Short Skates: Alfie
I | II | III | SSI | IV | V | SSII | SSIII | VI | VII | SSIV
VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | SSV | XIII | SSVI | XIV | SSVII | XV | SSVIII | XVI | XVII
This instalment contains scenes of violence and cruelty that some readers may find distressing.
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Alfie McDonnell was a blond-haired, stockily-built boy of fifteen years. He didn’t much like school. It was half-term now, and so here he was, out and about early morning in Manchester Market Street, with his two best friends, Terry and Dom.
Terry was a tall, lanky boy of fourteen, while Dom was both the same age as Alfie and stocky like Alfie, with brown hair combed into a quiff. They were all bored, and what they liked to do when they were bored was make other people’s lives hard. They all found this fun, and funny.
A commuter walked past them, eyeing them warily, a set of headphones on his head. Alfie smiled, turning to the others. Eh, watch this, he gestured.
Creeping up behind the man, Alfie delivered a sharp blow to the back of the man’s neck, knocking the headphones from his head. They went clattering to the ground.
The commuter wheeled on him.
“Eh? Eh? What you gonna do?” Alfie said, puffing his chest out. He felt like a proper hard bloke doing this.
The commuter scowled at him, bending over to pick up the headphones. Alfie ran up behind him, kicking him in the backside, giggling.
“What you doing on the ground, you silly bastard?” Terry jeered.
The commuter stood, dusting himself off, his headphones now scuffed from the pavement.
He murmured something under his breath as he turned to walk in the direction he had been walking.
“What was that?” Alfie shouted after him. “Oi! I’m talking to you, fucking dickhead!”
The commuter continued to walk in the direction of the Arndale, choosing not to pursue the situation any further.
“Yeah, better run away, dickhead,” Alfie shouted. First catch of the day. The tingle of adrenaline was running through his hands. It was going to be a great day.
“That was fucking mint, Alfie,” Dom said. He had a nasal voice from enlarged adenoids.
“Aye,” Alfie said. “Fucking hate blokes like that. Fucking sissies, won’t even put up a real fight.”
The other two giggled as well.
“Reckon the Tesco’s is open?” Terry asked. “I could do with a Red Bull.”
“You got yer ID on yer?” Dom asked.
“No, but that slag who works behind the counter is scared of us. She don’t ID for nothin’.”
“Aye,” Alfie said. “Let’s head down there.”
They walked along past rows of department stories, clothing retailers, coffee shops, banks and phone shops. It was relatively quiet this time of the morning, and not heavily policed, which was how the gang liked it. The cops always ruined their fun.
As they came up to the Tesco Metro, they saw another bit of fun. A bundle of rags huddled under the window, stuffed into which was a bearded man with a long black beard and unkempt hair, an upturned hat in front of him, a few loose coins inside it. He held a weathered cardboard sign reading “NEED MONEY FOR FOOD. SPARE SOME CHANGE IF YOU CAN. GOD BLESS YOU.”
The man was hunched, crooked, as if in a great deal of pain, and his shoes had holes in them.
He looked up at the boys as they approached.
Alfie simply smiled.
He kicked the hat, sending the coins scattering across the pavement. The bearded man looked in horror at the scattering coins, then at the boys, and leapt to try and go for them.
The boys laughed as he grabbed for the precious pennies. They let him grab what he could, then he stood.
“You oughter be ashamed of yerselves!” he said, in a creaky, withered shout. “Picking on a poor old man!”
Alfie puffed his chest out again.
“You wanna go?” he said, balling his hands into fists. “Eh? Eh?”
The man backed off, but that wasn’t enough for Alfie, who spat at him.
In self-defence, the man took a swing at him, which was all the boys needed.
Alfie sent a hail of fists the man’s way, winding him and sending him crashing back against the glass. Then, Terry removed his belt. As the man struggled to regain purchase, Terry took the belt and hit the man on the back with the buckle, keeping him down. As a final insult, Dom kicked the hat with the coins again, and this time the coins truly were lost. This time, the man did not get back up. He wept, softly, and curled into a ball.
Alfie laughed again.
“Come on, let’s go.”
The three of them walked into the Tesco Metro, leaving the man crumpled on the ground.
They walked over to the drinks cabinet, grabbing tins of Red Bull, the nerve-tonic to keep them lively throughout the day. They laughed between themselves about the two lives they’d already made a little bit harder that morning. Then, suddenly, Dom nudged Alfie in the ribs.
“Fuck you playing at?” Alfie said. Dom held a finger up to his lips, then nodded his head down the aisle.
A perfect specimen awaited them.
A chubby man in glasses, wearing a blue turtleneck, his face painted like something approximating a clown.
The three boys looked at each other, then back at him. This would be far better than the Red Bull they came in for. This would energise them all day. But they had to wait to strike.
The man looked down the aisle in their direction, so they quickly turned away, pretending to be preoccupied with something else.
For several minutes they followed him, watching him take things out of his basket and then put them back. Looking for lower-fat snacks, perhaps? It was too good to pass up. The man was a walking joke, and they were ready to deliver the punchline.
The chubby man sidled through the aisles, and they did their best to make it look like they weren’t stalking him, as a lion stalks the gazelle.
Then, finally, the man decided to make his way to the till.
