part0010

Although he had consumed four cups of strong, black coffee on rising, John could barely keep his eyes open. His tremors had also returned; they were an embarrassing symptom of chronic anxiety, which plagued him on a daily basis. Along the whole ten-minute journey to Lucy’s school, John struggled to contain his recurring yawns and need for sleep. He couldn’t see any end to this present torment.

“Howay, Lucy.” groaned John to his daughter, whilst yawning again. “You don’t want to be late for school, do you?” Lucy skipped on ahead, singing happily to herself. “Good girl...”

“Daddy finger, Daddy finger, where are ...” A sharp bellow from John quickly halted Lucy’s performance. “Oh, Daddy !”

“NOT...that song, Lucy. Anything, but that one!” commanded John, in a sudden outburst of energy. “Sing something else...”

“I don’t want to!” replied Lucy. It was as if she could sense her father’s growing anger; the small child ran further ahead, out of earshot (or so she thought) from John. “Daddy finger, Daddy, finger...”

“LUCY!” John felt a burning sensation enter his chest. He paused for a moment, clasping onto his ribcage, dreading if this was a sign having some kind of stroke or heart attack. “For God’s sake!” John’s movements slowed down into a pained, sluggish walk. Lucy was almost out of sight now, which only made this agony worse. “Wait for me, Lucy!”

“We’ll be late, Daddy.” replied Lucy, with an innocent smirk. “Hurry up!” John couldn’t even muster enough strength to speak. His breathing became rapid and uncontrollable. He was too young to die...he couldn’t leave Hannah and Lucy – alone. “Wait for me, darling! ”

“No! I’m going to be late for school!” Lucy carried on, ignorant to John’s current plight. John shrugged off the debilitating pain, eventually managing to jog in order to catch up with Lucy.

“Wait...” pleaded John. “Bloody Hell, man.” He struggled to keep Lucy in view, her pace too agile for him. Finally, and much to John’s relief, Lucy made to school and just in time. After a swift kiss goodbye, John watched his daughter leave both his sight and protection. Now came the daunting walk back to Skipton Road.

“What a fucking morning it’s been,” sighed John to himself. “A good lie-down should sort me out.” He felt a bulge in his coat’s left-hand pocket – John’s secret carton of cigarettes. “Err...maybe I shoudn’t?” The pain in his chest was still there, surely smoking would make this worse – he concluded/despaired. “Ah, bollocks. One won’t hurt.” John’s fastest movement that morning, was to light the mouldy tobacco stashed in his pocket. “That’s better.” He exhaled a darkened plume of smoke into the air above him. It was a bittersweet relief, given the family history of smoking-related illnesses. “There’s...worse habits. Least I’m not on Smack.”

“Good morning!” said John’s, more socially-acceptable, neighbour – Pat. She was walking her Yorkshire Terrier along the route John took home. “Isn’t the weather lovely today?”

“Aye. Beautiful.” said John, in half-awake daze. “I might make the most of it, actually. The Tin Donkey pub has just opened up a new beer garden – that’s my plan for this afternoon, since Hannah will be around her sister’s.” Pat raised a judgemental eyebrow. “Life’s too short, Pat.”

“I don’t know how you afford pub prices, they’re extortionate!” Laughed Pat, with a condescending undertone. “Just think of your little girl, sonny. Don’t come back home half-cut. ”

“I never do,” countered John, defensively. “I can handle my drink...unlike some.” He pointed Pat’s attention towards Sid, who had collapsed into a heap on the outer side of his fence. “I kinda feel sorry for him – in a way.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” sneered Pat, with a conspicuous glare. “He comes from a troubled family – from what I’ve heard. They’re from a line of Romany clairvoyants....” she whispered, cautiously. Why this was such a huge secret, was something John could not understand. “Strange, strange people. He needs to sort his life out – bloody mess.”

“We live in a different world now, Pat.” countered John, taking himself by surprise at how defensive he had become on behalf of Sid. “The Salem Witch trials are long-gone. Thank, Christ. People can believe in what they want now, can’t they?” Pat shifted herself awkwardly; it was evident just how embarrassed this comment made her feel. “I’m not trying to be funny, just saying...”

“Yes...yes, you’re very right.” said Pat, sheepishly, as she looked down to her dog’s restless movements. “Anyhow, I mustn’t keep Suki here waiting...she’s been wanting her walk since 06:00am this morning!” Pat shuffled away from John’s company without uttering another word to him – not even a quick goodbye.

