‘I know your birthday’s tomorrow honey but this present can’t wait until then so you’ll just have to have it now’ she said and I nodded like a benny as she took my hand and led me inside and up the stairs. She told me to close my eyes and that I wasn’t to peek and pretty soon we’re in the bedroom and she’s telling me I can open my eyes so I did – fully expecting to see the Nintendo Wii and the thirty six inch Sony TV I’d pointed out in Curries the week before.
What a joke.
Instead; sat in the laundry basket in the corner with a big red ribbon round it’s Gregory Peck and a petrified look on it’s boat like I was about to welly him or something was the dopiest looking canine this side of a Bassett Hound.
‘What do you think?’ She says.
‘Lovely.’ I lied. I mean, what could I say? She’d obviously gone to a lot of trouble to fuck up my birthday so who was I to spoil her moment.
To be fair I’d be well within my rights to lob the little bollocks in the canal. Also, what a miserable little mutt he was too. For example, most dogs love their walks don’t they? They live for them. Well not this little flea-bag, oh no, he just bloody mopes about the whole time, a look on his face like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’ll have a couple of fucking bricks on his shoulders if he’s not careful.
I leave the canal path, and cut through the industrial estate, past the cemetery and out by the Storage Facility Unit. This is a huge place about the size of two football pitches filled with huge metal storage containers and surrounded by a big old wire fence. I stop walking. Is that what I think it is? A closer look tells me it is. One of the container doors is open. I scan the surrounding site, at least what I can see of it, and I as far as I can tell there’s nobody else about. I hurry across to the cemetery where I know there’s a gap in the fence. I’m through there a bit lively dragging my four legged friend behind me then I’m pegging it across to the container. I reach it and dive inside. It’s filled with furniture; cupboards, chest of drawers, picture frames, a coffee table and piles of boxes. A few seconds later and I’m rifling through the wares like Rick Waller in a sweet factory. I’m about two minutes into my rummaging when BOOOOOM! The huge metal door is slammed shut behind me and the container is pitched into darkness.
I’ve been rumbled.
‘Woof.’ Barks Brian.
‘Shut up!’
I walk to the door or where I think the door is and trip over a fucking chair. Shit. I get up and make it to the door. I push. It won’t open. It’s dark so I’m thinking maybe this is not the door after all so I light a match. It is the fucking door. It's locked from the outside.
‘Hello? Hello … is there anybody there?’
Nothing.
‘STOP FUCKING ABOUT AND OPEN THE FUCKIN’ DOOR!’
I press my ear to the cold metal. Not a dicky-bird. Shit.
‘Arrrrr! FUCK IT!’ I shout, burning my fingers on the match.
‘Woof!’
‘Shut the fuck up!’
Then I remember. My mobile phone. Twat. I pull it out of my back pocket and lo and be-fucking-hold… there’s no signal.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Calm down. At least you have a light-source I’m telling myself and am just about to send god a mental thank you card when … BEEP-BEEP-BEEP! The battery dies.
CUNT!
I light another match. Only five left. Shit. I need a light, a torch, anything. Several burnt fingers later I’m finally dished up a bit of good luck. I’m at the back of the container, with my final match about to go out, when I discover a box of three giant red candles and a big old silver antique type candlestick holder.
‘I bet that’s worth a few bob’ chirps the Del-Boy in me.
‘Shut up and light the fucking candle!’ screams the Rodney in me.
I quickly light the candle. That was close.
I take a few moments to think things through. This prank has got that cunt Jimmy Osbourne written all over it. I reckon he saw me and followed me down here on the off chance of a wind-up. Him and his Pit-Bull are probably out there now laughing their fucking heads off. Well this is one punter who’s not rising to the bait. I sit down. Fuck him. I’ll wait it out. He’s not the patient type Jimmy and he won’t be able to keep it up for long.
Ten minutes later I’m banging on the door. ― JIMMY!? JIMMY? OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR YOU SLAG! A JOKE’S A FUCKIN’ JOKE. JIMMY?! JIM! ALRIGHT YOU GOT ME! HA! HA! NICE ONE, VERY FUNNY NOW OPEN THE DOOR! JIM? JIMMY?!
