Maxwell
This is a piece I wrote in my first year of University. I forget now what exactly the assignment was but I remember being very set upon attempting to write a horror piece as I had never really looked at writing horror. It didn't turn out as horrific as it might have done...
Either click here for the PDF or click below for the LJ cut.
Maxwell
Gloria always used to called her parents Annabell and Maxwell. She had particularly liked pestering her father with his full name, the aggravation, clear as his bald head, written on his face. This had always, always made her smile. "Maxwell," she would have said, "Maxwell, can you come help me with my homework, Maxwell? I'm stuck, you know, like last time Maxwell." While it was ungainly, and far from how she had talked to anyone else, it was how she used to talk to her father. It seemed to be all he could hear these days, her voice calling him, ”Maxwell”. She used to need disciplinary action and her mother was loathe to do more than tell him to see to her.
Maxwell worked at Castlefield Library in High Wycombe. He wasn't the youngest person and was possibly the closest anyone could get to an old, grumpy librarian in the suburbs. He worked there nine-to-five, every week day but refused to work weekends, especially Sundays. Sundays because he was religious, Saturdays because that's when he goes to play golf.
It was one day when he was playing golf with his best friend Toby that the story really begins. They were on the seventh hole and Maxwell was on top form, six-under, whilst in the last three holes Toby had missed easy putts and gotten two bogeys and a par, leaving him with four-over. Despite this elated feeling, he had Gloria saying 'Well done, Maxwell' in his head while he took every shot.
"I don't think I'm on top form today, Max-ma-boy."
"Why's that?"
"Had a party last night with the lads from work. Boy, them slammers'll do you in, won't they?"
Maxwell did not know what a 'slammer' was exactly, but it had to be alcoholic, for sure.
"Of course, of course," he agreed, getting out his three-wood. They had been coming to the Hazlemere Golf Club for many years now, at least every few weekends. But Maxwell had never been good at noticing when Toby had some emotion on his face, like when his wife, Gabriella, had left him for a twenty-two year old virgin who had just inherited his dad's company.
"I need to tell you something, Max."
"Can it wait? I'm trying to beat my personal best here."
"I love your wife." That was the day, no, the very moment that Maxwell started to hate his life. Up until that exact point, everything was perfect in his little sphere of the universe, as far as he knew. How was he supposed to know his wife had been fucking his best friend for seven months? Ironically, it wasn't Toby who had found Annabell after his divorce, it was Annabell who had found Toby in advice for a divorce.
Two days later he was home from work and he found a note on the dresser, just as he had expected. 'Max, I'm leaving you. Toby told me he had had a word with you and I'm glad. I was too afraid, but that doesn't matter now. There'll be a divorce. Tell the kids I'm on another business trip, like when I had that seminar on Schizophrenia. They'll understand. Annabell.'
The day after he received the infamous note, he made a point to call it that to keep in mind that he was not even worth a whole letter from her, he went back onto his drudgery of a work-life. During that day, a Tuesday in case you haven't been following, he saw some teenagers come into the library, most likely researching something for their school as they didn't seem like the thug type. He watched them come inside the main reception. There were three, if my memory serves, two with glasses, the other one having long hair. One of the students with glasses had a Hawaiian shirt on that was incredibly garish, especially considering that it was no longer Summer, but a dreary kind of Autumnal afternoon.
As he watched over the library, he took little notice of the three students, putting more attention into the carers database he was flicking through to find someone other than his on-the-dole sister to look after his children while he was at work. But, after rubbing his eyes from the hours of flipping through the database, he saw the large pile of returns that had amassed, so he decided he had best do that before he left and got the books onto his trolley and went about setting them back in their labelled order. It was when he was doing this that he noticed what the students were doing.
They had found themselves a nice corner of the reading section and had but one book between the three of them. The book, to their merit, was a high level chemistry book, but their apparent need for it was far from academic. They had arranged a large number of cherry bombs and small fireworks into a small assembly in the corner, next to a radiator, and were going about hiding it with an old jacket that they had seemingly deemed an acceptable loss. He was shocked and, as he was staring gob smacked at the trio, they saw him. All but the long-haired one seemed to instantly go into shock. Maybe this was due to the fact they had just lit the fuse.
All three of them scrambled to their feet, led by the long-haired one, disregarding the chairs and table that fell out of their way. They just wanted out as fast as possible. The few other people within the library, an old couple looking for a new reading list and a middle-aged man looking through 'How to…' literature, looked up to see what the commotion was about. Maxwell dived for the fuse, attempting to stamp it out before the whole thing exploded.
