Saturday 28 February 2015

Short Story of The Week - Express and Star

My story 'The Walkers'  got chosen this week!
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.

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