The Reunion

  "Stuart was there, smouldering in his shoes, because of what we had done all those years ago. Patrick had all but forgotten about that fateful night, we all had. We had agreed, right after the incident, to never mention it again, not a word to anyone, ever. But now, our past had come back to get us, Stuart was proof of that, and our long silence hadn't changed a thing or protected us.

  There were seven of us, you see, all rebels without a cause, or a brain cell between us it seems thinking back.

  There was Patrick and Stuart, whom you already know. Myself of course. There was fat Richard Baker, whose nickname suited him.

  There was Carl Danson, with brown teeth and bad breath and there was Gary Small, the one who the girls seemed to like the best."

  Mr James began to titter to himself as his mind dwelled on his old friends.

  He took another sip of tea and looked directly at Jacob.

  "I was always quite jealous of Gaz." he continued. "not about the girls, more about his well being. I can't remember him ever being ill. We all caught the measles and bugs that caused the runs but, he never fell sick, a fact that stuck in my mind."

  The old man paused.

  "Where was I again? he said to himself. "Me, Pat, Stu, Fat Rich, Carl, Gaz and oh! yes, there was Dave Sims.

  Dave had a really bad stutter and didn’t talk much.

  We were the classic delinquents with nothing better to do than hang around on street corners causing trouble and strife to the other, less liked, kids on the estate.

  I believed at the time that everyone thought we were great but I found out later that no one did. They all despised us. It turned out that we were the less liked kids on the estate. I couldn't believe it, but I digress.

  I can recall the day that started this whole nightmare off.

  It was a Saturday evening. Fat Rich had been able to swipe two bottles of his father’s homebrew for us to share and Dave had managed to sneak a few cigarettes from both his parents.

  We were in for a good time, or so we thought.

  Patrick lived in the house that was at the end of our street and it had a large open side garden. We sat on the grass there drinking and smoking our stolen goods. It wasn't long before Carl, being the joker that he was, began to show off to everyone who passed us by, pretending to be completely drunk by swaggering about and swearing at the top of his voice.

  There was barely enough homebrew to go round, with only a few gulps for each of us from both bottles, so there was no way he was drunk, slightly merry perhaps but, not as drunk as he was making out. He had just perfected his drunken swagger when 'she' came along, the chance encounter that would change our lives forever.

  Mrs Hart was a small miserable hag with grey, wiry hair. She had a big hairy wart on her nose and her chin was covered in stubble.

  She was rumoured to be a witch, or so Gaz had informed us, and label suited her.

  She was clutching her tatty handbag as usual and was wrapped in a dirty tartan shawl or blanket.

  Carl had decided to act like an ape in front of her and was swinging his arms wildly in her face.

  “Get out of my way you little shit!” she had hissed, swinging her bag at him.

  “Should have been drowned at birth!”

  I shouted out the nickname we had given her. “Mrs Hart the old fart!”

  Everyone laughed hysterically and I felt quite pleased with myself until she stopped and glared at me. She didn’t like it one bit.

  You could see the temper flaring up and her face turning red.

  We all stopped laughing but then, and without warning, she ran towards me swinging her bag and swearing hysterically.

  I tried to get out of the way but bumped into Dave and we both crumpled to the grass with Hart the fart hitting us frantically with her tattered bag.

  I remember thinking that it must have been filled will bricks.

  Fat Rich eventually shoved her away, sending her sprawling backwards onto the footpath. She fell awkwardly onto the slabs and yelped as she rolled over onto her back.

  “You little bastards!” she yelled, clambering to her feet and picking up her shawl. “you horrid little wretches!”

  I thought she was going to do something else but, surprisingly, she just limped away mumbling obscenities under her breath.

  We watched her hobbling up the street towards her house and she gave us a hateful glare before disappearing inside.

  Fat Rich shouted up the street to her saying she was an old cow and that it was about time she was dead, before finishing off the last dregs of homebrew and throwing the bottle into the bushes.

