by Dani J Caile
"I, err, I noticed it…it needed waxing.” Sitting up, I felt a bit wobbly. Maybe I did need the hospital.
"Waxing?” The monk looked at me a little closer. "Brother, I’m terribly sorry, but I’m not good with names or faces for that matter…” which was good because he was among the monks who I'd met on the beach, the one’s who’d taken my board."…so please excuse me if this offends you but I never did catch your name…”
"Tom…Brother Tom.”
"Yes, of course, of course, Brother Tom.” More thinking. This guy liked to think, perhaps it was a habit of monks. "Ah yes, where exactly are your main duties within our order, Brother Tom?”
"Err, laundry, yes, laundry.” That’s where I found this damn robe, on a clothes line drying in the sun.
"Laundry? Right, yes, that’s probably why I don’t recall your face so well, not my department, really.” He seemed quite happy with my answer but then another expression appeared on his face. "What exactly is waxing, Brother Tom?”
"Well…” I was about to tell a monk about waxing your board. "Well, the water side of the board should be smooth and slippery, but your feet need something to grip on, and that’s where the wax comes in.” He’s thinking about it. "You’ve gotta create a bump pattern with the basecoat.” Lost him. No, something happened, his face has just lit up. Is that usual for monks?
"How did you become so knowledgable on surfing, Brother Tom?” Oh damn.
"I used to dabble a bit before my calling, Brother.” He didn’t look convinced, I think I’ve been sussed.
"Okay Jeff, turn it around, we're going back to the monastery." The medic's name is Jeff? Hang on a minute, what's going on here?
"Well, Brother 'Tom', it looks like you could teach me a thing or two about surfing. Just as well we have a brand new surfboard!”
17 - The Order
(Town Hall, grizzly bear, root canal, almonds)
This is dull. Why did I agree to this? Six hours sitting in a damp, freezing hide and all we've seen is one squirrel, an owl and two late-night joggers.
"Better than sitting on your arse sorting out that paperwork at the Town Hall, eh, Bert?"
Oh yes, this comes a close second to poking your eyes out with a blunt stick.
"Yeah, I guess." Still, I get to use my pair of infra-red night vision goggles for something other than spying on the neighbours. "It's a bit cold, innit?"
"What'ya expect? It's...the witches' hour. And there's a cool breeze coming off the lake."
I'm freezing my nuts off here.
"Bit boring, though."
"Boring? You philistine! If you're expecting cable and 55 channels of cookery and adventure programmes then you're damned mistaken!"
When the boss said 'Socialise with him, he's new to the team', I didn't imagine anything like this. Cards, a few drinks, yes, but watching nocturnal animals in the forest wasn't on my Top 10 expected social endurances.
"Ah Bert, smell that? Nothing like it, the sweet smell of green, clean nature."
All I can smell is rabbit poo. I'm sure that's what that stuff is in the corner over there.
"I guess so."
Now where are my almonds? Ah, here they are.
"What you got there, Bert?"
"Almonds. Want some?"
I hope this is all worth it. The boss looked very happy I agreed to this. Perhaps a rise or some bonus is coming my way?
"Nah, too hard. They'll play havoc with my root canal. I've gotta survive until next Thursday when my dentist comes back from holiday."
"Okay, right. More for me then."
Good job too.
"Got anything else?"
"Nope."
"Thought you said you'd brought some sandwiches and crisps?"
Doesn't he know what a shop is?
"Yeah, I did."
"Well, where are they?"
"Ate them."
"When? I didn't see ya."
So irritating, no wonder he hasn't got any friends in the office.
"You would'nt 'ave. You were sleeping."
"Sleeping? Me? I never."
"You were sleeping."
On my shoulder.
"You missed the badger."
"What! There was a badger? And you didn't wake me?"
He is so gullible!
"It was your snoring that brought it out."
"Oh, right. They say that there's a grizzly about, you know."
