The Nightwalkers

1 - Stakeout

Vincent Wong tried his best to keep up with his three friends as they trudged towards the woodland behind his home. The walk had started with him leading the expedition on the night's excursion, but he had quickly fallen behind. He blamed it on the snow and his choice of shoes, but his rotund frame, short legs, and lack of fitness were all playing their part too.

As leader of the gang, lagging in fourth place did not sit well with him. He should be at the front directing his posse, but he had tired so quickly the others overtook him and were now making their own decisions, with Vincent puffing and wheezing far behind.

Vincent had made one of his not infrequent executive decisions a few nights earlier. He decreed that his regular gang members Finnieus Hogland, Clifford Killman, and their newest recruit, Smedley Botherington, should embark on a new path. At his insistence, the legendary EMO-Goths, the most feared gang in the sleepy, affluent village of Lyndhurst in the New Forest, were to form their very own detective agency.

Vincent was sick of police having not a clue where to start with their investigations of the recent spate of killings haunting the New Forest. It was down to him to lend his vast personal experience accrued over his eleven years of age of never having done any investigative work to helping them identify who or what was responsible for the grizzly deaths. He convinced his gang members to adopt his plan, and so tonight was the dawn of a new era, the turning of a fresh page in the gang's formerly notorious history.

Indeed, where once the EMO-Goths had mocked authority, they would now actively help it. Gone were the days when the gang would whisper obscenities at a passing police car after it had sped down the road and the officers were well out of earshot. No longer would they dial 999 from a phone booth, hang up as soon as the operator answered and then scramble off laughing all the way to the nearest sweet shop. No more chalk graffiti or littering. Now they would be serious, and law-abiding. They would give back to society for all their mischief-making and juvenile misdemeanors.

"Wait up guys," puffed Vincent as he lagged farther behind. This place was beginning to creep him out. After all, there was someone or something killing people in the area and he suddenly felt vulnerable and exposed to mortal danger. Better face it as a foursome than all alone, he reasoned.

"Guys, come on wait for me!" he called again, desperation creeping into his voice, as the party disappeared between the trees. He tried his best to run and make up the distance. Looking over his shoulder he felt a chill run up and down his spine. His short legs and excess poundage made running difficult. His oversized rucksack and the tent peg bag strapped to his thigh only served to hamper his movements further.

Fortunately, the other three had stopped and were surveying their surroundings. They were looking for a path through the trees to a clearing on the other side of the wood where they could pitch their tent and lie in wait for any possible murderers and their victims.

When Vincent Wong eventually caught up with them they had already decided on the direction to take. They needed to reach open ground beside the main footpath that ran along the far side of the wood. They deduced a well-trodden path would be the likeliest stalking ground for the killer and was where potential victims could easily be encountered by whatever was killing them.

Vincent was annoyed at having been bypassed in the decision-making process yet again. By rights, he was the leader and he should be calling the shots. He now secretly regretted enrolling Smedley into the gang. But the gangly thirteen-year-old school librarian came with such a self-professed reputation that Vincent couldn't help but be impressed. Besides, he was a teenager, so it had been such an easy decision to make. With Smedley on their side, their street cred was bound to rise. Sure there was nobody to corroborate Smedley's accounts of his own numerous and daring exploits but Vincent was certain nobody would make stuff like that up. So it had been a formality having him join their ranks.

But tonight Vincent fretted that the older, wiser and more experienced Smedley seemed to be taking over, and deliberately so. Reluctantly, Vincent followed his gang, quietly cursing under his breath.

Eventually, the boys stopped their long sullen march at Smedley's instruction. He surveyed the surroundings and then ordered Vincent to put down the camping gear and start assembling the tent.

Cannibal Killman, Clifford Killman's gangster name, helped Vincent set up the black camouflage tent in the snow white night. Meanwhile, Smedley ordered Slash Viper, the gangster name of Finnieus Hogland, to grab one of the two walkie-talkies Vincent had brought and test them out.

Only one of the pair turned out to be working based on the loud crackling sounds it made.

"Nice one Wongy," jibed Smedley looking at Vincent. "Perhaps you should have brought two paper cups and a ball of string instead."

The sarcasm was not lost on Vincent, and though he was seething, could only feebly reply, "It's Colonel Wongmeister remember, Smedman?" He unwrapped a comfort chocolate bar.

"Whatever Wongster. Anyway, you and Cannibal are going on first watch after you set up the tent. I suggest you sit by that tree, and you by that one," he instructed Vincent and Clifford pointing in turn to each location.

The pair looked at him. Then Clifford turned to Vincent to check it was what he, the leader, actually wanted.

Smedley, or the Smedmeister as he preferred to be called, ignored them and turned to Finnieus. "And you'll be helping the Smedmeister by getting a fire going and maybe some coffee," he decreed. "Right, I'm off to get some shut-eye first so hurry up with the tent."

When the tent was ready Smedley went inside and within a few moments was snoring away. The three boys stood outside shaking, a mixture of the cold and resentment bubbling inside them.

"He didn't say how long he'd be sleeping for before we swap shifts," noted Clifford. "It's freezing out here."

Twenty minutes later all that could be heard in the still night was the soft snoring of the four boys. They had abandoned their tasks at the first sign of drowsiness. No fire flickered to alert outsiders to the presence of the four investigators on stakeout duty.