by Graham Tugwell
\n
<\/br>
\nBlood.<\/p>\n
Bright where the shaft of sun falls on it.<\/p>\n
Dark in corners where the flies gather.<\/p>\n
Gristling every surface, fat waxy beads of flesh and blood, stickiness dripping on slender threads…<\/p>\n
We stand in the doorway.<\/p>\n
Bodies have come to pieces in here.<\/p>\n
We can smell them.<\/p>\n
Taste them.<\/p>\n
In the doorway we stand, boys shocked and wordless.<\/p>\n
In the dark before us something moves\u2014<\/p>\n
\u201cHelp.\u201d<\/p>\n
Speaking with a weak and broken voice\u2014<\/p>\n
\u201cHelp me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Barely there at all…<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease. Help me.\u201d
\n
<\/br>
\nFour boys, running across a field as fast as their bodies will let them\u2014<\/p>\n
Cormac Sulltry, short and stout, covers ground with a speed that belies his size, vaulting the low slant-angled fence he hits the corrugated earth; staggering, stiff-legged, for a step, the impact knocking the hat from his head.<\/p>\n
It lies upturned, unheeded on clay\u2014 Sulltry stares at a horizon hammering up and down with footfalls, arms like pistons, breaths shredding between grimacing teeth.<\/p>\n
Saltsweat pinches eyelids.<\/p>\n
Nothing will slow him.<\/p>\n
Boots thump the dirt behind, flattening the hat like a careless pet\u2014 Kevin Shields\u2014 huge, unmolded, left hand on right shoulder tight, trying to keep the blood within. A rose is blossoming under his fingers, turning the green of his jersey brown.<\/p>\n
Curly hair bouncing, jug ears bright red, Kevin hollers through crooked teeth \u201cCormac! Cormac! Cormac! Cormac!\u201d<\/p>\n
Nothing will convince Sulltry to turn, to look back.<\/p>\n
Close behind, in the wake of Shield\u2019s ungainly frame I run.<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve lost a shoe to the lip of the ditch and a stitch is folding the breath out of me. Slapping a palm to settle my glasses, I leave a smudge across one lens, blurring the backs of the boys. My other hand plunges in pockets\u2014<\/p>\n
My inhaler\u2014<\/p>\n
Where\u2019s my inhaler\u2014?<\/p>\n
Left it behind\u2014<\/p>\n
With\u2014<\/p>\n
There\u2019s a screech behind me.<\/p>\n
Little Tommy Sweetnam, foot swallowed by a rabbit hole, pitches forward, heels of his hands and knees hitting the turf, shrill screams bursting his hamster\u2019s cheeks\u2014\u201cNo! Don\u2019t leave me!\u201d<\/p>\n
Can\u2019t catch my breath\u2014pins in the heart of me\u2014<\/p>\n
Cormac a distant smudge, Kevin loping after him, and Tommy struggling, blonde head pressed to the mud\u2014<\/p>\n
I take the softness of his hand, drag him to his feet. \u201cWe left him,\u201d says Tommy, tears carving pink in the muck. \u201cWe just left him.\u201d<\/p>\n
I grab him by the sleeve and haul him over the tumbled fence.<\/p>\n
And the last of us, the fifth boy\u2014<\/p>\n
Alby Gorman.<\/p>\n
Where\u2019s Alby Gorman?<\/p>\n
We left him with the Dragging Man.
\n
<\/br>
\nThe five of us were friends because no-one else would have us.<\/p>\n
Cormac Sulltry was bossy and arrogant and short-tempered and always convinced he was in the right. He wore a cap, like a gang leader in his comics.<\/p>\n
Kevin Shields was slow and his father was strange and his mother took a knife to her wrists a month before school began.<\/p>\n
Tommy Sweetnam was soft and gentle, and while all the rest of us were growing up, he remained a baby, younger than us in every way.<\/p>\n
And me, stricken with pneumonia at an early age and never truly recovered; a sickly air hung round me, made me cold and distant. Happy to wait and listen.<\/p>\n
And Alby Gorman…<\/p>\n
Was Alby Gorman.<\/p>\n
We came together, the scraps and odds and ends…<\/p>\n
Friends because no-one else would have us.<\/p>\n
We learned that Cormac was fearless and cunning and clever and Kevin was kind and loyal and loved his kittens, and Tommy was an artist, such a voice\u2014he\u2019d sing for us, behind the Water Tower. He was good like that.<\/p>\n
And me, I\u2019d listen.<\/p>\n
I was there for them.<\/p>\n
Even Alby Gorman.
