Vein Attempts a thriller by A. Richardson©2005

The heart in every community beats strongest where the people live in reasonable peace, have goals, (preferably common, socially acceptable ones), and there is a camaraderie which binds the whole, even though its parts are widely diverse. This tale looks at a community in which anti-social behaviour has fast become the acceptable/ the norm, or so it would seem. Actually, fear lies barely hidden in the veins, with blockages in the normal blood flow caused by misdirected feelings of loyalty, a wall of silence.

The story is fictitious, but the incidents of vandalism, arson, graffitti, and theft, are real. All characters in this story are also completely fictitious. Should they seem to resemble any person whatsoever it is totally coincidental. Some characters, you see, may be said to be , "Of a type". I make no apologies for the unusual length of this tale, although it does mean that the sound files are split into two parts, to facilitate easier downloading. The downloads for this tale are executable .zip files to be found on my downloads page. The sound for the second part of this tale will be ready in a few days, also it's e-book.

It was really getting to the old man now. The way things do when everything seems to travel a vicious round of "going wrong". His nerves were constantly on edge, but he wasn't giving in to the antics of his neighbours and their kids. "Have times really changed that much", he muttered to his cat, as he poured himself yet another cup of tea. Not really sure what answer he was expecting, puss decided to respond with a gentle purr as she rubbed against his arm. He was about to leave the kitchen when he heard a shout. It seemed to come from somewhere closeby, but on looking through the window, he could see nothing. He put the tea cup down on the worktop next to the sink, turned, picked up his door keys, (You had to lock your door these days as soon as it was dark. Everyone said the elderly were more at risk than they used to be), and went to open the back door. He didn't have an outside light, but the moon was bright, lending a cool glow to the garden. Certainly enough to make out any unusual movement should there be any. He stepped out into the night, listened, but could hear nothing that explained the shouting sound, nor was there any sign of an intruder. Thinking there may be someone hidden in the bushes that enclosed his garden he walked down the path, leaving his door open just in case he needed to beat a hasty retreat. Then came the sound of a crash, but this time it was behind him. Turning, he hastened back to his door. It slammed right in his face. A figure stood on the other side of the glass grinning at him. A youth, wearing a black hooded sweatshirt, beside whom stood another dressed all in white, with a baseball cap under the hood of his sweatshirt. As the old man watched they began yelling and throwing ornaments, furniture, and anything moveable about the house. The sound of breaking , clattering , now filled the air. The old man raced for the telephone box, but the thugs had obviously been there first. It was surrounded by broken glass, with the receiver lying on the ground. Its wires had been torn out completely. Then the old man remembered, his daughter had given him a mobile phone, which was still lying in the front pocket of his car. "I'll bet they won't be expecting me to do this", he said as he struggled to run to his car. He extracted the mobile from within, saw that it still had enough charge to make a call, and dialled the local police. The number had already been set up on his phone by his daughter. Told to wait where he was, by the police, he did so, not that he had anywhere else to go since all around him were closed curtains, windows and doors in houses where the occupants didn't want to have to involve themselves no matter who or what got hurt.Standing silently, worrying about his home, belongings, and his cat, fearing for his life too, and freezing cold, he waited. About ten minutes later , which felt like an hour, the police car arrived in their brightly coloured, terribly visible, car, with two policemen in it. They went to the old mans' front door, which they opened using his keys. Silence inside, not a soul to be seen, just chaos everywhere. When they arrived at the rear of the house they found the back door had been smashed, the lock broken, and the windows at the back of the house also broken.

"Busy night", said the younger of the two, "We've just come from the other side . There's been a fire at the pub, and someone has smashed into the community centre". "Probably the same ones who've done this", replied the other policeman. Visibly distraught, the old man barely listened to them. He had found his cat alright, hidden where she felt safest in the airing cupboard, but he'd also noticed during his search for her that the photograph of his wife, dead now for the last 8 years, had been torn to shreds and thrown on the floor. Tears streamed down his face as he looked at it. What did those thugs know of love, decency, or the gentle kindness a woman such as his wife had been, when all they reacted to was an inner self gratification on the doing of evil. The very fact that they had leered in his face meant they were not afraid they'd be caught. He knew who they were. He knew they'd been getting away with all kinds of crimes for far too long.Getting away with it all because his neighbours would rather leave their kids on the streets than have them at home. Rather leave them to get up to mischief than tell them off. Rather go to the pub than stay at home and occupy their children with an activity. Or conversely ingratiate themselves with some of the worst kids, (Their own being the ring leaders), by actively encouraging them in their illegal activities to the point of covering up for them whenever there was a likelihood of their being caught.He'd even heard one parent inform their son, "I don't care what the hell you do as long as you, a) Don't do it at my house, and b) Don't get caught". Even worse, in the old man's opinion, was the way the smaller children were being caught up into the world of crime by the bigger ones. A playful kick in the stomach, a few threats, a quick punch to the ribs, and the knowledge that the perpetrator was a whole lot bigger than you, was enough to turn a younger kid into a positively obnoxious big mouth, whose lessons at the hands of his larger peers would rapidly turn him into an even worse abuser than the others. The gang mentality, coupled with peer pressure, parental inadequacy, and a decided lack of the teaching of moral values in the home, was turning his community into a place where respectable people were fast considering getting out. An area of few population, but a rapidly growing slum within its environmental limitations.

