It’s been a busy couple of weeks, both professionally and at home.
I’ve triggered a sequence of work that may just give some of my team job security for the next ten years and I visited a site last weekend that may just give a load of people I hardly know today at least two years of work.
I spent some of yesterday writing the text for what I’ll say at my friend’s funeral on Thursday and I let my boss know in writing on Friday that I won’t be applying for his job when it’s announced in a week or two.
It’s a nice feeling to decide that an extra £25-£40k a year isn’t worth the drama that comes with it. Especially as the taxman will just take half of it by force and without lube.
It’s even nicer knowing that there’s probably nobody in the huge organisation that I work for that has a better claim on the role than me.
But it’s not worth it.
I spend a few days a month away from home and that’s more than enough. I’ve travelled extensively over the years and couldn’t give a shit if I never take a business flight again.
So… I’m sat in the garden, drinking a raspberry mojito and watching Cairo dig a hole to murder some small creature.
It’s idyllic – unless you’re that particular rodent.
As for the funeral, I know what to say, he was amongst the best of men and that’s the summary of my speech.
I’m amazingly calm, quite relaxed and reasonably happy.
Take these small moments when you can, recognise them for the victories that they are.
Enjoy your life, tell people that you love them.
The storm is still coming for us all but it isn’t today.
One of my oldest and dearest friends died last week. It wasn’t sudden or unexpected, he’d contracted a turbo-cancer, but he also developed Parkinson’s when he was in his fifties.
I last saw him face to face on the day of my father’s funeral last year, I walked to his house in the boiling sunshine, still wearing my black suit and tie and we sat for an hour and comforted each other as best we could.
I loved him for the man that he was, without affectation, devoted to his family and loyal to his friends.
I had a small cry when I heard the news, but luckily, I was on holiday.
I spent the rest of the week wandering hills and ancient woods, reading and drinking in the early evenings before cooking dinner, the dogs omnipresent as always, quick to demand cuddles and even quicker to sleep in my lap.
I have nothing but good memories of my friend, some of them genuinely hilarious and on one occasion in Las Vegas, scarcely believable as fact.
I’ll miss him but I’m glad that he was able to go out while he was still brave, dignified and stoic.
Let’s hoist a drink to giving up, or not. I don’t care.
No amount of righteous anger is going to set this country straight. No Herculean efforts are going to save us.
The game isn’t just rigged, there’s a sign above the table that tells you to abandon hope and just hand your bank details over.
Playing by the rules doesn’t work, being nice just gets your watch stolen faster.
Terrorist sympathisers have been given the keys to the cities, good people are labelled as fascist and far right for pointing out obvious facts.
Perverts stalk swimming pools and female changing rooms, stroking their girl-penises and giving their wank-banks more contributions than Caligula could have ever imagined.
Elected members of parliament, having been caught in a gay sting, give the phone numbers of their colleagues and when they’re caught out; are called brave rather than cowardly perverted filth.
Our borders are porous and unvetted Iranians, Iraqis, Albanians, Eritreans, Syrians and Yemenis; instead of being sunk at sea or turned back at gunpoint are escorted by Border Force and put up in 4 star hotels. And given phones and money.
Pensioners are gradually being demonised for the sin of living long enough to take their pensions.
Local authorities make up new rules every day with the single intent of taking ever more cash from their citizens – while cutting services, closing libraries and making our roads worse than some third world countries.
If you’re unlucky enough to live in Scotland, just calling the First Minister a thick, unelected Islamist cunt with a tenuous idea of the truth is enough to get you a police record.
Stabbings and honour killings are through the roof. Try to point out that there’s underlying data that clearly shows ethnicity related crime and you’re literally Hitler.
Nothing works and everything is worse than before.
Oh. And it costs more.
Because.
Just because.
Shut your fucking mouth citizen.
Do as you’re fucking told.
We should be angry.
But there’s no point.
Enjoy your life.
Eat. Drink. Be Merry.
Just stop caring.
Because at some point it’s all going to fall apart and no amount of righteous anger will stop that.
Dodgson was a prophet.
“In that direction,” the Cat said, waving its right paw round, “lives a Hatter: and in that direction,” waving the other paw, “lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they’re both mad.” “But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked. “Oh, you ca’n’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.” “How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice. “You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.”
As seems to be usual these days, I’m sat on the sofa in the kitchen, listening to music and sipping a gin.
There’s a dog snuggling up next to me and today is her two year adoption anniversary.
She’s the perfect blend of athleticism, intelligence and affection. The fastest dog of her size that I’ve ever seen.
She’s cost me £,0000s in new fences which have proved mostly useless until the hedges regrow, she can run, jump and climb like a big cat.
And. My god, she can kill anything that crosses her path without blinking.
Ferocious and unrelenting. Impressive to watch.
And then she snuggles into me for up to 12 hours a day at the weekends .
So this post is partly about her.
And partly about us.
In his inauguration speech, Abraham Lincoln said this:
‘We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory will swell when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.’
And I wonder if it’s time that we looked at our own natures.
I’m genuinely chilled and relaxed nearly all the time now, the outside world and the problems that our country face can be as distant as I want them to be.
But they’re not going away.
Like it or not, if you’re indigenous British from any of the countries, you come from warrior stock, your ancestors conquered – or fought against the conquerers.
