© T.L. Wood, 2024. First published in LEARNING TO LET GO, Wild Wood Books, 2024
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This story is copyright. Except for the purpose of fair review, no part may be stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including recording or storage in any information retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.
AI Scrapers can get f***ed.
It’s easy to pass judgement when you’re on the outside of things. To ask questions like, “Why doesn’t someone do something about this?” Or make veiled accusations such as, “Maybe these people bring misfortune on themselves.” So much harder to have compassion and understanding when you’ve never been a part of that world. But when you’re on the inside, when events affect you directly, you learn not to say such foolish things. You know the truth is always far removed from how things seem on the surface. You do your best. You survive. And, sometimes, you accept help whenever and however it comes to you. In whatever form it takes.
Walscroft was dying before Clarence came. As much as a village can die. The years had not been kind to anyone who chose to stay, and those businesses who could afford to, got out quick. Those who couldn’t, dug in their heels and haemorrhaged even more cash each year in a valiant effort to keep afloat. The poor state of the buildings reflected their meagre victories. Aging storefronts direly needed a DIY upgrade, with cracks so deep no paint could cover them. This, however, was not a sign of neglect. There was still much love here. Deep and hopeful. An understanding that, however things looked on the outside, there was a fierce spark still burning within.
It was the weekend of the mayor’s parade when Clarence moved into the old postmaster’s house. An unforgettable occasion for the rest of the region, and one which the villagers had chosen to ignore completely. Unsurprisingly, given the comments Mayor Peter Lawson had (allegedly) made about them eighteen months prior. Unkind and unnecessary—and definitely not meant to be made public—he had passed through on the main road en-route to another event. If he had stopped, they would have received him enthusiastically. The villagers had lined up with flowers and cards, hoping for a glimpse of local importance. Instead, he remained inside his car, the tinted windows veiling his distaste.
The newspapers at the time had quoted His Worship as (again, allegedly) describing the place as, “Another back-woods shit-hole full of mouth-breathing, money-grubbing troglodytes desperate for my undivided attention,” and had instructed his driver to, “Just put your foot down and don’t stop for any of the <redacted>s.” This order had resulted in an unfortunate altercation when the over-zealous driver almost mowed down a gathering of posy-clutching tweens.
The villagers did not take kindly to such an offence. While they may have stopped short of reaching for their torches and pitchforks, the burlier of them took matters into their own working-class hands. It was a national scandal that divided opinion. Even more so when the driver, still sore from his beating, sold his side of the story for a hefty price.
Walscroft village square was devoid of bunting that spring Saturday. No bright streamers or joyful posters adorned the shops. Instead, a straw effigy of Everyone-Knew-Who was displayed proudly atop a throne of black garbage bags, a chain draped like a noose around its neck. Clarence had seen it from the bus window as it passed and remarked on it to an adjacent passenger. She had chuckled heartily in reply.
“Good for them, I reckon,” she said eventually. “They damn near lost seven little ones to that bastard. Never even got a proper apology.”
The old postmaster’s house had been vacant for several years, and its outside aesthetic matched the rest of the village. Inside, however, it was tidy and warm. Margaret Gently and her crew of bingo ladies had spruced it up at the request of the Reverend Jacob. Clarence did not know who these people were back then, but their kindness did not go unnoticed.
He was also unaware that his arrival had been expected and thoroughly discussed over morning tea and custard squares. In a village such as Walscroft, community was king and kindness, currency. Respect was earned, not granted. Those born into money and handed their privilege had to work twice as hard to win them over.
Clarence was an outsider, with no local connections. Normally, that would have meant a reception of amicable curiosity paired with some mutual distrust. There would be an unknown timeframe where the villagers assessed his merit, and eventually an unspoken agreement made, when the newbie would be considered one of them. Clarence, however, skipped such scrutiny, largely thanks to Reverend Jacob’s support. The congregation had been told of Clarence’s fine past, how he had been a pillar of the community in northern Grey Barrs. How he had brought joy, hope, and a sizeable amount of profit to the small, struggling seaside town.
