Punctured Perceptions Pt.2

[Leslie]

PUNCTURED PERCEPTIONS Part 2

The Friday after what is recorded in my diary as ‘The Puncture Affair’ I began Mission Exorcism.
Victory to the brave and that. No good hanging about, attack when the enemy isn’t expecting it – and they wouldn’t be expecting me, would they?
When I’ve done a ride the route is fixed in my mind; expect I’ve got a photographic memory or something like that, or maybe a brain like a pigeon. There was no problem finding the way to that farm, though it surprised me a bit how far it was. Good job I didn’t end up pushing the bike all the way home that day.
Stopped at the gate, at the start of the path to the house, admit my tum rumbled around a bit, wondering what was going to happen when the ‘old devil’ realised I’d come to do battle. But the bloke in the film had been alright; it had been a terrible struggle but he came through in the end. I knew you had to hold out the cross in front of you, make it work like a shield, and you had to order the evil spirit to clear off. Like casting a spell. Like doing magic.
So I was cagey; a good general doesn’t go rushing in without studying the ground and enemy dispositions. The house looked the same as it had last time; nothing altered, nothing had been moved. The tatty buildings still looked tatty, the one like a garage was still empty. There was no one in sight. I reckoned it was safe to advance into enemy territory.
Parked my bike. Didn’t knock at the front door. Scouted round to the back of the house; stopped at the corner of the wall and peeked at the space where the old man had been the other time.. He wasn’t there. Remembering to be prepared, I took the cross out of my pocket.

My eyes were radar scanners, I swept the line of tatty buildings, my brain able to note and record everything. The buildings were of stone. The roofs had probably been thatch originally, then done over with slates, but lots of those were broken or gone and timbers stuck out; made me think of skeleton bones sticking out of old bodies. There were doors, wooden doors, very old, some damaged. Looked as if some couldn’t be closed any more. Most buildings had windows; there was no glass in any of them but inside all the buildings looked dark. What really triggered the radar alarms was a door that was properly closed and on it in white paint some hand had painted long ago the words ‘Hell Hole’.
Peculiar thing was just as I noticed that door it opened and who should come out but the old man himself. I ducked my head back around the corner of the wall out of sight and waited for a minute, then slowly peeped around again. Darned if the old bloke wasn’t standing in front of that door looking straight at me. He must have seen me right away; he hadn’t moved, just kept looking in my direction waiting for me to stick my head out. Just to let me know he’d spotted me – one up to him.
There was nothing for it now: battle was joined. I stepped around into the ground between the house and the outbuildings and we faced each other. It was like one of those show-downs between gunslingers in the Western movies. He could have passed for an old cowhand in his sloppy corduroy trousers and the heavy flannel shirt and the leather boots, and he stood fixing me unblinking, head sort of pushed forward, menacing. Decided I’d better beat him to the draw.
I raised the cross and held it in front of me.
The old man gave a funny look and seemed to think about what he was seeing. Did he look scared? He did not. Did he look worried? He did not. I soon did though!
I thought if he was an evil spirit or devil or something, when he saw the cross he was supposed to take fright and dive for cover. He should have disappeared in a puff of smoke or at least popped back through that door to where he’d come from. But no, he started toward me, not quickly, shortish steps with a pause between each one. Not that there were that many,
or he’d have been on top of me, not that I’d still have been there. It was very, very spooky, him coming at me so slow and deliberate, like I mean he didn’t have any weapon in his hand, but the expression on his face showed he wasn’t at all scared of me or my cross and that expression didn’t change at all and I couldn’t describe his eyes, cold, glassy, fishy stare.

I waggled my arm, pushing the cross toward him. It didn’t make any difference. The bloke in the movie said something, ordering the evil spirit about, but I couldn’t remember what he’d said. Must have been some special formula, like the magicians say ‘abra cadabra’. But I didn’t know what the formula was. And him in the movie was a Priest, he’d have known all that sort of stuff. I haven’t been to church since I left Sunday School.
Perhaps it would have helped if I’d put a white collar on back to front and looked like a priest, might have fooled the old man. I began to lose confidence and perhaps it showed.
The old man stopped where he was, about ten feet away from me and just looked. Now you can believe me or not, I don’t care, but his eyes changed. I don’t know what exactly, they didn’t go red like the devil’s in movies do, but there sort of was a light behind them.
He just stared and the cross in my hand began to get warm.
What do you mean, ‘Of course it did’? It wasn’t just because I was holding it! It got hotter and hotter until it was burning me and I had to drop it. That was like losing my shield, my protection, made me feel very weak and my knees went all wobbly, made me flop down so I was kneeling. Must have looked like I was begging for mercy, but I wasn’t; just that my knees gave way.
The old man stood there; I was looking at his legs and his boots.
I think he laughed. I suppose it was him laughing. It was a weird noise. Must have been him, but it was sort of all around, like thunder is, not coming from one particular place. Nearly like Father Christmas, ‘Ho, Ho, Ho!’ racketing back and forth between the buildings. When it stopped he turned around and walked away. I looked up then and saw him open the door and go back into the ‘Hell Hole’.
I tried touching the cross and it was quite cool so I picked it up and put it in my pocket. Perhaps it had worked after all, ‘cause the old man had gone back to where he came from, which was what I meant him to do.
The door of the house behind me opened and the old lady came out, “What was all that noise about?” she said. “Has he been up to his mischief again?”
I nodded.
“Has he gone back in there?” she pointed at the ‘Hell Hole’ door.
I nodded.
“I’d better go and calm him down,” she said and followed the old man into ‘Hell Hole’.

