very gruesome stuff, about a scenario that holds more than first meets the eye. nothing special, a little something i wrote in high school. hope you all like it
Everywhere was still. Only scuffling mice made a sound. Nothing was stopping the silent song Jo could hear, not even the chimes of the church bell as it struck the last of its twelve chimes. It was her special place, a place she could be free from the outside world, where no one could judge her or label her. Here, she was herself and not an act that everyday people in the city of Alsager saw. It was a Friday. It was the 13th. It was her birthday. She stood back and stared at her work, her “Art Work” as she called it. She often went there to do her college Artwork. Graveyards were an inspirational place for her. Most of her work didn’t involve paint as she passed it off to be. If only her teacher would have got a DNA test they would have found out it was her cat’s blood.
Cat’s blood is the best blood to paint with. That was according to her and Beth, her best friend at the time. It was actually thanks to her that she used cat’s blood. According to Restorism, Beth’s latest cult, it was good luck and would guarantee you a place safe with Satan. However, Beth was a member of five different cults at the time she told this to Jo; Jo was only a member of Restorism. “For a 20 year old you can’t make up your mind!” Jo had once joked to Beth. This joke had caused many arguments between the two cousins, but to make up they would perform a ritual that rid them of any evil spirits that were set out to ruin their friendship. These spirits were often in the form of a red cloud in Jo’s Art Work. If Beth ever saw them she knew she would be angry with her. The portraits often involved a symbol that was highly respected in Restorism. Jo would often spit on the symbol as a sign of how much she resented the cult that had taken her best friend away from this world of confusion.
It was nearly one minute past twelve o’clock, one year precisely that Beth and Mik, her boyfriend, performed the “nirvana” ritual. Beth was hung at exactly the spot where Jo was now drawing her newest work of blood. Mik, however, had to take her money and claim the devil in his soul, so Beth could be cleansed of all the sin in her life. He had taken the money and ran away, vowing to Jo when she found Beth’s body, that every year he would return and dig her body up, so people would never forget her, or so Jo thought. He would be there any minute now, and Jo was waiting.
* * * * * *
Morning, 7:30am. The graveyard had its own crowd of busybody old folk who had nothing better to do than to gossip about other people’s affairs. Though they didn’t know why their neighbour had woke them at 8 o’clock that Sunday morning, they knew it was a juicy piece of gossip; they just didn’t know it was something that would spook them out from gossiping about innocent folk again. The Alsager police had been called to the graveyard that morning by a passer by. A metal stretcher was being rolled out of the church door, with a body figure showing through the plastic bag. Gasps and looks of horror and shock, swept across the elderly folk. The body was drowning in the plastic bag in its own blood. There was no murder weapon. No one could identify the name of the person, the gender or the clear definition of their face. All they knew, was that this was a serious, serious murder; but was it? No one knew if this was a planned murder, a suicide, or an accident. Speculation fluttered around the mouths of local residents, until numerous rumours were floating about, each one as ridiculous as the next. Alsager was riddled with confusion that day, nothing but confusion.
8:15. Doreen’s house.
“Ooh by gum it’s a bad ‘en,” yawped Mavis, not realising Doreen wasn’t listening, “I mean, you’d think they’d dispose of the body, but painting the church with their blood, ooh it’s a bad ‘en.” She twisted her head from side to side to check there was no one around, not that there would be.
“Mavis:-” Doreen started but ended up interrupted.
“They say it was a young couple of 18 and 20,” Mavis whispered loudly, “a couple that doing some voodoo stuff ‘cause they were into this business they call ‘cults’ and it just got out of hand. Ooh by gum, I think it’s a bad ‘en.” Doreen attempted to speak.
“What gets into their heads I don’t know!” Mavis interrupted again.
“Wouldn’t you think they’d have thought ‘stuff the … What are they called again?” Mavis asked.
“Them things they do, erm…” Doreen knew what they were called.
“That what they call ‘em?”
“I think so.”
“Well them then, they shouldn’t do ‘em,” Mavis said babbling her words. She saw the expression on Doreen’s face and remembered. “Oh, I’m sorry duck, I-I didn’t... I …. I forgot chug, oh am dreadfully sorry.” She wasn’t really. She just wanted someone to gossip to.
“Don’t ever talk like that again,” Doreen said, “Do you realise you’ve just degraded James? My grandson, who killed himself with a ‘nirvana’ ritual, which was performed by his best friend, Mik, who took all his money and ran off with James’ girlfriend, Beth?” Saying each single word had made Doreen want to hit something or someone. Her false teeth were coming loose.
