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Bad Moon Rising - Night Of The Murder
Valantine's night was apraoching. I actually thought I might be in with a chance to score on the night this year. I'd missed the worst of the colds and flu's that have been going around this winter and I was feeling pretty good about life in general. The night before, Friday, I had gone to praise the rise of the Goddess with a pint of cider up at the local pub. By chance there was my neighbour celebrating an after wedding hen night. You heard me. The couple had gone to Australia and got married while they were there without any family or friends over Christmas. Their wedding reception was being held tomorrow, Saturday 11th February 2006, and I had been invited, plus one. It would be my first party night of this year. I was looking forwards to it. So, when the opertunity to meet my neighbour's girl friends presented itself I was delighted to take advantage of it. I had a second pint, met the girls, got chatting a little bit to a lovely girl from Scotland. Went home happy and looking forwards to the coming party. Made a pot of tea, took a pipe, and picked up my pen. The girl had inspired me to write poetry again. I sat there till after 02:00am drinking tea and scribbling. When I went to bed I had two poems that needed work. Next morning I had one good one.
I was on my way home. The bar had closed and my glass was empty. It had been a very nice family affair. Not quite the swinging hip dance I'd been expecting, but a very nice evening for all who attended. There had been live entertainment too. Two guys with backing tapes. One murdering every song he sung, the other striking poses with an unplugged guitar. Big guys, skin'eads, weightlifing skin'eads - and I gathered some kind of family friends. O.K., (cough), they entertained those gathered. They gave a most marvelous rendition of Guns 'N' Roses 'Sweet Child Of Mine' which was I believe the high point of the performance. The guy I'd gone to this do with had fucked off somewhere else hours ago. He'd done the sensible thing and blagged his way into a fill your boots wedding party spread at eating time, stuffed his gullet and sodded off looking to go to some disco thing somewhere. I was tempted to go with him, but decided to stick it out and play for the long game. As Valantine's Day was aproaching, I thought I'd chance my myself. I was intending to give this questionably poetic triumph to the young lady who ispired its writing. I mentioned this to my companion who duly rammed the contents of his third or fourth plate of food into the hole in his face, downed his pint, and ran. Odd behaviour. Frankly my attempts to reproduce the enthusiasm of last nights conversation were going down in a sheet of flames. I opted to douse the flames with a tripple application of quadruple Jameson's. Before I left I took the trouble to say good night and how it had been nice to meet her. Then I gave her the poem. She slid it into her handbag, out of the sight of her aproaching companion. I said my good nights to my hosts and stepped outside. I zipped and belted my leather pulling my scarf up around my neck and pulling the baseball cap given to me by Braintree Hemp out of my pocket. Putting it on I debated if it would be better to go around the side of the building and follow the long path out in the dark where the kids and 'druggies' hang out, or go through the back of the pub car park through the fence, and walk down the main road. I took a squint toward the full moon and decided it was to be the main road. "Don't
come around tonight 'Bad Moon Rising' - THE M3T3ORS The cold began to seep into my face as I walked up the main drag. Apart from the sounds of the passing cars all that could be heard were the sounds of my boots on the road and the chink chink chink of the little dangling chain attached to my boot heel and the bits attached to my leather. I make music when I walk. It scares demons. As I turned off the main road and into the side road leaving behind the occasional noise of the traffic. I saw nobody and heard nothing but the sound of the music I made. Clop clop chink chink, rattle. As I neared home the tempreture began to drop. A slight breeze sprung up and it began to rain. I speeded my step towards my tea pot and my bed. My cat would no doubt insist on sleeping in the bed tonight. "Well
