Moonpie

There should be a distinction between growing up and becoming an adult: just as it’s possible for a child to be very ‘grown up’ there are some adults that never do. This is about Moonpie; an adult that never grew up, never lost his sense of magic and awe, and of what happened to him.

I was a child growing up in the ‘80’s; totally oblivious of all that was happening around me. Punk, the miners’ strike, the Cold War –all of that passed me by. To me it was ‘Stig of the Dump’, ‘The Adventure Game’, ‘Doctor Who’, ‘Star Wars’ and the best comics that pocket money could buy. I look back on those days now with fondness; it was the last of the innocent fantasies before the oppression and cynicism of the ‘90’s swept in.

One character loomed brightly during that era and even though I only knew him for a comparatively brief time he will always be intrinsically linked to those times and has greatly coloured how I see life.

Even at 10 years of age I was a loner, which is harder than it seemed in a small village where everyone knew each other. People flocked together, even then they had a need to take solace in group neurosis rather than strike it out on their own. But like my father and grandfather before me I was always looking for that path less travelled.

I was a reluctant Indiana Jones; a squeamish Alan Quartermaine –I had the desire to perform daring-do (and in my dreams I performed these fantastical feats with aplomb) but in reality there was a recalcitrance as I was far too much of a coward, and thought too much of the pain and consequences should things go wrong.

One day however I threw caution to the wind and finally got the nerve up to climb a tree. My first and only attempt, I might add. It could so easily have been a disappointing endeavour (not to mention a dangerously abortive attempt to meet the grim reaper) had it not been for one thing –it was through attempting this feat that I met Moonpie and my life would become so much more magical –for a while at least….

Climbing the tree was actually no problem in itself; it was far easier than I thought it would be and I actually found it quite exhilarating! I climbed almost to the top in no time at all (admittedly it wasn’t a tall tree, just an old oak) and as I surveyed my newly found kingdom and the surrounding wood I made the mistake of looking down; and then everything suddenly became very real. I suddenly realised how high up I really was, how far there was to fall and how much it would hurt… To say that my legs had suddenly become numb and useless was an understatement; how I managed to hold myself up for so long I have no idea. There was no point in shouting to anyone for help, there was no one around… all I could do was shut my eyes and hope for the best.

It was then that I heard my ‘saviour’ somewhere below me; his voice was gruff but, in the circumstances, angelic nonetheless: “Ho there, young fella! What goes?”

“I’m trapped up this tree… I can’t.. I can’t get down!”

“Right.. thought so! I could see you as soon as I walked into the wood.. Let’s see if we can’t get you down.”

I was too scared to do anything but nod my head, my eyes were tightly shut and all I was aware of was the precariousness of my situation, and just how stupid I’d been to climb this stupid tree.  I started to cry, which shook me more than anything. I wasn’t prone to histrionics but I think it was the first time I’d been aware of my own mortality –as strange as that sounds.

“Don’t cry lad; it will all be over in a jiff!” The voice came from nowhere; I never heard the sound of his approach up the tree but there it was, as if he was standing right behind me. “Keep your eyes squeezed shut, count to seven and we’ll be on the ground again.”

It was a strange sensation, I felt him standing behind me, his hands holding me under my arms and then it was as if I was travelling through a dark tunnel; extremely fast, like a bullet from a shotgun, even my ears popped.

“5..6..7!” He said, “Go on –open your eyes then!” I was almost afraid to, just in case I was still atop the tree. Adults lied –that was a truth that I’d learnt some weeks before. My Granddad had a wicked sense of humour and once told me that stinging nettles only stung people during the day and that if I grasped the nettles at night then they wouldn’t sting me.

However, upon my eyes that day I was shocked by two things: I was not only standing on the ground but right opposite me was the most bizarre, amazing looking man I had ever seen this side of comic books. He looked like a mad time traveller from another reality (which was exactly the way he described himself, I might add). His coat was a mis-match of styles, cloth samples and colours and everything clashed with everything else, but strangely worked as a whole. His dungarees had so many pockets, all bulging with stringlets and toys and sweets… his white t-shirt was the most normal thing about him.

He had an amazing mop of straggly ginger hair and a black bowler hat with two vibrant peacock feathers sticking out of it. He also wore the most audacious set of goggles I’d ever seen –a mixture of John Lennon granny spec’s and world war two aviation goggles. One eye piece even looked as if it had been taken from a child’s microscope! This was Moonpie.

“Safe and sound, backs on the ground, eh?” His voice was deep and warm, slightly cracked as if it had been broken long ago through overzealousness and enthusiasm and put back together with blu-tac and bubble-gum.

“Yes… thank you, Sir!” I replied.

“Sir…? Call me Moonpie, young Master –never Sir or Mr… or even Ma’am!” With this he mock-curtseyed. “It’s Moonpie… or Moon for short.” I liked him immediately, how could I not? To me he was a real life hero, a cross between the wackiness of Dr Who and Robin of Sherwood.

“Ok; thanks for getting me down again, Moon. But how did you know where I was?”

“I could see you, Danny boy; even from the far side of the wood… with these! The Great Moon sees all and knows all!”

“So how did you know my name?”

“The great Moon sees all…”

“..And knows all?” I replied, whatever he was on was contagious; I could feel my own ebullience rising again and all thoughts of being trapped atop of the tree were long gone. We walked back out of the wood.

“You going to be alright now, kiddo?” He asked.

“I guess so..”

“And you’re not going to go clambering on any more trees any more?”

“Nope –for sure.”

“Your feet were meant to stay on the ground, Danno.” This struck me as funny as I happened to look down and saw that Moon was walking barefoot.

“What about your own feet? Why aren’t you wearing any shoes? What if you tread on something?”

“Your feet might touch the ground but mine don’t.”

“Get outta here!”

“How do you think I managed to get you down from the tree so easily?” I must admit, he had me there and I started to ponder. “I could fly to the moon and back and you’d be none the wiser, but I’m not gonna! I could turn myself invisible and you’d never know any different .. but I’m not gonna do that either! Where would be the fun in that? The fun is in knowing you can do it NOT in the actual doing, Let everyone else believe what they like –what’s it to me?”