“Daft, old cow.” muttered John to himself. “Pagans...she talks about them like they’re some massive threat.” He chuckled. “Let’s see what state Sid’s in today, then.” John leered over Sid’s lifeless body. His concern soon fell, as a lengthy fart noise left from the alcoholic’s rigid carcass – depleting any worries that he had passed away. “Charming...”

“Mornin’...” grumbled Sid, his hands held firmly against his turbulent gut. “How ya doin’ John-boy?” John lit up another cigarette, then kindly handed one down to Sid, believing it may help sober him in some way. “Cheers, mate.”

“You’ll freeze to death out here, Sid.” said John, as he ignited both cigarettes at once. “Get yourself back inside, man. ”

“I don’t feel the cold, me.” laughed Sid, manically. “Hard as, fucking, nails – I am!” He then furiously beat his hands upon his bony chest, like a manic football hooligan.

“Aye, alright, Sid.” replied John, dismissively. While he took in a few draws of thick smoke, all attention was still being paid to Sid’s frantic breathing. “I’m telling you, mate. Get your arse back inside before it freezes off.”

“Alright, alright...” whined Sid, his voice similar to Lucy’s when she was disheartened by her father’s scorn. “I need a shite, anyway.”

“Lovely.” said John, his face grimacing at the disgusting image now cemented in his mind. “See you later, Sid.”

“Tattie-byes!” cackled Sid, fully aware of the discomfort he had wrought in John. “You be careful, now.” John halted himself immediately, turning to face the pitiful creature behind once more.

“What do you mean by that, Sid?” John moved in closer, his fists tightened, his heart pacing. “What did you say?”

“I’m just sayin’...be careful.” Sid inhaled a lengthy wave of smoke, then blew it towards John’s position with a hateful stare. “Your house is haunted...so be fuckin’ careful.” John’s eyes flared in shock.

“How...do you know that?” John waited, for what felt like a lifetime, in anticipation of Sid’s response. He was to be disappointed, as the immense volume of alcohol circulating through Sid’s body now took its toll on him. “Fuck’s sake, Sid.” John struggled to lift Sid’s motionless body from the ground. For a skinny man, Sid still held some weight on him – evidently. “Let’s get you back inside then, hey?” Just as John made it to Sid’s kitchen door; the alcoholic sprung back into life, swiping away like a feral cat at his saviour’s face. “Whoa, Sid! What the fuck’s gotten into you, man?”

“You’re not comin’ in!” snarled Sid. He contorted his body to look like Gollum, which made John laugh for split-second. “Go on, fuck off back to your own house! ”

“Suit yourself.” replied John, nervously. “You need help, mate, seriously.” Sid slammed the door in John’s face; this didn’t bother him in the slightest, as the smell of stale vodka and rolled-tobacco was too much for John to bear. “What a fuckin’ mong...” John quickly made his way back into the safety of his and Hannah’s back garden. The bins had been emptied that morning, though they would soon be filled again.

“John?” said Hannah, faintly, from the living room, as he entered their home. “How was Lucy when you took her to school?” John shuffled at his shaven head in perplexment.

“She was fine, Han.” John frowned at the deathly smell lingering in his kitchen, though tried to hide this from Hannah as best he could. “Why ask?”

“It’s...nothing.” Hannah’s dubious body language suggested otherwise. “I have a bone to pick with you, by the way. I had another weird nightmare that involved a witch...sound familiar?” John looked at his watch; the promise and respite of sitting in a beer garden was still too far away for comfort – especially now. “Knob.”

“Cheers for being so understanding, Han.” chortled John. “Don’t blame me for having freaky dreams!” He sat at the kitchen’s small dining table, whilst lifting his phone out to inspect it. “Bloody Hell, it’s not my fault...that our house is haunted.” This was difficult for John to say, even harder to accept. “Even Sid can back me up, on that one.”

“Oh, Aye, John!” muttered Hannah, in a frustrated tone, her eyes fleeting over the screen on John’s phone. “Do you expect me to take the words of a piss-head seriously?” she folded her arms to comfort herself. “What time are you going to the pub this afternoon? ”

“I’m going to find out now.” said John, with a corresponding swipe across his phone; to land its screen position upon what friends he still had. “I’ll text Donnie and Ryan to see when they’re free.” Hannah tilted her head diligently. In truth, she wasn’t happy about John leaving herself and Lucy alone, given the realistic nightmare she had encountered the day and night before. “Are you still alright with us having a catch-up?”