Oh come on! I heard he liked to exaggerate but this has got to take the biscuit. Okay, I'm bored, I'll play.
"What? A grizzly bear?"
"Yep."
"What? No way."
Let me guess, no one ever played with him in the school yard.
"Way. They say it comes out on nights just like this, cool, moonlit nights."
"You're talking rot."
Damn, no more almonds.
"Am I? They say it once took off this bloke's arm. He was in a hide just like ours, apparently. Just crept up on 'im and took it."
Enough.
"What? In Hainault Forest Country Park?"
"Yeah, I guess you're right. It is a bit far-fetched."
What a loser.
"Got any more beer, Bert?"
"No, I haven't."
18 - Campers
(kerosene lantern, pickled pigs feet, driftwood, reference librarians)
Whatever you do, never ever go first-time camping with a group of librarians, reference librarians to be more specific. Not only will you be bored to death by the inane and 'wonderous' tales of Dewey Decimal misclassification but also from stories of obsolete and completely unusable classification systems dating back to the time of the Temple of Apollo on the Palatine, whenever that was. These types of people also have absolutely no idea about how to put up a tent or about the correct protocol while staying at a campsite. Well, the group I was with didn't.
Once there, they were all over the place, loud, obnoxious, downright nerdy and crude, upsetting their fellow campers and caravan users. They'd brought dozens of crates of beer which they quickly drained, creating a stack so high the ancient Egyptians would've been proud, and tons of homemade cooking which stank the site out, including some grease-dripping chicken in breadcrumbs, a fried cabbage and pasta combination, and if my eyes weren't deceiving me, some pickled pigs feet! Who was going to eat that?
The campsite owner had also already told them within the first hour they were there that no fires were allowed but they chose to ignore this, collecting any wood they could find, even driftwood from the nearby beach - though that group took a while to come back from their search as they had to 'have a quick dip' while they were there.
So, a few hours later, after much singing, playing guitars and drinking beer around a campfire which could burn the closest tents down in a flash, many of their neighbours had complained.
What was the tip of the iceberg, so to speak, was when nighttime came. Most had battery torches and lights which ran off the site's electricity supply, but one bright spark had brought an old lantern, a kerosene lantern dating back from the 1860's, to get that 'Ol' Gold rush feeling' while 'out in the open' and 'surviving the elements', just like those 'fellas from way back'. The only thing he survived was second degree burns when his tent blew up in flames as he moved around inside it. It was about this time when many of those campers who'd complained started to leave.
The next morning, with smoke still rising from both the enormous campfire and the smouldering tent, and a few tired hangers-on were still sitting together, some humming songs to each other among the mountain of empty beercans, the peace was shattered by loud girlish screams as the small contingency from San Diego realised that their tent had been placed over a large ants' nest. After much screaming, shaking and dancing around, cream was quite happily applied to their bodies by the guys from Montana. A few hours later and they'd all packed up and left. What a disaster.
Maybe next time I'll throw caution to the wind and accept that invitation from the institute's pharm
acy technician faculty to go banana boat riding.
19 - That boy's trouble
(casket, graffiti, sugar glider, boomerang)
Bernie and Reese cooled down on a slab in the churchyard. They'd been playing catch on the green for hours in the hot sun and needed a rest.
"Ain't it strange how them squirrels look like they're flying."
"Yeah, like sugar gliders."
"What? A glider? I can't see a glider."
"Sugar gliders... flying squirrels."
"Yeah, I said already."
There was quite a large and healthy red squirrel population among the tombstones and slabs. The abundance of old oak trees was the perfect environment.
"I'm gonna use this."
Bernie took out a boomerang from his rucksack which he'd been resting his head on.
"Where d'ya get that?"
"I've got an aunt in Australia. She sends stuff every now and then."
"Does it work?"
Reese gestured for it and Bernie passed the boomerang over.
"Bernie, it's only decoration, it's a copy, fake."