"I can tell you who they were", the old man told the nearest policeman. You can pick them up then, can't you." It wasn't a question. He thought the police would do just that as soon as they knew the names of the intruders. "'Fraid not" was the reply."We have a procedure to follow first. Anyway, they're only kids, aren't they. Let's hope its themselves they hurt, not someone else. Serve 'em right it would". Aghast at this answer, the old man bent to stroke his terrified cat, gaining some comfort in the feel of normality it invoked. " Well, only kids they may be, but if they aren't stopped soon, someone is going to get hurt. Kids don't get better behaved if they're encouraged to continue doing wrong, or left to get away with it". One of the policemen shrugged his shoulders, then they both moved towards the door. " Let us know if you have any more trouble", he said as they both went through the front gate.

Left alone once again, the old man began to clear up as much of the mess as he could."Problem is the windows and back door, and how the hell I'm going to fix them securely. No point thinking I'll get anyone out to do the work at this time of night, besides which I simply can't afford all this, when my pension barely allows me to eat, eh puss". He knew he'd get no sleep while gaping holes left him vulnerable to further intrusions. It took him 3 long wearisome hours to secure all the wood he could find against the door and window frames. Since he didn't happen to keep a spare door lock, handle or fittings, (Does anyone ever), he was forced to nail a plank of wood across the entire door frame. This, of course meant that he could no longer easily enter his own garden. Totally exhausted both physically and mentally he went to bed. He dozed towards a deep sleep, laying his hand gently across his cats paw as it lay curled up beside him on top of the duvet. " Well, puss, this village couldn't get much worse , could it? Then he began snoring.

It wouldn't be many days before he'd remember these words with regret. Things, it seemed, could get worse, much, much worse after all. That vicious round of " going wrong" was revolving at an increasingly violent rate dragging ever more people into its clutches. His one hope was that it might stop, his hope, as well as the hope of an increasing number of people.

To Hearts' End - One Week Later

Monday: The Collins' lived four doors down from the old man. They seemed a quiet couple, but since they'd only recently moved in, it was a case of , "Time would tell". Anyway, each morning when the old man collected his milk from the front doorstep, he'd look up, smile and say "Good Morning" to Mrs. Collins who would be doing the same thing. He did notice at about 11.30 a.m. that both Mr. and Mrs. Collins must have been shopping, because when they arrived back they unloaded a large number of boxes and bags from their car. He also noticed the young man step from a house a few doors away, into the street . Then the old man turned back into his living room. He did not want his neighbours to think he was prying. He'd barely sat down, when there was a bellow loud enough to send the crows on the roof scattering every which way. The old man opened his door, however noone else seemed to have done the same, which was odd when you consider that it was a very loud bellow, and most people were indeed at home. As he stepped out into the road Mrs. Collins came rushing up to him. "Did you see anyone", she asked breathlessly. "Especially anyone carrying a largish box"? Stunned by the suddenness of her approach, the old man just shook his head. " Someone has stolen our new strimmer", carried on Mrs. Collins. "I had only just left it on the table while I went to the bathroom. Now it's gone, and the door was left open by whomever sneaked in to take it." He could see that she was nearly in tears so he laid his hand gently on her shoulder, saying how sorry he was to hear this, as he did so. Mrs. Collins turned, nodding and ran back into her own home. The old man didn't see whether or not the police were called, but he made sure that his own door was locked yet again.

Tuesday: At 8.30 a.m. the old man donned his coat , then left his house to go for a walk up the hill. His cat followed along beside him, occasionally giving a small meow as she trotted along. They walked together upwards until they came to the stream which ran across edge of the two fields where he intended continuing his walk by cutting across the stream, then following the footpath downward towards home again. He picked up his cat so she would not be left behind, and carried her across the stream, popping her down again on the other side. From his vantage point on the hill the village lay spread out peacefully before before him. Peacefully, sleepily, sunning itself with the first warm spring day thus far. As he surveyed the scene the noise of sirens increased gradually from way below towards the town. Louder and louder they came screeching their way up the hill. He could not see why they were coming towards the village, it all lokked so quiet. Then he noticed it. The smoke was rising from away to the left. Beyond the houses in the central area , over where a farmer friend of his had his main barn. The very barn where this years newest lambs were being housed until they were steady enough to be returned to their fields. The barn also housed his friends' new tractor. It was not just new , but the pride and joy of the family, who'd not been able to afford one for over 20 years. Their old one had finally given up the ghost altogether.

