Mocked - A short story

[Fluvve]

(Finally got around to posting this on my site, so thought Id post here and get some criticism too lol. I entered it in a competition, didnt win though. First thing I have written for years though so wasnt expecting perfection Also there was a word limit )

****

"Fuck Satan!"

Peels of laughter filled the smoky pub.

"You're telling me that I'm going to hell for calling God incompetent? And that Satan will torment my soul for all eternity?"

The small man standing alone in the middle of the room tried to mask his shaking as he nodded.

The large man looking at him grinned and spat on the floor.

"You're alright mate, you just picked the wrong person to try to convert tonight!" The onlookers muttered in agreement, they knew full well what Jake Maloy was like. The last holy man that had attempted to preach to him had ended up bowing at the altar of Jakes size thirteen's.

"He doesn't exist! Any more than God does. If either of them turned up at my door, they would get a right good kick up the rear!" Some muted cheers carried with the cigarette smoke. The locals enjoyed a little entertainment with their pints. Jake stood and bowed unsteadily. Using his best impersonation of an upper class accent, he said,

"Gentlemen....and lady" pausing he winked at the tired looking barmaid, "I bid you all farewell, if I don't leave now, I will be needing breakfast delivered to the second hedge on the left tomorrow morning!" There was a cheer and some glass clinking. He received a few affectionate pats on the back as he made his way to the door, and a helping hand guided his arm into the right sleeve of his jacket.

"Much obliged" he nodded and smiled. They were a friendly bunch, his only real social life now.

The small man watched him leave through the open doorway, glaring through thick rimmed glasses. He unclenched his fists, which he had hidden in his pockets, and smiled to himself.


Icy air enveloped Jake once he was through the heavy oak door. He shivered and pulled his jacket more tightly around him. In a few stumbled steps, he left the protective light of the pub windows, and made his way down the dark country lane. He muttered as he slipped on some mushy leaves, wishing he had thought to bring his flash light. As if in answer to his musings, moonlight broke through the overcast night, lighting his way nicely. He chuckled in glee, he had always been luckier than most. He listened to his foot steps echoing in the trees. The echoes made it sound like someone was walking with him. The steady rhythm lulled his mind and he started to hum quietly. A sudden screech made him jump with surprise. Looking through the darkness, he saw nothing. Probably an owl he thought, although it sounded a bit off for an owl...raspy. He rested a moment, letting the shock subside. He heard wings fly low over head and disappear into the night.

“You need some cough syrup my feathered friend!” he shouted with laughter, finding his joke far more amusing than it really was. Chuckling again, he slowly set off again. He rounded a bend and saw the low wire fence which bordered his land. With much swearing and an earthy taste in his mouth later, he had stumbled over it. He walked slowly, picking his way through the undergrowth. He liked his trees, they kept his little hut nice and private, but he mused that he should probably keep them trimmed in places, or at least make a path for his inebriated journeys home from the pub.

The wind started to blow more fiercely as he finally reached his door, whipping his hair about, what little he had left anyway. He tutted as he realised he had left his cap in the pub. No wonder his head was so damn cold! Another screech cut through the night as he let himself in, but he wasn't caught unaware this time.

“Go and bother someone else you little bastard!” he shouted, half laughing.


It was a very small hut, just large enough for him. The main features being his bed, a small bathroom and a wood burner, which he cooked over and used to heat the room. Oh, and one bare light bulb swinging in the breeze from the open door. It wasn't much but was all he needed since his wife had died. He turned the light on as he closed the door, turning the key in the lock. The harsh yellow light fell on his weather worn face. It looked tired.

The wind whipped around the sides of the hut, whistling through small gaps that were usually impossible to find. He struggled out of his jacket, kicked off his boots and collapsed on to the sagging fold away bed, too tired to do much more.

*****

He sat bolt upright, intent. Feeling his heart thump in his chest, he strained to hear the noises coming from outside. Just the wind. Trees creaking. Something scurrying. A shrill cry came from the roof.

"Bloody owl!" he shouted, picking up a broom handle and banging the ceiling. He heard scraping and then the sound of wings taking flight. He sighed. That silly bird had really given him a fright. Twice in one night! He then noticed his breath visible in the gloom of the room. It was freezing! He cursed realising he had no wood in the burner. The idea of scrabbling around outside at the wood pile held no appeal but he knew that he would need heat. He struggled into his jacket, thinking about where his matches were. He rushed over to the door, fumbling with the knob. He swore, pulling his fingers away. Pain stabbed at his finger tips. The metal was covered in delicate ice crystals. He felt panic begin to rise from inside, but was unsure why. The cold was eating into his bones, which were painful at the best of times. Finding his well worn pair of gloves, he tried to open the door again. It opened under creaking protest and he looked out. Shivering, he watched in horror as the night seemed to shift before his eyes. The gentle moonlight that brushed the tree trunks of the copse was fading, but one tree at a time. Every second that passed, each tree seemed to disappear, starting with the furthest, and within a few breaths, the ones right outside his door. He reeled back, slamming the door shut and locking it quickly. Nothing but blackness outside his window. He shivered, but felt like it was more mental than physical. He felt exposed. The light bulb still casting yellow light across the room. He felt as if something was looking in through the window. The sensation grew until he could hardly bare it. He flicked the light switch, sending the room into blackness.

He shook uncontrollably and huddled into a corner, grabbing the sheet from his bed and wrapping it around him. Minutes passed, and it dawned on him that everything was very quiet. It wasn't just an absence of sound, but a gaping void which sucked even the notion of sound away. He became aware of his breathing, ragged and quick. He could still see his breath. It had taken on a gentle luminescence. The movement of it in the air currents calmed him, it was beautiful. He let slip a tiny smile and tried to relax. He started as a voice whispered "Fuck Satan?"

He felt hands grip his shoulders. They pressed him into the wall, making him cry out as he felt his bones crack. Whipping his arms around, he tried to fend off his attacker, but a thought stirred in the back of his mind, one that could not be put into words, one which made him feel that the future looked very short. Images seemed forced into his brain, digging in from the outside, as if someone was pushing a thumb into a soft tomato. They made him relive the conversation in the pub earlier. A grim realisation gave him a mental slap.

“I'm sorry!” he croaked, “I didn't mean....to offend!” The wind outside turning into a gale now rocked the hut. A loud crack signalling the death cry of some section of the wall.

“You have insulted my master” the voice whispered, almost serenely.

Pressure started to build in his torso as he felt more hands squeezing his sides.

“I'm sorry, really sorry!” Jake pleaded, “Please, I didn't believe in the devil! How was I supposed to know?”

The feeling of pressure was moving in to his head now, behind his eyes and pushing into his brain. He gurgled in pain as blood began to trickle from his nose and mouth.

“The devil? He has nothing to do with this.” The voice chuckled.

Rushing wind filled his ears as his vision started to go dark. He saw faint outlines filling the room, pairs of luminous eyes glared at him. Quiet giggles reached his ears, reminding him of children playing in secrecy. He gained a mental impression of feathers flapping, and of fangs.

The invisible hands squeezed tight, forcing his last breath from his lungs with a rasping gurgle. As death claimed him, his bleeding eyes beheld a vision of his attackers. The luminous mist of his breath subtly revealed the outline of a face. It was calm and smiling, handsome in a classical kind of way. His eyes looked up and shone with fear as they beheld the halo floating above the misty apparitions head.

THE END