I see hurricanes a blowwin' 'Bad Moon Rising' - THE M3T3ORS. So I'd lost or blown or never had my chance with the girl tonight. At least she had a copy of the poem she'd inspired me to write. You never know ! The full moon shone down bathing everything in blue sunshine, laughing slyly tonight. Nearing the end of the road I saw two males. One in a light coat one in a black leather 'trendy' coat that might have seen better days. It had thin lapels. Its owner had a ratty pinched type face with rat like black hair to match. He tapped his fair haired friend who was a little taller and wider wearing what appeared under the yellow flourescents as a beige coat, blue jeans and brown shoes. For a second they looked at my aproach. I was thinking about the girl. "I
see the bad moon rising THE M3T3ORS - 'Bad Moon Rising' What was that ? A noise, a word ? Did one of them shout something ? The two figures went up the cutting I was aproaching to use myself. I'd missed something there. It hadn't registered. I was thinking about the girl. What had I missed ? Something ….., something out of place. For the first time that night I began to feel the Jameson. That last one must have got through. That and the fresh air. Thinking about the girl. "I
see thunder breaks and lightening THE M3T3ORS - 'Bad Moon Rising' I walked up the cutting clinking as I went, making my music. I cleared the cutting and continued into the cul-de-sac looking up from under the peak of my cap. The two figures I'd seen ahead of me were there, seemingly waiting. I continued on my way and they split. The fair haired one came towards me as if to confront or speak to me. I kept on my way undeterred at first until I realised that these two wanted something. I slowed my pace and came to a stop just a few feet in front of him. I knew his face. His pal too. I'd seen them about somewhere. I was not afraid. I had no reason I knew of to be so. I knew where they drank. I was also pretty sure they had just left there. Did he speak ? I don't remember. Just the blow that came from behind. I turned fast as a whip to the dark haired cunt that had sucker punched me from behind. Did I land the punch I aimed at him ? I don't know, yet, but my hand was aching for over a week. I felt another massive blow to the same area of my face. It landed in the same second as the blow from behind. Repeated again. I lost vision. There was grappling. I felt the world turn. Felt the first kick to the face. Felt someone start kicking my ribs. Felt repeated kicks to the face. Felt repeated kicks to the ribs and back. Dark, it all went dark. I could hear. I couldn't move. I had no vision, but I could hear them walking away. I could feel them too. Crossing to the other pavement across the road. Words. Can't focus. Saying something about staying down. Breathing, my breathing. Recovering breath, vision returning. The feel of the tarmac under me and the rain. Not heavy yet, but getting there. Damage reports that were alarming began to register all over the left side of my face. Some parts weren't registering at all. I could feel my legs, arms, feet, hands. I could move now if I wanted. "Stay down play dead a few seconds longer !" I don't know where that voice came from or whose voice it was, but it came from inside I, not outside, where I could already start feeling my face swelling. I knew that if I got up too quick they would return before I had any chance at all. Blood, there must be blood, though I could taste none. I could feel bleeding on the side of my face though. As gently as I could I touched my face to check. Pain exploded. I went white. There was no blood. No cuts or skin breaks. No surprise, it was swelling already. My tongue told me my teeth were in place and unbroken although I could no longer feel my upper set, left side. Pain was registering in my chest and back too, but it was getting distant. The whole world was growing distant. Instinct was taking over. I gained my feet, saw them walking away, turning, seeing me rise, hesitating at fifty yards, leaving, and made the hundred odd yards to my home. I remember checking in the mirror. There was no blood anywhere at all, but the whole side of my face was a diferent shape and there was a lump on my forehead like an egg from one of the kicks. Though my nose bridge registered pain, and a lot of it, it had not been broken. The cheek bone might be another story by the look of it, but I thought I'd been lucky. My eye looked back at me from an inflating horridly purple cushion. "Well
I hope you 'Bad Moon Rising' - THE M3T3ORS The intent was plain enough; permanently injure, disable, or disfigure. I started to check my cheeck bone to see if anything was moving and that is my last clear memory until I found myself a few streets away, looking for them.
