HAPLESS HARRY

HAPLESS HARRY

This is the tale of a courageous human being called Harry Ashworth and I don’t say the word courageous lightly.

You see from day one (the moment Harry was born) all the odds and pitfalls the world could possibly muster would be gathered together in readiness for poor Harry and at exactly 2.59pm on the 17th of January 1962, baby Harry arrived or should I say “popped,” out of his mother, Dorothy Ashworth - Dot to her friends.

Irony was to play a major part of Harry’s life and the first of many of them was he was actually delivered by an undertaker, who just happened to be his father, James Ashworth (Jimmy the Boxer) to his close friends.

Harry was an only child and as such had the full treatment as in being spoilt rotten. The Ashworth’s were a fairly affluent family so Harry could have virtually what he wanted.

The problem was, no matter what he ate, Harry remained as skinny as a bone which used to really bother his mother, but not his father. 

Evidently Mr. Ashworth was of the tall thin build himself and once declared, if young Harry was ever going to take over the family business then it wouldn’t do for him to be fat and small, all undertakers in his eyes were tall skinny and of course sombre.

But Harry was abnormally thin, so much so that on several occasions the family pet Labrador, “Bob” and for some inexplicable reason, would pick baby Harry up by the scruff of his neck and then try to bury poor Harry in the back garden. 

On the last of those occasions his mother audibly declared, “that’s it, I’m taking him to the Doctor’s Jimmy, even the bleeding dog thinks Harry’s a bone.”

Little Harry was poked and prodded and everything seemed to be going swimmingly until Harry, on having his gums examined duly proceeded  to chomp on the good Doctor’s index finger. 

Harry’s baby teeth were unusually developed and incredibly strong and try as they might, both alarmed parents could not extricate little Harry’s teeth off the now unconscious Doctor’s little finger. 

Indeed it was only after placing a large chocolate marshmallow near Harry’s mouth that the finger chomping infant let go and with a little cry of glee immediately seized onto the round chocolate treat.

Baby Harry grew into toddler Harry and in turn toddler Harry became schoolboy Harry and this is really were we find out where Harry’s life is heading.

****

The secondary school Harry attended was your usual North of England working class type comprehensive school with mixed genders and at that time as I suppose nowadays, stealth, agility as well as a mean streak were the prime components needed to survive in the harsh environment that was the school playground. 

Along with the added spice of a headmaster that had surely learned all his teaching skills from the Marquis De Sade himself.

Harry’s parents for all their good intentions made a series of mistakes when it came to preserving their son’s street credibility. 

One of them was dropping Harry off to school every morning in the family hearse and can you believe sometimes with a coffin in the back?

So as well as the embarrassment of having pupils and teachers gawping every step of the way, ordinary folk in the street would politely bow their heads or if wearing any kind of headwear, respectfully remove it.

Harry used to cringe at first, even though his father would cry, “there’s no shame in burying the dead! It’s the same as any other profession and anyway, someone’s got to do it” and whenever he said those words, James Ashworth would always cast an uncomfortable eye on his son Harry. You see Harry had no intention of following in his fathers footsteps.

On one particular morning the long black hearse arrived outside the school entrance and as Harry exited the coffin carrier, pupils could hear Harry’s father scolding his son. 

Apparently Harry had, behind his fathers back, been waving in a royal manner at members of the public which of course caused offence to them. 

Here they were, showing due respect for the dead only for some little upstart to wave regally back at them like he was some kind of bleedin royalty or something.

*****

Harry was a first year pupil at Croxton Secondary Modern, which in today’s terms would be year 7 and there were approximately 30 pupils (truancy pending) in Harry’s class. 

Of course no classroom would be complete without the ubiquitous school bully, who in this case just happened to be called Billy. “Yes I know, Billy the bully.” 

Billy Craddock had the usual assistance (cronies) and this particular group of predatory opportunists were known throughout Croxton school quite simply as “the mob.”

Harry entered his form room and as he did so he was greeted with a chorus of howling, Harry couldn’t believe it, what was going on?

“I take it you didn’t go to the pictures last night Ashy?” (Harry’s nickname) said Billy,
“No I didn’t, what was on?” Replied Harry.

“Well can’t you tell?” Said an incredulous Billy. “Only the hottest bleedin film of the year.

Harry still had a, I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about look on his face when Billy Craddock knuckle rapped Harry on the forehead. “Da - Hello Ashworth, ”the curse of the werewolf?”

Billy carried on with the lowdown. “It’s a brilliant film especially when the main werewolf sinks his fangs into this guys neck and then he too becomes a wolf man. 

It was at that point Billy lunged toward poor Harry and duly sank his teeth into Harry’s left shoulder.

Harry screamed! Even under the shirt and jumper he was wearing he could tell Billy must have drawn blood. “Well?” Said Billy.

“Well what?” Cried Harry, furiously rubbing his shoulder as well as trying his best not to cry. 

Rule no 1 with bullies, “never cry.” 

Billy gestured toward all the other classmates, girls included and said, “now I’ve bitten you, you’re one of us.”    

Exactly at that point everyone in the classroom began to howl again and Harry, the penny now having finally dropped, proceeded to leap up onto one of the classroom desks. 

Now on all fours and head thrown back, Harry howled in true wolf fashion, “OWWWWL.”

It wasn’t until a good five minutes later that Harry suddenly realised “he” was actually the only one still howling..Quickly glancing round Harry saw that the rest of the class had their note books out and were studiously and silently pouring over them.

