A stranger shelters from the storm - what dark secret does he hold?
COLD CUTS .
A short story by Lionel Mussell
Even though there had been storm clouds in the late afternoon sky, Jack and Mavis Stroud had nothing to really warn them of the ferocity of the weather they were to experience that night.
Isolated as they were in the mountainous country about thirty kilometres north of the Dividing Range in Central Victoria, they were quite used to coping on their own and were looking forward to a cosy evening around the fire. With the children away for a few days with friends in Melbourne, it was like the early days of their marriage and they felt as comfortable companionship as they settled down after dinner in the old but well-preserved armchairs placed so they could both see the television without having to crane their necks.
“I’m a lucky bloke,” Jack thought with the memory of the delicious roast they had just eaten fresh in his mind. To have a wife as practical as Mavis who still enjoyed the little caresses and subtle flattery he often used to tease her with. A woman to be proud of - still good-looking at forty-five - and not worried by the loneliness with the nearest neighbours a good three kilometres of twisty gravel road away.
The ever cheerful weather man at the end of the 6.30 television news didn’t alarm them although he talked of worsening weather conditions and his warning of gale force winds in Bass Strait had a remoteness that wouldn’t affect them as they lived so far from the sea.
“Care for a drink dear?” Jack asked as they settled back to watch the mid-week movie. “Thanks - I’ll have a brandy and dry please,” she replied with a quick smile. “And could you put another log on the fire while you are up?”.
The warmth of the fire, the soothing effect of the brandy plus the dullness of the repeat movie on the box combined with the stuffiness of the room soon had them both nodding off, relaxed in their easy chairs.
CRRRRAAASSSH! A sudden crack of thunder woke them with a start and they looked at each other in surprise as the lights flickered a few times.
Now fully awake, they became aware of the wind that had risen un-noticed and was now howling through the trees that surrounded the property.
Just then a brilliant flash of lightening lit the room brighter than daylight and Mavis hurriedly jumped up and drew the blinds just before a tremendous clap of thunder - louder than the one that had woke them - crashed upon their ears.
“I think I’d better get some candles ready in case the power goes off,” said Jack as he eased himself out of his deep chair.
He had only just got back to the room when a sudden crashing and cracking in the distance outside was immediately follower by pitch blackness relieved only by the feeble flickering of the fire that had died right down while they slept. Fresh creaking and groaning sounds now intruded into the once peaceful weatherboard homestead as branches of trees bent to incredible angles by the fierce wind, rubbed against the roof and walls.
Rain had started to fall quite heavily and mighty claps of thunder still rumbled and crashed through the sky moments after the jagged flashes of lightening filled the room with light despite the now tightly closed curtains.
“What’s that? exclaimed Mavis with a slight tremor in her voice. “What’s what?” Jack replied as he busied himself putting more wood on the embers of the dying fire.
“That knocking noise,” she answered holding her head to one side to try to hear better over all the other sounds that filled the dimly lit room. “It’s nothing - just the wind and trees,” her husband tried to re-assure her as he tried to find the emergency number for electricity supply in the flickering light of a candle. “I might as well try the Electricity Board,” he said, “although I don’t suppose they can do much until this storm is over.”
“Oh damn! The phone’s off as well,” he said with a slight edge of irritation creeping into his tone as he rattled the receiver rest up and down.
Than he heard it too.
A distinct pounding that sounded to be coming from the front door. “Who the hell would be out on a night like this?” he thought with dismay - all hopes of a cosy night fast disappearing.
“I’ll go,” he begrudgingly offered, “you stay here and keep warm - put the kettle on there’s a dear and we’ll have a cuppa in a minute.”
The banging was getting more insistent and he shouted, “All right I’m coming - keep yer flamin’ hair on!” as he fumbled in the dark with the bolt.
As he turned the handle the wind nearly pushed the heavy door out of his grip. “Quick, let me in,” shouted the dark figure as it pushed him to one side and rudely started down the passage towards the faint glimmer of light which showed under the lounge room door.
“Hang on - who the blazes are you?” cried Jack as he pushed the door shut and rushed after the stranger - trying to get ahead as they entered the room in case the muffled figure should frighten his wife.
“What is it dear?” asked Mavis - her voice rising in pitch as she saw the sinister, bedraggled figure standing near her husband. Water was dripping from his dark overcoat and from the brim of the hat that almost hid his face. In the candle glow it was just possible to see that it was a man and his dark eyes reflected the candle-light in a strange and eerie manner.
