Here it is:
The
Walkers by Carolyn Ward
There
were nine members of the Wild Walkers club.
They met twice a week in the Musty Armpit’s car park, dressed up in the
latest walking gear. Hi-tech boots,
waterproof Therm-A-Down coats, Kill-Chill sharkskin gloves, Merino wool socks,
whatever was recommended by the walking websites.
For the
bored retirees, the walks were the highlight of their week. Martha, Hilda, Bob and Gerry were eager
twitchers, looking out for anything feathered: raptors, lesser-spotted
woodpeckers, greater crested warblers and the like. Marina was a squirrel fanatic, who carefully
tally-charted every sight of the cheeky grey creature. The fact that she had never seen a wild red
made her moody and jealous of her squirreling pen pal, Scottish Lisa.
Bethan,
Victor and Oskar came as they particularly loved the botany of the local
hedgerows. Bethan walked at the back,
quietly and illegally picking any rare flowers Victor had admiringly pointed
out. He would be flattered, possibly
alarmed by the fact that she adored him so much that she pressed them all in a
huge secret tome worshipping him as her ‘God of Flora.’
Oskar
made up the third point of the flower-lovers’ triangle, admiring Bethan
enormously but far too shy to ever meet her eyes, let alone ask her round for a
small sherry.
The
newest member of the gang was Pete Rowd.
He was tall, and heavily built.
His wife had forced him into the walking club by working in cahoots with
his doctor, worried that he was ripe for a heart attack. Initially scornful, to his surprise and his
wife’s delight, Pete had actually enjoyed his first walk. He had chatted to Oskar about weed killer, and
Hilda about the pigeons in the town centre.
Not an
admirer of beautiful Mother Nature, Pete adopted the role of joker, talking and
laughing uproariously at his own jokes.
The rest of the group started to become a little irritated, as his ruckus
frightened the birds and animals away.
Martha
and Gerry were particularly peeved. That
very morning they had both received an e-mail from Twitching.net to say that a pair
of rare Whinchats were in the south Midlands area, spottable over
waterways. Thrilled, they had been
texting since the break of dawn, planning what kind of binocular and camera
lens to select for today’s walk, which was following the canal tow-path. Since setting out, however, Pete had kept up
such a boorish monotone about his timeshare in Marbella, that there was not
even a crow within five miles.
‘It’s
too bad!’ said Gerry. ‘That idiot wants
shutting up.’
Martha
pursed her thin lips and nodded. ‘Who let him join, for heaven’s sake?’
The walk
meandered around the nature valley, with all interesting wildlife frightened
into the next county by Pete and his rubbish jokes.
‘I say,’
hissed Victor, frowning. ‘Can’t you hush
it down, old fellow?’
Pete
pointed at him and laughed.
‘I’m
here to make you all have a good time! He boomed. What a load of miserable old farts you were
before I joined this group!’
Mouths
dropped open and foreheads creased into scowls.
Oskar
smiled coldly, and grabbed a few arms towards the back of the group. ‘Don’t worry, folks,’ he whispered. ’I still have some tools of the trade,’ he
looked at their faces one by one. ‘If you’ll help me, we can sort him.’
They
nodded grimly.
Reaching
the car park again, most of them declined their usual pint and packet of
crisps, so eager were they to say goodbye to Pete.
‘Next
time, then, gang,’ he roared, jauntily waving and marching into the pub.
The days
that followed were wet and rainy, perfect conditions for the Whinchats. The twitchers of the group rubbed their
hands. The next walk was planned to
circuit the lake behind the pub, where there were a big group of herons, and
often fat fish squirming in the muddy water.
The morning
of the walk dawned fine, and again they met in the car park. Oskar winked at the others, and they grinned
conspiratorially.
Pete was
last to arrive, annoyingly holding them all up, and clapping his hands together
noisily. ’Great day for it!’ he yelled across to them as he locked his Rover.
Oskar checked
his pocket for the hundredth time, ensuring that he had everything.
Off they
set, taking in the sights and breathing deeply of the sweet country air.
‘Smells
of dog poo!’ howled Pete, setting everyone’s teeth on edge.
They
reached a shady copse, and Oskar checked there was nobody else around, before snarling
‘Now!’ from between clenched teeth.
In a
whirl of crunching leaves, they were all around Pete, pushing him to the floor
on his back. They knelt on his shoulders
and sat on his legs, holding him prone for Oskar.
‘Eh? What
the hell’s this!’ he blustered, alarmed now.
‘You make
so much ruddy noise that you scare the birds away!’ In frustration, Gerry grabbed a handful of mud
and shoved it into Pete’s gaping mouth.
He coughed and spluttered, his eyes watering.
‘And my
squirrels! I’ve not seen a one since you joined!’ said Marina, kicking him in
the ribs.
‘Hold
still please,’ said Oskar cheerfully, whipping out a strange silver implement. In a trice he had slipped it into Pete’s
throat, and he began moving it gently from side to side.
Pete
gave out a gurgled scream, his big eyes open wide and bulging in horror.
‘Hang on
now,’ said Oskar, giving a deft twist of his dainty wrist. ‘There we go, all
done.’
‘Oh well
done, Oskar dear,’ said Martha admiringly, as Bob and Gerry patted him on the
back. Marina giggled. ‘Great work. Just
as good as before your cataract!’
Pete sat
up slowly, clutching his throat and gargling.
He spat a few globs of blood and saliva into the mud, and then, shakily
got to his feet.
‘Well!’
he wheezed. ‘What…’ he turned purple with astonishment as his mouth gasped like
a goldfish but his voice faded away to nothing.
His meaty hand rose slowly to his throat, where he stroked it gently.
‘A
complete success,’ declared Oskar proudly.
‘The procedure was never legal in England, but we used it a lot in my
country. Severing of the vocal chords.’ He nodded.
‘Rendering noisy people completely silent.’
Martha
and Gerry began scanning the sky with their binoculars, as Bob pointed over the
lake. Bethan followed Oskar and Victor
toward a patch of unusual purple flowers, admiring their bright colour against
the damp green. There was so much to see
in the beautiful Midlands’ countryside, and what better way to enjoy it than on
a lovely walk with friends.
Suddenly,
Martha let out a low whistle.
‘Look
everyone!’ she whispered. ’It’s the Whinchats!
Do you see them Pete?’
They all
looked back at him. He nodded,
miserably.
This story has changed and changed again. My sweet little mother wanted there to be an entirely different ending... which I will put on here soon.
