"Fancy a spot of lunch?"
Simon Harrison gazed into the face of the man sat opposite. He had known the Dr. Halpin for over ten years, but today the doctor’s facial features seemed somehow different; more sinister, “We know you stole the organs Martin, but why didn’t you stop at one? Did you really need to take six?”
There was no answer.
Simon gritted his teeth and pointed at the papers on his desk, “Your name is on the recipient forms, if you don’t start explaining yourself I’ll be forced to call in the authorities. You could face jail Martin.”
Simon had been Chief Executive of St. Anne’s Hospital for over ten years, and today was proving to be the most bizarre day of his career so far. He was beginning to lose his patience.
Standing up Simon walked the length of his office then turned to face the doctor, “Martin, I’ve known you for a long time now, and you're a good man, so please just talk to me.”
Dr. Halpin remained silent, staring into space, his eyes focused on something unseen.
The Chief Executive stopped pacing the room and sat down again. He inhaled deeply, “Right, I’m going to ask you one more time. Why did you take the organs?”
Dr. Halpin slowly raised his head and fixed Simon with a soulless stare.
Finally he spoke, “I was hungry.”
TWO YEARS LATER
Reg Clark dug his fork into the hard soil, lifted up a huge clump of earth, turned it over then broke up the clods of earth with the side of his fork. It was back breaking work but he’d been doing it for over forty years, man and boy, and he hadn’t keeled over yet. Mind you give it time.
His wife said he should retire, but what would he do then? What would he do without his beloved park?
Reg rolled up the sleeves on his dirty old shirt, adjusted his cap and started the process again.
“Morning Reg.”
Reg looked up to see Sam, one of the locals, on his way to work.
“Don’t work too hard now,” Sam said.
Reg stopped digging and stretched his back, “Me? Never, I’ll leave the hard work to you lot in the office,” he chuckled.
“You watch that back now Reg,” Sam said, waving his newspaper as he walked away.
“Yeah, bye Sam.”
Always with the back; he was only sixty.
Victoria Park was a sight to behold in the summer. The flowerbeds dazzled with radiant yellow marigolds and the pansies bloomed in all shades of blue. There were vast lawns of bright green grass and huge oaks gave relief under their large shadows. It was a little paradise.
The park also felt quite somber at times. It had many war memorials to the fallen hero’s of World War Two, and Reg, having served in that awful conflict, sometimes spent hours just reading the names of his dead comrades.
Reg chucked his tools in his barrow and made his way down the path to the rose gardens.
On the way Reg saw a homeless man sat on a bench, “Hello there.” Reg doffed his tweed cap in the man’s direction, but the man didn’t answer, he just stared ahead, hand resting on his old suitcase protectively.
Poor sod. It can’t be easy living on the streets, especially these days. It might be all right now in the summer, but what about the winter? It didn’t bear thinking about.
Reg parked his wheelbarrow, grabbed his hoe and prepared for some more pain. His doctor had told him to ease off the heavy work, but surely just a bit of weeding would be OK?
“You want to watch your back Reg, you’ll do yourself an injury.”
“Morning Mrs. Dawson, how are you today?” sighed Reg, ignoring the comment about the back.
“Fine thanks, glad to see the sun’s out. It reminds me of what Jesus said―“
“Enjoy your coffee morning,” Reg cut her off and carried on weeding, the last thing he needed was a two-hour chat about God, “and say hello to the Reverend for me.”
“I will Reg, bye,” Mrs. Dawson waved as she shuffled off up the path.
The patrons of Victoria Park were the reason Reg had kept this job so long. It was nice to know that they appreciated it. Not to say you didn’t have those that ruined it for everyone else, mostly rowdy kids at night, leaving rubbish around, and stomping on his flowers; little sods.
Reg was still having trouble with his weeds when something caught his eye. A grey object shoved right down into one of the larger of his rose bushes. On closer inspection he realized what it was; and he wasn’t a happy man.
It was a dead pigeon.
Reg leaned in and carefully pulled the dead animal from it’s thorny grave, “What’s happened to you little fella?”
The bird was in a right state. Its wings had been torn off, and its throat was ripped out. Must have been a fox, they sometimes ventured in here after scavenging the bins. Reg placed the pigeon softly into his wheelbarrow. He’d have to bury it later, out of the way where no one would see it.
