Date: Sat, 17 Dec 2005 06:50:31 +0000 (GMT)
From: Mike Arram <mikearram@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Henry in the Outfield 6

This is my fifth gay erotic novella on Nifty.  The four earlier ones
chronicle -- in different ways -- episodes in the same love affair: They
are, in order: 'The Decent Inn' and 'Terry and the Peachers' in the Nifty
archive under the College section; 'The Heart of Oskar Prinz' in
Beginnings, and 'The Chav Prince' in High School.  This, however, is a very
different kind of story.  But different though it is, I have to confess
that I went under to the temptation to include some earlier characters of
whom I am particularly fond.  Nevertheless this is the story of Henry and
Edward, who, as Justin unkindly says, may sound like refugees from Thomas
the Tank Engine, but they aren't.
  The story contains graphic depictions of sex between young males.  If the
reading or possessing of such material as this is illegal in your place of
residence please leave this site immediately and do not proceed further.
If you are under the legal age to read this, please do not do so.


VI


  'Hey Mark!'
  'Hey guys.  Got any money?' said Peters
  'How much is this gonna cost?' responded Ed.
  'You can get by on a tenner for the evening.  Or less.  You don't have to
try to keep up with me.'
  'That's considerate,' said Henry, a little ironically.  Fortunately,
irony was wasted on Mark Peters.  Henry was not keen on this night out at
the King William IV in Huntercombe.  It was not one of his father's
parishes, fortunately, so there was little chance of it reflecting on his
dad.  If there had been, he wouldn't have even dreamed of doing it.
  'I squared it with Ted the landlord.  I told him you're older than you
look, Outfield.  You do look fourteen unfortunately.  But as long as we're
in the back snug, it'll be fine.'  Mark Peters led the way through the
village, up a lane and round the back of the pub.  'OK.  We go in past the
loos and order through the snug hatch.'
  They sidled in; Ed was cool about it all, but then, he could have passed
for seventeen.  Henry cowered behind him.  'S'OK, Henry,' Ed said, 'I'll
order for you.  A pint of bitter?'
  'Er ... is it nice?'
  'No.  Beer tastes awful.  But it's the effect it has on you that you're
after.  And don't drink more than two.  We don't know what effect it'll
have on you.  Some people it barely affects, other people it knocks flat.
How does your brother cope with it?'
  'He came home disgustingly pissed after he finished his A Levels ... he
couldn't remember how many he had.'
 'I'm afraid that's not a good sign ... resistance to alcohol runs in the
family.  Take my dad, a total alky, but he goes into court the next morning
and looks sober as the judge he's appearing before.'
  'Your dad's an alcoholic?'
  'One of the many things you have yet to learn about me, Henry.  OK,
Mark's got his.  My turn.  Evening!  Two bitters please ... the Black Sheep.
Great.'
  Henry admired Ed's coolness.  He took the beaded glass of beer over to
the snug's single table.  He looked suspiciously at the rich brown fluid,
serenely innocent but all too deadly, as he knew.  He sniffed at it.  It
smelled like disinfectant.  He sipped ... yuk, it tasted like warm
disinfectant too.  But it was What Men Do so Henry kept on sipping, and
after a while it wasn't so bad, though he didn't think he'd ever get to
like beer.
  Peters got up at one point and headed to the toilets.  Henry shifted on
the plastic-covered bench, 'How's your bottom?'
  'Hurts like crazy.  I think it must have been the soap, it burned a bit
and our skin is delicate inside.  Have you tried to crap yet?'
  'You didn't hear the screams?'
  'Oh God.  I'm not looking forward to tomorrow.'
  It was as Henry was sipping his way through his second pint that Peters's
jokes began to seem hilarious, and the world began to seem a very nice
place all of a sudden.  As he got up, he weaved slightly as he headed for
the grungy pub loos.  He smiled blissfully into Ed's face as he returned,
and couldn't for the life of him see why Ed should stare at him in that
way.  He felt very friendly to the barman as he bought his third pint under
his own steam.  It was towards the end of the third pint, as time was rung
from the bar, that the tragedy of life hit Henry hard.  Poor Jed Scudamore,
sixteen and so beautiful, his life cut short.  Then there was Henry
himself: dragged round England by his father's vocation; perpetually
embarrassed among rich kids by his comparative poverty; lonely and
neglected.  He went quiet and became very uncommunicative.  Tears leaked
out of his eyes.
