War In My Bathroom: A Short Story
War In My Bathroom
by
Matthew Turner
January 5th
Okay.
This
is it. This journal will be the closest I get to human interaction
until The Great British Novel is a physical reality, something I can
hold in my hands, instead of just an idea in my head. I have worked
my arse off for two years saving up in preparation for this moment
and now it is finally here. All beautifully thought out in advance
and carried through to the letter: I have taken this low-rent flat in
Croydon, the most boring town I could think of - the rent is paid in
advance, for a year; I have systematically cut myself off from family
and friends, all of whom are convinced it is "just a phase"
I'm going through and that I'll be back in time for Christmas, which,
if all goes well, I will be; I have contracted the woman in the flat
across the road to do my weekly shopping for me - this has been
expensive (she too has been paid in advance), but will, I'm
convinced, be worth it; my bills, such as they are (no phone, no TV,
and only the lights and the kitchen appliances requiring electricity)
are all on direct debit, and my account has enough left in it to more
than cover them. In short, it cannot fail - I am convinced Complete
Isolation is the key - every single other time I've sat down to do
this, someone or something has always come along to get in the way.
Well, not this time. It starts, here and now.
January 15th
I am overjoyed with my progress so far - ten days in and
already on page one hundred and ten. It's still a first draft,
obviously, but just to have them there next to my typewriter fills me
with a sense of enormous well-being. I have to confess, though, that
my momentum is waning somewhat - from an average of ten-to-fifteen
pages a day for the first few days, I am now down to two. So I'm
taking a short break to recharge.
Momentum problems aside, I have settled nicely into my
routine. It is as follows:
8:30 a.m. - Wake up; a shit, a shower and a shave (the
old triple-s routine); cup of tea; breakfast - corn flakes.
9:00 a.m. - Write straight through till eleven.
11:00 a.m. - Collect shopping from outside door, leave
rubbish (Saturdays only); coffee break.
11:30 a.m. - Write through till lunch-time, or until
Hunger strikes, if I'm on a roll.
1:30 p.m. (approx.) - Lunch, usually sandwiches and so
on, fruit etc.
2:00 p.m. - Write through till 5:30; take a break if
needed, on till dinner if not.
5:30 p.m. - Break (optional) - see below.
7:30 p.m. - Dinner, something hot, and lots of it - if
there's one thing I learned while at university, it's how to eat
cheap, fast and adequately on combinations of either potatoes, pasta
or rice with either meat, fish and/ or vegetables.
8:30 p.m. - Write through till 12:30, or until Tiredness
strikes, as with Hunger, above.
12:30 a.m. (approx.) - Bed.
As previously mentioned, I have no television. This is
because the damn thing Rots Your Mind. Or at least, it saps your
spirit. You could watch TV for your whole life and probably have an
okay time doing it, which is what really worries me, but you would
have absolutely nothing to show for it at the end of it all. No. No
TV. I rejected newspapers and magazines too, because I don't want to
be distracted by reading a review of some film I might want to see,
ditto programme on TV, but worst of all, the unthinkable, that
someone publishes The Great British Novel before I do - if they do, I
don't want to know about it.. So, as far as feasible break-type
activities go, I am down to two: staring out the window and reading.
Well, of course, there is the Other Activity, namely the Sin of Onan,
but that goes without saying. The view from my window was in fact
carefully chosen as being utterly dull beyond belief, indeed, it was
the clincher in taking the flat in the first place - it looks onto a
flat roof-top in an extremely ordinary housing-estate. As far as I
can tell, there is no access to said roof-top, so there is every
possibility that I shan't see a single person the entire time I am
here. So, staring out the window basically involves either thinking/
day-dreaming or Mental Preparation for Activity #3, which is
practically the same as writing, at least as far as mental
stimulation is concerned. As for reading, I have a huge pile of books
hidden away in a cupboard; they vary in age, genre, author and
length. I look upon them as mental aides - I am convinced that the
more you read, the better a writer you are. I have yet to start any
of them.
January 16th
Started
reading Dashiell Hammett's The
Maltese Falcon
(something I'd never been able to get round to before). Got a
brilliant idea half-way through and ended up writing through till
three a.m. I knew those books were a brilliant idea.
