Run!

Run

Neil Hartley

Copyright 2011 by Neil Hartley

Smashwords Edition

Discover other titles by N. Hartley at Smashwords.com:

Tired of Death - Dungeon

Narg and the Necromancer

Gloom Rising

The Future ain’t what it used to be.

Prologue – The Limping Man.

Randy Newman walked down the hallway towards the door, behind which held his fate. Every step was harder to take, and he could feel his stomach lurching and trembling as the butterflies fluttered inside it.

Eventually, halfway towards the headmaster’s office, he had to stop and lean against the wall.

Come on Randy, he hissed to himself. It’s not the end of the world. People have been sent to the principal for the cane before. I can survive this. I will survive this!

Thus bolstered by his own bravado, he stood straight again and, with one long, deep breath, squared his shoulders and set his jaw.

His renewed footsteps echoed around the empty corridor as he approached the dreaded portal at the far end. It was painted white, with one of those frosted glass windows set within. The sign by the side read:

Mr. B. Cross – Principal.

‘What sort of name was B. Cross?’ thought Randy, wiping sweat from his brow. A principal called B. Cross was just taking the piss in his opinion.

He was close now, and his resolve faltered. A twinge in his crotch made him grab for that same area in alarm.

No point adding humiliation to the whole affair.

Bladder, don’t you dare, he whispered to his stomach area. Randy wasn’t sure what a bladder was, but he’d overheard some of the older kids talking about it, and knew it was something to do with having a pee.

Finally he was there. At the door.

Trembling anew, he raised his hand and, clenching it into a fist, knocked three times. Three knocks that sounded like the toll of doom inside his head.

There was a pause, and he was just about to knock again when the familiar voice of the Mr. Cross, muffled as it was, came through the door.

Enter.

Closing his eyes, Randy took a deep breath and turned the handle. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him and turned around.

And nearly fainted.

This wasn’t the Principal’s office!

He was in a long dark chamber. Candles dribbled their wax over holders attached to the walls at various intervals. The ceiling wasn’t even visible, so high it was, and so gloomy the area. Underfoot was uneven, like the time Randy had been to the beach.

He looked up, eyes wide, as a bright light appeared ahead of him. Squinting into the illumination he could just about make out the skinny silhouette of a man with a tall hat. The man’s footsteps echoed as he walked forward. He seemed to have a problem with one leg, so he dragged a foot, resulting in an uneven sound. Step, slide, step, slide, step, slide.

Quaking in real fear now, Randy pushed himself against the door. His bladder, whatever it was, did the thing it did, and warm liquid gushed down his leg.

Randy Newman? The voice was harsh and cracked, like the speaker had a mouthful of gravel. A bony finger, the finger of death, pointed at him.

Y… y… y… stuttered Randy, unable to formulate an answer.

Wait. There was a strange tone to the voice. What age are you?

T… t… t… ten, Randy finally managed to squeak out.

Then there is a mistake. The form turned away, and Randy nearly collapsed in relief. It didn’t last long though.

The last thing he remembered before fainting was the man speaking again.

I will see you again in twenty one years.

Chapter 1 – Toilet Humor.

See you later Randy, Mike said, as he wrapped his coat around him.

Later Mike. Randy waved a hand in the general direction of his colleague without taking his eyes off the screen in front of him. He carried on skimming through the numbers, double checking them against the gigantic printout on his desk. Several more minutes went by before another head popped over the partition to his cubicle.

Hey Randy, the head said. Are you going to be at the party tonight?

This time Randy did take his eyes off the screen, putting a finger on the printout to keep his place. He was, secretly, madly in love with Claire Bennet, though he realized that she was so far out of his league he may as well not exist, even if she didn’t already have Chuck, or Buck or whatever the hell her boyfriend’s name was.

Well? she asked, arching a perfect eyebrow.

Whu… I mean, what party? he stammered. He could feel a blush creeping up his neck.

John’s party silly! she said, flashing pearly white teeth. Didn’t you get the email?

I’ve been checking the financials all afternoon, he said, nodding at the massive list of tiny numbers. He probably wasn’t included in the email anyway. Mr. Harrison told me I had to have this done before I went home. There’s some sort of error…

Oh, Harry’s such a boorish idiot, Claire said, waving a hand in a casual gesture of dismissal. Hold on. She disappeared, somehow leaving Randy’s cubical empty and lonely. The feeling only lasted a second though, as Clair’s head, this time accompanied by her super sexy body, walked through the space that served as an entrance to his little work area.

The cubicle was immediately transformed into a summer meadow. Claire took her sunny disposition along with her, somehow changing the environment around her into a Better Place. She was incredibly pretty, with short blond hair that was arranged to appear artfully casual. Flashing blue eyes could display a huge range of emotions when she chose, from appealing maiden to saucy minx, and a pert nose wrinkled when she smiled, which was often. Now she stood over Randy, which put her wonderful breasts at the same height as his head. Randy began to get an erection even before her scent washed over him, making him giddy.

What’s happening here? Claire pointed down.

I.. I… Randy started, grabbing at his crotch. The flush spread up to his cheeks.

Look! There’s your problem. She ignored his bumbling attempts to speak properly and, leaning over him, tapped a few characters on his keyboard. There, how’s that?

Randy, who’d practically messed his pants as she’d brushed up against him, took several seconds to focus on the screen. When he did he saw that she’d picked up on one section in the accounts he’d overlooked. Immediately everything fell into place.

You did it, he said. I’ve been staring at that all afternoon and you solved it in one second. How do you do that?