"Get out! Everyone out! Quick!" Maxwell yelled as he frantically tried to keep up with the fuse which had just split to the separate parts of the make-shift explosive. The old couple turned to each other, being hard-of-hearing but the man didn't need to be told twice. He was off like a shot and even bumped into the trio as they made their escape. Maxwell saw that he would not be able to stop the thing from going off, so he started to run. It went off when he was but ten metres away, causing him to turn around. This allowed one of the small rocket-shaped fireworks to fly straight into his face.
He was in Wycombe General Hospital for five days, getting a skin graft onto his cheek and corrective surgery to help his vision. It was during these days that he slowly got more and more bitter, thinking of his wife leaving him, his friend betraying him, the accident at the library, and then, to further insult himself, he thought of how he had wasted his life in a library with no future other than an old and dreary retirement. He was far from the Max that he had been at twenty-one. He was fourty-four and now he was bitter enough for the grumpy reputation he had kindled in his library regulars.
When he was finally discharged he stepped out into the car park, waiting for his sister to arrive in a taxi to help him home. There, he spotted three young men walking past. By some strange chance of fate they were the three students from the library. The long-haired one with the two glass-eyed friends. I think that his bitterness took over in that very moment, driving him to start following them, pulling the hood over his head and ignoring the limp he had had for eight years, walking as if much younger than himself.
As he followed, he saw them walk into a dark park, known for its drugged and violent crime. He followed them inside, now trying to close the gap between them. That's when he called out to them.
"Hey!" They turned as one to this voice, slowing their walk. "You three! Stop!"
"What?" the one who had worn the Hawaiian shirt replied.
"Come here. I want a word with you." Maxwell was close to them now, but a matter of metres.
"Who are you?"
"Don't you remember me? I sure as hell remember you three." At this they all stared at him only the other glasses-clad student seeming to have the sensibility to be worried. Maxwell didn't stop when he was upon them, launching a punch into the long-haired one's face. He swiftly fell to the floor. The others still didn't react, Maxwell grabbing Hawaiian kid and throwing him to the ground. That's when the other one began to run, but the adrenaline in Maxwell helped him easily catch up with him and wrench him back and watch him fall to the floor as well, his eyes wide with rage. Maxwell stamped on the young man's face over and over and over. The others got up and ran to try and aid him. They were too late. Maxwell turned to them, a smile on his face as he pulled back the hood. The teenagers stared in horror.
"You're that…that librarian bloke!" Then it dawned on them what was happening.
"What are you going to do?"
"See to you…just like my father saw to my brother." They stared in disbelief.
"And just how I saw to my daughter, Gloria."
Either click here for the PDF or click below for the LJ cut.
Maxwell
Gloria always used to called her parents Annabell and Maxwell. She had particularly liked pestering her father with his full name, the aggravation, clear as his bald head, written on his face. This had always, always made her smile. "Maxwell," she would have said, "Maxwell, can you come help me with my homework, Maxwell? I'm stuck, you know, like last time Maxwell." While it was ungainly, and far from how she had talked to anyone else, it was how she used to talk to her father. It seemed to be all he could hear these days, her voice calling him, ”Maxwell”. She used to need disciplinary action and her mother was loathe to do more than tell him to see to her.
Maxwell worked at Castlefield Library in High Wycombe. He wasn't the youngest person and was possibly the closest anyone could get to an old, grumpy librarian in the suburbs. He worked there nine-to-five, every week day but refused to work weekends, especially Sundays. Sundays because he was religious, Saturdays because that's when he goes to play golf.
It was one day when he was playing golf with his best friend Toby that the story really begins. They were on the seventh hole and Maxwell was on top form, six-under, whilst in the last three holes Toby had missed easy putts and gotten two bogeys and a par, leaving him with four-over. Despite this elated feeling, he had Gloria saying 'Well done, Maxwell' in his head while he took every shot.
"I don't think I'm on top form today, Max-ma-boy."
"Why's that?"
"Had a party last night with the lads from work. Boy, them slammers'll do you in, won't they?"
Maxwell did not know what a 'slammer' was exactly, but it had to be alcoholic, for sure.
"Of course, of course," he agreed, getting out his three-wood. They had been coming to the Hazlemere Golf Club for many years now, at least every few weekends. But Maxwell had never been good at noticing when Toby had some emotion on his face, like when his wife, Gabriella, had left him for a twenty-two year old virgin who had just inherited his dad's company.
"I need to tell you something, Max."
"Can it wait? I'm trying to beat my personal best here."
"I love your wife." That was the day, no, the very moment that Maxwell started to hate his life. Up until that exact point, everything was perfect in his little sphere of the universe, as far as he knew. How was he supposed to know his wife had been fucking his best friend for seven months? Ironically, it wasn't Toby who had found Annabell after his divorce, it was Annabell who had found Toby in advice for a divorce.
