Dead Village by Gerry Tate Page B

uncaring, almost abusive way, of a woman like Madge.
    Francis was the better woman of the two though, and he would just have to try and get these bad and caring feelings he had for Madge, out of his head.
    *  *  *  *  *
    Francis was aware that Tully had, and was still having some issues with his life. But Francis didn’t blame Madge; Francis blamed Tully’s mother for the way he felt today.
    Why her own mother had treated her very badly, even naming her Francis instead of Frances. Her mother had given her the boy’s version of the name, after her lover priest.
    But if she could get over it, and live with it, then so could Tully. She would just have to work at it with him. As she washed up the dinner plates and cutlery, she stared out through the window, across the fields. She wished things could have been different with her mother, Rose, because no matter how the cookie crumbled, Francis still missed and craved for a mother’s love.
    Councillors and psychologists had spoken with her over the years, trying to convince her that everything would be all right. Francis thought them all to be hypocrites though. Each of these people had mothers and fathers that they could visit, share their feelings with, and be happy with. She wanted to scream to these people to fuck off and leave her alone, but she knew what that would mean. She had been punished too many times to buck the system. Instead she behaved like an obedient little girl and listened to their sanctimonious crap.
    At night though, she would cry alone, until her tears dried up. Only now after all this time did she really feel truly loved. She smiled as she thought of how Tully had earlier playfully smacked her behind, and kissed her cheek. She knew from the beginning that Tully was conservative with his affections, but he was getting there. Now the world she felt, was hers for the taking.
    *  *  *  *  *
    Tully had been walking into the forest for about fifteen minutes, when he suddenly stopped. It would be dark soon, he knew, as he looked upward into the thick clouds that were forming fast. But he was certain that these people would come this way. He sat on an old log, which was hidden by some thorn bushes. He would sit quietly and wait. He placed the shotgun firmly across his lap and stroked it as though it were a favoured pet, as darkness closed in around him.
    He watched as a large hare limped badly along the edge of the trees, and moved across his path, in front. It stopped about ten feet from him, and sat up, almost like a Meercat, peering around in all directions. He was downwind of it, and he was sure it couldn’t see or smell him.
    It stared straight at him though, its whiskers moving rapidly as it sniffed at the cold air. He could see its badly mangled rear leg, which looked as though it had healed some time ago, but seemed as though it still caused the animal some considerable pain. If an animal could be thought of as streetwise, then this fellow was most likely the forest version of it, he thought. This large hare had been there and done it, and this aged creature probably wouldn’t get caught up in a trap again, he somehow felt.
    Suddenly the animal took off at great speed, startling him.
    â€œNot too much wrong with you now, big fella,” Tully whispered after it, and laughed lightly.
    He leaned his shotgun against a large rock, and stretched his arms as he yawned loudly.
    Then he poured himself a cup of warm soup from the flask, tightened up his scarf, and looked across into the darkening forest. This would be a long cold night if the Kavanagh brother’s didn’t show up. The patter of rain as it hit the leaves distracted his thoughts, as a large lightning bolt lit up the sky and a fierce wind blew around him.
    *  *  *  *  *
    Francis had just finished with the dishes when she heard something bang upstairs, pulling her from her thoughts.
    â€œWhat in Gods