\n
<\/br>
\nScreams.<\/p>\n
Bringing children around corners, pressing teachers against windows, sending Joe the caretaker racing across the tarmac.<\/p>\n
Tommy finds me by the rosebushes.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s doing it,\u201d he stammers, pudgy face pale, \u201cDoing it again!\u201d<\/p>\n
Leaving my lunch on the wall I run, up the slope, along prefabs to the gravel behind the boiler, pushing through gathered children\u2014 Cormac and Kevin already there.<\/p>\n
So is Alby Gorman.<\/p>\n
Kneeling on the small of Pascal Givens\u2019 back, one hand worked entwining in his hair, Alby presses the trapped boy\u2019s head down amongst the sharp and scraping stones.<\/p>\n
Givens\u2019 voice\u2014 the high shriek of a pet crushed in a closing door: \u201cHelp me help me help me\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
No-one moves.<\/p>\n
Because the look on Alby Gorman\u2019s face\u2014that placid concentration, the tongue-tip in the corner of his mouth. Softly, serenely, he twists Pascal Givens\u2019 arm\u2014 eyes bulging pale bubbles, close to popping, free hand slapping and clawing gravel\u2014 Pascal can do nothing as Alby drags the limb around and up the length of his back.<\/p>\n
It resists.<\/p>\n
For a moment.<\/p>\n
We all hear it\u2014<\/p>\n
The soft wet click of something forced out of place.<\/p>\n
Pascal\u2019s scream rises until, at the edge of hearing, it empties him.<\/p>\n
Still he lies on gravel.<\/p>\n
Only then does Alby Gorman look at his audience.<\/p>\n
Cormac impassive and Kevin sick and Tommy distraught: \u201cWhy Alby?\u201d<\/p>\n
Alby looks at us as if the answer\u2019s obvious, as if we\u2019re stupid. He smiles. Says \u201cI wanted to see his new watch.\u201d<\/p>\n
(The limp wrist, red and purple, and the yellow plastic of a strap)<\/p>\n
Alby Gorman shrugs. \u201cHe wouldn\u2019t let me. So I made him.\u201d<\/p>\n
Joe the caretaker lifts the boy from the gravel, pushes his way through the children.<\/p>\n
Alby\u2019s smile widens. \u201cWhat\u2019s the problem? I didn\u2019t take it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Joe puts Pascal on the backseat of his car.<\/p>\n
A curve of kids and teachers stare down at Alby Gorman.<\/p>\n
Wondering what he is capable of.<\/p>\n
What he will do next.
\n
<\/br>
\nAlby Gorman squats on haunches.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt didn\u2019t land on his feet.\u201d<\/p>\n
He prods the white kitten.<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought they always landed on their feet…\u201d<\/p>\n
He rises as Kevin gathers the limp thing in his hands\u2014his silent tears huge and bright and awful.<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe I kicked it too hard,\u201d says Alby Gorman and he grins. \u201cGive me another one, Kevin. Let\u2019s try again.\u201d
\n
<\/br>
\n\u201cHow high can you sing, Tommy?\u201d<\/p>\n
They sit behind the Water Tower, watching traffic pass.<\/p>\n
Tommy plucks at his sleeve.<\/p>\n
\u201cEm,\u201d he says, \u201cEm. Dunno.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTry, for me,\u201d says Alby Gorman.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat, em… what song do you want, Alby?\u201d<\/p>\n
He smiles.<\/p>\n
\u201cSurprise me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is… em… this is something Mammy and her sisters sing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCome and look out through the window.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat big old moon is shining down…\u201d<\/p>\n
Alby nods. \u201cCan you go higher?\u201d<\/p>\n
Tommy\u2019s voice sharpens:<\/p>\n
\u201cTell me now, don’t it remind you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHigher.\u201d<\/p>\n
And sharpens further, hangs there, shivering:<\/p>\n
\u201cOf a… blanket… on the… ground.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLet me help,\u201d says Alby Gorman.<\/p>\n
Hands close on Tommy\u2019s throat.<\/p>\n
Tighter and tighter.<\/p>\n
Until song becomes scream.