It’s only in the past 20 years or so that we’ve become so passive, so conditioned by successive governments to blindly ignore the problems that THEY brought to us.
And now, they’ve started to makes noises about how bad things might be. Because THEY are being threatened now – happily ignoring the horrors that young women and little girls have faced in too many towns to mention.
But now, a populist politician has taken a seat in the commons that they can’t call racist or fringe – because he’s abiding by the rules that THEY set.
I don’t have any answers, I do have lots of questions though.
When does it start to stop?
What part will I play – if any ?
When will the tipping point occur when it’s too late for the country I love(d) ?
I don’t know.
I honestly don’t
But maybe we should let our better angels know that their time may be over for a while.
I’m sat in my kitchen on a Sunday afternoon in late November, on a good day I can see for over 20 miles and the Shropshire hills, home to centuries of myths and legends are the backdrop to my life, beautiful and just remote enough to change every time that I look at them.
The sharpest peak in the photo is Caer Caradoc, it looks beautiful and peaceful but has a Bronze Age fort at the summit and is said to be the place of Caractacus’ last stand against the Roman invaders.
When dusk falls, I can see the occasional twinkle of distant lights in houses and small settlements in the distance, timeless in their fashion and a reminder of how remote some parts of the country are.
And I thank whatever providence led me here, my own land and borders, protected from casual trespassers by hedges and fences, protected by more targeted trespass by two canine early warning systems and my own willingness to ask questions afterwards should anybody gain access.
And I fear for my country, so beautiful, a shining light of civilisation and decency for centuries.
Now the home to packs of wild beasts that inhabit our once glorious cities, roaming at will, terrorising ordinary people, calling for death to the ‘other’ and demanding that we pay attention to a foreign war whilst ignoring our own citizens.
We’ve all been complicit in this, allowing the gradual erosion of our rights and meekly accepting charges of racism when the bad behaviour of others is called out.
We’ve let the drip-feed of leftist ideology, critical race theory, rising Islamism and tighter government control walk us to a point in our nation’s history that may well be pivotal for generations to come.
I read an awful lot and I watch films and TV with one eye to the underlying messages within.
I grew up idolising Batman as a character in comics and films and I genuinely think that The Dark Knight is a masterpiece that will be hard to better for generations to come.
The underlying message of hope and sacrifice is immensely powerful but I often wondered if Nolan believed the outcome himself or whether The Joker held the truth of the story.
At one point The Joker highlights the plot to come:
‘Their morals, their code; it’s a bad joke. Dropped at the first sign of trouble. They’re only as good as the world allows them to be. You’ll see- I’ll show you. When the chips are down these, uh, civilized people? They’ll eat each other. See I’m not a monster, I’m just ahead of the curve.’
Fast forward to 2021 and these words were prophetic.
People reported their families, friends and neighbours for infractions of rules that made no sense and did so gleefully.
The police became an instrument of the state, arresting people for drinking coffee and beating people in the streets for daring to be in the open air.
We’re now watching people march in support for terrorists and break the law en masse while the same police watch and do nothing, while the same cowed and cowardly police forces arrest lone men for ‘racist words’
We’re close to a tipping point of some sort.
I watch a lot of films.
Cabaret isn’t available to stream or buy anywhere these days.
It’s curious.
A great film with amazing performances, songs and choreography that shines a light on pre-war Germany and the rise of the nazis.
From an early scene where Joel Grey’s MC takes the piss out of Hitler , through to a vicious beating by Brownshirts of the club owner to this little number where he’s dancing with a gorilla
‘I know what you’re thinking: You wondered why I chose her Out of all the ladies in the world. That’s just a first impression, What good’s a first impression? If you knew her like I do It would change you’re point of view.
If you could see her through my eyes You wouldn’t wonder at all. If you could see her through my eyes I guarantee you would fall (like I did). When we’re in public togtheer I hear society moan. But if they could see her through my eyes Maybe they’d leave us alone.
Spoken: (There you are my liebling. Your favourite!)
How can I speak of her virtues, I don’t know where to begin? She’s clever, she’s smart, she reads musics She doesn’t smoke or drink gin (like I do). Yet when we’re walking together They sneer if I’m holding her hand. But if they could see her through my eyes Maybe they’d all understand.
(Emcee and Gorilla dance) Why can’t they leave us alone.
Spoken: Meine Damen und Herren, Mesdames and Messieurs Ladies and Gentleman Is it a crime to fall in love? Can we ever tell where the heart truly leads us? All we are asking is eine bisschen Verstandnis Why can’t the world leben und leben lassen? ‘Live and let live….’
I understand your objection I grant you the problem’s not small But if you could see her through my eyes She wouldn’t look Jewish at all.’
And that’s the point that I think we’re close to.
The normalisation of hate and the beginnings of something very, very bad.
Our state media hides from the truth of a massacre and allows blatant propaganda from rapist child murderers.
I live remotely enough that I’ll probably be untouched by what’s coming, but..
But.
If we don’t all start standing up now, whatever we and this shining little island once stood for will be gone.
And it will be our fault.
One last line from a film.
This time it’s The Terminator
Sarah Connor: What did he just say? Gas Station Attendant: He said there’s a storm coming in. Sarah Connor: [sighs] I know
It started so slowly that it was almost unnoticeable, I received emails that weren’t the usual sort of Spam / Phishing stuff that clutters everybody’s inbox almost every day.
