The Short Works of Jack Freestone

By Jack Freestone

A collection of short works from author Jack Freestone. This book has something for everyone, horror, erotica, and autobiographical. Many of these stories are set in New Zealand.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jack Freestone
• Release date: Aug 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201115500

Jack Freestone

Scorpio Snake.Surfer.Criminal defense barrister, in a previous life.IF YOU LIKE MY WORK PLEASE DO ME A FAVOUR AND PUT A RATING ON GOODREADS.https://dev-jackfreestoneblog.pantheonsite.io/If you like my work, you can buy me a beer and share your thoughts here! ? Plus get exclusive access to audio files, original poems, and first chapters of audio books.http://buymeacoffee.com/jackfreestPOr alternatively, PayPal, or Crypto donation:https://www.paypal.com/donate/?hosted_button_id=RFANJQHW2XKNSSend crypto to:0x3CADA9f951Be57E7450Cd54C8f2D2240243CD4E2Author of The Fake Celebrity in China, China Laid Bare, Cusala, Slice, The Point, The Control Sickness, No Rest for the Wandering Soul, Dark Days and Dangerous Nights, Bali Fungus, and short stories, such as Blind Escort, and The Great Awakening.

Book preview

CUSALA

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1

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I first saw him in a church. It was at the end of my third year studying law at Otago University. I had agreed to go to the church with my roommate Ann. She was from Dunedin and was studying journalism. It was the beginning of summer, and we were both bored. The masses of out-of-town students had left as usual at the end of term and the city felt almost empty. We lived in a four-bedroom flat on Castle Street, almost opposite Selwyn College. Our other two roommates had left, gone north to their hometowns.

I had chosen not to go home that summer but to work in Dunedin. Ann and I got on well and had a lot of fun. Not in a romantic way at all, more like brother and sister. She was a year younger than me and had a wicked sense of humour and we got up to all sorts of happy mischief.

Her parents were affluent, and she was something of a socialite. She seemed to know half the girls at university, so hanging around with her had other advantages. Two of her friends were Pentecostal church members. They were identical twins, both brunettes with curly black hair and gorgeous dark brown eyes. They had such clear healthy eyes, which could only be possessed by people who drank no alcohol, took no drugs, and only ate healthy food. But they were extreme believers. In fact, they were said to have the rare ability of speaking in tongues. That meant they spoke in some kind of sacred language when they were filled with the Holy Spirit.

Ann feigned interest in them and their ability but behind their backs openly mocked them as was her way with many people. So, they had invited her to attend a church meeting one night. She invited me along. I was not religious in the least and had only attended churches at weddings and baptisms, but I was bored and the twins with their beautiful angelic eyes interested me, so I agreed to go along.

Ann was more interested in the dark side. We had done stuff together like a Ouija board and had visited the cemetery overlooking the ocean at St Kilda stoned one night, though we had sped out of there when the smoke from the crematorium freaked us out.

The church was very large and ornate and was about three quarters full that night with loyal worshippers. The priest did some prayers and bible readings and things warmed up pretty quickly into some songs. I was standing at the aisle and next to me was Ann then the two twins. During one song Ann dug me in the ribs slightly with her elbow then flicked her eyes towards the twins. They had their eyes shut and were indeed speaking in tongues. Ann used her usual short high-pitched laugh reasonably loudly and I smiled but was too polite to laugh. It was kind of interesting, though it did appear to be completely faked. I guessed they believed that they were speaking God’s language but I was far from convinced.

The next part was the miracle of God part where people told the congregation of some wonderful experience. The first guy was a Māori and he cheerfully got up and said that he had injured his leg terribly playing rugby but through his faith and the power of prayer and God he had become healed and could play again.

Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord! Everyone echoed the words.

It also seemed very fake to me and I just scratched my head and smiled to Ann. After that, others got up and shared their great news.

About this time, I had lost interest and was more interested by the sounds coming from the rear of the church. It seemed there was some kind of argument going on which I thought was odd.

Before I looked back, he was beside me, arrogantly walking to the front of the congregation followed closely by two far smaller men who were trying unsuccessfully to stop him. He was very tall and a little fat and was holding a big bottle of Lion Brown beer.

He turned to face us, the congregation, while the priest tapped him gently on the shoulder and asked him to leave. He had a big head and unkempt brown hair and looked kind of mean. He took a swig from his bottle. There was complete silence in the church and all eyes were upon him.

I am the closest thing to the Antichrist you will ever see, he said quite loudly and clearly.

It was the first thing in the church that night that I thought might be real. He did look very evil.

