Death by Torchlight (standard:drama, 2033 words)
Author: Ian Hobson	Added: Apr 28 2004	Views/Reads: 4022/2483	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
This story, written for the BBC Chaucer Short Story Competition, was inspired by Chaucer's 'The Pardoner's Tale.'

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


Ramesh and Lambert scrambled to their feet and backed away, but Cooper
took a closer look.  The corpse was male, not very tall, well dressed, 
in a pinstriped suit and black leather shoes.  It lay face down and 
seemed to be hunched over something.  Cooper pushed with his left foot, 
rolling the corpse over and half into the depression that Ramesh and 
Lambert had just scrambled out of.  And in the torchlight, it was 
obvious that the body was that of an oriental. 

'Looks like a bloody Chinky,' said Bickley.  But Cooper was more
interested in what the corpse had been lying on.  It was a small 
leather suitcase.  He began to examine it, soon discovering that it was 
locked.  He tried to cut into it with his knife but the leather was too 
thick. 

Ramesh began to back away.  He had no interest in either the body or the
suitcase.  He was just glad that he was no longer the center of 
attention.  But Lambert grabbed his arm and then pushed him towards the 
corpse.  'Hold on,' he said.  'We've not finished with you yet.  Look 
in the Chinky's pockets and see if he's got some keys.' 

'I'm not!' exclaimed Ramesh, backing away from the body again.  Cooper
was less squeamish.  He stepped forward and bent over the corpse, 
searching in its jacket pockets and soon finding a leather key case, 
complete with a set of keys.  He selected the smallest key and found it 
fit perfectly into the suitcase lock.  And after opening the lid wide 
and shining the torch on the contents, he stood back and stared. 

All four youths stood gazing at the money.  The suitcase was full of it;
neatly wrapped in small bundles.  Cooper reached inside and removed 
just one of them, examining it by torchlight.  'Twenty-pound notes,' he 
said.  'They're all twenty-pound notes.  There must be...' He quickly 
estimated the number of notes in the bundle.  'There's about five grand 
here...  There must be at least two hundred grand all together, maybe 
more.' 

'Probably drug money,' suggested Bickley.  'He's probably a Triad. 
Murdered for double-crossing his overlord or something.' 

'Don't talk crap,' said Lambert.  'If he was murdered, why is the money
still here?  Probably just had a heart attack while he was burying his 
loot.  Look... that's what I hit my head on; his bloody spade.'  He 
gestured towards something, and Cooper shone the torch into the 
depression to reveal a wooden handled spade.  Lambert reached for it, 
feeling its weight and then turning and stabbing the blade into the 
soft earth before leaning back on the handle. 

'If there's two hundred grand, that's fifty grand each,' said Cooper,
moving the torch beam back to the suitcase and then to Ramesh's face.  
'That's if you're in with us?' 

Ramesh, like the other boys, was thinking of what he could do with fifty
thousand pounds.  A deposit on a house for himself and Laura, perhaps?  
But what would his father say?  He would never agree.  He would insist 
the money be handed to the police.  'I don't want any money,' he said, 
looking at Cooper.  'I just want Laura.  You leave me alone, and leave 
Laura alone, and I'll forget I was here.  I've never seen the money, or 
the body, or any of you.  You can keep it all.' 

'We can't trust him!' exclaimed Lambert.  'He'll go straight to the
police.'  He took his weight off the spade but kept hold of the handle. 


'I won't, I promise,' said Ramesh.  His words hung in the air for a
moment, as he began to slowly move away.  But, with a fluid, twisting, 
movement that surprised not only Ramesh but the other two boys as well, 
Lambert swung the spade, hitting Ramesh hard across the side of the 
head.  In the quiet of the woods the sound of the metal blade striking 
flesh and bone seemed deafening.  Ramesh crumpled and fell forward, his 
head almost touching the feet of the oriental. 

'You've murdered him!' said Bickley, incredulously.  An owl hooted
nearby, and Bickley turned and looked towards the sound, the panic in 
his mind growing as fast as the darkness. 

'He may not be dead,' said Cooper, stepping over to Lambert, taking the
spade from him and then stopping to think for a moment.  'Hold this and 
stand back.'  He handed Lambert the torch, and then as he stood 
straddling Ramesh, he lifted the spade and swung it down towards the 
back of his head.  Again, the sickening sound of metal against flesh 
and bone.  'Your turn.'  He offered the spade to Bickley. 

'Why?' asked Bickley.  'He's sure to be dead now.' 

'You hit him as well, Dave, and hit him hard,' said Cooper.  'That way
we share the blame and the money, and none of us can shop the other 
two.  If you can't hit him, then stab him with this.'  He took the 
flick-knife from his jeans pocket and offered it to Bickley.  But 
Bickley was backing away and shaking his head. 

'A two way split is better than three,' said Lambert, moving around
Cooper and closer to Bickley, but still keeping the torch beam on 
Ramesh.  'It's up to you, man.' 

But Bickley had had enough, for no amount of money was he going to
become a murderer.  He turned, his intention to run back out of the 
woods, but Lambert was too fast for him.  He dropped the torch and 
leapt at Bickley, grabbing his clothing and slowing him just enough to 
get a better grip of his collar, before pulling him backwards. 

'Help me!' Lambert ordered Cooper, as he wrestled Bickley to the ground.
 Bickley was fighting for his life, punching and kicking and 
desperately trying to free himself from Lambert's grappling arms.  But 
he froze, and a half-choke, half-gurgle, escaped from his mouth as 
Cooper's knife slid deep into the side of his neck, severing his 
wind-pipe.  The torch lay on the ground nearby, it's beam picking out 
the gruesome scene: Lambert, still sprawled across Bickley and 
breathing hard, Cooper withdrawing his knife, and a final spurt of 
blood, looking more black than red, coming from the wound in Bickley's 
neck. 

Lambert pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, retrieved the torch and
shone the beam onto Cooper's face.  'Now what?' he asked. 

Cooper's expression was glazed.  He was stunned, yet elated, at the
discovery of his own bloodlust. 

'We should bury the bodies,' said Lambert.  'If we don't, they're sure
to be found.  It won't take the police long to work out you're 
involved.' 

'Me?' asked Cooper.  'Why?' 

'Dave was your mate, not mine, and that, Laura lass you went out with...
 She might guess it was you that killed her boyfriend.  Come on, we've 
got to get that hole made bigger.'  Lambert looked around, then walked 
over to the nearest tree and wedged the torch into a fork in one of its 
branches, making a pool of light close to where the oriental lay half 
covering the depression.  He dragged the corpse clear, then picked up 
the spade and began to dig. 

Cooper looked on, the knife still in his hand, Lambert's words still
going through his mind.  'It won't take the police long to work out 
you're involved.'  He crossed the boundary between sanity and madness 
and rushed at Lambert, wielding the knife like a dagger and stabbing 
furiously at the back of his neck, soon breaking the blade, but still 
continuing until the life went out of Lambert and he fell in a heap. 

Cooper looked at the broken knife in his blood-soaked right hand.  There
was a groan.  At first Cooper thought it was Lambert, but movement 
caught his eye.  He dropped the knife, staggering backwards and almost 
falling over the suitcase-full of money.  'No,' he said, his voice 
almost a whisper.  'No, you're dead.' 

The torchlight was growing weaker as the torch's battery began to
expire.  But in its dim light, the oriental corpse was coming to life 
and getting to its feet and pointing something at Cooper, who saw, not 
an oriental in a soiled pinstripe suit, but the shadowy spectre of 
Death.  The oriental pulled the trigger, and as the shot rang out, 
Cooper's head jerked backwards from the impact of the bullet. 


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