  He barely heard when Ed told him it was time to go, and he had to be
helped up by a hand under his arm.  'Poor fuckin' Jed!  Poor fuckin' Jed!'
he muttered.
  'Wass he saying?' he heard Mark ask.
  'He's had a bit too much,' replied Ed curtly.
  They were in the dark lane behind the pub, 'Gotta pee!'  Henry declared.
He got his penis out and blasted away.  He put out a hand to brace himself
against a dry stone wall.  The world had suddenly gone lop-sided.
Unexpectedly, sweet tasting saliva flooded into his mouth and filled his
nostrils.  He gagged.  'Urrgh,' he coughed and swayed forward, vomiting
catastrophically over the ground and spattering his own shoes.  'Oh ...
God!'  He heaved again, and fell back against a wall.  Ed looked unhappily
into his face.  'Don't feel too good,' Henry announced.
  'So I see, come on Outfield.  I'll have to get you home, and it's a long
walk.'  Ed took him by the arm.
  'I'll help,' said Mark.
  'No, it's OK Mark.  I know the way and I'll kip down in his house
tonight, providing, that is, his parents let me live.'
  'You sure?'
  'I'm sure.'

Walking through the dark country lanes was no joke, and it was five miles
to Trewern from Huntercombe even helped by fitful moonlight.  After a
while, Henry began to regain control of his limbs.  He began trudging
rather than staggering.
  At a crossroads a mile from Trewern, Ed sat him down on the wet verge and
gently hugged him.  'Ooh Henry,' he chuckled, 'you stink of sick.'
  'Fuck off or I'll throw up on you.'
  'Tsk.  Not nice.  And by the way, I did warn you.  You would have that
third pint.  Well, let tomorrow's headache be a warning to you.'
  'It's already started, and my tummy is not behaving like a good tummy
should.'
  'Come on Henry, if we put a bit of speed on, we'll have you home before
twelve thirty.  Are your parents going to wait up for you?'
  'No, they go to bed at ten and I said I might stay in Huntercombe.'
  'Thank God for that, you got keys?'
  'Yes.'
  'Then we're ... what in fuck's name was that?'  An appalling shriek echoed
in the hills.  Both boys shot to their feet.  Ed looked wildly at Henry.
   They stood breathless as the entire landscape seemed to stoop over them
and listen.  Henry's heart was racing.
  Ed whispered, his voice trembling, 'Tell me that was a fox, please tell
me that was a fox ...'
  Henry was a country boy, unfortunately. 'It was not a fox,' he said
slowly.  The silence deepened, if that were possible.  The shriek echoed
out again, and with an appalling sense of inevitability Henry knew it was
coming closer to this isolated crossroads.  And he remembered what sort of
people were buried at crossroads and how they were buried.
  'We go, Henry!  We go, now!'  Ed tried to drag him back in the direction
of Huntercombe.
  'It's no good, Ed.  Stand your ground.  It's the only chance we got.'  He
realised he was perfectly sober now.
  A third shriek rang out, as if their very ears were being ripped open.
Henry felt his teeth almost rattle in his head.  It was like a thin sword
through his temples.  Ed was crouched on the ground, on his knees, his head
buried in his arms.
  Silence.  The stars turned slowly in the sky, but Henry knew it was not
over.  A faint phosphorescence had formed some twelve feet down the road
towards Trewern, twisting and turning above the surface, as though it were
a sheet caught in a light wind.  It stayed stationary however.  Henry
reached down, and took Ed's shoulder.  'Get up, Ed,' he said with a
peculiar calmness and authority.
  Ed looked up and whimpered when he saw what was in the road, but he rose
and stood behind his lover, holding his shoulder.  'This isn't happening.
This can't be happening,' he kept saying under his breath.  But it was.
  'It wants something,' Henry said.
  'Does it want you?  Is it Jed?'