By now flames were licking high into the air. There was nothing the old man could have done to help since he was too far away to reach the farm in time. He could only watch in horror as the building collapsed. Picking up his cat he hurried home puzzled as to what was causing so many dreadful things to happen in this once pleasant and peaceful village. Were there unseen, hidden forces at work? Only time would tell.

Wednesday: A bouncing ball could be heard outside the old mans' house. However, the walls were thick enough that the one person who did not hear the ball was the old man himself. It was nearly driving young Mrs. James, whose three children had just gone to bed, to a state of despair. Her youngest simply could not get to sleep with the constant banging on her wall. She looked out onto the street to see who the culprit was, but when she saw the young fellow he also saw her, and deliberately threw the ball into her garden. Letting her curtain fall neatly back into place, she hastened to her front door, where she leaned out and yelled, "You do that once more me lad, and I'll keep the damn ball. I've got kids trying to sleep in here you know." His response was to wave his fingers in the air at her. He did however slither back into the doorway of his own home. Mrs. James chucked the ball into the street, closed the door at the same time as turning to call to her son to get back into bed and be quiet. The lad peeked around the corner to see if she was still there. On finding that he was once again master of the street he grabbed his football and kicked it as hard as he could into the garden on the other side. The scream that rose as the ball landed sent him scurrying back into his own doorway, where he hid behind the door, listening and waiting. He'd , no doubt, do his usual of pretending he had just come out, if anyone saw him and asked him any embarrassing questions. In the meantime, the scream faded to nothingness. Noone came to see what the cause was. If the old man had not stepped out onto the road to load a bag of rubbish into his bin, noone would have known what had happened to the girl. The old man, however, noticed her lying on the ground. He leaned over the wall to see what was wrong. She didn't move at all. Maybe she's dead, he thought. He might be old, but he was a quick thinker. He rushed to one of his other neighbours , banging harshly on their door. An irate looking father, just home from a hard day at work, opened the door. "What's the matter", he asked. The old man explained about the girl, still lying silent , and the ambulance and police were called. By now people were coming out to see what had caused the commotion, but noone admitted they had heard or seen anything. Nor would they unless the spell of evil were to be broken. When the paramedic examined the girl, he declared she must be romoved to hospital immediately. She was still silent and comatose. The old man was later told that she died on the way to hospital. The football had struck her on the head with such force that it knocked her over causing her to hit her head on the corner of the wall as she fell. A freak accident, some might say, but the police were not so sure. They made enquiries of course, but got nowhere. The lad was questioned, but he stated that he was indoors all the time and saw nothing, which was corroberated by both his father and his sister. They hated the police anyway. they ceratinly didn't care what happened to some girl they hardly knew. In fact, as the father said, "I don't give a damn who it was, I'm not having any son of mine done for murder or manslaughter, and noone can say a deadly weapon was used," he laughed. Yet still the people of the village remained quiet.

Guilty souls were beginning to predominate this area now. Too many people were involved and the good blood that normally flows thick in the veins was watered down by the seepage of evil throughout the entire community. The lad smirked when the old man passed him later the next day. His grin was one of defiance, of a growing pustule of evil which was now spreading throughout his body. He felt elated that he had successfully destroyed a life. Not that he hated the girl. Actually he'd always though she was quite pretty, maybe enough to take her one day when the mood hit him. He just enjoyed commiting his evil deeds, without recourse to any punishment, even when he was caught in the act. He solemly attended the funeral a few days later, even shook the hand of the girls' mother, pretended to console her brothet too. Oh he felt good about that. He truly enjoyed his remarkable success. He was on a roll. What could he come up with next to give him even more satisfaction? This presented him with somewhat of a challenge. Oh, he was up for a challenge , he told himself, as he slyly examined the faces around him for some inspiration.

