Keepsake

Right, here's a short story I wrote for a friend travelling back down the country (UK) to read on the train, enjoy:

Keepsake

Jason was glad to get off the platform and onto the warm, inviting train that
had pulled up at Crew station. Now that the nights were coming in quicker, the temperature was dropping rapidly during the evenings and the grey concrete that surrounded him offered no warmth. The train up to Manchester Piccadilly was a regular haunt for Jason, his work often requiring him to make the unpleasant journey up north on nights such as this. He was a young man and travelling as often as he did made him feel old and restless.

He slumped into a table seat next to the window and settled down for the evening. He reached under the table, where he had placed his rucksack. He pulled a now luke-warm can of bitter from it and pulled the ring, revelling in the hiss that promised eventual inebriation. He knew it was weak of him, but it was a coping device that allowed him to peacefully pass the journey.

These late-evening weekday trains were quiet enough to allow Jason to enjoy a table to himself, but on this particular evening, a figure walked into the carriage halfway through Jason's journey. Despite the available seats elsewhere in the carriage, he chose the seat opposite Jason. He wore a dark blue overcoat that worked in conjunction with his sunken eyes and sagging skin to give him the appearance of being far older than he must have been. Greying stubble was particularly prominent on his defined chin.

Jason shifted uncomfortably in his chair, but soon social obligation, mixed with Dutch courage, prompted him to speak.
"Hi" he said, nodding towards the man opposite him. The gaunt man unbuttoned his overcoat, revealing an odd pendant around his neck. It looked like some sort of animal bone.
"Good evening" replied the stranger, nodding back.
"Fancy a can?" Asked Jason, reaching into his bag, "I've got a load left in here."
"That is very kind of you," replied the stranger, "but I do not drink anymore."
"I bet you don't drink any less either," said Jason with a smile. The man opposite him did not smile back, or show any sign of mirth.

They passed the journey talking pleasantly enough, though Jason felt that the lion's share of the talking was being done by him, while the stranger contributed rarely and in a measured way that suggested that it was being forced. He may have been inclined to stop talking if it were not for the now 'ample' amount of alcohol he had consumed.

His stories became more crude and the delivery louder and punctuated by his own laugher with each can of bitter that slid down his neck. The stranger made no objection, showed no sign of growing tired of his behaviour. He sat there and tolerated it all.

"I was out with my mate this one time," recalled Jason, now well into his canon of drinking stories, "and we'd both had a bloody skinfull, and he decides to leave this club we're in. He says 'I'm bored here, the music's shit' and so I say 'well then lets just leave', so we do. He's on his way out and he suddenly turns down the alley beside the club. A few minutes later he comes running out and grabs me by the sleeve and drags me along down the street with him. Later he tells me that he'd needed a slash and started pissing against this doorway in the alley. The door then opens and a bouncer walks out, right into the line of where my mates pissing!" Jason concluded the story by bursting out laughing and clutching at his sides.

"And then there was this time," he began, but was quickly cut off by the stranger.
"I have a story that you might like to here," he said, a smile breaking over his face. There was something about that smile that made Jason uneasy. He nodded approval anyway, gesturing that the man should begin his tale.

"Well, it all started in a bar. I forget it's name now, though it probably does not matter, it may well have been torn down now. I was sat in the corner on my own, as I often used to do, with a large bottle of some spirit the name of which escapes me now. And two glasses. I always used to ask for two glasses, I found it encouraged others to come over and sit with me. I will abstain from my usual modesty and say that I was quite a handsome man back then, it was not difficult for me to meet people. On this particular evening, a woman had caught my eye at the bar and kept looking over. I eventually decided to stare her out, fixing my gaze on her shocking, blue eyes. She stood up and came over to me. I casually poured her a generous glass and slid it towards the seat opposite mine.

I don't think I need describe her in great detail, just that she had a divine figure, a divine face. Evil eyes. That was possibly the first thing I had noticed about her, they made you feel dirty just watching them watching you.

We chatted casually for maybe an hour, drinking our way through the bottle between us. Funny, I can't remember a single thing we talked about. No doubt I wasn't paying attention to what she was saying. I felt a thick fog descend over my brain as the alcohol started to take effect. She eventually leaned across the table and whispered in my ear "let's go somewhere else," kissing my lobe to close the sentence. Well, what would you have done?

We walked down the street, her in front, me behind her, looking her amazing figure up and down. There was an almost unearthly silence I recall, only our footsteps audible once the music from the bar we had left was out of earshot. On a street I had never been down before, she turned down an alley and descended a flight of steps. Had she not led my there, I would not have even noticed them, hidden as they were from view in the street.