“Yeah,” sighed Hannah. “Just don’t come rolling in; you’re back at work tomorrow. The last thing your residents need, is the smell of manky beer greeting them first thing in the morning.” John laughed, though did feel some guilt in his wantful actions.

“I’ll behave myself...always do.” John continued to tap away at his phone happily, his time at the Tin Donkey now growing closer. Hannah tutted in disagreement and was quickly becoming bored with this recurring subject.

“Anyway, how was Grandpa Murray...when you saw him?” whispered Hannah, fully aware of the distress this question would cause John. “Is he any better? John paused his finger, leaving it to hover above his phone as if he were petrified.

“Still bad...worse, actually.” John continued to text away again, his only distraction at this moment. “He’s picked up another infection – or two. Poor Gran is beside herself. The doctor visited yesterday but did sweet-fuck all to help.” John’s face contorted, displaying his fermenting hatred, upsetting Hannah more. “He’s suffering, Han. No fucker bothered other than us...the NHS has gone to shit.”

“No, it hasn’t, John.” said Hannah, cautiously. She then rested her head against the back of John’s. “If you gave Grandpa Murray more medicine, it would only prolong his suffering – we don’t want that.” John sharply lifted his head away from Hannah’s, torn between agreeing with her and hating the fact that this statement was true .

“I know...I know, Han.” A fickle apparition of fear started to form in John’s eyes. He rarely showed such emotion, though the circumstances certainly warranted it. “It’s just not fair! Grandpa Murray is a decent bloke; he never hurt anyone, yet he’s stuck like a prisoner within his own body – it’s so fucked up! It makes me so...mad!” Hannah leant in against John more firmly, hoping that her loving touch could ease his pain. “It’s not...fair.”

“Life’s not fair, John. We just...have to go on as best we can, babe.” Hannah gulped heavily, with tears of her own now forming. She had lost her own grandfather ten years prior, and in an equally distressing way. “Stay strong - for Gran’s sake. That’s all we can do. It is shit, but...that’s the way it is.” John punched a fingertip solidly against his phone’s send icon; that proved to be the most effective relief for him presently, albeit achieved through a childish manner.

“What gets me,” growled John, in a low voice, “is that, you have absolute, fucking, wasters like Sid next door, who abuse their bodies and do nothing for society that live. Yet, people like my Grandpa, who have done nothing wrong, suffer and have to die an undignified death...where’s the true justice in that?” Hannah slowly moved her head side-to-side. She totally agreed with what John said, though found it a depressing realisation to savour. “It boils my piss something rotten, it does!”

“Like I said, John, there’s nothing we can do about it.” Hannah looked to her own phone, finding several missed calls from Barbara and two from Ivan. “Mam’s tried to call me. I won’t be a sec, John.” Hannah left the kitchen, moving into the hallway, finding some respite in the solace this gave to her. She activated a call between herself and Barbara, praying that her mother would answer quickly .

“Hi, Mam.” said Hannah, her voice forcibly pleasant (as to not raise any suspicion). “Sorry I missed your call. Is everything alright?” Barbara proceeded to inform Hannah of some local gossip; a notable mention was John’s father – Dennis, who had landscaped a neighbour’s garden next to Barbara and Ivan. “Oh, you’ve seen Den, have you? Did he say anything?”

“He said, that it was a nightmare moving you and John from Bourbon Close – with the weather, an all.” replied Barbara. “Do you feel like you’re settling in yet?” Hannah tried to not leave a noticeable silence in-between her responses. “Are you...happy?”

“Yeah, we’ve settled in really well, Mam.” Hannah again forced a pleasant reply; her mother already had enough to deal with. “John’s off to the pub this afternoon, can me and Lucy come over yours for tea?”

“Yes, of course!” It was obvious that Barbara was slurping away at something as she talked. “Sorry, pet. I’m just having a drink with your dad. We’re at the Tin Donkey.” Hannah rolled her eyes.

“John’s heading over there this afternoon – you might see him?” A strange silence followed. “Mam?”

“We’ll be gone by the time John arrives. Is he coming over with his friends?”

“Yes.” said Hannah, sternly. “Donnie and Ryan. I’ve told John, he better not get drunk again.” Barbara laughed at first, then quickly realised how serious Hannah was in saying this. “It’s not funny, Mam.”

“Sorry, pet.” A muffled static noise filtered through Hannah’s ears. “I’ve been trying some sloe gin...it’s gone to my head.” More static noise came through, then a hiccup .

