THE VILLAGE HAS BECOME OVERRUN WITH VANDALISM, HOOLIGANISM, LITTERING, FOUL LANGUAGE AND THE DEADLY MENACE OF SO-CALLED ‘BOY RACING’.
overwhelm me, and I found that I had to sit down for few moments to a
compose myself. Not for too long, though – I knew that I had to act quickly as the young ‘Nedette’ could easily arrange to have her phone disconnected once she arrived home. So I removed it from my bag and, employing the modern technique of ‘text speak’ that I have absorbed from such types of correspondence with my English niece, sent my first anonymous text message to Steven Donaldson, in which I am ashamed to say I used the same kind of coarse language and patois I constantly hear from ‘Donny’ and his like. It that
read thus:
UR CAR IS PISH YA BALDY BASTARD :-(
There was no reply for a good ten minutes, but just as I was beginning to feel disappointed, the telephone beeped. The reply was utterly predictable. It simply read: WHO R U (There was no question mark.)
Obviously I had no intention of revealing my identity, so I replied with this:
U NEED A BIGGER MOTOR YA FAT CUNT
This seemed to anger him a little more than the previous message but did not improve his imagination or punctuation. The reply was simply:
WHO THE FUK IS THIS
The messages were generating exactly the response I had hoped for, and by now I was positively exhilarated. My third was: HAV U EVR SEEN UR COCK, FATTY? LOL
You’ll notice that I used the acronym ‘LOL’ for this one. I meant this in the ‘Laugh Out Loud’ or ‘Lots Of Laughter’ sense but instantly regretted it because the Donaldson boy could have mistaken it for ‘Lots Of Love’ and presumed the message was from a playful friend. To rectify this, I quickly sent another message that made my feelings clear:
THE YEAR OF OPEN DOORS
I FUKN H8 U YA PORKY POOF
It was at this point he attempted to call. Of course, I didn’t answer, leaving the phone to ring out. Minutes later, the phone rang again, and this time it was the automated answer phone service to inform me that he had left a message. On listening, I found said message to be incredibly aggressive, horribly violent and full of profanity, making the intention to find and kill me extremely clear. I was initially quite shaken by it but also felt vindicated – his behaviour was exactly as I had expected and precisely the kind of which the village is now awash with and which must be eradicated. I composed myself once again and sent him a new text message, this time threatening him with the same sort of violence he intended to use on me: AM GAUNY CHIB U YA CUNT
This prompted another call, which again I ignored. There was no message this time, although he did make three attempts to get through. When these proved unsuccessful, he sent this message:
CUM AHED THEN UR FUKN DED To which I immediately replied:
UR GETTIN SLASHT @ THE WEEKND – WATCH UR BAK YA PUDGY PRICK
Unfortunately, I’m afraid this is where our correspondence had to end, as the telephone ceased to function. I was more than a little disappointed that our dialogue was so brief and had been terminated just as I began to gain confidence. I can only presume that our little ‘Nedette’ had reported the phone lost or stolen and had the number deactivated, so I have no idea if there was ever a reply to my final message. I suspect that there would have been, and hopefully the lack of any kind of response would have frustrated the fat cunt even further. My intention had been to give the Donaldson boy a taste of the fear that he has instilled in me these past few months and I hope that, if only for the littlest while, my plan was successful. While it will certainly have had no lasting effect on the boy, it pleases me greatly to think that for at least the duration of one weekend, ‘Donny’ was constantly looking over his shoulder and suspicious even of his own friends – and I was responsible! It has helped me to cope with his constant, threatening presence, although I still daren’t venture outside beyond a certain hour. But now, when I see the Neds in the train station car park, surrounding that ludicrous little car that has yet to be sold, I find myself being able to giggle a little. So there is my confession. I would have liked to return the stolen phone along with this letter, but the following day was filled with a tremendous panic which found me throwing it into the sea, so I’m afraid it will be halfway to Arran by now.
Yours sincerely,
Aidan Moffat was a founder of the band Arab Strap. This is his first short story. 22 Jul–5 Aug 2010 THE LIST 29