The Butcher of Bath by Newton Webb
Dibbers adjusted his tie in the mirror of his Skoda Fabia.
“Too formal. You need a trench coat. And a cigarette.� Bee slurped down her cola before stopping to look at it with disgust. “Straw’s gone soggy. Greta Thunberg has ruined Maccas.� She pulled the lid off and tossed it into a paper bag to join the forest of greasy wrappers.
“How do I look?� Dibbers asked, ignoring her criticism.
“I can’t decide, either like an estate agent or an insurance salesman—I get it now, that’s why you called your YouTube channel Pixies Paranormal Investigation, after PPI!�
Dibbers blinked. “No, not at all, nobody else would think that. It’s alliteration, a common literary device to make the channel name sound more exciting.� He brushed some lint off his waistcoat, looking hurt. “A lot of thought went into it.�
“Why pixies though? Have you ever done a video on pixies? What about ‘Paranormal Pursuits�, ‘Ghost Gang,� ‘Supernatural Sightings—�
“We’re not changing it. We’ll confuse our 243 fans,� Dibbers snapped.
Rolling her eyes, Bee pulled out her phone and started scrolling.
Dibbers checked the clock on the car dashboard. “Okay, time to get set up. Let’s get the livestream ready.�
The two of them gathered the vast array of ghost hunting equipment and loaded up the folding cart. A sticker on the cart’s side proudly named it ‘PPI Mule�.
“Got backup memory cards? Check the power bank.”�
“Three green lights. Come on Dibs, I know how a power bank works.�
“Sorry, it’s a big night for me.� He pulled his jacket tighter. “It’s my first broadcast and we only have the site for one night. We don’t get a second chance.�
“Stop stressing you oaf.� Bee flashed Dibs a cheeky smile as he squirmed, his foot tapping on the car park tarmac. She loaded the remaining items onto the PPI Mule and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Come on poppet, it’s no different to any of the YouTube videos you’ve recorded before, just stick to the script and act scared.�
“I’m not acting. Being a ghost hunter is a serious profession.�
Each taking an end, they wheeled the cart to the prison entrance. HMP Shepton Mallet loomed ahead, its imposing stone façade casting long shadows in the dim evening light. The building, long abandoned, exuded an air of silent menace, its barred windows dark and unwelcoming. The iron gates creaked ominously as Dibbers pushed them open, the sound echoing eerily across the empty grounds.
Inside, the air was thick with the smell of damp and decay, mingling with the faint, metallic scent of rust.
The exterior of the fortress was covered in graffiti, the scrawled words barely legible beneath layers of grime.
Dibbers fumbled with the padlock on the main entrance door, his hands shaking slightly in the cold. The lock clicked open with a reluctant clank. "It’s one of those locks with a knack to them," he excused. Dust motes danced in the beams of their flashlights, creating ghostly patterns in the gloom. Every footstep reverberated off the stone walls. As they moved deeper into the facility the narrow corridors stretched out before them like a labyrinth. The chill in the air was sharper here, accentuated by the cold stone.
The air tasted stale as they ventured further, the darkness pressing in from all sides, broken only by the feeble glow of their lamps taped to the cart, and the narrow beam of Dibbers' torch. “It’s quite a way in. Malik was held in solitary until his execution.� Dibbers led the way through the old reception area. The doors inside were all unlocked. It was pitch black except for the head-lamps taped onto their cart, Dibbers� torch and—“Are you texting?�
“Hmm? Yeah, Phil. I’m making sure he is free for pizza tomorrow.�
“This is an important night.� Dibbers pushed open another set of double doors.
Bee finished her text and dropped the phone in her pocket. “It’s not just a date, Dibs. It’s free pizza. He could go rogue and accidentally, or worse intentionally, order vegan.�
“Let’s start here for the opening scene. You can prefix the livestream with it.� Dibbers set himself up in front of the HMP Shepton Mallet sign. “Ready?”�
“Rolling,� Bee said, setting the camera.
