Tales Of The Gurrier

After the funeral I returned to the empty house. Relatives and friends gathered to pay their respects. There weren’t many. My father was never a popular man. Even amongst his own family. My aunt came down from the country with her nervous looking husband. Uncle Charles I think. She cried during the short service pressing a handkerchief to her thin lips and shaking her head.

I don’t remember if I cried. I may have said some words, a eulogy perhaps. The memories are hazy. I remember some neighbours and the local priest were there. My recollections of them from childhood jarred with their present selves. They were smaller now, shrunken and weathered by age and time. Frank, I remember Frank the local loudmouth. I never liked Frank. Age had not improved him. He was bald as a coot now, gripped my hand and shook it vigorously spluttering about my loss.

It was no loss to me. I hadn’t spoken to my father in fifteen years. Not since mom died. She passed in the cancer ward at the local hospital. She was barely there by the end, a shriveled shell struggling to contain the memory of my mother. Dad didn’t miss her when she went. He moved on, barely breaking step. Married Kay the following year. Met her on a Rotary club retirees trip to Florida. I think they honeymooned in the Bahamas. I never met her, Dad never felt the need to introduce us.

Rachel that’s my wife, she tells me it’s a guilty conscience. A guilt complex over my accident. I lost my arm in a hunting accident when I was fifteen. We were hunting geese by the lake. Dad bagged a beauty. A grey headed male with a six, maybe seven foot wingspan. The bird came down over a ridge in a thicket of dense scrub. I remember it was evening but still light. A long fall evening, the sun beginning its long slow descent into twilight. Dad was reloading, he wanted to take another bird. I left the blind and climbed the ridge to retrieve the kill.

Dad shot me as I came over the crest of the hill. The buckshot caught me across the chest and face but my left shoulder took the brunt of it. Messed up my arm pretty bad. I don’t remember much after that. The doctors removed the arm above the elbow. They told me I was very lucky I hadn’t died. The pellets ruptured an artery and only my father’s quick action saved me. I guess luck had something to do with it, bad luck.

We never spoke about it much, Dad told me once when it was late and he was drunk that the sun behind me, blinding him as I came over the ridge. The gun had a hair trigger and fired short, it had never been safe. He cried and told me he was sorry. The only time he ever told me he was sorry. I left the next day.

And now I was back and he was dead and that was that or so I thought.

The card arrived in the mail the following day. It was a simple six by four postcard printed in heavy black type and with a strange scent I couldn’t place.

It read ,

To whom it may concern Mr. Snatter and his associate will call on your hospitality on Wednesday 1pm sharp. Please ensure all paperwork is in order and suitable refreshments are provided.

I was baffled. I called Rachel up and she assured me it was something to do with the will and not to worry about it. I wasn’t around after Mom died so I all this official paperwork was new to me. I called Tom, Dad’s lawyer and executor of the will but his office said he was out of town until Friday and no the did not have anyone named Mr Snatter working for their firm. I was uneasy again. It was a warm night and the breeze coming in over the lake did nothing to clear the air. I couldn’t sleep and the scars on my left arm ached horribly.

The next day I was tired, irritable and in no mood for this mystery caller. The house was in a state and I had yet to locate the key to my father’s study where I knew he kept his important papers and more importantly a bottle of scotch.

1pm came and found me on the porch sweeping the fallen leaves into the garden. Engrossed in the work I was startled by the sound of a man clearing his throat loudly by my ear. I jerked upright and almost fell from the porch. As I toppled forward a hand caught my shoulder and drew me back from the edge.

‘You should be more careful sir’ said the man ‘my apologies for startling you, if it had not been for the quick wits of my associate you may have had a nasty accident.’

I stared at the man, he was tall and thin with sharp angular features. He wore a dark suit and his hair hung in lank strips about his face. Behind him a man mountain stood impassive and imperturbable as a hillside. The smaller man was extending a hand and speaking again.