“It’s all right missus,” the man spoke for the first time since entering the house so abruptly. “Sorry if I scared you a bit but to tell the truth I was frightened myself - ever since that big tree nearly got me,” he explained as he began to unbutton the sodden coat.
He told them his car had broken down hours before as he was trying to find a short-cut through the hills to get to Healeston to see his girl friend and the storm had caught him as he had walked to seek help.
With relief he had seen the Strouds’ lights shining across the paddock as he struggled against the wind and rain and he had started down their long drive when a huge tree, its roots loosened by the rain and buffeting wind, had crashed down nearly crushing him in the process and bringing the power and phone lines with it.
The story sounded believable enough although he had a furtive way of looking around the room from time to time. Both Jack and Mavis put his red-rimmed, blood-shot eyes down to the battle with rain and wind he had just been through.
True country people, they soon had his clothes drying in front of the fire which by now was again burning well. Wearing some of Jack’s old clothes, he ravenously spooned down the bowl of thick, hot soup that Mavis had produced in a matter of minutes.
As his body warmed, his manner thawed too and soon Tom - he told them that was his name - was telling them about his parents and how like the Stroud’s they had been. Unfortunately they had been killed in a tragic motor accident a few years earlier.
Tom had been an only child and had adored his parents. He had been terribly upset by their death and had taken a long while to get over it.
One of the things he had most enjoyed as a youngster had been cold cuts from the roast and his father had always let him carve as he seemed to have a real flair for it. “Would you like some now?” asked Mavis in her motherly way. They had only eaten about half of the leg of lamb she had cooked for dinner and she brought it through with the board and the special knife she had ‘conned’ from her brother who was a butcher.
“Come on Tom, you can carve if you like seeing you reckon you are so good at it,” she said in her joking way.
Taking the knife in his hand Tom examined its edge carefully. He asked for a steel to sharpen it and gave the gleaming knife a vigorous stropping - testing the edge with his thumb from time to time until he was satisfied.
Just then they all jumped as a further sudden hammering on the front door made them realise the wind and rain had almost stopped.
Jack hurried to open it. “Who now?” he thought. “Surely not more strangers.”
The burly figure this time turned out to be a familiar one - Martin Coles, the local policeman from the nearest town - a friend of the family for as long as Jack could remember.
“Come on in - we’ve already got one visitor,” said Jack opening the door wide and standing to one side to let the policeman in.
Jack did the introduction - noticing how beautifully Tom had carved thin slices of lamb while he had been answering the door.
Martin explained that he had been out checking storm damage and seeing the tree downs in the Strouds’ drive had decided to pop in and see if everything was alright.
After a hot drink and a meat and pickle sandwich, he said he had to be moving as it was getting late. “I’ll give you a lift into town Tom,” he said.” “We can arrange to have your car fixed first thing in the morning.”
After they left - Tom had seemed very grateful in his thanks to them both and a little reluctant to leave - Jack and Mavis hugged each other close and agree it had been a shocking evening but could have been worse.
Quite early next morning they woke with sunshine streaming through the bedroom window and a tapping at the front door with a voice shouting a cheery, “Come on - get up you lazy stay-a-beds!” It was Martin back again and over a cup of coffee at the kitchen table he explained the reason for his early call.
“Didn’t want you to hear it first on the radio and wonder what the blazes was going on,” he said. “Tom isn’t ‘Tom’ at all. His real name is George Campbell and you were darned lucky I arrived when I did. He’s a very dangerous young man - an escapee from Elmworth Prison - and he never had a car. That was all a cock-and-bull story he told you.”
“As a matter of fact,” he went on, “I was really out looking for him when I came here last night but I didn’t want to alarm him until I got him to the station as there was no telling what he might have done if he’d guessed I knew who he was.”
Jack and Mavis looked at each other in shocked silence.
“What was he in for?” Jack finally asked.
Martin looked very solemn and ponderously cleared his throat. Taking out his old pipe he methodically packed it and then used several matches to get it going properly to his liking.
Then, and only then, did he tell them. “It was murder - that young man got home one night and went berserk. He killed his father, mother and his two young sisters for no reason that anyone has been able to discover.”
In the deep silence that followed nothing could be heard except the steady puff, puff of Martin’s pipe and an occasional twitter from the birds outside in the bushes.
At last Jack spoke, “I suppose he did the job with a butcher’s knife.......................
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