  'No idea.  But I know what I have to do.'  Henry walked with astonishing
bravery a few steps towards the apparition.  With a trembling but clear
voice he called out.  'Spirit.  We see you.  How can we help you?'  The
sheet spun lazily and as Henry watched, a patch thickened and the image of
a face seemed revealed, a boy's face, as he thought.  It stared immobile at
him, and he at it.  He was suddenly aware that the mist was moving away
from him towards Trewern, at a sedate but steady pace.  'We gotta follow
it, Ed.  Come on.'
  'I don't want to.'
  'I can't wait, Ed.  There's answers here, and I've got to have them.'
  'It's dangerous.'
  'I don't think so.  Come on.'
  They jogged after the thing as it retreated in front of them.  It didn't
keep to the roads, but floated over into a field as they got near Trewern.
On the outskirts of the village, they lost it.
  They stood in the dark street, Ed looking confused.  Henry hissed, 'This
way!' and headed at speed to the far end of the village and the churchyard.
He felt no tiredness, and if he had thought about it, this was strange.  He
was a healthy but not a strong boy, and he was not at all athletic, yet he
leaped the lych gate without bothering to fumble with the stirrup catch.
Ed scrambled after him.  Henry knew where to go, and he was not
disappointed.  The manifestation was glowing, curling lazily in the north
eastern corner of the churchyard near, but not under, the black shadow of
the yew tree.
  What now?  The two boys stood and watched it.  'It's not over Jed's
grave,' said Ed, 'Why?'
  'Dunno.  Wait.  It's moved.'  The misty shape came out from under the
shadow and moved with every appearance of purposefulness to a spot between
Jed's grave and the church's east gable.  It stopped, speeded up its
spinning, began to pulse with light and, abruptly, was gone.
  Henry let out his breath, unaware that he had been holding it in.
Suddenly he was trembling and his legs hurt.  But he staggered over to the
spot where the thing had vanished, shaking off Ed's hand as he went.  He
picked up a stick, and stuck it in the ground to mark the approximate place
where the manifestation had vanished.
  He looked at Ed and Ed looked at him, their faces pale for other reasons
than the moonlight.  'Now I feel sick,' said Ed.

  'If I wasn't so scared of meeting Jed Scudamore, I'd be quite happy to be
dead this morning,' said Henry, sitting up in his bed and gulping down his
reflex to be sick again.
  The duvet rustled beside him as Ed stirred.  'How's your head?' he asked.
  'Like it's been cut off and stuck back on with sellotape.  I ache all
over, but the principal ache is between my ears, and my mouth feels like
the bottom of a dead parrot's cage.  Why do people drink?'
  'Fun?' Ed hazarded.  Henry grunted, and lowered himself delicately back
down and snuggled into Ed's naked back, pushing his flaccid genitals up
against the big boy's warm and smooth buttocks.  It was comforting,
although Ed niffed a bit from their running last night.  Henry sniffed
under his own armpits, and discovered he smelled even worse.  He began
licking Ed's broad shoulders.
  'What are you doing?'  Ed chuckled
  'I think I have a saline deficiency.'
  'You may need protein more at this point,' Ed laughed.
  Henry agreed.  'And I think I know where to get it,' he added.  He
disappeared into the fetid depths of the bed, climbed over Ed's hairy lower
legs, and wormed his way blindly in the warm and breathless gloom under the
duvet to find his lover's cock, which was stiff with the morning's
erection.  He pulled back the foreskin and began sucking and licking with
devotion, ignoring the aching pulse at his temples and the smell of Ed's
piss hanging round his crotch.  He heard muffled moans coming from above as
he gently massaged Ed's ball sac, wiry with hair.  Henry kept going.  He
knew that a climax was on the way as Ed pulled away from him, but he clung
on to his bum and engulfed as much of his length as he could.  Suddenly his
mouth was surprisingly full of sperm.  He swallowed instinctively, and
tasted another boy's juice fresh from his testes for the first time.  It
was like his own vintage in consistency, he thought, but there was
definitely an individual tang to it, which was not his.  He hung on to a
packet of it and squirmed up to face Ed, closing with his lips and feeding
back the sperm to its owner.
  Ed broke off the kiss, hugged Henry, and licked his own lips.  'You're
gorgeous, you know that?'
  'You're pretty amazing yourself, hunk.'
  'Ah ... well, amazing.  What you did last night was beyond amazing.  You
were awesome, Henry.  How did you have the courage to confront that thing?
