Mystery Tour (standard:horror, 3776 words)
Author: eddiesolo	Added: Nov 02 2003	Views/Reads: 3338/2229	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The devil returns to claim some evil old folk.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

He giggled as he pulled himself upright and ran a filthy gloved hand 
over his mouth. He sighed and scratched himself then reached into his 
dirty over coat and pulled out a battered tobacco tin with it came a 
pearl coloured crumpled open envelope, he squinted at the tin as he 
concentrated on removing the lid. The lid popped off and the tin fell 
to the floor scattering the old tab-ends and tobacco all over the 
floor. 

“Ah, da...mnnnn...it,” he gasped as he bent over and tried to retrieve
the tin, he toppled over and landed on the path with a thud. He moaned 
softly as he swallowed and tasted his blood, he turned his head slowly 
and watched as the battered filthy envelope drifted lazily down and 
landed in front of his face. He frowned, he couldn't remember how he 
got the envelope. He smiled and winced at the pain it brought him from 
the split lip he had just received. Slowly he focused on the envelope 
and thought about what the letter had said. His booze induced fogged up 
brain suddenly became clear as the words replayed in his mind. ‘What 
the hell', he thought. 

The vapour passed silently through the nighttime streets lit only by
spots of orange light. It passed the occasional car their occupants 
staring out at the deserted road in front of them. It slipped through 
the night unseen and stopped outside Mrs Mavis Butterworth's dark 
silent cottage. 

Mavis heard the coach pull up and rose from her armchair. She walked
towards the window and drew the curtains partly closed. 

“Right now I'm off, so I'll see you later,” she said to the empty room.
She reached out a hand to the door handle when the bell rang. She 
opened the door as much as the chain would allow. 

“Yes?” she said as she peered through the gap. 

“Hello, Mrs Butterworth? I'm the driver of  coaches,” a tall handsome
dark haired man dressed in a red suit with the company logo of a cheeky 
winking imp emblazoned on his breast pocket said. 

“Oh, goody,” she said excitedly as she closed the door and removed the
chain, she opened the door again and clutching her handbag she stepped 
outside into the sunshine. 

Outside in the cold night a ghostly figure appeared at Mrs Butterworth's
front door and moved towards the lingering swirling vapour. 

Mavis allowed herself to be helped onto the coach by the smiling young
man. 

“Oh, thank you,” she said as she glanced at the rows of empty seats. “Is
there nobody else going on this trip?” she asked as she turned to face 
the driver. 

“Only yourself, Mr Paterson and Mr Clearwater,” the elegant young man
said as he pointed a long manicured finger towards a row of seats which 
housed the two gentlemen. 

“Oh, I see,” she said as she looked at the men. 

“Now if you don't mind, please find a seat as we have to be going,” the
young man said smiling as he climbed into the driver's seat. Mavis 
shuffled along and sat down opposite the men who turned and glared at 
her, she nodded and smiled thinly at them as the coach pulled away from 
her cottage with it's gently swaying rose arch and ornamental bird 
table with its throng of twittering squabbling birds as they fought 
over the scraps that Mrs Butterworth had left. 

The vapour moved away and disappeared into the darkness, it left behind
a dark cottage with its still rose arch and quiet ornamental bird 
table. 

The three people travelled in silence for what seemed hours, they didn't
speak to one another but looked out at the shops and fields as they 
whizzed by. 

“Er, when do we arrive at our destination?” Derek said as he sat up
slightly in his seat and peered over the headrest of the other seat in 
front. 

“Well Mr Paterson you have reached your final destination,” the driver
said as the coach and everything around it changed into Derek 
Paterson's first house. 

Derek blinked and looked around. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.


“What the, what kind of nonsense is this?” he said sternly. 

“Do you recognise this place?” the driver said as he appeared from
nowhere and stood next to him with his arms folded. 

“Yes...its my first house the one I bought with...Jean...” Derek's voice
trailed off as he turned and looked at the man next to him. 

