SOUL TAKER

 

Sammy-g was on the road, the sun warm on his back and the sound from his bike echoing off the roadside walls. A perfect evening to be heading for the 4th annual Pig & Hog Rally. Leaving home later than planed it meant it would be dark before he got to the site. Stopping for a cig he pulled the chop over into a field gateway, eased out from the saddle and lit-up. A breeze has pick up blowing lightly from the south. Dusk was starting to set in when a faint glow coming from a hollow out in the field caught his eye. Stubbing out his cig, he swings his legs over the grey granite wall and makes his way over to the light. Has he gets closer to the hollow he can hear a low rumbling noise, the hair on his neck starts to stand. A chill runs down his back and his throat dries out. Fear is a feeling alien to him but fear is what he feels. Slowly he moves over the last fifty metres where he can start to see into the hollow. The Rumbling he heard is louder and at last he knows that sound. A sound he last heard as a lad back home in Ireland, but it was impossible. Just before he could see into the hollow, he stopped. Wanting to turn and get to hell out of there but as the light in the evening sky faded the light in the hollow grew brighter. Sammy-g reached the hollow and he could not believe what he saw. There sat his dead brothers Z1000 chop ‘SOUL TAKER’, engine idling, a little smoke from the four open pipes. Just like it always did. His heart beating against his chest, and his mouth dried. A voice from the grave spoke to him “ Ride Free Little Brother” and the Z1000’s engine roared.
Has he moved towards the chop sitting in the eerie glow he knew he could not turn and walk away. He threw his leg over the bike and felt it mould to his shape. Slowly he started to ride to the field gate, his own chop fades into darkness. He pulled his old pocket watch out from his cut off’s and noticed no more that a couple of minutes had passed, yet he knew it was longer.
Sammy-g rode on slowly towards the rally site. A feeling like he had been here before sat with him. The bike moved along the hilly country road as it glided through the dips and creases the headlamp opened up ahead. After a hour or so of riding through the warm dark night, the rally site at last ahead. Has he pulled into the site his old friend Fat Mike was waiting for him, Fat Mike had the tent up and ready has the Z1000 came to a halt. Fat Mike looked at the chop has his face slowly drained.
“Where did you get your brothers chop?”. Sammy-g told him what happen on the way over. Fat Mike could feel his skin crawl has the story unfolded. “I don’t like this, “ said Fat Mike. “ There’s some-thing evil in there”. When your brother was found lying on the side of the Moorhead Road, his bike was never found. It was though it sank in the marsh and now you turn up on it. Sammy-g laughed and lit another cig, downed another beer. The night wore on and the drink and laughter flowed into the small hours and then a drunken sleep took over.
That night has he slept, he was suddenly on the Moorhead Road. Cruising the Z1000 down the clear evening road. The chop sounded sweet and the smell of heather and turf burning, lay lightly in the air. He was about a mile from the end of the road when he saw movement up a head. Cresting the next hill a young woman walked the road. Has he slowed the chop, He could tell she was not local. He cut the engine at her side, she
turned and looked at him. Her skin pale and eyes that were pure black, it was then she spoke. Sammy-g woke with a jump, sweat running down his face and cooling in the early morning air. A cig lit and smoked he blamed the drink for his bad dream, but it sober him and he was wide-awake.
Over tea and a bacon and egg soda he told Fat Mike about his dream. Fat Mike recalled the first Pig & Hog rally. How him and Sammy-g’s brother had met and got wasted to-gather and how he died going home on his Z1000 chop. And how he, Fat Mike vowed to never travel Moorhead Road again. The day wore on, the custom show over and people started to say their goodbyes. People started to head for there own little part of the world. Has the tent is dropped and packed, Fat Mike says “leave the chop mate its evil”, Sammy-g laughs and wishes him a save one. Packed up, enjoyed a cig and hits the road.” Promise not to go near the Moorhead Road “ Fat Mike shouts in competition with the Z1000 exhaust note and losing. Sammy-g not hearing the request from his friend. Knowing that it will take a good few hours riding to reach home, Sammy-g finds a fuel stop to top up. Finding one, it’s strange but the Z1000 is still full after all the miles covered. Heading toward the hills in the distant, sun warm on the face. Sammy-g hears a voice in his mind calling him to the Moorhead road.
Later in the Day Sammy-g stops to fuel himself with some Fish & chips a long cool pint and a cig or two before he hit the last leg home. Coming back to the bike He feels the hot sun on him and ties his jacket to the sissy bar and sets off for home. Nearing the hills the call in his head get stronger ‘go by the Moorhead Road’. Has he get’s to the hills he stops and look up at the Moorhead Road knowing it will cut about thirteen miles from his journey. Letting out the clutch he swings right and heads up the Moorhead Road. Has Sammy-g approaches the spot were they found his brother. A young woman is standing at the roadside. The engine roars hard and the air bites bitter cold in his face has he rides hard pass her, the engine locks up and the sound of metal and bone on the hot road fills the still country air. Feeling no pain and hearing the soft rumble of the Z1000 chop. The woman singing with an unholy hollow sound fills the air, an engine roars and she ride off on the Z1000 chop. Sammy-g looks back up the road and looks at him-self lying there, broke and busted. When they found him it was a mystery, his chop sat parked in the gateway of a field not fifty metres away. Clean and shining and facing the outbound route with his jacket hung on the bar end.
A week later and an old man weep over the grave off his two sons’. He turn’s and sees a young woman with the dark eyes and pale skin standing off to his side. “WHY” he asks.
“The Soul Taker Needs Fuel” She answers.
Eye of Seoirse

1st December 2003

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