“You’re breaking up, Mam. I’ll call you again in a bit.” Hannah ended the call abruptly. She couldn’t be bothered with John’s current state of despair, instead choosing to go upstairs where her Kindle lay. “John, I’m going for a lie-down.”

“Okay, hun.” replied John, his attention obviously lay on something other than his wife. “I’m just checking my emails. Ryan has text back. We’re going to the pub for about two o’clock – is that okay?”

“Yes,” said Hannah, in a drawn-out breath. “Make sure you don’t leave your drinks lying about...I don’t want you getting spiked.”

“Aye, I couldn’t be doing with that.” John was reading through the BBC News’ webpage. There had been another terrorist attack in London. A man in his fifties had mown down several pedestrians on Westminster Bridge. “Fucking animals...” John read through the remainder of this article meticulously. “No-where is safe these days.” The next article mentioned a local steelworks plant going into liquidation. “What kind of world have I brought our Lucy into? It’s the mine closures all over again...”

“John?” cried out Hannah, from the stairwell. “Can you come here, please?” What now? simpered John.

“I’m coming. For crying out loud, I can’t have a minute to myself – can I?” John trudged his way to where Hannah now stood – within Lucy’s room. “What’s the matter?”

“Look...” Hannah pointed to some faint chalk marks, that had been precisely etched along Lucy’s wall. “Lucy’s never done this before.” The lines formed a definitive circle and had peculiar symbols scribbled within it. “What...the fuck...is that all about?”

“Before you say owt - I didn’t do it.” Implored John, his voice breaking evermore with dread. “They look...masonic.” He studied every fine detail. Surely, this couldn’t be Lucy’s work ?

“Ma...what?” Hannah wrapped her arms tightly into herself again. “Are they...demonic?” John brushed a hand across his bristly hair; stumbled, just as Hannah was.

“You’ve seen Ghost Adventures , Han.” said John, with a fleeting glance and involuntary shiver. “Mind you, I’ve never seen this symbol before.” The chalked drawing displayed, what looked like, an iron railing with a centred heart, and smaller circle lain just above it. “I think Google will have to help us out with this one.” Humoured John, trying to diffuse the horrifying atmosphere.

“No!” cried out Hannah, her entire body trembled now. “I’d prefer not to know, John.” She stepped backwards out from Lucy’s room, keeping her eyes to the ground as she did so. “Just...get rid of it.”

“...Okay?” John removed the cardigan he was wearing, using it to wipe away any remnants of Lucy’s masterpiece. “There - it’s gone.”

“Don’t say anything to Lucy, I don’t want her to be frightened.” Hannah edged further away, slowly moving into her and John’s bedroom. “DON’T...mention any more nightmares in front of Lucy.”

“I won’t, hun.” John frantically brushed the chalk dust away from his clothes, before replacing them back upon his torso. “She’s just a bairn...don’t take any notice, man.”

“I won’t...as long as, you do the same.” Hannah’s tone had fallen serious, almost paranoid. “We haven’t been in this house for less than a month, and we’re already having issues!”

“Look, Han...there’s little we can do to change things.” John glared at his phone; he still hadn’t received a reply from Donnie yet. “Try to chillout this afternoon...I know I’ll be.” Finally, a message came through from Donnie. Thank God.

“Do you fancy something to eat, before I go?” asked John to Hannah, softly. “I’m gonna make myself a cheese and onion toastie – fancy one?”

“I’m not hungry, John. Thanks anyway.” Hannah had already turned her Kindle on and was soon transfixed with it. “I’ll get something around Mam’s house!” she shouted. Without even realizing it, Hannah had turned the light on in her bedroom – despite it being so early in the afternoon. This was a miniscule line of defence, though somehow calmed Hannah’s unease. “Text me when you’re coming home.”

“Will do.” John entered his bathroom. He hadn’t showered yet and didn’t fancy turning up at the pub smelling of B-O, this would only add fire to Donnie and Ryan’s usual line of humour. “I’m just gonna take a shower first, Han. Can you make that toastie for me, please?”

“No! Make your own...lazy bastard.” she replied, in a distant voice. The need for sleep started to overwhelm Hannah gradually, but she didn’t dare satisfy this growing impulse – fearful of the witch’s return. Sabina’s haunting vision and words still played heavily in Hannah’s thoughts: the evil acts of those monks, the cruel nature of how Sabina was torn apart from her defenceless child – all so real .