Harry, still on all fours, then slowly turned the other way and saw for himself the reason why all his classmates had suddenly transformed back into human beings.

The last howl from Harry wasn’t so much a howl it was more of a pathetic yelp when he saw standing directly in front of him “the headmaster.”

“Well boy, anything to say for yourself?” Said the head, now towering over a quite terrified Harry. 

He didn’t know why he did what he did next, but the first reaction to come out of Harry’s mouth wasn’t a human one, it was more of a muted yelp, I suppose a bit like a baby wolf cub would do.

Mr. Nibbert, the headmaster, was furious and at first Harry wasn’t sure if it was the howling reaction to being what he was doing, or the raucous fits of laughter from all the other pupils? 

Harry yelped again, though this time, it wasn’t of his own accord. Mr. Nibbert (his Nibs) had fastened a forefinger and thumb onto the hapless pupil’s left ear. 

Still on all fours, doggy style, Harry was duly led all the way to the headmasters study and his fate, much to the baying delight of the whole of form 3H1.

Twenty minutes later a wretched Harry was howling again, though this time and rather disturbingly, almost identical to a real live wolf, but of course punctuated by loud thwacking sounds.

Receiving six of the best from Mr. Nibbert wouldn’t be the first time Harry got personally acquainted with “willy whacker.” 

This was the head’s pet name for the four foot length of rattan cane that used to literally “sing” as it swished through the air seconds before impacting on some unfortunate pupil’s backside.

Indeed it didn’t matter how tough you were. As in most cases, the moment of true mettle and fortitude came when the head, having called in a witness would say two little words that would be indelibly stamped into the memory for eternity.

"BEND OVER."

*****

It was 1978 or to be more meaningful in Harry’s case (year 11) his last at Croxton Secondary Modern and in Mr. Ashworth’s eyes his son was coming of age.

Which of course meant it wouldn’t be long before Ashworth’s funeral directors became “ASHWORTH & SON FUNERAL DIRECTORS.”

***

“What! 

What in the world are you talking about boy? It’s all set up ready for you, a suit, gloves, I’ve even bought you a top hat and ceremonial cane for the really posh funerals, what on earth are you bloody talking about?”

James Ashworth, Harry’s dad, was in a strop, he really hadn’t envisaged this and he was absolutely livid, how dare Harry knock his old man back and an indignant Jimmy told his son just that. 

Standing in the corner of the kitchen now holding a pot of tea in one hand and wagging an accusing finger at his son with the other he carried on.

“Do you know how many lads would give their eye teeth to walk into a job like this straight from leaving school and it’s not just any job, it’s a bloody good trade and another thing?” 

The finger was wagging even more now, in fact if anybody had been passing by and looked in through the window they would have sworn Harry’s father had the palsy.

“There’ll always be a need for undertakers and Harry?” Jimmy Ashworth switched into beseeching mode now, sort of try another track, a bit like coppers do when they interrogate a suspected villain, good cop bad cop etc

“You’d be following on in the family tradition, in fact nearly everyone that’s died in Croxton has been buried by an Ashworth, an achievement not to be taken lightly young man and anyway.” 

Jimmy went through another psychological gear (cunning) and cocking an eyebrow glanced across at his wife and of course Harry’s mum Dot, then said. 

“It’s what your mother’s always wanted isn’t that right love?”

Dorothy Ashworth looked up from her knitting and the incessant clacking of needles temporarily ceased. 

Looking carefully at her husband and then over at Harry, Dot dropped the bomb 

“I think it’s up to Harry, if he wants this job as a stone cleaner then I think we should let him do so. What’s the point in forcing him into something he doesn’t want to do and in any case if it doesn’t work out he can always come back to the family business Jimmy.”

Mr. Ashworth looked stricken, however he didn’t say anything, he just continued to stare at an equally surprised Harry. 

Even Harry himself hadn’t expected his mum to come out and say what she did, though he was grateful.

Jimmy suddenly smiled, albeit a tad cynically and said. “Just you wait. I’ll give it a week tops. Out in the pouring rain, sixty feet up in the air on scaffolding sandblasting, breathing in all that dirt and dust, not to mention all that dangerous acid they spray onto walls to clean the brickwork. You’ll be begging me to take you on” and with that Harry’s dad declared he was going to the pub, he needed to think and beer apparently helped him do so.

******

A bell rang, a short pause and at this point, still silence, then suddenly a door flew open and at least two dozen year 11 pupils, holding hands over their heads in a sort of protective fashion fled for their collective lives.

However it was all to no avail. A carefully orchestrated battalion of pupils, all specially selected for their aim, waited gauntlet fashion. 

 Billy Craddock, so used to being on the giving side instead of the receiving like he was now, had already perceived what was going to happen. 

On the orders of “fire“, everyone in the firing line dropped to the floor and it has to be said with military precision, that is all except one.

If this had been on TV and there had been a close up action replay, you would have seen the horror written all across Harry’s face as he realised “he” was now the only target! 

Harry tried, even at this late stage to drop to the floor, but it was all too late. 

He screamed as what must have been at least a hundred or so rotten eggs pelted into him.

Billy and his cohorts all just wriggled away like bizarre giant caterpillars with obviously the larger target being poor Harry, the focus from the throwers became even more intensive as the screams got louder. 

