There had always been a yarn to tell about the lonely man, a tall tale
of butchery and grue exclusively recounted by lamplight in the midnight hour.
The legacy of a thousand lost lovers, the torment of a hundred lost children, each
perfectly recounted to an audience of rarely dismissive teens.
Gabi had heard the
stories before, and, like most with a modicum of commonsense, refuted each and
every word.
“Go on then,” Jackie
said stiffly, “take the long walk.” She smiled sharply. “Unless you’re
chicken.”
Gabi snarled, slipped
between the bushes and the evergreens, and was gone – erased by a diminishing light.
The world ahead was a
dire place: rank, dark, and comfortless.
She followed the path
as it snaked around the gentle ascent of the hillock. A fox ran ahead of her.
It was skinny and sickly looking, easily the runt of a much larger litter.
Surely I have to be nearly there by now.
Surely I
can’t be far from the top.
And there, beyond the clot of darkness, she saw a pinch
of blue sky framed gracelessly between the branches of dead or dying trees. She
smiled; reassured.
The fox, perhaps
sensing something new, stalled ahead of her and reared its head into the air. It
sniffed at the air, whined, and bolted back the way it came.
She crept through what
remained of the gloom, towards the light. It was then she noticed it: a cottage.
It was black and rotten. Its windows (of which there were only two), smashed
and covered by the tattered remains of floral netting. Outside the cottage, perched
on an old bench overlooking the parkland bellow, sat an old man working
tirelessly on something she could not quite discern. Cutting ... calving ... raking
and shredding.
“Can I help?” He asked
without ever looking up.
“No ... no, I’m sorry.
I was just walking.”
“Do people still do
that ? Walk. It’s usually cars and motorcycles these days.” He said
dreamily. “Would you sit with me a while? I’m such a lonely man these days.”
“Don’t you have
family? Friends?”
He shook his head, no.
“Do you really think I have either friend or family
left at my age?” He chuckled at that, still without looking back at her. “No,
my dear, they’re all gone.”
“I really should get
back. My friends ... they’re waiting.”
“Then bring them up ...
everyone’s welcome.”
Now the old man did turn. A dark and jagged half-smile
calved into his craggy features. And as his lips parted, she briefly saw a bloated
and bloodied tongue roll over the shattered stumps of his remaining teeth.
“Oh, Jesus ...” Her
voice was merely a whisper, harsh and terrified.
The old man stood and
the severed head of some unknown infant dropped from his lap and rolled towards
her. Flesh and sinew all but stripped from its eyeless face. The maw cleaved
into some sickening jokers grin.
Run! Run you silly girl.
But the thought came too late.
The old man bore down
upon her, seizing her wrist in a single hand, and drew the rusty blade against
her cheek.
“You should have
listened to your friend,” he said, and smashed the young girls head against the
side of the cabin. Her skull gave with a sickening crack as jets of blood
squirted from her ears.
He smiled as he
hunkered down upon her.
He would be alone
again soon, he knew, once the light in her eyes had gone out. Before that though,
before she was frosty to touch, he would have his fun. Afterwards he would make
a totem of her bones and add her to the ashes of so many who had come before
her.
He was a lonely man,
certainly, but curiosity made sure he was only a lonely man for a short while.
He craned forward a
little, undid his zipper, and whispered into her ear.
“Now, shall we
begin?”
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