“Lazy bastard?” grumbled John. He turned on his shower, ensuring that it was flowing at the hottest setting possible (to remove the grown layer of grease from his skin). “Who’s she callin’ a lazy bastard?” John sang to himself as he bathed, despite forgetting most of the words. His anxiety was flaring up yet again; it was so debilitating, so overpowering, so...humiliating. Hannah must have slipped downstairs, as the CD player suddenly came into life. The song This is not our farewell by ‘Within Temptation then echoed through John’s house. He breathed out in relief, thankful that Hannah hadn’t chosen one of her Norwegian Thrash Metal albums. Together, John and Hannah sang along to the mournful track in unison.

BANG! Something stuck against the bathroom mirror, opposite to where John now showered. He almost slipped from the fright, only just managing to keep his balance by latching onto the curtain rail .

“Fuck me!” gasped John. “What was that?” He slowly released his grip away from the shower curtain, pulling it aside to inspect where the disturbance had come from. “Hannah...are you messing with me?” No response. “Shit”. The high density of steam clouded John’s mirror, but there was something clearly written on it. “Come...to...the...marshes?” John looked again, in total disbelief. “Come to the marshes? Hannah, this isn’t funny!” He knew (really, he did) that it couldn’t have been Hannah who wrote this. John’s doting wife could be faintly heard pottering around in their kitchen, and the smell of toasted bread quickly entered his nostrils. “Fuck this!” John reached down for his towel without further thought. He carefully motioned forwards to wipe the condensation away from his mirror, though now something else appeared in it – a dark and growing shadow. “...Sabina?”

“Did you say something, John?” shouted Hannah from the stairwell. “I’m making you that sandwich, because I’m such a good wife!” John couldn’t answer – he couldn’t even move. The shadow lurking in his mirror now lost its blurry appearance, forming into the stature of a beautiful woman, who lovingly smiled back at him. “John!”

“I’m coming...I’m coming, Han!” shrieked John. He ran into the hallway, naked, not caring if people could see him through the windows outside. “God help me...” He kept repeating, as he trundled down the narrow stairs, nearly losing his footing.

“John, what are you doing?” Hannah instantly burst into laughter on seeing John’s naked rear-end pass by the kitchen. “Where are you going like that?” John knelt himself, breathless and shaking in the corner of his living room. “What’s gotten into you? ”

“I saw...” John paused his words, instead turning towards the hallway with a furious stare. “There’s no point in telling you. You’ll just laugh and tell me that I’ve lost the plot , won’t you?” Hannah slammed the knife in her hand upon the kitchen’s worktop in response. She slowly dragged her feet towards where John now cowered, with a small tea-towel held within one of her palms.

“Here!” Hannah threw the small towel at John’s face with great accuracy. “Cover yourself up! That’ll be big enough for you...” She twitched her head sideways, also granting John a sarcastic wink aimed towards his private parts. “I’m getting sick of this.”

“Han...” John reached out for his wife’s attention with a shaking hand, though it was too late. Hannah had returned to the kitchen area, where a plume of smoke started to appear.

“Nice one!” seethed Hannah. As John turned into the kitchen; he found her stood upon one of the small stools, waving another tea-towel under their fire alarm manically. “I’ve burnt your lunch now!”

“It doesn’t matter...I’m not hungry anymore.” replied John. Omitting his lunch would only make the alcohol seep in faster through John’s bloodstream – which he greatly desired now. “I’ll get some pork scratchings down the pub.”

“Aren’t you at work tomorrow?” asked Hannah, whilst still swiping away at the air like a frantic matador. “I’m sure, that you are.”

“Nah, I managed to get the shift swapped last minute.” John bashfully made his way back upstairs, cupping his privates with both hands to protect what floundering dignity remained. “Won’t be a sec, Han.” She kept silent, consumed with anger and concern .

John looked down at his phone’s screen. Shit. Several missed calls displayed from Donnie and Ryan. “I’m not late, why the rush?” He swiped at the screen to call Donnie – no answer. “Shit...” John then swiped across Ryan’s contact details – this time it answered. “Thank God”.

“Alright, John?” Ryan sounded drunk already. “When are you coming? There’s a Karaoke competition on!”

“I’m in my birthday suit at the minute, mate.” replied John, through some sporadic bursts of nervous laughter. “Karaoke? We have hit a new low!”