One hour later something that resembled a creature that could have come only out of a lunatic’s nightmare staggered toward number 23 Rydale drive.

“Freeze.” 

Mr. Ashworth had anticipated this moment and had subsequently prepared for it. 

Using a mop stale, he gently manoeuvred his son directly over a storm drain they had in the back yard. 

Picking the hose pipe up and using both hands [the pressure was a beast] Mr. Ashworth shouted “ready?” Then Harry screamed again.

******

So another phase in Harry’s life came to pass, as he departed the scholarly routine and embraced the working regime or more commonly known to the rest of us as the grindstone.

The first few weeks in the world of gainful employment went quite well for Harry and his new employers “WRIGLETONS STONE CLEANING LTD,” were so impressed they decided it was time to let him loose on the sand blaster.

This device was long metal fluted tube about a foot in length. The tube was attached to a long hose which in turn connected to a large compressor which of course propelled the sand from a nearby hopper at high speed.

The job in question was small church (St. Bartholomew’s) scaffolding had been erected and plastic sheeting around the church formed a protective cocoon.

Most of the actual work had been completed so Jack Harper [Harry’s boss] decided it was about time young Harry cut his teeth and duly informed the excited teenager he would now be allowed to finish the job whilst everyone else went for lunch.

“Don’t forget,” said a solemn Jack. “Brick by brick, left to right like I showed you before, it’s dead easy, wait for the pressure to build up and point the nozzle.” Picking up the sand blasting gun Jack demonstrated again for what seemed like the thousandth time.

Harry was glowing with pride, everything his dad said about him not being able to cut it in the quote, “real world of work,” unquote was now being proved wrong. 

He had now been given a golden opportunity to prove he was a reliable and productive member of the Ashworth family and prove it he would.

Switching on the compressor unit Harry swiftly ran back toward the church and picked up the sand blasting gun, then it dawned on him, “shit, the helmet!” 

The helmet was a protective piece of headgear essential in sandblasting and looked not dissimilar to the type of helmet used in welding.

Reaching down to pick up and place the helmet over his head, sand had already started to burst of the nozzle. 

As Harry hurriedly placed the helmet on his head, the sand blasting nozzle was pointing underneath the protective rubber flap which was attached to the helmet thus spraying a barrage of sand into Harry’s face rendering him blind.

In a panic Harry withdrew the nozzle and pointed it outwards.

Harry couldn’t understand it, as well as not being able to see, the pressure on the gun seemed too much and as such developed a life of its own propelling Harry backwards!!

Using instinct and blind determination, Harry continued to point the nozzle at what ever it was he was supposed to be sandblasting. 

*****

Situated directly facing the church was the reason for the protective covering.                    

Antonio Spinneti surveyed his children. 

They were in fact automobiles, but to Antonio they were much more than that, they were works of art, his babies and just for today he’d decided to take them all out of the showroom and display them the way they were meant to be, plus it was great advertising.

In a sort of camp fashion Antonio minced over to take a peek at the church opposite. 

Satisfying himself those idiots weren’t working, like that was unusual, typical British workmen, probably sat on their arses smoking and swilling tea somewhere. 

Not that Antonio minded, it gave him an opportunity to display his beautiful children out on the forecourt for the first time in a week at Auto De La Crema Italia.

Antonio blew a camp kiss to his beloved metallic offspring which incidentally consisted of one Lamborghini Murcialago, one Maserati Diablo and finally a brace of Ferrari GTO 180s.

Antonio gushingly skipped back inside, indeed if “he” got a rush at seeing such automobile ambrosia what would the punters think?

Had Antonio Spinetti bothered to salivate for maybe a few more seconds he would have seen the impending and ensuing apocalypse.

****

Harry knew he was mobile, but he really couldn’t do anything about it, it was as if the bleeding tube had developed a life all of it’s own, plus he still couldn’t see anything. 

However, Harry dutifully kept moving the nozzle in a left to right fashion, hopefully using the knowledge as well as the constant reminders from Jack, he would get the job done.

****

Having been suitably fed and watered courtesy of the local café, Jack Harper rounded the corner and headed back to the church. 

As he passed that flashy Italian car place he smiled, he could have sworn he’d someone wearing a sandblasting helmet just putting the finishing touches to a Post Box Red Lamborghini. 

Jack looked again and a part of his brain said “yes, you were right the first time, “run,” don’t even think of an explanation, just fucking run and don‘t look back”

And run Jack did, straight to the company van, two hours later, a red Bedford van sporting the logo WRIGLETONS STONE CLEANING LTD screeched to a halt outside a large building marked “DEPARTURES.”

Harry’s sight finally returned just as the sand ran out of the hopper and the compressor also by now had chugged itself to a halt. 

Pulling the helmet off his head, Harry surveyed his handy work, though somewhat puzzled why a tall dark haired man in a pink silk suit lay draped motionless over the bonnet of a sand coloured Ferrari.

******

“See that?” 

Cried James Ashworth as he stabbed a thin bony finger in the direction of the satin lined coffin. 

Harry edged closer and nervously peered into the pinewood casket. “That,” shouted Harry’s dad, “is a lesson son, a lesson in how one minute you’re here.” At that point Jimmy Ashworth tenderly readjusted a pink bow tie that happened to be attached to the pink silk suited corpse’s neck and then theatrically displaying both hands as if it was a winning prize on a TV game show said. “And then you‘re not!”

