by Sarah Scanlan
whisky on the rocks
The sound of a low flying aircraft
disturbed the tranquil setting of Harrow Woods. The plane chugged along leaving
a wispy trail in the sky and within moments had passed, giving silence full
authority once again.
Harrow
Woods hugged the edge of Gaunts town. It was thick with shadowy trees except for
an open corner where folk would picnic and relax. An earthy scent of moss filled
the air along with a fine mist, which refused to leave. In the distance the
town’s church bell chimed. It was the beginning of a new
day.
The wood
was home to many oak trees; they stood tall and foreboding. A striking bird sat
alone high up on a branch. Its feathers were the colour of piano keys tinged
with teal. It cocked
its head, as something on the ground caught its eye. Moving across the willowy
twig, it jumped on to the one below, still twitching its head from side to side
to get a better look.
Its
attention was attracted to a small sparkly object.The magpie
let out a throaty cackle; it sounded frustrated, as if deciding whether to
venture down any further. The bird’s raspy cry pierced the quiet again. It
looked once more at the ground, and then flew away.
The
sparkly object was a ring.It shone
brightly on the hand of a young woman.
Her body
was still.She lay as
if asleep on the wet ground. A gentle breeze tickled the long grasses to sway
over her body, as to entice her back to life. Her exposed flesh was the colour
of a thunderous sky and her long golden hair was matted with crimson where the
back of her skull had been crushed. Bone, blood and grey matter had now
congealed there and dried in to one mass.
Her face
was smooth with small perfect features like that of a china doll. Her jeans were
stained with mud and dirt and her feet displayed coloured nails of bright
turquoise through her peep toe shoes. She wore a sunshine yellow t-shirt, but
above her left breast was a cut in the fabric. The crude oval hole revealed an
incision in her flesh that had been neatly sliced and sown back together. But
something lay in the wound beneath her skin. Something dark that didn’t belong.
Something moving.
In the
distance the dry rasp of the magpie continued.
* *
*
The man
had been running for over an hour. Ducking in to the bushes at the side of the
road each time a car passed by. He was tall and muscular with dark eyes. His
skin was scarred and rough. He looked like he’d had a lifetime of misery in his
thirty years. His clothes were dirty and his shoes scuffed. He had travelled
far. His journey had started the previous night, using as many different types
of transport he could to keep the police guessing. He knew they would be looking
for him, if not now, they would be soon. He slowed his pace to a brisk walk as
he headed towards the town, he couldn’t afford for people to get suspicious. He
checked his watch. It was 6.05pm. He could see lights from pubs and restaurants
as he drew nearer. He knew he couldn’t risk being seen, but he also knew that
through the town was the only way to reach his destination. The man came to a
large sign on the side of the road and stopped.
Welcome
to Gaunts. Have a pleasant stay.
He looked
down at himself, at his dirty clothes. He zipped up his brown leather jacket to
hide the flecks of blood on his shirt and headed for the
town.
* * *
The loud
banging on the door awoke Tom Wyatt from his nap. Through dreary eyes he looked
at the clock on the wall of the lounge. It was 7.15pm. In the corner of the room
the muted TV flickered. The
banging came again.
‘Alright,
I’m coming.’ He murmured heading for the hallway. When he opened the door two
police officers faced him.
‘Evening
sir, I’m Detective Inspector Mace this is Detective Constable Merrifield.’ The
tall policeman motioned to his colleague, who was a short stout young woman with
large eyes. They both showed him their ID cards. ‘Can I take your name Sir?’ The
Detective asked.
‘Of
course, it’s Thomas Wyatt.’ The old man replied.
‘Sorry to
call on you at this time sir but I’m sure you’ve heard the news about the body
of a woman found in Harrow woods today.’
‘Only what
I heard on the local radio.’ Tom answered. ‘As you can see I don’t have any
close neighbours to talk to, living so far out. Such an awful thing to happen, I
like to walk my dog Deefa down in Harrow, I suspect it will be cordoned off for
now will it?’
‘It will
for a while until we get all the evidence we need. We’re asking residents of the
area if they’ve noticed anything to raise your suspicions recently, missing
items perhaps or unusual behaviour?’ The DC was ready with her pad and
paper.
‘No
nothing that I can think of.’ He shook his head as he
answered.