I wanted to run, all that kept me there was your will power, y'little
hero.'
  'I dunno what got into me.  I should have freaked and run, and I was
certainly bothered.  But those dreams and that incident in the church seem
to have changed me a bit.  Bizarre, but you can get used to the
supernatural.  Why does it terrify you, Ed?'
  'Why?  Er ... cos it's strange, uncanny, threatening, horrifying and
dreadful.'
  'Those are just adjectives, Ed.  Y'know what I think?  I think it's the
stories that threaten us so.  We know how the story goes: there is a ghost;
it haunts us; terrible and uncontrollable things happen, and there is no
happy ending.  That's the point, y'see.  It's not a story we can control,
and it has to end badly.  It's like a runaway roller coaster without a
brake.
  But last night, I knew it wasn't like that at all.  True, we were in the
grip of unearthly forces, but they weren't demonic; behind what was
happening was a sad and lost boy with a great need.  I don't know what the
need is, but I have looked in his living face, and he wasn't a bad boy.  I
don't fear him.  I rather liked him, or what he was, and he was alight with
love for his Nathaniel.  He may be in pain, but he doesn't want to hurt
us.'
  'That's reassuring I suppose, or it would be if I believed you.  But
thank God, the sun is up and the daylight has banished all darkness.  And I
need breakfast.'
  'Breakfast ...' said Henry, 'now that's a terrifying concept.'

They had arrived back at the rectory after one o'clock, and had silently
sneaked in.  Henry had left a note on the kitchen table saying that he and
Ed were back and were sleeping in his room.  They went down in boxers and
tee shirts, Ed borrowing one of Richard's, for Henry's would not fit him
without tearing.
  'Morning boys,' said Henry's dad, reading the paper at the kitchen table
and enjoying a late breakfast.  He looked pointedly at Henry, 'Can I get
you something ... fried egg, mushrooms, blood sausage, squashy tomatoes?'
Henry's green tinge caused a sardonic smile to pass across his face.
  'How did you know, Dad?'
  'You were seen running through the village like madmen way past midnight
last night, and the smell coming from your room this morning was, shall we
say, unforgettable as well as incriminating.  How much did you drink?'
  Ed butted in, 'It was my fault Mr Atwood, I talked Henry into it, he
wasn't that keen.  Please don't be mad with him.  Be mad with me.'
  Henry's father eyes widened and he gave Ed an unfathomable look, saying,
'I'm not mad at him, Edward.  His was a sin that carries its own penance.
I rather doubt that Henry wants to see another pint of beer as long as he
lives.'
  'Damn right,' Henry muttered beneath his breath.
  'What have you learned, Henry?' said his father, employing his usual
tactic of rubbing it in.
  'Strong drink is the devil's snare, father,' Henry said seriously.  Ed
stared at him and then at Mr Atwood.  Then father and son doubled up in
hysterics.  His father wiped his eyes, 'Nice one, son.'
  Ed looked bemused, 'What are you laughing at?'
  Henry smiled broadly, 'Me and Dad play a game of religious cliché ... that
was a classic.'
  'The pair of you are nuts,' Ed concluded.
  'Thanks,' said father and son.
  'Dad.  Ed wants to stay here for the rest of the holiday, is that OK?'
Henry asked .
  'Of course, he can have Richard's room.'
  'Great, can you pick up his stuff from the Peterses at Honeysuckle Farm
some time?  He's packed it ready.'
  'So why did you bother asking?' his father said, smiling.
  'Just for the sake of appearances really,' Henry smiled back.
  'OK Henry, I'll stop there on my way into Medwardine.'
  'Better still, dad, can you give us a run into town, we want to use the
library.'
  'We do?' said Ed, 'Oh yes ... we do.'

The county library in Medwardine was not up to much, but it did have the
usual reference works, including an out-of-date Dictionary of National
Biography.  Henry selected the volume CA-CO, and riffled through the pages.
  'Here we go, Ed.  There's quite a bit about him.  Start copying this
down: "Corner, Sir Nathaniel Arthur Fincham (1779-1845) soldier and
administrator.  Born 14th May 1779, East Hamme, co. Salop, son of Augustus
Fincham Corner Esq of Launde House and Amice Bathurst, daughter of
Frederick 3rd Earl Bathurst (q.v.).  Began his military career in 1797 and
served in the principal campaigns against the Directory and Bonaparte.