January 17th
Finished
The
Maltese Falcon.
Half a page written. Still, I suppose that balances out yesterday.
February 2nd
I
am disgusted with myself. In just over two weeks I have read straight
through Vladimir Nabakov's Lolita,
Raymond Chandler's Farewell,
My Lovely,
Charles Dickens' Oliver
Twist,
Thomas Hardy's Jude
the Obscure,
Dostoyevsky's Crime
and Punishment
and Roddy Doyle's The
Van.
Pages written since last journal entry: three. It's pathetic. And
what is worse - I can hear a voice in my head saying "If you
finish
those books you'll have all
that time to
write in". I refuse to listen.
February 3rd
Back on schedule. Ten whole pages written today. Found a
spider in the bath this morning. Killed it. Feel somehow as if my
privacy has been invaded, my web of isolation penetrated.
February 4th
This
writing business - it looks like a piece of piss, but it really
isn't. It is now nine p.m. and I have only written the following
sentence: Nobody
ever says "A month of Tuesdays".
Great British Novel, my arse. I'm off for a Sherman.
A
nasty shock. Had to abort said Sherman due to the sudden appearance
of another spider. (I am not, it has to be said, particularly fond of
spiders - I know they're harmless and they serve their purpose and so
on, but they give me the creeps, and there it is). Anyway, this
spider was absolutely identical to the one I killed yesterday and, as
I was standing over the toilet, 'preparing', shall we say, the little
fucker dropped right down in front of my face and stayed
there.
If I didn't know better I'd swear it was staring me down. So, anyway,
I jumped back out of fright, and the thing descended to the toilet
bowl, which just happens to be where I disposed of its comrade
yesterday. At that point I got up the nerve to kill it, but the
bastard was too quick for me - I chased it round the bathroom, but it
escaped through a sideboard. Bollocks. I hate
it
when I know
there's a spider in the bathroom and I can't see it. I think I'll
forego the personal hygiene tomorrow.
February 5th
The spider hadn't returned this morning. Managed a dump,
but I'm not showering till I've killed the fucker.
Started the same line fifteen times. Junked it in the
end.
February 6th
It's amazing what you can see if you stare at a
chocolate chip cookie long enough.
February 7th
Read
William Faulkner's As
I Lay Dying from
cover to cover. God knows why - it was boring as hell. No inspiration
forthcoming, either.
Result! Just got back from the bathroom - the spider
was back and is no more. Feel a lot better.
It is now midnight. I ended up showering and then
writing a whole page. Feel terrific!
February 8th
Ants! I've got ants in the bathroom! I'd seen one or two
in the kitchen, but there were at least ten in the bath this morning!
Isn't February the wrong time of year for ants? Or am I thinking of
something else? When I got back with a kettle full of boiling water
they'd all disappeared. I don't hate ants as much as I hate spiders
(they're smaller, less creepy-looking and easier to kill), but I
still don't want them in my bathroom.
Made
a bold attempt at something new today, and started writing a chapter
out of chronological order. I feel sure William Burroughs (whose The
Naked Lunch I
read this morning) would approve.
I'm halfway through the chapter. Knew those books were
a good idea.
Just got back from the bathroom - there were ants in
the bathroom again! Nine of them this time. I didn't waste time
boiling the kettle, I just washed them down the plug-hole with water
in the glass I keep my toothbrush in. Nine down, one to go.
February 9th
I am now officially on page 150, not counting the thirty
pages of Chapter X that will be slotted in later on. I am dead
pleased.
Killed an ant in the bathroom. Mission accomplished.
February 10th
The
spiders are back! I found two
of the bastards there this morning! Christ, there's probably a nest -
I'll be killing the beasts all spring...Got one, the other one got
away. So. No more showers for a bit, then.
It is now just gone midnight. I am extremely pissed off
with myself. I couldn't get a word written all morning, so I "just
closed my eyes for a few minutes" (as my Dad used to say), after
lunch, and slept right through till midnight! Ten whole hours! I feel
like such a waster. Perhaps I'll be able to write through the
night...
Perhaps
not.
I
feel sick. I just found an ant on my toothbrush. (It is 3:07 a.m.).