Clarence’s reputation was that of a do-er, someone who rolled up their sleeves and got busy. He saw what changes were needed and did everything in his power to make them happen. A kind, respectful, honest bloke. Salt of the earth. A real-life Fairy Godfather.
The final descriptor had made Margaret Gently laugh out loud. She wasn’t entirely sure what a Fairy Godfather would look like, but she was pretty certain Clarence didn’t fit the bill. For a start he was, well, he was quite attractive, wasn’t he? In a silver-fox, middle-aged George Clooney kind of way. Not as rugged as he, though. More petite and delicate, but very strong. His slim hands and slightly elfin features made him seem more like an artist than a manual labourer, but underneath that slight frame must have been bones made of steel. Clarence never once shied away from hard work and could lift almost three times his own weight. Annie Crawley, Margaret’s best friend and confidante, called him (albeit never to his face) a ‘sexy little worker ant’.
“How can anyone that skinny haul wood like he does?” And she, like all the other bingo ladies, was keen to supply him with a never-ending source of homemade sandwiches and baked goods in an effort to, “fill him out.”
Clarence always graciously accepted such gifts, with the caveat that any inevitable surplus be distributed to others in need. When pressed, Margaret’s bingo ladies could never be completely certain if Clarence ever actually ate any of their offerings, or if everything became surplus in the end.
Likewise, if anyone had asked the villagers of Walscroft exactly what was Clarence’s role, they would have received a dozen conflicting answers. He worked for the church. He helped out in the grocery store. He volunteered in the library and the local second-hand shops. He tended to the village memorial gardens and kept the gravestones looking fine. He took in stray animals and nursed them if they were sick and shared his healing knowledge with ailing locals too. He led fundraisers, fairs and other community events, often dipping into his own pockets to ensure costs were met. But who employed him, and who paid him, no-one really knew. Just like they never knew his full name. Perhaps no-one ever thought to ask.
“Clarence from the old postmaster’s house” was enough of a title for the villagers. Said fondly, and with lashings of pride.
Walscroft grew. Walscroft bloomed. The decrepit, rundown village square became vibrant and full of life. People smiled again, easily, and worried a little less. The rough edges were smoothed away.
Perhaps it was inevitable such calmness couldn’t last. That the nicer and more vibrant the village became, the more appealing it was to outsiders. Those with a different agenda to Clarence.
The first demolition crew arrived before dawn, and by day’s end, three houses were gone.
A small group of concerned villagers gathered in the church doorway and demanded to see Reverend Jacob.
“Did you know about this?”
“Do you know who’s behind it?”
“That was old Mrs Eborwurth’s—God rest her—place. Did her nephew sell up after all?”
Reverend Jacob held up both hands in placation. “I’m sorry. I know no more about it than you do.”
Day after day, more land was razed and more homes reduced to rubble.
The group grew larger and angrier. Some tried to stop the machinery before it did its worst and were removed by large men in dark uniforms.
“Have you spoken to the council?”
“Who’s behind this?”
“This morning there was a house across the street from me. Now there’s just a broken mess!”
But the Reverend Jacob remained in the dark about the proceedings just as much as anyone. Until the church received a letter. A notice of intent, to be precise.
The structure of the church has been assessed by a qualified technical engineer and deemed structurally unsafe. Under section 128E(6) of the Safe Building Act, no person may use or occupy the building. Demolition will take place within 14 days.
Clarence found him in the chancel in tears.
“What can we do?” he sniffled, holding the red-bordered paper aloft. “Surely they can’t just come in and flatten the building? In two weeks!”
“Who sent this notice?” Clarence asked, skimming the details.
“The council, I suppose. Mayor Peter Lawson. He’s always hated us, ever since…”
“The accident?”
“If you could call it that. He told his driver to plow deliberately through a bunch of kids. He was on his re-election tour at the time. Couldn’t be bothered stopping in Walscroft. Of course, he said the driver lied, and he never said anything of the sort.”