‘I must apologise again for my rudeness. My name is Mr. Snatter and this is my associate Dr. Heaslip.’

‘Doctor?’ I said.

‘Oh yes. The good lord bestows his gifts on us all regardless of our shape or form. Dr. Heaslip has the most wonderful hands you know. An accomplished surgeon and a fine hand at the Viola’

Dr. Heaslip grinned displaying a row of uneven teeth like mismatched gravestones.

‘So shall we get down to business?’ said Mr. Snatter.

‘What business would that be sir?’ I said coldly ‘If you had some business dealings with my father I am afraid that they came to an end when he passed away last week. I’m here to wrap up his affairs, sell this house and put my name to whatever official pieces of paper I have to sign. I’m sorry but I have no interest in continuing any business my father may have had with you.’

‘Is that so’ said Mr. Snatter. ‘Forgive my impertinence sir but am I given to understand your father is dead?’

‘Yes that is correct. Last Wednesday to be precise’

A flash of something that could have been anger or discomfiture passed over Mr. Snatter’s face and he gave Dr. Heaslip a frosty look.

‘Dead, a week ago today.’

Dr. Heaslip looked shamefaced and shrugged his considerable shoulders.

‘If you gentlemen wouldn’t mind I’m very busy. Thank you for calling.’

‘Oh but we do mind young man. We mind very much indeed.’

As I turned Mr. Snatter was entering the house.

‘Hey, hey what the hell do you think you’re doing!’

What he was doing was holding the door open for Heaslip who wrapped one mighty tree trunk of an arm around me, pinning my good arm to my waist and bundling the two of us through the door. I tried to struggle, to shout but Heaslip clamped a giant meaty hand tightly over my nose and mouth cutting off my breath. I continued to struggle weakly as Snatter produced a key and opened the door to my father’s study, then the world spiraled into darkness.

I awoke to the sound of Mr. Snatter speaking.

‘There’s no doubt Dr. Heaslip, it’s all there in the contract’

Heaslip mumbled something unintelligible in a basso profundo voice.

‘Yes, yes I quite agree and most pertinent to the article in question however section three, paragraph five clearly states that ‘in the event of the unexpected or untimely passing of the party of the first part (the deceased), the party of the second part is entitled to any and all payment, title, benefit in kind or otherwise left outstanding on the beneficiaries balance.’ Unpleasant as it may be to accept it is clear that it applies to this case.’

Another rumbling sotto voce from Heaslip.

‘All well and good Dr. Heaslip but let us reflect, it was your lapse of judgment that led to the deadline for renewal of the contract elapsing and may I point out since the deceased in question has been cremated the earthly remains are no longer available.’

Mr. Snatter paused and looked at Heaslip before continuing.

‘Do you wish to return to our principal with the contract invalidated and nothing to show for it? No I thought not. Ah it appears our host has returned to us.’

‘What do you want?’ I said. ‘I don’t have any money. My father didn’t have any money. Whatever he owed you I can’t pay. Just take what you want and leave ok. I won’t call the cops.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Mr. Snatter ‘that’s just the very problem my dear boy. Your father signed a contract with the old firm many years ago. He ran out of time and felt he needed a little bit more, twenty years to be exact. The contract was very specific. For twenty years the price, well it wasn’t cheap but he paid it or rather you did.’

‘I, I don’t understand’

‘No how could you. Dr. Heaslip will explain soon enough in his own inimitable way, he has such wonderful hands. The contract was in two parts, the first installment being the down payment. Twenty years is a long time and it clearly states the consequences of non payment under the sins of the father clause.’

Mr. Snatter’s smile was like ice.

‘That’s the price you pay son, an arm and a leg,’

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This story is part of Flickr Fiction Friday and inspired by this photo from Flickr user The Unpredictables.

Elimare and Teaandcakes have also taken part in this bit of fun. Click on the links to read their versions.

This entry was posted on Friday, June 2nd, 2006 at 9:15 am and is filed under Flickr Fiction. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.