He laughed loudly, took another swig from his bottle then began mocking us. The priest reacted by getting most of the people to sing. And people started yelling, Praise the Lord, over and over again. It drowned his voice out and perhaps sensing defeat he started to walk back to the rear of the church.

I have to say a remarkable thing happened to me. I was overcome by some emotion and could feel the evil in him and the goodness of the people in the church and I found myself joining in and saying quite loudly, Praise the Lord!

And when he was finally out of view, we all clapped and cheered in victory including Ann.

After the service we talked little about it with the twins but when we got back to our flat Ann and I opened a bottle of white wine and began discussing what had happened.

It was a set up totally, said Ann.

What do you mean? I asked her.

They got some local wino off the street and paid him to do it. Easy money, she replied.

He was no wino. That guy had presence. Jesus, I was gone there for a while. Could they really have staged the whole thing?

Of course. Happens all the time.

You know that for a fact?

No, but it must, come on. It’s a kind of cult. You saw the twins and the crazy people with their miracle cures, didn’t you?

Yeah. I guess so.

A few days later we had both pretty much forgotten about the whole incident. I finally got a job through Student Job Search. It was a selling job, going door to door selling prints of original paintings for the art gallery. There were six prints, all copies of original paintings held by the gallery. They were twenty-five dollars each and I got a generous ten-dollar commission for each one I sold.

Ann had a job at a bookstore near the Octagon and we would often have lunch together.

The next Friday night I was in the front bar of The Cook with friends. We were stoned and drinking beer slowly. The front bar of The Cook was frequented with a different crowd than the rear bar. It had a rougher crowd with bikers, bodgies and musos plus the more alternative senior students. The bar was only about half full and the music was so loud we hardly bothered to speak to each other.

I was facing the bar and some guy sitting there vomited violently in front of him. It was a full-on power chunder and I counted the seconds waiting for him to be violently thrown out by the bouncers. But they never came. He just wiped his mouth and snorted a few times then continued drinking.

Then the barman who was much smaller than the guy turned up dutifully with a metal bucket and mop and began cleaning the stinking mess around him. They didn’t speak at all and the big guy did not even move and just continued sipping his beer.

Jesus, did you see that!? I shouted to my friends.

What?

That guy just vomited all over the front of the bar.

So?

He didn’t even get thrown out. Man, if that was a student, we would be out face first onto the concrete.

They were stoned and didn’t seem too interested. But I watched the guy for a while and eventually he left to go to the bathrooms. When he turned, I could see his face clearly. It was him again. Our man from the church!

He left shortly afterwards. I raced home on my bike to tell Ann about it.

So? she asked. He’s a drunk. I told you that.

Don’t you think it was weird that the barman cleaned up around him and didn’t even say anything to him about it?

They are probably used to him doing it. Feel sorry for him I guess.

She was right I knew but for the next few days I couldn’t get the guy out of my mind.

Christmas came and went and Ann and I decided to attend an outdoor New Year’s Eve party. It was in a nice country setting and we knew quite a few people there. It started early so people were with their children having barbeques, playing soccer and so on.

We were pretty bored and were drinking wine and talking about heading back into the city before the countdown. Just then we heard a group of kids scream loudly. We looked down the hill to see what was going on. To our surprise it was him again. This time he was dressed all in black and his face was painted with green paint. He looked very scary and he had jumped out of the darkness to scare the kids. He did it again about ten minutes later to a different group and got the same reaction.

"God who is that nut?" said Ann laughing.

It was the third time I had seen him and all in fairly odd circumstances.

We left soon after that and went back to the Gardens for the New Year’s countdown.

After this Ann took more of an interest in him. He was no longer a common drunken bum in her eyes. We were both curious to find out more about him. But we did not see him again for some time.

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I carried on with the door to door selling and did make some money. Though hardly a small fortune, I was on target to have enough spending money for the rest of the summer holidays. I managed to screw some lonely middle-aged solo mum who had invited me in for a cup of tea and said I reminded her of someone at her local bar. She had bought four prints as well so it had been a successful afternoon.

The following week I was knocking on doors in Dunedin north. It was an overcast grey day, with little wind but quite cold. On my third house I knocked and he opened his door. I was shocked and I think he sensed it. Here he was, an ordinary man living in an ordinary cottage. He seemed a little uncomfortable too and I quickly reduced my spiel and didn’t even take the prints out of the large plastic envelope as I usually did in my selling efforts.

Hi, just selling some prints for the art gallery. Not interested?

No, he replied and that was all he said.

Later I felt guilty. I hadn’t really even given him a chance to buy any. The truth was I was scared.

Wow, now we know where he lives! said Ann later that night.