“I’ve got to go anyway, I-I I’ll see you later, eh?” Mavis said jolting her body towards the door, eager to get away from a fuming Doreen.
Doreen just sat there with her body slowly becoming numb and heavyweight. She fell towards the floor masking her face as tears filtered through her hands and onto the floor. The memory of her grandson was coming back to haunt her. All she could see was his face, and his last conversation with him. He had warned her that he was going to try a ritual later that day, and she’d be the only one to stop him. Because he had been the only living relative, she felt more alone than ever before. Her eyes strained to stop crying. She was weak and knew that her time would be coming soon. No one was set to inherit her property and if they didn’t, all her valuable pottery would be destroyed. Nothing was happening in her life. In her eyes, all that was left of her family was a withered old woman who has only to spend her days sitting alone in her home grieving for her lost family.
Just at that moment, Doreen heard the latch on her door make its clinking noise. She knew it wasn’t Mavis because she usually hollered ‘hiya ducky’ at the top of her voice, and Mavis was the only one who came into Doreen’s house nowadays. A tense atmosphere pumped Doreen’s heart. It was an intruder.
Doreen stood up, tucked her chair under and slowly moved herself to stand with her back against the kitchen wall. All was quiet. She slithered across the wall to enter the living room. She had a feeling she knew who the mystery guest was. Someone was behind the door; she could hear their breath as she pressed her ear against the ajar door. She opened the door sharply, raising her frying pan with it and stopped. It was Mik.
* * * * * *
8:00am. Mik was sitting down in Doreen’s kitchen, handling a cup of tea.
“Now do you see?” Mik started, “Do you see now? I only took his money to pay off the debts he’d managed to get himself into.” Doreen looked at the bill papers, hardly daring to believe her grandson had had a drug problem. “It wasn’t the ritual, it was suicide,” Mik continued, whilst Doreen wept, “He was abusing Beth, and it was that that drove her to the same happy ending, not the cult.” Doreen looked up and sniffed.
“And you expect me to believe this?” Doreen asked.
“You have to,” Mik answered. There was a silence.
“Did you have anything to do with last night?” Doreen calmly asked.
“Yes I did,” Mik said, “Hear me out first before you judge. Jo, Beth’s best friend, was painting on her grave. I went to visit the grave because of it being a year. She was digging up Beth and James’ graves.” Doreen looked at Mik in disbelief. “She dug up James’, but not Beth’s. She then tried to grab my hands and place my fingers wherever she could, try to frame me. I ran away whilst I could, back to my house with my brother, to give myself an alibi.”
“Why did you need an alibi if you’re innocent?” Doreen snapped.
“Because no one will believe me, I knew they wouldn’t,” Mik gently said, “Next thing I knew, this morning I found out she’d killed herself with her body lying in James’ grave.” Doreen cried with pain. Nothing could take away the hurt she was feeling.
“And you came to me, why?” She asked, hoping he was making it all up.
“I knew no one else would believe me and because you’re a good judge of character,” Mik said.
“Yeah, I’m such a good judge I didn’t even know my own grandson was a drug addict!” she said, pressing a tissue against her eyes.
“Listen, if you don’t believe me, no one else will. I need to prove to them that I’m innocent. Please,” Mik said on his knees. Doreen closed her eyes and sighed.
“Ok,” she softly said, “but it’s going to take more than a couple of words to convince the police you’re innocent, do they even know you were involved?”
“Don’t think so, no,” Mik said.
“Then run,” Doreen blurted out.
“Run. I’ll give you the money. Run.”
“Anywhere, Spain. No one will find you there; there are that many British people there.” Mik thought for a moment. He nodded.
Within one hour, Mik had ran to his brother’s house packed his bags, not telling him of where he was going, and was soon in Doreen’s car, driving to Manchester Airport. No words were spoken whilst in the car. Mik dragged his bag behind him, remembering his childhood of switching from children’s home to children’s home. The only words spoken were at the departure when Doreen hugged Mik with a tear in her eye. She looked at his face in admiration.
“Go and find life, son,” Doreen said.
“I will, mum,” Mik said laughing. He walked into the door, turning back for one last glance at Doreen.
And so it was done. Mik moved to the Costa del Sol, and lived in Gibraltar for the remainder of his life, telling no soul of his graveyard grief. He rung his brother eventually and let him know where he was, but after that he never heard off his family again. Doreen made up with Mavis and lived with the secret for the two years before her death. Her confession letter was kept in her coffin with her at her burial, and to this day no one knows it’s there.