I'm not sure how long I was out there for, but by reason of where I found myself charging along, I was departed from all normal emotional control and reasoning for the better part of half an hour. Fragments of memory; empty streets, deathly quiet houses, rain, cold, pain (distant right now but becoming more demanding), and the rage. The total outright pure inarticulate all consuming fucking rage. I was out of control. I believe only the Gods themselves could have saved those sliding dog fucks if I'd found them during the time I lost. Reason and self control had, like Elvis, left the building. I woke up in a world of pain and rage. The ice I had apparently taken to bed with me to put on my face had of course melted during the night. Nowhere near my face of course. There was a wet patch on one side of the bed and pillow. I ran a damage report before moving. I wasn't going to be cooking today. Not like this. So I got myself into the shower and loosened up some. My head ached a little. I felt a bit sick. I could see and could work my jaws. The ribs were giving me real pain though. I could see no bruising. A bad sign. I looked at my face again. It was around three times its normal size. The left side taking two thirds of that by itself. The hot shower helped some. I got myself down to the pub for Sunday dinner. I felt like things were swimming in and out a bit but I knew that I would be seen by some of the 'right people' and be able to start the questions being asked. One of the regulars and his son came in. I got them to take a couple of photos of my face. The big news going around the pub was of the murder that had taken place the same night as my attack. I ate my roast at the Costello table struggling on account of the swollen cheek and loss of feeling in my teeth, but I could at least chew on that side. My headache was slowly and steadily getting worse. I finished my dinner and went home to bed. I stayed there until Monday morning when I set about taking advice on what I should do as I ran some errands. While doing them I caught sight of one of my attackers. He crossed the road to avoid me, but not before I'd seen him. I crossed the road too. He didn't see me though. Not until I was stood right behind him. I wasn't sure. Was it him ? Dificult from the back. He had the right gait, size, haircut, and he was wearing the same outfit he'd had on Saturday night. Something made him turn as I closed the distance on him to the edge of the kerb. He nearly got himself run over in his haste to cross the busy main road. That was him. I just needed a name for the sliding dog fuck now. I could place him too. Knew who some of his circle were. I could of acted then, but why should I ? Revenge is a dish best enjoyed cold. I went to my solicitor, my G.P., my dentist, and made apointments. Then I went to score something for my lunch. I planned to eat and make my way to see my last relative at the Nursing Home. She had suffered repeated strokes the week before and was close to joining my mother and her sister at the family table at the end of the path. I wanted to be with her if I could when she went. It was something I'd promised my Ma. Sitting down to
rest a while, unwind a bit, and enjoy my meal as a fresh pot of tea
was brewing the telephone rang. If it was 'sales' I was ready to tear
the head off the bastard that might be ringing me to sell me some fucking
shit I don't want and probably never heard of. Cold callers, I want
to do to them what had just happened to me. Hanging is far too good
for them. It was the Nursing Home. They had been trying to reach me all morning. My last direct blood was under an hour going cold and stiff. I was too late. My Auntie's suffering was over, but I was supposed to be there. It was part of the agreement I made with my Mam before she went. If I hadn't been running around sorting out my assaulted personage I would have been there. Going into auto-response I finished eating and began making the calls. Then I went to see my G.P. who confirmed a cracked rib which might be broken. My cheek bone seemed to be O.K.. The G.P. wanted to give me tablets but I react badly to pharmacuiticals and I was frighted to use them, so declined them. From the G.P. I went to the Police Station to make a statement and begin legal proceedings. I got home, made a pot of tea, the phone rang. It was the undertaker. I gave him his instruction and poured a cup out. As I stirred the honey into it the phone rang again. It was the Vicar. I made arrangements to meet her later in the week, and took out my pipe. I took a hit and started going through the address books again making more calls. I found at least two other dead folks going through them, and was given news about more dead people I vaguely knew, and cared less about. These fuckers hadn't bothered with my Aunt while she was alive. They hadn't visited her in years out of my memory. They had never done anything for my Ma either so far as I knew, and I was damned sure they'd done fuck all for me - ever. I should listen to them and their crocadile tears should I ? "Don't push me coz I'm