“What do you think?”
The Reverend Jacob permitted himself a small smile. “I’m a man of the cloth, Clarence. I try to think the best of people.”
“And just between us?”
“Just between us, he’s a total arsehole. No doubt at all in my mind he said it.”
Clarence waved the letter. “So you think this is some sort of revenge?”
Reverend Jacob sighed. “Who knows? Maybe? I’ve certainly not seen or spoken to anyone assessing the church building. But this is signed off and approved. What can I do?”
“You know, just the other day I saw Margaret Gently lay down in front of a moving bulldozer with no regard for her personal safety, or the state of her favourite hand-knitted cardigan. The teal one with the gold buttons that her niece helped find the wool for.” Clarence winked.
The Reverend grinned despite himself. “She did that?”
“She did.”
“And what happened?”
“Some strapping great blokes tried to haul her away, but her bingo posse whacked them with their handbags. I wouldn’t have put it past them to put bricks inside.”
Jacob’s face creased with laughter. “Oh, Clarence. Thank you. I needed that.”
“Of course, even Margaret Gently and her bingo ladies couldn’t stop the wrecking crew in the end. But you have to hand it to them. They really tried.”
“You think I should lie down in front of the church when they come?”
“I think we all should, Reverend. If Mayor Lawson wants a fight, Walscroft will gladly give it to him.”
“I’ll be honest with you Clarence, we’ve fought hard in the past, and we never win. Not really.”
“Does it matter?”
“Winning? Yes, I’d say it does. They’re taking away our homes and livelihoods. This is different. It’s an act of aggression, not one of neglect. They left us on our own to rot, did nothing to support the village. I suppose this was the plan all along. To tear it down and build afresh. Only now it’s not rotten anymore. Not since you came along.”
Clarence shrugged. “I don’t—”
“No, really. Since you arrived in Walscroft, Clarence, I’ve seen the village grow into something else. Something I never dreamed it could be. Everyone likes you. No, everyone loves you, Clarence. They respect you and they follow you and you lead them well. Better than I do.”
“Don’t say that. We lead in different ways is all.” Clarence put a hand on the Reverend’s shoulder. “They just fancy me more.”
Reverend Jacob laughed again. “They really do. Especially that Annie Crawley.”
“Pffft. Annie Crawley fancies everyone! Seriously though, Jacob, and I say this as your friend, you have to fight this. Walscroft has to fight this. If you don’t, they will turn the village into something else entirely. The main road running through it means you’re well connected to the city. The railway makes it ideal to commute. The only reason you’ve been ignored for so long was to run you down, like you said. Someone has assessed the numbers here, and you’re on the losing side.”
“You talk like you’ve seen this kind of thing before.”
Clarence nodded. “Yeah. Collingsbrough. Knave’s Hill. Grey Barrs. Port Oaks. Too many to count or mention.”
“But all of those places are thriving now.”
“They are.”
The Reverend paused for a moment, thinking. “You?”
“What about me?”
“Come on, Clarence, don’t play games. You know what I’m asking. I know you came here from Grey Barrs. The Reverend Hamish spoke incredibly highly of you. He didn’t want to let you go.”
“No, he did not. There were tears and snot, and everything. Poor bloke practically got on his knees and begged. But I’d done all I could there, and it was time to move on.”
“Step outside with me, Clarence?” the Reverend asked, rising and rummaging in his trouser pockets. “The Lord is not a fan of people vaping in His house.”
“Does the Lord have any opinions on Reverend’s imbibing nicotine in general?”
“Well, Peter urged us to abstain from pleasures of the flesh, which wage war against our souls. But since vaping isn’t specifically mentioned in the bible, I’ll just have to make my peace with Him when my time comes.”
“I wish you all the best.”
The Reverend smiled. “Oh, I’m sure He has more to worry about than my bad habits.”
Outside, Reverend Jacob took a long inhale and leaned back against the doorway. “Why do you help the church, Clarence? I get the impression you don’t really follow religion.”
