This morning I left for work in a confident mood, it was windy and brisk and nobody was around, I felt glorious, in the kind of mood that puts others in a good mood with my head held high and a very long gait. However, my confidence quickly collapsed, when I approached my car; there was a funny sound coming from it. It was a low humming, the kind of noise that would have been coming from the engine had it been running, but it wasn’t running. So, curious, I bent down and peered underneath the vehicle between the front wheels where the noise seemed to be loudest. There, lying on his back, was a man dressed in very baggy grey clothing clutching a small chrome box, about the size of a compact camera, close to his neck unaware that I was watching him. The small chrome box was making the humming noise and the man was concentrating very hard on it.
“Hey!” I shouted “What are you doing underneath my car?” The ferocity of my question gave the man a shock, he jerked quickly and banged his head on the sump. He winced then said “Bugger!” and turned to see what had disturbed him. His eyes widened when he saw me, as if he knew who I was, his expression turned to fear and he blurted “My things are not your things, go away, shittyfish in ya face.” Confused, I stood up, the humming continued. What was he talking about?
He continued. “Go further away, I can see your feet.” came the voice from under my car “Further, to France or something, far away...”
His voice trailed off and a few seconds later he was sobbing. My patience was being tested because I needed the car to get to work and this man was lurking under the engine; drastic action was needed. I thought for a few moments but nothing occurred so I got in the car and started the engine hoping that it would scare him away.
There was a tapping sound from the gear stick wobbled more than it should. I peeled back the rubber gaiter and peered into the hole, the man’s hand was clutching the end of the gearbox casing. He was still sobbing and muttering, his machine humming louder than ever.
“Yeah, oh yeah. That’s right, treat me like a nobody. All I ask is for a little peace and quiet and I get this!” the man sobbed dolefully.
“I mean, you and your car, eh? I too was having a fine day when I remembered a piece of advice an uncle had shared with me about thirty years ago. It went something like this: ‘However hard a man tries to plant grass seed the plough will always remember they furrows.’ It meant nothing to me at the time, and still doesn’t. How would that make you feel, eh?”
I was confused, I have to admit, but moved. I put the car into first gear and blipped the throttle a couple of times. The sobbing stopped so I peered again into the hole. Now I could see two hands holding onto the gearbox casing, strange. I slipped back into neutral, opened the door and leant out to see what was going on down there.
“Aaaaarrrrgh!” I shrieked “You’ve got three arms, what are you?” I didn’t wait for an answer. This mutant had a small stubby arm complete with malformed hand growing from his left shoulder. It was this nasty hand that clutched the humming chrome box. I rammed the car into first, floored the throttle and dropped the clutch. The wheels screeched and the car leapt forwards. Second, third, I looked in the mirror and saw a baggy grey heap in the road. I was panting, fourth gear. The car was now doing about 40 and I got ready to change up to fifth when a hand squeezed it’s way through the hole and grabbed the gearstick. I howled, terrified, and fought with the hand to move the gearstick. It was strong and I struggled to find fifth but got it eventually. The road ahead looked clear as the car accelerated. Good, I thought, there are some speed bumps coming up which at this speed would certainly sort him out. We hit the first at 60, the car rattled but stayed on course. The second bump sent the car bouncing onto the other side of the road glancing a couple of parked cars and knocking their mirrors off. I swerved back onto my side of the road and went to brake slightly to regain control. The brake pedal was moving and so were the clutch and accelerator pedals, I howled again as the car slowed down to 20. He was controlling the car, even the steering, how many arms did he have? The car came to a stop outside a parade of shops, it was still only six in the morning but there were a few people about. I was shaking with fear and dared not look into the hole. The only option now was to leap out of the vehicle and abandon it to whatever creature was underneath. I could see a woman leaving a newsagents, good, I thought, I can call for help. My hand grabbed the door handle, yanked it and pushed. The door opened about a foot then slammed shut. Silence. I tried again but this time it wouldn’t budge. I banged on the window and the woman stared at me and carried on walking glancing back a few times to smile. Then the slurping sound started.
The hand moved further up into the car until it could grip the knob of the gearstick. I moved away, pressing myself against the door. Then the shoulder started to come through, it was soft and malleable like an octopus’s body. More and more of the body was coming through the hole resting itself on the passenger seat like a horrid pile of squid. I was fixed with terror, staring at the growing mass of flesh. Finally the head came through, stiffer than the rest, more like a tough semi-inflated balloon, and flopped onto my lap. It morphed back into a rough head shape and turned to look up at me. I stared back.
“Faggerfaggerfaggerhissspluutt… bleugh!” it said, and vomited a fishy smelling mess over my chest. It coughed then said in a horse voice
“Ha, my uncle was right. You fiend.” It looked over at the passenger seat. “Maaaarlgh.” I had no idea what it was saying. Slowly the head lifted itself upright and a body started to form from squiddy pile. After a minute or so it stopped at what it thought must have been a suitable body shape, thought in reality it was rubbish. It had three skinny arms, an emaciated torso and not much else.
“Get on you bike and ride, ride like the wind and never look back.” It said.
“What do you mean?” I replied “I haven’t got a bike.” I was beginning to get annoyed.
“Look in the box.” It hissed “Hmmm?” I took the chrome box from a proffering hand. The hand then stretched past me and opened the door.
“Get out, and never come back.” It spat a gobbet of weetabix or something similar at me. I got out slowly and stood on the pavement. A couple of people were looking over at me, they smiled then went on their way. The car door slammed shut and the thing wriggled its way into the driver’s seat. I examined the chrome box and found a small button on the side.
“Go on, press it.” The thing called from inside the car. I did. The box opened and inside was a mass of tiny gear wheels, cogs and springs all ticking and whirring, it was like looking at the back of a large watch. It started to get heavy so I put it on the pavement. The car started up and I looked over at it. The thing was grinning at me, yuk, it had such bad teeth. It yanked its head as if to say follow me. Well I don’t think so, I thought. Just then the box began humming. Long levers and mechanical arms were extracting themselves from the impossibly small container, sliding and clicking together. I stood back and stole a glance at the thing, still grinning and beckoning me. All I wanted to do now was to get away but the machine assembling itself in front of me was beginning to look interesting. It seemed to be some sort of bicycle but with extra gears and a very comfortable looking seat, there was no sign of handlebars either, could be exciting or could be dangerous. Hmm. When the device appeared to have finished its self-assembly procedure I decided to mount it. It was, as I thought, a very comfortable seat, more a kind of armchair. I jumped as the car suddenly shot off much faster than I could ever drive it. Good riddance, I thought, you git thing, whatever you are. I sat back and put a foot onto a padded footrest, the bike remained upright in spite of its apparent weight. I carefully lifted my other foot, still the bike remained upright. Both feet were now on the rests, my hands clasping two turned alloy handles protruding from the armrests. I moved the left one forwards, the machine hummed and edged along the pavement. Nobody was around, I’ll take it for a spin. I moved the stick further and the bike shot forwards with no effort. We glided along the road doing at least 100, shooting through lights and overtaking everything. This was great, not such a bad day after all.
© Henry E Jones, 2006-2010 – henryejones.com |