Gazetted major after taking the despatches announcing the victory at
Vimeiro (1808).  Commanded the 53rd Regiment of Foot at Badajoz, Cuidad
Rodrigo (1811) and Salamanca (1812) when gazetted Lieutenant Colonel.
Military governor of Balearic Islands, 1813-14.  KB (1814).  Led his
regiment during the Brussels campaign, being present at Quatre Bras and
Waterloo, where he had the distinction of personally seizing the eagles of
the 33rd Infanterie de Ligne and the 105th Voltigeurs and taking the
surrender of Marshal Murat.  Military governor of the Department of the
Inferior Seine, 1815-16.  Military Attaché to HM Embassy St Petersburg,
1816-1818.  Promoted Brigadier General (1818).  General Officer Commanding
Munster District, 1820-25, and Inspector General of Military Hospitals,
1825-29.  Promoted Major General (1829).  Governor of Lower Canada,
1830-35.  Commandant of the Royal Hospital Chelsea, 1835-41.  Resigned
1841.  Sir Nathaniel Corner was renowned as being personally solicitous for
the well-being of men under his command, yet entirely reckless of his own
safety.  In a military career of some decades and in the thick of the
fiercest battles of the Napoleonic wars, he did not receive a single
recorded wound.  He was known to his men as 'Old Immortality'.  He died
suddenly at Trewern, co. Salop, 5th November 1845.  He died unmarried and
his heir was his nephew Alfred Corner, Esq."
  'Woah!' commented Ed, 'He died suddenly again, but it says Trewern, not
East Hamme.'
  'I noticed,' said Henry.  'Distinguished old geezer wasn't he?  And very
brave too.  He went off to be a soldier the year after Jed died, and
something tells me that the two events are not unconnected.  He died a
bachelor too.  That tells you something.'
  'He was gay, of course, but we knew that.'
  'Yes,' said Henry, 'but he didn't cover it up with a token marriage.  I
think that may be significant.'
  Ed shrugged.  'Where do we go from here?'
  'The Mormons.'
  'What!'

The Mormon church in Medwardine was very neat and new.  Luckily for them
its genealogical search room was open that Wednesday.  The elder on duty
was charming and very helpful.  He keyed them into the testamentary
database.
  'You can search with the engine ... Shropshire's been pretty well covered.
The snag is that the texts of the wills are only digests.  What's the name
you're looking for?  Corner?  OK, press there and you're away.  There you
go.  Five hits.  Can I leave you to get on with it?'
  'Jackpot!' grinned Henry, 'So what we got ... not a lot, what a shame.
His sole heir his nephew Alfred, small legacies to his old butler and other
servants.  Body to be buried at the churchyard of Trewern ... oh!  That's no
surprise, but what does that say?  'near unto the body of the late
Jehoiadah Scudamore my old school friend.'
  Ed looked reflective.  'That's odd.  It's a nice thought, but there's no
trace of a Nathaniel Corner grave there.  Is that what it's all about?  Jed
is lonely, and wants his Nathaniel?  He can't seriously expect us to find
and dig up the old corpse so we can rebury him next to Jed?  He's had over
150 years wherever they put him, it's too late to shift him now.'
  'We can actually check that.  The Mormons have scanned the Trewern
registers, and it's just a matter of getting on to that database.  There
you go.  And ... Corner, and click and ... wow.  There he is.  "Buried at
night the 14th November 1845. Sir Nathaniel Corner KB."  Well what the
bloody hell is all that about?  Buried at night?  And buried where?  This
raises more questions than it answers.  If Nathaniel really is buried where
he said he wanted to be buried, what's got Jed so upset he's come to haunt
us.'
  'Another odd thing.  Nathaniel died suddenly, right?  How come it took
over a week to get him buried?  Didn't they bury people within a day or two
in the old days?  This looks fishy, Henry.'
  'I don't think we can do any more here at the moment, Ed.  But there is
one more lead.'
  'What's that?'
  'The 53rd Regiment of Foot ... it'll have a regimental history and
Nathaniel was its colonel.'