They were weird and slightly spooky, one of them read:
‘Welcome to the Lord’s Army Brother
Welcome aboard, you have passed the second stage initiation and can expect to be contacted by a local cell leader within the next few weeks.
There will be further levels of initiation and you will need to prove your devotion in person and will not be finally granted your rank until you pass the final test.
This is to ensure that we keep the emissaries and flunkies of the Global Government out of our ranks.
YOU WILL BE CONTACTED’
I was also signed up for various knife and tools newsletters, which I thought may have been a data leak from people I actually did buy from.
That sort of thing, nothing too worrying, but just strange and not something that I really wanted to be part of my public profile as it could actually hurt my security clearance.
So I responded to the real loons and said that they had the wrong person, apologies for any confusion etc. and just unsubscribed from the mailing lists.
One of the groups became quite hostile and insisted on proving that it was me that had contacted them.
They shared IP address details that were eerily close to my actual setup and one of the mails looked like it had come from my account.
Except it hadn’t, I use a number of different devices and keep a backup of actual activity on one of them.
I raised a Crime Number with the local Police on the basis that somebody might be trying to spoof my details; and as usual, nothing happened past that.
And it was quiet for a week or so.
Or I thought that it was.
Two things happened in quick succession.
The first was that I was blocked from entry to my local supermarket as I’d ‘caused a disturbance’ a few days before.
I asked to see the manager and after standing outside for almost an hour with a security guard staring at me the whole time, was escorted into a small office with a CCTV system set up.
The manager was pleasant but cold.
‘Good afternoon Mr Mills, I understand that you’re denying that you caused us problems on Thursday?’
Thursday – that was weird.
“Yes, definitely if it was Thursday, please show me what I’m supposed to have done.’
He pushed a button and I watched ME or somebody who looked incredibly like me push an assistant into shelves before throwing bottles of wine and champagne to the ground before stalking out of the shop.
I was stunned.
No wonder they banned me.
I would too.
Except.
The manager stared at me, openly hostile now.
‘Well?’
I paused for a second.
‘Don’t get worried, I’m going to take my phone out of my pocket.’
I opened my phone, found the right date and showed him.
‘I was in London on Thursday – I took the 550 main-line train and took this photo of the sunrise over the river. I also took these photos in a restaurant later that day and then a few in a club in Soho. See?’
‘Can I take your phone?’
I handed it over and he scrolled through, opening the Date, Time and GeoTag information.
He looked blankly at me.
‘If you open the Pay app, you’ll see where I spent money on the day, I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but that’s not me.’
He sat and thought about it.
‘Sorry, whatever is going on, it’s clear that our store isn’t safe, you’ll need to arrange for home delivery. Sorry.’
And that was it.
It wasn’t me, there was another me and he was fucking my life up.
And then – the next day, it escalated, massively.
I got a phone call from an old flame, I haven’t seen or heard from her for four years, not a card, phone call, text message or email.
And she was SCREAMING down the phone.
‘WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING OUTSIDE MY DAD’S HOUSE? HE’S NOT WELL AND HE CAN SEE YOU THERE. JUST STARING FROM ACROSS THE ROAD. WHAT THE FUUUCCK.’
I jumped into the pause.
‘Just shut up and listen OK.’
‘I’m going to turn facetime on and show you where I actually am. While I’m doing that, contact the police, because that IS NOT ME’.
I shared my screen to show my face before reversing the camera to show a view of the Shropshire Hills from my office, and then panning to two sleeping dogs on the sofa.
I turned the camera off.
There was still silence.
‘There’s somebody out there who looks just like me, they’re trying to fuck my life up or something, but they probably didn’t bank on you calling straight away.
So warn anybody who may see me that it’s not me, I’m hundreds of miles away and you should know me better than this anyway.’
There was a noise that may have been a ‘sorry’.
‘Anyway, call the cops, give them my number and then fuck off, I can’t believe that you went straight there without a fucking hello.’
And I hung up.
I sat there for an hour or so, genuinely lost and starting to feel a bit like a rat in a maze.
If I did that would this happen ? If I didn’t do that but did this instead?
There was no right answer and every step was fraught with potential risk.
I decided on a course of action – beginning with buying a burner phone and sim for cash.
I went old school – a Nokia 105 from a second hand shop with no data plan for the sim.
I use Signal for secure messaging on my real phone and I messaged a couple of people with my new number and asked them to expect a call.
And a day later, I was ready.
I called the police and asked to speak to a detective- stating my crime number and explaining the supermarket issue.
An hour later, a bored sounding detective called to discuss my case and it took ages to get my point across to him. He didn’t get the fact that somebody who looked almost exactly like me was tearing into my life at the edges and that I could only see it escalating.
Eventually he agreed that I should attend the station in two days – to give him time to look into things.
And I settled down to wait.
On the first night, I let the dogs into the back to have a wander – and they went berserk at the farthest hedge. I grabbed a torch and wandered down to see what was going on.
I should explain.
I live in a very rural location – almost no neighbours – and they’re serving military, police and prison service, so there’s no way to look at my house from the front without drawing attention.
It’s open fields to the back, so it’s possible to look but you’d either have to be well back with binoculars – or close to the hedge.
There was a depression where the dogs were going nuts, but if someone had been there, they were a fucking Ninja.