This guy was rapidly becoming my no. 1 hero!

We got to the edge of the village and we were about to go our separate ways when he stopped me.

“It’s probably best if you don’t say too much about meeting me, especially to your parents, Danny boy. I’m not seen in too much of a good light around these parts, chum. People think I’m a little strange, would you believe?”

“Really?” I wasn’t being facetious or sarcastic. I mean, sure, I could see it on a superficial level that people might think him odd but you only had to speak to him; spend any amount of time with him to see how cool he really was.

“No accounting for taste, eh? Thing is, people tend to fear the strange…. And I don’t want that any more, kid.” I just nodded and we parted our ways right there and then. Upon getting home I said not a word about my encounter with Moon, but I did tell them about my adventure climbing the tree. When they asked me how I managed to get back down I just replied:  “Very care-fully…”

I didn’t see Moon for weeks afterwards, though I thought about him often. Part of me actually wondered whether I’d imagined the whole thing; maybe I’d actually fallen out of the tree and this was all just a fever dream!

I was fishing at the local pond and it was there that I saw him: he was bent double, searching for something and I swear I could almost hear him make strange snuffling noises. At no time did he look up from this strange behaviour so it wasn’t long before he was sniffle-snuffling right up to my knapsack, where I kept my sandwiches and snacks. Only then did he look up at me with a vague expression as if I was the one who didn’t belong there. Then he winked at me and said one word, as if it made all the difference in the world: “Truffles.”

He straightened up and made elaborate motions as he dusted himself off. Surprisingly I could now see that he wore exactly the same outfit as the last time. He noticed me staring at him.

“If it worked for Einstein then why not me?” I just raised my eyebrow. “Einstein…. Pint-zized genius; patent clerk come inventor of ze big bank? Anyways; he bought seven sets of the same clothes so it would be easier for him to choose what to wear each morning. The way he saw it: the few choices he had to make, the more brain power he had left for his great theories. I mean, you got to hand it to him… “ He pondered this for a bit and scratched his bristled chin. “’course…. His clothes were plain… plane, plaiine, plaaaaane!! I could never stoop so low! You know how hard it was crafting seven sets of the clothes as original as these? How much thought went into picking the exact colour combination you see before you?? I mean…”

“I can’t imagine…” I replied, checking out my float for signs of activity; just as before.. nothing. Moon noticed this and smiled.

“Want a hand?”

“As long as you don’t start clapping..”

“I knew there was a reason why I liked you… it certainly wasn’t your comic timing.” Patting his multitude of pockets he eventually found exactly what he was looking for: a very long, thin plastic tube with two s-bends on the ends. I was reminded of watching sword swallowers as he produced this… gizmo. One end was shaped more like a whistle and this piece he placed in his mouth whilst the other he plonked in the water. 

“Behold!” He suddenly remarked, “the fish-whisperer!” He looked at me and winked. “The trick is not to suck…” he then blew down this tube and… nothing happened. “And now we wait…”

As luck would have it we didn’t have to wait long; barely five minutes from the time Moon blew his extraordinary whistle till I was getting the first enthusiastic bite…. Which, of course, I lost; probably through my relative inexperience… And I lost the next one as well.. and the next after that. Moon looked at me and shrugged: “One can only do so much.” He gave me the ‘Fish whisperer’ and I’ve still got it, but it’s never worked the same way since.

He then attempted to sit down next to me. What I mean by that is that, out from those myriad pockets he managed to cobble together a rather rickety stool. We sat there for some time. I can’t remember what we talked about, but I know that it must have been meaningful in the way that most conversations are when you’re young and impressionable. (So full of meaning but easily forgotten when then next incredible conversation comes along)

The mist was starting to rise on the pond and the bats were now skimming the waters edge. I hadn’t realised how late it was or how dark it had become, looking about I could see there was a mist all around us now.

“Cripes; I’ve got to get back home. Mum & dad will be worried sick by now.”

“Don’t worry, kiddo; walk into the fog and you’ll be there in no time.”

“Are you crazy?”

“When have I ever led you astray?” he looked a little hurt by that comment, but I just raised an eyebrow at him. “Let’s put it this way -  you don’t have an awful lot of choice now.” He was right. I hated mist and fog; it was the stuff of nightmares and cold-sweats, but Moon was right, damnit, I didn’t have any choice now. “You worry too much. Just walk into the fog and picture where you want to be. You’ll be there afore you know it!”

He punched me lightly on the forearm and I did what I was told: walked into the fog, with my eyes closed, I might add. I walked into the fog with my mind set on my home; the inviting lights of my own front door and the angry love of my parents acting like a beacon.

“Open them now, kiddo.” Came a whisper in my ear. So startled was I that I actually bumped into my own front door. In less than five seconds mum and dad were there, door open with their “what time do you call this” and “we were worried sick”.

I was so relieved that it had actually worked that I almost told them about Moon. Instead I spun stories of the amount of fish that I almost caught; of the behemoths that got away. (is it any wonder I became a writer? All those tall tales I spun from such a six pence…)

I went to bed soon after and stripped all my clothes for wash day. What I hadn’t done was empty my pockets and, of course, dad found the ‘Fish whisperer’, but I never found out until later.

Things change –time has a way of affecting people; children more so. Some people call it maturation of the spirit, others growing up; a time of putting aside childish things and leaving awe and wonder behind, joining the rank and file of the spiritually undead.

When I next saw Moon I was with a group of ‘friends’. About three months had elapsed and I had moved into a new class at school and somehow gravitated towards people my own age. Somehow our relative insecurities affected us less when we hung around together. We could pretend that they didn’t exist, especially when we took them out on some other poor soul. It would be fair to say that, despite my original naivety, I had grown into quite a bully. I take no pride in saying this; I look back on that part of my life with shame, but it didn’t last long, thankfully. And, in a very sad way, I have Moon to thank for that as well.

 There were about six of us, of varying ages, that hung around together. The eldest was called Alex and because he had just read “Clockwork Orange” saw himself the leader of his very own gang of Droogs. Thankfully, he wasn’t violent and saw himself more as a mischief maker than a psychopath. Consequently he only harassed people by shouting at them rather than beating them up.