‘Did you
walk your dog in the woods this morning Mr.Wyatt?’ The Constable
enquired.
‘No, I
wasn’t well this morning; I couldn’t face walking far so I just let her out in
the garden. My legs you see, they don’t work as well as they used to.’ He smiled
thinly.
‘Do you
live here alone Sir?’
‘Yes, my
wife passed away a long time ago. It’s just me and Deefa.’
‘Well if
you do think of anything then you can contact us on this number.’ The officers
gave Tom a card, thanked him for his time and left. He shoved the card in his
pocket, closed the door and bolted it.
Tom
wandered in to the kitchen and flicked the kettle on. He took the officer’s card
out of his pocket and read it. He screwed it up in his fist and threw it in the
bin. As he did there was another loud knock on the door.
‘What is
this? Weeks go by and nothing and then everybody turns up.’ Tom spoke aloud as
he unbolted and opened the door. A smile flickered his
lips.
‘Aren’t
you going to let me in then?’ The man’s voice was deep and raspy. He didn’t wait
for an answer, eager to get inside he barged past the older
man.
‘Who else
has been here?’ The large man with dark eyes demanded.
‘It’s nice
to see you too. Why don’t you come in?’ Tom asked sarcastically as he closed the
door again.
‘You said
everyone’s been here, I heard you. Who?’ The man looked at Tom, searching his
face for answers.
‘A woman
came and then the police, and now you. Aren’t you even going to say
hello?’
‘The
police, what did they want?’ He demanded.
‘Not
much.’
‘Did they
mention me?’ He wanted to know.
‘Why would
they mention you? What have you done Jack?’ Tom almost revelled in the notion.
‘Was the
woman looking for me?’ He ignored his questions.
‘No, she
was looking for me, as I do live here.’ He was starting to lose his
patience.
‘Are you
sure she wasn’t looking for me?’
‘Why would
she be looking for you, you haven’t lived here for ten years? I’m surprised I
recognise you.’
‘I’m
meeting someone here. A woman. Lotti. That’s all you need to
know.’
‘In
trouble are you? What a surprise.’ Tom brushed past Jack and headed for the
kitchen.
Jack was
still stood in the hall when Tom came back out with two mugs of hot black
coffee. He handed a mug to Jack.
‘Haven’t
you got anything stronger?’ Jack took the mug.
‘That bad
is it?’ Tom regarded Jack over his mug but he didn’t
respond.
Defa
padded towards Tom hoping for some attention.
‘You’re
positive the police aren’t looking for me.’ He wanted to
know.
‘No. They
know nothing about you.’
‘What
about Lotti, did they mention her?’ He demanded.
‘No they
didn’t. What’s going on Jack?’ Tom asked.
‘It’s none
of your concern.’
‘It is
when you turn up after ten years and decide to stay in my
house.’
Jack
stared at Tom for a moment deciding whether to enlighten him. ‘Something
happened, Lotti was involved and I told her to meet me here. It was the safest
place I could think of. But don’t worry; as soon as Lotti arrives we’ll be
gone. Wouldn’t want to stay in this dump longer than a day, I might catch
something.’ He sneered.
There was
a slight pause before Tom spoke. ‘It was good enough for your mother, Jack.’ Tom
sighed. ‘Who is this Lotti anyway?’ He enquired.
‘A
friend.’
‘What are
you running from Jack? Or should I say who. It must be bad for you to crawl back
here with no warning.’ He looked at his son and took a sip of
coffee.
Jack
didn’t respond.
‘Well if
this Lotti is going to become part of the family, then I think I need to
know.’
‘You don’t
need to know anything. She’ll be here soon and then we’ll be gone. End of.’
Jack’s eyes never left the old man.
Tom turned
his attention to Deefa and smiled. ‘You’re a good girl, aren’t you ay? Do you
want to go outside?’ Tom patted her side and walked towards the back door. Jack
grabbed his thick arm, determined not to let Tom get to
him.
‘Don’t
think I won’t hurt you old man.’ He snarled. Jack lowered his tone. ‘I’ve
changed my name, my appearance; my whole background is a lie because I don’t
want anything to do with you. There’s nothing connecting you and me anymore.
You’re no father to me; you’re just a bed for the night. In the morning Lotti
and I will be gone, for good.’ They both stared at each other.
‘Why did
you even bother coming here?’
