Tales From Castle Diablo - Full Story - "Baku"

Hello there

Short intro from me today, mainly just to apologise for telling everyone it was a bank holiday yesterday when it wasn't (I definitely was told it was), and to introduce the latest full story from the forthcoming collection "Tales From Castle Diablo".

I'm pretty sure I've actually nailed the wraparound story now, which I may take you through at some point, but this is a stand alone tale that shall be incorporated via the wraparound in the actual book.  It works on its own though, especially as I've chopped a couple of lines out of this copy to avoid confusion.

Again, I'm pretty proud of this.  I think I'm doing a good job on these tales, and am taking it rather seriously in getting it all correct.  There are a lot of decisions made in these narratives, that will be pored over by academia for years to come.  For now you can just read it on here if you've got the time. 

I really hope you like it - I did put a lot of thought and hours into it.

Lots of love as always - story below (with a temporary title that I'm not sold on)

xxxxxxxxxxxx

"Baku"

If the battered camper van that pulled up outside the Monsuta Deli had been made that way by design, you’d have thought it a feat. Creepy, dusty, dented and defying all logic of engineering. However, it was not by design. The van, like Kane Twigg who stepped out of it, was falling to pieces.

It is a heart-wrenching fact that the worst thing to do when somebody is falling out of love with you, is love them more.  Pulling out all the stops, declaring and displaying vast quantities of why you want their heart will, almost definitely, take it from you.

This was the mistake – for want of a better word – that Jenny Maidstone had made with Kane Twigg. It failed, of course.  Only several years later would Jenny come to the realisation that it was her salvation. She eventually got all she wanted elsewhere, the home, the children, and the doting husband.  She was settled without settling, and rarely cast a backwards glance to the days of Kane. Jenny Maidstone is fine now, so this is not her story.

In some ways, Kane Twigg also achieved his salvation, but it is in a manner that - I warn you - shall not be palatable to hear.

The issue with Kane, and it would be kind to say there were many, was his propensity to dream.  Everything and everyone fell secondary to his dreams. It was not entirely his fault.  In the absence of an abandoning father, he had been subjected to a doctrine of dreaming big.  We may see this as a good thing, encouraging even.  However, the declarer of the doctrine, his mother, seemed to take greater delight in his failures than his achievements.  Which is fortunate, as if delight had been limited to success, there would have been none.

It is no good to just have a dream.  Nor is it any good to just work hard. No matter what you may have been told about hard work paying off.  It is undebatable that luck plays a major part. How the cards fall.  The beat of a butterfly wing.  The potent forces we do not see.  Whatever will be, will not always be.

Kane Twigg visited the Monsuta Deli near-daily.  Here he would sit, at the same table overlooking the street outside, with a coffee brought by Angel. Between bouts of staring out at his camper van, concocting plans for success while dismissing thoughts of increasing debt, Kane often mused over whether Angel was a real name, or whether it was a tactic employed to prevent lusting eyes from locating her outside of work.  Smiling and attentive, she was perhaps barely touching twenty years old, and non-discriminate with her demeanour.  Everybody got the same welcoming treatment, smattered with sincerity, and Kane would scowl whenever he saw this misconstrued as flirtation.  He hated seeing other customers call her “darling”, and often mused about how she never reacted with disgust. Not so much as an eye roll.  For his part, he was certainly as old as her father.  Heavily leaning on forty, he must have looked ancient to her eyes.  There was nothing to be gained by developing an all too easy crush on the youthful Angel.  He did like to see her though.

This was one of the many sacrifices that made his next action so stupid.  Stupid, yet born of sheer desperation.

For most, a red-letter day is a phrase used to describe a day of positive importance. A birthday, a graduation, an anniversary. Kane used the same phrase in a far more literal sense, to describe days when an actual red letter had been received.  A demand. He had grown accustomed to red letter days, and was almost over the dread he felt when seeing a new one on the doormat.  He still approached them with a trepidation as to what previous risk had caught up with him, but after a moment of panic he was able to add each one to the growing pile of disaster.  Now they provoked a weary frustration.  They should be for layabouts and chancers, not for somebody as proactive as he was.  He was always working on something that would make them an irrelevance, which compounded his contempt for their impatience. He was trying to make things right.  He was dreaming the dreams and taking the risks.

