Rats in great numbers gushed out of black holes hissing screeching squeaking squealing. Pouring across the landscape like floods of muddy water to attack those cripple bodies, a delicacy of delicious human flesh. Poisonous, needlepointed teeth will strip the teenager’s delicious flesh to the last delicious morsel. Eating as if every delicious mouthful were the last, and then. Devour the delicious skeleton bones to the last delicious crumb. And them wee-bastards tongues will pass across the delicious blood. Licking it deliciously to the last delicious drop.
TERROR . . . PIT BULLS 2
Her bedroom oak door she opens walks out into a wee-dark hall. Noise and movement was coming from the kitchen. The teenage girl shuffles inside faced Mum and Dad soon to leave for work. Both were sitting at a gate-leg table drinking tea. Milk and sugar lay close by a pottery teapot. Built into a stonewall, a cast-iron fireplace combined with oven and domestic coal grate. On top of it an iron-kettle sits all alone. Steam rises out of its spout. Years boiling water over a coal fire made the kettle, black on the outside. Burning coal in the iron-grate gave a dying red glow of heat.
“Ay Maggie. Good mornin’, dearie.” Mum said, noticing her daughter properly dressed in walking breeches, wearing a matching pullover, and on her feet-hiking boots. “You’ve got a nice day tae begin yer hikin’ holiday, I’m glad yea hid the good sense tae pack yer campin’ gear the night before. There’s nothin’ worse than rushin’ tae pack, dearie. Yea take after me, well organized. Not like some people.” Making a face at her husband who had a sloppy attitude.
Mum voiced. "Ay dearie, hive a nice time. Make sure dearie yea hive fun. Take lungfuls of lovely fresh air. It will dae yea a power of good dearie."
Dad pitched in. "Enjoy yer holiday Maggie. Yea've always been a lover of the great outdoors. Watch out fir potholes. Take care sweetie."
They watched Maggie all smiles leave. Dad with a tear in his eyes looked at his wife, saying “Martha. Our daughter disnae realize, from the moment she wis born. I dae worry about her, sometimes I worry myself sick over her stayin' out late at night. Layin' in my bed wide-awake fears of attack on her, listenin' and listenin' fir her footsteps on the landin' tae give me peace of mind. Maggie can be a constant source of worry tae me. The winding mean streets of Glasgow can be dangerous. Filled with a lot of ragamuffin crazies hurtin' people. I can’t help if I’m a sentimental old fool that’s me weakness. I’ll always worry about her, when she’s not around us. That goes fir yea as well.”
Those that were appreciated, landlord aristocrats, the educated, and the wealthy owned these homes. Which employed an army of men named factors' representing their financial interest. Those factors' were hand picked, tall mean and creepy with long-skulled features, ghost-like to intimidate the renters. Dressed in long, black frock coats button to the neck. On their heads, black stove-pipe-top-hats. They in a superior manner come knocking on your door weekly for the rent money and. God help you if you didn’t have the money. Whoever occupied that home ends up evicted. Homeless, at the mercy of rat infested streets and disease, babies, children, the ill and the elderly. They were all imminent to death by the thousands.
He is one of a great many employed by the Gas Board. That routinely, turns Off and On wall fitted Gas Lamps inside tenement stairwells. Which lights up these dark stairs at night.
She continues walking down the aged, worn stone stairs. Long sash windows decorated the walls, where the morning sun streamed through. When reaching the foot of the stairs. She was between the maroon tile walls. Trimmed in a glossy black, bull nose barley twist tile. Maggie carried on through the close, a five by fifteen foot long tunnel effect dark passage to daylight, making a right turn. She kept walking the cobble pavement to meet Peter, on each side of her. Grey stone tenement buildings far as the eye could see. The tenements sloping black slate roof caught her imagination. It was the colour of oil black and smooth under a bright sky. A shaft of sunlight flashed on steeples, spires, towers, and tall chimneys, which cluttered the skyline of the city. In the backdrop Maggie heard shipyard sirens bang on the nose to start work, and then. Pounding noises of iron rivets that pierced the air, and she jabbed.
"Bludy awful, sounds like a burst of machine gun fire, how these riveters can stand the fuckin' noise all day long, beats me. They got tae be made of fuckin' iron. Ay . . . iron men buildin' iron ships. I suppose some of us hive tae work on."
Maggie wanted to distance herself from that noise. She sped off happy feeling the warmth of the sun, and thinking. No work for two weeks. Isn’t that great. Ay, there’s nothing better than a hiking holiday.
“Oh ay Peter that sounds great, long long summer hours of hikin'. I know I’m in strong safe hands.” She knew he had a sense of direction.
“It’s goin' tae be a smashin’ holiday, Maggie. Hikin' through the Highlands of Scotland. That has quite a history, and tragedies. People still talk about spiritual forces like. The Thunder God means action, fierce clans who'd fight tae the death. The Lightning God means power, strong people who'd rule others. The Wind God means nature, natural people who'd love the land, traditional stories as old as the heavens. Ancient people inhabiting Scotland in Roman times worshipped them as statues. These gods the ancients believed protected the Country from its enemies, and brought about good harvests. Ay hen there're a lot of legends where we're goin'. It's part and parcel of hikin'. The country sweet fresh air will dae us both a world of good, hen. Free as a bird. No schedules tae keep dae our own thing, hen.” He added flashing a big smile. “It’s a wonderful feelin'. We wont be cooped up indoors all day workin', hen.”
They giggled in joy amongst hundreds of people, heading to Railway Stations, Ferryboats, and Coach Depots. Marching through the ancient heart of Glasgow, which is a famous engineering City and a bustling merchant City. That’s in her best prime of producing big heavy material, and men with skill craft to perfection.
Both were inside at the rear of the coach, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder looking at passengers in front. Peter chuffed that he’s on holiday, said quietly rubbing the palms of his hands together.
“It wont be long till we leave Glasgow behind, hen. Then we’re in the countryside of sweet smellin’ flowers, forest, and hedges.”
“Ay hen, the village is like Edinburgh steeped in history with ancient stone buildin's. In fact the whole of Scotland is ancient like one big history book. A lot of good things that happened and.” He twisted his upper lip. “A whole lot of bad things that happened,” he added smiling. “Okay hen let's go. Rumble tumble.”
“Ay . . . dae yea hear me spirits in the land beyond. Let it be known after death. I wish tae be free as a deer hoofin' around here. Oh ay . . . if only I could be a deer after death. I’d never leave these surroundin's. It’s breathtakin' and mysterious.”
“While we wait fir the water tae boil, hen. We’ll dae our daily exercise. Fifty press-ups on hands and fifty uv leg work, up tae our chest and down tae the ground. The physical effort improves our heart and lung power, hen.”
He counted out loud "one, two . . . " going from number to number. Their bodies straight as a line with arms, legs, and breathing in perfect rhythm together. They made it look easy as pie.
It was impossible to understand they still had voice. He struggled to speak with his last breath.
"I'm--so--sorry--Maggie. I--love--yea--hen--always did."
She heard him while gasping her final words.
"I--love--yea--tae--Peter. See yea . . . ay, in--the--land--beyond."
Then, their blood red delicious bodies went dead stiff.
The deer's apparition glowed on these cute words she bayed at the moon and stars.
They trotted off side-by-side across the heather to haunt their paradise. Hoofing across countryside roaming eternally together with the Wind God.
Chapter 2. Inspector Marshall's Urgent Visit
Please scroll down Terror Pit Bulls Chapter 1. Satan Appears