“Bollocks!” chuntered Ryan. Donnie’s laughter could also be heard in the background. “We’ve made a plan to win, John-lad. Me, you and Donnie...Bohemian Rhapsody – we’ll smash it!”

“Bloody Hell, Ryan.” moaned John. “You can fuck off, if you think I’m doing the high notes!” More laughter fed itself through the phone’s tiny speaker and then, suddenly, Ryan’s call came to an abrupt end. “Cheeky bastards...”

“Are you going to the pub now, John?” enquired Hannah, in a stern tone. “You may as well, we’ve got nothing else planned today.”

“Aye.” nodded John in agreement. “I’ll text you later. Love you, babe.” Hannah moved her head away from John, as he leant in to kiss her. “So that’s how it is, eh?”

“Have fun, John.” said Hannah, in a deeper and more frustrated tone. “Send my love to the lads. Watch your drinks.”

“Should I give them a big, sloppy kiss from you?” laughed John, though his humour fell heavily into an embarrassing stalemate with Hannah. “See ya, then. ”

John slammed the kitchen door shut on exiting. Within a breath, he reached into his coat’s inner pocket for the secret stash of cigarettes. “Shit, only two left.” John lit one up, inhaling the burning fumes with a gladdened smile. “That’s better.” The exhaled smoke wafted playfully within the rising fog outside, merging slowly into the dim light that managed to prevail. “I hope the lads have a pint ready for me...I’m gagging.” Before he knew it, John had spent his cigarette. He reached into the packet, mourning over how empty it now looked. “I’ll have to buy some more...can I afford it, though?” John was halfway down his last cigarette, as he made it to the Tin Donkey pub. Ryan was outside, shivering from the freezing winds, smoking his own cancer-inducing cigarette.

“About, frigging, time!” snorted Ryan. He lit up another cigarette when John approached. “Fancy one?”

“Cheers, mate.” John reached out for the cigarette, despite still having one in his mouth. “I’ve ran out. How’s tricks?”

“All’s well, bud.” grinned Ryan. “I’ve put our names down for the Karaoke competition.”

“You...twat!” laughed John, politely. “I hate singing...plus, you and Donnie are shite at harmonies.” Ryan punched at John’s arms playfully, in return to this remark.

“You’re hardly Frank Sinatra, John.” Ryan drew in a lengthy plume of smoke, only to release it directly at John’s face. “Life’s too short, mate. Live a little.”

“Aye, you’re right.” John looked into the pub, seeing to his surprise that Donnie was not there. “Where the fuck’s Donnie?”

“He’ll be taking a piss.” Ryan rolled his eyes as he said this. “You know what he’s like after one pint...like a fuckin’ bairn, needing the bog every five minutes.”

“I should have brought some incontinence pads from work, shouldn’t I?” sniggered John. “Might need them myself, depending on how heavy this session of ours gets. ”

“I’m taking it well steady, mate.” said Ryan, his expression suddenly fell serious. “I’m at my gran’s funeral tomorrow.” John squirmed awkwardly, not knowing how to respond.

“Sorry, pal. I didn’t realize that your gran had passed away.” said John in a whisper. “That’s awful.”

“It’s fine...she hated me.” Ryan took in an even lengthier draw from his cigarette. It was obvious that he was, in truth, upset. At least John wasn’t the only person to gain some comfort from wrecking his lungs in this manner. Both took another draw, before continuing with their conversation. “It’s a free bar at the wake...so I’m gonna get bladdered.”

“Fair play, bud.” replied John, in an awkward daze. “Just keep off the whiskey chasers today then, hey?”

“Oh no, we’ll be having a few of them bad-boys.” said Ryan with pleading eyes. “I’ll see to that.”

“Oi, dickheads!” cried out a voice from the pub’s entranceway – it was Donnie. “Are you coming in, or what?”

“Aye!” replied John and Ryan in unison. “Never mind incontinence pads, that fucker could do with being catheterised!” sniggered Ryan. “Howay, let’s get this session started!”

Inside the Tin Donkey, John was first greeted by the pub landlord’s rottweiler – Percy - a huge, though soft natured, and imposing member of the pub’s regular fleet.

“Bloody Hell!” John struggled to remove the heavy rottweiler away from his legs. “Here, Gazza, stop your dog from humping my leg, will ya?” Gazza, the pub’s landlord, continued reading from his tabloid newspaper – ignorant to John’s present humiliation. “I’m wearing black jeans, for fuck’s sake! How am I going to explain dodgy, white stains to my wife?” Gazza now laughed, he couldn’t ignore John’s squeals any longer. “Gazza, man!

