The Old Friend - A Collection of Tales and Poems

By Chantelle Atkins

A sinister town that's not on any map, mysterious black vans and missing people, a book that can kill you, a vengeful mother, an account of life after death, and your worst nightmares come true. This is a strange and dark collection of poems, short stories and musings on a variety of gritty subjects, such as revenge, body image, fear, death, life, motherhood, nature and writing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chantelle Atkins
• Release date: May 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201355760

Chantelle Atkins

Chantelle Atkins was born and raised in Dorset, England and still resides there now with her husband, four children, and multiple pets. She is addicted to reading, writing, and music and writes for both the young adult and adult genres. Her fiction is described as gritty, edgy and compelling. Her debut Young Adult novel The Mess Of Me deals with eating disorders, self-harm, fractured families and first love. Her second novel, The Boy With The Thorn In His Side follows the musical journey of a young boy attempting to escape his brutal home life and has now been developed into a 6 book series. She is also the author of This Is Nowhere and award-winning dystopian, The Tree Of Rebels, plus a collection of short stories related to her novels called Bird People and Other Stories. The award-winning Elliot Pie’s Guide To Human Nature was released through Pict Publishing in October 2018. Emily's Baby  is her latest release and is the second in a YA trilogy.

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Acknowledgements

A huge thank you to my family, friends and supporters.

Front cover by Luke Fielding

Copyright © 2022 Chantelle Atkins

Published by Chasing Driftwood Books

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or to any persons, living or dead, is entirely co-incidental and not intended by the author.

Author’s Note

Dear Reader,

Thank you so much for parting with hard-earned money to purchase this book, whether in ebook or paperback. It is hugely appreciated and I really hope you enjoy it. You will find in this book a collection of poems, short stories and musings on a variety of subjects. Some of these stories are quite old and have been waiting for their chance to be placed in a collection and some of them are very new. Some of them are related to my novels, published and upcoming, and many are separate stories entirely.

Before publication, I did consider the idea of adding a page at the back where I explain what inspired each piece of writing, how they might be connected to other work, or what they refer to... but in the end I decided not to. I think it is best left to your imagination. I will say, however, that the first story which takes the book’s title, The Old Friend is related to my five-book series The Boy With The Thorn In His Side. It’s up to you to figure out how.

Thank you again for your support!

Chantelle

Murder

The crows were stormy today

So many furies in their hacking call

Feet pounding, heart racing, breath hissing

Because I am not as young

As I used to be

The crows took to flight

Screamed their endless rage

Lifting and falling, silhouettes in the

Black bones

Of the trees

The crows were raging today

Perhaps they plot murder

They say they hold funerals for their fallen

If this is true, what might be in store

For us?

The crows were seething today

Their vicious call a hammer as I ran

But I am not the one who shoots them with a gun

So that they live with one eye

Trained down

I’m inflaming them just being here

No wonder they screech and cry

On the way back, a rasping sound

Like they are dying, maybe they know

That everything is

The Old Friend

The first time I saw him, he had his back to me, so there was no way I could have known. Yet, I remember something jarred inside of me. He was walking away down the lane, a hunched figure in dark clothes, hood up, head down. Could have been anyone; yet he was no one. I fell slightly into a dream though, I remember that - my eyes glazing over, as I struggled and failed to reach something adrift in my mind.

It was one of those moments. Never mind, no matter. I moved on. Things to do, people to see. Books to write. The to-do list that never ended. Now that I think about it, there were probably other times he was there and I didn’t notice. A face in the crowd. A stranger on the bus. He could have been anywhere and everywhere for a very long time.

But eventually, for reasons that became clear to me later, he made himself visible. He was waiting for me at the gate one day. A dark figure with scowling eyes. I was unnerved at first, but something about him soon calmed me, as if I knew him from somewhere. I pushed open the gate and heaved a bag of rubbish into the bin. He was lurking just behind it. There was a sadness seeping from him.

