A strange thing happened last night. Around 10.30, from out in the street, I heard the noise of a solitary flute play a rising set of bars and stopping. I perked up like a meercat in danger and hit mute on Big Brother. I turned off all the lights and stood still in the darkness for a measure of time. The flute started again. I shuffled sideways to the window, moving imperceptibly by grinding my feet across the carpet and tilted the blinds slightly. Down on the street was a solitary flutist, kitted out in full bandsman regalia. When he stopped playing again he looked up and stared straight at me. I was frozen with fear and stared back. I was so mortified I think had I not just taken a shite an hour before hand I would’ve released a torrent onto the carpet. But in my fearfulness my mind was sharp and I was able to drink in the bandsman’s features. His eyes were so sunk in his head I was surprised he could see at all without the assistance of a powerful pair of binoculars. His cheeks, temples, and mouth were so concave as to look like he’d been fashioned by scalpel to within an inch of his life. He stood there swaying slightly and jerking his head and rolling it slowly like it was too heavy for him to hold up. Then he turned and walked across the green bit at the front and got into a car on the passenger side. I couldn’t make the type of car it was. A light went on when he opened the door and I for a moment made out the shape of a heavy man wearing an eye patch. At that moment I cacked myself. Gregory the Torturer sports and eye patch. Not that he needs it – he just does it for effect. I’m thinking the catapult will not be enough. That maybe its time to call in that favour and get my hands on a pistol.
It brings to mind an incident that happened a couple of months back. Me and my aunt heading back from the bar one night came to the corner of my street, stopping for a minute to let a car pass. the car was rolling very slowly and I spied the driver, whose face was not unlike that of the flutist described above. I thought to myself, a thought informed by great intuitive feeling – There is an evil looking bein’. – My aunt did not pick up on anything strange, because she was drunk, and for that reason I asked her if she wanted to come into mine for a cup of coffee. As we went in that direction I noted the car had stopped at the far end of the green and cut the engine. When I got into mine I went to the window to see what he was at. I clocked he had a passenger, a woman, then out of the corner of my eye I noticed a figure coming along. I turned to see a young Down’s Syndrome boy, around 20 zigzagging along the footpath – stumbling, starting and stopping going along like he was drunk or just woke up from a heavy opiate induced sleep. The boy came up the path to mine and stood at the door without ringing or knocking. Then he went up the path of the neighbouring block and stood there in the same fashion, while all the while being watched closely by the woman in the car. Then he made a dash for it, running all directions across the green like he was trying to stay out of a sniper’s scope and up the entry behind the terrace row across the way. At that, the car with the sinister couple started up and wheel spinned off with a screech of the tires. It was a thing that stayed with me for a week afterward. My aunt had passed out on the floor so saw none of it. I cannot verify this and people think I’m making it up. Ma says, if I’m telling the truth, that couple were probably set to lift the poor soul.