‘I just
told you.’
‘Yeah, for
somewhere to stay, but you could have gone anywhere; a hotel a B & B or even
hid in a field there’s plenty of them. But you didn’t, you chose to come back
here, to this house. Why?’ Tom was inches from Jack’s
face.
Jack
searched for an answer. He felt like a child again. He knew Tom was right. He
did come back for more than a bed but something stopped him from admitting it.
‘I suppose I wanted to…’
‘To see
what life you left behind? To see what life you could have had?’ It was Tom’s
turn to lower his tone. ‘To see if I was still alive?’
‘What are
you talking about? I knew this would happen; you can’t help it can you? You love
to play these mind games. I was stupid to even think you could’ve changed.
What’s wrong with you?’ Jack remembered why he left.
‘Come on
Jack, I know that if you had the opportunity you would have got rid of me a long
time ago. Is that why you came back, to finish it?’
‘You know
for a second I thought we could try again and I’d be willing to forget all the
times you humiliated and beat me. But no, I don’t think there’s a decent bone in
your body. You’re nothing but deadwood to me.’ Jacks voice was a whisper. He
clenched his teeth to hide his anger. Tom fixed him in a stare that brought back
old memories. Jack felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand
up.
‘It’s good
to see you.’ Tom replied softly.
‘What?’ He
asked incredulously.
‘I’ve
often thought about you. I knew you would come back one day.’ Tom smiled, but
his eyes told a different story.
‘Well get
a good look Dad, because this’ll be your last time.’ Jack snorted and let
him pass. As Tom and Deefa entered the garden a strong scent of rosemary hit
them like a wall.
Half an
hour had passed and the evening was closing in. The sun had sunk down low,
giving the garden a soft peachy tone that would soon turn in to
night.
Jack
drained what was left of his coffee as he watched his father through the kitchen
window. He reached in to his pocket and pulled out his mobile
phone.
Lotti
should be here by now. He thought as he scrolled through
the names on the display. When he came to Lotti’s name, he stared at it for a
few moments. His brow furrowed, he was having trouble focusing. He blinked
myopically and rubbed his eyes. He could feel an ache building from the base of
his skull. He was getting tired. He pressed the call button and put the phone to
his ear. As he did a noise came from upstairs.
Jack moved
swiftly to the bottom of the staircase. The sound was familiar. He quietly made
his way up the stairs taking two steps at a time, his phone still in his hand.
The sound was getting louder; it was coming from the bedroom. Jack burst through
the door. The room was dark. He felt on the wall for a light switch and slapped
it on. The bright light flooded the room; the noise was coming from a drawer
beside the bed. Jack knew what lay inside; he wrenched it
open.
It was
Lotti’s mobile.
The slim
silver phone was lit up with Jack’s name. He looked at his own phone and ended
his call. Silence settled on the room. He stood, for what seemed an eternity,
staring at both mobiles. His mind reeling about how it got there, what Tom had
said and where Lotti was now. Then with rage pumping through his veins he ran
back the way he’d came in search of his father.
As he
reached the bottom of the stairs he stopped. The throbbing pain that had started
from the base of his skull now seemed to have taken over his head. He felt like
he’d been hit with a baseball bat. He leaned against the wall to hold himself
up. He blinked and shook his head. He felt dizzy and faint. His breath was
coming in short gasps. His legs felt like they were attached to lead weights. He
slid down the wall and sat on the last step looking down at the two mobiles he
held. Rubbing his head with the back of his hand he pushed himself off the stair
with every last drop of energy and carried on in search of Tom.
He got as
far as the kitchen table, then his legs buckled beneath him. As Jack went
crashing to the ground he dropped the phones, one skidded across the floor as
Tom entered the kitchen with Deefa bounding up behind. All Jack could do was
helplessly reach for Lotti’s phone. He mumbled something but it was
undecipherable, his head was thick and the blackness that enveloped him was
welcoming.
‘You took
your time; I didn’t think you were going to find it.’ Tom stood over Jack and
smiled, this time it touched his eyes.
* * *
Tom worked
through the night and in to the early hours of the morning. The sun was trying
it’s best to defrost the icy grass but as he walked across the ground it
crunched under his feet like broken glass. He looked at his watch. It was
4.15am.