Twenty minutes later and I’m thinking maybe it’s not Jimmy that’s out there after all. It’s someone else. Maybe it’s not a wind-up. Maybe it’s an accident. I mean, why was this container open in the first place? Maybe the person whose container this is came to collect a bit of furniture or something, took it to their car, came back to shut the door and failed to see me happily pilfering through their belongings. It was semi dark in here after all and I was at the back when the door closed wasn’t I?
Fuck.
Brian starts yelping and crying the wimpy little mutt and then I’m thinking shit, it’s Saturday, it’s after five o’clock, and I’m like pretty sure this place is closed on Sunday so in theory I could be here until Monday. About an hour after we got locked in I hear this horrible noise like a kind of squelching whistling rasp and I turn round just in time to see Scooby fucking Brian drop a dirty great Flora Hurd right in the middle of the container.
Words fail to describe the stench but I’ll have a go … IT FUCKING STUNK!
Fifteen or twenty so hours later and I’m still in here. Not a peep from outside though I was banging on the walls and shouting out off and on for the first five or six hours. I did manage a bit of a sleep but the smell of Bri’s early deposit is so rank it’s stopping me from getting off completely. Another twenty or thirty or who the fuck knows how many hours later and I’m going down here. Thirst, hunger, stomach cramps, mouth swollen dry and I can’t help thinking of Bobby Sands and that lot on the mountain who ate each other. Brian has just pissed up the leg of an armchair. He’s looking as hungry as I am and more than a little anxious. He keeps pacing about the place and whimpering and I shout at the little bastard to sit down and stop his fucking whining and he does, goes off and cowers in the corner, but an hour later he’s up and having another piss and I’m wondering where the fluids are coming from because he’s had fuck-all to drink that I know of and then he’s pacing and he’s doing my fucking brain in so I starts to scream at him ― ‘SIT DOWN YOU LITTLE BOLLOCK’ but get this, Brian don’t seem as bothered now. He just keeps pacing, giving me this creepy stare about the eyes and thank fuck there's still some light in here to keep tabs on the little freak but that aint going to last much longer on account of I’m on the last of the three candles.
I’m so fucking thirsty I can hardly concentrate.
I must have dozed off again and Brian is pacing again and looking more and more hungry by the second and then he stops his pacing and stands a few feet in front of me, perfectly still but for his heavy breathing, just staring at me, a horrible evil looking Charles Manson type of a stare it is.
Somebody should have found us by now. Must be days and no sign of anybody and I’m on my feet and screaming again for someone, anyone, to open the door, and I’m panicked because I’ve remembered something or at least I think I have. You see this particular container is situated at the back of the storage facility site. Guess what I think is kept at the back of the site? Long-term storage containers that’s what. Specifically for punters who are storing their stuff for long periods of time, maybe even indefinitely. It could be bloody weeks, months even before someone comes along.
The candle is flickering and making that annoying sizzling noise and I know it’s about to burn out and I’m having a last look around for some more candles or even a torch but there’s nothing.
Brian has chewed up several items of furniture, and has eaten one entire cushion, and there are fucking feathers and horrible gunk stuck in and around his chops and he’s staring at me with deliberate and cruel intent.
‘STOP STARING!’
Man's best friend is his dog. I hope so. Who came up with that one I’d like to know? Probably that John Noakes cunt or some other Blue Peter badge wearing know-all. The candle is nearly out and I’ve got my mince pies firmly on Brian now because he’s up and pacing again.
‘SIT DOWN!’ But Brian ain’t listening and furthermore the little fucker starts growling at me and his long slivery tongue is hanging out of that wretched salivating gob and cards on the table I am shitting my pants.
Frightened out of my wits by a Fucking Andrex dog. But it’s teeth, look at it’s teeth, how can a poofy little Labrador have teeth that fucking sharp and I stand up and I start screaming ‘FUCK OFF AND LEAVE ME ALONE’ but the little bastard is smiling, straight up, he’s smiling and he’s eyeballing my throat.
And then the candle goes out.
(c) Gary Lashmar 2009