Yes, it all sounds very infantile and inexcusable and there’s nothing much I can say to make it better or explain it away. All I know is that my home was no longer the sanctuary I remembered.

In those few months my parents were no longer speaking to each other in the same way and my father seemed embarrassed to talk to me –almost as if there was something he wanted to ask me, but couldn’t bring himself to.

On this particular day we had it on good information that a tramp had been seen in the local playground. (I say playground, but this is not a representative description.  It was a dilapidated collection of broken swings, peeling and rusted slides and a very questionable sandpit.) We had to investigate. A tramp? In our village? It was almost obscene to think of such a thing.

I didn’t recognise the man… I mean, how could I? The last time I saw him his clothes were so bright and bold, like him. This man’s clothes were in tatters; dirty and worn, no colour left in them at all. He was lying, huddled up in the corner of the playground, his head turned away from us, almost as if he was trying to lose himself in the hedge.

Alex started nudging the man with his foot so he’d turn around –far better to insult someone when they’re facing you. Eventually the man turned round and garbled obscenities and even then I didn’t recognise him. His voice was broken; his beard was matted and streaked in mud, and caked blood there were livid contusions on his cheeks and forehead and it looked as if his nose had been broken recently. But it wasn’t until I saw his goggles –the cracked and warped goggles- splayed on his forehead that I realised with horror who it was.

I snapped; terror and incomprehension blinding me; I lashed out at Alex and the rest of the gang, driving them off; screaming at them to leave him alone. They walked off, jeering; calling me a tramp lover. I didn’t care; I was left alone again… cradling the dying fragments of my childhood.

Just like yesterday

There’s always someone who your head says “no way, uh huh; this spells trouble” but your heart just trips over for. It sends an itch that just can not be scratched and it’s not just a desire born of a physical relief but a deep seated yearning.

Dean had never thought of himself as incomplete but after seeing Eve for the first time realised exactly what that meant, and how completely empty his life had been up. But, to be fair, he was only 8 at the time.

When it happened to him again at 16 there was one big complication. He had been brought up to respect  -up to a point- other people religious and cultural beliefs. He had none himself; like his mother and father, he felt unencumbered by the weight of puritanical dogma or sullied by secular sin. They saw life as it was, not through hellfire tinged glasses; so falling in love with someone like Eve was totally doomed, ridiculous in the extreme.

Eve was not only Christian but from a very distinct branch that somewhere along the line had snapped off completely and now bordered on being known as a cult. The Reverend Gerry King had a devout following, mostly from devout young women, most of whom frequented the various youth groups of the area, and the school where Dean went.

When Dean had moved to the area as a child he had gone to the “Sunday School” that the Rev. ran for a few weeks and it was there that he’d first met Eve, and was totally smitten in the way that only young boys can be. This was not arousal but something more akin to a Spiritual knowing, a genuine flow of pure emotion, which Eve seemed to share.

Dean had been offered a chance to be indoctrinated into the scholarship programme that Rev. King offered; to become closer to God, but by that time Dean’s parents had heard more stories about King and forbade him to go. Worse, he could no longer see Eve at all.

Eve was not allowed to go to school at that age –she was deemed far too vulnerable to brainwashing or so the Rev. thought- and so Dean did his best to forget all about her.

Years passed, as they do. Though there had been other girlfriends none seemed to hold a candle to the feeling he had for Eve. Being nearly an adult complicated matters with sex rearing its ugly head. He was no fool, he understood about what was happening to his body, the hormones now raging, but understanding and living it were two completely different things. He was both liberated and intimidated by his new found freedom. He was not blessed with good looks but knew how to hold himself, how to speak to women and make them feel at ease and special.

It should have been easy for him to reap a bountiful harvest and it wasn’t for a lack of offers; women found Dean desirable; but he found that he could not go through with the consummation. It felt wrong to manipulate them with such ease; the women seemed too pliable, too willing for debasement. In a way he saw his ability to manipulate the women being similar to Rev. King. Dean often wondered whether King had seen some of the quality in him that he wanted to mould and call his own.

Ten years later – a balmy day; first class on a Wednesday morning.  The door to the English class opens unexpectedly and Dean’s world gets blown apart. Ten years passed by but it might well have been yesterday when Eve walked into the classroom again; and back into his life. Just like yesterday.

The classroom paled into insignificance as he saw her. She stood at the front of the class as the headmistress spoke to Mrs Slough, the English teacher. Eve seemed aloof, so disconnected to everything else; the world still had not touched her.

Her hair was still long; pure lines of silk, a burnt coffee colour and seemed to contrast to her pale complexion; salt & pepper freckles, a light dusting. She was still quite thin but was now clearly a woman. He felt himself blush as she surveyed the classroom and for the briefest of moments their eyes met. She seemed not to notice him, looked beyond him, even, to the world outside.

Heart sinking, he cursed himself for being a fool; ten years had passed, after all, and she had moved away; built a new life for herself. But what had made them come back? And did this mean that her whole family had moved back?

The questions were answered later that evening. Dean had not been able to meet Eve at all during the day; circumstances always seemed to get in the way. At the end of every class Eve would hurry away, not wanted to spend time with anyone or trying to make friends. She saw it as a futile exercise, and was probably right. The gossip mill had already gone into overdrive, but Dean wanted no part of it, so he was surprised when Eve was the subject of the dinner table.

“We heard that Eve King is back at your school, Dean. Is she in any of your classes?” Dean’s mother asked.

“Yes, English. How’d you know?”

“The whole clan, the whole Family have moved in, strangely enough, back into their old place. It’s stayed derelict for all these years.”

“Maybe they own it?”

“That would make sense…” Dean’s father replied. “But you’re going to stay away from her though, aren’t you?” This was the first time his parents had laid down the law like this.

“Well; I was going to re-introduce myself if the chance came; but why should that be a problem? What have you against her anyway?”