I took them inside and locked up. Nobody was getting in without disturbing them, so I went to bed and fell into a disturbed sleep.
I had a good look from outside the hedge the next morning and the depression was too big for any local animals, so it was possible.
Thursday 25th May 12:00
I went to see the cops.
I was led to a small interview room, only two chairs and a fiftyish nondescript bloke in a grubby shirt and bad tie was already seated.
He waved vaguely.
‘Sit down Mr Mills, I confess that your case confuses me, I’m DC Fuller, here’s my ID and I can confirm that I’m recording this conversation.’
I tilted my head.
‘Am I a suspect in something officer?’
‘Not at this stage, but you’ll admit that it’s curious.’
He dropped some still photographs on the table of the rampage in the supermarket.
I tilted my head further.
He waited for a few seconds.
‘Now we know that your phone wasn’t present for this incident and that you clocked up bills in some bars and restaurants.’
I stared flatly at him.
‘ And there was the report from Essex. You definitely weren’t there for that, but people get confused and you could have; in theory sent a lookalike to scare somebody.’
I let my face become completely still and continued to stare at him, a mixture of boredom and curiosity.
His left eye twitched as I stared.
I gave the tiniest of half smiles and let my eyes become friendly. But there was no way I was going to talk.
His eye twitched again.
‘Like I said, it’s a theory but on balance I believe your story.’
His eye twitched twice in rapid succession.
I was a suspect.
Whatever the fuck was going on, it was getting spooky. In just a few weeks I’d gone from being fairly normal to being a suspect in a very weird set of crimes.
I let my mouth move slightly again, no real pretence at a smile now, my face and eyes were flat and I stood to go.
He stood too.
‘Now hold on, I don’t think that you should leave just yet, there’s things… ‘
I smiled at him and he flinched a little.
I walked out.
I was fucked.
The police thought I was a psycho and if I was them, I might believe it too.
I went home and put my phone on silent, placed it into the charger and thought about the maze I was in.
It felt more like a tunnel at an abattoir now and I was being herded towards the bolt gun.
It looked like there was only one way out and it wasn’t going to be a happy ending.
Friday 26th May 12:00
An assailant walked up to DC Fuller in the station car park and beat the shit out of him.
It was unprovoked, they broke his jaw, nose, four of his ribs and all of his fingers.
They did it in full view of CCTV and walked away.
It was ME.
I got a message from one of my mates to say that the police had put out my photo and details – and not to go home as they had cars watching.
He didn’t ask where I was.
Whatever was happening was escalating quickly.
The police issued a statement that I should be considered armed and dangerous.
They had proof that I was a member of an apocalyptic religious sect and that I was building up to kill.
People that I knew were interviewed on the 6pm news.
Options were mixed and far too many thought that it may be possible; but at least the old flame had thought about it and her small TV slot was composed of the following words.
‘Bollocks’ ‘Utter shit’ ‘Not him’ ‘He’d have killed that policeman if it was him and he wanted to’
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She was very sweet but it wasn’t exactly helpful.
I contented myself with a small smile and waited for another couple of days.
The dog-sitter told the police to go away and only come back when they had DNA or fingerprint evidence to go with a warrant.
And it escalated again.
Saturday 27th May 11:45
The other me took a stranger down in a park in Edinburgh, cutting his hamstrings and severing the tendons at the wrist with what the police described as a huge Bowie style knife.
Again, in full view of cameras.
He drew an occult symbol with the poor fucker’s blood. He took his time and it was very detailed.
It looked like this:
And I knew that I was being herded towards my own death.
Whoever was behind this knew far too much about my life, I keep it rigidly separated and nobody at all knows all the people that are in it.
This bastard or set of bastards knew everything and everyone.
The message in this would only be understood by one other person.
If it was one man who looked like me, he had near godlike access to information.
If it wasn’t….
Sunday 28th May 2023 15:00
A jogger was attacked by a man wielding a ‘huge bowie knife’ just outside Glamis Castle.
He was hamstrung and had his tendons cut again, this time he was tied to a tree and the word HELLHOUND was carved into his forehead.
The police and press went berserk, there were live press conferences from all locations.
AND.
The press staked out a forge in Hertfordshire where; a few months earlier, I had hand-made a huge Bowie Knife.
I didn’t have long, if I was right, by Monday evening I’d be an assassin.
Sunday 28th May 19:00
I opened my burner phone and made a 30 second phone call.
‘Tomorrow. 10 AM. Pies. Chimp. Petal’
I hung up and waited.
Monday 29th May 10:00
I walked outside the building to meet the press and police.
My solicitor stood to my right and made a statement.
‘My client is innocent of all the allegations against him and will now be escorted by me to the local police station. He will not be transported by police, nor will he be handcuffed or otherwise restrained.
He is not a madman on a murderous spree, nor is he a threat to the general public or police.
In fact, he may have just prevented a terrorist attack of unimaginable impact.
We have released a video to X/ Twitter, Instagram, Facebook and TikTok in which I am asking a number of questions including:
How is it that there is CCTV of these attacks but no social media?
How can one man travel across the country and attack people at random but not be spotted once on the way to the attack or immediately after?
How have the press and police gained information about my client’s life so quickly into this investigation.
I will now ask the press to zoom into my client’s face as he asks one very important question before we go with the police.’
