The Stranger

Written by Mike Davies

Photograph by  Clem Onojeghuo

Photograph by Clem Onojeghuo

Minus six degrees, what on earth possessed him to go out anyway with only a t-shirt and a pair of woollen gloves for warmth? I must be mad, he thought, but she was in trouble and he couldn't just walk away, his walks in the early hours were a regular occurrence, his insomnia had seen to that years ago  He stood, shivering, looking in the window of a local charity shop; the shop dummy looked warmer than he did, dressed in a zip up track suit, jogging bottoms and a Doctor Who scarf draped casually over the shoulder.

The cold was biting hard now, as he wished he was the shop dummy, all warm and cosy. The fact that it had no head seemed only a minor inconvenience; at least he would be inside. As he gazed into the window seeing his own reflection, he thought he saw someone else's too. At that point, a serene kind of calmness descended upon him; a white mist clouded his vision and all went dark.


Franki went to the Silver Bullet Club every Saturday night in the hope she would meet her knight in shining armour, or at the very least get a ride on his trusty steed. Tonight, though, just wasn't one of those nights. She seemed to be repelling men. Still, with no work in the morning, a purse full of purple bank notes (thanks to Mr. Camelot and his lucky lotto balls) who needed a man anyway? Especially when you have a special drawer at home just waiting to be opened.

It was just after 2 a.m and Franki decided to call it a night, as she could no longer stand unaided and Mr .Camelot's money had nearly all gone. Even though she was seeing double, she managed to see her way down the stairs and onto the street, the doorman asked her if she was okay and offered to get her a taxi. She fell into the cab a little unlady-like to say the least; showing her red and white polka dot-panties. Well at least she was wearing some tonight: usually they would be lying on the club's toilet floor by now. As she lay on the seat of the taxi trying to remember where she lived, she could feel a warmth in her throat and thought maybe that last double Vodka and Coke was probably a bad idea.

'Look love, I ain't got all night, I got a living to make, so where the hell am i taking you?' As the cab driver turned to speak to her, she could control her gag reflex no more. Put it this way: cheap microwave lasagne doesn't look so appetising the second time around.


It was 3 a.m and the streets had become silent. All the late night revelers had gone home, except
for Franki who found herself slumped in the doorway of a local supermarket. As she awoke and stumbled to her feet, she felt an ache down below, a pain she'd had on numerous occasions, a feeling that was all too familiar. She approached the pharmacy and looked in the window; the neon light flashed at -6 Degrees - good job she remembered her warm coat, she thought. She caught her reflection in the window and saw a line of dried blood coming from her left nostril and a purple looking ring around her right eye.

Had she fallen at some point? Had she done it falling into the taxi? Unlikely, she thought, but she
was having trouble remembering the last hour or so. As she surveyed her surroundings trying to establish where she was, she saw a man on the other side of the road, he was looking into a charity shop window.

'Excuse me,' she shouted. 'What road is this?' At that moment the man just crumpled in a heap on the floor. His head gave a worrying crack on the pavement as he landed. Franki ran across in a panic but soon stopped, as the pain seared through her body and the pain between her legs became unbearable, she began to recall some of the last hours events.


It was 2.05 a.m and pretty quiet for a Saturday night, he'd only made a tenner so far, he'd dropped some well dressed gent home after doing a bit of overtime at the office. Yeah right, he thought, the only overtime he was doing at that time of night was with his Secretary. Probably a blonde with nice teeth and big tits. Dennis had been a Taxi driver for almost eight years now and he loved it, for a man over fifty to get as much action as he did was nothing short of a miracle, mostly blow jobs off some scrawny tart who couldn't pay her fare. Although it meant he wasn't making as much money as he'd hoped, it was still worth going out because he could overcharge the young stags out to impress their latest conquest before they took them home, only to find that their horns had wilted.