“It’s nothing against her, per se. Well; you were too young when they moved away the first time… but there were always rumours that Rev. King wasn’t a Rev. at all; just a leader of a cult. Worse still, there were even rumours that he’d molested several children in his ‘parish’; maybe even his own. You can imagine how horrified we were found this out; and you can see why we stopped you going to the Sunday school!”

“When you’re a child then you see things that way…” His mother interjected. “There’s no thought of anything but the purest of reasons. Words such as ulterior motives or grooming have no meaning…”

Dean felt sickened to the stomach. He wanted to go back to those times. It wasn’t that he was ignorant of this news; everyone had been talking about it at school; but to hear his own parents worry that he might have become a victim.. and worse still, that Eve could still be… well, it was almost too much for him.

He excused himself from the table and went upstairs to his room. Lying on his bed he thought of the angel he had known all those years ago and wept knowing that it was no longer so.

The next day he tried blanking it all from his mind. His parents were right, it wasn’t a good idea to get involved. It was obvious that she was too mired into the fundamentalist Christian lifestyle. The Rev. had taken a new ‘hands-on’ approach to the religion, standing on street corners, shouting his message of hate to anyone who could hear it; with the rest of his family by his side.

The message was far more extreme. Love was there but only if you fit certain criteria. The homosexuals, the coloureds and even the Brexiteers were condemned to hell. God loved all the others and all could be saved, even those of colour, if they sacrificed.

That was the term he used –it meant turning your back on everything you had known before and becoming part of the family of Christ.

Eve could be seen every weekend, with her father, arm in arm; passion flooding her face; whilst at school she kept herself alone and cut off, nothing showing. She only spoke when she addressed the teachers; and if anyone dared make fun of her then she would retaliate, her voice drowning out the laughs until they retreated, intimidated by the frenzy and fervour coming from her. It wasn’t long before they all left her alone.

And so did Dean for the most part. He couldn’t reconcile what his parents had told him with  what he saw on a daily basis. It broke his heart to see her, he wanted so much to take her in his arms, make her snap out of the religious stupor she was in. She was hurting so much, but just couldn’t see it. Oh, how he wanted to be the one to save her.

He knew how ridiculous it sounded; knew of his tendency to rescue first and ask questions later. Equally he knew that no good could come of any relationship with her, no matter what his heart (or cock) said otherwise; so he kept away.

And all went well for another three weeks until one Friday afternoon.

“It is you, isn’t it, Dean?” The voice from behind took him by surprise. He was sitting in the library during his last free period of the day. (he never understood why he wasn’t allowed home early; he could just as easily read or study at home and proved just how ridiculous college treated the students. “We talk to you as adults” said their prospectus, but treated them as children, Dean wished that he’d never gone to college; he just got suckered by their promotional campaign. No one at his school offered any other alternative; it was either go to college or you’re on your own…) He was so lost in thought he never realised that she was standing behind him.

“I was sure that you didn’t recognise me.” He replied, turning to face her. She was far more beautiful than he ever remembered her.

“I didn’t realise it was you until someone pointed to you in conversation.”

“I hope it was something nice.”

“Oh; of course! It’s only me that gets bad press; though I can’t imagine why.” That stumped Dean, he didn’t want to say anything that would be offensive to her; equally he didn’t want to say anything stupid. She laughed at this, actually laughed out loud, good naturedly, at his indecisiveness. “You ARE sweet; after all these years, Dean. Still thinking of others, not wanting to hurt their feelings. No doubt you know all about my family.” Dean just nodded once. “And you still talk to me?”

“Well… that’s just your family…”

“And me… but it shouldn’t get in the way of us though. I just wanted to say that to you, Dean. I just wanted to say hi, and you still hold a place for me…I haven’t forgotten you.”

She walked away then, leaving him baffled. Other people were still staring at him as she left. This was unheard of; the religious nut actually having a conversation with someone. Dean had to walk out himself, the stares were too off putting.

That night: Dean said nothing to his parents. He wasn’t sure what happened himself. Eve’s words were obscure and seemed contradictory to how she was perceived. His feelings for her were now reignited, stronger than ever. Being that close to her was intoxicating and things were about to go up a notch.

A sharp retort of “Welcome To The Jungle” woke him up that evening –his mobile was ringing. No one knew he ever had a phone, let alone rang it (it was for emergencies only!). It took a few seconds to find it before he could answer it.

It was Eve.

“Can we meet?”

“Yeah… sure; I guess… where?”

“The old place.”

This was proof that she did remember the childhood days indeed! The old place… he’d almost forgotten himself!

His Grandfather had been the school caretaker and knew the grounds better than anyone and even knew of this little oasis. No one else knew it existed.

There was a small stream that ran alongside the school for a bit, most inaccessible, except at this one little spot. Eve and Dean spent hours there as children, just talking; and now they were going to meet there again after all this time. It didn’t feel weird at all….

Eve was there already, waiting for him; lying on the sloping bank, barely discernible in the dark. He felt his heart race at the knowledge that she was there for him. She patted the ground next to her and he lie there by her side, not daring to look at her.

If he closed his eyes then it would’ve been like none of the surrounding years had happened, they were still at that wonderful, innocent age; very much in love. That was why he kept them open, staring out at the sky.

He suddenly realised just how precarious a situation he was in.

“I didn’t know whether you’d come.” She said, breaking the ice; whispering the same way she’d done as a child; but she was anything but now.

“Of course I would.. but you knew that.. How did you find my number though?”

“The family has its ways…” A chill slithered down his spine. “Don’t worry; no one else knows that I’ve contacted you. They think I’m at the cinema.”

“Really?” This sounded quite preposterous considering what Dean knew of the Rev.’s views.

“Don’t sound so surprised! We keep up to date on current films for our own ends. Not only to satirize and deride them, but we can also use the knowledge to tempt people into our church. Father is wanting for the church to expand here again, find a new flock.”

“Is that why you’ve contact me?” The penny dropped.

“Hardly…” And missed… “what.. you thought I was going to use my feminine whiles to entice you into the church?” She started to laugh, much to Dean’s dismay. He was very confused now. “Wait..” She continued, “you still came though. Ha!! You must have it bad, Dean.. you poor boy!”

