A story to die for
(continued)
Then he disappeared ......
People instantly missed him.
"Where's old One Eye", they would say at the car boot
sale. "He's not been around for a while. Silly old duffer - hope he
hasn't come to harm. Couldn't write of course - but I'd buy the odd
one just out of charity really. Do you know where he lived - did he have any
family?"
And so it went on. For years, although an oddball, he had been part
of the community. Now he was remembered with affection. As the weeks then
months passed, slowly his name passed into folk memory.
"Used to be a writer at this car boot you know. Suddenly
disappeared. Never did hear what happened to him. They say he was offered a job
on a London Magazine as a features writer - around here probably wasn't not
good enough for him, I'll warrant. Of course we felt let down after
we'd supported him all those years by buying his silly stories. I doubt
we'll ever know where he went to now.
But they did get to know and in the strangest way you could imagine.
Photocopied sheets of typed paper suddenly began to appear around
the town, in a telephone box
on the counter of the local paper shop.
"I don't know how they got there," said Barney, the
owner.
More copies appeared and each without warning and from unexpected
places.
Some people, once they had got a copy and got over the shock of the
contents, did more. They copied the pages again - and gave them to their
friends.
"It reads like One Eye, the style is the same and the pages
look the same, but when you read inside, you can't see how it can be!"
The same phrases passed backwards and forwards from mouth to mouth
and each time another pair of eyes would avidly read the lurid tale. Some were
moved to tears.
"I could just see the woods and feel how he loved them as he
walked on that final journey. Rhododendrons have always been a favorite of mine
but to be buried under one - I couldn't bear that.
"For me it was the way he fought of his attacker until his one
eye got so damaged he couldn't see at all. How he broke away at one point
and then hid from them wounded and bleeding for hours - how they eventually
found him again and even then he still fought on."
"But he was outnumbered and they got him in the end. And the people
responsible did it all for a contract - they had nothing against him
themselves. It was all just for money."
"I reckon it was money that was behind it anyway. He'd
offended too many local people in high places."
"In my opinion the police ought to investigate that
politician, he's the one that the stories were about. He's the one that
had the motive and the money and opportunity."
"Don't be daft, it's only a story!"
"I'm not so sure - it rings true to me - more than you
might think.
"Anyway how would the police know which rhododendron to look
under. There's hundreds up there in the woods."
"They could get our help - I'd be willing to put in a few
hours with a shovel and a fork for good old One Eye."
"And what about if you found him, you'd jump a mile high
in the air you would. You nearly fainted when they killed that goose at the
last 'Goose Fair'.
"I don't care. It would be worth it if it got the heap of
slime that did it his just desserts.
"Well you can bet I'll never vote for him again!"
The elections came round and the local dignitary was appalled at
the result of the votes. In office for years, he now came a dismal third. His
speech was full of half references to unsubstantiated gossip and rumor mongers
but he was out of office and many people felt a little better.
Then television latched onto the story and pretty soon the now
ex-politician was facing their investigations into his activities. Yet more
printed details of One Eyes' final hours were found in public places.
They told of how his home had been broken into and his family
threatened. Steamy details of the dignitary's love nest were also revealed and
still nobody knew where they came from.
"Bank accounts in Switzerland, he had and an illegitimate son
from that dolly bird he kept in his London flat - and him a married man that
we're supposed respect!"
"That bit about him, dressing up at that party was too smutty
for me. I don't like reading about that sort of thing - it's filth."
"But you can't deny that it goes on. Better out in the
open where everybody can know about it."
Then, one morning, posters appeared everywhere around town inviting
residents to go to the police station at one o'clock in the afternoon to
carry out a search of the woodsto assist police enquiry's.
When they all arrived, the Chief of the local constabulary
didn't like to admit that neither he nor any of his officers had issued the
posters. Fearing a public riot, if he didn't appear committed, he quickly
organized the search.
The area they concentrated on was a bleak tree covered hollow
between the two parts of the village. Nobody had ever built any properties
there because of the marshes. But the rhododendrons loved it and thrived in the
hundreds.
Some brought their children to help, running and cavorting besides
them. Others pushed their young ones along in buggies that snagged on the
uneven paths. Amongst all was a steely determination that at long last, justice
would be done.
When eventually, after hours of determined searching, the body was
found, the cry that went up was fit to have wakened the dead and echoed eerily
around the surrounding hills. Then, silently, with heads bowed in respect and
tired sadness they trudged back through the woods to await the autopsy in their
homes.
The arrests followed soon afterwards. The politician first and then
his helpers. As he tried to wriggle out of it by saying he had only meant for
the hired muscle to frighten One Eye not to kill him.
And how had the autopsy confirmed their guilt? The horrifying facts
soon became clear.
Inside One Eyes rotting stomach along with the residue of his last
days meal was a plastic coin bag. Inside the coin bag was a hurriedly hand
written sheet that described his attackers and their paymaster, gave their
names and full details that eventually let directly to their imprisonment.
In those last moments of freedom before his attackers had found him
again, grievously wounded and knowing that he had only minutes more to live,
One Eye had written down everything that he knew, placed the A4 sheet in the
coin bag and swallowed it. It was enough to seal his attackers fate.
And who was it that somehow knew where to find him? Nobody knows.
But to this day, when the local car boot sale comes round, there is a new
figure on the wooden box declaiming to the assembled crowd about stories they
won't dare to read and then selling them for only one pound sterling each.
Some say he's also been published by a London company and that
the book carries a dedication:
"To the bravest man I've ever known - my dad!" The End
© Rob Hopcott 1999 - 2005 all rights reserved. All characters are fictitious in this story and no
reference is intended to any person living or otherwise.
Author's note 'Phew! That fair brings a lump to my throat every time I read it - even knowing
the ending! (How I wish I was brave enough to sell my short stories at car boot
sales!)
It's funny isn't it that the secret of every thriller murder
mystery is not the violence itself but the powerful human feelings that lie at
the heart of the short story mystery. Perhaps a thriller is not a thriller,
however good the plot - unless we care for those that die(shudder)'.
Rob. |