Work @ IN THE BOGS@ By Andrew Campbell 1995@ @ @ "Excuse me, have you got a toilet?"@ "Yes sir, through there."@ "Oh... of course, thanks."@ 10:30 AM. The door of the bathroom at the back of Cozmo's Cafe swung @ open. Jack Warren's reflection staggered into the mirror.@ `Christ,' he thought, looking around. `Place's bigger than my@ livingroom.' @ It was the first steady, rational thought he'd had since leaving the@ hotel. Another hysterical call from his monstrous wife on the mobile @ demanding him to come home, followed by a lengthy, wallet-draining @ taxi-ride, followed by heavy rain and a head-on collision with the@ "living wall" that was the city's rush hour... it had been raw chaos.@ He felt like he'd been swept away and forgotten about, like the doomed@ survivor of a shipwreck@ The final thread of Jack's patience had been torn apart along with @ the soles of his shoes- half past bloody ten in the morning and his @ footwear had all but disintegrated. And, of all the shelters in the @ city, "Cozmo's Cafe" had been the nearest one to take refuge.@ His bedraggled, dripping reflection stared at him pitifully. Boy did@ he look old compared to the bathroom he was standing in. Forty eight@ years of unfit flesh and bone, trapped in a box of changes, a room @ that proved the speed of time... polished floor-tiles, clean silver @ piping, a cubicle with a latch that WORKED, and a shapely automatic@ dryer that switched off by itself.@ Jack just didn't fit in. @ For a while, he listened to the muffled sounds of breakfast-eaters @ in the cafe. They laughed and talked in groups, and tinkled spoons, @ and poured themselves early-morning tea. Their relaxed normality was@ enough to drive Jack across the room and into the toilet cubicle.@ His shoes peeled off like orange skin. Inside, his socks were damp, @ filthy and smelly, and he slid the local newspaper down his sleeve and@ flapped it hurriedly to wave away the stench.@ There was no way he'd find the station in time for the train. Not @ now: it would be leaving in ten minutes, and he hadn't a clue where- @ abouts in the city he was. In fact, the more Jack thought about it,@ the more he realized there was little point in going anywhere anymore.@ `Sometimes you've got to simply admit defeat.' he thought morbidly, @ running his hands through his drenched hair. He was about to walk back@ out of the cubicle to use the sink, when the bathroom door clicked@ open and somebody came into the room.@ `Damnit.' Jack whispered. He secured the latch and eased himself @ down onto the toilet seat. `Oh well, it's just typical of today. Let@ the bugger think you're having a dump and leave; it's be that simple.'@ A tap began to trickle. Jack picked up one of his shoes and examined@ it- it was the only action he could think of performing which wouldn't@ make any noise.@ The trickling water stopped.@ "Are you okay in there?"@ It was a deep, male voice. Jack dropped his shoe, stood up, sat down@ again. "Er... yes. Fine."@ "Itchy feet I gather?"@ "Pardon?" He noticed his shoe had slipped under the door. "Oh, er, @ yes, the soles have come away, I'm just looking at them whilst I... @ you know-"@ "Of course." said the man. His voice was crisp, clear and pleasant. @ A rarity, Jack thought, in this type of place. "You can tell a lot my @ a man's shoes, you know. I would say your name is John, or Jonathan, @ or perhaps... Jack."@ "Bloody hell," Jack snorted. "You're right, it's Jack." he stood up @ and reached for the latch.@ "No, don't." said the man. "Don't open up. Not yet. I haven't @ finished."@ With a slightly puzzled reluctancy, Jack sat down again on the @ slippery toilet seat. He stared at the greyish-white patterns on the @ inside of the door, and then at the nine-inch gap underneath it. He@ bobbed his head down- tried to make out this man's feet, perhaps a@ shadow... but he could see nothing.