“How can you tell them about the film if you haven’t seen it then?” He said to change the subject fast.

“You really are naïve, aren’t you? YouTube? Wikipedia? IMDB? I can swat up before I talk to them!” It was obvious really, he thought..

“What did you want to see me about then?” He asked finally.

“Do I need a reason?” She replied. “I just wanted to see if there was still the connection there. We always used to have one.. and it’s something that I miss.. kind of. Someone who I can just be myself with –whoever that might be. Would that be ok? We don’t have to really talk about anything, if you don’t want to. I won’t try to convert you, but if we can meet up a couple of times a week it would be aces. It would mean a lot to me, Dean.”

She found his hand in the dark and squeezed it gently, sending waves of electricity through him. “Of course.. I’d like that.” He replied, barely able to get his words out.

“Thank you.” She looked at her watch and placed her hand on his to push herself off the ground. As she stepped over him he smelt her perfume: lavender, just as she always used to wear. “God speed my sweet friend.” She said and was gone in the night. Even though the air still had a chill to it, his hand felt warm. Yes, he did have it bad…

All during school she ignored him; he was just another face in the crowd, which puzzled him at first, but the more he thought about it the more it made sense. By seeing him in the evenings she was going against the family; the whole church! She was living a secret by seeing him so she couldn’t risk acknowledging him whilst at College. He smiled to himself; he was her guilty secret! (and to a certain degree she was his too) He doubted that anyone else would understand the dichotomy in her, they would see her and just see the fundamentalist, but was that who she really was? Why had she chosen him to be the one that saw the other side of her? Was she her ‘real’ self when they were together? He had to find out.

“Are you asking me if I’m schizophrenic for Christ?” She laughed quietly, aware that there were peoples back gardens less than 20 feet away.

“Not exactly.” Dean replied.

“You’re asking me, then, whether I’m still a religious nut or by seeing you, am I showing signs of branching out on my own?”

“Kind of… I guess…”

“You’ve not really thought this through, have you?” He shrugged. He thought he had, but Eve had a way of turning arguments inside out. She probably got that from her father.

“I don’t see that I’m doing anything wrong, Dean. We’re not committing a grievous sin by talking… Dad might get a little upset, but everything’s a sin with him! But that’s how I ended up here, if you think about it! There’s his way and then the way that others should follow… Sometimes..”

Dean looked at her. “What?”

“Nothing.. I don’t need to be dredging that stuff up, there’s no need. You’re good, y’know that? You’re good with getting people to open up. I feel that I could just talk to you.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Not yet… everything comes to those who wait, Dean.”

“No… it really doesn’t.” Damn, he hadn’t meant to say that. She was quick to pick up on his subtext.

“Why, I didn’t know that you still thought of me that way. Still, I thought it was just a childish crush.” Dean turned away.

“Yeah; well.. so did I. Now I find myself lying on the banks of a stream, holding hands with you beneath the stars.”

“Romantic, isn’t it?”

“Don’t, Eve. I’m as confused enough as it is. It’s easier for me to think of us as just friends… most of the time.”

“So you don’t want to kiss me then?”

He turned to her in astonishment. The streaming light sparkled on her skin, making her look ethereal and more beautiful than ever.

“I…” He started to speak but she moved closer, turned herself over to him and looked into his eyes. She moved to kiss him softly but deeply. He felt lost in her tenderness; all time synchronised with her heartbeat. All that existed for him was the feel of her skin against his, her tongue passionately probing his own; their souls becoming one; the scent of her hair. He was intoxicated with her.

It was over far too quickly. As soon as she withdrew she kissed him lightly on the forehead before getting up and leaving. Touching his cheek he realised it was slightly damp, putting it to his lips it tasted slightly salty as if she’d been crying.

It was another week before she contacted him again. In a way he was glad, it gave him a chance to sort his feeling out. He knew that this could only end in more tears, probably his; and she would never leave the church. He wasn’t even sure he could ask that much of her.

He had to be careful around her now. The kiss had woken all sorts of feelings, made him feel truly alive and stoked up a passion he’d never felt before. He was afraid of it.

The text was only two words: Tonight – 8ish.

She was already lying by the bank again when he got there. She didn’t even look at him when he sat down next to her. This time there was more of a distance between them and the silence was overpowering. There was so much that he wanted to say to her but he didn’t know where to start, so he just sat there.

He turned to look at her and initially thought she was shivering with the cold but then realised she was crying again.

“What’s wrong?” He asked her.

“You must think I’m a tramp.”

“What??” Was all he could think to reply.

“Kissing you like that. I’m nothing but a hypocritical tramp.”

“Christ no.”

“Is an interesting choice of words, Dean.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think I understand any of this. None of it makes sense, just what I felt when we kissed… but I’ve been told that’s wrong.”

“But it felt so right… I do know what you mean, but I don’t think badly of you at all.”

“I doubt myself… I scourged myself after seeing you; vowed I’d never see you again because of the thoughts I had.”

“Scourged?”

“But here I am again. I just want you to hold me. Would you?”

He turned and laid next to her; felt the pressure of her hands on his back and her kiss was more yearning, searching for something he didn’t know whether he could give.

Nothing more was said until she left. Words made it real, confused things more. When she turned to leave she said two words. “Thank you.”

For weeks they met, kissed by the stream and whilst they were together nothing else mattered, but when they were apart Dean felt confused, unsure of what was going on. Was this actually a relationship or just a friendship? What was he to her?

Summer was now almost upon them and it was warmer now in the evenings. He’d noticed that whilst she was around him her clothes were looser, less buttons on her blouse were done up, showing him more than what was healthy for his imagination.

When they kissed she would often lie on top of him now, her hair flowing over him, her breasts pressing on his chest and it was impossible for her not to notice his erection against her.

Finally it became too much for him; he had to understand what he meant to her. He pushed her off and sat up.

“I’m sorry… I need to know, Eve, what’s going on between us?”

“How do you mean?”

“Cut the crap, Eve… please; just tell me.”

“What do you think, Dean? What do you want it to be?”

