Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

Normalverse: The Normalverse Trilogy, #1
Normalverse: The Normalverse Trilogy, #1
Normalverse: The Normalverse Trilogy, #1
Ebook148 pages1 hour

Normalverse: The Normalverse Trilogy, #1

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars

()

Read preview

About this ebook

“Don't read this in a public place, you won't be able to stop yourself laughing out loud. It reminds me of Douglas Adams, the careful plotting mixed with those absurdities and jokes that sneak up and make you snort tea through your nose. Hilarious.” Goodreads.

What if you really were the centre of the universe?

Norman Mi’s house is shrinking. He’s sure of it.

But that’s the least of his problems, even if he doesn’t realise it yet. There’s also the odd time dilation effects at the office, the invisible spiders that no one else can see, and the eccentric neighbours who insist on eating his bacon sandwiches.

In spite of all of this, Norman is a completely average man; a man so bland he would disappear in the middle of Ikea. The trouble is, Norman doesn’t want to be an average man, he wants to be unique, he wants to be somebody, and he wants to amount to something.

And he’s about to get exactly what he wants; whether it’s good for him or not.

Normalverse is the first part of a trilogy about normality and pan-galactic rent disputes.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherSimon Dunn
Release dateDec 27, 2014
ISBN9781502265777
Normalverse: The Normalverse Trilogy, #1

Read more from Simon Dunn

Related to Normalverse

Titles in the series (3)

View More

Related ebooks

Related articles

Reviews for Normalverse

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars
0 ratings

0 ratings0 reviews

What did you think?

Tap to rate

Review must be at least 10 words

    Book preview

    Normalverse - Simon Dunn

    One

    My house is shrinking. I’m sure of it.

    Norman Mi stood in the middle of his front room, fists clenched at his sides, feeling a little stupid even as he said it.

    One of his landlords looked at him, cocking her head as if humouring a small child. He wasn’t sure which one she was. And matters weren’t helped when her sister stepped into the doorway beside her. They were identical, even down the single wisp of hair clinging to an eyelash. He didn’t know why thirty-year old twins chose to wear the same outfits every day, and he didn’t care in that moment.

    I can prove it, he said, sticking out his jaw, trying to look defiant but sure he just looked idiotic.

    I’m hungry, said the one on the left. That meant she was probably Mary. Mary was always hungry. And she always did what she did next. She wandered through to the adjoining kitchen and threw open the little doors in the wall.

    How about a fry up?

    Norman tried not to react. They always did this whenever he made a complaint.

    Taylor was still looking at him, even as she answered her sister. Bacon sarnie’d be nice.

    He swallowed the urge to shout that this was his house and they had no right to just come in here and help themselves to food whenever they wanted.

    It’s. Shrinking.

    So you said.

    Taylor shrugged and moved to the coffee table. She sat down and started thumbing through the stack of magazines beneath the glass top.

    Got any wank mags? she asked, trying to shock or annoy him. Anything to throw him off his stride. Norman wasn’t going to let that happen.

    My house, he began, trying to keep the sound of reason in his voice. Is shrinking.

    Look, if this about the rent increase, Taylor said as she got up and wandered to his bookshelf. Any dirty books?

    No, he snapped, then closed his eyes, gathering himself.

    Woah, Mary said as a loud sizzle erupted, and smoke billowed from the frying pan.

    Norman glanced through the hatch and saw her ostentatiously tossing his rashers of bacon into his frying pan on his hob. Again he swallowed his words, knowing he needed to keep them on track.

    I bet you’ve got a porn channel, Taylor said, pressing a button on the TV remote. The plasma screen came to life, showing the crawling text moving along the bottom of the news channel.

    The meteor shower is expected to hit some time this evening.

    It was so loud Norman winced at the volume, before lunging at Taylor, ripping the remote from her hand and jabbing his finger into the mute button.

    Alright, calm down, she said with a broad smile. I’m just trying to figure out what you wank to.

    With that, she walked to the wall and straightened up the picture frame.

    There’s no bread, Mary called.

    Who doesn’t have bread? She narrowed her eyes and looked at him with suspicion. Have you been sticking your dick in warm loaves?

    I’ll chuck some sausages on.

    You can’t just walk into my house and ...