He nodded at me, and I looked directly at the cameras.
‘Can I ask whether there has been a reduction in security at Balmoral today due to the Bank Holiday?’
There was a wall of questions and shouting.
I made hushing motions.
It quieted down.
‘Because if there has, you may need to get that addressed RIGHT NOW.’
I walked with my solicitor to the waiting car and we went off for a little chat with the anti-terror police.
So what happened, where were you, what’s going on? I can hear your questions now.
Let’s backtrack.
Thursday 25th May 13:00
I made a few phone calls from my burner phone, my friends were expecting the calls and we made our arrangements.
Thursday 25th May 16:00
The ‘dog-sitter’ an ex armed response policeman arrived and set himself up in front of the TV.
Thursday 25th May 16:05
I slipped out of the side door and then the back gates. I walked across the fields for half a mile and dropped into the back seat of a car, one of my friends was in the driver’s seat.
‘Nice car, yours?’
‘Nope, it’s a loaner from a friend. Get your head down, we have a way to go.’
Thursday 25th May 19:45
I used my pass and access code to enter the now-empty building. It was an absolutely valid visit and Security would take no notice – even if they checked the logs.
I had bags of takeaway food and drink, enough to keep me going for a few days and I went to work.
And so..
Monday 29th May 17:00
The three detectives in the room, including a Chief Superintendent were looking at each other and shaking their heads.
There was a watcher in the corner, a grey nondescript man that may as well have the word spook floating above his head.
My solicitor was impassive, but I suspect that he was enjoying this, my ex-policeman friend had contacted him as he usually dealt with high-end drug dealers and criminals. This time, he got to tell the truth.
I smiled at them.
‘Look we’ve been through this five times now. I don’t know HOW, I don’t know WHO, but somebody was setting me up.
We’re sat here in Gloucester and I can prove categorically that I’ve been in a secure room auditing an actual Top Secret network all weekend. It’s inaccessible from the outside world and I can get you logs from the systems assuming that you have a high enough clearance.
Your teams have already been in and taken all the food and drink containers – they’ll have my prints and DNA all over them.
And we’re in Gloucester.
Not Scotland.
You’ll have seen the video we released, it was interesting that there were so many high resolution photos of me – or the other me taken somehow. With no actual eye witnesses though.
He’s clean shaven as late as yesterday and I….’
I stroked my five day growth of beard.
‘My dog-sitter has now allowed you into my house and you’ll have my actual Bowie Knife in your possession. He photographed every stage of that and I know that it’s absolutely spotless.
So I can only guess at where we are now.
Either a set of deranged individuals or somebody else used a doppelganger to set me up for something very bad.
They were so close to making it work too. I suspect that if I’d stayed in the house, I’d be dead by now and my body would be found next to somebody in Balmoral Castle, riddled with bullets but sadly too late to save…. Whoever.
I was lucky that I had people who believed me and were willing to drop everything to help – and that I could hide out in a completely secure location – and that I got out in time.
So…..
Here’s how we do this.
YOU, the security services approached me to help you with a plot you’d found out about by a combination of intelligence gathering and superb police work.
YOU, the security services allowed the plot to proceed and used me as a willing judas goat to divert attention away from the plotters.
YOU, will issue a statement in conjunction with my solicitor showing how we worked together on this, with me trusting completely that you would keep me safe and allow justice to be done.
And then we’ll see if the other me turns up dead or just disappears, my guess is that he’ll look completely different in a month or two and will never be seen again.
Either way works for me, we all know that I should be dead meat and front page news by now and that you’d still be standing front and centre congratulating yourselves on a job well done.’
I stared at the grey man.
‘My solicitor will work with you to agree a suitable compensation package and will attend any press conferences that are necessary.
And now, I’d like to go and walk my dogs.
Can you arrange an escort for the journey please? Blue lights would be nice.’
Dave died peacefully of a massive heart attack as he lay in his recliner chair, beer in his right hand, the remote control to his entertainment system in the other.
He was halfway through ‘Who Dares Wins’ when he died. None of that fake heroic shit for HIM.
All in all, it wasn’t a bad death, he’d spent the afternoon in the pub with the lads, regaling them with his stories and watching the awe in their eyes as they listened.
A short walk home, a kebab and then a film.
A good death.
Dave was surprised to find himself floating out of his body, hanging slightly above it and to see that he looked peaceful, although the piss-stain on the front of his trousers wasn’t quite flattering.
He watched a few more minutes of the film, Lewis Collins was getting the shit kicked out of him in a docklands flat but the shimmering on the wall behind the TV was off putting.
Shimmering?
The wall was gone, a foggy landscape showed almost nothing, maybe the outline of a few trees and something approaching.
A figure.
An armed and armoured figure.
It stood there at the threshold, extended a metallic hand and a deep voice boomed.
‘COME BROTHER, YOUR REST AWAITS’.
Dave moved nervously forward and the warrior made a ‘hurry up’ gesture.
Dave took the armoured hand.
And was gone.
2. The Mist
Dave found himself in a bizarre landscape, a Tiger Tank was ablaze next to a Vietnam War era APC, a pile of swords and edged weapons sat alongside Uzis and AR-15s.
Uniforms were piled haphazardly, Kevlar vests atop chain-mail and there was a song playing somewhere.
Or more accurately, a deep thrumming bassline.
