'Special' Steve - Pt1

Approximately twenty miles south of the great city that is Sheffield lay the small town of Crapton. Yes you heard right, Crapton. Exactly how this town came about its dubious name is another story that I will tell you of another time. It has a population of approximately 2000 and sits on the edge of 200 square miles of moorland. Crapton is a rather average town that has its fair share of drunkards, incontinent tramps and off duty bus drivers frequenting all the pretty spots of the area but this isn’t what makes Crapton unique, oh no. What makes Crapton stand out from the crowd is that it is home to a very ‘interesting’ character.

His name is Steve. Now, he’s a bit of a character is Steve because of his unpredictable and strange behaviour that regularly causes upset and suffering to the local folk. You see, when he was fifteen years old, a white van was driving past him when one of its back doors flew open and crashed into him with seismic force which sent him flying straight into the local copper that was across the road. The copper in question, Bob, turned towards, what sounded to him like a blood curdling battle cry, and saw a black shape that was all arms and legs flying towards him at a rather worrying rate of knots. Bob had only the shadow of a second before his ‘assailant’ crashed into him like a meteor, sending them both through an Oxfam window and into the ‘50p’ rail. Convinced that he was a victim of a particularly vicious assault that had obviously gone a bit wrong judging by the state of the moaning creature on the floor in front of him, Bob scrabbled to his feet, wiped the claret from his gushing nose, straightened his uniform and promptly dragged poor, mumbling Steve off to jail.

Anyway, 300 hours of community service later, Steve was free again. The sheer impact of the, by now rather infamously inept, ‘assault’ had left poor Steve with a drastically diminished IQ that was now closer to his shoe size hence the ‘special’ label. He is now 30 years old and is a legend in his own lifetime. He has a face that only a mother could love with little beady eyes that are too close together and a skewiff nose that sits more to the left than it has any right to. His oversized gob hangs permanently open in a really gormless kind of way and constantly has drool hanging just on the cusp of his thin lips and his black hair always looks as though two rats have had a scrap in it. Collectively, his face has a constant look of sour accusation and when he smiles, his face transforms into something ungodly that has landed more than one kid (and adult) in therapy.

It was a dreary Tuesday morning. The clouds were pregnant with the promise of rain and the street was waking up. Steve sat up in bed and, with a yawn, cast a sleepy gaze around his bed that was strewn with an assortment of adult magazines opened at well thumbed pages. As a result of his overenthusiastic ‘fumbles’ in the night, he had to separate himself from his bed sheet with the help of a toffee hammer that was on his bedside table for just such an occasion. That done, he put his robe on and made his way downstairs and into the kitchen. His kitchen was, to put it mildly, a mess. The sides were covered with an assortment of dirty pots that had cemented to the wall and sides with mould and...something that defied scientific evaluation. In the corner next to the back door was a small, circular table that was strewn with newspapers, a notepad, pens and pencils of various colours and a pair of scissors. On the chair next to him was a cat. It had, at some point in the recent past, forced its head into an empty tin of meat and had, unfortunately, got its head well and truly stuck. The poor thing had obviously expired as a result and just laid there, stiff as a board with the tin hanging over the edge. Steve had not even realized that it was there.

He made himself a cup of tea, rolled himself a ciggie and sat down at the table to try to put together a letter of complaint to the local council. His writing skill left a lot to be desired, and anyway, he couldn’t think of anything to complain about which vexed him no end. He was in the process of winding himself up into a bit of a state about this when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement in the back garden.

‘Son of a....’ Steve hissed as he shot to his feet and went for the door with a speed that defied his bulk. His neighbour had had the audacity to lean on his fence. He’d warned him about this before so now it was gonna get ugly. With curses spilling from his mouth that had no place in civilized society, he snatched at the handle and gave it a violent yank. It was locked, and there was no key in the lock either.

With his vitriol rising in volume along with his wrath, he failed to notice that the ciggie that had dropped from his mouth when he began his assault on the door had landed among the papers on the table and a fire was now in the process of devouring the table and everything on it. Too wrapped up in his encounter with the door, he failed to notice what was happening behind him and so with his frenzied attempt to pry the door open reaching new and disturbing heights, he pressed on.

Little Joe was a very frail 96 years old. He had recently moved to this new house so that he could be closer to his son who lived nearby. He passed the time nowadays by keeping a rather impressive cabbage plot in his back garden. He’d not been up long and was watering the prized greenery when he heard a strange muffled sound coming from his neighbours’ back door. He turned his watery eyes towards the distraction and, with a curious look melting into his features, tried to make sense of what he was looking at. What he saw will stay with him until the day he dies: behind the window of his neighbours’ back door was the portly figure of the man who resided there. He was thrashing about with the handle and intermittently pounding against the glass while roaring something completely unintelligible. The enormous effort that this was obviously taking him was shaking the door with such force that the surrounding pointing was coming loose and resulting in a thick layer of condensation appearing on the glass that was liberally sprinkled with a copious amount of spittle that was issuing from the man’s frothing mouth. Joe stood transfixed at the sight when an unearthly, eldritch glow began to appear around the man’s form. Joe dropped his watering can and felt the ice cold touch of terror begin to work its way through his veins at the sight of this daemonic form. He’d always been the superstitious type but this was a whole new level of horror and he was sure that Death itself was coming for him personally. He took hold of the fence with both of his palsied hands and, with a cold sweat growing across his brow, he waited for the inevitable.