“I don’t. But religion and faith are two very different things, Jacob. I don’t need one to have the other. And besides, I don’t help the church. I help the people in it.”
“The villagers call you our Fairy Godfather.”
“They do.”
“Less of the Disney twinkle and a touch more Marlon Brando, I suppose?”
Clarence puffed out his cheeks and gesticulated, dropped his voice to a heavy drawl. “I come to you as a friend, Jacob. Friendship is as important as family.”
“I don’t think that’s quite what he says, Clarence.”
“No? Well. It’s what I say. The villagers are my friends. This village is my family. I can’t—and I won’t—let Lawson hurt my family.”
“What will you…” The Reverend tailed off as Margaret Gently’s niece came running towards the church. Her cheeks were wet and her breathing heavy. “Jenny? Are you okay?”
Jenny thrust a cardigan towards the Reverend. Teal with gold buttons. Hand-knit.
“Some men… Some men came, Reverend! Aunty Margaret… They said she was under arrest for disturbing the peace. She said… She told them to get stuffed! They took… They put her in a van! Not a police van, Reverend. Just a plain black van. My Aunty…” Jenny let out a gasping sob. “Please help me, Reverend!”
Clarence took her in both arms and held her. “Jenny, does Albert Fisher still have a bird-watching camera that overlooks his garden?”
Jenny looked up sharply. “What? Ummm… Yes, I think so. Why?”
Clarence and the Reverend exchanged a glance. The Reverend nodded in understanding.
“Because it should have picked up anyone parked on the street. Maybe we can find out who took your aunty.”
Albert was delighted to share the footage from his camera, and thrilled that his avian hobby might help Margaret. His only regret was that he hadn’t seen it happening at the time or he would have, in his own words, “Clobbered the bastards.”
“Probably best that you didn’t then,” Clarence said. “We don’t want you disappearing into a black van, too.”
Reverence Jacob called the police and reported a possible abduction. A partial number plate and description of the van yielded no immediate results. Jenny was frantic, as were the bingo ladies, but no-one expected Margaret to turn up again just as the sun was going down.
Pauline Hampson found her at the edge of the dog park when she was out with Oscar, her curly-haired Labradoodle. Margaret was cold and quiet. Barefoot in a thin blouse and slacks. Her normally rosy complexion was ashen and dry, and her eyes were red and puffy. Pauline had slung her Swanndri shirt around the other woman’s shoulders and walked her slowly back to the village. Jenny called the Reverend, and Jacob called Clarence. Together, they went to Margaret’s house.
The usually feisty and boisterous woman sat hunched on the sofa, nursing a mug of steaming tea while Jenny rubbed her feet. She seemed small and afraid. She startled as the Reverend entered.
It took a little while before she could speak, but eventually she explained what had happened.
Someone had driven her in a van to a warehouse, she thought, about 15 or 20 minutes away. They took her to a bare room containing only three chairs and a table. There, a young woman and older man, both wearing very expensive pantsuits and armed with several manilla files, told her she was in trouble. A lot of trouble, indeed. Her past behaviour towards the workmen was completely unacceptable and certain people wanted charges to be pressed.
“They were police?” The Reverend asked.
“I don’t know. They never actually said who they were, even though I asked them several times. Every time I asked a question, they just got up and left the room. They left me alone for longer and longer until I figured it was best to stay quiet.” Margaret blinked back tears. “I hardly even dare ask if I could use the bathroom in case they left me on my own again.”
“Those bastards!” Jenny muttered, her teeth clenched. “How dare they? How fucking…”
“So, they weren’t police, but they acted like they were,” Clarence interrupted. “Did they say what kind of trouble you were in?”
“They told me that if I disrupted the demolition crews again, the next house to go down would be my own.”
“That’s not police!” Jenny shouted. “No way. This is Lawson’s doing. I’d put good money on it.”
