The Old Church 15
The Forklift
This story is part of The Old Church series.
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The Forklift
† † †
MAKE HER DISAPPEAR IN THE SWAMP
HANGING FROM A HOOK
HER FATHER WILL COME TO GET HER
THE DILEMMA IN MY HEART
YOUR SOCIAL WORKER WILL WORRY
YOU WERE PURRING LIKE A LITTLE CAT
THEY CHOSE HELL
NO ONE WILL TOUCH YOU
† † †
Cement tower, like the one in the dream. The air is cold, grey. Crows, ready for action.
In the belly of the old abandoned silo.
They searched me, took the Makarov, I’m barely more than in pyjamas, I’m freezing.
Lidia is hanging by her arms from the forks of a forklift. She dangles, underwear and bra, burlap sack on her head. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, says nothing.
Waiting. Breath, trauma.
The Leather Man looms over me from the top of the forklift forks. He stands there with my Makarov in hand. There must be at least a dozen onesies in here. Revolvers, Tokarevs, a couple of smooth-bore shotguns. The bastards go hunting, you can tell.
— Go on. Take the sack off her head, get a good look at her.
I move closer slowly. I feel those bastards sniggering behind my back, ugly sons of bitches.
I pull the burlap sack off.
Anja.
It’s not Lidia. Her tits were a bit too big, in hindsight.
Something isn’t right. My phone isn’t working, my brain isn’t either.
A jammer. I saw something like it on the van.
Clever little shits.
I stare in disbelief at the hellhound looming above me. He pulls the classic high-school bully face, pretends to be surprised.
— Oh, did we kidnap the wrong whore? Wasn’t she the one you wanted?
Two onesies pin me down, one on each side.
— Go on. Make her disappear in the swamp, and go pick up her little friend.
I snarl, scream, I don’t even know what I’m screaming at him, I try to break free with everything I’ve got, but they know how to hold me, I probably dislocate a shoulder all by myself.
The Leather Man puts one foot on the roof of the forklift cab, then grabs the frame and lands on the straw.
He moves alongside Anja, studies her, the way a butcher studies a carcass hanging from a hook.
Flesh.
He chambers a round in the Makarov, points it at Anja’s head.
Murder murder murder.
No. No. No. No.
Click.
The bastard had removed the magazine. When he pulls the trigger nothing happens.
I stand in silence, breathing, mouth open.
Anja is absent, as if her mind has fled somewhere else, she didn’t even notice the gun. They’ve drugged her, for sure.
The Leather Man takes the magazine from the pocket of his pervert jacket, slots it into the gun.
Loaded, he points it at Anja’s head again.
This time he means it.
— STOP. STOP! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? THEY’LL COME HERE, THEY’LL FIND YOU.
He raises the Makarov to the sky, opens his mouth.
Again, the high-school bully.
— So now you’re going to call her, make up an excuse, tell her to come here. Alone.
The life of the woman I love, again?
No.
No. No.
— Why?
— Her father will come to get her. He’s alone now, he’s a wanted man.
The Leather Man puts the gun away. He understands I’m not convinced yet, a little taste of violence is needed.
He unbuckles his belt. A heavy military belt, studded.
He runs a finger down Anja’s back, then takes a step back and swings the belt.
— NO!
CRAAACK.
Anja jolts back to life from the pain. She opens her mouth, breathes in so much air she starts choking.
We’re both dead, her and me. But that’s not the problem right now. Into this doubt steps the Leather Man, who reads the dilemma in my heart.
— Go on, go pick up the pharmacist’s girl too.
Ok. I have no choice.
— STOP!
The Leather Man looks at me, tilting his head slightly.
He smiles. Lizard teeth, cold skin, acid blood.
He takes my phone from the pocket of his pervert jacket, hands it to one of the anonymous faces. One with a crocodile tattooed on his neck, earrings, black cropped hair.
— Milos, take him outside his place, then come back here. Don’t forget to switch it off when you get back.
He looks me in the eyes.
— Oh, hold your ear next to his, hear what he says. I’ll give you the Makarov — if he tries anything, make it look like a nice little suicide. The police won’t ask too many questions about this human waste.
Old Didrik jumps out: well, your social worker won’t worry too much either.
Is this really the moment?
Fine.
I stare at him, don’t move.
— Oh, scared for her? Relax. Anja is worth her weight in gold down at the Nocta. You behave yourself, she goes back nice and quiet to sucking cock.
— Fuck you. You lay a finger on her and I’ll tell Rikku to come get you right now.
— You pull any shit, and the next one hanging up here won’t be Paduzzi’s little whore, it’ll be Paavo’s little whore.
There he is, the high-school bully, he’s back.