‘Can I help you?’ I asked him. When he didn’t answer...‘Are you all right?’

He just turned and walked away, and again I felt that dreamlike trance slipping over me as I watched him go for what felt like a long time.

The next time I saw him it was early morning and I was crossing the bridge with the dogs exhaling frosty breath into the sharp, cold air. He was there. Leaning over the railings. Dressed in dark clothes, but I couldn’t tell you what. He didn’t look up as I passed warily behind his back, but he did call out as I inched away up the hill.

‘You don’t recognise me, do you?’

On the way home, I walked around the long way to avoid bumping into him on the bridge again. This occasion had me rattled. I was afraid, but it was not the stranger I was afraid of.

Finally, he waited for me on the common. I suppose, now that I think about it, this made perfect sense. My wild place, open and deserted, windswept with ideas and inspiration. It’s the place I go to make sense of the mess in my head.

He seemed to appear out of nowhere that day. It was a cold afternoon. The skies were dark with impending rain. He fell into step behind me and though his eerie presence made me catch my breath, there was acceptance too. Resignation.

‘You know who I am, don’t you?’

I wanted to laugh. This was insane. I humoured him. Maybe he would give up and go away if I refused to play his game.

‘No, should I?’

He growled under his breath. I wondered if he had anger issues. I glanced at his face and saw his lower lip trembling and his jaw clenched tight. I tried to determine how old he might be and couldn’t. Young. Small under the dark clothes. I didn’t feel threatened.

‘Think about it,’ he urged. ‘Look at me.’

I rolled my eyes, stopped walking and stared into his face. He stared back, but it was almost as if he didn’t have a face. It was one thing, and then another. It was younger, and then it was older again. Only his eyes burned. Dark, flashing blue and full of pain. I felt pity and put my hand on his shoulder.

‘You know,’ he told me, gritting his teeth. ‘Stop messing me around. I need to talk to you. I need to know why you’re doing this to me!’

‘Doing what to you? I don’t understand.’

‘Hurting me!’ he yelled into my face. There was that familiarity again, like I was experiencing a tremendously heavy dose of déjà vu. Almost as if I could predict what he would next say. His fists were balled at his sides. ‘My whole life! My whole life is pain and torture because of you!’

I shook my head and walked on quickly. I felt on edge. Guilty, even. His words stung and the pain in his eyes made me feel sick. When I looked back, he had vanished.

I admit I was unnerved after that encounter. I plodded through my days, faking smiles and feeling anxious, wondering when he would appear again.

When he strode into a café one day, I was almost relieved. I felt less like I was going insane. The café was busy. He walked right in. He even held the door open for a mother with her pram. And then he made his way over to me. His eyes still burned. His body was rigid with anger and pain.

‘You’ve done this to me,’ he said, elbows on table, hands clasped under his chin.

I stared down into the coffee, watching the froth on the top circle slowly as I moved the spoon around.

‘I didn’t mean to...’ I murmured finally and I saw the flash of relief in his eyes. His shoulders relaxed.

‘You see me? You know who I am?’

I shrugged. ‘I had a feeling. But I didn’t want to admit I was going crazy...Because that’s what this means!’

‘You say you didn’t mean to,’ he went on, ignoring my fears for my sanity. ‘But that’s not true. You knew all along what you were going to do to me. How you would torture me. How you would wreck my life over and over again.’

I shook my head and sipped my coffee. ‘No. Not true. I never tortured you! I had no idea how things would pan out. It just sort of, got out of control.’

‘You need to look in the mirror,’ he snarled at me. ‘Yeah. Look in the mirror. Admit what a monster you are. I don’t know how you can sleep at night!’

‘I don’t!’ I yelled back at him. ‘Because of you lot!’

‘Oh yeah, blame us,’ he sneered. ‘When you’re the one in control!’

‘It’s not like that at all,’ I argued back, angry now. ‘You’re the ones in control of me! Not the other way around! So, if you want to blame someone, blame yourself!’

