Read The Faceless for Free Online Page B

pissing round. Students home for the Christmas break. Get up to all sorts of stupid shit, that crowd.”
    “Speaking from personal experience, ma’am?”
    “Yes.”
    “I’d have said same, except for one thing.”
    “Don’t spin it out, Mike. Come on.”
    “Sorry. Just remember me Mam telling me about them once. Her Dad used to tell her when she was a kid – they were a sort of bogeyman. Don’t go into the woods after dark or the Spindly Men’ll get you.” Stakowski’s father had fled to England after the war, but the farmhouse he still lived in had been home to generations of the Pidwell family, up to and including his mother.
    “So they’re what, a local legend?”
    “Pretty old one, I think. But you’d be hard put to find anyone under the age of seventy who’s heard tell of them.”
    “Explains why you’d know, then.”
    “Cheeky madam. They were supposed to live in the woods above the town, and – well – prey on the unwary. Not much more to the story than that. No real meat on the bones. But it’s pretty obscure. I only know cos me Mam told me. Whoever it is, they’re even dressing the part: long, tall and thin, tatty black coats, masks.”
    “Masks?”
    “Aye. Mam said it was cos they had no faces of their own, so they’d steal yours off you if they could.”
    “Ugh.”
    “Aye.”
    “So someone’s acting out an old local legend. Still sounds like some sort of prank.”
    “Maybe, maybe not. Was thinking I might pop down the library tomorrow. See if they’ve any books on it.”
    “What good’ll that do?”
    “Might shed some light on why they’re doing it. Maybe some sort of weird cult. And maybe see if anyone’s checked those books out lately.”
    “Not bad thinking for an old geezer.”
    “You’re all charm and grace, lass. Now how about a Chinese dinner?”
    “Best idea you’ve had all night.”
     
     
    THE TESTAMENT OF PRIVATE WOLFIE JACOBS gather round and hearken to my tale brave boys for i can say few soldiers paid a price throughout the war as grievous as mine for as you can tell brave boys i was a smooth talker and by such dint did loosen the stays and skirts of many a fair maiden in my native london town for much to the head shakings of my greybearded father oi vey and the tears of my dear old mother hear o israel my cock was well seasoned with the drippings of an thousand cunts ere a boche bullet blew it off in nineteen sixteen oh i was a right one brave boys well valued by my platoon for twas i could always get you a smoke a drink a knife a gun a willing woman all so long as you were not of too choosy a persuasion and then i was shot a bullet wound sustained in the act of storming an enemy trench the wound was caused by a 9mm pistol bullet striking at the base of the penis and severing it except for two or three connecting shreds of musculature before tearing through the scrotum and
     
     
    T HE G OOD L UCK Restaurant. A faded print of a misty mountain range. Electric light filtered through paper lanterns. Faux-traditional Chinese synth music piped from speakers, fighting with the Salvation Army band’s rendition of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen from further down the High Street.
    Stakowski rubbed his hand together. “Hot and sour soup to start, I reckon–”
    Sizzling Beef Szechuan with a dish of Peking ribs . Dunno why you even bother with that menu.
    “And then Beef Szechuan, and some of them Peking ribs. What about you, ma’am? I know how tough it is for you lasses to mek your minds up.”
    Renwick raised two fingers without looking up from the menu. “Made mine up while you were still trying to remember where you were, Sarge. They shouldn’t let you out on your own at your age. Crab and sweetcorn soup, steamed pork dumplings–”
    “– and king prawns in black bean sauce with stir-fried noodles?”
    “Amazing. You read tea-leaves as well?”
    “No, but I do a great routine with balloon animals. I’m all the rage at kiddies’