Okay, so it may be better than half an ant, as the old
school-playground joke used to go (sort of), but I really do not feel
well. Boiled the toothbrush for several minutes in the kettle. The
funny thing was that it wasn't really doing
anything, it was just there.
I could understand if I'd caught it making off with a bit of
corn-flake or something, but it wasn't even moving. Strange.
February 13th
Had
an intensely vivid and erotic dream last night, about a male (!)
acquaintance from when I was at school. What the hell does that
mean? I can't even remember the guy's name. I hate that - when people
you can barely remember, let alone think about, just pop into your
dreams uninvited and then proceed to totally fuck up your entire day.
Bugger. (I once had a dream that involved both Brigitte Bardot and
Pamela Anderson, brought on, I suspect, by the particularly comfy
sofa I was spending the night on. Now that
was a dream).
No spiders or ants today. Still haven't showered.
It is five-fifteen. I haven't been able to concentrate
on the novel because of that damn dream. What the hell was that guy's
name?
Nine-thirty-six.
Nada.
Vaughn. Vaughn something. Or was it Alex? Hell.
February 14th
Bloody Hell - it's Valentines Day! God, that's sad. It
has to be said that the Sin of Onan, though terrific in its own
right, is no substitute for the real thing. I'm beginning to wonder
if Croydon has the same "phone-box services" that Brighton
does...
Have just written half a page.
Fuck!
I don't believe this, I really do NOT believe this. In addition to
spiders and ants, I now have wood-lice
in my bathroom. What next? Centipedes? Jesus. Luckily they (there
were two of them) rolled into a ball the moment I got near them, so I
just flicked them down the plug-hole. Wood-lice have to be the
stupidest insects going, if you ask me. I mean, that ball malarkey is
alright if you're a hedgehog, but...well, you get the idea.
February 15th
I am beginning to smell, quite markedly. My history
teacher once had a theory that you could only get just so dirty and
smelly, so that after a point you reached saturation, as it were, and
even began to get quite respectable again. A friend of mine tested a
similar theory on his hair, with remarkably good results - he said it
was really worth six months of unwashed manky hair, and looking at
his hair, you had to agree with him. Anyway, if I don't find and kill
that spider soon, I'll be in a position to prove or disprove my
history teacher's theory once and for all.
No insects at all today. At least, not visible.
February 16th
Have
just read Nathaneal West's The
Day of the Locust.
The guy was a bloody genius. Pity about that unfortunate insect
reference though.
Five p.m. Inspired by the god-like prose of Mr. West, I
am pleased to report that I got three whole pages written today.
No
insects again today. Still lacking the cojones
to
brave a shower, however.
February 17th
Ants!
"Faasands of 'em!", as Michael Caine would have no doubt
said, a) had this been the film Zulu,
and b) had they been Zulus, and not ants. And, come to think of it,
c), had there indeed been thousands of them, instead of around
twenty. But, hey, stick twenty ants in your
bathtub and see how you like it. This time I boiled the water and let
them have it - I put the plug in so they couldn't get away while I
boiled the kettle. Where the hell did they come
from
though?
You
know your personal hygiene is Somewhat Amiss when you start to find
that even you
think you smell bad. "Smelling" is one thing, but smelling
bad,
I mean really
bad, is quite another...I'm almost starting to hope the spider comes
back.
Got nothing read or written today. My mind just isn't
on it, somehow.
February 18th
Another erotic dream - a woman, this time, and not
someone I knew. A dream that was, shall we say, 'taken to it's
logical conclusion'...I am really starting to miss human contact. At
least the memories of the dream should be good for a couple of
Barclays.
The bathroom seems quiet. I might risk it.
Bastards!
Five minutes! Just five minutes! Checked the bathroom, all clear.
Came into room, got undressed, back to bathroom and there's three
fucking spiders waiting - one in the bath, one near the toothbrush
glass and another one up above the toilet. Too scared to kill any of
them, and besides, I feel vulnerable when I'm naked.
I need a lie-down.
February 19th
The experience with the spiders shook me up more than I
thought. I brushed my teeth in the kitchen last night, and, though
I'm embarrassed to admit it, this morning I took a slash out the
window...(Felt good, actually). I have also taken to keeping my
toothbrush next to my typewriter.
Wrote another page today, but I'm not happy with it.
