The Watcher

Frank "The wife beater"

Frank was pretty steamed, the room felt like it was spinning and the noise of the other customers in the pub sounded like a loud roar that hurt his ears. He was a well-built man running to fat with broad labourers' shoulders and a square head, his small dark eyes were set too close together and his nose was crocked from past fights. Frank was a mean drunk; the landlord had been watching him warily, on nights where Frank downed pints like tonight it usually ended in violence or damage to the landlord's property. He'd have barred him years ago if it wasn't for how much he spent. Frank's wife, a small, washed out, bird like woman with bobbed mousy hair had just come out of the bathrooms, her wide eyes were fixed on Frank, and she felt her heart beat faster. She hurried towards him, reading his agitation and knowing that he'd not heard her explain her visit to the loo and was now working himself up about where she'd got to. Before she could reach him however a regular stepped out in front of her "Polly" he slurred, propping himself on the bar "pretty Polly" he laughed drunkenly at his own joke, and she gave him a watery smile trying to manoeuvre around him. The drunk clutched her arm, she felt the heat of Frank's stare and knew he was watching her, she tugged her arm away and the man teetered off balance. Frank made a beeline for them, and Polly felt her heart sink into her sensible shoes, between gritted teeth Frank hissed "we're going home. NOW." Polly nodded, there was no point trying to explain or argue, she'd tried that enough times when she was younger and not yet cowed, it just made it worse, and she'd learned over the years that keeping her mouth shut meant he'd burn out quicker. Out in the fresh air Polly took a deep cleansing breath, the silvery twinkle of the stars in the inky night sky were beautiful and she drank it in for a moment. Her peace was shattered as the door slammed and Frank appeared at her side "what the fuck you doing stood there like a retard staring at the sky?" he sneered, and Polly ducked her head. "Cat got ya tongue?" Polly shook her head but didn't speak, Frank grabbed her arm and yanked her along with him, his vice like grip digging into her soft arm and she knew it would come up in bruises again. The weather was starting to warm up, but Polly rarely wore short sleeves however hot it got. Polly stumbled as he tugged her along next to him, his long strides too much to keep up with and she almost lost her footing. Every time she lagged, he cussed her and pulled harder, Polly could feel hot tears stinging her eyes, but she forced herself to hold them back. Crying really upset him, if she let them go, he'd lose it and she knew he was just looking for an excuse. By the time they reached the park Polly was breathless with the exertion of keeping up with him, so she was grateful when he stopped still, although that feeling didn't last long. "Are you screwing him?" Frank's voice was low and deceptively calm, Polly felt her blood turn to ice, her stomach churned, and her bladder filled. "You heard me. Are. You. Screwing. Him" Frank emphasised each word, Polly didn't have to ask who he meant, this was about the drunk in the pub. She shook her head not daring to try and answer him, she looked at the ground and tried to steady her breathing. The need to pee was now overwhelming and she needed to get home and use the bathroom before she had an accident. "Look at me when I speak to you bitch." Polly gave a shuddering breath, her chest hitching with the effort not to cry, Frank pushed her, his open hand against her shoulder and she stumbled backwards. Only just keeping her balance she was unprepared for the next shove and this time she landed on her bum, the damp grass soaked into her jeans and made her bones ache. Her bladder was burning, and she tried to focus on anything but her need to wee. Pushing her hands against the floor she eased herself back to her feet and seeing Frank was already striding off up the path jogged over to join him, he didn't wait or slow down and she had to break into a run to catch up. Frank didn't even look in her direction as she got to his side and they marched on in silence, Polly resisted the urge to fidget with her jeans in a bid to stem the threat of wetting herself.

Frank was stewing, he kept seeing the image of that man touching his wife in the pub earlier and in his mind, she was smiling and flirting back, right in front of him too, making him look an idiot in front of his mates. Frank stopped suddenly and Polly nearly ran into the back of him, he spun round, and his face flushed with rage, without a word his hand shot out and he grabbed a fistful of her hair. He yanked her towards him as hard as he could feeling some of the strands tear out of her scalp, her involuntary yelp of pain infuriating him more. He swung her round and then let go and as he did Polly felt the stream of urine fill her jeans and soak down her legs. Frank curled his lip in disgust "I should tell him he's welcome to you. Filthy bitch." Polly choked out a sob "please Frank, no more" but Frank was oblivious by now, he raised his hand and punched her in the face, she turned just in time, and he caught her under her eye rather than square on the nose as he was intending. Oh great, another shiner, she thought hoping he was spent. Frank raised his hand again and this time he was on target, she felt her nose explode and the metallic taste of blood running into her mouth and then down her chin. Her vision blurred and she didn't see the next blow coming but she felt it, she tried to stay on her feet, but her legs gave way and she collapsed onto the damp grass curled in a ball. The blows and then kicks rained down on her and she turned her face into the wet mud lying as still as she could until mercifully, she slipped into unconsciousness.

Frank poked her still form with his foot "come on Polly get up you stupid bitch, we gotta get home." Polly didn't move, Frank felt a spark of fear, her face was pale, and he couldn't see her breathing. "Shit, shit, shit" he muttered to himself suddenly sober and aware of what he'd done. Looking around warily to make sure no-one was about he backed away from her and not knowing what to do he started back to the path. Frank jumped when he realised that curled up on the bench in clear view of what had just happened was a homeless guy, wrapped up in his sleeping bag with just his woolly hat poking out. He hoped the man had slept through it all. Then Frank had a thought, this could be a bit of good luck, someone else who could take the blame for Polly's injuries, he ran it through his head and imagined himself telling the police how he'd seen the homeless guy on the bench and then look at what happened to his poor wife. The homeless man wriggled in his bag and then sat up, his toothless, hollow face looked almost skeletal in the moonlight and Frank tried to hurry on past him. "I saw what you did to that girl over there" the homeless man's voice rasped ending on a deep chesty cough that left him breathless. Frank glared at him "you didn't see nuffing, keep your fucking mouth shut." The old man smiled at him or rather he parted his dry lips and his mouth yawned open in a horrific imitation of a smile. "you'll be sorry for what you did" Frank scowled at him but didn't bother replying. The old man laughed harshly then he did a strange thing, he clicked his tongue twice and as he did Frank heard the sound of something scuttling through the undergrowth. The jab of something sharp sinking into his legs startled him, blood flowed into his shoes, and he felt his flesh tearing as whatever it was pulled away. Looking down a wrinkled brown face with small black eyes looked up, blood, his blood, ran down it's chin and a piece of his flesh was stuck in its pointy teeth. Frank felt nausea burn up his throat but before he had time to vomit the old man clicked his tongue twice more and the creatures swarmed towards him like a rapidly flowing brown river. Frank's legs gave way and the creatures clambered across him, each one found itself a soft spot and he felt sharp teeth chewing into his flesh. He tried to call out but the only sound he made was a dull groan. The creatures wiggled and writhed until they'd got under him and around him, rough little paws grabbed him, and claws dug into his wrists. Before Frank passed out, he felt himself being half dragged and half carried backwards, the wet grass rubbing along his back and above him all he could see were the silvery, twinkling stars in an inky black sky.