\n
<\/br>
\nAlby Gorman.<\/p>\n
Brown haired and blue-eyed.<\/p>\n
And all of us so scared of him.<\/p>\n
He lived with his grandmother and little sister until, one day, he lived with just his grandmother.<\/p>\n
And he smiled.<\/p>\n
All the time he smiled and stared and we learned that life was easier when he got his own way.<\/p>\n
The four of us, we became friends because no-one else would have us.<\/p>\n
But we weren\u2019t friends with Alby Gorman.<\/p>\n
He didn\u2019t know the meaning of the word.<\/p>\n
Once, he found me by the rosebushes. Sat beside me.<\/p>\n
I settled my glasses. \u201cAre you okay, Alby?\u201d<\/p>\n
He ran his finger over thorns. Snapped a budding rose from its stem.<\/p>\n
His voice was low. \u201cWhy are they scared of me?\u201d<\/p>\n
Stomach a cold plunge, I replied, \u201cWho, Alby?\u201d<\/p>\n
He plucked a curved leaf, flicked it in the air.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe rest of the class.\u201d<\/p>\n
Another red leaf fell.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe people who say they\u2019re my friends.\u201d<\/p>\n
Scraps of rose settled on his lap.<\/p>\n
His blue eyes did not blink.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
Wanted to run. Could feel my chest collapsing\u2014fingers searched for my inhaler.<\/p>\n
Finally, I found my voice. \u201cYou… you hurt people,\u201d I whispered. \u201cYou don\u2019t know how strong you are.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd when you hurt them…\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t care.\u201d<\/p>\n
He smiled.<\/p>\n
Horrible.<\/p>\n
\u201cI hurt people?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs that so..?\u201d<\/p>\n
My inhaler\u2014where\u2014<\/p>\n
He tapped his lap.<\/p>\n
Curls of soft red plucked from the bulb…<\/p>\n
I stared at them.<\/p>\n
\u201cEat them.\u201d<\/p>\n
Unblinking.<\/p>\n
\u201cEat… them…\u201d<\/p>\n
His hands curled in fists.<\/p>\n
Imminent things.<\/p>\n
Breath dragging, throat and neck enclosing, I bent. With numb lips, plucked a leaf from the lap of Alby Gorman.<\/p>\n
Chewed.<\/p>\n
Swallowed.<\/p>\n
I sat back.<\/p>\n
He smiled, patted my cheek.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re friends. We\u2019re kind to each other. We play games.\u201d<\/p>\n
His fingers rested for a long time.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t be scared of me. I don\u2019t want that.\u201d<\/p>\n
He left.<\/p>\n
The taste.<\/p>\n
The taste of roses.
