The Ruin of Richard Slade

By Sebastian Tolhurst

At last he begins to stir beneath me.

“Wake up Richard Slade.”

A moan fills the dark.

“WAKE UP RICHARD SLADE.”

A startled gasp brings a grin from ear to ear.

“Who are you?  Where am I?” Richard Slade asks.

“Feel around you.  Feel that rough pine?  You’re in your grave Richard Slade.”

“I ain’t dead?”

“Sometimes the hangman misses his mark.”

“Hey mister, you get me out of here and I’ll make it worth your while.  Got a ton of loot hidden just outside town.  You get me free and half’s yours.”

“I can’t get you out Richard Slade, I’m in the grave with you.”

“Ain’t nobody in here but me, so quit lying and get digging.”

“You misunderstand me. I’m not a rescuer; I’m the devil come to claim you for my own.”

“So I am dead after all.”

“Not yet Richard Slade, but soon. I shall just have to wait patiently for you to waste away in this box.”

He starts hammering on the lid of his coffin, yelling for someone to dig him out.  I let him go hoarse before I interject.

“There’s nobody up there Richard Slade.  Nobody weeps over you; there is no graveyard shift for your kind.  Nothing stirs in the cemetery but ghosts.”

“You’ve got no claim over me devil.  I recanted; the father absolved me of my sins.”

“Nothing, not even holy water, can ever wash the blood off those hands Richard Slade.  You are mine for eternity.  In the meantime I’ll watch to see what happens first; do you run out of air or starve?  But that is some time off.  To pass the time shall I describe what I have in store for you in hell?”

I begin to list every torture that awaits him below.  I go into ever gory detail I can think of.  I drone on and on until I’m sure there’s no way he can hear my voice over his desperate screams.

I sit up and cut a slice off the ham beside me, tearing a chunk off a loaf of bread to go with it.  I’ve more than enough provisions to see me through the next few days.

Around me the graveyard is silent.  The headstones cast long dark shadows in the moonlight; but I am immune to the gloom.

I lean back against Richard Slade’s headstone again, tucking the tube that snakes into the ground under my ear.  I light my pipe, listening to his screams.  The sound of him scratching wildly at his coffin lid brings a smile to me.  I imagine splinters piercing flesh, finger nails flying off.  I wonder what torture to inflict upon his mind next.

Those who aren’t good enough for hanging should think twice before they lay a finger on the hangman’s daughter.

The Limelight (An acrostic horror)

Audiences are as fickle as spoilt children.

Beat them down, break them, batter them, it makes no difference.

Criss-crossing before the gathered I orate, gesturing broadly, pouring out my soul.

Doesn’t matter though; try as I may, the audience’s eyes drift from me to the minutiae of their surroundings.

Even with their lives on the line, you can’t hold people’s attention for more than a few minutes.

Forget them, for they are not the true audience, I must focus where my attention is most needed.

Gathering myself I resume my oration into the glare of the cameras.

“How can decent people stand by while a government unjustly imprisons its own citizens for the crime of belief?”

“I can no longer stand idle, and neither should you.”

“Just five minutes left for the government to release my brothers, or I will execute all the hostages you see behind me.”

Killing, how did it ever come to this?

Love, love for all mankind is what we preach, but they have forced me to this.

“Make up your mind people; will you stand for a government that would allow innocents to die in order to suppress what they consider dangerous thinking?”

Nervous looks are coming from my brothers at arms.

Once we had set upon this course, I don’t think anybody seriously thought it would come this far.

Pragmatic thinking would suggest any sane person would release a few dozen non-violent prisoners rather than allow innocent citizens to suffer.

Quickly I puff out my chest, and nod to each of them in turn to show my resolve has not faltered.

“Reality will soon set in across this country; your government does not care about you.”

“Some of you are probably thinking, why should you care about a small group with some strange ideas?”

“Time will come when you will be next on their list, and who will step up when they come for you?”

“Unless you all rally together soon, it will be too late.”

Very slowly the second hand crawls around the clock, but still the cell phone in my hand remains silent.

With time almost run down I turn my weapon on the crowd, but nobody is paying attention, nobody sees me.

Xenophobic morons the lot of them anyway, I don’t feel the least bit of sympathy.

“Your government does this, not I.”

Zero hour and I know what must be done.