  “She needs teaching a lesson!” declared Gaz "can't go round hitting people for nothing!"

  "L-l-like what?" Dave asked, still brushing grass from his jumper. "we c-c-can't exactly d-d-do anything while she's in th-th-the house can we!"

  Carl shrugged his shoulders and began to smile. "Why not?"

  "A bit of house wrecking you mean?" asked Fat Rich, raising his eyebrows and letting out a loud vulgar belch.

  I could see that Stuey's eyes had lit up at the thought of a little vandalism and I gave Carl a searing look. I blamed him entirely for what had happened.

  If he hadn't been fooling around she would never have bothered us and this nightmare would not have happened. I know my insult didn’t exactly help things but if she had been left alone I wouldn’t have had a reason to say it..

  I tried defusing the idea, but, as usual, my advice fell on deaf ears.

  The house looked rotten from the outside, never mind the inside.

  The sills were rotting, the net curtains were brown and tatty and most of the guttering was hanging off. The place looked contaminated, diseased.

  Unfortunately, the very bad idea turned into a very bad plan and our fates were sealed.

  ####

  Harvey leant forward and put his mug onto the coffee table. There was a plate with a few biscuits on it, arranged in a circle, and he offered the reporter to take one. Not wanting to cause offence, Jacob chose a custard cream and took a small bite, glancing down at his notes briefly. As he looked back at the old man he saw that he was using eye-drops from a small plastic bottle which he hastily stuffed back into his trouser pocket after a drop to each eye.

  "Going back to the burnt man!" said Jacob, munching on the biscuit. "Stuart was at Patrick’s house because of what you did to Mrs Hart?"

  The old man nodded as he blinked in the liquid and rolled his eyes.

  ####

  "Yes” he replied. “The gang had decided to teach the old bag a lesson she would never forget and, being part of that gang, I had to tag along.

  We waited until dark before making our way to her house.

  Her rear garden backed onto a large playing field and we were able to sneak unseen right up to the back door.

  As we made our way there the others had joked about what atrocities they could unleash upon her.

  “I’ll piss on her sofa!” Carl had sneered, picking his nose.

  “And I'll c-c-crap on the c-c-carpet!” added Dave sniggering.

  The back door was unlocked and Fat Rich pushed it open.

  It creaked as it swung aside and we were greeted by an awful stench.

  I told Dave that it smelled as if she'd beaten him to it.

  We looked at each other apprehensively and hesitated before entering.

  We were all waiting for someone to make the first move and, eventually, Fat Rich did. We all followed him in through the door, giggling and pushing each other. At this point it was still all a stupid game, you see, and that no-one really wanted to cause too much trouble but, we were heading for more than that.

  The kitchen was a complete dump; dirty plates piled high in the sink, the cooker thick with grease and torn lino on the floor with gaping holes in it.

  By the time we had made our way into the lounge our joking had stopped.

  Empty bottles and newspapers had been strewn everywhere. The settee was covered with dirty clothes
and the carpet was sticky.

  It lifted up with every step as it clung to sole of my trainers.

  I was right about it being a dump. The place needed fumigating.

  The light from the lamp post outside penetrated the brown nets and created an eerie, monochrome, view of the room and everything in it.

  It was hard to believe that anyone could live in such a cess pit.

  Patrick wanted to go but was pulled back by Stuart. He told him that if he didn't want a gang beating he'd better stay. Besides it was only a prank.

  I must admit, I wanted to go too. The smell was beginning to make me feel sick."

  #####

  The comment rekindled Jacob's awareness of the over powering fragrance of petunia oil. It permeated through the large house and hung so thick in the air he could taste it on his lips. It also wafted from the old man whenever he moved. The slightest gesture would send yet another unseen swirl of perfume into the air.

  God only knows what dreadful odour he was trying to disguise.

  #####

  "We had just made it to the door that led to the staircase, when we heard the floorboards creaking above us. Hart the Fart was making her way across the landing.