BOOMBOOM. BOOMBOMBBBB.
Dave looked to the warrior, it made a vague gesture towards the weapons – ‘Take whatever you want. This is your arms cache. It’s all yours..’
It gestured again.
Dave grabbed a combat shotgun, an oversized Bowie knife, a Kimber .45 and a camouflage poncho with lots of pockets.
He frantically grabbed at ammunition as the figure walked away towards a horizon that seemed to be on fire.
Jets and helicopters screamed overhead, along with eerie Stuka dive-bombers that SCREAMED as they dove and rapidly climbed.
Horses moved somewhere in the woods and Dave could hear shouting and screaming in dozens of languages.
And the music, it was insane.
‘Ride of the Valkyries, overlaid with ‘Paint it Black’ with ‘Young Men Dead’ cutting through . Hundreds of separate soundtracks in dozens of languages.
Dave ran to keep up with the warrior, it seemed completely unbothered by the noise and the screaming, the blood and the explosions, the projectiles and the shrapnel.
The earth rose and fell with the impact of shattering explosions and a company of British cavalry to his right was entangled in a brutal fight with a French contingent who had allowed their square to break, swords crashed down on unprotected limbs and there was more screaming and howling.
Dave hurried on.
The mist hid some scenes completely, but opened up to show scenes of mind-boggling horror, bodies blown apart by automatic cannons, engulfed in stinking fire from flamethrowers and pinned down by the weight of arrows.
It was endless.
An armoured samurai was pinned to the ground by a group of peasants and stabbed with tiny knives, sticks and finally, his own sword, the peasants then gleefully running at the next armoured figure in the distance.
‘KEEP UP BROTHER, YOUR DESTINY AWAITS.”
The warrior beckoned Dave with one armoured hand, swatting away a lance pointed at his head with the other.
Dave scurried to keep up, the weight of his new weapons tugging at his shoulders, crying out as an RPG whizzed past his head.
‘What IS this placeWhere am I What the fuck is going ONNN?’
Dave cried out the last part as a mounted warrior angled a huge sword towards his head, missing by a breath.
‘THIS?’
THIS.’
‘THIS BROTHER IS THE GATEWAY TO A WARRIOR’S AFTERLIFE. ALL THAT YOU DESERVE AWAITS YOU, YOUR DEEDS WILL BE KNOWN THROUGHOUT ETERNITY.’
A huge red moon shone behind the warrior, gunships rained fire down on unseen ground troops and a zeppelin floated slowly across, harassed on all sides by biplanes.
Dave swelled with pride, recognition in the afterlife! What more could a brave man desire?
3. Heart of Darkness
He muttered his favourite prayer as he followed the warrior into a dark tunnel.
‘Lo, there do I see my father. Lo, there do I see my mother, and my sisters, and my brothers.
Lo, there do I see the line of my people,
Back to the beginning Lo, they do call to me.
They bid me take my place among them, In the halls of Valhalla, Where the brave may live forever!’
Very fucking dark actually.
Very, very fucking dark.
He could no longer see the warrior, and could only follow the sound of his armour clanking as they walked.
And walked.
And walked.
The silence was eerier than the screaming and noise had been. Every now and again,Dave could hear the chittering of legs and claws, things breathed near his ears and then vanished into the darkness.
Despite being very dead, he could feel his bladder getting ready to give up.
And then.
And then.
A sign.
A big red illuminated sign.
Was that?
No.
Couldn’t be.
IT WAS…
The bar front to end all bar fronts.
Armour clad, guns and edged weapons bristling from every window and door. A huge fire visible through the smoky windows and a huge throng of men within.
The sign was enormous.
Red neon letters, each fifty feet tall, so bright that it hurt to look at it.
WALHALA
The warrior opened the door for Dave and he walked in.
4. YOUR DEEDS WILL BE KNOWN THROUGHOUT ETERNITY.
The warrior did a perfect about turn, saluted Dave with a small bow and walked out through the door, which then disappeared behind him, leaving a blank wall.
Dave turned again and saw a throng of tables stretching as far as the eye could see, each table was occupied by men of all nations, they all seemed to be talking at the same time.
They all looked animated and wild eyed, and yet bored at the same time.
Dave was confused.
Wherever he looked, it was the same.
There was also a bar.
A very strange bar.
It was enormous, it stretched for miles and had bottles and kegs, hand-pumps and gleaming neon taps, bottles of tequila and sake blended with vodka and murky bottles that had no label. Stone cups and cut crystal seemed to occupy the same space.
Flags of all nations were overlaid with the hides of animals and the bar was lit by naked flames, dim bulbs and Neon all at the same time.
Dave squinted, blinked his eyes and slapped his head.
Then he just closed his eyes and listed to the dull roar of all the talking.
‘Hello Dave, the usual?’
Dave opened his eyes to see that he was now standing at the bar – or at least a bit of it, a familar looking barman was holding a pint glass under a Heineken pump.
‘Er, yes please, er… Steve?’
‘That’s it Dave’
‘Er, where exactly am I? I expected a bit more after coming through all that stuff outside.’
‘This is your afterlife Dave, this is your reward, would you like to meet some of the regulars?’
Dave just nodded dumbly, taking his pint from the bar.
‘Excellent, over here lads…’
The barman waved vaguely and Dave found himself in a throng of men, they were all talking at the same time.