@ "You wear dark colours because you have a pale complexion," said the@ man boldly. "You work for a newspaper firm... perhaps something to do @ with advertising, but you are finding it difficult to keep up with the@ ever-changing technology in this demanding field. I sense you are @ having problems outside of work too... a marriage collapse...? No,@ your shoes are not entirely destroyed, hence you still have the @ ability to sort out this complication. Right now, you're late for @ something important... a meeting, perhaps..."@ There was a long silence... enough for Jack to realize how accurate @ the man's descriptions were. Again, he stood up, and again he was told@ not to touch the lock on the door.@ "But I've finished, you can have your turn." he protested.@ The man smiled. Jack could sense this smile: see it clearly in his@ mind's eye. "I do not need to relieve myself."@ "Who are you?" Jack demanded. "What are you talking to me for?"@ "When was the last time you spoke to somebody, Jack? When was the @ last time you sat down with a trusted friend and discussed the @ problems in your life?"@ "I'm not telling you a damned thing until you let me open this @ door." @ "Until I LET you?" the man chuckled. "You have control over your own@ body, Jack. You can do as you like. I am merely asking you to keep the@ door closed to avoid the destruction of what we are creating."@ "What we're creating?" Jack said, running his fingers around the @ edge of the toilet seat. He had nothing ALIVE to look at - just a @ fuzzy image in his mind of a big, smiling man with a beard - and this@ frustrated him almost to the point of hysteria. "Look, I don't know @ what kind of game you're playing here, but I'm coming out."@ "Your wife was hysterical when she phoned you, wasn't she?"@ Jack shot to his feet again. "How do you know that? That's none of@ your bloody business!"@ "Did you listen to her?"@ "Of course I didn't listen, she's as mad as a hatter! She cries wolf@ like nobody else on Earth. She said the house had burnt down last @ month: I rushed home from a business meeting seventy five miles away,@ only to find the chip-pan had caught fire. You don't know my wife, you@ can't accuse me of not listening to her."@ "I haven't accused anyone of anything." said the man calmly. "You @ must realise, everything happens for a reason, Jack. Your wife is who @ she is because she's been SHAPED that way. Do you understand?"@ "Fern wasn't shaped, she's just stupid."@ "You really think that?"@ "Yes."@ "Pick up your newspaper."@ "Why?" Jack said, reaching down. Again, he tried to peep under the @ door... to catch a glimpse of the man. But he could see nothing: no @ trousers, no feet. He cursed, sat up, and flicked through the paper@ hurriedly. "What? What am I looking for?"@ "It is on the front page."@ Jack looked, saw a picture of his wife- "What the HELL?"- then read @ the headline slowly... it said, FATHER DIES: DAUGHTER ADMITS CHILDHOOD@ OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE.@ "But she never said a word..." Jack whispered.@ "Everything happens BECAUSE." said the man softly. "You wouldn't @ listen, the world wouldn't listen, so she's done the only thing left @ to do: sold her story. She's done it for YOU, Jack. Forced you to@ listen. Can you blame her?"@ Jack was silent. Guilt had poisoned his heart.@ "There's a shoe-shop across the road," the man went on as Jack@ skimmed through the report. "Just past the traffic lights. The station@ is more-or-less behind this cafe. You'll find it. Goodbye Jack."@ Footsteps. Jack threw down the newspaper, fired back the latch and@ pulled the cubicle door wide open.@ There was nobody in the room.@ About ten minutes later, a calmer, altogether more focused man @ walked out into the cafe, wearing socks on his feet.@ @ *@ @ "I thought you said there was somebody in here."@ "He just walked out, didn't you see him?"@ "No."@ 10:45 AM. The door of the bathroom at the back of Cozmo's Cafe swung @ open. Paul and Gayle O'brien walked cautiously inside.@ "Bloody hell," said Gayle, looking around. "Place's bigger than the@ cafe. Check out the pink towels." she laughed, then, "Oh Jeez, I @ thought you said nobody was in here!"