“A two-time elected mayor has a team of people who abduct harmless middle-aged women and threaten to destroy their homes?” Reverend Jacob sighed deeply. “I mean, no argument from me. Lawson is an asshole, but that seems—”
“Exactly like something he would do,” Clarence finished. “He has enough money and clout to do whatever he likes. I’m surprised he even bothered with an election campaign. Everyone knows he bought the position.”
“Oh, Clarence…” Jacob started.
“No, Jacob. Don’t ‘oh, Clarence’ me. Let’s just assume for the moment, faced with what we know, that this is his doing. Someone took Margaret and held her against her will. Made to feel scared and powerless. Why do you think he did that, huh?”
“To set an example? To stop anyone else standing up?”
“No. Because he’s scared. He didn’t expect people to fight back, Jacob. He thought he could come to Walscroft and take whatever he wanted, and the villagers would just roll over like good little puppies. Margaret here showed him she has balls—sorry Margaret—and that’s a threat to him. But it’s good for us.”
“Is it? I’m sorry, I’m not following you, Clarence. Right now, we need to call the police again and update them. Margaret needs to make a statement and tell them what happened and…”
“And what? They weren’t exactly champing at the bit to help us when we called them earlier, were they?”
“So, what, you think he’s controlling them, too?”
“Maybe. Would it really surprise you?”
The Reverend raked his fingers through his hair and grimaced. “No. I suppose not. Lawson’s brother-in-law is the District Commander. But we’re talking about some serious corruption here, Clarence. I don’t even know where we would begin to…”
“Do you remember what you called me earlier?” Clarence asked.
“What… What I called you?”
“Fairy Godfather, you said. ‘Less of the twinkle and more Brando,’ you said. Well, Jacob, you were right. I want to show you something, if you’ll come outside to the garden with me. But you need to be prepared.”
“Prepared for what?”
“To question everything you’ve ever believed.”
What the Reverend saw in Margaret’s garden that night shook him to his core. Had it not been Clarence standing there at the heart of it, he most certainly wouldn’t have known what to do. As it was, the first thing he did was yell. The second was to clamp his hands over his mouth. After that, once his heart rate had calmed down a little, and his stomach had crawled back out of his bladder, he laughed. Somehow, he should have seen this coming, even if it was completely impossible. It made sense, looking back. He should have noticed the signs. Maybe he had but had chosen to ignore them.
And then came the discussion of what happens next. If their friendship remained intact.
“Of course,” the Reverend had replied, without a second thought. “This doesn’t change the goodness in your heart.”
Clarence had grinned and hugged him tight. Was happy to find no resistance.
“Who else knows?”
“In Walscroft? No-one,” Clarence said. “In other places, barely a handful of people. Most of them people like you.”
“The Reverend Hamish?”
“Of course. Bless his heart, It blew his mind at the time, but eventually… I don’t know. Weirdly, I’d say this strengthened his faith.”
“And now?” Jacob asked, almost fearing the answer.
“Now? I think you know exactly what happens now. Do you want to call the bastard, or should I?”
The meeting was supposed to be held inside the Community Centre, except it proved far too small a venue for all who attended. Instead, they moved the meeting outside to the village green, with the high school drama club donating a microphone and portable amplifier. Mayor Lawson had agreed to speak to the villagers. With ‘full transparency about his intentions,’ he said. He understood why people were concerned, and in addition, why some were angry. He was acting in everyone’s best interests, but he agreed that he should have spoken to them before.
“So, your plan is to just knock down the entire village, is it?” Fred Brocher shouted angrily, to an echo of supporting catcalls.
“Not at all,” Lawson replied. “What we—my team—have done is identify a number of structures which are unstable, unusable or in drastic need of an upgrade. Some of those buildings have been demolished, yes, to make way for several new and improved dwellings.”
“Townhouses, right?”
“Some of them, yes. There is a dire need for more affordable housing in this area, especially for families and first-time buyers.”
“Bonnie Eborwurth’s place wasn’t unstable. Her nephew had spent the last six months coming here from the city and doing it up on the weekends. He was going to put it on the market again.”