close to the edge. I'm tryin not to lose my head.", Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five 1982. "Yeah, well, just letting you know (I could see my Ma telling me to make the calls, they were blood, it would be the last time I'd have to speak with them). The funeral is on Tuesday. I have to speak to other folks now. Bye." A funny character my Aunt. Born in 1926 to a Catholic mother and Prodestant father. Her parents wedding had caused riots within the strictly religiously blinkered members of both familys. My Grandad and Grandma had politly told the lot of them to go to fuck. If they couldn't accept the marriage they could stay away from the wedding and remain removed from from thier married future. He'd been quite a character my Grandad by all accounts. My Aunt had once stepped out dancing with Ken Dodd, before the Diddy Man fame, but my Grandad took a dislike to him and, "chased him up the street" thus ending the romance. Life would have been so much diferent if she had married Doddy. Instead she married a man fourteen years older than herself who's entire conversation as long as I knew him consisted of 'in the army/during the war' and had few redeeming features I can bring to mind. He seemed to delight in pissing on folks bonfires. He was a wood working machineist, and he did have all his fingers. He also had a long slow death from resperatory illness over many years. He was absoloute sod about it too. A nasty bitter old man. My Aunt hated him in the end. Used to take herself off and go missing for the day. He'd ring up asking if we'd seen her, they'd had 'a bit of a row'. She'd be off on her own somewhere doing her own thing, walking, looking at the shops, dreaming about moving over our side of the water. She couldn't wait for him to die. My Ma was delighted when he went. We both were. She hated him nearly as much as my father. She gleefully helped her sister find a nice little place close by and get settled in. I did a lot of the furiture shifting. My Ma was pleased to see her sister spend the money she got for the house on holidays and clothes and furniture and all manner of womans stuff, but she couldn't help note the ready swift glee with which her sister spent it. Knowing the cancer was going to get her she said to me the day we came out of the hospital after my Aunt's first stroke, just as we got into the car to go home, "At least you won't see me go like her.". No, but I was there every step of the way to see how my Ma was stolen from me, and I was left to pick up the bits after she went. Left to look after a living decaying hall of memorys. Watching, every week, how the decay and rot worked its way through the foundations of better times, wishing it to be over, for the three of us, for it to just be over. This shell that required twenty four hour care was not the person I'd known. She was gone. She died with the first stroke, but at least my Ma got the chance to say goodbye to her sister. That she has been waiting ready to show her the way since she went ahead, with a delightfully laid table, and the rest of ours that have gone before us, I have no doubt at all. I look forwards to seeing her again when my day comes. She was absoloutly right. I'll never see her go that way, and I'm glad. Monday drew to a close. I felt shot at. My teeth were still numb where I was kicked. My tongue hadn't found any changes it could detect in the ivory landscape, but only the dentist could tell me if the roots were going to be alright. The Police had been most interested in my report and were taking it 'very seriously' as it had happened on the same night as the murder, just a few streets away. It seemed they had a theory that the two incidents may have had some kind of common link. "A million magic crystals painted pure and white.", Grandmaster & Melle Mel - 'White Lines' 1983. The next day I spent registering the death and making funeral arrangements. The aches and pains were beginning to wear on me. I'd found places I hadn't realised were damagaged at first. I felt shattered. Every time I moved wrong my ribs screamed. Every time I sneezed or coughed pain exploded in my side. My face had actually started to go down, only a little bit, but it was a start. It was late afternoon and I was supposed to be going to a gig that night. It had seemed like a good idea at the time I bought the ticket. You know, band, beer, Valantine's Day, drinks after the show, club, pull a stunner and wake up smiling. I looked in the mirror. That was this years Valantine night written off then. The Hashassin 30/4/2006 The M3T3ORS version of 'Bad Moon Rising' has been selected for cultural reasons. ___________________________________________________________________________ All images & text ©Viperslair.co.uk 2004 All rights reserved. Any un-authorized publication of texts, parts of texts, or images, will result in legal action. Publishing permission can be obtained from Viperslair.co.uk by written request only. First Published 1/5/2006 by Viperslair.co.uk Re-formatted for Disc 4/10.2006
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