“Those are two completely different questions and you know it.”

“Do you think I’m being unfair?”

“More than a little. You know how I feel for you.”

“I can, every time I lie on top of you. It’s nice.”

“I don’t get you.”

“Can’t I enjoy how I make you feel?”

“Is that all it is? Is this just a tease? Do you enjoy turning me on? Knowing I can’t do anything about it?”

“Who says you can’t do anything about it?” Don’t you want me?” She licked her lips suggestively, sending shivers through his body. It took every ounce of his will power to turn away. She laughed and then placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s because I know you won’t take it too far that I enjoy spending time with you. I get a chance to be me in a way I can’t with anyone else.”

“Then that, to me, IS being hypocritical.”

“If that’s what you think…” She got up and left him. He didn’t try to stop her. Why was he even bothering with this? It was torture –tease and denial, yet he was as guilty as she was. It was like some childish game they were still playing but there were no rules and more was at stake.

One week passed and then two. On the third week Dean was almost relieved; he felt a little guilty about that, but his head felt free from confusion. Without temptation he could live his life normally. By the end of the third week he barely thought about Eve at all. And then she texted him and like a fool dog on heat he dropped everything and went to her.

She wore a very demure white blouse, a long pleated skirt and looked as if she’d just come back from church.

He sat next to her and said nothing and for ten minutes neither of them spoke a word. Then she leaned over to him and kissed him lightly on the lips, then ran her tongue lightly over them, knowing that was a sensitive spot to him. He gasped and she used that moment to slide her tongue further in. It was a kiss to lose himself in and Dean felt exactly that; he felt lost to her. She moved to his neck and he could feel her breath in his ear.

“I’m getting married.” She whispered.

He pushed her away, shocked by this confession. “What? Why?”

“It’s Father’s wish. It’s why we moved back here.”

“It’s what? You’ve known about it all this time? So why go through this.. all of this with me? Just what have I been for you? A diversion?”

“My saviour. One I hoped would deliver me from this if I pushed your buttons enough, but you’ve been more puritanical than my own family! I wanted you to want me, Dean, but you haven’t.”

“How can you say that? Don’t you know what you do to me? How I feel towards you?”

“So you’ve repeatedly said, but unlike Father you’re just words. You’re not a man of action. I mean, can you imagine anything beyond this? What we’re doing now? It’s still just a childhood fantasy come to life for you. I doubt you’d actually fight for me, should it come to it, and it probably would have… so what are you going to do about it now, Dean? Rail and thunder against the inhumanity; about how badly I’ve treated you? What have you done for me? You’ve never tried to talk to me, just let me make the first move the whole time…

“And now I tell you that I’m getting married but you don’t try to stop me but think about how it’s going to affect you!”

Dean just stared at her, not knowing what to do or say. She was right; he had been so confused about his own feelings that he’d just been passive the whole time.

“I almost thought you were the one to save me from this. I entertained the thought of going all the way with you and telling Father about it. He would have beaten me and excommunicated me but I would have done it for you if I knew that you’d stand by me and look after me. But I know that’s an impossibility. It’s asking too much of you; I can see that now. My time to break free will come, but not now and not with you.

“I’m sorry about that, I truly am, but it’s down to you. I won’t be seeing you again.”

She didn’t even kiss him good-bye, she was just gone. For a few minutes he pondered what she said. Part of him was sorry about what had happened; she was right after all. He sighed and looked to the stars.

Suddenly he smiled to himself: she was right after all… All sorts of shit would have hit the fan if they had gone all the way… Phew, he thought… dodged a bullet there then!

Happiest Days Of Your Life

It was something instinctive that Timmy felt; when the doors of school shut behind him he would be totally forgotten by his parents; he would really be alone.

This wasn't the same school he was used to, not the safe haven he had known for the last eight years, the sanctuary of warm teachers, chalk dust and comforting school dinners.

This was the big school where you learnt to become a man and here, for the first time, Timmy felt completely alone. All of the friends he had made in St. Wilfs were no more, they didn't want anything to do with him; they seemed completely unreachable. They had all found cliques and new friends but Timmy, who had seen no one over the summer holidays, felt extremely vulnerable and close to tears.

The building was so much bigger than he had ever imagined: cold stone walls and echoing corridors ready to swallow the unwary child; and as they were shown into the great hall he found it hard not to think of the childhood sacrifices he had read about in his beloved horror comics. Would they select the weakest specimens so that the strongest could feast upon them?

A prefect suddenly flanked him, almost bending double to address him.

“Hello! Timmy, isn't it?” The prefect had seen the brightly embossed badge that was stuck to his jumper. “Don't worry, chap -it's always daunting on the first day, but we'll see you right. I'll help you settle in...”

The first act of kindness, disarming in its simplicity and; the world didn't seem as scary anymore and it allowed Timmy to look at how the other people were coping. Surprisingly he wasn't alone in his numbing fears; a couple of the smaller children had actually succumbed to tears and were being led away by other prefects.

Timmy felt lucky, his size meant that he could stand up for himself; something he had had to do a lot in St Wilfs; so why should here be any different? Something his father had told him stuck in his mind: “Buck it up, don't chuck it up and if in doubt grow up.”

The first assembly wasn't the ritual disembowelling he had been led to believe. All the teachers seemed non-threatening, endearing even... and Timmy found himself looking forward to starting his new subjects.

“Ward Hill,” The Headmaster dwarfed even the tallest teacher. Despite being an impressive figure of a woman she insisted on being addressed as Headmaster. It suited her. “Ward Hill stands as one of the best secondary comprehensive schools in the country. Our methods are... unorthodox, by some, but the results have always shone out for themselves. Learn the rules we are here to teach. Your parents have brought you here for one reason only, to become adults. Now is the time to put behind the childish life and grow up. Your parents will not want to know about your life at Ward Hill -the majority of them have lived it for themselves; they will not want to be reminded, I'm sure. What happens here stays here.”

Timmy's parents hadn't gone to Ward Hill, they were not that fortunate. It seemed to be a miracle that Timmy had made it so far; so much so that his parents had already told him that regardless of what happened to him there he had to stay. There would be no second chances.