I think I'll avoid the bathroom for a while. Have
suddenly realised I can wash in the kitchen sink. Though there is a
part of me that really does want to test out that theory. And
besides, the last time I saw my soap it was in the far corner of the
bath.
February 20th
Nothing read, nothing written. Avoided the bathroom.
Smell like hell.
February 21st
Found a couple of ants in the kitchen this morning, over
by where the kettle plugs in. Killed them both.
Started
to read Alice
In Wonderland,
but gave up after an hour. The idea of animals speaking just doesn't
appeal to me right now. Especially caterpillars.
Wrote two lines, but tore them both up.
February 22nd
Woke up at two a.m. needing a glass of water and thought
I saw a long trail of chocolate chip cookie crumbs leading out of the
kitchen. Must have been half-asleep though, because this morning
they've gone.
My curiosity is getting the better of me. I'm going
into the bathroom. It is five past ten a.m.
Ten-fifteen
a.m. The strangest thing. No living
insects at all in the bathroom, but I found five dead ants in the
bath, and the rolled-up shell of a wood-louse. The wood-louse seemed
to have been eaten out from inside his shell - like you would eat the
sausage from a sausage-roll, without damaging the roll. Knew those
shells were no protection.
February 23rd
Things are hotting up. I went into the bathroom this
morning and saw three spiders and another thirty or so ants, all
grouped together at opposite ends of the bath. The spiders had the
non-plug-hole end. A smart move. I admit, I was shocked and scared at
first, but it's fascinating stuff. Battle-lines do most definitely
appear to have been drawn, and what I found yesterday would appear to
have been the first casualties. I wonder, though, where the wood-lice
fit in?
Couldn't concentrate on the novel. At five o'clock I
checked the bathroom again, and another two spiders had joined the
others. The ants didn't appear to have moved. I boiled the water,
ready to burn the lot of them, but somehow I couldn't. I have to
admit, I'm curious to see how it develops. War in my bathroom. How
exciting!
February 24th
The
novel is on the back-burner - I can't concentrate, knowing there's a
war on. Forces are still massing, apparently - last count was seven
spiders and around seventy ants. It's odd that they never seem to
move.
I'm going to check them again.
February 28th
I have spent the last three days observing the war. I
have hardly slept a wink, and when I did, I was awoken by the most
horrific nightmares - ants swarming down my throat, spiders
enveloping me in their webs, that sort of thing. So I decided to stay
awake and watch the war develop, in order to ultimately side with the
apparent losers and that way take out the winners and ensure maximum
wipe-out. This I did, and the war proceeded as follows:
After an eternity of waiting, the mass of ants (now up
to around two-hundred, at a rough guess, and forming a solid black
patch on the bath surface), suddenly parted to reveal nine or ten
balled-up wood-lice. At a pre-arranged signal (don't ask me what)
they suddenly rolled all the wood-lice towards the twenty or so
spiders amassed at the other end. This took the spiders by surprise,
although they had lined their end of the bath with what I can only
describe as 'web-mines', or rather, lines of undetectable web that
would prevent any full-frontal attack by stopping the assailants in
their tracks. This is what happened to the wood-lice - the whole lot
of them stuck fast in the traps. The spiders had clearly been
expecting a much fiercer attack than this and when they saw how
easily the lice fell into their traps, they pounced, as one.
It was fascinating to watch. The spiders took a
wood-louse between them - one would prize it open for the other to
eat out its insides (still alive, still squirming), then they would
swap, and the other would finish it off. When they'd finished, the
louse snapped back into the ball-shape. So that's how they did it.
Except that only one pair of spiders actually finished, because the
ants chose that moment to strike. They swarmed over the lice -
thereby avoiding the web-mines - and onto the spiders themselves. The
spiders, obviously starving and caught up in their louse-feast,
didn't know what hit them. The ants' strategy quickly became apparent
- in seconds they had bitten the legs off each of their intended
victims, and then they slowly carried their trophies (the spiders'
helpless, raisin-like bodies) back to the waiting throng, where they
were quickly devoured by the masses. I only saw two spiders escape -
the two that finished first - and they shot upwards on web-lines and
disappeared into cracks in the ceiling. A clear victory, then, for
the ants. However, having seen them dispose of the spiders so
ruthlessly, I was loath to carry out my original plan. Besides, I
hate spiders more than I hate ants. So I waited.