Bernie snatched it back.
"No, it isn't. It works, and I'll prove it to ya."
"What you gonna do? Hit a squirrel?"
Berine gave his usual grin which meant trouble was just around the corner.
"That's a bad idea, Bernie. Just as bad as that time you put graffitti on Mrs. Thompson's car."
"That wasn't me!"
"You spelt that word wrong again, like in class on that note you sent to me, the one she confiscated."
"And?"
"And you used crayon."
"It was all I had. Serves her right for giving me a '1' in Maths."
"So, what you gonna do, Bernie? Throw your fake boomerang up into the trees and hit a poor little squirrel?"
"Yep."
"Bad idea."
"Gonna do it, anyway."
Bernie stood up on the slab and checked the churchyard for any do-gooders.
"Is the coast clear?"
"I'm not helping you, Bernie. This is a stupid idea."
"Ah, shut up!"
There was no one around, save for an old woman sorting out some flowers all the way back at the entrance. He aimed and threw the boomerang up towards one curious squirrel who'd come down from the top of the tree to investigate whether these human children had brought any food. The boomerang started well, but being only decoration it arched off at a peculiar angle, lost momentum, fell back down through the tree and dropped into an open grave a few metres away.
"Damn."
Bernie and Reese went over to look in.
"Why is there an open grave here?"
"Who knows why anything? It's here."
They both looked down and saw the boomerang, now broken in two, resting on the top of an old casket, a metre or so below.
"Damn! My mum's gonna kill me."
Bernie started to climb down.
"Hey, Bernie! It's not worth it. Just tell your mum you lost it."
"And be grounded forever? No way."
It didn't take long for Bernie to reach the casket, which gave a creak as soon as he put his whole weight on it. One step later and Bernie's feet disappeared, breaking decaying bones and sending up a dustcloud. He was stuck.
"Reese? Help! Reese? Reese!"
20 - A traveller's tale of a terribly strange bet
(carbon paper, red banana slug, flashing neon lights, Mr Peabody’s WABAC machine)
"Dead in this bar. Not even 'Rocky and Bullwinkle' on TV. "
The flies were piling on the zapper to kill themselves.
"Yeah, anything's better than this dump."
We finally found another, less dead, filled with aggressive, sweaty men holding wads of dosh and shouting at the centre of attention. It was alive with energy, hopes, desires.
"Wow, this is the place to be, I think. Over there."
Collins and I ducked and dived through the crowd to get closer to the table.
"What are they betting on? All I can see are two fat men."
"Oh god, no! That can't be."
"What?"
"It's red banana slug eating!"
"What is that?"
Collins moved closer.
"Perhaps the most disgusting contest I've ever seen."
"Can't be any worse than snails."
He was now looking over the shoulder of one of the fat men.
"Let's get out of here, Collins."
"No, Wilkie. Wait."
There was one little man next to the table holding a huge stack of money and co-ordinating the whole shebang with his whiny but penetrating voice. He noticed Collins and quickly shuffled over to him. Next thing I knew, Collins was sitting down in one of the seats. I pushed through to him.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm having a go."
"Are you nuts?"
"Worth a try. Only live once."
"Yeah, I can just see it now, in large flashing neon lights, 'Jimmy Collins, red banana slug champion extraordinaire.' Get out of the chair, Collins!"
"It'll be a laugh. Come on!"
I glanced around and these people looked like they'd kill their mothers to make their luck turn.
"This ain't gonna be good, buddy."
"How much you got, boyo? You want in?"
The little man was taking bets all around him but was still waiting for mine.
"Give him it all, Wilkie."
"What? You're nuts."
"Give him it!"
I dug into my pocket and found about 240 dollars. The little man grabbed it and held it with the rest.
"I give you 20 to 1. Good price, eh? Ha!"
"Collins!"
"Don't worry. Remember '86?"
"That was hotdogs! This is slugs!"
"Same difference."
