’re the team slut. You know you wanted it.
ANGELIQUE
I … It doesn’t matter. I just want to go home.
CARLOS
You have a baby to look after. If you just keep quiet and get on with it you could be back on the team. We were really rooting for you going pro. Just keep quiet and I can open a lot of doors for you.
ANGELIQUE
I don’t want to play anymore.
[AMBROSE returns looking a little rushed. He is smiling.]
AMBROSE
It’s good news. The doctor said she’s happy for you to go home now.
CARLOS
Isn’t that exciting. So it begins.
[He makes his way to take another look at the baby.]
ANGELIQUE
Leave her!
AMBROSE
[A little uneasy at his cousin’s outburst.]
Take it easy Angé.
CARLOS
She’s tired. She should get home and rest. It was nice seeing you folks.
[CARLOS exits. ANGELIQUE makes her way to the baby. AMBROSE watches intently after CARLOS]