As it was, the first day was exciting and tiring for there was so much going on. Ward Hill had created a whole new approach to teaching -total immersion. Classes were made up of all ages and each age was responsible for the teaching of the younger. Boys and girls shared the same classroom which made things embarrassing during the sex education classes.

As the weeks progressed Timmy struggled in many ways. He had always found both English and Maths easy at St Wilfs, but upon moving to Ward Hill it was as if someone had changed the rules overnight. He was constantly at the bottom of his class and picked on mercilessly by the older kids.

This too become something that he just got used to, just part of the ritual. Bizarrely enough, even the bullies saw it that way. There seemed to be no malice or delight in the activity, just a passive acceptance from both sides. Many of them bore the scars of bullying themselves so this may have been a form of cathartic release for them.

Every night Timmy was faced with the same cold stares from his parents, they never seemed to care enough to asked how his day went or whether he had learnt anything. Nor could he have explained even if they were interested; the Headmasters speech held him fast.

He felt an obligation to his parents, a word that no child should even recognise let alone be driven by. They had made his position perfectly clear so his nights and weekends passed by in cold silence.

It wasn't long before he was given to the school as a live-in pupil -an honour that was rarely given to less privileged families. On that day there was an air of guilt and finality -his mother barely able to look him in the eye as she packed his belongings. But it was his father who troubled Timmy the most; his father, who had never shown the slightest emotion but vague disappointment, wept uncontrollably as Timmy left on that bleak Sunday morning.

It was night time that Timmy felt the loss of his parents the most... but it wasn't long before he realised that it was the idea of them he had been clinging to; an idea that was easy enough to let go of.

He slept in a large, low ceilinged room in the basement of the school. When he had first become a pupil -four months ago he had been told that the school was haunted at night by Troglodytes. He now knew that to be true for he was one of them. In fact, he was proud to be a Trog and had even created an informal club that celebrated that, and as the tallest of the children that lived at the school he was elected leader of the Trogs; he was Head Trog!

For the first time he felt as if he had a purpose and for the next few weeks there was something else: -a feeling that had been denied him: contentment.. happiness even!

Lessons were improving and even the bullying had subsided. The teachers were starting to see, not only him, but the other Trogs in a new light, as if they were being sized up for something. The Trogs, for their part, had become a team under Tim's auspices.

Tim -his new name. It had been the Headmaster who had re-christened him one day after assembly. She had publicly thanked him for all the work he had done for the other Trogs and called him Tim. The name immediately stuck and with it came extra bonuses.

He was often first in the queue for meal times and given extra portions to boot; he was even allowed to skip the PE that he so loathed. Some of the other Trogs were given the same benefits as well. Life was good. In fact, for a while, things became heavenly.

Then came the first wounding.

Williamson had fallen foul during a particularly wet bog-trot. This was a special form of torment that Tim no longer had to take part in: running round the local woods that sat behind the school. It was said that witches lived there, waiting for the unwary school children who lost their way. For Williamson all it had meant was a badly sprained ankle and a nasty cut on his leg.

Upon seeing Williamson carted back into the school on a makeshift stretcher Tim again thanked his lucky stars that he no longer had to do bog-trot. He also vowed that he'd make Williamson's life as easy as possible; he arranged a whip-round with the other Trogs and managed to rustle up sweets and fruit and comics. When Williamson returned from the nurses station he was as white as the bandage that covered his leg, but his eyes lit up on seeing the stash that sat on his bed waiting for him.

Days passed and Williamson showed no signs of recovery. His bandage was soon replaced by a cast, which itself, was renewed every couple of days. Nobody thought anything of it at first. Then came another accident.

Sophie was in the home economics class room and because it was a large class with no one paying any attention no one noticed her chopping up the vegetables with one of the elder girls. The knife must have slipped.

The knives were always kept razor sharp and Sophie can't have realised what was happening  It was her partner that asked whether they were supposed to be cutting up beetroot, but by then it was too late. Mrs Forquot, the teacher of the lesson, took control immediately and found the tips of the fingers and placed them in a jar for safe keeping.

Other children found cuts and grazes appearing on their bodies with no real understanding how they got there, and Williamson was getting worse.

It was when Rob had his accident in Craftworking that Tim became really suspicious. They were using saws for the first time and none of them had been given any training or safety equipment -they were told to just get on with it.

“Best way to learn.” The jovial Mr Tomlinson had spouted. “Drop you in at the deep end, only two outcomes really!”

Of course, it was a wonder that it took that long for an accident to happen; Rob had lost control of the saw and chewed into his own leg. Tim, who knew nothing about DIY or health and safety, found it impossible that such a thing had been allowed to happen. No one had been watching except for one of the elder lads who looked sheepish.

When Mr Tomlinson rushed over to see the state of the injury he seemed almost disappointed that it was just a flesh wound that only needed a couple of stitches.

Tim wasn't the only one who thought that something was amiss. One of the slightly older girl Trogs, Sandy, and Dave Massy felt the same thing. None of them knew what was going on but it had an air of macabre familiarity about it. The one thing that they did know was that they were being withered down piece by piece. In the three weeks since Williamson's accident Tim had decided enough was enough. Williamson should have recovered by now, but if anything he was much, much worse. He was constantly perspiring, lying in the same supine way, almost delirious with pain; and the cast seemed to take up most of his leg now.

That night Tim, Sandy and Dave took it upon themselves to uncover the truth.

Williamson's cast was the most obvious starting point -none of them possessed any medical knowledge but even they knew that his ankle should have healed by now. Williamson himself was completely out of it, doped up to the heavens, so it was easy to investigate without waking him.

Sandy kept an eye out for any teachers or prefects, more down to her squeamishness than her keen eyesight. It seemed bizarre to put on such a cast for just a graze and a twisted ankle. Tim rapped his knuckles on the cast and was surprised to hear a hollowness to the rapport. Placing a hand firmly on the plaster mould he found it very odd that it gave very easily -it was paper thin.

He exchanged glances with Dave who got a torch out to shine on the leg itself. There was no choice -they needed to know what was beneath the cast so they were prepared to break it off. They didn't need to.