Harry, though he didn’t want to, gazed into the coffin and at the recently deceased Antonio Spinetti. 

Harry had grown up in this business so wasn’t a stranger around death and corpses, however this particular case was a tad different to all the rest and not so much as in the manner Antonio had departed it was as he now looked.    

Think of seeing your wife in bed with your best friend, or maybe your dad, after finally climbing the summit of mount closet and planting the flag of  “hello” you‘re gay” then caught red handed sensuously snogging your boyfriend.

Well, as Harry continued to stare at the pink silk suited cadaver laid to rest, he couldn’t help wondering why the man’s facial expression looked like it did. 

It was a sort of “oh my fucking God,” please tell me this isn’t happening look and though Harry knew he’d been the owner of those fancy foreign motors and obviously loved these cars. The look on the dead man’s face was reason enough why Harry hadn’t wanted to be a bleedin undertaker in the first place.

Of course the aftermath of what happened at Auto De La Crema Italia resulted in Harry’s sudden change of heart, not that he had any choice in the matter. 

From that moment onwards, especially after the local rag had finished, poor Harry had become untenable to virtually any prospective employer.

**ENTER THE SANDMAN - SAND-THE NEW BLACK**
 Along with **BLAST AWAY THOSE WINTER BLUES WITH A NEW COLOUR IN YOUR LIFE - SAND**. 

These were just a few of the droll headlines printed in the Croxton Gazette.

James Ashcroft didn’t even bother to ask Harry if he wanted to join the family business, Harry just automatically turned up the next morning dressed in the black outfit that his father had initially bought for his son.

To begin with, the police investigation into Antonio’s death centred on Harry, which of course would be the correct assumption given the fact Harry was placed at the scene along with the smoking gun, or in this case a sandblasting tube.

However once realising Harry’s age and given the fact he was under adult supervision (or was supposed to be) the police turned their attentions to Harry’s boss. (One Mr.Jack Harper) who for some inexplicable reason seemed to just disappear into thin air. 

The finger of guilt pointed even more accusatory at Jack when the company van was discovered outside the departure hall at Manchester International Airport.

So it came to pass, Antonio Ferrari Ducati Spinetti became Harry Ashworth’s very first customer. His father insisted that even though they were disposing of human remains, “they” were the reason Ashworth Funeral Directors existed. Harry didn’t even try to say, weren’t the remaining relatives the real customers, he just went with the flow.

As the bright metallic pink casket was gently lowered into the ground and “The chain,” by Fleetwood Mac played in the background, Harry didn’t for one second think the next job would actually be both his parents!

*****

Some drunken lunatic had pinched a JCB and and believe it or not these vehicles are actually quite fast.

Speeding down Nelson Mandela Avenue pursued by three siren screaming police cars, a shower of sparks cascaded from the large metal bucket off the tarmac.

Then the runaway digger slewed hard right onto Thompson Street and smack bang into a certain Mr. and Mrs. Ashworth, who just happened to be enjoying a casual stroll toward the local bingo.        

Both Mr. and Mrs. Ashworth suddenly became the steel bucket’s latest tenants and afterwards the police still weren’t sure whether it was the impact of being hit by the JCB that claimed the lives of Dot and Jimmy or the fact that idiot driving the monster digger had somehow activated the lifting mechanism on the bucket.

With the bucket raised high in the air along with its two guests, the digger then decided to race across the Croxton Plaza tramlines and of course, the overhead “live” electrical cables that ran up and down said tram track. “Well,” if the impact didn’t kill, then the ensuing electrocutions surely did, the only consolation being the joy riding digger thief got fried in the process too.

****

One week later, two solitary figures stood in the pouring rain and watched as two more caskets were slowly lowered into the ground at St Bartholomew’s church yard. 

One of the watchers was of course Harry, the other happened to be the only other surviving member of the family Ashworth.

Tommy Ashworth turned around and glared at young Harry then stabbing a finger at the two graves said. “It’s a good job the bastard that did that got burned too, because I’d have done for him myself Harry, mark my fucking words.”

Thomas Ashworth or Uncle Tommy to Harry was of course brother to the late James Ashworth, Harry’s dad. 

Harry didn’t know too much about Uncle Tommy, he and Jimmy didn’t really see each other much, however that was all about to change, well for a short time anyway.

Because Harry wasn’t still legally able to hold a burial licence due to him being under the age of 21, Ashworth funeral directors was now registered under the name of one Thomas Archibald Ashworth, who also in the process immediately became the sole legal guardian of Harry.

The healing sands of time shifted and Harry, along with his uncle Tommy carried on with the three hundred year old tradition of Ashworth’s bearing the responsibility of putting the good folk of Croxton to rest.

It was the 17th of January 1983 and more importantly Harry’s twenty first birthday bash. 

As everyone knows being 21 means that yes, finally you’ve “become a man,” from the male perspective of course. But more importantly for Harry it meant he could now hold a burial licence which in turn meant “he” could now run the business without his uncle Tommy interfering all the time.

Indeed from day one Tommy Ashworth had been a right pain in the arse and at every given opportunity tormented poor Harry in a number of ways.

First off, it started with the hiding in the coffin and then springing out of it joke. 

Then Tommy got all technical and started leaving tape recorders switched on inside the caskets that were situated in the chapel of rest. 

Prospective customers viewing said caskets would suddenly stop dead on hearing the muffled cries of “Help, I don’t want to die," along with "let me out, let me out now!” 