Simon Harrison sat in the hospital canteen, with his regulation vending machine coffee. It had been a very busy night; Friday’s usually were. Most of them were casualties of alcohol.
He finished his coffee and went back to his office, there was a whole bunch of paperwork to wade through before he could finish up and go home. Simon’s phone rang:
“Hello, Simon Harrison speaking.”
“Simon, I have Joy from the donor centre, says she has a problem with the location of some organs?”
Simon’s heart sank, then he composed himself, “Ok, put her through.”
The memory if two years ago was still strong. Simon closed his eyes and said a silent prayer.
Please not again.
I am invisible.
People walk by me every day and they look straight through me. It’s as if I don’t even exist. They look towards where I sit, but their eyes just stare past into the background. I hate them for it.
I haven’t always been invisible, in fact, a long time ago people used to notice me a lot. I was a popular man. I had lots of friends, a good career, and a wife who cared for me.
I loved my wife so much.
Then she was taken away from me. Killed by an unseen, malignant force.
Cancer.
It ate away at her like a ravenous beast, consuming her body in less than year. She went from being a fun loving young women, to an unrecognizable waste, just waiting to die.
She was eaten alive.
The council had given Reg one of those ride-on mowers last year, and it had made the job of mowing the lawns a lot easier; something his back was very happy about. To be honest it was also a lot of fun, like driving one of them go-karts. As Reg steered the mower round by a large oak tree, he noticed a dark shape laying on the lawn. He drove the mower closer and had a look down, “You must be joking?”
It was a dead cat.
At least that’s what he thought it was. The poor beast was in such a state that it was hard to tell. It’s head hung loose from its body, and it’s belly was cut right open, it’s internal organs lay on the grass.
What the hell is going on?
He guessed the foxes had got bored with take-away food and were starting to eat in. Reg laughed at his joke, but deep down he was a bit cheesed off. He liked seeing the animals round the park, even foxes, but if they thought they could just come in here and take over they had another thing coming. He scooped up the remains of the cat and placed it in a carrier bag. He would bury it later.
Reg Clark’s morning didn’t get any better.
Whilst on the rest of his rounds, he found another dead bird, and two dead squirrels.
All had been half eaten, their skin torn off.
“Look love, I know it might sound over the top, but I’ve got to do this,” Reg spoke into his mobile phone. “Well that’s up to you, but I’m staying here until I catch that bloody fox, and that’s final,” He hung up.
His son had brought him the mobile phone for his birthday, but he needn’t have bothered--it had been nothing but trouble.
Reg had decided to stay in his old tool shed during the night to try and catch the fox that was terrorizing his park. He wasn’t sure how he would do it, but he couldn’t just sit there. He had to do something.
Reg would be OK. He had a good book and plenty of tea and biscuits. In fact he was quite looking forward to the peace and quiet. Reg filled up his kettle from the bib tap outside the shed, brought it back in and switched it on to boil.
His mobile rang, Reg sighed, “Look I’m not changing my mind I-”
“Hi, is that Reg Clark?”
“Who is this?” Reg said.
“Sorry, my name is Simon Harrison, I’m the Chief Executive of St Anne Hospital, in Cosham, and wondered if I might ask you a few questions?”
“How did you get this number?”
“I spoke to the council and they gave me your home number. I phoned and your wife gave me your mobile, I hope you don’t mind?”
Reg cursed under his breath, silly women fancy giving out his mobile number; “Well I’m a bit busy,” Reg lied.
“Please, it would only take a minute.”
Reg thought for a couple of seconds, “Ok, you’ve got one minute.” Reg grabbed his tea, sat down and put his feet up. “Right fire away.”
“I’m looking for a friend, his name is Martin Halpin?”
“Can’t says the name rings any bells...”
“I’ve been to his address but he’s been evicted. His old landlady said he used to spend a lot of time in the park.”
“Well I get a lot of people come through my park, Mr. Harrison, I can’t be expected to know them all.”
“Yes I know, but this is important,” Simon said.
“What does he look like?”
“Sorry but I don’t know, I haven’t seen him in years.”
“Look I’m really busy Mr. Harrison and I need to get back to my work.”
“But he might be dangero-”
“Goodbye,” Reg hung up. Today was turning out to be a very strange day indeed. Reg grabbed his book and looked at his watch, it was a quarter past ten, time for a read.
