Strange Tales
by Anton Valdemart
The Disappointment “I tell you they’re monsters ... real horrors,” said Joe, lifting his tankard for another swig of the local brew. Jack looked in disbelief at the others in the tavern and shook his head: “That’s a fine way to talk about our mates. We’ve known them for years. “Take my word for it - a crowd can turn into a mob at the drop of a hat,” replied Joe. The two friends were well known in the village for their roguish reputations. If you wanted a pheasant or a salmon, they could provide them, no questions asked. Both sat in silence for a while. “One minute they’re as nice as pie, the next ... well I’ve said it.”
It was a fine summer’s night a few days later. The pair had an order for a couple of rabbits and a pheasant so poaching was the name of the game. They scanned the wood to see if no one was about. “Careful as you go - there are man-traps hereabouts,” said Jack. They broke off a couple of small branches then trod carefully through the undergrowth, prodding the ground in front of them. Joe used a catapult to bring down a pheasant and they set traps to catch the rabbits. Then they were surprised by two burly gamekeepers who bundled them off to the village lockup. The following morning, they were taken bleary-eyed to the manor court where the squire’s steward sentenced them to six hours in the stocks.
“I still think you’re wrong,” said his companion. “Take old Sammy Wells,” Jack added nodding at a fat man in the corner. “I saw him the other day offering to help at the big house. “Helped to clear out the stables when old Joss put his back out. Wanted nothing in return.” Joe chuckled: “Only because he was hoping for a fine turkey at Christmas for his pains. They all have their motives.” Joe warmed to his subject. “If it suits them, folk will turn nasty mark my words. Anyone in here would show their true colours if it came to the crunch.” “Not us, of course,” said Jack. “You said it,” came the reply, with more than a hint of irony. Joe took another sip of beer then looked out through the window. “See the stocks over there? Even if the parson was sat in them, people would pelt him with rotten fruit ... or worse. I rest my case.”
22
Joe was full of foreboding. “There’ll be a mob from the Rose and Crown waiting for us - we’ll be lucky to escape alive,” he muttered, grim-faced. Jack said nothing. They were soon in the stocks, sitting uncomfortably on the wooden plank. They sat and sat and sat. Some passers-by stopped and stared before going on their way. “I’ll have a salmon next time you’re by the river,” said one, chuckling. Jack smiled but not Joe. What a disappointment: no one threw anything at them. Read my next Strange Tale in the Link: Speaking Volumes.