“Howay, Percy! Here, boy!” Gazza whistled gently to tear the dog away from John’s leg. “He must like you, John? Percy likes ‘em rough. ”

“Bollocks, to that!” John quickly planted himself upon one of the bar’s stools. “What’s on tap today, bar-keep?”

“Only the finest selection of British ales, my good sir.” replied Gazza, in a mocking tone. “How about this one...nine percent ABV.” John rubbed his hands together, hungrily. “I’m guessing...that’s a yes?”

“Too, bloody, right!” slavered John. “I’ll have two pints please. I need to catch up with these pillocks.” Donnie and Ryan looked to one another aghast.

“Nine percent...for this light-weight!” cackled Donnie. His laughter was reminiscent of a sea-lion’s belch. “Give him some smooth, three percent - at the most! At least, he won’t pass out on us, that way.” Gazza pulled away at the nine percent pump, a plume of gut-wrenching aromas swiftly followed suit. “We have to carry this fat bastard home, you know?”

“I only live around the corner now!” countered John, in-between a few slurps. “I’ll crawl the way back – if I have to. And for your information, I’ve lost weight – five kilos, to be precise.”

“Where are you living now, John-lad?” asked Gazza, politely. He actually didn’t care in the slightest. “Anywhere nice in particular?”

“Skipton Road,” said John, with a reserved smile. He couldn’t be doing with anymore judgemental comments. “It’s a nice estate.”

“Whoa! It’s fucking haunted, that street!” gasped Gazza. “I used to live there – nice neighbours, just the fuckin’ spooks put me off.” He quickly handed the pint to John with trembling hands. “You’re braver than me, daft-lad.”

“Seriously!” exclaimed John, only after taking another slurp from his ulcer-inducing beverage. “How’s it haunted? ”

“Well,” Gazza shifted his eyes away from John’s, pretending to peer across the room at some other regulars nearby. “Put it this way...we had some weird shit go down – poltergoose activity.” He whispered.

“You mean – poltergeist ?” sniggered John, with his eyes rolling back. “A few bumps in the night, yeah?”

“Aye...more than fucking bumps, though.” frowned Gazza. “My lass hired some so-called medium to come to our house, thinking they could ‘cleanse it’. Turns out, there’s some old monk who sits at the end of people’s beds and what’s worse, there’s a demon...which made the medium run off like a shot!”

“Fuckin’ Hell.” gasped Ryan, in a drawn-out whine. “It sounds pretty serious?” John stared blankly at his pint, trying not to let these revelations affect him. They did. “A demonic presence, hey?”

“Of the worst, fucking, sort.” interjected Gazza, his expression both fearful and genuine. “A ‘proper’ demon...with a witch added in the mix!”

“Right!” blared John, suddenly. He slammed his pint down on the bar, then tried to shrug off his outburst with a pitiful grin. “I’m ready for another pint – barkeep!” He slammed his fist against the bar again like an impatient child. “Come on...round ‘em up!”

“This one’s on the house,” assured Gazza, as he hastily poured out another pint on John’s behalf. “You deserve it – for living on that street.”

“Load of fairy tales and shite.” chuntered John, whilst swigging down half the pint in one sitting. “Thanks though, Gazza. Cheers !” The next half-hour involved John and his friends consuming several shots of Sambuca and whiskey – a lethal, though satisfying, combination. By the time Gazza’s Karaoke competition came around, John was at the point where he was ready to go home and sleep. He fought against this impulse. “Howay, lets show these amateurs how to sing, lads. ”

“Too right!” cheered Ryan, as he inspected his watch. “Hold on, we still have half-an-hour. I’ll put some tunes on the jukebox.”

“None of that New Monkey crap!” piped up Donnie. “Put something classic on, like: ‘Oasis’ or ‘The Stone Roses’.

“I’ll choose what I, fucking well, like!” declared Ryan. He quickly returned to his friends’ company with a suspect smirk present. “Good Jukebox in here, like.”

“What have you put on?” grumbled John, as his eyebrows raised auspiciously. “It better not be any prog-rock...the Karaoke starts soon.”

“No,” assured Ryan. “The first song is a ‘Smiths’ classic!” With perfect timing, ‘The Smiths’ track How soon is now blared through Gazza’s PA system.