Losing all colour in their faces they would scream then turning tale run for their lives. 

Sighing heavily,  Harry would then stride over to the talking casket, reaching in he would pluck the offending device out and switch it off.           

The worse prank of all though and Uncle Tommy really had crossed the line here? 

Was the time Harry had been to a party with some friends, these particular friends happened to be Goth Punks who found Harry fascinating especially since the fact that he was an undertaker and of course his association with the dead. 

Plus they were always round at the chapel of rest asking Harry if he minded if they tried out the caskets..  

Harry didn’t mind, though drew the line when the lids went down, even Harry found that to be “just a little bit too weird.”

Tommy heard Harry retching into the toilet and knew he was drunk, waiting until Harry had gone to bed, Tommy crept into Harry’s bedroom and smiled. 

He’d been waiting a long time for this, bleeding little upstart, constantly reminding him that it was “his” business, well he’d show the little ingrate.

A few days earlier Tommy Ashworth had acquired some personal belongings out of a house clearing, which was what Tommy actually did for a living. 

 A business which tied in nicely with the undertaking business as well really, people died and usually all the house contents would be sold or got rid of, new start and all that.

These possessions consisted of one rubber doll complete with blond wig, an old wedding dress and bizarrely an old human skull. 

Someone must have acquired it for a Shakespeare play as in “alas poor Yoric” etc.

Inflating the Floozy Suzy love doll, Tommy then popped the head and quickly sealed the puncture, carefully folding the head back inside the neck cavity. Tommy then, using super glue, affixed the human skull to the currently headless Floozy Suzy.

After covering the doll in the wedding dress, the finishing touch was applied, the long blond wig.

Standing back and admiring his new creation Tommy decided to implement his plan. 

Ever so gently, Tommy scooped the still skinny as a bone Harry up and off his bed. 

Carefully carrying the slumbering adolescent down into the chapel of rest, Tommy then again gently, laid Harry down in one of the show coffins.. Now manoeuvring him in the recovery position Tommy completed the jape.

Tommy positioned the love doll, complete with new head and hair and as well of course the resplendent virgin white wedding dress alongside the sleeping Harry.  

Just for extra refinement Tommy placed Suzy’s hands across Harry’s chest as well as entwining both sets of legs together 

[the love position]

One last final touch, Tommy carefully placed the skull head’s mouth so it was virtually touching Harry’s now fluttering lips.

Leaving the two newly-weds together, a laughing Tommy skipped off to bed, he didn’t even have to set the alarm clock that night, it would be “Harry” that would awaken Tommy later that day and in the most spectacular  fashion.

As you can imagine Harry awoke just as he was about plant a large soppy kiss on the blond of his dreams. 

Opening his eyes the first thing Harry saw, was a long blond mane, he couldn’t believe his luck, he must have pulled at that party last night and noticing the blond had her hands around Harry’s neck suggested she was game.

Placing both his hands either side of her head Harry open mouthed kissed the blond. 

It wasn’t until Harry wondered why firstly; she felt really cold and also why she didn’t seem to be moving as well that something didn't appear to be quite right.                   
     
As Harry turned his body around to get better leverage he suddenly realised he was holding a blond woman’s head in his hands, then the wig fell off revealing the ghoulish skull! 

At first Harry tried to scream, but he fainted instead. 

After recovering and realising he was actually inside a coffin with what he thought was a dead person wearing a wedding dress he passed out again. 

Third time lucky, then came the screams and Tommy woke up.

*****

That was it for Harry, he’d had enough, so Uncle Tommy liked playing practical jokes did he? Well two could play at that game. 

Harry consulted his Goth friends who agreed Tommy had gone too far this time, though secretly quite liked Tommy’s sense of humour, the guy did have an inventive mind, you had to give him that. 

However “he” wasn’t their friend, Harry was and as such, suitable revenge would be exacted.

So on the night of Harry’s twenty first birthday, operation “Get Tommy” swung into action. 

First off Tommy was unknowingly spiked with a tab of LSD, later on [the children of Vlad] Harry’s Goth friends, would explain to a distressed Harry that the reason for the tab was essential to the plan for it to work.

Everyone was in fancy dress and even though it was January and not the 31st October, Harry wanted the theme to be Halloween. I mean how could you not have a fancy dress party for a 21year old undertaker’s birthday and it not be Halloween themed?

On condition that Uncle Tommy could attend the party, he had to dress up as Count Dracula, full makeup, fangs, cape, the works. 

It was when the party had approached the end and all of the revellers had gone home, that is apart from [the children of Vlad] Harry and Tommy of course that the grand plan took place.

Slipping the tab into Tommy’s umpteenth Bacardi and Coke, it wasn’t long before the LSD started to take effect. 

The first signs of it working were that after Tommy had managed to pin down one of the female members of the COV, he didn’t so much try to kiss her he actually to bite chunks out of the terrified female‘s neck, much to everyone’s alarm.

After restraining Tommy, the COV along with Harry, tied Tommy up with the same rope that was used to lower coffins into the ground. 

Dragging him to a nearby sarcophagus Tommy was then unceremoniously bundled into the casket.

Looking around at everyone Harry shouted “ready?” 

Suddenly a grey haired character wearing a false beard and top hat appeared. 

Clutching a bible in one hand and a large wooden stake in the other, he pointed directly into the open coffin at a now terrified and confused Uncle Tommy.