“I cannot comment on any individual dwellings, I’m afraid. It’s possible…”
“Did you make him a decent offer?” Fred snapped. “Or did you just force him out like you do with everyone else you want rid of?”
“I don’t think such defamatory allegations are appropriate, do you?”
The gathered crowd jeered as one.
“There’s a word for what people like you do,” Annie Crawley yelled over the hubbub.
“Do I need to remind you to whom you are speaking?”
“Gentrification! I assume you’re familiar with the term?”
“If you’re opposed to improvement…”
“It’s not improvement!” Jenny Gently argued. “It’s replacement! You want to get rid of us so you can move your rich friends in, and you’ll do anything to get what you want. This man,” Jenny pointed furiously, “abducted and threatened my Aunty Margaret because she dared to stand up to his demolition crew!”
A collective gasp of shock rippled through the crowd.
“That is outrageous. I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, and I will not tolerate such baseless accusations. Who are you? What is your …” Lawson paused as a man in a black suit whispered urgently in his ear. “Fine. Fine. I’ve been advised to end this meeting. If you have any further pressing questions, you can contact my office.”
Fred cupped his hands to make his voice heard over the furious crowd.
“So it’s true then? What Jenny said. It must be if you’re running away!”
Lawson kept walking and did not respond. The man in the black suit guided the mayor to his car, opened the rear doors, and ushered him inside. Black Suit leaned across and spoke urgently to the driver.
“Take him straight back to the Estate. We’ll run damage control here, okay?”
The driver grunted in reply.
“Don’t worry, Peter. We’ve got this. I’ll find out who that little bitch was and sort her out.”
“You do that, Mitch. And add her fucking aunty’s house to the knockdown list.”
The man in the black suit nodded and shut the car door. The driver pulled away and followed the main road. It took Lawson a few moments before he realised they were heading in the wrong direction. He slammed his fist on the headrest in front of him.
“Driver? What’re you doing? You’re going away from the city.”
Clarence flipped the rearview mirror. “Hi, mister Mayor. Yes, I know.”
Lawson paled but rallied swiftly. “Who the fuck are you?” he demanded. “And what the fuck are you doing in my car?”
“I’m Clarence,” Clarence said brightly. “But the people of Walscroft call me their Fairy Godfather. What do you make of that?” Lawson made to reach over the seats. “Oh no, mister Mayor, I wouldn’t do that. Sit back and put your seatbelt on. You know what will happen if I need to stop suddenly, right?” Clarence touched the brake pedal and made the vehicle lurch. Lawson sat back reluctantly.
“So, who are you, Clarence?” he asked, clipping the belt across his chest. “You’re the village idiot slash guardian angel or something?”
“Like I said, I’m their Fairy Godfather. Heavy emphasis on the fae. Do you know who the fae are?”
“No, I don’t know, and I don’t give a shit, Clarence. What I do know is you need to stop this car and let me out. Right. Fucking. Now.”
“Oh, mister Mayor, that’s not a nice way to speak to anyone. And certainly not someone like me. You see, I’ve helped a lot of people over the years. Far more than you’ve ever screwed over. And I know you’ve screwed over a lot. Long ago, people used to ask the fae for help and leave us little gifts in return. And what do you know, people still need our help. Maybe now even more than ever? Surprisingly, those often the most in need are also the most generous with their gifts. They know what it’s like to have nothing, I suppose. They don’t want others to feel that pain.”
“Is there a point to this fuckery, Clarence?” Lawson rummaged inside his jacket. “Or are you just completely insane?”
“Mister Mayor, I know you’re searching for your mobile, in the hope you can reach your Men in Black. But if Alfred did his job properly when he offered to take your coat, it’s back in the village right now. Being rude to me might feel like you’re being powerful, but I can assure you, you’re wasting your breath.”
There was no phone in Lawson’s jacket pocket. Clarence was correct about that. But there was something else hidden in the inner lining which Alfred hadn’t found. Something his brother-in-law had got for him.