After Jack
had given in to the darkness, Tom left his body slumped on the floor while he
slaved in the garden lit only by a waning moon. It had taken him longer to dig
the grave than he had first thought. Tom was surprisingly strong for his age but
the ground was hard and tough to drive the spade through. He had stopped through
the night only to catch his breath and to take a few swigs of fiery liquid from
his hip flask.
Now the
freezing air clouded his breath as he dragged Jack’s heavy body across the cold
wet ground, towards the yawning mouth of the grave. As Tom approached the
gaping hole, a smile creased his face; he was going to enjoy this.
Tom
positioned Jack’s body in-line with the grave and stood over him. He reached in
to his pockets and pulled out a small craft knife and a beaten up old tin that
fitted in the palm of his hand. He put the tin back inside his coat until the
time was right. He unzipped Jack’s jacket and hesitated. He noticed the blood
stains on his shirt.
‘Maybe
we’re more alike than I thought Jack.’ Tom was surprised but unperturbed and
carefully undid the first four buttons of Jack’s shirt revealing his chest. He
lined up the knife to where he thought he should make the incision. Satisfied,
he took the safety cap off and started to cut.
Jack’s
eyes burst open and he yelled in pain. He sat bolt up right and tried to focus
on the image in front of him. Tom jumped back and dropped the knife. He watched
as Jack felt his chest and the warm fluid flowing freely from it. Like
lightening Tom picked up the spade he used to dig the hole and swung it back.
‘I’ve waited a long time for this Jack, I’m not about to let you ruin it for
me.’ The spade came down with tremendous speed; it hit him on the left side of
his face. Blood and teeth shot out of his mouth from the force. He almost fell
in to the grave but managed to hold himself back. Jack tried to turn around to
look at his attacker but another shot of pain exploded in his head as he was hit
again.
Jack’s
body slumped back on to the ground. Tom listened to the gurgling sounds coming
from his throat. He was still alive.
The strong
irony stench of blood clung to his nostrils as he dropped the spade and set back
to work. In the dim light of the early hours Tom struggled to find his knife he
had previously dropped. He gave up quickly, knowing he didn’t have time to
waste. The cut he had made in Jack’s chest was small but it would have to do. He
reached in to his pocket once more and pulled out the tin that looked as old as
he was. He carefully prized the lid off and set it slowly on the ground as not
to spill the contents. Inside the tin lay a few sprigs of rosemary, a needle and
thread, and a pale maggot that wriggled around looking for something to feed on.
Tom picked
up the rosemary and looked at Jack. He watched as his eyes opened and closed now
and again, drifting in and out of consciousness.
‘You know
Jack, when I look at you all I see is dirt and grime and bad. I know you can
hear me.’ He kicked his leg. There was no response. ‘As soon as you were born I
knew you were no good. I thought I hated you. But how can you hate something
you didn’t love to start with? You see you’re not my son, Jack. You never were.’
Tom stared down at Jack and rolled the rosemary between his thumb and finger.
‘It’s a shame about Charlotte though; I liked her. She was feisty. Now if you
had arrived before her, then things may have been different.’ Tom bent down and
leaned in towards the rasping man. He pushed the small sprig in to the open
wound, shoving his finger deep inside and ripping the soft tissue. Warm blood
flowed over Tom’s fingers and trickled down Jack’s body. ‘You’ll need this as it
will cleanse your soul.’ Tom picked up the maggot and watched as it writhed and
squirmed in his hand. ‘And this little terror will eat away all of your sins.
And he’s hungry.’ He pushed the writhing maggot in to the hole in Jack’s chest.
As quick as he could, Tom sewed up the wound.
Jack was
twitching and moaning in response but his body was useless, his life was ebbing
away.
Tom stood
and looked at his work. The corner of his mouth curved up in to a grin. He
kicked Jack until he rolled over and fell in to the grave. He landed on his
back. His death was minutes away. Tom picked up his spade, crouched down beside
the pit and softly spoke.
‘By the
way.’ Tom paused, his smiled spread across his face. ‘Lotti said it was a boy.
Sleep tight.’
For a
brief moment Jack opened his eyes. Cold earth showered his face and buried him
alive.
About the author
This story was published in First Edition magazine (no longer in publication) in
2009 and has been adapted in to a short film in 2014 named The Rite of Rosemary. Sarah is a full time
mum looking after two young boys and currently writing her first novel.
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