It’s a gift, she said. Now, you’ll be at the party tonight yes? Starts about seven I think.

Randy had been planning to stay in and play Minecraft. He wasn’t good at parties, where popular people ignored him in a social environment instead of a work one. Instead, contrary to all his instincts, he nodded.

Great! I want to talk to you about something anyway. See you later sweetie. With that Claire twirled around and departed from his cubicle, which immediately reverted to its dungeon-like status.

"You lucky fucker."

Removing his finger from the printout, Randy swiveled his chair about to face the new, and decidedly less attractive, face of the only real friend he had.

Donald Roberts, Don to his friends, was a full blown nerd. Overweight, greasy haired and with a large hooked nose, Don had long ago given up any hope of actually mating, as he called it, with any member of the opposite sex that was recognizable as such. Despite this, or maybe because of it, he hit on any and every new female that crossed his path. Thousands of rejections later, he was still trying.

I’m sorry? Randy said.

"She’s so into you, Don pointed an accusing finger. You could so do her. Christ, if I were you I’d have stood up, so bent her over the desk and taken her from behind. God, I’m horny just thinking about it."

You’re a disgusting pervert, Randy said, shaking his head, but smiling despite himself.

I have to do the job for both of us, you’re going to die alone for sure. How old are you now? Forty?

Fuck you, Randy said, stung into defending himself at last. Thirty, okay, thirty one in a few days. I don’t look anything like forty! He brushed at his dark hair which, like Claire’s, was ruffled and uncombed. Unlike hers, the effect was more ‘birds nest’ than trendy. Still, he was fairly fit, perhaps a little on the wiry side, not too tall but not too short either. An average Joe.

Hey that’s right, it’s your birthday soon! What are we doing for that?

I don’t want to…

How about we have the guys around for a Duke Nukem Forever deathmatch? Don suggested, referring to a couple of other nerds that tended to orbit their friendship.

That’s geeky even for you, Randy replied. Anyway, it’s shit. He saved the file on his PC and then stood up, stretching.

Not as a multiplayer, it’s fucking great. Don waggled his eyebrows, which made him look a little like a frog in distress. Are you leaving now? We’re the last in the office. I don’t think I’ve ever been the last in before.

Let me take a piss, Randy said. Don didn’t have a car, and as he lived in the same building they carpooled, though Randy was fairly sure carpools usually took turns.

Great, his friend said. I’m going to rummage around in people’s desks then. Call me when you’re ready to go. He disappeared back into his own work area.

Shaking his head, Randy made his way through the cubicle farm that was the office towards the gents.

"It’s time!"

The voice was so low that it was barely audible. If it hadn’t have been so quiet, Randy wouldn’t have heard it at all. As it was he jumped into the air and screeched like a girl.

Don? Is that you? You fucker, if you jump out at me again… He peered around the side of the cubicle, but there was no one there. Shaking his head, he made a face. I’m going crazy.

He turned and carried on his journey towards the toilet, mentally pushing down The Memory that always tried to surface when he was under stress. Feeling his stomach do the familiar lurch, he quickened his pace and pushed his way into the gents.

He barged his way into the first cubicle, dropped his pants and sat on the cold porcelain. Before anything could exit though, it happened again.

"It’s beginning!"

The voice came from the next stall, and had the twin effect of kick-starting Randy’s bowel evacuation and scaring him so much that he jerked to one side.

The double whammy meant that he missed the bowl and poo’d over half the floor.

"Shit! he cried, both from the jump and from the resulting mess. It didn’t help that it took several more seconds to stop the flow, and thus he continued to spread things around even more. Oh my god, fuck!" he wailed as he tried to make up his mind whether to run screaming from the toilet or try to stop the ongoing catastrophe.

"The closet..."

The resurgence of The Voice made up his mind for him. Without bothering to wipe, he pulled his pants up as much as he was able and waddled at best speed out of the washroom. Colliding heavily with Don as he exited, he bounced off the wall and, still tangled in underwear at half mast, landed heavily on the floor.

Holy fuck, his friend said, taking a step back. That must have been some shit.

It’s in there! shrieked Randy, flailing around on the floor like a beached fish.

I’d hope so too, Don replied, apparently taking his colleagues breakdown in his stride. You should probably calm down and pull your pants back up though, I believe you’re in range of the security cameras, and you know how that incident with the intern managed to find its way onto YouTube last month.

Panting hard, Randy made a more coordinated effort to do himself up. Just go into the restroom and see if anyone’s in there, he begged. Please.

Shrugging, Don pushed at the door and disappeared into the toilet, leaving Randy to finally regain control of himself.

He was just about back to normal, at least clothing wise, when Don returned.

Well?

Dude, Don replied. You need a serious amount of beer. How anyone could miss the bowl by that much is beyond me. My diagnosis is: you’re too sober. Come on, let’s go. We have a party to attend.

There was no one in there? Randy asked.

No one in their right mind would be in Shitsville. What do you eat? I’m sure crap shouldn’t be that color.

I heard a voice. Now that he said it out loud, Randy began to feel foolish. Had he really heard a voice? Several of his shrinks had told him that his inner self was trying to make itself heard. He hadn’t taken any meds for years now. Perhaps he could get a new course.

Wait a minute, did you say ‘we’? he asked.

Don wrapped one arm around his friend’s shoulders. What sort of buddy would I be if I let you go to a party alone?

~

Thanks for inviting me chaps, Arnold said for the hundredth time, as they waited for the number ten bus. No one ever invites me to parties.

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