The second day, the ants appeared confident in their
victory. They carefully removed all remaining web-traces from the
bath and eventually occupied the entire surface area. Needless to
say, this is a pretty revolting sight, but by this time my tiredness
and my curiosity had removed my sense of disgust, though I'm in no
hurry to take a shower still, obviously. In the late afternoon I
spotted biscuit crumbs in the bath, and it dawned on me that the ants
had staged a siege, starving the spiders whilst sure of their own
supplies. Perhaps the spiders had assumed it was merely a battle of
wits, and they were starving each other out? Well, they had paid the
price. As I watched, the remaining crumbs were distributed evenly
among the hordes. Clearly some kind of celebration was in swing. They
certainly paid no attention to me, and at one point I even braved a
dump. In doing so, however, I happened to look up and catch glimpses
of the surviving spiders, rushing to and fro above my head. I hate
seeing the buggers move. I took up my position at the door again.
The 'celebration' lasted all day and most of the night.
So, on the morning of the third day, the ants were totally unprepared
for the spiders' last-ditch final attack. At dawn, I looked at the
ceiling and spotted the spiders (four of them now - I suppose the
others had been in the ceiling all along) positioned in the four
corners of the room. Then, suddenly, they each made a short, sharp
movement, and a thin, solid layer of web descended from the ceiling
and settled over the surface of the bathroom. (Mighty glad I wasn't
on the bog, I can tell you). Looking into the bath, I could see the
entire ant-force immobilised under the 'blanket' - there was a lot of
panicky thrashing about, but nothing was going anywhere. Then, six
more spiders appeared from between the cracks in the ceiling and the
ten of them descended, like commandos on their web-lines. Taking an
edge of the 'blanket' each, they worked their way around it, eating
from the outside in, and pouncing on anything that managed to get
free as they did so.
It was almost as if they were cleaning the bath for me.
Gradually, the white of the bath began to emerge from the black mass
that had covered it, until there was just a large circular black
patch in the centre, much as there had been a few days ago. The
spiders were moving more slowly now and one or two ants did manage to
get free, evading the jaws of their attackers, and scarpering up the
spiders' own web-lines. Then, minutes later, I saw something amazing
- the recently escaped ants (I counted three) were moving one of the
web-lines that hung down from the ceiling, so that it hung over the
centre of the still-diminishing black patch. Once in position, two of
the ants zipped down the line and went to work on the centre of the
web-patch. As a hole opened up, twenty or so ants pelted back up the
line, just as the spiders finally reached the centre. The spiders
darted back towards their lines, but the ants had pulled them up,
leaving them stranded. I decided that it was now or never. I dived
into the living-room and grabbed my manuscript. Then, for some
reason, I said, aloud:
"I can live with ants. Just stay off the surfaces.
This is for you."
And
I walloped each and every one of the spiders (not
a
pretty sight, as each one had consumed at least its own weight in
ants), scooped them all up with toilet paper and flushed the remains
down the toilet. Felt exhilarated.
When
I looked up again, the ants had disappeared. The war is over. The
ants, I suppose, win by default, but I think we all know who the real
winner is. I might even take a shower later. But now for the
living-room and a crack at that novel!
March 5th
I'm really back on track now. Up to page 195. It's going
really well. Best of all, I haven't seen a single insect since the
war. I must admit, it is nice to be able to shower again.
March 7th
Whilst picking up the weeks' shopping from outside the
door, I noticed some ants running around the door-frame. So that's
where they got to - I'd been wondering.
It's five p.m. I've just noticed some more ants on the
window-frame. (Alright, I admit it - I was staring out the window.) I
wonder if...?
Yes. Just checked. They were running along by the
bathroom window too. Staying well away from the surfaces though.
Strange though - it is almost as if they are guarding the flat.
Still, if it keeps the spiders out, I can't say I mind.
March 9th
A
very, very
strange thing has just happened. I'm writing this to prove that it
couldn't be a dream. But what if I'm hallucinating? What if all this
time alone has driven me insane? I remember reading that the horrible
thing about insanity is that all the madness and the delusions are
just as real as the "real". So that if you think that your
favourite armchair is planning to kill you while you sleep, you also
remember that at half-past two, you've got a dentist appointment. I'm
talking bollocks. Best to just put it down on paper and see how it
looks. Here goes, then.