It was only secured to the top part of his leg by strips of surgical tape which were easy enough to remove. It felt like taking the top off of a bottle of sauce -one final tug and they were left staring in disbelief at a cauterised stump where the knee should have been. They both stared at each other, tears already forming in their eyes as they tried to process this abomination, but it was Sally's scream that brought the reality home to them.

Tim couldn't move. This wasn't happening. Dave was adamant that they needed to escape before the teachers found them and made them pay. He ran when he realised that Tim could no longer follow him -his legs refused to work anymore, so adamant were they that his was just another nightmare. Sally was just screaming and screaming. Soon she was led away by two of the female prefects and Tim? Tim was taken to the Headmaster.

“In life, we must all learn our place, Tim.” The Headmaster sat at her desk, peering down at him through horn-rimmed spectacles, her hands forming a steeple. “You've heard the term 'law of the jungle' and have no doubt been aware of natural selection, hmm?” The office was toasty warm; strangely enough, there was a large open fire on the far side of the office and a large, antique wooden table that had seen many meals. Score marks and great gouges had been taken out of it and there were many stains that took no imagination to fill in the gaps as to what they were, despite how outlandish it seemed.

“This is a special school and great things will be expected by all those who eventually leave. They will be among the very top, the elite. It's a privileged position with certain demands placed on them, on you.”

With that, she stood up out of the chair, slowly, like a lioness stretching, eyeing up her prey. She must have been woken by Sally's screaming and the commotion. Despite wearing a full length dressing gown and carpet slippers, she still exuded power and menace. She still towered over Tim, who severely doubted his life expectancy.

“We are not all created equal.” She continued, taking him by the hand. He got up, in a daze and was led towards the fire. “The strong survive and the weak are but food.” She pushed him down gently into the seat and sat down next to him, facing the crackling, spitting flames.

“I have been watching you, Timmy.” She cooed, placing her clammy hand over his. “And I think that you have potential. You have shown yourself to be one of the leaders.” Taking it in her hand, she moved his hand to her knee, moving the dressing gown aside with the other; she was completely naked underneath.

Tim stared in disbelief, tried to pull his hand away, but she held it tight and smiled, moving it further up her leg. “But you must be shown, you must be indoctrinated, like the rest.”

He tried to pull with all his might but all this did was make her predatory smile wider. She grabbed hold of him with her other hand and pulled him towards her, smothering him into her breasts.

All his childish world consisted of now was her, her power, the dank decrepit smell of her flesh, the decaying cloy of her suffocating breasts. But she wasn't breathing... It took him a couple of minutes to realise that.... she wasn't breathing at all.

All the while his other hand was forcibly tracking up her leg, inch by harrowing inch until he could feel the hairy mouth of her sewer. The slime crusted jewel of her empire, its jaws parting, allowing him to pass within.

He wanted it over, tried to scream but she held him tighter into her.

“Shhhh.” She hushed into his ear, almost hypnotically. “You will soon be one of us, you will soon be grown up and be one of us.  Just let go, let it go, let go of your child-life  and give it to me.”

His fingers were inside of her, the revulsion shook through him, bile soaking through every pore. The pain was sharp, a crushing tearing pain that was as indescribable as it was unexpected. He drew his hand out disbelievingly looking to where his fingers had once been -now just bloody, spouting stumps.

“Timmy, let me look at them.” She placated, snatching at them, shoving his hand into her mouth. She actually licked them and sucked at his fingers, lapping at every spurt.

Tim screamed, pushing himself back out of her grasp, the pain now the only thing keeping him from going mad, losing all sense of sanity, nearly falling into the fire. The Headmaster grabbed at him and missed, driven by bloodlust, no longer a woman now something formless and bestial; its true self transubstantiating. He barely ducked out of the way. The second time he wasn't so lucky -his head felt light and brittle, the flame shadows flickering around him, making him feel so dizzy. He couldn't duck quickly enough and her claws dug into his shoulders. He screamed again and just collapsed, putting the creature off balance -it had expected him to struggle and had over-compensated. Tim saw his chance and grabbed the creature, pulled it over the top of him with a makeshift judo roll into the fire, before rolling away from the blaze. The creature was rapidly consumed by the flames; screamed in agony and all Tim could do was watch.

He wanted to just die, he knew now that no one would ever believe him. Blood loss was making him ill and had it not been for Sally and Dave he would have given up and died, but he had a responsibility to them both. He had to make sure that they were both ok.

The rest of the school was strangely quiet -all of the other Trogs were fast asleep still. They had probably been told that it was just someone else's night terrors. Tim hoped that Dave had made it out ok, but he realised the truth in the Nurses room.

He was there alright, stripped of all his clothes, his skin in tatters, the flesh exposed underneath, going ripe whilst the blood drained into buckets. Tim had no tears left, no more hope -just find Sally and run.

He almost didn't feel the knife pierce his kidney; it was such an expertly placed blow. He turned around to Sally's peaceful features.

“I thought you'd be smarter than this, Timmy. They had such high hopes for you.”

“..what.... why?” were all that Tim could manage as he slumped into a heap on the floor.

“I was given the same offer that you were, but I accepted, i guess I know my place in the world and know where I want to be. It's a shame, but I suppose that everyone has their place on the food chain, don't they?”

She turned and walked to the door, turning on the lights to the nurses station and whistled shrilly. To Tim's surprise none of the teachers arrived, or the prefects. For a couple of minutes nobody showed, then there came a noise. A kind of shuffling, grunts and labored breathing, of bodies jockeying for position.

Eyes dilated through fear, wide with disbelief he could only stare as the Trogs jostled in, lips licking, salivating at the meal in front of them. Why had he never made the connection before? If he was being groomed then it stood to reason that they had been as well.

He was bleeding profusely now and there was nothing he could do to fend them off. It was obvious where they would start, what child doesn't love finger food?

But as the first of the Trogs started gnawing at his exposed digits Tim felt his first pang of pride. After all, wasn't he still giving his all for the benefit of the group? Wasn't that what a leader had to do?