Sunday, April 23, 2017


Copyright (c) 2017 by Randall R. Peterson ALL RIGHTS RESERVED This is a work of fiction. All persons, locations and actions are from the author's imagination or have been used in a fictitious manner.

By R. Peterson

“I hated that infected-boil-on-the-arse-of-humanity, Rutherford Sutherland, his enemies call him Rutty … he has no friends … with the fury of a tormented wolverine I loathed Sutherland Home Delivery equally as well! Yes! I will have more tea. They’ll deliver anything, anywhere to anyone for a price. I’d been sacked from my last two jobs … it wasn’t my fault … not really. I blame the vile, green-the-morning-after suds they pump and pour at the Squealing Pig and a pissing-dance-all-night rock group called Abortion Clinic.”
“Sure you get screwed while you’re dancing but you leave it all behind! I was an undocumented immigrant from America at the time … still wet from the forced swim.”
“You think things are bad here … they’re worse over there. Six months and I’m already out of my mind.”
“Two lumps in mine but hold the cow back. Knock the bitch up and strand her in London … that was my lover’s plan. I was running low on opportunities, pleasure and especially funds … with an accent on the part about fun.”
“There should be a bloody-law against indenturing without trial, even if I am guilty as a fox with an exhaust port blowing chicken feathers, and a proper jury conviction.  So this girl, step-daughter, runaway, unpaid-prostitute, unmarried-mother-of-three nappy-rats was running out of room to breathe. Thank the Devil in Hell the f%$#@^% horn still functioned … sounds like an angry goose! Move out of the f$#%&@# way! I’ll scratch your sideboards and passage where I will if you don’t take me serious! I yelled. They’ll never make me drive on the left!”
“I understand that!”
“I’d made a solemn vow, my second day on the job, that I would someday kill both Rutty and his ever-peering-over-his-shoulder hunch-backed lover. I do wish I was her. He’s such a prize with those flapping fish lips and an enormous paunch that hangs over his belt like unbaked bread. Ethel obviously raked deep lines in her face with a metal comb when she was younger and planted pimples. A bumper-crop sprouted year after year and the tremendous weight of the infected acne obviously twisted and bent her spine … and I worry when I get a cold sore.”
“No, I think your complexion is marvelous!”
 “Now where was I? How I hated them! The first week I was forced to pay for a broken cooling-fan belt … Rutty claimed I’d been over-revving! I haven’t changed my mind about the ghastly murders; I’m just waiting for the right time and place … and a few more paydays. “Perhaps mum if I caress your f#$%$#@ boot with the edge of my bonnet I can get you to crawl a little faster!” I yelled as the traffic thickened. “Is that a Bentaga you’re driving or a Scotland Tortoise with a  f#$%#@  leg-brace?”
“I’m afraid I do get in a bit of a rage when I drive!”
“Of course … anyway it was that on the rainy night of nineteen April two thousand and six that I found myself bouncing and careening across all twelve lanes of the M5 … of course I’m exaggerating. But pay attention to the plot … I promise … it gets better!  Petherton, Puriton and Burnham-on-Sea hoping the clattering three-cylinder engine, no doubt made of recycled Korean beer cans, didn’t blow! I was knighted by Ethel Sutherland herself and given the title Dame … or was that Damn? … A quest to deliver and obtain signature for one thirty-six point nine kilogram package that gassed like the final-product-end of a squirting English Longhorn. What the f%$# is that vile puddle seeping under the wooden box? I thought. Smells like a copper pot ready to melt!”
            “Thank you, dear, for the cake; sweets have always been my doom.”
“Rutty and that fat, creaking bitch who seduced him decided to purchase, used of course, a fleet of tiny super-tawdry Lorries for half of what you’d play for polite vehicles and then overloaded each one to the point of exploding all the hair-club tires. Someone should tell the Asian dictatorships about shock absorbers. No bolts … everything is held together with gum. When I left the M5, near Brean, I was lost and bouncing like Belle du Jour on a clandestine visit to the back rooms of Parliament. Of course Southerland doesn’t invest in GPS. I had Rutherford’s hand-written scribbles! “F%$# off with the high-beams Mate! Can’t you tell I’m hunting an address? Bloody frog from across the channel he was!”
            “I’m sure you have … we all know that sort don’t we?”
“Ah! An hour later there’s the sign hanging from a bent nail. Chancy my headlamps still work, dim though … like my bloody forgotten! I haven’t seen a streetlight and only one smoking Billy since Brean. Another five miles and we should be there … me and my shadow. Don’t start me singing … I’ve enough trouble! What the f#$% happened to the gravel? Two ruts skirting a rabbit hedge! I cranked down my window and told all the hairless tires to hold their breath. I could hear what sounded like restless snoring coming from the back.”
“No, it doesn’t bother me now!”
“Creepy! Surely the angels would know I was coming.”