Dennis was what's commonly known as a sexual deviant: if it moves, fuck it. If there's grass on the pitch... Well basically, not a nice man to know. He was a short man standing at only five feet and two inches, he weighed in at eighteen stone and had what can only be described as "that single man smell": a mixture of body odour and sweaty feet, cunningly disguised with an underlying waft of 99p body spray. The funny thing was, he kept his cab in pristine condition; personal hygiene was not a priority since his wife of twenty years left him for his brother (they'd been having an affair for years by all accounts, right under his nose, in the marital bed, on the marital stairs, on the marital fucking kitchen table) but he wasn't bitter... much.

The Cab Ride.

His quiet night was about to get a little more interesting. A large ape of a man came over with a
gorgeous little brunette hanging off his arm, probably a club bouncer, he thought to himself. The Tart looked to be In her mid thirties, and well proportioned; all the right junk in all the right places, so to speak.

Monkey man opened the cab door, 'Look after her pal, she says she's got the fare.'  Monkey man lumbered away smiling and shaking his head. The Tart tried to turn and close the cab door and lost her balance (not for the first time tonight) and fell onto the floor. Wiping a spot of blood from her nose she clambered onto the seat. She tried to spare her blushes by pulling her skirt down over her spotted panties. Why she was trying to be modest at this stage was anyone's guess.

Dennis looked in his rear view mirror and saw her sprawling all over his back seat and impatiently
asked her where she was going.

'All the way baby, and back again if you can handle me,' she slurred.

Oh great, he thought, another beauty. Still, she was a bit of a stunner. let's see if we can have a little fun. At that precise, moment she turned a funny kind of mauve colour and vomited all over the cab floor.

'Oh for Christ's sake woman, you're shitting me,' he said as he got out to see the extent of the mess. 'Im gonna have to charge extra for this, you know. This'll stink for weeks.'

The Tart had passed out and Dennis tried his best to rouse her to no avail. I ought to just chuck her out on the street, he thought, but no, he couldn't do that to her. After all, it was his duty to look after her, wasn't it?

Artillery Road was well off the beaten track and was often used by, let's say, amorous couples with nowhere to express their lust for each other, so pulling in here meant Dennis was not out of place. He sat in his seat for a few minutes occasionally glancing in the mirror to check on the tart, she was beginning to stir so he had to make his mind up quickly on his next move. He got in the back and sat with her, he noticed immediately that brunette was not her natural colour. Such a soft complexion, he thought as he stroked her cheek. Franki slowly opened her eyes and immediately felt nauseous, that feeling was overwhelmed by one of excitement. Just for a second or two the excitement was immense, a warm sensation between her legs followed by a very strong orgasm. For a moment she let the sensation wash over her, only for the reality of the situation and the pure fear of what was happening occur to her. She tried to sit up but a
hand came from nowhere and struck her in the face. The same hand gripped her by the throat and held her down.

She tried all she could to escape the pressure that was bearing down on her by flailing her arms
around. It was no use. The presence on top of her was too strong. She tried to scream but nothing came out. With her arms thrashing about and slapping the presence on the back as hard as she could, she thought she might find the strength to fight.

Suddenly there was a loud banging noise and someone's muffled shouts, in an excited gravelly voice the presence on top of her shouted, 'Fuck off I'm a bit busy right now.' 

The shouting continued and after a second or two she heard a large crash followed by a thud. She saw an arm reach through the window, unlock the door and grab the presence that was on top of her. Suddenly, the weight was lifted and she was able to scramble out of the cab. Her vocal chords relaxed and let out the worst sound you have ever heard.

Franki sat back against a tree trembling, unable to think through fear let alone move, a figure appeared before her.

'Please, please just leave me alone,' she sobbed, too tired and scared to put up a fight even if her life depended on it.

'It's okay love, I won't hurt you I promise.' The voice sounded calm and friendly but she could only see a silhouette. The figure took a step back and raised both arms up by his side as a gesture of trust. Franki's eyes closed and she drifted.


