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Shorts
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| Monkeys | |
| By Arandom | ||||||||||||||||
| 05 September 2006 | ||||||||||||||||
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This is quite old now, but still one of my favourites to kick-off with.
“Monkeys! Monkeys!”
Knock-knock-knock “Monkeys! -MONKEYS!” I walk past this chap - a suit, he's just parked a respectable car. He’s screaming, “Monkeys” through the letterbox of an indistinctive terraced house, between fits of knocking. It’s about eleven at night but he doesn’t look dangerous. As I pass, I can’t resist. “Some kind of password?” My question takes him by surprise and he checks over his shoulder at me, smiles. “Top secret, mate.” I smile back, nod knowingly, don’t break my stride and walk by, chuckling to myself. Next thing I hear footsteps, quick ones, coming in my direction. I check over my shoulder. It’s him again, he’s panting. “Here, mate, you gotta help me. It’s.... it’s.....” “What?” “My fish.... my fish have died.” “Not your monkeys?” I say, half smiling, slightly nervous. “No.” “Your fish?” “Yes.” “How many?” “All of them.” “How many is that?” “...” - He starts counting in his head, still panting. “Two.” “Two of your pet fish have died?” “Yes.” “Am I missing something?” “You really don't get it do you?” Despite his words, he’s still not aggressive. “Er... no. What are your monkeys then?” “S’what I call them. My little monkeys. They like to know when I'm getting in so they can wake up, come to the surface and greet me.” “Ahh.” “So I call through the letter box to let them know I'm coming. See?” “Right. And you need my help because......?” “They’re DEAD GODDAMIT!” “Ok,” I try to think on my feet, “calm down. You wait here and I'll go get someone who can help.” “Thank you,” he sobs at me. Feeling strangely terrible, I sit him down on the wall of someone’s two inch garden on the next street to his. I leave him with his head in his hands crying like a baby and set off running, rather fast, up the street. And I just go home.
I have to work late again the next night. I get to a certain point on my walk home and decide to take a different route, eliminating the road of last night. It only puts two minutes on the journey and, you never know, he could be waiting at his window for me with a rifle or something.
I turn down another, different, indistinctive, terraced road to find a woman stooped down to the letterbox of a house, hollering in a very strange pitch: “Chinchillas! Chinchillas! ChinBLEEDIN’CHILLAS!” I cross the road and then cross back after I’ve passed her. Before I turn the corner at the end of the road I check back and she’s still there. She looks a little old, stooped but animated. Big, crazy, frizzy hair slopping about everywhere, witchlike. Madness.
It’s raining so I take the bus home from work the next day. We’re stopped at lights. I stare vacantly out of a window at a house. Someone is at a door shouting into a letterbox. He turns and meets my eye for a second. He looks cold, tall, and very hard. A shivery fear waves through me, before I remember I’m on a bus and he can’t touch me.
I get home and find the three people on my doorstep.
“Um, hello” - me. “...” - No reply, I try to get round them to my door, feeling that same unsteady fear hacking its way through me once again, but pretending it isn’t there. They don’t let me pass. I give up, feeling like a bullied child and turn to the man who was unhealthily attached to his fish. “How are your fish?” “DEAD!” he yells back. His eyes incensed, my stomach churns. The mateyness apparently disappeared from our relationship. “Ah, right.” I look down and away, then at the second lady, “Chinchillas, eh?” “You-diddnt-even-care-to-ask.” She speaks so fast and in such an abnormally high pitch that it takes me a second to work out what she said. “Ah, no,” I say, smiling appealingly, “I was tired, you see and -” “Worrabowt me?” the third one asks. “I...I don’t know. I mean... what about you? I was on a bus. What was I supposed to do!?” I say, a mite too incredulously, instantly regretting my tone. He’s a large chap. “Get off the bus,” he says matter-of-factly. His partners nod their heads in agreement. “But it wasn’t my stop and... - Look, this is just plain silly. Please excuse me.” I try to get to my door again. They’re like a wall and I bounce off. “Well,” I say, quite exhausted now, “what do you want?” “A question you should ask yourself.” That was the fishman. “I’m sorry?” “We’re your, your...,” he stumbled, not the brightest, “-What are we exactly Mildred?” “Look I’m sorry,” I say, impatient and suddenly feeling brave, “but I’m going to have to call the Police if you don -” “Lissen to er.” It’s the really big bloke, and he says it quite nastily so I don’t argue. “Okay, sorry.” Mildred the witch steps forward a pace. She smells of onion. “Fing-is-youre-crap-really-en-you?” “...” “I’m sorry?” I gather myself well enough to reply. “And we’re here to help you.” - Fishman. “Ah, that’s nice of you. Can I ask how?” “Yip.” - Stinky Mildred. “...” “Well, how?” The fishman steps forward and puts an arm round me. I feel decidedly uncomfortable about this but the big chap frightens me, so I accept his clasp. “You'll be changed from now on.” I’ve had enough, I’m starting to think wacko religious sect, but I’m still not sure why they’re preying on me so specifically. So I get cynical. “How? Some radical life changing experience? A new way of life? Three ghosts?” They all look at each other and smile unnervingly. Then stinky crazy Mildred witch creature comes up to me, puts her bony hands on my upper arms, shoves her ugly boggle eyed face in mine: “Nope. None-a-them. Yer-gonna-be-a-fish!” I only have a moment to smile, then I get that sick, helpless falling feeling in my gut. My legs shrivel up, wiggling unnaturally and absorb into my torso, which seems to be reducing too, turning orange and feeling wet. And there’s laughter. Incessant, freakish laughter bellowing into my eardrums until I feel my ears close up and fuse with my head. Which is now slippery. Then nothing, no sounds at all. I feel elevated, and see a blurred view out onto the pavement like when you look through strong glasses. And there’s a blurred view out onto the pavement like when you look through strong glasses. And there’s a blurred view out onto the pavement like... Ooh look, a blurred view out to pavement. - Like when look... glasses. View... out. Glassz. Vew(?)
Glob. Glob.
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