\n
<\/br>
\n\u201cNo more,\u201d says Cormac Sulltry. \u201cSomething has to be done.\u201d<\/p>\n
He slams his fist into the palm of his hand, the way they do it on TV.<\/p>\n
We\u2019re in Tommy\u2019s house, in his bedroom.<\/p>\n
Kevin sits on the floor, Tommy and I sit on his bed.<\/p>\n
Cormac strides, repeating, \u201cSomething has to be done,\u201d under his hat he scratches his greasy scalp.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut what?\u201d<\/p>\n
Silence falls.<\/p>\n
It is Kevin who solves our problem.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know a place,\u201d he says, running fingers along his kitten\u2019s ears. \u201cDad… tells me…The place where he and Mam went. A terrible place. There\u2019s a thing inside it.\u201d<\/p>\n
His voice drops to a whisper.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe Dragging Man. That\u2019s what she called it. It had its hold on her and wouldn\u2019t let go. Dragging her into the dark. It has no hands and no feet but it holds you tight. In the end she had to cut herself away…\u201d<\/p>\n
Kevin looks at the biscuit-coloured kitten in his lap. Patches mews and plays with his fingertips. \u201cWe can leave Alby with the Dragging Man.\u201d<\/p>\n
Cormac has that look. A plan, falling softly into place. He replaces his hat.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n
That half-away look, working the angles…<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
Deciding the way the world will work…<\/p>\n
\u201cBut we all have to agree,\u201d says Cormac Sulltry. \u201cAll of us.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d says Kevin without hesitation.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d I say, after a moment.<\/p>\n
Tommy rests his head on folded arms.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
He shakes as tears come through him.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not right.\u201d<\/p>\n
Cormac looks at me and nods his head.<\/p>\n
I put my hand on Tommy\u2019s arm.<\/p>\n
\u201cTommy,\u201d I say, \u201cHe hurts people. Someone has to do something. Before something awful happens.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tommy shakes his head.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know he has it in him.\u201d<\/p>\n
I touch the bruises on his neck.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy us?\u201d sobs Tommy.<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause we\u2019re his friends,\u201d I say. \u201cHe trusts us.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tommy looks at me. \u201cDo you think we should?\u201d<\/p>\n
I nod.<\/p>\n
Tommy drags a rattling breath and tries a little smile.<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n
And the door opens.<\/p>\n
Alby Gorman.<\/p>\n
Looking in.<\/p>\n
Brown-haired, blue-eyed and smiling.<\/p>\n
Tommy gasps. Kevin clutches his kitten. It hisses.<\/p>\n
\u201cSecret meeting?\u201d whispers Alby. \u201cWas I not invited?\u201d<\/p>\n
He taps the wood of the door.<\/p>\n
We say nothing.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy not? Am I not your friend?\u201d<\/p>\n
Cormac clears his throat.<\/p>\n
He has a plan.<\/p>\n
Always.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re planning a camping trip, Alby. It was going to be a surprise.\u201d<\/p>\n
Alby grins. Something glistening on a surgical glove.<\/p>\n
\u201cCount me in.\u201d
\n
<\/br>
\nDown we go by Wishing Lane and up into the woods and hills.<\/p>\n
Cormac Sulltry leads the way, and Kevin Shields close to guide, next is me and Tommy Sweetnam. Last of all is Alby Gorman, smiling at sunlight through the trees and throwing sticks at birds.<\/p>\n
Five boys on a camping trip.<\/p>\n
Singing. Laughing. Looking back at Alby Gorman.<\/p>\n
Kevin points. There is a house, dark and broken, in the crease where two hills meet.<\/p>\n
\u201cHere,\u201d says Cormac Sulltry, \u201cHere\u2019s where we camp.\u201d<\/p>\n
And Kevin stares at the door ajar and the black windows and we must call his name three times.<\/p>\n
Slowly, and slanting, the tent goes up.<\/p>\n
(Why straighten it? It won\u2019t be slept in.)<\/p>\n
We watch Alby Gorman wander up the overgrown path.<\/p>\n