“HMP Shepton Mallet, home to Britain’s most depraved killers. Tonight, we bring you a live broadcast from the cell of the Butcher of Bath, Malik Kowalski.� Dibbers� voice grew in confidence. “Malik was a Polish airman who escaped the German occupation of his homeland to join the RAF in 1939. After the war, he opened a butcher’s shop. It was then that the children began to disappear.� Dibbers coughed. “Whoopsie.� He motioned for Bee to stop recording. “Can you crop that?”�
Bee laughed. “You, an adult man, said ‘Whoopsie.� You looked so serious!”�
“I AM serious, Bee. If you can’t handle this professionally, wait in Yoda.”�
Her eyes narrowed before opening as she gave a bright smile. "I’m sorry, I just—Got it! Yoda the Skoda. I like that one. It’s actually quite clever." She gave him an apologetic grin. “Sorry it’s just that my nights out normally involve cider, crisps and if I’m feeling cheeky, which I always am, a little ‘bucca.�
“I let you come tonight because you’re my best friend. This isn’t just a hobby for me, this is a job. I don’t want to let down our fans.�
“All two hundred and forty-three of them.� She smiled at him innocently.
“Come on,� he relented, accepting that she was as serious as she could manage. “It is time we penetrated the interior.� He set off before pausing. It was quiet, too quiet. He tilted his head to one side and listened.
Turning, he saw Bee frozen still, her face red, until, with an explosive gasp, she released her breath and erupted into laughter. “You are so intense, I love it, I really do. Why aren’t you like this at the bookshop?�
Pursing his lips, Dibbers regarded her. “Did you add something to that Coke?�
Bee suddenly stopped laughing, adopting a look of childlike innocence.
“B!�
“What? Christ. A little voddy, chill out.� She caught up with him, the squeaky sound of the cart echoing down the corridor. “Come on then. Let’s go. Whose house? Ghost house!�
Dibbers closed his eyes and sighed. Tonight of all nights. He pulled out a printed map and led her down the long corridors filled with rows of bleak concrete cells and iron doors, past long-abandoned security checkpoints. The lamps on the PPI Mule lit the way but cast long shadows. His small security torch flicked into the corners as the oppressive weight of the brutalist structure bore down on him. Looking at the iron beds, he tried to imagine what it would be like, confined in the cells day after soul-crushing day.
Suddenly, he stopped, yelping as the cart ran into the back of his heels. “We are here.� His flashlight shone into the empty cell, seemingly identical to all the others. “Help me set up the equipment.� A feverish air of excitement tinged his voice. “I’ll stand here.� He marked an X on the floor with tape. “Set the camera here and the light there.� He pointed to the relevant positions.
“Just a reminder. You went to university to study classical literature, whereas I went to film school. So you stand there and I’ll handle the lighting.�
He stretched, standing tall as Bee set up the equipment. “Okay, but make sure the camera is angled to keep the tape out of the shot.�
“Shush, I know you are stressed, but you’ll only wear yourself out with your nonsensical micromanagement. I’m the tech girl.You are the eye candy in a cheap suit.�
“This isn’t a cheap suit,� Dibbers snapped. “It’s from M&S, from their Autograph range!�
“I don’t have time to eye roll right now, so I need you to imagine that I’m doing it. Hard.� Bee ran the cabling back to the power bank. “We’ve got a green light on the wireless router, we’re getting a� decentish upload speed. Three minutes, Dibs,� Bee called out.
“Right, right.� He flexed his arms, trying to shake out some of the tension. Mentally, he ran through a checklist of the points he wanted to cover. He checked his watch. Then, tapping his foot, he concentrated on Bee and waited for her countdown.
She looked up. “I can feel you staring at me. It won’t make time move any—Oh, 5, 4, 3.� She silently mouthed two and one.
The lights went out, and they were plunged into darkness.
“Bee! This is our first live show. Three green lights, I was clear.� Dibbers fumbled for his phone to shine a light in her direction. The cloth of his trousers felt coarse. Blinded by the darkness, his fingers couldn’t even find a pocket, let alone his phone. “Bee! Where are you? This is not the time to fall silent.�
Shhh.