‘Ohfuckyeah, I grabbed that skid and let myself be lifted, Saigon looked like Hell below me…As soon as I hit the balcony, I was ready to slot the first terrorist.. I ran at the Argie trenches beside H and saw him fall, I got a few of those fuckers with my bayonet…Johnny Frog was afraid of our English steel and I broke their square..Those redcoat bastards ran as soon as they saw my axe…I pulled the pilot from the gunship wreckage and just started shooting..Those Spanish bastards shat themselves when I dived overboard at swam at their galleon…..’
Dave put his fingers in his ears and turned back to the barman.
‘WHAT SORT OF FUCKING AFTERLIFE IS THIS? WHERE’S THE FIGHTING? WHERE’S THE FEASTING? WHERES’S THE GIRLS AND THE FUCKING FUCKING? HOW THE FUCK CAN THIS BE VALHALLA?’
The barman smiled.
Don’t worry Dave, you’ll be OK in a minute, you just need to adjust. And i need to fix that fucking sign. This isn’t Valhalla.
This Is WaltHalla, where boring old cunts who stole other men’s valour tell each other the same fucking stories for eternity.
Anyway – Valhalla is next door, you’ll hear their parties sometimes, but it won’t bother you after a while, another beer?’
Tears ran down Dave’s face and he nodded.
And found himself saying.
‘Did I tell you about Goose Green? God my feet were bleeding and I only had one magazine left……’
The bodyguard pats me down, he’s looking for a gun, they always look for guns.
He makes me lift my arms and spread my legs, he takes his time running his hand up my thighs, looking up at me as he does it.
I wink at him.
He flushes and backs away.
“He’s clean’ he barks to his boss deepening his voice to cover his embarrassment.
He’s wrong, but he won’t have to worry about that for long.
I smile at his boss, he’s older now, he’s put on weight, but the cold blue stare is still there, his hair is still thick, although he’s obviously dyeing it and his thick accent is still there.
‘OK, you’ve got 5 minutes of my time, you said that you have information that I want, who the fuck are you and what is it?’
I can see him eyeing my suit, it’s expensive and hand made, so are the shoes.
I’m well dressed, well spoken and am not from his world at all.
But I was.
20 years ago.
I’m flat on the floor, the punches and kicks that I took have left me incapable of moving, all I can do is look as the enforcer kicks my dad in the face again and again.
He’s enjoying himself, he’s looking at me and talking while he delivers yet another kick that snaps bone and spays blood.
‘Brave little cunt aren’t you. Trying to protect THIS.’
Another kick.
‘He’s a degenerate gambler son, he’s the reason that you’ve got no furniture, why you’re hungry three days a week.’
A stamp to the ribs, more cracking sounds.
I try to crawl over but he pulls out a gun, it’s a big gun and he puts it to my dad’s head.
I can hear myself begging, incoherent sounds that come from somewhere outside me, while another part of me just watches.
As the enforcer looks to somebody deep in shadow.
The shadow nods and there’s a flash and a deafening crack as blood sprays the wall behind my dad’s head.
His body twitches and slumps as the enforcer turns the gun on me, his gloved hand tightening on the trigger.
A mumbled command from the shadows and the enforcer lowers the gun. He opens the cylinder and takes the unused shells.
He throws the gun at me and starts to walk out.
“The boss says to let you live, I wouldn’t have done, don’t ever let us see you again’
And they’re gone.
The police arrived a while later.
They found me draped across my dad, covered in his blood, four of my ribs are broken and my face is swollen to twice normal size.
Nobody was ever charged and the gun was never recovered.
It was classed as a gangland execution, a shit-on-shit crime and got exactly two days in the press before it disappeared.
I was 16 at the time, old enough to get a job and keep the flat, there was a bit of insurance that helped with most of the money issues.
And I vanished into the system.
Now
I smile at the old thug as he tries his best to stare me down.
He’s trying for full intimidation, his hands are behind his back and he’s puffing his chest out as he speaks, all of his weight is on his right leg, he’s trying to look as if he’s barely restrained and ready for action.
I speak, slowly and precisely, my acquired accent is completely different.
‘ I know where a gun that you used for a murder 20 years ago is and I know who has it. They say that they can tie you to the murder even though you wore gloves. Your fingerprint and DNA is on the shell that you left in it.’
I watch his eyes widen as he takes it in.
It’s the truth, I don’t even have to say my dad’s name.
He knows that he’s fucked up.
3 months ago
I’m a regular in the forge now, I make knives for a number of people, including chefs, divers and some special forces types.
It’s only a hobby, funded by the income from the properties that I’ve built up over the past 18 years, I’ve not had to actually work for a couple of years now.
I started early, a couple of hours before anybody else arrived and have got two pieces of steel in.
One piece is VG10 Carbon Steel
The other is a darker piece that is too soft to hold an edge, but it’ll make a great top layer for a knife, with the VG10 as the core.
I pull them from the forge and shape the darker piece into a longer shape that I then cut into two equal pieces and put one on either side of the VG10.
Then it’s back into the forge, I watch as the metal heats up until it glows yellow.
Now
The old thug breaks the silence first.
‘What the fuck? This is bullshit, I don’t know what you’re on about.’
Playing the role in case I’m wired, it’s just occurred to him that the bodyguard wasn’t checking for that.
