“…time?” the voice said as it drifted into the arena of my attention whilst I tried to read my book, siting in the corner of my favourite pub. Normally, I could ignore the background noise when I wanted to read a good book over a pint of ‘Shoggoth’s Old Peculiar’*, imported from Newport on the island just over the water from here. The pub, whilst rustic, was not trendy, and proudly owned an eclectic jukebox that currently was singing at you to run to the hills, and attracted swarms of the local students to drink a pint of alcoholic sugar and food colouring before descending upon the next student-friendly bar down the hill. So you get used to the noise and know when is a good time to leave, before the crowds at the bar become more than five students deep. But this voice disrupted my concentration and I realised the voice was actually aimed at me and said something about time. I looked at my mobile phone and the grimy green display doing its best to illuminate, I began to speak “It’s just gone seven…”
“Sorry mate, you must of misheard me,” the voice that had a slight roughness interrupted. I looked up and finally saw the source of the voice that had pulled me from a tale of old gods and books of the dead. They say never judge a book by its cover and they also say first impressions count. I like to acknowledge either depending on my mood. So very much in a ‘first impressions count, you have interrupted my escapism’ kind of mood, I took in the presence before me. He was an average size man, shaved head, dressed in jeans and a casual shirt with oriental script arranged in random places. I always wondered what those symbols meant, was it something deep or the East having a laugh as the Westerners wondered around with ‘fungal foot disease’ emblazoned across their person. His eyes seemed barely open and it was difficult at first to see if he was actually looking at me. “I said, you want some time, you know, buy some time?” He spoke with a shifty aspect as if he was doing something he was not meant to. “Me, time?” I decided to reply, still unsure that I was his intended potential customer. “Yes, time.” he answered back. “Do I want to buy some time?” my internal dialogue asked with more of a question of ‘what’ than ‘do I’. I continued to look at him with a befuddled expression as suddenly it dawned on me. “Oh! Do I want to buy some watches of you?” I spoke hastily as my distrust of this man grew. “Sorry, mate if you wanting to punt knocked off watches round here, then you better be leaving. If the landlady or those guys…” I stopped speaking as I looked round to the two doormen leaning against the wall at the entrance to the pub, looking casually big and persuasive. Turning back to look at guy selling his wares, I continued “…catch you, then you will be asked to leave.” I emphasised the ‘leave’ for a sense of ‘you’re not welcome round here, now sling your hook before the doormen sling you onto pavement outside’ in it. He looked at me, understanding the tone. I could almost hear the heavy sounds of his thoughts and an unsettling power as he stood just staring at me. Suddenly he shrugged his shoulders announced: “You got me all wrong, mate.” and sat down on the pew the other side of the table from me, like he had known me years and I was a good friend.
“…time?” the voice said as it drifted into the arena of my attention whilst I tried to read my book, siting in the corner of my favourite pub. Normally, I could ignore the background noise when I wanted to read a good book over a pint of ‘Shoggoth’s Old Peculiar’*, imported from Newport on the island just over the water from here. The pub, whilst rustic, was not trendy, and proudly owned an eclectic jukebox that currently was singing at you to run to the hills, and attracted swarms of the local students to drink a pint of alcoholic sugar and food colouring before descending upon the next student-friendly bar down the hill. So you get used to the noise and know when is a good time to leave, before the crowds at the bar become more than five students deep. But this voice disrupted my concentration and I realised the voice was actually aimed at me and said something about time. I looked at my mobile phone and the grimy green display doing its best to illuminate, I began to speak “It’s just gone seven…”