They followed him, and joy of joys – there was one person behind the till: A young woman who saw the three boys at once and flinched instinctively. It was as Terry had said. She was scared of them.
The man approached the till and the woman scanned his items, distractedly.
“W-will that be all for you, today, sir?” the woman asked, her eyes flitting down the queue.
“Yes, thanks, that will be all,” the man said. And his voice was the cherry on top – lisping, squeaky. Every nerd and freak Alfie had ever hurt, compressed into one man. He very nearly gave the game away then, bursting into laughter. But he had to wait, just a bit longer.
The man paid in cash.
“Would you like your receipt?”
“No thanks,” the man replied.
“No thankth!” Alfie said, imitating him.
The man suddenly stood bolt upright, his eyes narrowing, then turned, adjusting his glasses.
“I beg your pardon?” he said.
The young woman behind the till looked at him, grimacing, as if to say Please, don’t provoke them. Run. Run as far as your legs can carry you.
Alfie strode up to the man, grabbing his basket, rifling around in it with his big, sausage-like fingers.
“What we got here, then?” he said. “Sweets, mostly. Don’t you think you’ve had enough sweets?”
Terry and Don joined him, also reaching into the basket.
“Crisps, choc’late, milkshake,” Don said. “This your breakfast?”
“No,” the chubby clown-man said. “I’m just picking up some things for my associates.”
“Athothiateth,” Alfie said. “I hate people like you, you know that?”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” the clown replied. He had a rhotacism as well as a lisp.
“Thowwy to heaw it,” Alfie repeated. “Why do you fucking talk like that? Talk normal. It’s pissing me off. You don’t want to piss me off.”
The man smiled.
“Well, I could say the same of me.”
This genuinely took Alfie aback.
“Alright,” he said, balling his hands into fists. “You wanna go, then?”
“If you insist,” the clown said. “Shall we go outside? I hardly think the young lady should have to see such things.”
“No, we’re doing it right here, dickhead,” Alfie said. “Come on, then.”
“Alright,” the clown said. He looked at the terrified young woman behind the counter. “Terribly sorry about the mess I’m about to make.”
Alfie smiled, raising his fists.
“Get ‘im, Alf!” Terry jeered.
Alfie threw a punch. He really expected that to be the end of it.
The man dodged, then, catching Alfie on the back-foot, got him in a grip, hurling him out of the door and into the street outside.
The other two, shocked and angered, rushed at him.
The man turned, and for a split second they realised he was holding a box – a box that hadn’t been there before—
The box sprung open, and a boxing glove on a spring hurled itself towards Terry, catching him in the chin. He crashed backwards, his mouth bleeding heavily.
“Fuck!” he said, feeling around in his mouth. “He’s knocked me fucking tooth out!”
Dom charged at him, but the man caught him in a headlock. The man leaned down, whispering in his ear.
“This is what you do for fun, is it?” he said. “Well, I’ve got bad news for you.”
Terry gained back some resolve, his mouth still dripping blood all over the linoleum. But the man swung Dom around, using the boy as a battering ram to hit Terry with, winding them both.
“You see, I’m much better at it than you.”
He ran up to the two boys, delivering hard kicks to their ribs. It was only then that they realised he was wearing steel-toed shoes.
Alfie limped back into the shop. He was disheveled, his clothes scuffed and dirty.
“Just for that,” he hissed, “I’ll fucking kill you.”
The man smiled. “I don’t think you will, boy.”
“Watch me.”
The man tutted. “Pity. I really admire your penchant for mayhem. If only you put it to better use.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Alfie roared. And he was charging at the man, charging with rage, and all the pain he felt spurred him on. He held his arms out in front of him. He was going to catch him, kill him—
There was a moment where Alfie felt the worst headache he’d ever felt. But he didn’t feel much after that.
*
The police were called later that day.
They found the shop assistant cowering behind the counter, gazing off into space as if dazed. It was one of her colleagues who had called the police, and an ambulance.
The report went out soon enough: Two males, aged fifteen and sixteen, found with heavy internal bleeding on the floor by the tills, sent to hospital, unknown if they would recover.
They had to put up a tent for the other one.
They couldn’t identify him. Everything from the neck down was there, and would be identified in due course. But there was no head.
An anvil, somewhere around two-hundred-and-twenty kilograms, had been dropped on his head, destroying it instantly. There wasn’t much identifiable in the dent left in the floor. They couldn’t understand where it had come from.
They cleaned up the mess, then scrubbed through the CCTV for footage of the incident. They didn’t find much, but after the deed was done, they saw him.
A chubby man in clown makeup, wearing a blue turtleneck, his face spattered with blood, looked up at the camera, gave a thumbs-up, and smiled. Then he walked away.
MI5 were notified immediately, of course, and the Prime Minister.
The answer came back later that day.
“We know.”
They did not investigate further.
That was the end of Alfie McDonnell.
But elsewhere, things were just beginning.
The Circus had arrived in Manchester. And they were going to have the best of fun.
Another time, another place…
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ARC FOUR: BLOOD MOON
I | II | III | SSI | IV | V | SSII | SSIII | VI | VII | SSIV
VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | SSV | XIII | SSVI | XIV | SSVII | XV | SSVIII | XVI | XVII