This morning had not been a neatly enveloped debt negotiation.  There was no “pay by” date, nor a friendly postscript saying they may be able to help if he had difficulty paying. It was a bare, blunt note.  Bailiffs had visited and would return in the afternoon.  They had permission to enter and would do so with force if there was no reply.  No offer of part payment, nor a contact number to buy him time with discussion. It was the grand finale of red-letter days, with a debt that was insurmountable in so few hours.

Not without something drastic.

This is the Kane Twigg that was sitting in the Monsuta Deli, numb hands cradling his coffee, terrorised by his past.  He was looking over at Angel, who was behind the counter, unwittingly entertaining a couple of workmen in dirty hi-vis vests.  They were loud and laughing, and Angel was smiling back as they gave their order.  Kane silently shook his head in empathy for her, as the two workmen retreated to engage each other with more laughter, and Angel turned around to prepare their paninis.  She took a plug out of a solitary socket, and plugged in the grill, before sliding the sandwiches beneath it. Kane stared at the plug socket, as Angel moved to the doorway behind the counter, speaking in Japanese with the always-unseen Mr Baku. It sounded like a matter-of-fact conversation. Even if he had the most basic grasp of the language, Kane would not be listening.  He was beholden to the plug socket, locked in a doomed battle with temptation. He carried on watching until Angel returned, served the Panini’s, and reverted the plugs again.

When he made his way to the counter, five minutes later, it was true that Kane Twigg was at an all-time low. In a life of low points, it felt as though there was nowhere left to fall to.  He had made his choice though, and once it became a reality, he would be lower.  He consoled himself that it was temporary.  A short-term period of horror, which would enable him to make things right again.  He would make amends, and with interest.  He had to take action to reset.

“Another coffee for you Kane?”

Angel smiled at him, and he felt true waves of pure guilt. There was no sign of this on his face though.  Not jittering or pausing, like you would see in an acted performance of this situation.  Despite the internal riots of conflict, he was externally unwavering.

“No, that’s plenty for today…I saw those workmen getting something that looked nice though, what was it they had?”

“The gentlemen in the bright jackets?  They were paninis. Would you like one?”

Kane performed thoughtfulness.

“Paninis, of course.” He knew full well they were paninis. “Well…ok…why not? Yes, go on, I’ll have a panini. To take away.”

Kane pointed through the glass before him, at a mixed meat and cheese concoction.

“Push the boat out!” Angel smiled some more.

“Yes exactly!” Kane laughed back.

Angel drew the selected panini from behind the glass, and placed it beneath the grill.  Then, under the hawk eyes of Kane, again swapped the plugs.  She removed the plug powering the small metal safe, its door still open, and replaced it with the grill plug. Kane took a breath.

Angel turned back to him.

“Are the mugs still in production?” she asked.

Kane had to think for a moment.

“Oh…Oh yes…they are looking fantastic…” He lied.

Three months previously he had taken payment from the Monsuta Deli, for mugs with their logo on them.  An acquaintance had not come good on their promise to print them, nor had his supplier of cheap crockery, and he was still trying to work around it.  Or, more honestly, he was thinking about it when he remembered to. He had sold the investment in good faith, but when luck deserts you again…

Angel was still leaning on the counter in front of him, expectantly.  He needed her to go and talk to Mr Baku again.  Why was she not following form? Kane’s throat was getting dry.

“Ah!” He eventually said, pulling out his phone. “Excuse me…I need to take this…sorry!”

Angel continued her warm smile and nodded, turning back to the doorway and calling through to Mr Baku.

Kane moved fast.  Quickly behind the counter, reaching into the safe, bundling the packages that he could feel were packed with notes and coins, and running from the deli.  He didn’t look back until he was in the van, surprised at the lack of pursuit.  The engine spluttered into resigned life as he turned the key, and in moments he was driving away.  The deed was done.  There was no turning back.

