Penance in the Woods

a) The Stick

Back in the dull industrial hub of the West Midlands, it's time to go native: at the schoolboy monster's ball. Delware, a rotter and a rogue, was also a true bully.

A mop-topped miscreant with a cruel smile and worse laugh. He was the boy with the plans; a war-game veteran and self-appointed arbiter of puerile justice. He had that doggy, schoolboy smell of mud and blood. We adored him and loathed him, but do without him we could not.

Quite where his power came from was hard to tell. He had charisma and was a shrewd blagger – sure. But perhaps what really set him apart was the sour nimbus of ouija boards and tarot cards and that he trailed. Of rebellion and wickedness, of cool records;

'Reign in Blood' and 'South of Heaven'; "The Number of the Beast?"; "Peace Sells…Who's Buying" The strange ritual and dogma that infest the world of adolescent boys were his essence. He collected Nazi memorabilia and vile pornography and with his "diabolical" gaze he enjoyed the status of schoolyard Fuhrer.

Always quick with an apt phrase or a scathing put down, he was the master of our lives in those dark days and we were his disciples, even if most of us often despised him - secretly.

"Hate week"(pace Orwell - part of our curriculum) became one of his little games, and this time it was directed against me.

I'd shown vulnerability and that was to prove an irremediable error. Like something scenting blood he'd picked up my emotional weakness. His transformation from boy to raptor was complete.

We were playing near Delware's house, in the woods where we made our fires and dingy dens. It was a last summer dusk .We colluded over cigarettes.

Thanks to Casper, who with his manly mien and post-fluff stubble could on a good day pass for seventeen, we'd acquired some cans of hooch. We got alco-popped and told stories around the fire. Then it got way-out. Delware's eyes played their tricks and the talk turned to sadism.

Delware unveiled his tale of what he'd done to the cat, some time last year. This was one of his grim tales of vivisection for kicks. The tools of his trade was a rusty piece of barbed wire, a Swiss army knife and a hatchet.

He'd watched me grimace as his foul tale culminated in all its inevitable horror; the look on his face was one of relish. When I vomited he grinned. It seemed the hunting season was now upon me…

In an effort to shake it off, I started a stick-throwing competition with Casper. Unobserved by me, Delware summoned Collingham and Webber for a meeting at the back of the fence.

The day was done and it was time to go home. We were called over, and then Delware shrieked "Seize him, secure the heretic!"

The two boys ran over and rugby-tackled me. I fell hard face-first into the mud. Delware was now dragging out a huge storage barrel from the back of the den.

"Pin him down……." he went on. "Ben has been proved to be in error in our court of heresy. Casper reports that Ben here has confessed to worshipping the deceiver Christ. I consulted the oracle in the crooked tree over there. I now pronounce him a heretic….to be cleansed. By torture."

Now Casper had thrown his huge bulk over me and I was finding it hard to breathe. Pleading was no use.

"Now", ordered Delware, "into the barrel with him. He must pay for his beliefs…. I believe his parents worship the pitiful ethic of the church of Christ. I've seen them myself! Eating those wafers and…. Ermmm Bible bashing…I fink it's called…" he was in a kind of reverie now.

His mentioning my family and their beliefs had made me shudder.
They dragged me to the top of a hill and then forced me into the barrel.

"He now must make penance for his evildoing, and renounce his words, by eating them. If shit issues from his mouth then shit he will eat". Now the others followed this chant, until he bellowed, "prepare the stick! Beat him!"

Casper was using his brawn. The others were lashing out blindly. Blood filled my mouth as a punch perforated my lips. Webber had begun to roll the barrel down the ditch. Delware picked up a sturdy-looking stick. He brandished it, swinging it like a cat o' nine tails. Next, for his piece de resistance, he began to poke at a pile of dog turds, like an anteater foraging for termites, making sure a thick putrid pile was growing at the end of the stick.

Desperate, I tried to appeal to the good sense of the others - to let me go and stop this perverse charade. I was to fail miserably though. It seemed they had been entranced by Delware's own frenzy. Vomit was filling my throat as the reek of shit assaulted my nostrils. Tears stung my eyes as Delware smeared my face in the filth.

I retched, tasting shit and blood. Now I was weeping helplessly; the tears running down my face making a sticky, stinky mush. I must have gone limp and it was only now that the others began pressing Delware to leave me alone. He spat at me and kicked me and then he smiled. With a primal howl, I sobbed again, praying for it to end. Casper spoke first, suddenly overcome with shame.
"That's enough, Delware…. let him go - it's time to go home."

Collingham had turned pale. I knew he was my friend; we'd known each other since infancy, and our parents were born-again Christians who all attended Brandhall Baptist church. Now his shock was evident on his horsy face.

"We could end up with him topping himself or summat..." Then, pleading - "please stop it, Delware!"

Delware laughed and at last gestured that it was over. "Sorry, Ben," he said as his face seemed to change from monster to boy again. "That was so...fuckin' funny though." He looked pityingly at me, and I felt shamefully grateful that he had stopped. I almost loved him now for stopping. I was shaking badly...

Now he winked at me, still grinning, "Don't start your heresies again. Now you know what the price for it is…you fool…."

I wiped some of the crap and blood from my face, then ran to shelter, in a clearing amid elms. Collingham tried to stop me but he himself seemed drained by the ordeal inflicted on me. The hysteria Delware had managed to effect seemed to have ebbed into a general malaise.

I hid in the woods until I was sure that they'd gone. Then I began a long and lonely walk home, wiping my face with leaves and discarded crisp packets, tears still flowing.

That night I sobbed myself to sleep. Things seemed to change. No more carefree happy days for me, just fear, loathing and blood-drops in the snow……