Tales from Gresley Station

The Tower of Passion

It must be the water around Gresley Station that helps breed such a collection of peculiar people or maybe it's just the weather and living in such a hell hole of a town with no entertainment.

Take Lynda Heatherpatch (please!!), once she was a shy unassuming EMO-Goth teenager who kept herself to herself and bothered nobody. Looking, from a distance, like a black vertical line drawn on the horizon, dressed in her customary all black attire with matching long lank raven coloured hair which was never cut let alone washed. During a typical Gresley summer, not so long ago that all changed as Lynda became someone who could clear a street just by being on it.

                             

The heat had been oppressive for days and you could feel the impending doom of rain and thunderstorms as you approached Gresley Station. Shrouded in dark grey clouds the entire population was waiting for the inevitable storm. 

I was walking home through the churchyard after a couple of swift Rat Blasters at the Howling Woman hoping to outpace the impending storm, which was going to be immense judging by the way the thunder and lightening had been circling the town for hours.

Gresley Station stood firm like Custer, but knew its fate was sealed.

The churchyard was a short cut to my house and a regular route for me as it allowed me to spend a few moments at the Moorwood Tunnel Memorial, remembering that awful day. Lengthening shadows and a sudden quietness warned me of the closeness of the storm so I hurried on towards home when a movement and the sound of voices froze me to the spot.

There had been much suspicion around the town after the May Fair Withering, the whole town now especially cautious about strangers wandering around after dark.

The hushed whispers were coming from the side of the church tower where there was a small door leading to the tower. Expecting to find villains trying to force the door I crept forward keeping hidden as much as possible.

Two figures were stood by the base of the tower.

Peering into the gloom I recognised the figures as Lynda Heatherpatch and her latest boyfriend Frank.

I had been expecting to find villains fiddling with the door locks but truth was the only locks being fiddled with were Lynda's nether-locks.

It suddenly dawned on me that the pair were engaged in what shall I call it? Docking Manoeuvres? (Sounds more polite than shagging doesn't it?)

Lynda had pressed Frank up against one of the buttresses of the tower and was thoroughly enjoying being 'probed'.

Not wishing to reveal my presence and be labelled a peeping tom or pervert I kept quiet and just watched as the action became more frantic.

The sky was riven wide with light as the storm announced that it had arrived with a flash of lightning and a crash of thunder. My eyes flew upward to see the lightning strike the church tower, luckily hitting the lightning conductor but not so lucky for the conjoined pair at the bottom of the tower. Frank and Lynda had unwittingly perched themselves over the said conductor. I swear that I saw the blue pulse of electricity as it passed down the copper strip, where it passed through the couple on its way to earth. The effect was certainly spectacular.

Frank spasmed with such force that he definitely “touched bottom” to use a local phrase, flinging Lynda skywards into the murk and the surrounding gravestones. Frank shuddered again then lit up like a devotional candle, burning brightly, illuminating the tower and Lynda's landing spot.

I rushed to try to extinguish Frank but the rain reached him first, dousing the flames. Unfortunately Frank appeared to be rather well done, judging by the smell of roast pork in the air.

Lynda was spread-eagled against a gravestone, her normally long straight hair now turned into a giant Afro and with the most demonic smile on her face. Stooping to help her she grabbed at my arm and with an evil leer spoke the last words I ever heard her say "Damn that was some orgasm; Want to try it?"

Making my excuses I left knowing that she was obviously ok, hurrying home to phone the police so they could deal with the aftermath.

Lynda was released from hospital the following week after recovering from Endorphin overload. It was during her stay that the ‘new’ Lynda strutted into life causing chaos on the wards as she stalked them looking for suitable partners to feed her new addiction, orgasm by lightning or electricity bringing a whole new meaning to the term ‘Jump Leads’.

Even now she strikes terror into the town when the skies blacken and the lightning threatens, trawling the streets with that manic smile, the iconic Afro (which from a distance makes her look like a huge black pompom on a stick) and a pair of industrial jump leads in her hand looking for her next Endorphin high.

Terror has never been so simply drawn.