By twenty past ten he was fast asleep.
“What’s going on!” Reg looked around him, slowly realising that he was in his shed, not at home in bed as he first thought. He looked at his watch; 5:30am.
The wife’s gonna kill me.
He checked his mobile. He had ten missed calls. Elsie would be furious when he got home. Maybe he could get her some flowers on the way. Yeah that should do it; he hoped.
Reg made his way up through the park heading for the shopping precinct. The park seemed strange this early in the morning, almost eerie. It was also totally deserted.
Suddenly Reg felt very vulnerable, so he decided to quicken his pace. He heard a noise behind him and quickly checked over his shoulder.
There was no one there.
Reg laughed, he was letting the early morning atmosphere get to him.
But he wasn’t alone.
The homeless man was sat on the same bench as before, feeding the squirrels. Reg watched as the man tossed out a few nuts then waited for the animals to come and feed.
If he’s so hungry why doesn’t he just eat the nuts?
The old tramp held out his hand to give a nut to a squirrel, the curious animal slowly edged closer and closer. It grabbed the nut and scuttled off. But it wasn’t long before another curious squirrel was slowly edging nearer. Carefully the creature scuttled forward, getting closer and closer and-
Too close.
With amazing speed the man shot out a hand and grabbed the animal by the throat. Reg let out a small cry.
The man turned and saw Reg watching; he smiled.
“What on earth are you doing?” Reg said, unable to hide his anger.
The man didn’t answer; he just kept on staring as the poor animal struggled in his grip.
“Please! Leave it alone it’s done nothing to you.”
A smile spread across the man’s face as he slowly lifted the squirrel to his mouth and took a huge bite from the animal’s neck. Blood spurted from the helpless animal and showered the man’s face.
Reg screamed.
The tramp stood up and began to walk towards him, crimson fluid still dripping from his mouth.
Reg was terrified, “Get away from me,” he screamed. The vulnerability he had felt earlier had now turned to fear.
His legs gave way and he fell to the ground.
Reg tried to crawl away but his body wouldn’t respond. His back had finally given out, just when he most needed it. Reg begged his body to work, but it was no good.
He was paralyzed.
All the time the tramp moved closer.
“Please,” Reg was crying now, “don’t hurt me.”
The man loomed over him with a childish grin. Reg curled up into a ball, praying that the man would have mercy.
He didn’t.
Reg felt a heavy thud hit him in the head, making his whole body judder. He lost control of his bowels and felt a warm sensation flood over his groin. He didn’t feel the next vicious blow that came down on him.
He was already unconscious.
When you’re homeless a simple meal doesn’t come easy. You hunt in bins for left over fast food and if your lucky you might find something. But most of the time it tastes like shit. That’s why so much gets thrown away. Fast food is exactly what it is. Fast. It goes in your mouth then quickly comes out your arse.
What I needed was meat. Not cooked take-away crap, but real meat.
Raw flesh.
I started to kill the animals in the park a while ago now. It was easy. Animals are stupid; they’ll trust anyone. Pigeons were the tastiest. Squirrels were quite a treat too.
But finally, I now have my favourite.
The old tramp drunk the last of his super-strength lager, winced and chucked it over his shoulder. He turned to his battered old suitcase. Smiling he clicked the lock. The case swung open to reveal its bounty.
The old man leant his head into the case and breathed in deeply, savouring the aroma. “Mmm, beautiful,” he said.
The case was full of flesh, all neatly wrapped in cling film like meat on a butcher’s shelf. The tramp rubbed his hands together with glee, “Now then, what’s for dinner today.”
He grabbed a large piece of old man’s arm and started to gnaw.
Simon Harrison walked through Victoria Park admiring the plants and reading the old war memorials. He passed office workers sat on the grass eating lunch and students sitting in large groups, laughing and flirting with each other. There were children playing ball, kicking it back and forth as proud parents watched them smiling.
But they weren’t the only ones watching their children that day.
An old man sat on a bench in ragged clothes staring at the children, his eyes focusing on their every move, a smile spread across his face.
Simon slowly approached the man, but waited until he was close before he spoke, “Hello Martin.”
Dr. Halpin wiped the drool from his mouth with the back of his filthy hand, “Hello Simon,” Dr. Halpin smiled. “Fancy a spot of lunch?”