“Ah, good choice, my friend. I take it all back.” smiled John. He then nodded his head in time with the music, trying to show some interest in it. “Can’t go wrong with a bit of Morrissey!” His gleaming expression soon fell, as the track played for a second time. “Hold on, this track’s already been on.”

“Eh?!” snapped Ryan. He looked to Gazza with a piercing glare. “Your jukebox is shite, Gazza! It doesn’t work right!”

“You’re taste in music is what’s gash, daft-lad!” responded the pub landlord sharply, only shifting his sight away from the tabloid paper lain before him to unleash his scorn. “It’s a touch screen jukebox. How many times did you tap it?” Ryan shrugged dismissively, giving to John and Donnie a look to say: I’ve really screwed up, this time . “Howay! How many times?

“I don’t know, maybe a couple of times...maybe five.” Ryan shuddered apprehensively, awaiting his friends’ despairing responses. “I didn’t know if it loaded or not. ”

“FIVE times!” gasped Donnie and John, in unison. “Don’t say, you’ve put this song on repeat - five times, Ryan.” groaned Donnie, tilting his head back in disbelief. An awkward silence then ensued. “You utter, fucking, bell-end. It’ll be on for hours!”

“It’s not my fault!” Ryan lowered his head into his hands, in attempt to muffle the laughter that now left from him. “I’ve put some ‘James Blunt’ on after this...”

“No chance! On that note - let’s start the Karaoke early, shall we?” Gazza’s question was undeniably rhetorical. He threw his paper against Ryan’s forehead, then reached to turn off the pub’s jukebox in the fastest manner he could. “I’d rather listen to someone murder Wonderwall , than put up with half-an-hour of Morrisey singing.” Donnie and John both patted on their friend’s back, for what sympathy they actually felt to his humiliation. “You three can go first – get the worst out of the way, before I get a migraine.”

“Ha-ha.” muffled John, in-between a few frothy slurps. His vision was starting to blur now (which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, given that there was a middle-aged biker dancing half-naked in the corner of his eye). “Very funny...” John quickly finished off his drink, only so he could grab the one microphone that didn’t give off the odd electrical shock. “Let’s rock n’ roll, boys!”

Half-way through their (horrendous) rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody , John and his two friends were duly booed off stage – to their utter shock and disappointment. “I thought we were doing well.” sighed Ryan, as he and John moved away from Donnie for another cigarette break. “Get another round in. Don.”

“Nah, miss me out.” gurgled John, trying not to vomit. “I’m done in. Early night me, lads.” Donnie and Ryan raised their arms in disbelief. “I’m goosed, man.”

“No way! We’re only just getting started.” implored Donnie. “Howay, John. Just one more – then go. ”

“Fine.” snapped Donnie, his expression one of dismay. “I’ll text you later, bud. Send my love to Hannah and Lucy.”

“Will do.” John suddenly felt a greasy hand brush across his left forearm – it was Sid. “Hello, Sid.” He tried to remain civil, though it was incredibly hard. “How are you doing, pal?”

“All’s well, my mate.” grinned Sid. John was surprised at how immaculate his neighbour looked, maybe it was the drink? “I’m cutting down on the booze – pure orange juice for me, now. I’m only here for the competition. World-class singer, me!”

“I’m off home.” replied John, amidst a set of gurgling noises. “It’s an early night (hiccup) for me.”

“I think you need it, my boy.” Sid began to stare at John, as if peering into his soul. “Don’t be having any nightmares...”

“I’ll try not to.” John could feel his anxiety kicking in again. Sid unwittingly brought Sabina’s presence back into thought, her evil smile permeating John’s very being. The alcohol didn’t help this either.

“Come on, mate. Let’s get you home.” Ryan supported John along the way back to Skipton Road, almost carrying him at one point. The evening fog had already set in, making John’s return all-the-more daunting and undesirable. “Take care, pal. Come over mine when your free for a movie night...I’ll get some cans in for us, okay? ”

“Aye, cheers, Ryan.” John embraced his friend endearingly, struggling to let go of him. “Take care.” Ryan tore himself away from John and soon left. On entering his home, John found that Hannah and Lucy were nowhere to be seen, they were still at Barbara or Katelyn’s house – possibly? John flung himself onto his sofa in a drunken stupor and soon drifted off, the wicked marshland setting once again taking hold over his mind and soul. Little did he realize, that in in the corner of his living room, stood a tall and dark shadow. The creature lingered in wait for John to fully fall into slumber, yearning to torture his mind and soul again.