“That's right, you bought it with Jean in...let's see in...nineteen
fifty two as I recall,” the young man said as he uncrossed his arms and 
brought a hand up to his chin.  “You had just got married and you 
worked at the nearby crematorium,” the man walked away from Derek who 
just gawped at the man. 

“Now I don't have a lot of time so I'll get right down to the point,” he
said as twirled and faced Derek. “Do you remember what happened to 
Jean?” he asked as he walked slowly towards the wide-eyed slack jawed 
old man before him. 

“What? I...no...Jean...please...I,” Derek babbled as the man stopped in
front of him and fixed his dark black eyes on him. “You killed her 
Derek,” he stated as he slowly moved towards the lounge door. 

“No...I...it has to be a dream...I...oh, God please,” Derek muttered as
his confused mind tried to make sense of what was happening to him. 

“I'm afraid God won't help you, he has...well given you to me,” the
driver said as he reached the door and opened it. 

Derek stared at the man and was about to speak when in walked Jean. 

“Hello Derek,” Jean said as she walked towards the trembling old man.
“Why did you kill me?” she said softly as she stopped in front of him, 
she reached out a hand and touched his face. Derek flinched and backed 
away from the woman. 

“What did you do to her Derek?” the driver said as he appeared as by
magic by Derek's right side. 

“Oh God, I killed her I hit her...” Derek wailed as he stared at the
woman. 

“What did you hit her with and why Derek?” The man's voice said. 

“I hit here with the frying pan, I...I hit her three times on the
head...all, be...because she grilled the bacon and didn't fry it...I 
told her so many times to fry it!” he sobbed as he spun towards the 
young man. 

“So you battered her skull in, because she grilled your bacon,” the man
said shaking his head. “Then what did you do with the body?” he said as 
he walked over to the woman. 

“I, dragged her to the bathroom and...” Derek paused and stared at the
floor. ‘This had to be a dream or a nightmare' he thought. “And?” the 
young man said as he gestured with his hands for Derek to continue. 

Derek looked up at the people and carried on speaking, he hoped that if
he said what they wanted to hear then this would be over and he could 
wake up. 

“I cut her up in the bath and disposed of the body in plastic bags...I
opened up a few of the coffins...and placed her body parts inside,” he 
said softly then he fell to his knees and started to weep. 

“The police never found her, you told them that she had disappeared,
they searched your house and even work but found nothing, she had 
literary gone up in a cloud of smoke,” the driver said as he cocked his 
head towards Jean and did a ‘poof' gesture with his hands. 

“And for all those years you had gotten away with it,” Jean said as she
looked down at the huddled form before her. 

Derek looked up as Jean raised a large frying pan above her head, he
tried to figure out where the pan had come from when she smiled at him 
and started to swing the object down. 

“No, please...” Derek pleaded as Jean brought the frying pan down on
Derek's head. 

Derek Paterson tossed in his sleep then arched his back and slumped back
into the covers. Dead. 

“I say young man, were on earth has the other gentlemen gone?” Mavis
asked as she noticed that Mr Paterson was not in his seat. 

“Oh, don't worry Mrs Butterworth Mr Paterson is not on Earth, well not
his spirit anyway no he is...” the young man paused while thought of 
the right remark. “ Let's just say he left us for more warmer climes,” 
he chuckled at his own wittiness. 

“Now then Mrs Butterworth I believe it's your turn,” the driver said as
he turned and faced the frightened old lady. He smiled as the coach and 
surroundings melted away. 

Mavis blinked and raised a hand to her face as a cloud of dust washed
over here. 

“Where am I?” she coughed as she lowered her arm and blinked the dust
from her eyes. 

“Why don't you remember? It's the sixteenth of June nineteen forty
three,” the young man said as he twirled and pointed to the smouldering 
ruins. “You lived in this very house all those years ago with your 
husband Burt,” he said softly as he appeared in front of her. 

