Farley the Butcher

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Short ghostly story

Submitted: July 02, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 02, 2013




‘We found him here, Sir, sitting in that corner by.’  The young constable told his older superior, ‘just lying on the floor behind the counter, damn good butcher Mr Farley, my mum always comes here, never has to complain about the quality of his meat or anything. I had a Saturday job here for two years it paid for my driving lessons and my first lot of insurance.’  They were in a very clean and modern butchers shop with sawdust on the floor and bacon hanging up on rails

‘Riveting as that is Gates it’s hardly relevant.’ said the sergeant looking around him obviously a supermarket shopper Gates thought. ‘What are the facts, who found him and what happened?’

‘ Old  Mrs Davies was in here, long-time customer Sarge, I remember her’ the brown haired policeman took out his note book to read, ‘she told me that he was cutting a couple of steaks for her husband’s tea and then there was a sort of blue light around him….’

‘A blue light, what the hell…’

‘I know I asked her about it, she said it was like one of those lights that you see at Christmas that you can’t seem to focus on no matter how long you stare, but bigger and all around him, he didn’t seem to notice at all and then he just sank to the floor and hugged himself and rocked and stared around him like he was scared or something, she asked him if he was alright, got no answer and then went outside and called for help. Someone called us and the medics. He’s gone to hospital but last I heard they couldn’t find anything up with him, I don’t know anything else yet, sir.’

 ‘Did you check for electric shock?  Was he standing on a wire or was there a loose plug somewhere?’

No sir first thing I thought as well with this blue light thing. No sign of anything One of our crime scene guys came in, but he said it didn’t even look like a crime’

 With that they left and locked the shop door after them.

When they were in the car going to the hospital Gates spoke again, ‘He was a very hard working man, sarge, when I worked for him he only shut the shop on Wednesday and Sunday, On Sundays he went around the local farmers to buy livestock, cows, sheep, pigs, even deer on occasion, Then on Wednesday, bright and early he took his trailer to the farms, and picked up the animals and took them to his little abattoir behind his house in the country he had a lovely big house, nobody else lived near, good job really it did smell in the summer, I can tell you.’

  How do you know all this, Gates?’

  ‘In the summer holidays I helped him with the work, for extra money, sometimes even with the slaughtering, but not on my own he wanted to be there every step, after all it was his business and his customers.’

‘I never took you as the slaughtering kind Gates, I’m looking at you in a different light now. Anyway let’s have a look at him’. They pulled in at the hospital and asked the pretty receptionist where he was. After a five minute walk, incorporating two elevator journeys and a flight of stairs they were shown to a side room on a ward.

The ward sister told them that they had had to lift him onto the bed, and ever since he had just sat there, staring about him as if he was afraid of the very walls. The Doctors could find nothing wrong with him apart from a cut finger which already had a blue plaster on when he came in.

The two policemen looked at the wild eyed man still wearing his butchers’ apron, they tried to talk to him and Gates asked if he remembered him. But he never even acknowledged their presence.

Oh he could see them and hear them but he couldn’t move or speak. How could he move or speak, when the heads of every animal he had ever slaughtered were all around him, just staring, blaming and hating him with their eyes for all of the years of killing.

© Copyright 2017 Brucie . All rights reserved.

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