There was nothing casual about his return to the temporary safety of his flat.  He wasn’t swaggering, and certainly wasn’t proud.  He had always been an uncomfortable thief. Even now, he felt as though he had never stolen a thing before this moment.  He had, of course, but he didn’t recognise this.  They were investments and gambles, speculating to accumulate.  Now this.  This was literally daylight robbery.

Emptying the packages onto his unmade bed, the coins and notes tumbled.  There were also a few pieces of jewellery, which he immediately vowed to return, along with a small statuette in the rough shape of a trunked beast. He picked it up and turned it around to examine it, before catching himself on a sharp edge, swearing and dropping it back to the bed. He shook his hand vigorously and then examined it for a cut.  There was no wound, but the heat coming from where he had been caught felt like a hard slap.  He sat on the bed in shame and began to count the money.

The knock came earlier than he had expected, and he exhaled loudly before making his way to the door. The knock had awoken his gerbil, Percival, who suddenly scratched around in his cage.  Kane took a look around his own cage, gritted his teeth, and opened the front door.

The pair of men were as you would imagine, both seeming as wide as the door frame itself. Kane would never learn their names, but they were called Alex and John.  John did the talking.  It was, Kane thought, rather eloquent.

“Mr Twigg?”

“Yes…come in”

“Baili…”

“I know, I know…just come in”

They moved inside.

“We have a County Court Judgement to remove monies or items of equal value to the outstanding amount of…” John looked down at the sheet of paper he was clutching. “Three thousand, four hundred and sixty-six pounds.  Owing to RB Autos limited. Firstly, do you still have the vehicle in your possession?”

“No” Kane lied, thinking of the Camper Van he had parked several roads away, which would doubtless soon become his home.  As he had always, deep down, known. As always, he had made several well-meaning payments before defaulting from the corner he had been backed into.

“And do you have cash on the premises today?”

“Yes” Kane said “it’s not quite enough but of course I can give it to you and then work out a payment plan for the remainder.”

John looked at Kane with detached remorse.

“I’m afraid we aren’t able to negotiate repayment terms at this stage, how much do you have in cash today?”

“Six hundred…” Kane said, withholding a hundred pounds from his robbery tally.

“Ok…” John said, before adding, with impressive immediacy, “We will also be removing items to the value of two thousand, eight hundred and sixty-six pounds.”

Kane, John and Alex looked around his sparse flat.

“Or as near as we can get.” John added, before nodding at Alex.

It happened so fast.  John nodded to Alex and Alex gave a little nod back.  He moved into the room without hesitation.

“No…no please…” Kane quietly pleaded. “I can give you that money today and we can…please don’t”

His voice was cracking with emotion, and he wished he could pull some tears from somewhere.

Alex reached down behind the television. Kane placed a hand gently on his shoulder.

“Please…”

There was no reaction, no flailing, Alex dropped to the floor as though he had been switched off.  He lay still.  His face was placid and unconfused, just that same matter-of-fact professional look.  It was apparent that he was certainly, definitively, dead.

The room was silent.

Kane turned back to John, who was still at the door, eyes now wide.

“What did you do?” John asked urgently.

“I…I didn’t do anything…I just touched his…”

John was frozen to the spot. Kane moved towards him, hands out.

“Get back!” John shouted.

Kane was scrambling for sense, continuing to move towards John, who’s eyes darted between his fallen colleague and the approaching assailant.

“No…no please… “ Kane stuttered. “I swear…I didn’t…”

“I said back!” John shouted again, pushing out at Kane.

Kane instinctively grabbed at his wrist, trying to stop the push. John immediately dropped to the floor.  The same grimace from the push permanently on his face.  Extinguished like a candle.

Kane was too shocked to even hyperventilate, and his mind scrambled to make sense of this new hell.