@ The cubicle was closed and two tatty-looking shoes were visible@ under the gap. @ "There isn't-" Paul began, but Gayle took his collar and dragged@ him over to the sink, cancelling his words. She delved into the back-@ pocket of her jeans and withdrew a large penknife.@ "Paul, we have no choice." she said softly, glancing at the cubicle @ every few seconds. "In three hours you'll be shaking hands with a guy@ who'll think you're Fred Black. If you have a little finger on your@ right hand, you're not going to be a very CONVINCING Fred Black are@ you?"@ "Are you sure it wasn't his left hand?" Paul begged. His fingers @ were wiggling furiously- as though in panic.@ "I disposed of the guy's body, of course I'm sure." Gayle insisted, @ laying Paul's fingers neatly across the rim of the sink. She folded@ them away, one by one, until she reached the last; the smallest, the@ most vunerable. She swallowed bile as she rested the blade of her@ penknife just below the knuckle. "Remember," she said. "Two things: @ first, this is for our LIVES. Second, you mustn't scream; if that guy @ in the toilet hears you, he'll be out here in a flash with a string of@ sausages hanging out of his backside-"@ "There's nobody in here." Paul insisted weakly. His throat was as@ dry as sandpaper.@ Gayle tapped her watch. "Three hours, Paul. We've got to stop it@ bleeding by then. Maybe even take you to hospital to get it seen to,@ it depends. I've never done this before."@ "Well that makes two of us doesn't it."@ "Look, are you in this or not?"@ "For Christ's sake... Just do it."@ "Okay," Gayle quietly. "I'll be as quick as I can." She added @ pressure onto the blade, slowly at first, then slid her index finger@ down its length and rested her left hand on top.@ She took a sharp breath, before forcing her whole body weight down@ onto the knife. There was a soft squelch, then a loud, brittle crack. @ Paul uttered a deep howl of agony. His face contorted, his teeth came@ together, and a thread of blood escaped from the corner of his mouth.@ "That wasn't very quick, Gayle." he hissed as his little finger slid@ into the bowl leaving a thick trail of crimson.@ "It's okay, it's over." she panted.@ "Yeah but the pain isn't." Paul snapped, bending at the knees. @ "Jesus, I've let people do some pretty awful stuff to me but this @ just takes the biscuit." he buried his bleeding hand in his jumper.@ Gayle pocketed her knife. "Come on, let's get you to casualty."@ "What about my finger?"@ Gayle picked it up and tried to force it down the plug hole. "Damn,"@ she muttered. "We'll have to get that bloke out of the toilet, it @ won't fit down here-"@ "Don't throw it away, I want to keep it-"@ "Don't be disgusting!" Gayle exclaimed and wandered over to the @ cubicle. She put a small amount of pressure on the door. "Hello, are @ you alive in there?" It swung open freely.@ Paul collapsed beside the mirror. "`Don't scream' she says. `He'll @ hear you,'- Jesus Gayle I told you there's nobody in there! Hey! @ What're you DOING?"@ Gayle dropped the severed finger into the bowl and pulled the chain.@ She emerged from the cubicle wiping her hands on a length of toilet @ tissue.@ "You've flushed my finger down the John!" Paul yelled.@ "Forget it, let's just go."@ "But my finger-"@ "Go!"@ Moments later, the door clipped shut behind them.@ @ *@ @ "Where's your bog, man?"@ "Through there, kids. Er- one at a time please-"@ "Get a life."@ "Sod off."@ 3:25 PM. The door of the bathroom at the back of Cozmo's Cafe swung @ open. Three schoolboys trickled inside.@ "Oh cool man, check it out." said Matthew, rushing to the sink. @ "It's a bit posh." Sam declared, looking at himself in the mirror.@ He was pale, baggy-eyed and his hair was untidy. Johnny shoved him@ forward. @ "Must be like heaven to you, pauper-boy."@ "Hey, up yours butt-breath." Sam barked and turned away from his @ tired reflection. "At least my brother didn't fall down a toilet."