Bookshop
I walked into the second hand book shop to escape the rain. No one came to question me. The musty interior echoed the tinkle of the antiquated door bell as I entered.
Curiously I eyed the shelves laden with titles from the past. Sherlock Holmes caught my eye. Idly I flicked through the yellowed pages.
A shuffling sound broke the silence. I turned to greet my fellow customer and saw, noone!
Could I have imagined the sound? Replacing the volume, I moved cautiously round the high shelves and then I saw him, a dark shapeless mass lying half hidden amongst the paper backs littering the floor.
I knelt beside him,"What are you doing here old fellow?" I murmured, not daring to touch him.
He raised his head and whimpered. His dark eyes registered a plea for help but even as he attempted to rise, his legs gave way and he lay still amongst the dust.
Where had he come from? Not from outside; his coat was dry. He must belong here but where was his owner?
On tiptoe I moved toward the dark oak door at the back of the shop. The silence was so deep I could hear my own breathing. My heart hammered within my breast. The door creaked as I pushed it open. I peered into the gloomy store room. Inside there were no shelves only tables laden with boxes of books and yet more books.
"Hullo," I called. "Is anyone here?" My voice crackled through the still interior and then I saw them propped against the wall;a pair of jeans! One leg sagging and crumpled the other standing upright boot in place. Horror sickened in the pit of my stomach. "Pull yourself together my girl," I told myself. "It's some macabre joke."
Gingerly I moved toward it one finger extended. I gave it a quick prod and a scream rose to my lips as the leg drunkenly fell.
Summoning all my courage I began to search for it's owner. Although I am only five foot two, I had to duck to go through the arched opening in the wall. It opened on to a steep flight of stone steps. Again I called,"Is anyone there?"
There was no reply. Slowly I made my way down. At the bottom I found a small kitchen with an open fire faintly glowing. In front of the fire was the room's only floor covering, a hand made rug and beside the rug on the red tiled floor lay the body of a man.
I knelt to feel his pulse. Thank God he was alive! He was dressed in a jumper and socks, one boot lay on the floor nearby. There was no blood and his only injury appeared to be a huge bruise at the side of his head.
I dragged him on to the rug and then poked the glowing embers scattering a fine white ash. I added fresh coals from the gleaming copper coal scuttle which stood on the tiled hearth.
He stirred,"Are you all right? Can you stand?" I asked. "Not without my leg,"he growled. "That young hooligan took my leg. Where's Bess? I told her to get him."
"He killed her," I said. There seemed no way to break the news gently.
"Are you sure? That she is dead I mean."
I nodded. "I'll call an ambulance and the police."
"No! No need for that. I'll recognise the young perisher when he comes back and I'll be ready for him. Pass me my leg."
I could not suppress a shudder as I picked up the leg although I could now see the supporting body brace but the leg itself looked and felt like flesh.
He was a slightly built man, which was as well, since I was obliged to help him into a chair before he could struggle into his jeans and strap on the leg.
"What did you mean when you said you would be ready for him? Surely he is not likely to return."
"He'll return," he said, his mouth set in a hard firm line. "I have something he wants and Bess stopped him getting it."
"You won't have Bess to help you next time," I warned."Wouldn't it be better to leave it to the police.?"
He shook his head then grasping my wrist he commanded,"Promise you'll say nothing of this to anyone. No matter what you may hear in the future."
"I jerked my arm away. "You mean if I read that you have been found dead I am not to go to the police?"
He nodded, "That's right. No matter if I or anyone else is found dead. You say nothing."
There seemed no harm in indulging an old man's whim for I could not believe the perpetrator of this crime would return.
It was when I read the following evening's paper that I realised the enormity of that promise.
'Dog and youth killed in cellar fall.
An unidentified youth fell to his death in a local bookshop.
The owner, Mr Shore, said the youth tripped over the dog, which rushed up the steps when he heard the youth's approach. Mr Shore,who has only one leg, fell himself when he tried to go to the youth's assistance. Both the youth and the dog were dead by the time the ambulance arrived.'
Of course I reasoned, he wouldn't get away with it. They were sure to realise the dog had been dead too long.
After the inquest I called in again on the second hand book shop.
"Mr Shore?" queried the bespectacled young man. "He sold up after the accident. His dog was killed you know. Never got over it. Had her cremated and
a headstone at that dog cemetery. Don't hold with it myself," he sniffed.
"still you've got to feel sorry for the poor beggar."
"And the youth?" I asked. "What was he doing here."
He leaned over confidentially. "Don't breath a word but I believe..."
I fled from the shop one promise of confidentiality was enough.
07923 572 8612
Comments powered by CComment