‘DAVE’. He bellows, distracting the bodyguard as I..
Launch a heel-strike to the bridge of his nose, driving it into his brain as I simultaneously crush his larynx.
He starts to drop as I send a steel toe capped kick to the outside of the old thug’s knee, shattering it and dropping him to the floor, his hands are still behind him and his nose breaks as he falls onto his face.
Give him his due, he’s tough and he tries to get up instantly.
I break his left elbow.
3 months ago
I’ve hammered and shaped, forged and reforged the knife until I’m happy with the shape. I’ve quenched the blade to give it a final hardness and ground it to hold a razor sharp double edge.
It’s thin, flexible and deadly.
Now.
I turn the old thug onto his back, he’s cradling his shattered arm but he’s not giving me anything except hate.
I smile at him and retrieve his mobile phone from the desk behind him. I’ve made a little bet with myself, but first…
“I wasn’t lying, I know where the gun is, you really did leave your print on the shell and I had to work fast to hide it before the police came.’
His eyes widen.
My smile broadens.
‘Yes, you were right, your boss was wrong. I’ve been watching your career for a long time, but your boss is cleverer and nobody will ever speak his name. ‘
He grimaces.
‘Nor will I, you cunt, you’ll have to kill me.’
I take his phone and hold it to his face.
It opens up and shows me all his apps and his phonebook.
I’ve won my bet with myself.
And I reach behind me.
I take the blade and show him the dark beauty that I’ve created from his gun and some carbon steel.
‘Here’s your gun, isn’t it beautiful now? Say hi to my dad when you see him.’
I speed-dial ONE from his address book and as it answers.
I whisper.
‘See you soon’
And push the blade into the space between the old thug’s third and fourth ribs.
My dad died on the 18th of May, it was relatively sudden, although he was 85 and had been ill on and off for years.
I drove 180 miles to try to see him but he was gone before I got there.
I organised the funeral, wrote and delivered the eulogy, sorted the photos for the order of service and co-wrote the celebrant’s speech.
I had a small cry during the eulogy, but still managed to finish it.
I organised and paid for the food and drinks after the funeral and managed to catch up with a few people that I’d lost touch with and I then went to visit a terminally ill friend.
I sat on his bed and had a chat for an hour or so and drank some of his bourbon for him.
And that was that.
I had a short, pre-planned holiday, then I went back to work and threw myself into corporate politics and a restructure of global teams with a ruthlessness and coldness that would have made me a multimillionaire if I’d begun my career with that mindset.
And that’s it.
I’m not sad when I think of my dad (or mum) there’s just a gap, a void where there was a purpose. I can’t call him and listen to him complain for the few minutes that he actually talked, I can’t tell him of any interesting or dull events – there’s just a void in the space where we talked.
I know there’s one within me too, I don’t do emotional up and downs very much, but I’m flat even by my standards. I try to cover it over, but it’s still there and I think that it will be for a while.
I’ve had one ‘good’ day since June, I still walk the doglets and laugh at their silliness and it’s probably them that stops me obsessing over lost love and people that are effectively gone for ever.
I need to snap out of it, but even writing about it is just an intellectual exercise.
I had a short story come to me in my sleep last night, it’s nasty and violent, but I’ll write it to see if it makes me feel any different.
We were in the kitchen, I was cooking their food for the next few days and I’d sat on the sofa with a beer .
I was quickly colonised by the doglets and their bickering made a nice counterpoint to the music playing in the background- Halestorm’s Familiar Taste of Poison.
Milo was sniggering that his Blue Tick status on twitter was annoying some supposed adults and Cairo was giving him her Indignant Teddy Bear stare.
‘So.. why is HE verified and I’m not? Is it because he’s older and slower and doesn’t kill anything or otherwise do anything around here apart from showing how versatile his ears are?’
I pretended that I couldn’t hear anything and Milo just continued to do his Muttley impersonation.
Cairo yawned, slowly and deliberately, staring at him while she did so, her large jaws that had killed so many things recently were filled with sharp, shiny teeth.
Milo stopped his laughing.
She looked at me again.
Come on. Why is HE verified and I’m not? I’m just as cute – even if he’s slightly more famous.
I swigged some beer and looked into the middle distance, the hills offering no inspiration.
‘It’s like this. Milo’s is the account that I use when I want to annoy people. Yours is all sweet pictures and the odd death statistic. Also. You can only have one verified account on a phone. So…..’
She stared at me some more and Milo..
The little shit. Said.
‘Well that’s simple. Just get another phone and you can verify her too. Can’t you? ‘
They both stared at me, orange eyes glowing with some hidden amusement.
‘Erm’
Cairo raised her head up, and showed her teeth again. I swear that she sounded like Glenn Close for a few seconds.
‘That’s a good idea Milo, or I can wait until you have an accident….’
She grinned.
Milo put a small paw onto my leg , stared up at me with his best floppy ear look and made his suggestion.
‘It’s her birthday in July. Perhaps you can verify her then…’
‘Yeah ok. I suppose. As long as it’s still funny. Might be even funnier with two of you.
Maybe.
I’m getting worried about how much you’re ganging up on me lately though, you’re enjoying it far too much.’
They grinned again and padded to the oven to indicate that it was time for their dinner to be served.
I took a long swig of my beer and consoled myself with knowing that the little shits were getting their jabs in a few weeks.
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