“You are the spawn of all that is evil and as such, I Doktor Van Helsing will send you back to the pit of hell whence thou came.” 

Making the sign of the cross and then with both hands raising the wooden stake high in a thrust like position the grey haired youth screamed the words,
“Die bloodsucker.”

Everyone cheered and laughed as the wooden stake plummeted down towards Uncle Tommy’s chest, then cheered even more as the realistically looking shard hovered only inches away from poor Tommy’s rapidly beating heart.

It probably took about five minutes to realise that something had gone horribly wrong when screaming into the coffin Harry cried “gotcha.” 

 However there wasn’t any response from Tommy, nothing at all, eyes still wide open and rather disturbingly a bit like that time Antonio Spinetti looked after the car sandblasting incident.

“Is he, erm, you know, erm is he dead?” Asked a frightened member of the COV.

Another member of the COV who just happened to be a student nurse and swiftly taking over, checked Tommy’s vital signs.. There weren’t any!!!

There followed instant panic and everyone venomously began to point the finger at poor Harry. “It’s your fault he’s dead Ashworth it’s all your fault!”

“Why’s it my fault,” replied an incredulous Harry.

“Because you’re the one that said to get your own back,” cried one of the gang of six COV.

“Yea,” screamed another finger wagging Goth, “it was “your” idea so it’s all your bleedin fault he‘s dead.”

“But I wasn’t the one with the stake and if “you,” Harry was pointing directly this time at the member who had administered the tab of LSD. “Hadn’t spiked him with the acid, my uncle would still be alive right now.”

All six Goths were already heading for the door of the funeral home. “Where are you going?” Cried Harry. 

“Where do you bleedin think?” Replied the student nurse. “To the cop shop of course, cos if you’re not going to confess, we’re gonna make sure as hell “you” take the blame and don’t forget.” 

At this point the student nurse smiled an evil smile. “My daddy’s a policeman and would certainly believe me over you, sad pathetic little Harry no friends, plus it’s six witnesses against one.”

******

It’s times like this when some human beings, faced with adversity and terrible consequences change into something they were never meant to be, or maybe they were, who knows? 

Well it was at this particular juncture in young Harry’s and it has to be said rather wretched life that “he” became that something, Harry became a killer!!

Raising both hands in the air Harry said. “Hang on hang on, look I think you’re right, but if I’m going to turn myself into the authorities at least let me enjoy the rest of my birthday with at least one more drink along with the only friends I have?”

Incredibly, in a mixture of feeling sorry for the hapless idiot and more importantly, finishing off the rest of the free booze, the six members of the children of Vlad seated themselves back at the table. 

“No” shouted Harry, “I’ve got some imported Jack Daniels downstairs in the cellar that my folks brought back from America, why drink cheap cans when you can drink the really good stuff?”

All six Goth’s looked at each other and then almost not believing how fucking stupid this guy was all nodded that they would indeed prefer a drop of the old JD and would also be helping themselves to all the rest of what was lying around in Harry’s house after the coppers had arrested him, yes indeed.

Heading down into the dank cellar, Harry switched on the light and peering around for a few moments found what he’d been looking for. 

 Thamaldicide Potracic Nitrate, said the label on a little blue bottle along with a warning skull and crossbones logo stating -*CAUTION- DEADLY POISON*.         
                             
Picking up two bottles of JD, Harry proceeded to pour some of the amber coloured liquid out of one of the bottle’s and into the sink, then topping the same bottle back up with the Thamaldicide he screwed the top back on.

Walking back into the reception room a member of the Goth’s made a lunge for one of the Jack Daniels bottles and snatched it away! 

With dread Harry realised it was the wrong one, “fuck,” what would he do now?

“Just a minute.” 

The student nurse stood up and holding the bottle aloft and into the light she stared long and hard at it. 

Looking back at Harry, she offered the bottle back to him. Gesturing for the other bottle at the same time, “not that we don’t trust you Harry,” she smiled. Harry smiled back, however his was of genuine relief.

Passing the bottle round in turn, they didn’t even bother to wait for glasses; the children of Vlad swigged the entire contents in rapid fashion and Harry sitting sipping only a tiny bit of his share, sat and waited for the deadly poison to work its course. 

Amazingly Harry didn’t have to wait long, and bizarrely, just before all six Goths died where they sat, each and every one of them turned and stared directly at Harry. 

All gaping in that same bemused “why” expression, that seemed to be happening a lot around Harry Ashworth.

******

Three hours later, the last of seven bodies entered into the blast furnace environment that was the inner chamber of Croxton Crematorium and an overall wearing Harry Ashworth then drove the company hearse back to the funeral parlour. 

It was approaching 4.o clock in the morning and Harry would have to get his head down. 

Or when the inevitable Bobby knocked on his door asking had he seen so and so and would he care to make a statement then Harry would obviously need to be refreshed and clear headed.

Harry had been able to dispense with his uncle and all six members of the COV, because like the funeral parlour and chapel of rest, all undertakers had access to areas where there was anything to do with the dead. 

Whether it be burials or cremations, not that they were supposed to actually cremate people, that was for the staff at the crematoriums who were mostly employed by the local authorities.

But when you’ve been to these places the amount of times Harry had along with his father you tend to pick up a few things. 

Like what temperature the furnace should be on when a cremation were taking place and of course how to turn the damned things on and off. 

