The Last Devil To Die

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To Fred and Jessie Wright, with love and thanks.

You will always be the start of my story.

Thursday, 27th December, eleven p.m.

Kuldesh Sharma hopes he’s in the right place. He parks up at the end of the dirt track, hemmed in on all sides by trees, ghoulish in the darkness.

He had finally made up his mind at about four this afternoon, sitting in the back room of his shop. The box was sitting on the table in front of him, and ‘Mistletoe and Wine’ was playing on the radio.

He made two phone calls, and now here he is.

He switches off his headlights and sits in total darkness.

It’s a hell of a risk, that’s for sure. But he’s nearly eighty years old, so when better to take that risk? What’s the worst that can happen? They find him and kill him?

They would surely do both, but would that be so bad?

Kuldesh thinks about his friend Stephen. How he looks now. How lost, how quiet, how reduced. Is that the future for him too? What fun they used to have, the whole lot of them. The noise they would make.

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