Little Horrors

Dedication

Rowan Ann Scott

1949-2015

Samurai Badger: Growing Old Disgracefully

MR BADGER LIKED HIS bed. Of course, he loved his wife, but his bed was what he loved the most. He had a long-lived affair with his duvet and pillows. Who could blame him? He dedicated sixty years of his life towards the creative arts and child welfare. When he wore his Salvation Army uniform for the last time, he envisioned a quiet life by the countryside.

It was easy to spot him anywhere; leopard-striped shorts, white vest, and a heart-shaped beard. His wife and son used to say men of his age should dress sensibly: he took no notice. And that was another reason why he liked his bed: nobody could tell him what to wear.

He never did move to the countryside as he spent most of his life savings on frequent holidays, samurai swords and a motorbike. His wife had traded him in for a younger model but didn't bother divorcing.

A policeman knocked on his door.

Are you Maurice Badger?

He went blank, then shook his head. I've never heard of a Maurice Badger.

That's funny, the copper snapped. We only know of one Mr Badger in this property.

Yes, I'm Mr Badger.

Well, we've had reports of a man matching your description wandering around Bicester Village waving samurai swords.

Really? Mr Badger acted surprised.

I have a warrant to search the property. If we find anything, we can charge you for holding a dangerous weapon.

Be my guest!

The police were there for about half an hour, only to find nothing. Mr Badger was furious, he had only made the bed earlier, and now it looked like a bomb had hit it.

You found anything? Mr Badger asked with a toothy grin and folded arms.

No, the copper shouted. I'm off. I've got better things to do then follow old nutters like you.

Mr Badger jumped straight back into the bed again. Don't forget to shut the door behind you.

He waited until the police had left before calling his son.

The person you are calling is not available to take your call. Please leave a message after the beep.

All right Son? Don't forget to bring my swords back when you've got the time.

His neighbour, Stephen Duffy, barged through the door, squeezing through the narrow corridor. Behind him was his wife, Ai.

Mr Badger! We're here!

He groaned as he asked himself if he would ever get any peace? Mr Badger sat himself up as they sat on green chairs in the corner of Mr Badger's room. Ai's emerald dress blended with the chair. You've been painting again, she said. I love that picture of Kyoto Bridge: takes me right back to my childhood.

Mr Badger nodded. Thank you. How did the case go?

Stephen leant over towards Mr Badger.

It's a happy ending! Take away the fees; I'm getting £25,000 in compensation.

Mr Badger raised his fist in the air. You teach those heartless bastards a lesson, he roared. I just had the police round.

What for? Stephen asked.

For waving swords about in Bicester Village, he laughed.

Why would I be in Bicester Village for?

Ai shrugged her shoulders. I don't know.

Mr and Mrs Duffy thought that Mr Badger was sensational—he knew it more than anyone else. They felt that he couldn't even hurt a fly.

These coppers don't know what they're doing, Stephen was interrupted by a knock on the door. I'll get that! He opened the door. Hello, Audrey!

Hello, I've brought Mr Badger's shopping.

Audrey! Mr Badger squealed in delight with the soft sound of her voice and the rattles of glass bottles. How lovely to hear your voice.

Audrey was so thin and small that Mr Badger couldn't spot her behind Stephen's bulky frame; he was amazed his chairs could even hold his weight.

Where are you? Love? Mr Badger called.

I'm in the fridge putting your stuff away.

Thank you so much!

Then there was another knock on the door. This time it was Mr Bagder’s nephew, James Dozen. He was an aspiring author with an imagination bigger than the Eiffel Tower.

Uncle Badger! My, you're popular today.

Oh, James, it's you. Have you got anything new for me to read?

Yes, James said as he ran to his uncle's bedside. He presented his uncle with a blue paperback.

A Journey Through the Haunted Country by James Dozen... this looks exciting. How is your biography on Alan Rickman getting on?

Selling reasonably well, James admitted. Not quite the bestseller yet.

And what's this novel about?

It's a ghost story mainly: all the characters are dead.

Mr Badger chuckled. I better be careful, or else I'll be in the sequel.

The next two hours felt like mere minutes. Having visitors was a great thing, but even more happy to have that tranquillity that he always wanted. He could finally go to bed, he thought. He didn't care that it was only three in the afternoon. By the time he woke up, the sun was down. His fingers twitched out of boredom. He didn't fancy reading anything or staying in the house, so he hopped out of bed and took a ride on his motorbike.

He drove outside his wife's bungalow and noticed her standing outside the window. He pulled over by her window. If the motorbike's engine didn't wake her up, he didn't know what would. It was his turn to knock the door for a change.

What do you want, Maurice?

Sylvia! Mr Badger squeezed her with both his arms. I missed you so much.

I didn't.

I've been quite lonely without you.