— You fucked them both, didn’t you, Matti’s daughters? First Paavo’s girl, then the favorite, eh?
He comes over and claps me on the shoulder.
— Don’t make that face. They told me you’re always going around together. Good lad, that’s how it’s done, with women.
Ah.
Poor bastard.
Vengeance.
† † †
— Hello?
— Hi. What are you doing?
— I’m on guard duty, with Pelle. We’re outside the hospital.
— Can you come here?
— No, I don’t think so. We came in his van. Later though, Timo and Tapsa are coming.
— Tapsa?
— Surma’s mechanic.
— Ok. Listen, can you get away from Pelle? I need to show you a few things.
— Why would I need to get away from Pelle?
— You know why. You wouldn’t want him around while we do it, would you?
Silence. Just a second.
I start talking again.
— Hey, what’s wrong? You liked it yesterday, it seemed to me. You were purring like a little cat when I was stroking you.
Silence, again.
Come on. Come on, Rikku, come on.
— Flatterer, you talk like that because you’re drunk.
— Never been this sober.
— Don’t you ever get tired, you. Do you have condoms?
— Yes. I bought some, we finished them yesterday.
Good girl, Rikku, good girl.
— Come alone, let’s meet at the road on the E66 that goes to Farrier’s old silo.
— Why there?
— I found some leads on the men who got Paavo, I’ll explain everything when you arrive.
— Ok. I’ll get Pelle to drop me home, I’ll take Matti’s truck. Better not to rush him, no suspicions. Shall we say in a couple of hours? At five?
— Yes. I’ll wait for you. Alone, remember.
— Can’t wait.
Click.
† † †
Dangling bodies.
On the left fork: Anja Kovalenko. 22 years old, prostitute at the Nocta, a life of abuse ended here, in an old silo. In the middle of an army of bastards and failures, who could have done something decent with their lives, but chose hell.
Here they are.
On the right fork: Didrik Dahl. 39 years old. Not much to say about him. When he was a boy they told him he’d become an artist or a poet, but instead he’s grown up to be hanging from a forklift.
The hemp rope cuts into my wrists. I’ve vomited on myself from withdrawal and fear, it had them dying of laughter.
The doors fly open.
The Knight enters, escorted by two men.
It takes nothing to understand they stopped her on the road and forced her out of the car.
The Leather Man steps forward: did you search her?
— She handed over the gun herself. She didn’t want us to touch her. She undressed in front of us.
It doesn’t matter that the fucking jammer is still active, the Leather Man’s eyes literally scream as he looks at Rikku.
Lizard, salamander.
Satisfaction. Dominance, relish.
Woman, mother.
Murder murder murder murder murder.
They look at each other, in silence.
Throughout the Tower, now, silence reigns.
Two men bring something to the Leather Man.
The railway spikes, and the hammer.
No.
No. No. No. No.
What’s happening? What is that feeling in Rikku’s eyes, what does it mean? She understood what I told her on the phone, all the bullshit I fed her, about us having fucked, she understood.
For fuck’s sake, she understood, didn’t she?
No.
The Leather Man’s men start up a petrol generator.
Oh God.
Oh my God.
Paavo.
Brick wall, blood.
Two holes. At the right height, for an angel’s wings.
— Go on. Get undressed. Take it all off, no one will touch you.
Rikku takes off all her clothes. Slowly: she tosses the hoodie aside. Then shoes and socks, trousers, bra and underwear.
The Angel.
No.
That’s what’s in her eyes.
Boredom. Deep boredom.
She walks across the straw toward the wall. When she reaches it, she caresses it gently, staining her fingertips with Paavo’s dried blood.
Hell, in my mind. Eternal damnation: death occurs in an endless cycle, the scene repeats itself always the same.
The woman I love: dies.
Me: I survive. Forever. Eternal, immortal, unchanging.
I can’t understand what’s happening because of that damned jammer, a haze, a stinking fog. But I see the boredom in Rikku’s eyes, and the excitement in those of the Leather Man.
From outside, everyone piles in. Everyone who was on guard is here, to see Rikku’s body.
The Angel takes her position, back against the wall. She turns, looks at me for just one second, says nothing.
Now I understand. I’m not alive. In reality I am the one who died, that day, in Zadar, and this is hell.
Rikku raises her arms, places her hands over the holes.
The Angel has spread her wings.
© 2026 Grimelight. All rights reserved. Don’t be a dick. Good luck, and godspeed.
Didrik Dahl. 39 years old. Not much to say about him. When he was a boy they told him he’d become an artist or a poet, but instead he’s grown up to be-
-A FUCKING TEASE. HURRY UP WITH THE NEXT PART!
Jesus