“There was so much f#$%#@ fog rising from the weeds I had to look at the address again to see if the moss and mortar rock manor growing out of a forest of dead roses wasn’t the residence of some Lon Chaney lurch-a-like. Nope … this time I’d found a real upper-class English gentleman … “Aleister Crowley III” I believe the label read, although I could have been wrong about the numbers.”
“I know he’s famous and also dead … at least I think he is!”
“Sorry, let me continue. My North Korean, petrol-powered rickshaw coughed and died just as I pulled up to the house. Just as well, with short pants and a pair of trainers I was ready to walk … or to run. The package wasn’t all that heavy but by using a shovel (I get stuck at least twice a week) I scraped it out the back and onto a dolly … I didn’t want to get my hands dirty … or God forbid break one of my ragged and chewed fingernails. I’ll grow them out in the spring for my Allure cover-shoot.”
“Yes dear, I am one of the chosen.”
“Walking on the gravel-over-cement driveway my boots sounded like a pack of wolves chewing old bones. The creaking wheels of the hand-truck were like the cries of terrified rabbits. My forever broken heart, in too many pieces to pound, made a soft rattling noise.”
“Don’t roll your eyes … I’m trying to make this story entertaining!”
“A huge oak door sagged on rusty hinges that looked like they were made when King George was taxing tea in the colonies to pay for an army of mistresses.”
“Of course I can’t prove that … let me finish! I rapped on the splinters with an iron knocker in the shape of two dragons breeding … and then waited. I’d almost battered down the door knocking one of the lusty lizards to the ground when I finally turned and pushed the load back to the rickshaw. From somewhere in the distance a quartet of dogs, or hopefully wolves to make this story better, began to howl. I knew how they felt. I’d driven over three hundred miles and couldn’t leave the soggy package without a signature. I can’t tell you what I yelled into the night … but it was f#$%$#@ rank even for tender wolf ears. By the time I got the box loaded into the back I was sweaty and furious.”
“No, not with you dear … never with you!”
“With the infinite power of profanity I finally got the starter to catch and was pathetically trying to fling gravel with the skinny tires on the way out when a bean-pole thin man, with an unkempt pointed goatee, leaped from a foggy thicket into the center of the twin cow-paths. There was no way to go around him with the long pole he thrust forward in a horizontal position as he approached. If my lorry had had more power I swear I would have tried to run him over.”
“Is that a cat I smell … you really should invest in a dog.”
“Yes, he looked dangerous, but I cranked down the window anyway.”
“I was ready to die; let the bloody orphanage in London raise my brats! “Deliver the package in the rear,” he suggested with a mouth full of crooked teeth. “I’m Harry and I’ll let you in!” I bet he was. He also smelled like a goat. I was glad it was night; I could only imagine the swarm of flies that infested that beard during the day. One of his eyes looked straight ahead; the other popped out of his skull and twisted and turned as it tried to peer down my blouse. He was obviously deranged! If I had any breasts, they were somewhere on a nude-beach in Spain enjoying a holiday and soaking up the sun.”
“Thank you, but I’ve wiped mist from a mirror after a shower many times.”
“I don’t know where the gas-lanterns came from, dear, but Bean-Pole Hairy hung one on each end of the pole as I followed him around to the back. From behind he didn’t look half bad … perhaps it was that lurching hop that turned me on. He removed a chain and opened wooden doors covering stone stairs and ordered me to transport the box down them. I’m not desperate … just practical. I would love a nip … thank you! Perhaps this tale will now go a bit smoother. Of course he stood there gaping as I struggled to once again get the heavy wooden box out of the back and onto the hand cart. I couldn’t really blame him; I must appear like a lovely ballerina when I work.”
“Oh really? That’s your opinion then isn’t it?”
“The stairs were steep and many and it was all I could do to bump the cart to the bottom. “I’ll come in from the front and light the lamps,” he promised. Of course he closed both doors and I heard him secure the chain. I expected no less. I was left alone in the black with what I hoped were only my thoughts. I’ve never been afraid of rats … often they’ve been my only friends. No offence to you, dear, you’re a real charmer! It was there in the utter darkness that the raspy voice first came from the leaking package. “Don’t be afraid,” it said. “Were almost home.” I was squirming … I desperately needed the services of a loo … now more than ever before! Damn! I thought. I should have gone when I passed through Petherton!”
“Oh, I know you wouldn’t”
“I held my water for as long as I could but when Bean Pole Harry flipped a light switch and I saw four headless humans lurching toward me and a couple of doctors standing by with stitched-on heads I let go and splashed the floor. The place was as clean as any hospital but I still wasn’t sorry for what I’d done. There’s a limit to how you can startle a person and I’d hit mine.”