“What the…” he spoke out loud. “What…what’s…”

He stared at his hands.  There had been no accidental blow to a pressure point, no punches, the whole thing hadn’t even been rough.  He had just touched them.

Kane closed the front door and instinctively slid across the latch. He wasn’t a receiver of visitors, so there was no danger of interruption, but he had no explanation. He had no-one to call and nothing to say if he had. The room was still.  Deathly still. He dared another glance at the bodies. The same pallor as if they were lay in a chapel of rest.  It had been no more than a few minutes since they’d arrived.  What had he done?  How had he done it?

He moved back into the bedroom, the only other room in his flat.  There was a small bathroom attached and he stepped in, staring at himself in the filthy mirror. He rubbed his eyes and felt the heat in his hands.  The same heat he had felt after catching himself on the statuette.

Moving back to the bed, with the spread of coins and notes, he reached again for the small statuette. The heat in his hands intensified, burning hot, and now he saw a warm amber glow emanating from the object.  As he recoiled, the glow simmered and died.

Kane flinched as he heard Percival suddenly scratching in his cage with fervour.  Kane didn’t dare believe the power evident in his hands, and slowly walked towards the cage.  Percival was erratic and panicked, and Kane knew that such anxiety can see off the small creatures.  He just wanted to calm it. That was what he told himself as he opened the cage door.

“Come on…come on…” he said, as the rodent backed away.

He reached his hands inside, and they mirrored each other’s panicked eyes.

“It’s ok…”

Percival bleated.

Kane touched him.

Percival never bleated again.

Days passed.  Kane sat on the bed, the money untouched, staring at his hands for hours on end.  Every time he scratched an itch or pushed his hands through his hair, he remembered and flinched.  They cause him no harm.  Just the heat. He cried, laughed with madness, breathed deep and hard. Most of all he thought of all he had done.  Every mistake.  Every time he had tried and failed.  His selfish actions.  Then he surged, fighting the feeling of power, the thoughts of being weaponised.  The conflict raged within him.

He mostly thought of Angel.  He was disgusted with his betrayal.  He was paying the price.

On day four, as his self-pity reached fever pitch, he moved. Fearing it was impossible, he wanted to try to make it right.  He bundled up almost all of the money, and batted the statuette into a bag of its own.  It remained too hot to hold, and even in the bag it burned. Kane let it burn. He deserved the pain.

The camper van had, par for the course, refused to start.  Two days would have been a small miracle, but four was unheard of.  He walked the length of Patton Leek, chastising himself for how much he deserved this punishment. Through the villages, directly beneath the castle, and finally, back through the door of the Monsuta Deli.

“Hi Kane” Angel smiled at him, after a barely perceptible look of recognition.

He was momentarily off guard.

“Would you like your coffee first?” Angel continued.  There were three other patrons in the deli.  None of them would have batted an eyelid.

“No.” Kane said, looking at the floor.

“No problem, would you like to come through?”

Angel extended her arm, gesturing to the side door.  Kane nodded and made his way behind the counter again.

“I feel terrible…I’m so sor…”

“Come on through.  It’s ok.”

Kane accepted the invitation.

There was little clue that behind the scenes at the Monsuta deli was a kitchen at all.  There was food, and cooking utensils, but there were no tiles, no sink nor refrigeration that Kane could see.  He wondered how random inspections would be negotiated.  It was more like a street stall.  There were a great many ornaments, similar statuettes to the one that still burnt beside him, scrolls unravelled and hanging, decorated with intricate embroideries.

“Father…” Angel said casually.  “It’s Kane.  The boy.”

It was dark and shadowy.  Kane heard a rustle that made him think of Percival.  A hung sheet started to slide away from a wire rail.  Through it, Kane could see an unusual shadow that slowly revealed itself.

The beast gazed at him.  It was as though the statuette had eroded and been made into living form.  The head was hulking, like a shrunken elephant, with human arms folded across his chest. It rose on leopard-like legs to greet him.

Kane instinctively reached out to Angel, needing the security of touch.  Angel deftly moved away and looked to his hand.  Kane remembered.