Stop playing games, Sylvia shrieked. You come driving into my house in the middle of the night and act as if nothing has happened.

But you love me...

Not anymore, Sylvia hissed. You've changed Maurice. You used to be a nice and gentleman. Now you wave swords about in public and pretend to be bedridden, so half the street worships you.

I don't do that, Mr Badger said. Now, don't be silly. I've got the kettle in at home. Let's have a cup of tea together.

It will get cold by the time we get to yours.

It will be fine: I will ride fast on my motorbike.

That piece of junk?

It's not junk - her name is Sylvia II.

As daft as it is, it's...

Sweet like you?

Took the words right out of my mouth there.

Mr Badger took Sylvia by the hand. Let's go home.

A Lament By Maria Jigsaw

LAST MONTH I LOST MY husband to a knife. Tonight I lose my dignity in the name of justice. Hollywood films warned us to be careful of twins; at least one of them is evil. I never thought that this silly trope would ever apply to me as I watch my stepsons duck their heads into a police car. Dodging selfish paparazzi and lippy colleagues, I storm to my car and drove home.

I think back to the time when Kevin and Hugh were teenagers.

They had just finished school when I first met them. They had been living with a raging alcoholic and a man who forgot what leisure was. That man was Dwain Jigsaw. He became my husband. He gushed over me ever since he met me. Always bragged about my dark hair and peachy complexion.

He still worked every day after we got married. When he returned home after a fourteen-hour shift, he would spoon-feed me his love.

I pull over at my husband's house. It's not my home anymore; maybe it never was. That's me done with work till Monday morning, but my seat in the bar will be empty this weekend. I try to cling onto the happy memories I had as I stroll in the door.

The picture of the twins smiling on the cabinet near the staircase sent chills down my spine. The bright future they could have had is now a tarnished dream. A long bridge that has been burned to dust. I could always tell them apart in pictures. Kevin would always smile sincerely whilst Hugh still had a grey face.

I will never understand why they chose the path they did. Kevin and Hugh worked together to try and help each other get away with their crimes. Kevin was a serial killer and trickster willing to do anything for fat bags of money. Hugh wasted his life away on video games and tricked the council into believing that he was disabled. I wondered if Kevin would have tried to kill me?

And would Hugh have tried to stop him?

I just want to see my kids! Kevin would moan every morning as he tried to call Marisa for the millionth time. Hugh had locked himself in his room as Dwain smoked outside. Dwain always spoke ill of his sons. He called them epic disappointments which I always thought was odd since he spoiled me and Harumi rotten.

The boys always had good grades, and Kevin was an IT consultant in Birmingham. He also had two lovely children that he fought to see often. Even though Hugh was unemployed, he was kind and was always happy to go and take Harumi out for Trick-Or-Treating or do shopping.

If the boys wanted something, they would have to get it themselves. If Harumi or I had a request, Dwain would travel all four corners of the earth to get it. One would think this would be bliss, but I often feel like I'm an intruder in the family.

Kevin and Hugh were both smart and handsome boys.

If only Dwain were kinder to him, then he and the mother of his grandchildren would still be alive today. I wanted to pin the blame on Tami Westley, an art student, who stalked Kevin to the brink of insanity. Hugh even pretended to be Kevin just to try and keep his brother safe. Hugh knocked her up, which only made the stalking worse. Tami's youth somewhat excuses her.

She probably thought she was in love, and she was innocent.

I had seen the text messages she had sent to Kevin. I would have wanted to strangle her too wasting bandwidth like that.

I check on Harumi, and she seemed peaceful in her Peppa Pig sleeping bag. She was safe. That was my priority. She was all I had left in this world. I don't even know if I'm qualified to work in the police force after living with two of them under my nose.

The bottle of wine stares at me in the kitchen. I really fancy one right now. I yearn for the bittersweet liquid in my mouth. Just as my wrist twists the lid, I hear the dogs barking next door. I felt as if my bubble had burst and popped me back into reality as I bury the bottle in the bottom aisle of the fridge.

Fanny Bru's Big Cock Up

A TEAM OF ASTRONAUTS led by former glamour model, Fanny Bru were travelling in space looking for Jupiter. The rocket, named Willy was small, but it performed its duties well. The ship earned its name from Fanny's father: William Bru. Assisting Fanny Bru was her right-hand man, Mike Faulty. His knowledge was fatter than his think rake body, but like his hair, all went to waste.

Then there were the three students from Edinburgh University; Alan Coward, Maud Meek and Waffles Stardust. Mike grumbled on his chair with his arms crossed. His eyes fixated on the red lights. We should have brought some more fuel, he muttered.

Let's turn that beeping off. Fanny pushed the emergency land button, and Wil y zoomed at a rapid pace. Crash! They didn't know where they were, but they survived, and that was all that mattered