Thursday:

The old man was wakened suddenly by the sound of hammering somewhere nearby. It was dark outside and without a light near his bed he was unable to see what time it was. Since the hammering didn't stop, just kept on and on, he rolled over letting his legs slide out from under the bedclothes to reach down onto the floor. Rubbing his eyes he stood beside the bed and fumbled about trying to find his dressing gown and slippers. Suitably dressed for this chilly night he switched on the bedroom light and looked at his watch. 3.15 a.m. it said, whilst the hammering continued unceasingly. It seemed to be coming from outside in the street, so the old man peered through his curtains to take a look. It was far to dark to see what was causing the noise, and the old man really wanted to find out, as he was not keen to return to bed just in case there was going to be more trouble, or indeed that there might be someone in trouble and needing help. It might be someone stranded with their car broken down, he mused. Anyway, he made his way to the front door which he opened carefully to look into the street for the cause of the noise. With a start, jumping back, and dropping the safety latch, he shut the door again as fast as he could. His breathing was fast , indeed he was so startled by what he had seen that he began to shake. There in the road outside his house, sitting on the tarmac , were around twelve or fifteen young people. The hammering which he had heard was the sound made by one of the youths whacking a piece of wood against the metal street sign. The whacking was rhythmic, eerie in the moonlight, especially since the other young people, both male and female, appeared half naked, and swaying to the sound made by the wood.For each whack the group swayed. Every so often something was passed around the group. The old man did not know what to do.

He'd never seen anything like this in his life before. What was it they were passing round? Why were they sitting swaying like this? Why did they look so blank, making such an eerie impression at this hour of the morning. It was not long before he would find the answers to all his questions because one of the youngsters who had seen him open the door, got up and left the group to come to the old mans' front door where he opened the letter box and called through it, " Come and join us man , we don't mind sharing our magic mushrooms with you". At this point the others joined in the invitation in a singsong fashion.The night air now swayed to the sound of , " Be high old man, fly old man, " they turned towards his house virtually in unison, holding their arms outstretched, continuing their chant with " Pick with us, click with us, and at this point they all turned inwards again to complete their song with the most unearthly keening sound the old man had ever heard. He steadied himself there inside his house by holding onto the wall as he made his way into his living room. He was terrified. He had heard that the village kids were prone to go picking "Magic Mushrooms", but thought it was just a story, or that it was just a very few extremely silly children. He'd never imagined anything as bad as this. Why some of these kids were only twelve or thirteen, yet they sat there amongst the older ones as gay as you please. What on earth did the parents think they were doing leaving their children out at this hour, for goodness sake? Perhaps they were unaware that their kids were not in bed; maybe the children had climbed down through their bedroom windows to meet this group, when the parents were in fact fast asleep in bed. Though how anyone could sleep with a noise as loud as the old man was hearing, he simply could not imagine. Whatever the reasons or means of their meeting, they had succeeded in terrifying the old man. He hurried to ensure that his doors and windows were secure. The very action of moving about the house checking each door and window served to help him calm a bit, so that his thoughts became clearer. He must call someone before a child either was hurt by a car travelling down the road, or one of them became ill from what they were ingesting, or and much more likely, given past experience, there would be a fight and soemone would be hurt. Seeking the reassurance of his mobile phone, he hurried to the sideboard where he was sure he had put it just in case of an emergencey, though he'd never envisaged an emergency quite like this was turning out to be.

He dialled the police. The man who answered seemed genuinely astounded when he heard what the old man was telling him. His responses were,"No." "Never", "I don't believe it". " Good heavens"as well as a few choice words followed by ,"Right , sir, I'll get someone out as soon a I can. This we really must see". The old man wondered if he really must see how awful this was, or just maybe the thought of a load on semi nude girls and boys, were a "must see"! With all his curtains closed the old man silently moved to the kitchen and made himself a drink. He was drinking when the sound of a car pulling up outside brought him to the window to see what would happen next. Yes, there was the police car, but where were the kids? There wasn't a sign of anyone. He saw the policeman looking about , then he walked to knock on the old man's door. When the old man opened the door he took the opportunity to look out into the street. he looked up and down the road, but all was silence. With a frown, the old man , said," Sorry officer, they seem to have scarpered. It's been a wasted journey for you". " Evening sir, no, it's not wasted yet", was the officers reply," They can't have all gone home yet, so I'll just go knocking on a few doors, after all neither you or I are getting any peace tonight , so why should any of them!" With that the policeman left and the old man returned to bed hoping that would be the end of that. He was wrong. He'd just dozed off when in a half dreamlike state he heard the sound of running outside. It resembled thunder rumbling, or the patter of buffalo hooves! A large number of people were careering down the road, all doing so in absolute silence. As the old man watched, there before him flashed those half nude bodies, some with a variety of bits wobbling, bouncing and jiggling , and behind them came one policeman, giving chase, with his own thoughts spinning as he ran..." What'll I do if I grab a wrong bit, and what if it's a girl...what's the super going to say to this little lot, and should I call in for reinforcements". His mind was in a veritable jumble, but he carried on running; indeed he was doing so well that the gap was closing..............

TO BE CONTINUED as soon as I can manage it !

To be Continued asap.....Hang in there!!!!!! A thought for the early hours. Better to read my creepy tales awake, than to have nightmares asleep! Waken with Waggy Tales....