Believe it or not, it’s all done with a switch, just light the pilot and “WHUUUMP,” gas mark 8.

There followed a series of enquiries regarding the strange disappearances of six young Goths.

Amazingly enough, Harry only got questioned the once and that was by a lowly uniformed PC. 

He hastily scribbled a few notes after he’d asked the obligatory questions like, how well did you know them and did he have any ideas where they went after leaving the funeral home?

Even at this stage, Harry was learning to be cunning when under inquisition. 

Just before the Police Constable arrived at the funeral home, Harry purposely prepared one of his latest customers for embalming. 

Whilst asking questions about the missing six, the young green faced PC somehow couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off the deathly white corpse in front him being pumped full of Formaldehyde.            

The headlines and hullabaloo that followed it finally died down and Harry just carried on with the business of disposing of people whose time on planet earth had simply come to an end.

There weren’t any problem regarding uncle Tommy’s sudden demise either and that helped with the fact he wasn’t married and there weren’t any other outstanding relatives, so no one really cared basically, which of course suited Harry down to the ground.

*****

18 months later. 26th of June 1984 to be exact and Harry claimed his eighth victim!!

 Once more like the other previous incidents  fate yet again dealt Harry an unfortunate hand, indeed after reflection Harry really couldn’t have done anything else....

Harry had known Molly Bishop since the beginning of the year..

This chance meeting happened at one of Harry’s funerals and Molly just happened to be one of the many grieving mourners there on that particular occasion.

It was love at first sight..Indeed a sure sign of that earth shattering moment came when after both Molly and Harry clapped eyes on each other. 

In Harry’s case, whilst constantly gawking at the young pretty brunette across the grave side, he momentarily lost concentration and forgot to tie his end of the coffin rope correctly.

Consequently on the signal of commitment from the Vicar, instead of the casket being lowered into the grave in the usual solemn manner, it slid out of the rope harness torpedo fashion!!

The coffin crashed into the gaping hole and now stood on its end, vertically.

Amid the screams and shouts as well as frenzied scurrying from the attendant grave diggers to try and drag the recently deceased out of the hole, a love struck Harry just continued to stare at Molly across the graveside..

Molly got the love signal and subsequently leapt right across the gaping grave and straight into the waiting arms of one Harry Ashworth (undertaker and serial killer)

Two months later and after a sumptuous meal at the Hanging Dragon restaurant Harry dragged a rather tipsy and very giddy Molly back to the funeral home. 

Ushering her into the chapel of rest he knelt down on one knee.

Slowly pulling a little black velvet lined box out of his pocket, Harry proceeded to open it..Inside was a beautiful white diamond engagement ring..Holding the ring out toward his beloved Molly’s left hand he asked for it in marriage.

A now utterly gob smacked Molly reached down in response..Taking the ring with her left hand she slowly lifted Harry’s chin up with the other and a large tear dropped out of Molly’s left eye blobbing itself onto Harry’s upturned nose, “but we’ve only just met Harry,” whispered Molly.

“I know,” replied Harry, “but I really love you Molly, did so the minute I met you and I think you love me too?”

At this point Harry had risen back up off the floor and edged ever closer to the woman he loved more than life itself.

Molly also loved the skinny tall young fair-haired guy now standing in front of her and she now knew that he was the only man she ever wanted in her life..

Slowly placing the engagement ring onto the correct finger, Molly reached toward Harry and with both arms embraced her lover, then after kissing him tenderly on the lips Molly said, “yes.”

Both betrothed, screaming with joy then leapt toward each other, the only problem being Molly was a lot heavier than the scrawny built Harry and as a consequence the momentum carried both lovers backwards and in a tumbling fashion both smitten love-birds crashed into an open show casket..

Two months after that, Molly and Harry got hitched.

Now back to the present.

It was a bright sunny June afternoon when Freddy Bolton walked into the Croxton National Savings Bank.

Casually strolling up to the cashier’s desk and smiling serenely at the pretty young blond teller behind the glass booth Freddy handed over a little piece of notepaper.

The blond stopped smiling immediately after reading the contents of the note which said, have you seen what I have in my hand? PTO.

The bewildered bank clerk slowly turned the note paper over which also said. No it’s not a pineapple and yes, if I pull the ring, “you” along with everyone else in this poxy bank will be turned into fucking mincemeat.
Yes I know you’re probably thinking I would buy the farm too, you’re right, but I don’t give a fuck, I’ve just been diagnosed with terminal bowel cancer so don’t give a flying rat’s arse either way. 

Now just be a nice girl and fill that bag up with all that money and everything will be alright.

As the now terrified woman started almost mechanically to do as she was instructed, she couldn’t help noticing the robber as well as not even bothering wearing a mask had a sort of grotesque smile and constantly seemed to be licking his lips.

Following the non confrontational procedure that most high street banks now advocated, the young teller swiftly proceeded to stuff large denominations of bank notes into what appeared to be a canvas type shopping bag.. Attempting to push the now full bag back out into the sliding metal draw, Freddy lifted a hand up in the stop position..Still not saying a single word he “alarmingly” dropped the hand- grenade into the metal cash dispensing draw and motioned to the cashier to her herself to place the hand-grenade on top of the booty.

Now really spooked, the petrified teller slowly and very gingerly picked up the small but extremely deadly device and placing it into the canvas shopping bag, pushed it into the dispensing draw.

Seconds later Freddy skipped away and out onto the high street..