The nightclub was loud and busy, the sort of place I liked to take women after the relative calm of late bars. She waited by the bar for me to buy her a drink, which I of course did. We spent what seemed like hours in that bar, drinking and dancing. She danced close to me, never breaking eye contact. She lifted her neck every now and then, giving he the signal to kiss her on the throat. She grabbed my hand every so often and led me to the bar so we could liquor up. Time started to slow as my brain eased to crawling pace, impaired by the alcohol in my system. I kept blinking, still images coming to me as I opened my eyes, everyone of them similar to the last. Her staring at me. Then dancing with me. Then groping me. Then kissing me. I started hearing the pulse of the blood pumping through my head, syncing up with the beat of the music, urging me slowly on.

The music had changed and we were now in the corner. Time must have skipped, my memory totally failed me. One minute, on the dance floor, the next in the corner, my hands exploring her fascinating body. It's strange what drink will do to you. I remember hoping that I would remember this much at least, that this woman would not fade from my mind 8 hours, 2 painkillers and any number of vomiting sessions down the line. We were kissing passionately, stopping for moments to draw in ragged breaths before continuing.

Time skipped again. We were in a park now. This was a big skip, it worried me. How much had I had to drink? I had lost count long ago. My shirt was unbuttoned and I was pushed up against my women in a bandstand. She was kissing my neck slowly and sighing deeply. I couldn't work out whether this was building up to sex, or whether this was the aftermath of hasty copulation out here in the open. I decided not to push forward and to let the mystery woman take the lead.

Another time skip and we were sat on the steps of a large public building, it might have been a library, I'm not sure. There was the taste of bile in my mouth, I was sure I must have thrown up at some point, but there were no stains on my clothes to indicate that this had indeed happened. She was still there, looking at me. She now leaned in and we kissed deeply but briefly.

"Do you want to remember this night?" She asked me. I nodded, shaking gently from the cold and the alcohol.
"I'll give you something to remember it by," she said, looking down towards my crotch, at least I thought it was my crotch she was looking at, "something to remember me by."

The next thing I felt was a dull pain in my little finger. The pain began to grow until I could hold it in no longer and screamed out loud, looking at the sky until my eyes rolled back into my head as I passed out.

I awoke later, still on the steps and thought I had wet myself. Luke warm liquid had soaked through my trousers and my shirt. I looked down cursing and noticed my right hand."

Jason now looked at the man's hands, laid palm down on the table. There was scar tissue at the knuckle where his little finger should have continued. His stomach lurched.

"It was blood that had leaked from the stump of my finger that stained my clothing and the steps on which I lay," continued the man.

"I stayed there in breathless terror for many minutes, not daring to touch my fresh would or move from the spot. Once I did eventually stand up, my legs weakened from exhaustion, blood loss and the hangover that was beginning to form, I felt something alien in my shirt pocket. With my good hand, I slowly pulled it out. There, in my hand, I held the carefully flayed bone of my right little finger, still wet with my own blood."

Jason looked at the pendant around the man's neck again, horrified by the realization of its significance. He felt sick, but could not even find the energy to wretch. The train came to a stop, Jason not even noticing or recalling any announcement that it was about to pull into a station.

"Now, I believe this is your stop," said the stranger, "so I will say good night to you."

Jason took a few seconds to process this, then fumbled for his rucksack and fled the train as fast as he could, diving onto the safety of the platform.

Time skipped for Jason, he was now in a bar, cursing himself for drinking as much as he had. His eyes flicked nervously back and fourth in fear. He was looking about the room, looking at the faces of the women sat dotted about. He was looking out for their eyes - avoiding evil eyes.



Liam Welton

Long but good, Challis your a good writer, you should do this more often!

Thank you.
I do write quite a bit, but as you say, I write long stuff normally, so it's hard to get people to read it casually.

For christmas this year, I wrote a fantasy piece that I sent to everyone in their christmas cards. I'm attempting to write a full length novel and send it to some publishers, see if I hit the market at the right time sorta thing.

One of my stories was also selected for Jason Hayes (WoW music composer) upcoming album, where each track is inspired by a different story

Here's a poem I did, quicker and easier to read:

CitySong

The city, racked with anguish writhes beneath the summer sky,
Each warped being just a discord in the urban lullaby,
As it pulsates and replicates,
In this sour requiem,
Each bitter, twisted person has the tune ingrained on them.

For composers are they all and all of them reclusive,
Their singular attempts performed together sound repulsive,
And all shall lose if they refuse,
To bond with one another,
But rather stumble blindly and allow the hymn to wither.

Now the city, still and tranquil sighs beneath the autumn sky,
For two people, fine and radiant complete the lullaby,
With words so kind and open minds,
In the face of peace or strife,
Create the rhythm, beat and melody that gives the city life

You're good. I'm a big fan of the great descriptive writing you've got going there, and I regret not reading this earlier :P

Nice and had that chilling effect thats pretty rare around these parts.