@ "Don't you ever say that!" Johnny snapped viciously, pointing a @ finger. "Just cos he was last seen in a bog doesn't mean he fell down @ one. George's been kidnapped by a psycho, he'll be tied up and trying@ to get free, right now, and when he gets free he'll come home and when@ he comes home YOU'LL be sorry cos I'll TELL him what YOU said about@ him, so shut your gob."@ Sam threw Johnny's finger out of the way, and clipped hold of the @ boy's nose. He tugged it as he spoke.@ "Fell. Down. The. Bog."@ "Hey guys, I nicked a black marker from school," Matthew announced, @ running the tip of his stolen possession across the rim of the sink.@ Sam let go of Johnny, who punched him twice for revenge.@ "Not on the sink, Matt. Don't be stupid."@ "Why not?"@ "It'll just wash off straight away, won't it? Write something really@ sick on the wall."@ Matthew moved away from the sink and looked at the wall. He rubbed @ his chin like a graffiti artist gathering ideas.@ "What shall I put?"@ "How about... " Sam glanced at Johnny, who was now contentedly @ swinging on the door of the cubicle. "`George Stevenson got stuck in a@ U-bend'."@ Matthew burst out laughing and held up the marker. "Beauty."@ Johnny fell off the cubicle door, and landed on his back with a@ tremendous gasp. He sat up, and turned to his two startled friends.@ "Relax Johnny, I was just kiddin'." Sam admitted.@ "Yeah man, take it easy," Matthew shrugged. "We were gonna put@ `Michelle Robinson's got big jugs' or somethin' - that's all."@ Tears sped down Johnny's face. He sat there on the floor of the @ bathroom, shuddering, whimpering. A dark dread of anticipation hung@ in the air like an invisible cloud from the shores of Hell. Customers @ outside in the cafe chatted like distant monkeys. Johnny's lips@ eventually stopped trembling, and he croaked:@ "George's in there."@ The monkeys faded away: there was a deathly silence.@ Matthew looked at Sam and pulled a face. "What's he on about?"@ Sam wandered over to the petrified Johnny and crouched down. He@ glanced at the door of the toilet, which was only slighty ajar.@ "Johnny, what do you mean man?"@ "George is in there! George is in there! George-"@ "Shhh, it's okay, calm down-"@ "I could see his finger! I could see his finger!"@ "Shhhhh."@ Sam slowly looked up. Matthew was pushing the door of the cubicle@ gently open with the tips of his fingers. His face was white and his @ hairstyle looked... bigger than usual.@ "What's in there, Matt?"@ "Some knackered shoes and and a newspaper." Matthew said, then @ leaned further inside. "Oh... my... God..."@ "What?" Sam stood up. "What is it?"@ "Johnny's right, it's a finger. Somebody's finger's down the bog @ man. It's like... just poking out at the bottom."@ Sam blinked and scratched his head. He didn't want to go look. He'd @ found his Grandad dead in his own rocking chair - there was no way Sam@ wanted to go see another corpse, especially not in the toilet. Not@ even if it was George.@ "Maybe it's just a floater." he said hopefully.@ "Course it's not a floater!" Matthew almost screamed. "It's got @ knuckles and a fingernail!"@ "Are you sure?"@ Matthew stuck his head out of the cubicle. "Sam, I know what a @ finger looks like. This is NOT a piece of kack."@ Still shivering on the floor, Johnny said, "I had a kack once and it@ looked like a face."@ Matthew came back into the room and stared at Sam. Eventually their@ lips curled up, their teeth came out, and they both laughed @ hysterically. Despite his condition, Johnny laughed too.@ When they'd finished, the chattering of the monkey's returned, @ bringing briefly forgotten thoughts of the outside world back into@ focus.@ Johnny got to his feet. The three boys stood in a triangle, hands @ outside of pockets.@ "It's not George." Matthew said quietly. "Can't be. Those shoes are @ two big... and what would he be reading a newspaper for?"@ "You're right," Sam nodded thoughtfully. "He'd have had a porno."@ "Then who is it?" Johnny whimpered.@ "Maybe it's just a finger." Sam suggested. "Maybe there isn't a body@ attached... I mean, think about it: how would a body fit down all @ that piping?"