“Sorry mate, you must of misheard me,” the voice that had a slight roughness interrupted. I looked up and finally saw the source of the voice that had pulled me from a tale of old gods and books of the dead. They say never judge a book by its cover and they also say first impressions count. I like to acknowledge either depending on my mood. So very much in a ‘first impressions count, you have interrupted my escapism’ kind of mood, I took in the presence before me. He was an average size man, shaved head, dressed in jeans and a casual shirt with oriental script arranged in random places. I always wondered what those symbols meant, was it something deep or the East having a laugh as the Westerners wondered around with ‘fungal foot disease’ emblazoned across their person. His eyes seemed barely open and it was difficult at first to see if he was actually looking at me. “I said, you want some time, you know, buy some time?” He spoke with a shifty aspect as if he was doing something he was not meant to. “Me, time?” I decided to reply, still unsure that I was his intended potential customer. “Yes, time.” he answered back. “Do I want to buy some time?” my internal dialogue asked with more of a question of ‘what’ than ‘do I’. I continued to look at him with a befuddled expression as suddenly it dawned on me. “Oh! Do I want to buy some watches off you?” I spoke hastily as my distrust of this man grew. “Sorry, mate if your wanting to punt knocked off watches round here, then you better be leaving. If the landlady or those guys…” I stopped speaking as I looked round to the two doormen leaning against the wall at the entrance to the pub, looking casually big and persuasive. Turning back to look at guy selling his wares, I continued “…catch you, then you will be asked to leave.” I emphasised the ‘leave’ for a sense of ‘you’re not welcome round here, now sling your hook before the doormen sling you onto pavement outside’ in it. He looked at me, understanding the tone. I could almost hear the heavy sounds of his thoughts and an unsettling power as he stood just staring at me. Suddenly he shrugged his shoulders announced: “You got me all wrong, mate.” and sat down on the pew the other side of the table from me, like he had known me years and I was a good friend.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
*Shoggoth’s Old Peculiar – Hops grown by HP Lovecraft and brewed by Neil Gaiman
“You know the end of your world will happen tonight.” he said as a matter of statement rather than question.
“What?” he exclaimed knowing that most of what his companion said was true. “Tonight?” he continued with a sense of panic in his eyes as he still looked around trying to find his keys so he could leave for work.
“Yes, tonight.” he replied with some disdain, as if he should not have to speak twice.
“So I should not bother going to work then?” he asked, wondering why he was asking.
“Well you could but your boss would just be upset with you tomorrow.” he responded.
“Hold up! You said that the world ends tonight. So what’s the point of going to work and why am I bothering to even question it?” he asked more of himself than to his friend. “I should be calling my family, finding my close friends, saying goodbye to the one I love…” he frantically continued. His breath became shallow and his vision blurred as a panic attack began to set in. Suddenly it all stopped as he felt a sharp pain in his lower left leg. “Ouch! What was that for?” he screamed at his companion.
“You were panicking for no reason!” he replied as he walked away and rubbed up against the open door.
“Of course I was panicking, you said the world is about to end!” he screamed back.
“And it is.” he replied, now leaping onto the messy bed and looking about for a spot to lie on.
“OK, you’re doing it again. Winding me up and watching me freak out for no reason.” he reasoned. He sat down on the bed next to his companion and started to think. “So the world will end tonight, but tomorrow will still happen as my boss is going to be upset…” he contemplated to himself as he spoke aloud.
“Only if you don’t go to work.” the voice said, now from the other end of the bed.
“What, the world will end or my boss will be upset?” he asked.
“Both, but your world ending will happen either way, your boss’ reaction is just basic probability, like most of your life.” his companion said in a sleepy yawning kind of way.
“OK, so my boss’ reaction aside, how is the world going to end? Big explosion, giant solar flare, inter-dimensional demonic entities or is the world destroyed to make way for some space equivalent of a bypass?” he finished off sarcastically.
“Well if you’re going to get like that, then I can’t be bothered” he said defiantly and closed his eyes, nestling his head into the duvet.
“Don’t be like that, it’s a lot to take in, the end of the world and all that,” he pleaded. “I just want to know how the world will end tonight!”
His friend and companion raised his head up, his eyes bright and large stared straight at the man standing at the end of the bed. “Well, and I only answer you now to save your dignity, there will be no big explosion, no solar activity will wipe life from the planet, no demonic armies will arrive and definitely no bypass. It will just fade from existence, as you close your eyes and sleep.”
“Oh, just like that, sounds kind of peaceful. I guess when I wake my world is recreated?” he asked the black bundle of fur now very asleep on his bed. He looked at him, smiled and gave him a small stroke behind his left ear. Then he found his keys, opened the door and left for work.