He presses his face against dirty glass, runs his fingers along the splintered wood\u2014a piece comes away with a crack. He turns, his grin the gleam of a freshly-dropped turd.<\/p>\n
\u201cDump.\u201d He skips the wood back down the path. \u201cWhat do you think happened here?\u201d<\/p>\n
Kevin makes a strange sound, deep in the back of his throat and Cormac coughs to cover\u2014<\/p>\n
\u201cAlby,\u201d he says, \u201cLet\u2019s explore.\u201d A single bead of sweat crystals his brow. \u201cLet\u2019s explore.\u201d<\/p>\n
Alby Gorman looks at us and our stomachs freeze over. Time turns to creaking slowness. After an age Alby puts his shoulder to the door and shunts recalcitrant wood aside.<\/p>\n
Cormac and I follow him, Tommy a pace behind, and Kevin staying where he is.<\/p>\n
We go in and find:<\/p>\n
Filth and broken furniture and stained rags on the floor, a fireplace clogged with leaves, and a cracked mirror returning our shadowed faces in pieces. Peeling wallpaper. Swollen wood. A shaft of sun trapping a zithering fly.<\/p>\n
And there is the smell of beer, sharp and bloated, making our heads swim.<\/p>\n
And there is something in the darkness beyond.<\/p>\n
Moving slowly through the other rooms.<\/p>\n
I look at Cormac, my chest a pinched unbreathing.<\/p>\n
He nods.<\/p>\n
And the thing we\u2019ve come to find leaves the darkness for the light. It passes the doorway and stands there, looking out at us.<\/p>\n
Pink.<\/p>\n
Wet.<\/p>\n
Ribbed.<\/p>\n
A worm, trying its best to be a man.<\/p>\n
It has no feet.<\/p>\n
It has no hands.<\/p>\n
Its arms and legs go on and on.<\/p>\n
The Dragging Man.<\/p>\n
\u201cChildren,\u201d it says. \u201cStay with me. Stay with me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Alby Gorman\u2019s smile disappears.<\/p>\n
For the first time there\u2019s a look\u2014<\/p>\n
Confusion. Almost… almost… panic\u2014<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat..?\u201d he mumbles.<\/p>\n
\u201cNow!\u201d cries Cormac Sulltry.<\/p>\n
We grab and we push.<\/p>\n
We are not strong\u2014 Alby Gorman will not be moved\u2014<\/p>\n
\u201cChildren,\u201d cries the Dragging Man. \u201cStay with me. In the dark.\u201d<\/p>\n
And there\u2019s a scream\u2014<\/p>\n
Not the Dragging Man.<\/p>\n
Not Alby Gorman.<\/p>\n
Kevin Shields, thundering down the path, bursting through the doorway, screaming: \u201cYou kicked them\u2014kicked to pieces\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
He grabs Alby Gorman and with his strength added to ours we force Alby further in, dirt and rags entwining in our feet. It dawns on him: \u201cLeaving me\u2014trying to leave me here!\u201d and Alby Gorman fights us, pushes us back\u2014<\/p>\n
I trip on the broken sill of the door.<\/p>\n
Five boys falling, tumbling into summer suns but Kevin is not quick enough\u2014Alby Gorman digs his nails into his chest, feet scrabbling for purchase on the tall boy\u2019s thighs.<\/p>\n
Kevin screeches \u201cGet him off me! Get him off! Aaargh!\u201d<\/p>\n
Cormac and me, we take Alby by the arms and try to pull him from Kevin\u2014Alby\u2019s teeth close upon the meat of his shoulder and when finally we manage to wrench him off a long wet string comes away in his mouth.<\/p>\n
The soft wet noise of it…<\/p>\n
Blood gushes and Kevin collapses and Tommy is softly sick through threaded fingers.<\/p>\n
\u201cCormac!\u201d screams Kevin, hands flapping at wounds down neck and shoulder, \u201cCormac!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot my idea,\u201d mumbles Tommy, \u201cNot my idea…\u201d<\/p>\n
And as Alby readies himself to pounce again, as the Dragging Man drifts through the room, I see…<\/p>\n
There is a stout branch in the grass by the front door. I pick it up and break it across the forehead of Alby Gorman.<\/p>\n
His eyes roll up in his head.<\/p>\n
\u201cUlm…\u201d he says, gulping, \u201cUlm…\u201d<\/p>\n
He steps backwards, puts his hand upon the blood licking over an eyebrow.<\/p>\n
Without a sound the handless arms of the Dragging Man close over his throat, over his chest and it is almost a loving thing.<\/p>\n
Alby Gorman is dragged into the dark.<\/p>\n
Slowly the door of the broken house closes.<\/p>\n
We stand there, looking at that door, for a very long time.