“I don't understand, why am I here?” she said confusedly. 

“Do you remember a neighbour of yours back then, a Mrs Brigsby?” he said
as he turned to a shattered doorway, Mavis followed his gaze and 
watched as a figure walked through the ruined doorframe and towards 
her. 

“Hello, Mavis it's been along time,” the woman said as she neared the
frail old lady. 

“But your dead, you died in the war, in this very house...” she turned
away from the woman and looked at the man. 

“Why have you brought me here?” she demanded as she glared at him. 

“I think you know why Mavis...” he fell silent as Mavis interrupted him.


“It's Mrs Butterworth to you sonny!” she told him as she jabbed a bony
finger into his chest. 

“I'm sorry Mrs Butterworth, but as I was saying, I think you know why
you're here,” he repeated unruffled. 

Mavis turned away from the young man and back to the woman. 

“You got what you deserved, you...you, hussy, you scarlet trollop,” she
snarled at the woman. 

“Why don't you tell me all about it Mrs Butterworth,” he said softly.
Mavis glared at him for a moment then back to the woman. 

“Fine,” she said flatly as she smoothed her overcoat. 

“This...thing,” she said snootily as she waved a hand dismissively at
the woman. “Stole my husband, and that is that, I have no more to say 
on the matter, I wish to go home,” she demanded sternly as she crossed 
her twig like arms defiantly. 

The driver sighed and threw up his hands. ‘Why were the old dears always
the most stubborn' he thought. He couldn't go to the next ‘job' unless 
she admitted what she had done. He glanced at his watch it read: twenty 
past two. He had to goad her into a response. 

“Now look here Mavis,” he spat. “There is more isn't there, this bitch,
this harlot, ruined your life, she made it so miserable for you didn't 
she?” he said smiling as he walked around the old lady. Mavis lowered 
her hands slowly and watched him. He was right she had made her life a 
misery. 

“Yes she made my life a hell, with her fancy clothes and her dinner
parties,” she said as she pointed to the woman who just stood and 
stared back. 

“All my friends wanted to be her friends now, but...but...what about me,
there mine not hers!” Mavis shouted. “She stole my husband with her 
sultry ways, and he then went to war and never came back, she killed 
him and she deserved to die!” she snarled as her tiny frame shook with 
rage. 

“Yes, yes! But how did you kill her?” the young man said as he moved
like a snake around her. 

“We had an air-raid and we took a direct hit on the houses, I came out
into the rubble and smoke and noticed her lying in the rubble,” Mavis 
looked at the woman and gulped as the memories of that day surfaced. 
“She wasn't dead, so I hit her over the head with a house brick,” she 
said as she turned to the young man. 

“So you got jealous of Mrs Brigsby and killed her in cold blood, in the
middle of an air-raid, ingenious,” he said in astonishment. 

“The authorities thought I had been killed by falling masonry, so that
was that,” Mrs Brigsby piped up. 

“Until now, an eye for a eye and all that, me thinks,” the young man
said as he skipped and danced in the rubble. 

“What do you mean?” Mavis said as she glared at the woman who started to
walk towards her. Suddenly she saw the brick in the woman's hand and 
knew what was about to happen to her. 

“Go to hell the pair of you,” she snarled as Mrs Brigsby slammed the
brick into the side of Mavis's head. 

“You first my dear!” The driver said as he laughed, he liked Mrs
Butterworth she had fight and spirit, he would enjoy eternity with her. 


In the quiet little cottage with its rose arch and ornamental bird table
Mrs Butterworth fought for breath as she clawed at the bedclothes, she 
gave a torturous wheezing gasp then collapsed into the bed linen. Dead. 


“All aboard!”  The man in red said cheerfully as he hopped into the
drivers seat. “No,” he said as he looked from the door to the only 
occupant of the coach. 

“Hold on booze hound it's your turn,” he said as he gripped the steering
wheel as the coach vanished. 

