{"id":4330,"date":"2020-11-14T10:51:10","date_gmt":"2020-11-14T10:51:10","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.horrifiedmagazine.co.uk\/?p=4330"},"modified":"2022-12-29T14:02:55","modified_gmt":"2022-12-29T14:02:55","slug":"wallys-corner","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.horrifiedmagazine.co.uk\/uncategorized\/wallys-corner\/","title":{"rendered":"Wally’s Corner"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
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Wally's Corner<\/h2>\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t
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by Arron O'Hare<\/h2>\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t
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Wally Thomas was a small man for such a big drinker. This was partly due to genetics but mainly down to not eating properly. For him, the drink was far more important to get into his system than food ever was, even more so since Queenie \u2013 his wife \u2013 had passed away. And besides, his appetite went right out of the window once he got stuck into the top-shelf spirits and the upside-down bottles that lined the wall behind the bar of The Legion, or The Leg-Iron as the locals jokingly called it.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Hidden away at the end of a cul-de-sac lined with brown-bricked, red-roofed council houses, The Legion was only ever used by local drinkers who had never managed to escape the gravity of the housing estate.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Drink had been a big part of Wally\u2019s life for as long as he could remember. One of his earliest recollections was as a young boy of about six years of age, sitting on his father\u2019s knee in the pub, gleefully swallowing large mouthfuls of stout as his dad and his ruddy-faced friends clapped and cheered.\u00a0 Alcoholism ran deep in his family and he was always aware that he was hereditarily partial to the bottle, but he often wondered if this warm and fuzzy, sepia memory was actually the fateful moment he fell in love with drink. Either way, booze had been a constant companion throughout his life and pretty much his only one now.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

When Queenie died following a car accident, Wally slipped into a spiral of alcoholic decline. He was a good man at heart, but he was also a broken one, full of feelings that he didn\u2019t know how to cope with.\u00a0 He became distant and didn\u2019t or couldn\u2019t care. It seemed that people quickly distanced themselves from him too, because all that mattered to him was the pursuit of oblivion in a dark and dusty corner of The\u00a0 Legion, with a pint of bitter in his left hand and a whisky chaser to his right.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

The wind was hammering raindrops into the tiny windows of the Legion, and the world on the other side of the yellowing net curtains was cold and dark and miserable. Wally found himself sitting in the same corner of the public bar as he always did, drinks already to hand and pre-rolled ciggies in his little green tobacco tin. He stared out vacantly across the bar at the filthy rain-streaked windows and the weak electric light beyond them. He liked this corner because he could sink into it, becoming almost invisible so that he could quietly observe the other drinkers as they came and went. No one bothered him and most ignored him these days which suited him down to the ground. He had nothing to say to them anyway. The only person who really spoke to him was his old pal, Ronnie.<\/span><\/p>

Wally and Ronnie had been good friends since their school days and now they were well into the twilight of their adult years. Each had been the other\u2019s best man at their weddings, and both shared a love of the drink. Ronnie was seen as the jolly, eccentric old lush, often caught cheerfully talking and singing to himself around the town. Everyone loved Ronnie.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Wally watched in silence as the Legion door squeaked open and Ronnie was blown into the bar,\u00a0 cursing as he brushed rainwater from the sleeves of his coat and straightened what was left of his hair.\u00a0 Ronnie\u2019s hair intrigued and amused Wally in equal measure. It was quite long at the back and sides but really thin on top and scraped across the balding, pink dome of his head. He always joked that it looked like an egg slice.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Mick the barman looked up from his phone, \u201cEvening, Ron!\u201d he shouted cheerfully, \u201cStill raining?\u201d he said before taking a glass down from the shelf and drawing a pint from a hand pump.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u201cNo, I swam here,\u201d replied Ronnie sarcastically. \u201cOf course it\u2019s still bloody raining. Just like it was yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. It\u2019s like bloody monsoon season out there.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Mick laughed, \u201cTake your seat, Ron. I\u2019ll bring it over.\u201d\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Ronnie made his way over to the small round table in the gloomy corner where Wally was rolling a\u00a0 cigarette and watching him silently from the shadows. Ronnie shrugged his coat off and threw it over the back of his chair before slumping into it. It creaked loudly under his weight.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u201cEvening, Wal\u2019. Fancy seeing you here,\u201d said Ronnie.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u201cRon,\u201d replied Wally. \u201cStill raining then?\u201d he smiled weakly.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u201cDon\u2019t you bloody start. Look at me, I\u2019m soaked to the bone!\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Mick bought a pint of bitter over to Ronnie and clumsily set it on the table, the foam head spilt over\u00a0 the lip of the glass, \u201cHere you go, mate.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u201cCareful! That\u2019s a bleedin\u2019 quid\u2019s worth there!\u201d shouted Ronnie as Mick walked back to the bar. He turned to Wally and whispered, \u201cHe\u2019s a dozy clown, that one. Anyway, how have you been, mate?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Ronnie shrugged and tapped the end of his roll-up on the table.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u201cYou know you\u2019re not meant to smoke indoors anymore,\u201d Ronnie chided, \u201cThey outlawed it years ago. Besides, those things will kill you.\u201d\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Wally frowned. He struck a match that flared and momentarily lit the up the dark corner, throwing his features into exaggerated highlights and shadows. A long but comfortable silence opened up between them as he took a drag on the cigarette, sending little embers sparking into the air.<\/span><\/p>