  Instantly, our bravado was quashed. We all panicked, darting all at once for the back door. Carl was nearest to the kitchen but, in his eagerness to escape, tripped on a bit of lino that was sticking up from the threshold strip. He tumbled against the sink unit sending the plates crashing to the floor. They in turn disturbed a collection of unused brooms and mops that were stuffed in the corner. They fell across the back door and jammed themselves behind the handle.

  Almost instantly, Carl was back on his feet, but could not budge the wedged brooms from behind the lever. We crashed into each other in the tiny kitchen, wedging ourselves for a second or two before realising what had happened.

  After a little frantic jostling, we made it back into the lounge.

  I was very scared but, for some reason, I was laughing to myself. I knew she was going to catch us but could not help giggling with excitement.

  I remember thinking that I must be insane for finding the situation funny.

  Like a well timed comedy sketch, we all managed to scramble behind something just before the living room door swung open.

  From my hiding place, behind the TV in the corner, I could see the old bag standing in the doorway fumbling for the light switch.

  My heart was in my mouth as the room was flooded with light revealing some of the gang as they cowered in their hiding places.

  She was furious, but must have been expecting us. She was wielding a walking stick and immediately began to lash out at Gaz who was crouched behind the settee near the door.

  I heard a loud hollow thud as it clonked off his head.

  “Ouch! You old bitch!” he yelped, jumping to his feet and staggering backwards. “You’ve split me head open!”

  With that Fat Rich, who was crouching beside Gaz also jumped to his feet and quickly snatched the walking stick from Hart the Fart’s grasp, yanking her forward towards him. They collided and the old cow bounced away sprawling to the floor. That was twice Fat Rich had sent her flying.

  “Get out!” she screamed ”Get out or help me I’ll…”

  She stopped in mid sentence and began to scramble to her feet but Fat Rich jabbed the walking stick into her shoulder, sending her back onto her arse.

  “Or what!?” he demanded “Or what will you do you old bag!?”

  “Don’t tempt me sonny!” she sneered, pointing her bony finger at him.

  ”Don’t you dare tempt me!”

  By now we had all emerged from our hiding places and were standing behind Rich. He continued to prod her shoulder as she tried to scramble back to her feet. I suggested we leave but no one listened.

  Each time she tried to get up Fat Rich just jabbed her back down.

  At first it had seemed quite funny, watching her keep struggling up only to be knocked back down again. It was like watching something in constant play back but, after ten or twelve attempts, the smiles had dropped and the humour had gone.

  Fat Rich was getting tired of her attempts to stand and was clearly becoming agitated by her dogged determination. His prods were getting harder and more aggressive. His last jab was fast and violent. The old woman fell heavily against the wall in the corner, banging her head with a loud thud.

  She sat there silently with her eyes closed and her head lolled to one side.

  We all thought Rich had killed her and were shocked silent for the longest moment. Eventually, Carl edged himself closer to see if she was breathing. But, instead of checking, he began to urinate over her.

  He started to laugh excitedly as he aimed his spray at her face and glanced back at us with sheer delight in his eyes.

  None of us were laughing, we were all too disgusted.

  Suddenly, she moved her head and Carl jumped back in surprise, dribbling piss down the front of his jeans as he zipped himself up.

  She wiped her face and opened her eyes.

  We all stood there looking at her. She knew that she was trapped and that the fat kid would not let her up. We couldn't leave because she was blocking our exit. The back door was jammed shut leaving the front door the only way out. She was sat in the corner with her legs blocking the lounge door.

  She looked at each of us in turn with hate filled eyes and began mumbling something under her breath. I was too far away to hear what she was saying but felt compelled to know what it was. I moved closer but, as I did, she pointed her skeletal finger at me, stopping me in my tracks.

  She angrily jabbed her finger at each of us and her chanting became louder and louder with each forceful poke of the air. Having very few teeth meant her words were difficult to understand.

  I remember my attention was drawn to her face. Disturbingly, it was changing before my eyes, turning pale and gaunt as she chanted.