I
woke up. Normal. Shat, showered, shaved. Normal. Had some
corn-flakes. Normal. Walked over to my desk. Normal. And then I saw
it. The piece of paper. The decidedly un-normal
piece of paper. The same piece of paper I am now holding in my hand.
There were words on the paper. Large words. Words I hadn't written.
And the words said this:
"We
just wanted to say thankyou. Your efforts were much appreciated. Oh,
and we all agree that chapter seven is your best yet."
I
sat, dumb-founded, and read these words. I pinched myself. I read
them again. Then I reached for the paper and picked it up, and
suddenly these words
fell off the page and ran away across the floor. I...I...words fail
me. I need a drink.
Right.
Let's be rational. There are two possibilities. One, the
"intelligence" evinced by the insects (and arachnids)
during the recent hostilities has been getting at me, and I'm
hallucinating. Lack of sleep. Stress. Two and a half months without
having spoken to a single soul. That sort of thing. We know these
creatures are
intelligent - after all, we've seen enough David Attenborough
programmes to know that. But not that
intelligent. So. I'm going mad. (I am not
going
mad.) Two: the ants, the same ants that I've been watching all this
time, wrote me a message on a piece of paper, using themselves as
words. Simple.
Coincidence?
I need a lie-down.
March 10th
Those awful dreams are back. No spiders this time, just
ants, swarming all over me. Also, when I'm awake, I keep getting
strange "insect-tickles" on my arms and so on, but when I
look, there's never anything there. Horrible.
Re-read chapter seven. I'll say one thing for those
ants - they know a good chapter when they read one. Inspired by my
own brilliance, I sat down and wrote a whole chapter. Two hundred and
ten pages now, not counting Chapter X. At this rate, I'll be slotting
that into place any day now.
Decided
to ignore the ant message. Write it off as an X-Files
hallucination.
See what TV can do to you? Burying itself away in your subconscious
and then pouncing, just when you least expect it. Anyway, it was a
very nice message. Very encouraging.
Midnight. Two hundred and fifty pages and I don't even
feel tired - perhaps because I "rested" all day yesterday?
Three-fifteen a.m. Turning in. Two-hundred and
fifty-six pages, total.
March 11th
The most disgusting, horrible, nightmarish thing! I feel
sick, really sick. I can't believe it, I just can't...
Get
a grip. Facts. I was dreaming that ants were swarming down my throat.
Hundreds of them. And then...then I woke up, and the little bastards
were running for their lives - down my chin, over my chest, onto the
bed and away across the floor. When I shut my mouth, they escaped
through my nose! Then I felt sick and started to vomit - and I was
vomiting up ants!
Great clumps of black vomit that just...just...scurried away. As I
staggered to my feet, I could still feel them running over me - they
were coming out of my ears and everything.
That's it - I've got to buy some poison. Sod the
Splendid Isolation-bit - this has gone far enough. I'm leaving now.
Blast. It's Sunday. The shops are shut. It'll have to
wait till tomorrow. It felt really weird, being outside. Unnaturally
bright and colourful. I have to confess, I felt strangely
self-conscious, and even "scurried" along a bit myself.
Odd.
Looked all round the flat, armed with boiling water,
but to no avail. Not a blighter in sight-er. I'll get the bastards
tomorrow, though.
March 12th
The horror. The horror. I don't have much time. Have to
write what happened.
I woke up, I'm not sure when, but it was dark. There
was a shape, a dark shape in the room. A dark shape that had never
been there before. And then, there was a voice - a hideous,
mechanical, raspy-sounding voice, like nothing I'd ever heard before.
And the voice said:
"Hello. Do not be afraid. There is very little
point in being afraid. Just let us explain, and soon it will all be
over. Resistance is useless. You might want to turn the light on."
The shock of hearing a voice after so long had
completely numbed me to what it was saying. I sat there, confused,
trying to focus on the shape. The voice, harder this time, said:
"Turn the light on."
I turned the light on. Then I screamed. Then I passed
out.