3.03 a.m, Franki bent over the figure lying on the ground and cautiously shook him. At first there
was no response and the thought of explaining a dead body to the police scared her a little. She got to her knees and bent forward, placed her head on his chest. As she took his wrist to check for a pulse, the stranger's eyes shot open, his body gave a violent shudder and he sat bolt upright.

Franki fell backwards and fell on her backside; the stranger stood up and reached out to her. Franki let out an almighty scream and the stranger backed away.

It's okay,' he said quietly. 'You're safe now. Give me your hand.'

She was still on her backside trying desperately to crawl away. The stranger took a step back and
raised both hands up by his side as a gesture of trust.

She had seen this gesture once before tonight, she was sure of it. The stranger stepped forward and held out his hand, she tentatively accepted and he pulled her up. By this time the stranger was showing signs of hypothermia, he was shivering and feeling very drowsy, he stumbled forward and Franki managed to stop him falling and propped him up against the shop door. As the stranger's breathing slowed down, so did the shivering.

 'I've got my car round the corner. Let's go before I pass out again,' he slurred.

The stranger was in a bad way, she managed to get him to his car and fumbled for the keys in his
pocket. Once they were in the car she fired up the engine and turned on the heating. Although the burning smell from the vents stuck in her throat a little, they began to warm up.

Franki was in a lot of pain, confused and cold. She looked into the strangers deep, blue, trusting eyes.

'You saved my life tonight, didn't you?'

The stranger turned to her. 'Ethan.' He smiled and held out his hand, she took it and shook.

'I don't know about that,' he continued. 'I thought you were being attacked so I broke into the taxi only to find it wasn't quite what I thought.'

'The taxi driver!' She said looking frightened. 'He raped me and you... you stopped him, didn't you?'

'Not exactly,' Ethan shuffled in his seat. He still felt like he was slightly floating. He felt a little drowsy and his breathing shallow but he continued. 'I thought I saw a struggle, I had to do something but when I broke the glass and opened the door, the driver was slumped unconscious on the seat next to you and you were, well - putting it bluntly - playing with yourself.'

Looking embarrassed and a little confused, Franki lowered her head. 'Go on Ethan, carry on.'

'Well that's it really, you crawled out of the car, screamed and ran into the trees. The taxi driver woke up, I dealt with him, came to find you and that's about it. You passed out so I carried you to my car, we were on the way to the hospital when you woke up, you jumped out of the car at the lights, I parked here to look for you. I think I must have passed out due to the cold and then you helped me up, and here we are.'

Franki feared the worst, she had been having these dreams, very sexual and sensual dreams,
often waking up mid orgasm. Often feeling that she wasn't alone, even though she was. Often she convinced herself that someone was in the room when she awoke, as she was sure she heard voices. Well a certain excited gravelly voice , which would often say things to her like "Do you like that, bitch?"

She wasn't sure if they were dreams or something else, something unknown, often they scared her to death. They excited her so much but never had she had anything like that outside the confines of her bedroom before. She had looked this up on Wikipedia and read about the Incubus. According to mythology, an Incubus would lie on sleeping women, in order to engage in sexual activity with them. As she said to herself at the time, "That's just stupid, isn't it?"

Tears started to roll down her face, she looked at Ethan and asked, "What did you mean, you dealt with the cab driver? Please say he's okay." 

Ethan put on his seatbelt, popped the car into gear, and headed off to the hospital. He looked straight ahead trying hard to focus.

'I'm sure he's fine, he came round just as you got out of the car. I told him to put his cock away, gave him a bit of a slap, and left him to it.'

In all honesty, it was more than a little slap, and he wasn't sure he would be ok, but dirty little fuckers like him deserved all they got.


Extract from The Daily Tribune, Monday 15 January:

Police want to hear from anyone
who may have information about
a local Taxi driver found dead in his cab on Artillery Road.

Officers were called to the local couples spot In the early hours                                                                                                       of Sunday morning , it is thought that the
victim was involved in an altercation with another man about ten                                                                                      minutes earlier.

Any information please contact your local police station.