\n
<\/br>
\n\u201cPack up,\u201d says Cormac sharply. \u201cPack up and home.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kevin makes a noise. \u201cCormac, it\u2019s not stopping. I can\u2019t…\u201d He paws at the wound. \u201cIt won\u2019t stop.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d weeps Tommy Sweetnam, his head in his hands. \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHurry,\u201d shouts Cormac Sulltry<\/p>\n
We busy ourselves.<\/p>\n
There are noises.<\/p>\n
We try to ignore them.<\/p>\n
Hammering.<\/p>\n
Bodies falling.<\/p>\n
Short gasps and sighs and grunts and once, a long, resounding scream.<\/p>\n
And there are shadows behind the dirty windows….<\/p>\n
Tommy Sweetnam\u2014<\/p>\n
We are busy. Before we can stop him he is down the path. He is through the door.<\/p>\n
Tommy Sweetnam\u2014<\/p>\n
He was good like that.<\/p>\n
\u201cAlby\u2014Alby,\u201d he cries, \u201cI\u2019m sorry\u2014I\u2019m sorry\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
We are behind him shouting, reaching out to pull him back\u2014but we are too late.<\/p>\n
We enter the house again.<\/p>\n
Blood.<\/p>\n
Bright where sun falls on it.<\/p>\n
Dark in corners where the flies gather.<\/p>\n
We stand in the doorway, shocked and wordless.<\/p>\n
A body has come to pieces.<\/p>\n
Something moves\u2014<\/p>\n
\u201cHelp.\u201d<\/p>\n
Speaks with a weak and broken voice…<\/p>\n
\u201cHelp me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Barely there at all…<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease. Help me.\u201d<\/p>\n
We look down at the twisted thing cowering in the corner.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe got out,\u201d whispers the Dragging Man, staring with his one remaining eye, \u201cCouldn\u2019t hold him. Help me…\u201d<\/p>\n
The bruises.<\/p>\n
The bite marks.<\/p>\n
The severed limbs.<\/p>\n
\u201cRun,\u201d says Cormac Sulltry.
\n
<\/br>
\nFour boys, running as fast as they can across the field.<\/p>\n
And where\u2019s the fifth boy?<\/p>\n
Where\u2019s Alby Gorman?
\n
<\/br>
\nWe find out, one by one.
\n
<\/br>
\nCormac, by knife, in the carpark.<\/p>\n
Slashes on his palms and chest.<\/p>\n
He fought.<\/p>\n
July 26th.
\n
<\/br>
\nKevin, at the foot of the garden, black bruises on his throat.<\/p>\n
The last straw for his father.<\/p>\n
The kittens left to starve.<\/p>\n
August 5th.
\n
<\/br>
\nTommy, in his bed, a pillow over his face.<\/p>\n
So small and delicate.<\/p>\n
You\u2019d think he was asleep.<\/p>\n
August 17th.
\n
<\/br>
\nAnd me?<\/p>\n
I wait now for Alby Gorman.<\/p>\n
And what words will we exchange, before…?<\/p>\n
I wait.<\/p>\n
Remembering four boys running across a field, as fast as their bodies will let them.<\/p>\n
Remembering the taste of roses.<\/p>\n
Seeing a body disappearing into dark.<\/p>\n
We were young.<\/p>\n
We were scared.<\/p>\n
We left him with the Dragging Man. by Graham Tugwell Blood. Bright where the shaft of sun falls on it. Dark in corners where the flies gather. Gristling every surface, fat waxy beads of flesh and blood, stickiness dripping on slender threads… We stand in the doorway. … Continue reading
\n
<\/br>
<\/br>
\nGRAHAM TUGWELL<\/strong> is a writer and performer. The recipient of the College Green Literary Prize 2010, he enjoys writing work of abiding strangeness, aimed at provoking that apocalyptic oscillation where the brain cannot decide what is appropriate\u2014laughter or grief. He has lived his whole life in the village where all his stories take place. He loves it with a very special type of hate. Visit his website at grahamtugwell.com<\/a>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"