Lawson freed the slimline Ruger from its hiding place and aimed it at Clarence’s head.
“Right then—”
The other man reacted so quickly Lawson didn’t even see him move. One moment, the pistol was in his hand, the next, Clarence had relieved him of it and tossed it aside on the passenger seat. The car hadn’t even slowed.
“Really, mister Mayor,” Clarence sighed. “I actually thought you’d be a little smarter than that. A gun? But of course, someone like you would have a gun. Well, maybe that will make things easier later.” He thumbed the indicator and turned off the main road.
“What do you mean ‘make things easier’?” Lawson snapped.
Clarence chose to ignore him. “Now, mister Mayor. Walscroft needed help, you see, so that’s what I went there to do. Everything was going fine until you turned up. Gosh, there’s always men like you, aren’t there? Greedy, destructive, hateful men. You think your money means you can do whatever you want. But in places like Walscroft, community is king, and kindness is a currency you’ll never have. Did you miss the part when I said I was a Fairy Godfather, mister Mayor? Or has that sunk in yet?”
Lawson realised the car had stopped. Clarence had taken them off-road somewhere, up a farm track, or a logging route perhaps. He reached for the door handle, and Clarence turned and tutted.
“They’re locked, Lawson. Obviously. Besides, where would you go? There’s not a chance in the world you could outrun me. Not before, and definitely not now.”
Lawson considered himself a strong man. Stoic and powerful. Not easily scared. But one glimpse of Clarence’s true face and his bowels opened, and his blood froze. His left hand scrabbled frantically for the seatbelt release as he tried desperately to increase the distance between himself and the silvery-grey skinned creature easing its way through the middle of the front seats. It smiled and its entire face seemed to be made of teeth. Small, sharp, needle-like teeth in a black pit of velvet despair.
“I can take many forms, mister Mayor,” it rasped, its forked tongue flicking over its thin lips. “Most people never get to see this one. And if they do, they never see any others.”
“Clarence?” Lawson stammered. The creature grinned again. Lawson really wished it would stop.
“You messed with my family, mister Mayor. The one thing you should never, ever do. Fae are very particular about family.”
A slim-fingered hand curled around Lawson’s throat and sank its nails into his flesh. He felt warm blood trickle down his collar and weave its way onto his chest.
“What should I do?” Lawson croaked. “What can I do to make this right?”
Clarence reached to the passenger seat beside him. Threw a piece of paper into Lawson’s lap.
“Sign that,” he said, handing him a pen.
“What is it? Oh no,” Lawson gasped. “I can’t…”
Clarence reached again. This time, what he held was much heavier.
“Sign that and then you know what you have to do. I’ll be honest with you. This way is much quicker than what I’d planned.”
“You’ll make me?”
“If I have to.”
“Can I at least read it first?”
“Mister Mayor, you’re a bureaucrat. I expect you to read everything before you sign it. As much good as it will do you. I feel certain, however, you will find nothing untruthful. Distasteful, definitely, but all true. You see, the trouble with relying on money is, everyone has a price. You can always persuade people to divulge information, even when you think you’ve bought their silence. Surely, you should have learned that by now?”
Clarence found the Reverend waiting in the church. Jacob didn’t ask and Clarence didn’t tell. A single nod between them sufficed. The Reverend took the other man’s hand in his.
“Our Fairy Godfather, eh?” he said softly.
Clarence wrapped both arms around him, pulled him tight and close.
“Always, my dear friend. Always.”
An anonymous phone call informed the police where to find Peter Lawson’s body. They discovered him seven miles outside Walscroft, with a very detailed suicide note in his lap and a single gunshot wound to his head. The contents of the note expressed his sincere remorse at the multitude of underhanded and illegal schemes he had pioneered whilst in office, and the number of good people he had coerced.
The villagers of Walscroft marked his passing in the only way they saw fit.
A straw effigy burned upon a bonfire of garbage; a chain worn like a noose around its neck.