The Haar

by David Sodergren

Muriel Margaret McAuley was eighty-four years old the first time she saw a man turned inside-out by a sea monster. You might think it would bother a woman of her age, but, as Muriel was fond of saying, she had seen a lot in her eighty-four short years.

In fact, the only thing Muriel couldn’t abide — that really, truly nauseated her — were stuck-up wee arseholes in suits telling her what to do.

“He died in this house. The house he built. Our house. And when he passed, God rest his soul, this land, and everything on it, became mine. I’ve lived here most of my life. My son was born here, and I will surely die here, but not before I’m ready.”

“Young people have to leave the past behind if they ever wish to grow up,”

“You know, money can buy a lot of things,” said Arthur as he huffed his way towards them. “But it cannae buy decency. It cannae buy compassion. And it cannae buy a nutter with a fucking shotgun.”

As last words went, they may not have been profound, but they were certainly appropriate.

He was rich, and she was poor, and that was all that mattered. The wealthy can get away with anything. Murder, even.

It was surprisingly heavy, but then, it had been many years since Muriel had held a decapitated head.

“If you love someone, tell them. Tell them every day. Never let them forget. And if they go away for a while, never forget them. They can come back, Jack. They can come back.”

I present to you, dear reader, the life of Constance Sclater Jamieson. I’m just sorry it had to appear alongside a story in which a boy’s penis is dissolved by a sea monster.