The blond bank teller screamed ferally, hit the we’ve just been robbed button and then collapsed into a rather unceremonious heap on the floor.

“Shit,” cursed Freddy, heading toward him was a marked police car and he knew it would only be seconds before the call came through and a description issued, he had to disappear and fast, glancing swiftly up and down he spied the perfect hiding place

Holding the canvas bag up to shield his face, Freddy ducked into a doorway and shortly after that entered a building sporting a black and white façade adorned with the words (H.Ashworth-Funeral Directors)                                 

By instinct, evading capture and certain incarceration tends to do strange things to a person and the first thing Freddy wanted to do was lift up one of the polished coffin lids, jump in and pull the lid down, brilliant who else would have thought of that?

On hearing the doorbell go Molly, the new Mrs. Ashworth, entered the chapel of rest display area section of the funeral home.

Molly had to pinch herself, she could have sworn she’d just seen a tall red haired man climb into one of the display caskets and close the lid down behind him?

Glancing around to see if Harry was about, he wasn’t, he must still be outside in the backyard attending to the hearses engine again..So with trepidation Molly slowly approached the recently occupied casket.

Molly just didn’t know what to do, so she leaned over and rapped several times on the coffin lid, no response, Molly repeated the knock..Suddenly the lid flew open and a hand grabbed Molly by the throat..If Molly hadn’t known there was anybody in there then surely the shock alone would have been too much for her heart to stand, however she was still bleeding terrified.

Starting to go blue in the face Mrs. Ashworth was slowly beginning to lose consciousness as the vice like grip of Freddy continued to squeeze the very life out of poor Molly.

Freddy wasn’t particularly concerned the fact it was a woman he was throttling, anyone that got in his way was a threat and when he’d done with her, “she” would be replacing Freddy in the same coffin, albeit this interfering bitch’s stay would be a permanent one.

Now in the sitting position and maximizing the power of his grip Freddy waited for the tell tale signs of the body going limp. Suddenly, from nowhere, a four foot metal cane, complete with a solid brass ornamental top, crashed directly and into a rather bemused looking Freddy Bolton‘s face.

In fact the impact of the solid brass embossed cane was so severe, it had left an indentation of the letter H square in the middle of a now quite dead Freddy‘s forehead..Slamming the coffin lid shut and securing it, Harry turned his attention to his still unconscious wife.

Thankfully a now grateful and extremely sore Molly survived the vicious attack, though was at a loss as to what had become of her assailant.

Just in the nick of time Harry had wandered back into the chapel of rest.

The reason was to retrieve the ceremonial cane his father had bought him several years ago, on discovering the dramatic events unfolding in front of him, Harry had no hesitation in rushing to his wife’s defence.

Swinging the cane around with both hands and in an arcing fashion, the brass H embossed head connected with a sickening thud instantly collapsing the frontal cerebrum and believe me that takes some doing.

Shortly after he’d taken care of Molly, Harry transferred the casket’s new occupant into the hearse and headed for St Bartholomew’s, 

Harry knew from earlier on that three new plots had been freshly dug and it wasn’t long before the late Freddy Bolton, (bank robber extraordinaire) was, if a little prematurely, finally laid to rest.

******

Two weeks later, a large parcel got delivered to the Croxton National Savings Bank and a mystified head scratching bank manager couldn’t quite understand why someone would send him a green canvas shopping bag carrying the grand total of £25,000. 

The same day a rather confused bank manager tried to get his head round why 25k had been mysteriously delivered to his branch, a certain married couple, after completing business wondered into the immaculately manicured gardens that encompassed St. Bartholomew’s grave yard.

Walking hand in hand, Harry and the love of his life wandered over toward where only two weeks ago Harry had deposited Molly’s vicious attacker.

Looking around after arriving at that same spot Harry said, “I can never understand why people find graveyards so spooky, I mean look” and as Harry said those words he gestured around with an outstretched hand.

“No,” replied Molly, “me neither, it’s quiet and peaceful and more than anything else it sort of makes you understand that what time you do have here, well, you’ve just got to make the best of it really.” 

As Molly said those words she pulled her husband close to her bosom and gazing into his eyes whispered, “I so love you Mr. Ashworth and after that episode last week in the chapel of rest, well it’s really made me think that we were always meant to be.”

Just as Harry was about to reply, Molly interrupted him by placing a finger to his lips then said, “by the way what happened to that lunatic, I don’t think the police caught him did they?”

Harry smiled and said, “No the police didn’t catch him, but I’m sure he got what he deserved don’t you?”

Molly looked sort of quizzically into her husband’s eyes then said, “You know something don’t you, are you keeping secrets from me Harry Ashworth? Because if you are, you know I have a way of getting them out of you.” 

With that, Molly slowly placing both hands around Harry’s head,  gently kissed the true protector and love of her life and all Harry did was moan softly.

Directly six feet below from where Mr. and Mrs. Ashworth were in passionate embrace, a small live hand-grenade detonated with a dull “WHUUUMP” and the ground beneath Molly and Harry slightly shook.

Molly broke off the kiss from Harry and said, “Wow,” did you just feel that?”

Harry knew what “that” was and he also knew one day it “would” go off though being six feet under solid earth wouldn’t cause anyone any harm.

Harry beamed another large smile and just before engaging his beautiful wife in another passionate kiss he said, “well I did tell you darling, one day I would make the earth move for you”!!!!!




THE END