“Thank you dear. I think I will have more tea.”
“Don’t bother I’ll get it.”
“Now where was I? The doctors were all smiling and walking toward me like we were old friends. “We only want the box,” they said, “and you can be on your way!” That’s when I heard the voice from inside the package speaking again … and I thank God I did. “Don’t believe them,” the voice said. “Sure they want me … but you’ve got a good head on your shoulders and I’m sure they want it as well. As long as you hang onto the box they cannot touch you!”
“There was truth to what the voice told me … and I thank you again. Every doctor with a sewn-on head was looking at my own head as if it were some new gadget in an electronics store. I backed toward the stairs keeping the hand cart with the box in front of me. One of the doctors tried to reason with me. “You were hired to deliver the package,” he said.  “Leave it and be off or I’ll have to file a complaint!” I laughed in his face and he was furious. “They’ll want you to go downtown and fill out a form.” I told him. “I don’t suppose you own a turtle neck sweater do you? Those huge stitches around your neck are sure to draw a few questions!”
“They followed as I backed up the stairs but none of them got too close. You’ll be sacked by the time you get back to London!” one of the doctors promised.”
“But at least I’ll still have my head!” I told him. “I was feeling more confident as I rolled the cart back to the rickshaw. I laughed each time they made a new threat. One of the doctors even tried pleading with me. “My wife needs what is inside that box desperately,” he said. “We’ve waited for over a year and today was to be the happiest day of our lives!”
“Sorry,” I told him. “But there’s always tomorrow!”
“I had a bit of a start after I loaded the crate in the back of the van and it failed to start the first few times I cranked it over. The doctors and the headless people started crowding closer. I could see smiles on the faces of those with sewn on heads and I believe they thought as long as I didn’t leave there was still a chance that they could get what was inside the box!”
            “I’m here aren’t I? Of course the van finally started!”
 “Thank you, but I believe I’ve had enough tea. I do believe I’ll have another piece of cake though.”
“No, don’t get up … I’ll get it!”
 “It was a long way back to London and I was terrified by what might be in the crate so I stopped at a pullout near a scenic view and cast the box into a clump of brambles. I felt better without the burden and went straight to the police when I arrived back in London.”
            “Oh, you know him?”
            “Inspector Crombie is a sly muffin in anyone’s book. He listened to my entire story while tapping a pencil against a pad that he’d only written my name on. He had a way of looking at a person as if he’d seen it all and even knew the color of my underthings. “You’re an American aren’t you?” It was more of an accusation than a f#$%$#@ question.
            “You believe I’m lying?” I blurted. I was furious, but the good inspector never batted an eye.
            “I believe you need a bit of a rest!” he says still tapping his pencil.
“I spent three weeks in a private room in St. Andrews for observation because the good inspector thought I was mad as a hatter! After the second day I had everything figured out and confessed to anyone who would listen that it was all just a harmless prank … that had gotten away from me.”
“There’s a lot of crazies in Britain … I guess they needed the room. Once I was out and had my job back I could stop pretending.”
“Of course Rutherford was an arse … but he was so desperate!”
“Oops! I didn’t mean to horde the sugar! Here you go love!”
“No, he never received a complaint about the non-delivery.”
“Now where was I? Oh yes, the last bit of my story! I began to get worried. I couldn’t sleep at night and began to imagine doctors with sewn-on heads and other people creeping through the garden outside my flat. I finally drove back to the bramble bushes next to the scenic overlook and hunted till I found the crate. Only a few broken boards … but no real damage. You of course can determine that much better than I”
            “You know the rest!” I was thrilled when I opened the box … and what we have just keeps getting better each day.”
            “I feel the same way!”
“Yes, I’d love to travel with you. Perhaps on my next holiday I’ll rent a proper car and we’ll drive north. I hear Scotland is beautiful this time of year!”
            “No, of course we’ll sleep in separate beds … I’m not that out there.”
            “You’re gurgling! I didn’t hear that last bit. Oh dear! You’re bleeding again and that China-plate was my mother’s!  That’s some nasty gash below your chin! Not too ragged though … I’ll bet it was fast … and I hope … not too painful. I’d say one of those huge double blades on an axe.”
            “Here let me tidy that up a bit!”
            “Of course I’m not angry, dear. Like I said, I don’t have many friends … and you’re so easy to talk to!”


No comments:

Post a Comment

I would love to hear your comments about my stories ... you Faithful Reader are the reason I write.