Dibbers jumped. “Who is that? Who is in here with me?� He flailed his arms to see if he could find whoever had the temerity to shush him. “Bee, if this is a prank to produce a blooper video or to make me a meme, I told you we don’t do that; we are a professional...� His voice tailed off as the lights turned on in the corridor.
Now you’ve done it.
The voice sounded faint, dispassionate, as if it was both in Dibbers� head but also far away. “Done what?� Dibbers snapped at the darkness.
Two large uniformed men appeared at the cell door. There was no sign of Bee or the equipment. The corridor and cell seemed cleaner than they’d looked under torchlight, the dust was gone.
“Hello, yes, I have permission to be here. I can show you an email of confirmation from the trustees.�
The first man opened the cell door, his companion locking it behind him. He had a grim, angry expression on his face. “Well, aren’t we feeling chatty today?�
“Yes, I’m producing a video on the history of Shepton Mallet, do you—� a meaty fist slammed into his solar plexus, leaving Dibbers gasping on the floor, his mouth opening and shutting like a fish out of water.
The officer kicked him in the stomach.
“If you’ve hurt Bee, I’ll—�
“If I hurt you?� The man chuckled.
Dibbers looked up, enraged. “Not me, BEE.�
“Oh, I’m going to hurt you.� The man picked up Dibbers by his shirt.
Dibbers looked down at it with disgust. His suit was gone, and he was dressed like an inmate. He tried to push free, but his usually immaculate hands were filthy, his nails long and black.
Pressing Dibbers against the wall, the officer leaned in close, his rancid breath catching at his throat. “See, it’s troubled me for a long while now. You were caught dead to rights, you murderous son of a bitch, but you never confessed.�
Because I didn’t do it.
The officer pulled out a pair of handcuffs and clinked them round Dibbers' wrists. Shoving Dibbers onto the bed, he cuffed his ankles.
Despite his best efforts, Dibbers couldn’t break free of the restraints. “Stop it. Listen, I believe we have a classic case of mistaken identity; my name is Robin Alan Wood, commonly referred to by my pseudonym of, OOF.� Dibbers was once more left winded by another blow from the ham-fisted assailant.
He was lifted forwards and slammed back against the wall, his head smacking against the concrete with bruising force. “It’s a bit late for that, Butcher, tell me your name, or—� he took one of Dibbers' hands and held it against the wall. “I’m going to start breaking your fingers one by one.�
“You can’t, you’ll be arrested for abuse.� Dibbers protested. He kicked out at the man’s shins.
The man grunted with pain and then headbutted Dibbers. “You really shouldn’t have done that, Butcher.�
Disorientated, Dibbers would have fallen over had he not been held up.
“I believe I can contact Malik and pass your questions on to him.�
“Oh, I bet you can. Now, which finger do I break first?� He lifted up Dibbers' restrained hands and played with each digit individually. “Ah, this little piggy went to market.�
Before he could snap it, Dibbers yelled out. “Fine, I’m Malik Kowalski.�
I confessed too, when the torture got too much.
“There we go, that wasn’t so hard, was it?� He released Dibbers' fingers.
Dibbers whimpered when the guard released him, and he curled up tighter on the bed. “This is retrocognition. It isn’t real.�
“Oh, it is very real, Butcher. See, I know what you did. What I don’t know is why.�
I didn’t do it. The real killer is still out there.
Dibbers looked around, but the source of the enraged voice couldn’t be found, just the murderous-looking officer.
“What was it? Did you kill someone in the war? Get a taste for it? Or maybe you are ashamed because you hid from the Germans? Decided to take it out on those kids.�
I fought in the Battle of Britain. I shot down four NAZI fighters.
“Please, I will say anything, just please, let’s be reasonable here.�
That was the wrong thing to say. The officer gripped Dibbers around the throat. He squeezed hard, choking him. Dibbers tried to break free, his face going red, his lungs burning.
