Peter Grist - Flashback

“George, John, you go take a look at the house, see who’s home. Buster and me will go look in the barns. Meet back here in ten okay?” The small group whispered agreement.

“You’d better take this, just in case.” said George as he proffered his double-barrel 12-gauge.

“No, thanks anyway, I’ve got something if I need it.”

They started to rise together but just as the group began to move, the rear door to the house burst open, spilling even more light out across the back yard. The four men dropped back down again and lay flat behind some tufts of coarse grass, watching. Someone stepped out of the house and walked a few feet to the left, out of the reach of the light from the doorway and into the shadows. The prone men watched as the figure struck a match and lit a cigarette. With the man’s back to them, the brief flame gave them the silhouette of someone tall and thin, with short hair wearing work clothes but that was about all. The smoker flicked the end of the match, the flame died and darkness prevailed. He then turned towards the trees, tossing away the spent match, then took a few steps towards the trees taking deep lungfuls of nicotine into his body and slowly exhaling. The hidden men hunkered down even more, trying to make themselves invisible. Ed was on the right of the group, looking ahead but being as still as he could be. Something landed beside his head; he turned slowly and saw just a foot from his face the biggest cricket he had ever seen. He groaned inwardly as he realised what was about to happen. The mighty cricket reared up, and like a virtuoso violinist preparing to play, drew back his rear legs. The first chirp, so loud and clear in Ed’s ears, cut through the silence like a rifle shot. He tried to cover his ears but to no avail, the pain in his head was rolling in like an unstoppable ocean wave heading inexorably towards a beach. Even as the pain increased he knew he mustn’t cry out, he wrapped his arms around his head and held on, the pain intensifying until……

Nothing, he could hear absolutely nothing. He tentatively raised his head and felt pleased that it didn’t fall off his shoulders, in fact; once again, there was no pain at all. Ed looked around and found he was lying in exactly the same position he had been in before the cricket chirped, only this time, he was completely on his own, the other three guys had gone and so had the stranger. He began to rise when the door at the back of the house opened and a lone figure stepped out.

Strains of Patsy Cline singing Crazy wafted out of the open door then quickly faded away to near silence once more as the door closed behind the man, muffling the tune from the radio or record player somewhere in the house. Ed quickly ducked back down. Just as before, the man struck a match, lit a cigarette then flicked the bottom of the stick to extinguish it and tossed the spent match on to the ground. The windows were dark so the only light now coming from the house was through the window of the backdoor. The man was again in silhouette but it looked to Ed as if he were wearing some kind of gown or robe that went almost all the way down to his boots. Ed concentrated on the man’s face hoping to see some features when the cigarette was inhaled and grew brighter but he was too far away. All Ed could make out was that the smoker was gaunt and clean-shaven. The figure stood still, staring out towards the woods. He finished the smoke and flicked the butt towards where Ed lay hiding, the still smouldering end falling just ten feet away from his location. The figure turned and walked the few paces back towards the house, but then hesitated, looked back to the woods, scanning slowly from left to right, then seemingly convinced he was alone went back to the house and opened the door. Ed caught another few bars from Patsy Cline and the briefest flash of crimson and gold from the robe as the man entered the light, then the door closed behind him returning the backyard to silence and darkness.

As soon as the door had closed and the rear of the house returned to shadows Ed was on the move. He held up the top line of fresh new barbed wire and stepped on the lower two, making a big enough gap for him to pass through. As soon as he was clear he ran the thirty or so feet to the left corner of the house and stopped with his back to the wooden building. He peeked around the side and saw that it was still in darkness, so crouching low to avoid being seen through any windows, he ran to the front of the house. He knelt down at the corner and took a look around the front. Lights blazed from the windows at the front of the house, illuminating most of the drive. He was dismayed to see a bunch of cars and pick-up trucks parked nose in towards the house but not surprised to see they were all from the 1950s or early 60s, the latest being the one nearest to him which looked to be a nearly new black ‘62 Cadillac, the oldest being the now familiar beat-up burgundy Dodge pick-up parked next to it. The house had a wooden porch and cover, giving it a Wild West saloon look. He skipped over the wood railing and tip-toed towards the first window. The room was lit but empty and appeared to be a study with a desk and leather high-backed chair. He moved on to the next window which was smaller and set much higher, the washroom he deduced. Next came the door, which Ed thankfully saw was closed so he went quickly on. He was now over halfway down the porch and completely exposed, if someone came out now he’d had it. The next windows were the largest, both of which were open. Ed snuck down and got closer. He could hear them before he could see them, sounded like a bunch of men chatting away at a party. Almost under the first window now he dared to look up and in. He didn’t know what he expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t what was in front of him now. It was a perfectly ordinary living room, lacking a women’s touch perhaps but liveable and comfortable. A two-seater and two matching chairs were at one end, near the open brick fire. To the side was a wood-encased phonogram with some long-play records waiting on the top. This was where the plaintive voice of Patsy Cline was emanating. Nearer to Ed and in a corner was another wood-covered appliance, a black and white Muntz television, that was switched on but with the volume turned low and was showing adverts. A table on the far side had crockery, sandwiches and drinks. Everything seemed perfectly normal for a gathering of friends, which is why the eight fully robed men in the room made the scene even more surreal. They stood in groups of twos and threes chatting away, almost all of them with their backs to the window, sipping beer or eating. Most of the robes were deep burgundy with silver accents although he could see one that was bright crimson and gold. The smoker from out back he guessed and another figure dressed all in white. All of the robes had matching hoods that at present were hanging down their backs to form a high collar. All of the robes had a large badge sown on to the left arm; Ed was stunned to see that it was a stylised blood red swastika set in a white circle. Ed was looking at a room full of American Nazis.

A short figure nearest the TV pulled back the loose sleeve of his robe and looked at his watch.

“Nearly 10.30, I just love this show.” he said to no one in particular. The voice was familiar but Ed couldn’t quite place it. The man leaned over and raised the volume a little.

Vernor’s soft drink with Va-va-voom. Aged four years in wood. Remember, the fun ones drink Vernors.

Okay, welcome back to KYW-3, This is Ken Goodman giving you the latest weather report brought to you by Sinclair Oil. And don’t you turn that dial now, coming up next we have ‘One Step Beyond’, but first, the weather…

“How can you watch that crap?” said another of the small group in disgust.