Everything was quiet again. There wasn’t a sound except some squawking crows in the trees a field away. After a while I tip-toed across to the ‘Hell Hole’ door for a listen, but saw that there was a hole in the shape of a star, about four inches across set in the middle, so I took a peek. Inside was so dark, no windows, that I couldn’t see anything, but there was a strong smell of smoke coming through.
I decided not to open the door – in case it let something bad out, not because I was afraid to go in.
That’s where I was when a car stopped in front of the garage building. It was a big, posh car; the engine was so quiet that I hadn’t heard it coming. A man with grey hair, grey suit, collar and tie got out. Didn’t seem too upset, seeing me there, said,
“Hello. Looking for something?”
Well, I was, but what could I say? Mumbled, “Uh, no.”
Didn’t fool him. He made a little laugh, “Hah! You’ve met Granddad, haven’t you?”
“Is that who it is?” I says, and he strolled across to me, explaining,
“Yes, he ran this farm for years. Took over from his father and expected his own son to take over from him – that was my Dad, you understand. But Dad didn’t want to be a farmer – no more than I did for that matter. So when Granddad had to give up, my dad packed up the farming, sold off the land but kept the house. The old fellow was terribly upset, never forgave my Dad. Died quite soon after retiring, like he had no reason to go on living, but that’s why he won’t go away, keeps coming around to remind us that he’s not happy.
“Did you meet Gran as well?”
Guessed he meant the old woman so I said yes, I’d seen her.
The posh bloke went on, “When they were alive she spent most of her time keeping him in order. He was a cantankerous old blighter. If things didn’t go his way he’d shut himself in the old privvy and sulk and smoke his pipe.”
“What’s the privvy?” I asked.
“The old outside toilet, over there.” he told me. “Ages ago, when I was a lad, I christened it the Hell Hole, painted it on the door. You can still read it.”
Thought about it for a minute, “You said, ‘when they were alive’. Do you mean they’re both dead?”
“Oh yes,” posh bloke said, quite casual, “ both been dead for years.”
“So they’re both ghosts!” I said, more than a bit surprised.
“That’s right,” says posh bloke, still casual.
“Don’t they frighten you?” I asked, ‘cause ghosts are supposed to frighten people aren’t they?
“Oh no. Not at all,” even more casual. “Sometimes they can be a bit of a nuisance, but no more than you are at the moment. My wife will be home soon and we have to get ready to go out again, so be a good fellow and toddle on your way.”
Didn’t leave me much choice, so I mounted my steed and rode off into the coming sunset.

That’s the story, and I don’t suppose you believe me, but I know the way to that place and can take you there if you want.

[Minstrel]

Re. Pt1 & 2

'Now you can believe me or not, I dont care, but his eyes changed.'

Really liked the style of language you used here Leslie, no abbreviations or written slang needed, the read itself takes care of that and the flow/ thought pattern so natural. A fine example narrative writing.
Too many highlights to mention really, the one above is great.

Felt you wrapped it up a bit quickly/ roughly, but ghost stories usually are.

Inspiring.

[TilDeathOverTakesMe]

Inspiring, indeed. Funny and charmingly written.

[Rena Hands]

I don’t understand this form of writing spacing. It is in the least most confusing. Perhaps it is a spacing error with the RETURN/ENTER button?

Did you intend…

When I’ve done a ride the route is fixed in my mind; except I’ve got a photographic memory or something like that, or maybe a brain like a pigeon.

I believe that you use the name devil, old man too much also cross. You could try using other synonyms.

The tatty buildings still looked tatty; the one like a garage was still empty.

And he in the movie was a Priest, he’d have known all that sort of stuff.

I don’t know what exactly, they didn’t go red like the devils’ in movies do, but there was a sort of light behind them.

That was like losing my shield; my protection, made me feel very weak and my knees went all wobbly, made me flop down so I was kneeling.

,but the expression on hi face showed he wasn’t at all scared of me or my cross and that expression didn’t change at all and I couldn’t describe his eyes’ cold, glassy, fishy stare.

(A punctuation correction with the word eyes’.)

“Is that who it is?” I said and he strolled across to me explaining,

“Dad” doesn’t need capitalization.

“That’s right,” said this posh bloke.

(The removal of “still casual” would be more fitting.)

You missed an end quote here…

I asked, “cause ghosts are supposed to frighten people aren’t they?”

Interesting tale. I guessed the final outcome of the story before reading the ending, but still this tale was an entertaining read.