Ann was one of those people who once she had an interest in something, she never let it go. And sure enough, next day she came to me with her plan. She wanted to visit him, at night. To spy on him and find out who he was and what his story was. I am sure she thought she could write an article on him or at least use him in one of her journalism assignments.

I was not keen on the idea.

Let’s leave the poor guy alone. He seemed kind of sad and lonely.

He’s not some poor innocent guy. He walked into a church and said he was the Antichrist, she said.

He didn’t say that.

Those kids’ screams were real. He wasn’t some clown hired to amuse them. Come on. It will be fun.

I gave in to her. That night we drove out to his street and I parked about fifty meters down the road. It was nearly ten and his lights were on.

So, what’s your plan? I asked her.

She didn’t have one of course. So, all we did was climb over his front yard fence, walked silently to his back garden, then peaked through his curtains.

We stayed like that for two hours waiting for something to happen, some clue as to his life. But we were disappointed. All we saw was a man drinking beer and watching TV. Nothing else. And the interior of his house was as unremarkable as the outside. Feeling deflated we left and went home and talked about how stupid we were for going. It seemed our fascination with the man was over when we said goodnight and went to sleep.

But about four am I was awoken by screaming from Ann. I rushed to her room. Her lights were off but she had opened her curtains. And there he was, a face in the darkness looking in. He was grinning at us and then a few seconds later he disappeared into the night.

Jesus Christ! I shouted.

For the first time in my life, I saw Ann looking scared.

How the fuck does he know where we live!? she shrieked.

He must have followed us home, I replied. Though, I dunno how. The road was empty when we came home.

Ann demanded to sleep in my bed that night and we chatted face to face about him until we slept. We awoke to daylight and made coffee. After breakfast Ann decided to visit the twins. I went with her. Perhaps they knew something about the guy.

But they didn’t. They said they had never seen him before the night of the church. And they swore that his drunken appearance in the church was not a setup at all. We both believed them. They were very interested in him though and said that he was just another lost soul and they could help him. God could help him. They asked where he lived and said they would make some enquiries about him through the church. We didn’t feel any better after we left their flat. We talked about going to the police. But what could he be charged with? Trespassing? And we had done exactly the same thing after all. So, we decided against it.

Things were surprisingly quiet for the next week. On Saturday afternoon I had a visit from the twins looking for Ann. She wasn’t in as she was shopping.

Oh, never mind, said one.

Just tell her we are going to see him, to have a chat about Christ and God, said the other.

Are you sure? I asked them. He seems kind of weird. Maybe even dangerous. Shouldn’t we just leave him alone now?

God will protect us.

They looked at me with their attractive angelic eyes and smiled at me with slight looks of pity; like they knew one day I would finally get it, and then left.

Ann returned that night and I told her about their visit. She telephoned their flat but there was no reply.

Next day she called them again but they still did not answer. She decided to go to their flat and leave a note for them to call her. I went with her. They were not home so she wrote the note and pushed it under their front door.

Two days later she had still not heard from them. She contacted all their friends and even called their parents but no one had seen them. Eventually she called the police and we went to the station and gave them the information and told them about the evil guy. They didn’t seem too interested but they said they would follow it up.

But they called us the following night.

The twins had been found running around crazily in the hills somewhere. Both had blood coming from their mouths and it was soon discovered that they were lacking their tongues.

When they were medically examined it was found that they had both chewed them out themselves.

Our first thought was that he had drugged them, maybe given them some bad acid or something similar. But their blood tests showed no signs of any drug or alcohol. And neither had been sexually interfered with. But their brains were scrambled and we were told that their eyes were wild and constantly flickering.

They were given pens to write but neither even seemed to know what the pen was, let alone write about what had happened to them.

The police interviewed him but he claimed he had never met them and that day and most of the night he had been watching the rugby on TV at a bar. He wasn’t drunk when they interviewed him and his alibi was confirmed. So, with no evidence that they had visited him, no witnesses and the only physical injuries they had sustained being apparently self-inflicted, the police had no other option but to let him go.

The twins were taken to the mental institution Cherry Farm for their own protection and rehabilitation and their parents were called and came down to Dunedin to visit them.

Ann and I were traumatized and decided we could not handle visiting the twins. Plus, we were worried about our own safety. We wanted to get out of town. Ann’s parents had a cottage at Arrowtown and we packed up my car and headed off. I decided to try and sell the art gallery prints from there. Though it was a tiny town it was better than nothing. Ann gave up her job at the bookstore. It was not as if she needed the money.

Arrowtown was small and sleepy and so we did find some relaxation there. Ann kept in contact with the mental home to see if there was any change with the twins.

3

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Ruby Pearson had many secrets. One of her biggest was that she hated church, though