“I...” was all Charles could say as the steam rose up and surrounded
him. 

“Oh come now Charles, don't tell me that pickled brain of yours can't
work out where you are?” the coach driver said as he walked towards the 
tramp out of the steam. 

“It looks like my old penthouse suites bathroom, but it can't be...can
it?” Charles stated as he blinked madly. 

“Indeed it is my dear Charles,” the young man said as he twirled in the
steam making it spiral and eddy in the disturbed air currents. 

“Why thank you, dear, dear boy, you have brought me back my wealth and
my life,” Charles said excitedly as he moved towards the bath. 

“Er, Charles, I wouldn't thank me just yet, as for your life well...I
have someone who would like to meet you,” the man in red said as he 
smiled. 

“I, don't understand, who would want to meet me in here?” Charles asked
as he waved a dirty-gloved hand around the steam soaked room. 

“And who is behind door number one?” the young man said in a game show
host voice as he gestured towards where Charles presumed there was a 
door. Charles heard the door open and saw the steam swirl as it was 
sucked out of the room. He strained his red blood shot eyes at a figure 
as it emerged from the warm water envelope. 

“Billy...is that you?” he said softly as his brain worked out who the
boy in front of him was. 

“It is! Well done Charles, you win a cigar, oh sorry I don't have any
but what you do get to do is to tell me what happened to Billy all 
though years ago,” the driver said as he sidled up to Charles who 
looked at him dumbfounded. 

“Oh no, please I can't...” Charles began to say but the young man
stopped him. 

“Think of this as freeing your poor alcohol riddled soul,” he said
smiling softly. 

“I had been out for a meal, with friends and on my way back I stopped
and...picked Billy up...I'm into...” Charles stopped speaking again as 
the man in red placed a finger up to his lips and silenced him. 

“I don't wish to hear your more sordid details, just tell me what
happened to Billy,” he said. 

“We decided to have a bath together and I wanted to have...you know with
the lad,” Charles said as he nodded towards the boy. The driver nodded 
and gestured for Charles to continue. 

“The boy declined my advances and I lost my temper and...I...oh no...I
pushed him underwater, I held his head underneath the surface until he 
stopped struggling,” he said as he started to weep. 

“So let me get this right,” the handsome dark haired man said as he
walked and stood by Billy who just stood and stared at the dirty 
dishevelled tramp before him. “You wanted him, he said no, so you 
drowned him, how did you get away with it Charles?” he asked frowning. 
He stood there next to Billy and stared at the old man waiting for a 
reply. 

“I...framed my butler for the murder, he went to prison for twenty
years, I lied in court,” Charles muttered as he sobbed loudly. 

“What a total and utter devious man you are! How wonderful!” the driver
exclaimed happily. 

“I lost everything after that, my wife, my business everything,” Charles
said softly. 

“I'm afraid it gets worse than that Charles old boy, you also lose your
life,” the man in red said as he glanced over at Billy who smiled 
sweetly and lurched towards the old tramp pushing him backwards towards 
the bathtub. 

Charles shrieked as he was propelled back towards the steaming bath, he
tried in vane to dig his heels of his battered shoes into the wet shiny 
tiled floor. With arms flailing he plunged into the water and 
disappeared beneath the frothing bubbling surface. 

In the cold dark park a single figure lurched and thrashed on a bench
then, finally the figure went rigid and then slumped off the bench and 
onto the ground. Dead. 

The handsome dark haired young man looked at his watch it read: twenty
five past four. He smiled and turned and walked towards the door, 
behind him the penthouse suite bathroom disappeared and he found 
himself walking down a long stone staircase. As he walked the tapping 
of his hoofs on the stone steps echoed around him, after a few more 
steps the sounds of tortured soles drifted up to greet him from the 
bowls of the underworld. 

“Ah, it's good to be home,” the devil said. 

THE END. 

COPYRIGHT SIMON MURPHY 2002 


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