\u201cI saw her again, Ron. Queenie, I mean,\u201d said Wally, his voice dripping with sadness. \u201cI see her a lot or sense her at least. Sometimes it\u2019s like she\u2019s still with me, by my side. It\u2019s comforting in a way but there\u2019s something else I can\u2019t quite put my finger on, like a heaviness that seems to fall over both of us when she appears. I still miss her, Ron.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Ronnie took a sip of his pint, \u201cI miss her too, mate. I miss the old you, too. Which is why I\u2019m here\u00a0 tonight, Wally.\u201d\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Wally pulled a strand of tobacco from his mouth and examined it before rolling it away in his\u00a0 fingers, \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u201cThis. You. It can\u2019t go on Wally. You\u2019re my best mate and it tears me apart to keep seeing you like this. I want to help, but I really don\u2019t know where to start. Only you can help yourself, Wal.\u2019\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Ronnie stared deeply into Wally\u2019s eyes and suddenly felt an intense sorrow he had never experienced before. It enveloped him and it was all he could do to stay seated. He fought the impulse to get up and move away to escape this awful, cold, hollow feeling that emanated from Wally and engulfed him in a wave of pure grief. He eventually steadied himself with a large swig of his pint and shakily put it down on the table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u201cWhat do you remember about it, Wally?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u201cAbout what?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u201cThe accident. The car crash. What do you remember?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Wally sat back into the corner bench seat and seemed to momentarily disappear in the shadows.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Slowly, he leant forward into the weak light thrown from the bar, \u201cIt\u2019s like it happened yesterday but I keep reliving it. I keep seeing it\u2026every single, bloody day. I remember we were on our way to your house from here. I know it\u2019s only a short drive, but it was raining so hard that night like it is now. Exactly like it is now. Anyway, Queenie didn\u2019t fancy getting wet, she\u2019d had her hair done, see?\u201d Wally smiled at the memory, \u201cSo I decided to drive. Stupid, I know, but we all make mistakes. I\u2019d only had a few drinks but I\u00a0 shouldn\u2019t have got behind the wheel.\u201d\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u201cWe\u2019ve all done it, Wally,\u201d said Ronnie, \u201cIt doesn\u2019t make it right, but we\u2019ve all done it.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Wally shook his head slowly, \u201cWe got to the junction at the top of the road out here\u2026\u201d his voice faltered and cracked as he pointed over Ronnie\u2019s shoulder. \u201cIt was the rain, I just didn\u2019t see the other car\u00a0 and didn\u2019t even have time to brake.\u201d He swallowed hard, \u201cOf course we never wore seat belts back then,\u00a0 no one did. There was an almighty smash, glass everywhere, and then I just remember hearing the rain\u00a0 hammering down all around us.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u201cWhat then, Wally? What happened after that?\u201d\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Wally looked puzzled. His mouth opened and closed as he searched for the answer to the question. He looked down at his roll-up and twisted it between his fingers, \u201cI don\u2019t know, Ron. I can\u2019t remember anything after that,\u201d he whispered.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

There was a long and heavy silence between the two old friends. The only sound was the insistent rapping of the rain against the windows.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Ronnie eventually looked up at Wally from across his pint, his pale blue eyes had pooled with tears which spilled over and ran down his cheeks, \u201cI think the time has come for you to accept that Queenie\u2019s gone, Wally,\u201d he said quietly, \u201cAnd you have to let go and accept that you\u2019ve gone too. And somehow, I\u00a0 have to accept that you\u2019ve both gone.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Wally stared at Ronnie for what seemed an eternity before lowering his eyes and nodding slowly,\u00a0 \u201cI know, Ron, I know,\u201d he croaked as he took a deep pull on his roll-up, \u201cI think it\u2019s time for last orders, me old mate.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

He tilted his head back and blew out a long ribbon of smoke from his thin lips. Ronnie watched slack-mouthed as the smoke continued to spill out of his mouth and curl around Wally\u2019s head, becoming denser and denser, obscuring his features and form until he could no longer be seen through the thick fug. Ronnie grimaced and waved his hands around to disperse the huge cloud. When the smoke eventually thinned out, Wally was no longer behind it. He had disappeared completely. Ronnie closed his eyes tight and breathed deeply.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u201cSame again, Ron?\u201d asked Mick as he picked up the empty pint glass from the table. He sniffed the air and looked around him with a puzzled expression.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Ronnie slowly opened his eyes and looked over Mick\u2019s head at a small brass plaque screwed to the\u00a0 wooden panelling above where Wally had just been sitting, and read the old familiar inscription:\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Wally\u2019s Corner, RIP\u00a0<\/i><\/b><\/p>

\u201cNo, I\u2019m fine thanks, Mick. I think I\u2019m done too,\u201d smiled Ronnie as he stood up. He dragged his coat across his shoulders, fixed his comb-over and walked towards the door, throwing a final glance into the corner before heading out into the pouring rain.<\/span><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t

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\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tArron O'Hare\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/h4>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
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Arron lives in Surrey. As a younger man, he was obsessed with the creepy, classic Hammer Horror films that used be on late at night following an evening down the local.
\nHe writes for the sheer joy of it.<\/p>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

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