“…sorry.” He said, and looked back at Mr Baku.

“You have come to return something?”  Mr Baku rasped.

“I’m so sorry…” Kane said quietly. “I’ve come to return everything…”.

Baku tilted his head with an impressive achievement of curiosity.

“Including the one hundred that is not in the bag?”

Kane looked at Angel, who raised an eyebrow at him.  She looked different to any way he’d seen her before.  He realised she was no longer smiling.

“Everything…” Kane said with a nod.

Baku stared back at him, pinhole eyes amongst the hulking cranium.  Eyes that penetrated.  Baku slowly blinked and looked away, as his legs began to move in Kane’s direction.

“You keep the money.  It is of no worth.  What else do you have to return?”  Baku turned slowly to face Kane again. “And why do you wish to return it?”

Angel moved further back as Kane reached into the bag.  He had to steady himself to cope with the burn, the glow of the statuette brighter in the darkness.  It reflected with a glisten in Baku’s eyes. Kane could now see the face that had been in the shadows. It seemed as though it were starting to rot. Kane held out the statuette, his hand trembling in fear and discomfort.

“Its power is with you now.” Baku whispered.

“I don’t want it…” Kane swallowed. “Please…take it back…”

“A great power indeed…” Baku mused. “As you can see, its sudden absence has begun to ravage me.”

Baku gestured to his deteriorating head.

Kane breathed deeply.  A tear rolled down his cheek.

“Father had the power… you took it from him…” Angel said quietly.  “For millennia he has held it.  It is the only way to contain it.  With this great a power…”

“Comes great…” Kane whispered.

“Please don’t.” Angel said quickly.

Kane dropped his eyes.

“The idol…” Baku declared. “Is a holy creature.  A bringer of good fortune.  A collector of dreams.  The issue, young Kane, is you.”

Kane frowned.

“Your dreams…” Baku explained. “...are nightmares.”  You exist solely for achievement, rather than joy.  Only driven by your perverse perception of this achievement. It is always doomed.”

“It is not what you truly desire.” Angel interjected.  “It has just been for so long your existence.”

Baku gave a nod, as Kane felt more tears flow.

“The power you craved, terrified you when you attained it.” Baku sighed. “You don’t want it.”

“No…” Kane whispered.

“You are correct to not want it.”

The three of them stood in silence.  Only the guttural prevention of sobs could be heard from Kane.  Eventually, Baku held out a hand to him.

“I can take it back from you.” Baku said calmly. “Now that you know.  Now you have felt the weight on you, and see how deranged the quest is.  How far from happiness and enlightenment it has pulled you.  It is the opposite direction.”

“Yes.” Kane said, before hesitating and starting to think.

Baku took the statuette. The burning in Kane’s hand immediately cooled.  The glow from the idol travelled steadily up the arm of Baku, quickly enveloping it. The rotting trunk regained its full form, and the head morphed into solidity. Baku seemed to stand taller, the power returned.

Kane looked on, before looking down at his hands.  Angel moved towards him and extended a hand.  Kane tentatively touched her finger.  She smiled back.  It had stopped.

He should have felt relief.  He should have breathed out deeply that the nightmare was over.  All the nightmares. Yet he had lost the power.  The strength.  The things he could have done.  The dreams that could have been reality.  It had been the opportunity he had waited for, but he was so overwhelmed. Not being himself.  Not being weak.

His tears had stopped.

The idol was placed gently onto a small table before Baku.  Kane stared at it.  The power was right there, still before him.  He had taken it once and escaped.  He took a step towards it, carefully keeping the same face of relief.  Hiding his cunning, as he always had.

“It is an important lesson for all.” Baku said gently.  “From the second you took it from us, I hoped you’d learn.”

Kane smiled with gratitude.

“I have.” He lied.  “Thank you, Mr Baku, of course I have.”

Baku smiled too.

“I fear…” he whispered.  “You have not.”

Baku placed a hand softly on his shoulder.

Kane Twigg felt the heat one final time.

*