When I awoke, nothing had changed. The giant ant in the
centre of the room spoke again.
"Good. You're awake. We were wondering what to do.
Sit back on the bed, please."
I
sat back on the bed. I looked at the ant. It was truly terrifying,
and I had a sudden realisation of just how brilliant a film The
Incredible Shrinking Man
really is. "They really got it right", I was thinking, when
the ant spoke again.
"You may have some questions. Would you like to
ask us some questions?"
Something had been puzzling me. I had assumed that as
Giant Ant, the ant was entitled to use the royal "we", but
as I looked closer, the truth began to dawn: it wasn't one giant ant
at all - it was thousands of ordinary ants, all clustered into one
giant ant-shaped entity. Involuntarily, I whistled.
"Wow. Cool."
(A stupid, and entirely inappropriate response, I know,
but I'm telling it like it is, and time is of the essence.)
"Questions?"
"Yes. How...how can you speak?"
"We were rather hoping you would ask us that - we
have spent the last two months studying your voice-box mechanism, and
we have managed to duplicate its functions, using ourselves as
component parts."
"Wha-what? You mean while I was asleep?"
"At
first, yes. Lately we've had a couple of chaps in there while you've
been awake, too. Only you don't say very much, awake or
asleep,
so it took a while to get the finer points nailed down, obviously."
"But
you- you're ants."
"Yes."
"The same ants from the bathroom."
"Yes. A thousand thankyous again, by the way.
Without you, our invasion might have been prevented."
"What? Invasion? What do you mean?"
"Yes. You see, I'm afraid the spiders were all
that stood between us and the fruition of our master plan. Had it not
been for your timely intervention, all might have been lost. A real
case of victory snatched from the jaws of defeat. Well done."
"Master plan? What master plan?"
"Pity you'll never get to finish that novel, mind.
It was turning out quite nicely, we thought. Does he get the girl at
the end?"
"What? I-"
"Never mind. Immaterial now, anyway. That's enough
talking now, I think. It's time for the submergence."
"Submergence?"
"One of those words, anyway."
The ant began to move towards me. I sat bolt upright -
suddenly terrified.
"No point moving around. Only delay the
inevitable. Resistance is useless."
I screamed. I threw a punch into the centre of the
ant-entity, but its ant-components just rearranged themselves around
my arm. Then the whole weight of them was upon me and I fell to the
ground. In seconds, hundreds of ants peeled off from the giant ant
and formed wrist and ankle-bands, pinning me tightly to the floor. I
screamed again, and the ants chose that moment to "submerge".
They poured into my open mouth like a living pint of Guinness. I shut
my mouth, but they broke off and went in through my nose and ears. In
a few moments every single ant had disappeared completely. Only this
time, I knew where they were.
I lay on my back for a few moments, unsure of what to
do next. The words "master plan", "submergence"
and "invasion" ran through my head. And then, a chilling
echo: "Pity you'll never get to finish that novel..." Then,
suddenly, the left side of my body began to twitch, violently. I
tried to move my arm: it was like trying to move through treacle. I
pulled myself up to my desk and sat down to my journal. The whole
time I've been writing this, I've been sitting on my left hand.
So
that's it. I can feel myself slowly losing control...I can't move my
legs anymore...My arm is getting heavier...In a few moments they will
have taken over completely. My eyes are...darkening...Help...me...
Finished? Jolly good. Let's go then. See how this baby
handles on the outside. Today Croydon, tomorrow the world and all
that. Cheerio.
x x x x x x x x x x x x
CROYDON ECHO - APRIL 29TH
MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF
LOCAL RECLUSE
Police in Croydon were mystified
today when they broke into a flat to find that the occupant had
mysteriously disappeared. They were alerted by a local woman who said
that she became alarmed when the occupant failed to retrieve his
weekly shopping for the third week in a row. The man, said to be
something of a recluse, is understood to have been working on a pair
of novels at the time of his disappearance, both apparently
unfinished. A police spokesman said "Neither of the novels are
any good, and we think his disappearance may be linked to
depression." The man is described as being about six foot tall,
with brown hair and brown eyes, and in his mid-twenties. If you have
any information regarding his whereabouts, the number to call is
Croydon 554321.
posted by FilmFan @ 7:06 AM
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