@ "Maybe he was dragged." Matthew said softly. The trio were silent @ for a moment as this terrifying idea sunk in.@ "Oh man," Johnny wiped his eyes. "I'm never takin' a dump again."@ "Don't be stupid," Sam tittered. "Everybody's gotta have a dump."@ "Not me man," Johnny insisted sternly. "No way, I'll do it in the @ garden like my dog does."@ "Maybe that's why dog's take dumps outside." Matthew said, rubbing @ his chin again in his own unique, artistic manner. "I reckon dogs know@ there's something down there in the sewers."@ "Something down there?" said Sam, captivated. "You mean like a @ monster or something?"@ "There must be." Johnny proclaimed, pointing at the cubicle. "What @ more evidence do you want?" he turned to Sam and shouted, "Maybe my @ brother WAS dragged down the bog, Pauper Boy, maybe he WAS. But I bet @ he went down with a fight, I bet he went down kicking and yelling like@ a warrior. In fact," Johnny stood right up to Sam, until they were@ almost touching noses. "I bet he's KILLED the monster and he's in the@ sewers looking for an escape route right NOW, I just BETCHA."@ The door opened, and big man with a briefcase came in. The boys@ crowded together and watched him, silent and wide-eyed.@ "Hey, what's this?" he said. "Shouldn't you lot be on your paper @ rounds or something?"@ "Ha ha." said Sam. He was renowned for his ability to return sarcasm@ to adults. Matthew and Johnny kept nervously quiet.@ After eyeing the boys suspiciously for a few moments, the man walked@ over to the cubicle, pushed open the door, and peered into the toilet.@ Sam stepped forwards. "Listen mister, we ain't got anythin' to do@ with it, honest, have we guys?"@ "No way!" said Matthew and Johnny in perfect chorus.@ The man ignored them, and reached down into the bowl. The boys @ stared with utter amazement.@ "What's he doin'?" Matthew whispered.@ Sam shrugged. "Maybe he collects fingers."@ The finger was indeed what the man was after. He lifted it out of @ the toilet, not without some mutters of astonishment, then proceeded @ to take it to the sink and wash it carefully.@ "Excuse me mister," Sam spoke up. "But... is that yours or what?"@ The man held up his right hand. The boys gasped.@ "Wow."@ "Jeezus."@ "Are those your shoes too?"@ "No," the man turned off the tap and delicately dried his finger @ using one of the pink towels hung beside the mirror. He then pocketed @ it and turned round. "They belong to a guy I used to work for. He's @ was bit emotionally disturbed. Had to leave in a hurry. Forgot his @ shoes. Anyway, don't worry about that. Let me show you something most@ definitely cool." He smiled, lifted up his briefcase, and unfastened@ it. "Check that out, guys." he boasted, showing them the contents.@ Sam, Matthew and Johnny's eyes lit up. "Now is that cool or what?"@ "Wicked!"@ "Cool as a fridge, man."@ "Is that real money or what?" Sam wanted to know. @ "Course it's real," the man chuckled and threw them all a wad of@ notes. "Now spend it wisely, and don't tell anybody you saw me - or my@ finger. Do you understand?"@ The three of them nodded, speechless.@ "Have a nice day."@ The man left, closing the door gently behind him. @ After a lengthy argument about how they were to share out and spend @ the cash (and indeed a discussion concerning if they SHOULD or not), @ the boys came to a firm, excited conclusion, and hurried out of the @ room. Johnny was the last to leave... but he heard something and @ paused for a moment gave the whole bathroom a final good looking at.@ There was only silence at first... then- a gentle banging. Muffled.@ Echoing. The sound of water dripping soon followed.@ "Hey Matt, Sam, I can hear..." he didn't bother finishing: his @ friends had gone back into the cafe.@ Hypnotized by fear, Johnny let go of the door and walked slowly into@ the bathroom again. He stood in the middle of the slippery tiled floor@ and stared at the toilet. It dripped and clanged and gurgled... loud, @ and getting louder, as though something- or somebody was coming.@ "George?" Johnny whispered. "George is that you?"@ @ @ (Approx 3700 words)@ @ |