Another man placed two bowls of half-cooked red banana slugs in front of Collins and his opponent, a fat, obnoxious beast of a man.
With all the pushing, shouting and screaming, it was all over in one minute flat. Collins had won. The little man's stare would've killed at 100 paces. Reluctantly, he counted out the money, with the mass of muscle behind heaving with rage.
"What are you waiting for? A receipt? Sorry, but my invoice book has run out of carbon paper."
Collins took the money and walked through the now silent crowd.
"This doesn't look good, Collins."
"Eh?"
We turned to see their faces and ran. After a few minutes, they were beginning to catch us up. We were gonnas.
"We're done for, Collins!"
"Sherman, set the WABAC machine to 2004!"
"You wish, Mr. Peabody!"
"You still bored, Wilkie?"
"Shut up and run!"
21 - Just one tap
(jellyfish, pole mounted electric transformer, vanity license plate, kimono)
It's not that I didn't like my new neighbour, it's just that he started getting on my nerves. He moved in next door a few years ago, bought that nice little detached house from the Jenkins who moved into a small flat due to retirement and illness. They should've seen it when he'd finished...strike that, he never finished; he was always adding a bit here, something new there. In six months that place was like a palace, but with better security, with its extensions, refurbishments, landscape gardening and that damn huge swimming pool with a 2 metre high diving board out the back. He even went so far as to make the local council rip up those pole mounted electric transformers in the street and put them somewhere else out of his view. That must've been one hell of a bung.
Anyhow, all that building didn't make him any friends in the street, and there were other things, other smaller things which irritated everyone, especially me. His car for one, a large snazzy Mustang sports car with its very own vanity license plate, 'UWRK4ME'. He'd take that monster out every other day, probably to the squash or tennis courts, the way he was dressed. And talking about dress, every morning
you'd find him out on the second floor balcony, wrapped up in his red kimono with a cappuccino in one hand and a newspaper in the other. Every morning, whatever the weather.
But what really got me was the aquarium. I'd bought one some months back; I've always wanted a good setup, not one of those little bowls you'd put one goldfish in after coming back from the fair, but a real one, one to be proud of. I bought a 60 litre job with an expensive filter, lots of other fancy equipment and colourful fake plants, along with some interesting fish. It was quite enjoyable after it was all set up, watching those fish swim about. Until he heard about it. He had to do better. Got a huge tank, I have no idea how big it was, it spanned a whole wall, in fact it was the wall, he knocked one out to put it in. And what did he keep in it? No, not fish. Jellyfish. And not just any old jellyfish, he kept Medusa. That was kind of the last straw, really. I wouldn't have been able to take anymore, I was ready to go over and have a word with him, but then it happened. You know, I was secretly glad they found him dead the other day. No, really, he was a complete waste of space, no use to anybody but himself. Complete waste. Apparently though, all that money still didn't save him from his own stupidity. When he'd got that wall tank installed, he'd forgotten, and so had the builders for that matter or perhaps they didn't care, that it was a supporting wall. All it took was one tap on the glass.
22 - In confidence
(hand sanitizer, succubus, child’s sled, semaphore flags)
Jake sat next to Phil, an old best friend he hadn't spoken to for ages. He didn't have many friends at school, and those he had wouldn't speak about this. Phil was his last 'real' friend.
"Hiya Phil."
"What d'ya want, Jake?"
How could he start?
"I know we don't talk much but I need to..."
"You busted that sled. Remember?"
"That was over 5 years ago, Phil. A child's sled. Can't we just forget about that?"
"Yeah, but I got the blame 'cause you ran away."
"I'm sorry, alright?"
"Whatever."
"I don't know who else to talk to."
"Whatever."
Not the greatest audience but knowing Phil, he'd keep it a secret and be able to give some good advice.
"I've been having these dreams."
"What are ya? Are you gonna tell me about your dreams, now? Dork."
"It's...it's more than that."