Steve finally ran out of breath and propped himself up against the damn door. Sucking in heavy breaths, he wiped his hand across the glass and glared with murderous intent at his soon-to-be foe who was observing him with an unsure look on his face. But just then, his attention on his enemy was suddenly arrested when he felt a wave of heat behind him. He turned around to find that his beloved table was fast turning into an inferno that was sending bits of newspaper looping up into the air.

‘AAAAAAAGH...’ Steve shrieked. He quickly looked around for something to fight the flames with and grabbed the closest thing to hand. The stiff cat made a terrific clanging noise as the tin crashed repeatedly into the table but succeeded only in fanning the flames further. He gave the door a murderous glare and bolted towards it at full tilt. It was a sturdy door but it had never met the likes of ‘Special’ Steve before and gave way immediately, frame and all. He picked himself up and, with a mighty effort he crammed the table through the door and threw it into the garden. With the cat and a few good stomps, he managed to put the newspapers out that were still in the kitchen and then made his way out into the garden to sort out the wretch from next door.

Joe was just about to make for the safety of his house when he heard a horrendous, hacking cough that was coming from the blackened figure. He wasn’t an expert on daemons and wot-not but he was pretty sure that Death didn’t wear a dressing gown and crusty y-fronts with hair that looked as though he had been dragged through a bush backwards; a face covered with soot and carry around some kind of expired animal that seemed to be wearing some king of crude helmet. The figure staggered over to him and stood on the other side of the fence, chest heaving like a good ‘un, one fist on his hip and the other holding the cat over his shoulder. He fixed Joe with a withering stare.

‘Y...You there’ the man said while waving the animal in Joe’s general direction. ‘You owe me....a...a table. Stand back!’ He then set about negotiating his bulk over the fence that was worthy of a saga all of its own. Poor old Joe was at a loss on how to deal with this...man-thing from next door. He’d heard whispered rumours about the person that was currently half-destroying the dividing fence in his graceless attempt at getting to the other side but had dismissed them as gossip; now he new better. His service in the army was many moons ago now and he didn’t think that anything that he’d learned in the Catering Corp would serve him that well in this particular situation anyway. All he could do was stand there and watch this behemoth of a man roll himself over the top of the fence while muttering utter filth and trample all over his beloved cabbages.

‘B..but, I’ve only got one table’ Joe whimpered.

‘That’s OK, I only want one table anyway. Wait there fella, I’ll only be a minute’. With that, he strode into little Joe’s house; the cat still in hand. Joe felt new heights of panic as he heard an ominous scraping sound coming from his living room followed by a staccato hammering. ‘Good god man, how can you live like this?’ He was roaring at the top of his voice and sounded disgusted. ‘By the looks of things, I’m doing you a favour. This table is wonky, what have been doing to it?’ This was fast becoming too much for poor old Joe. He stood there slowly going from one foot to the other while rubbing his forehead ever more furiously. He slowly made his way to the back door but just as he was about to walk through it, Steve came storming through it with the table on his back and the cat in his robe pocket and nearly knocked him flying. ‘It’ll do for me though, mind how you go now, you hear?’ Steve shouted as he made his way back into the garden ‘Thanks for the table, I knew you’d understand. Good man’.

Joe was gobsmacked. He stood there and watched his neighbour totter off, huffing and puffing with his bloody living-room table across his back. He walked into his living-room and was shocked to see the sheer state of it. The telly was upside-down, one of his windows was cracked; the curtain rail had been pulled down and there was a horrendous stench of something that defied description hanging in the air. He went over to the phone and made a call to his son; he would sort this unfortunate turn of events out for him. His son just happened to be a policeman and his name was Bob.
(Part two coming soon)
tak1 tak1
36-40, M
9 Responses May 22, 2012

Part II

I will be watching for part 2's appearance...Looking forward to reading it and whatever follows, maybe a part 3? and 4?

Well the original plan was to write a series so, you never know...and thanks for the interest too.

Excellent writing. Very entertaining. I look forward to reading more.

Thank you witchywoman I'm glad you enjoyed it. I will be writing part 2 as soon as I have time. :)

Nice work. Are you doing Nano this year?

Thank you very much for your kind comment. I'm afraid that this is where I must claim ignorance. I'm not sure exactly what 'Nano' is. What is it?

When are you going professional? Please send a message so that I can buy the book, even if I have to go to a store in the UK.

Shucks! That's a really nice compliment to hear! I fear that I may topple over if I stand up. Take care Squirrel. :)

OMG! This is good stuff! Have you read "Confederate of the Dunce"??? You MUST!

Thanks ChurchLady! I haven't read that story, no. Where would I find it?

It's a book... library or ebook? I have just told the q and a section of EP to read this...so expect traffic!!!!

Thanks, I'll take a look. :)

I really appreciate your support ChurchLady. Thanks again. :)

Your humor is needed here!!!!! I can't do it alone! :D

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Very nice... if you don't mind me.asking... the inspiration...where did you ever come up.with this? Lol...I like it...

I just sit at the computer, crack my knuckles and stare at the screen until something comes to me. The more random and quirky, the better. I just rapidly rifle through my mind until something goes 'ping!' Then the typing begins. Thank you for your comment toistory. Nice avi by the way.

I am, quite literally, Rolling On the Floor Laughing!! My God, we have a genius in our midst!!! Please, please don't stop writing! And thank you so much for gracing the halls of EP. XD

They are really kind words. Thank you sugarfootie. :)

HAHAHAHAHA*#%$+£^&*%*cough, cough,splutter* More! More! More! Fantastic.

I'm undone that you like it. Thank you for your comment. More to follow.