‘Yeah, pass the blame so you feel less guilty. You know it’s you who hurts me and fucks me up. You lie there at night planning it all! What is actually wrong with you? Have you ever stopped to think? You’re worried you’re going insane now? I think you should have worried about that a long time ago!’

I got up and ran out. This was too much. Either he had snapped or I had. This couldn’t really be happening. I tore down the street like a madwoman. I caught the next bus home, shaking like a leaf. I dashed from the bus stop, looking over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t following me. I felt sick as I unlocked the front door and ran inside. It wasn’t anger now. It wasn’t even fear. Not really. It was guilt. Terrible, gnawing guilt, eating away at me. Because he was right.

I ran up the stairs and there he was, lying on my bed. He looked pleased with himself now. Like he knew he had driven me into a corner.

‘So,’ he smirked, ‘this is where it all happens.’

‘Not just here,’ I argued, just for the sake of it. ‘On walks too.’

‘I know that. But years ago, I mean. When you were just a kid. You’d lay awake at night and think about me, wouldn’t you?’

I sat down at my desk and nodded miserably. ‘Yes. You were my friend.’

He sat up. ‘A friend you liked to torture!’

I glared back at him. ‘It’s not like that! It’s complicated! And actually, I gave you a lot of joy and happiness in case you’ve forgotten! A happy ending! What you do with your life after that is your business!’

‘A happy ending?’ he looked unimpressed.

I nodded. ‘Yes! It all worked out! You were happy! And you were happy lots of other times too! There were good times too. The music? What about the music?’

His face softened then. He nodded, knowing it was true. ‘It kept me going. Still does.’ He pushed back his hood to reveal the set of headphones around his neck. I smiled.

‘Anything good?’

‘You should know.’

‘Look, I’m sorry. I really am. But it’s you and the others who climb into my head...I have to do something with all that or I’d go crazy!’

He took out a cigarette and lit it up. ‘But you’re twisted, that’s the thing. You must be to come up with this stuff and let me tell you, that psycho you created? I mean, who does that? If you can come up with a human that evil, then you’ve got problems!’

‘I know. You’re probably right.’

‘So, what’re you going to do about it? I can’t keep doing this you know!’ A begging note had crept into his voice and he sounded so young I wanted to go and put my arms around him, but how could I, knowing I was the source of his pain? ‘Pain and fear and humiliation. Feeling utterly hopeless. Like I might as well be dead. It’s not fair.’

‘I’m sorry. It’s not all bad!’

‘This new stuff is!’ he yelled then. ‘Oh yeah, don’t think I don’t know about it, because I do! You hadn’t caused me enough agony, you had to come up with more? What the actual fuck is wrong with you, woman? You’re sick, you know that!’

I dropped my head into my hands. ‘It just came to me! God, I don’t know why! But I’ll make it all right, I really will. You’ll win! I promise you that!’

‘That means nothing to me, you freak. It’s extra torture for me and you know it! He’s real too, you know! That psycho bastard is as real as me! You need to stop this now, or he’ll come after you next.’

I lowered my hands and stared at him. ‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.’

‘Why the hell not? I’m here, aren’t I?’

I looked at him desperately. ‘No. I mean, why would he? He wouldn’t have anything to say to me.’ I got up then and paced the room. The thought of that man materialising in my life was utterly terrifying. I knew him better than anyone. I had created him.

‘You’ve played with his head as much as mine,’ the boy on the bed pointed out with a grin. ‘He’s got more reason than me to hate you. So, I’d do something about it if I were you.’

‘What?’ I faced him in a panic. ‘What the hell can I do? All right, if you don’t want me to write the new stuff, I won’t! I’ll burn those extra scenes, I’ll forget about them! But that doesn’t mean you’re all going to leave me alone at night, does it?’ I stepped closer to him, throwing up my hands. ‘What do you suggest