“Bill, stop it, you can’t kill him,� the other officer called out from behind the cell door.
Bill held on for just a bit longer before shoving Dibbers back onto the bed. “No, I can’t kill you, the courts deserve that pleasure, but I can hurt you and I will be present to watch you hang. See, one of those kids, a little girl called Beth, was my niece. Do you remember her?�
Dibbers remained silent.
“So, this is what we know so far. A Polack is allowed into our country after fleeing the NAZIS in his own lands. He’s then given a job in the RAF.� He spat at Dibbers. The thick, congealed phlegm stuck on Dibbers� cheek. “I couldn’t even get a job in the RAF. Bad eyesight, you see, but I bet they didn’t even check you, did they?� Bill gazed down at Dibbers, who was lying cuffed on the bed and shaking with fear. “Not so chatty now, are you?� He slapped Dibbers soundly. “I said, ‘Not so chatty now, are you?’�
“No,� Dibbers bleated.
“That’s better. So, after we’ve given you a lovely job, you are discharged. You could have gone home. You should have gone home. Why would you? Lovely country like England. No, you didn’t want to go back to your backwater, your little shit-hole of a country, did you?�
The NAZIS killed my family; I had nothing to go back to.
“So, you stayed. You became a butcher, but dead animals weren’t enough for you, were they? What led you to kill your first kid?� He hoisted Dibbers up again, his eyes filled with hate. This time, he squeezed Dibbers� throat even harder.
Dibbers looked into his eyes, and when the second officer called out to Bill and told him to ease off, he knew that Bill wouldn’t. Dibbers' eyes bulged, his mouth widened, desperate for any scrap of air.
Find the truth.
Dibbers gasped as air filled his lungs. He staggered back against the wall. Reaching up, he found the pain had gone. He held up his hands, nails neatly clipped and clean. His jacket, thankfully M&S, Autograph, of course. “What� what happened?�
He looked around him, the camera was recording. Bee was looking at him in shock.
“Cut, cut.� Dibbers felt faint. “Turn that bloody thing off.�
He sat on the dusty floor amidst the debris of the abandoned prison and hid his head in his hands.
Bee came over and looked at him in awe. “That was amazing, Dibbers. You are trending!�
“I’m what?� Dibbers looked up.
“Over a thousand followers from just that broadcast alone. You should have warned me that you were doing a one-man show thing.�
“A thousand?� Dibbers looked down at his neatly polished shoes. “How many does Taylor Swift have?�
Bee paused. “A few more, but a thousand is still amazing.� She offered a hand to him.
Shakily, with Bee’s help, Dibbers rose. “A thousand…�
“When are you doing your next performance?�
Dibbers took a breath. “I’m not, Bee, we have a new mission.�
“Oh?� Bee pulled out a chocolate bar from her jacket.
“We have to prove the innocence of Malik Kowalski.� He straightened his posture. “And PPI has to discover who the real Butcher of Bath was.�
“One question,� Bee asked hesitantly. “Are you really, really, 100% set on calling us PPI?�
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Sweet screams!
PS: Happy Birthday Dibbers! If anyone here is interested in . They are on Facebook and can be found .
Praise for Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1
"This book was full of nail-biting moments. The book was full of variety that kept you engaged and wanting to read the next story"
"Newton Webb never disappoints. His debut collection includes most of his best stories, spanning a huge amount of time and going through a great variety of settings. Some are novelettes, others more of a typical short story length, always well written, with a fantastic use of the English language"
"These 16 scary stories are really, really good! My absolute favorites of the bunch were Festival of the Damned and The Heir Apparent (man, what a twist I was NOT expecting!)"
"This was a very enjoyable collection of eerily prophetic stories, full of variety and encompassing a world of demonic entities, cannibalism, ghouls, murder, ancient curses and deviant sex addiction. From folk horror to supernatural sci-fi tales, what more could you wish for? Each story slowly unfolds with a sense of unease and menace, complimented by many unexpected twists and turns. The moral theme of these stories would appear to be, 'be careful of what you wish for'. Highly recommended"