  It was as though the old cow was aging rapidly. As though, whatever she was doing, was robbing her of what little life she had left.

  A feeling of dread washed over me, forcing goose bumps to creep up my arms and neck. I knew that something sinister was happening.

  The shape of her eyes began to change. The lower lids had sagged, dragging the eyeballs with them, stretching them down into ovals. Her skin was turning grey and thinning, shrinking against her skull.

  I glanced back at the lads. They too were fixated on the old woman's face.

  The air in the room had begun to get heavy.

  It's hard to explain but, it felt as though my ears were under water. It was getting harder to breathe and my heart had begun pumping hard against my ribs. It could have been the onset of panic but, deep down, I knew that it wasn't. I knew that a supernatural presence had engulfed us.

  By now, the skin on the old bags face had receded so much that her eyes were bulging from their sockets.

  Eventually, frightened out of his wits, Fat Rich grabbed both her ankles and dragged her away from the door. We all darted from the house, making our way directly to Patrick’s side garden.

  Before I left I had glanced back at her. She was lying on her side and facing me. Her eyes were now glazed over and blood was dribbling from her tear ducts. She smiled, splitting the receding skin around her mouth.

  She looked like a corpse.

  I was terrified and knew that something evil had just happened.

  We couldn’t believe what we had witnessed and sat on the grass in complete silence. We looked at each other without speaking for ages. Wild eyed and pale faced. There was a feeling of dread amongst us.

  The situation had turned from scary excitement to complete dread.

  We all knew that she had cast a spell and that Gaz had been right about her being a witch. The weight of her malediction was almost palpable. I felt sick to the stomach, nauseous and light headed.

  Fat Rich finally broke the silence.

  “She just cursed us!” he panted, “The old gypsy has put
a curse on us!”

  He lay down and looked up at the stars. “Die together by night fall, that’s what she said!” he puffed. “That’s what the curse is, to die by nightfall!”

  Stuart, who had just lit our last cigarette, frowned and looked at Rich.

  “She didn’t say that at all!” he remarked, flicking the lighted match at Patrick.

  “She said ‘die together or not at all’, that’s what she was chanting!”

  Mr James paused and smiled at Jacob "That brings me back to Patrick." he explained. "The part that made the old hag's curse a reality.

  Do you remember what we did? Do you remember what she said to us!?

  Stuart had snarled at Patrick, angrily.

  Pat looked up at Stu. The poor man was trembling all over and was a dreadful sight. He had obviously just walked out of hospital and god only knows how he had made his way there and from where he'd got a gun.

  Patrick’s best guess was that Stuart had been burned only a few of hours before, judging by the wafts of smoke still emanating from him. He must have thought that by the extent of his burns, he should be dead and wanted to end his pain. So here he was, hoping to end it.

  “You really think that if you do this your pain will go away!?” asked Patrick.

  “Once I’ve paid everyone else a visit, yes!”

  Patrick looked at Julie and then back at Stu.

  “But, surely there’s something that can be done for you!?”

  Stuart shook his head, wincing in pain as his skin split around his neck.

  “Nothing!” he replied coldly, getting agitated. “Look Patty boy, I’m sorry but I have to do this!”

  Stuart Rice looked down at his own burned legs “look at the state of me; this proves the curse is real.”

  With Stuart's eyes momentarily distracted on his own legs, Patrick seized the chance for a surprise attack and lunged towards him.

  Stuart was too alert however and managed to step back and fire the gun.

  Julie screamed as the loud bang reverberated around the room.

  Patrick stood still for a few seconds, dazed and winded.

  He had a bullet in his stomach. He pressed his hand against the wound and could feel hot blood covering his fingers. The colour drained from his face as the realisation of being shot registered.

  The gun fired again sending a lump of lead into his chest and forcing him backwards. He teetered on the verge of falling over, stunned and unable to believe the horror that was happening. The gun was fired a third time and his legs collapsed beneath him. He crumpled to the ground at Julie’s feet.