Fucked-up Bedtime Stories: Series One by Peter Caffrey

Author:Peter Caffrey [Caffrey, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mondo Perverso
Published: 2023-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Getting the body into the wheely-bin was a struggle. In the end, Jimmy had no choice but to reanimate the corpse. He only did so long enough for the nonce to stand and dive head-first into the bin. Even though the whole process didn’t take more than twenty seconds, Jimmy moaned afterwards about how tired he was. It was funny that when it suited him to raise the dead, like at the dog fight, he never complained, but if Arnold dared ask for his help…

Dragging the bin through the streets was exhausting. Arnold’s limbs burned as he struggled with the dead weight, and having to carry the spade too didn’t make things any easier. Jimmy levitated above, and if he spotted anyone, he emitted a rather convincing owl hoot. On hearing it, Arnold dumped the bin at the edge of someone’s driveway and hid in the bushes until the danger passed. Although he still resented Jimmy’s lack of involvement in the heavy lifting, the plan worked well. No one batted an eyelid at the bin or suspected what was going on.

Arriving at the graveyard, the pair encountered the next obstacle. The ornate iron gates were locked, and there was no way of getting the bin through.

‘Please Jimmy, you’ve got to resurrect him,’ Arnold begged. ‘I can’t carry the body and spade and climb the gate as well.’

Jimmy agreed. Paddy’s corpse was nimble and easily scaled the gate, and while Arnold scrambled over, Jimmy marched the body to a newly dug grave, out of sight in a far corner of the cemetery. When Arnold caught up, he was disappointed to see the cadaver slumped on the ground.

‘Can’t you make the body help me dig?’ he asked.

‘One more word out of you, and I swear, I’ll rip your arm off and stick it right up your arse,’ Jimmy snapped. ‘Now get digging. I’ve got to go and keep watch.’

As Jimmy levitated and floated towards the main gate, Arnold began shovelling the soil from the grave. It didn’t take long before the palms of his hands burned. He’d have blisters in the morning. Not only was the process painfully exhausting, but it was also terrifying. Every noise in the darkness sounded like a ghost or ghoul creeping up on him. On more than one occasion he involuntarily whimpered, and a twig cracking nearby resulted in a trickle of hot wee running down his inside leg.

Arnold was so deeply entrenched in the cesspit of self pity that he didn’t hear Jimmy’s owl hoot warning and, until the finger of bright torchlight hit his face, was unaware anyone had spotted him. Dropping the spade, he fell to the ground. The finger of light slowly circled in the air above him. From the fence separating the graveyard and road, the electrified chatter of a radio could be heard. It was the police.

‘Who’s there?’ a voice called out. ‘Show yourself or I’ll release the dog.’

Arnold recognised the voice. It was PC Lasagne. Not only was he hell-bent on harassing the local youths, he was also a friend of Daddy’s from the Masonic Lodge.

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