Two days later he was home from work and he found a note on the dresser, just as he had expected. 'Max, I'm leaving you. Toby told me he had had a word with you and I'm glad. I was too afraid, but that doesn't matter now. There'll be a divorce. Tell the kids I'm on another business trip, like when I had that seminar on Schizophrenia. They'll understand. Annabell.'
The day after he received the infamous note, he made a point to call it that to keep in mind that he was not even worth a whole letter from her, he went back onto his drudgery of a work-life. During that day, a Tuesday in case you haven't been following, he saw some teenagers come into the library, most likely researching something for their school as they didn't seem like the thug type. He watched them come inside the main reception. There were three, if my memory serves, two with glasses, the other one having long hair. One of the students with glasses had a Hawaiian shirt on that was incredibly garish, especially considering that it was no longer Summer, but a dreary kind of Autumnal afternoon.
As he watched over the library, he took little notice of the three students, putting more attention into the carers database he was flicking through to find someone other than his on-the-dole sister to look after his children while he was at work. But, after rubbing his eyes from the hours of flipping through the database, he saw the large pile of returns that had amassed, so he decided he had best do that before he left and got the books onto his trolley and went about setting them back in their labelled order. It was when he was doing this that he noticed what the students were doing.
They had found themselves a nice corner of the reading section and had but one book between the three of them. The book, to their merit, was a high level chemistry book, but their apparent need for it was far from academic. They had arranged a large number of cherry bombs and small fireworks into a small assembly in the corner, next to a radiator, and were going about hiding it with an old jacket that they had seemingly deemed an acceptable loss. He was shocked and, as he was staring gob smacked at the trio, they saw him. All but the long-haired one seemed to instantly go into shock. Maybe this was due to the fact they had just lit the fuse.
All three of them scrambled to their feet, led by the long-haired one, disregarding the chairs and table that fell out of their way. They just wanted out as fast as possible. The few other people within the library, an old couple looking for a new reading list and a middle-aged man looking through 'How to…' literature, looked up to see what the commotion was about. Maxwell dived for the fuse, attempting to stamp it out before the whole thing exploded.
"Get out! Everyone out! Quick!" Maxwell yelled as he frantically tried to keep up with the fuse which had just split to the separate parts of the make-shift explosive. The old couple turned to each other, being hard-of-hearing but the man didn't need to be told twice. He was off like a shot and even bumped into the trio as they made their escape. Maxwell saw that he would not be able to stop the thing from going off, so he started to run. It went off when he was but ten metres away, causing him to turn around. This allowed one of the small rocket-shaped fireworks to fly straight into his face.
He was in Wycombe General Hospital for five days, getting a skin graft onto his cheek and corrective surgery to help his vision. It was during these days that he slowly got more and more bitter, thinking of his wife leaving him, his friend betraying him, the accident at the library, and then, to further insult himself, he thought of how he had wasted his life in a library with no future other than an old and dreary retirement. He was far from the Max that he had been at twenty-one. He was fourty-four and now he was bitter enough for the grumpy reputation he had kindled in his library regulars.
When he was finally discharged he stepped out into the car park, waiting for his sister to arrive in a taxi to help him home. There, he spotted three young men walking past. By some strange chance of fate they were the three students from the library. The long-haired one with the two glass-eyed friends. I think that his bitterness took over in that very moment, driving him to start following them, pulling the hood over his head and ignoring the limp he had had for eight years, walking as if much younger than himself.
As he followed, he saw them walk into a dark park, known for its drugged and violent crime. He followed them inside, now trying to close the gap between them. That's when he called out to them.
"Hey!" They turned as one to this voice, slowing their walk. "You three! Stop!"
"What?" the one who had worn the Hawaiian shirt replied.
"Come here. I want a word with you." Maxwell was close to them now, but a matter of metres.
"Who are you?"
"Don't you remember me? I sure as hell remember you three." At this they all stared at him only the other glasses-clad student seeming to have the sensibility to be worried. Maxwell didn't stop when he was upon them, launching a punch into the long-haired one's face. He swiftly fell to the floor. The others still didn't react, Maxwell grabbing Hawaiian kid and throwing him to the ground. That's when the other one began to run, but the adrenaline in Maxwell helped him easily catch up with him and wrench him back and watch him fall to the floor as well, his eyes wide with rage. Maxwell stamped on the young man's face over and over and over. The others got up and ran to try and aid him. They were too late. Maxwell turned to them, a smile on his face as he pulled back the hood. The teenagers stared in horror.
"You're that…that librarian bloke!" Then it dawned on them what was happening.
"What are you going to do?"
"See to you…just like my father saw to my brother." They stared in disbelief.
"And just how I saw to my daughter, Gloria."