    You called us over. At half seven in the morning. The least you could do is offer us breakfast.

    Eggs?

    No thanks.

    It’s not a social invite.

    Better not be.

    You’re here to hear my complaint.

    Just because we’re twins, doesn’t mean we want to go to bed with you in some weird, kinky incestuous threesome.

    Norman knew she was just trying to wind him up again, trying to make him lose his temper and throw them out before he had a chance to prove his point. It’s what they always did.

    Hang on, Taylor said, crossing to the armchair and pushing her hand down the side of the cushion.

    She pulled out a pair of his underpants, holding them in her fingers and at a distance, a mock look of disgust on her face.

    Norman’s head dropped a little, his confidence beginning to wane.

    Who has a frog on their pants?

    It’s Yoda.

    Mary, look.

    She stuck her head through the hatchway and scowled.

    What’s that? A rotten apple?

    It’s a Yoda or something. Looks like he kicked them off in the throes of passion.

    Norman opened his mouth to speak.

    With a lady were you Norm? Or was it just a particularly vociferous wank? Make it crispy.

    Will do.

    Mary returned to the stove, and Taylor dropped the pants on the sofa, laying them flat, before pulling out her phone and snapping a picture of them. She started to jab at the screen, and her face crinkled a little.

    You ain’t got no wi-fi.

    It’s on the blink, he said, hearing the rising defeat in his own voice.

    See, you’re making me use up my data posting your pants on Twitter.

    Bill me.

    Don’t worry, I will.

    She stuffed the phone back in her pocket and looked his way, waiting for him to speak.

    My house ...

    Is shrinking. Yes. I know. We’re still putting the rent up.

    This isn’t about the fucking rent.

    Oooooh. She made the noise sound even more sarcastic. Ya hear that Mary? He’s getting angry.

    I’m not.

    Is he cute when he’s angry?

    He looks like a lego man.

    I would.

    I wouldn’t.

    I’m trying to decide if that’s racist, Norman said.

    You’re not Danish. Ooh, there’s a thought. Has he got any pastries?

    He shook his head.

    Taylor shook her head.

    He cocked his head, annoyed.

    She cocked her head, mocking.

    Every time he moved, she mimicked him, until the two of them were staring at each other, hands on hips, chest rising and falling as the anger within him grew.

    The smell of cooking was making his stomach churn, and he realised he hadn’t eaten yet. And he was going to be late for work. He began to wonder if Mary was making enough for him too.

    Look.

    Look.

    Oh grow up.

    Oh grow up.

    Norman sighed again, and looked away, staring at the silent news story playing on the TV screen. There were lots of images of the night sky, and some computer generated graphics of what a meteor shower might look like, as if he was too stupid to imagine it himself.

    And where do you get off telling me to grow up, Taylor was half-smiling. I’m not the one sitting around the flat wanking into muppet underpants.

    I don’t wank into them.

    But you do wank. I KNEW it.

    She laughed. He admitted it Mary. He just said he jerks off in our flat.

    My flat.

    Our flat.

    I pay the rent.

    Which is still going up.

    I know. He stressed the last syllable like a frustrated child.

    Even if the house is shrinking.

    It is.

    Don’t be absurd.

    I can prove it.

    Grubs up.

    Mary plonked a plate on the ledge of the hatchway, making it clank noisily. Taylor scooped it up and started to eat the sausage and bacon with her fingers.

    Where’s mine? Norman hated himself the moment he asked it.

    Mary looked at him, her brow knitted with confusion. I’m not making you breakfast. What do you think this is? A B&B?

    You don’t pay enough rent for us to cook for you, Taylor said with her mouth full. Anyway, this isn’t the fifties you know. We’re your landlords, not your housewife.

    For crying out loud.

    Coffee?

    Please.

    Will you just listen to me, Norman said.

    I am listening. Your flat is getting smaller. Which is bullshit. You just bought a bigger TV.

    No I didn’t, that’s my point.

    It’s bigger than the sofa.

    That’s because the fucking sofa is shrinking too.

    You bought that.

    The sofa’s not our responsibility, Mary was in the hatchway, eating a sausage.

    It’s an unfurnished lease.

    That’s why I’m not moaning about the sofa shrinking. Or the toaster.

    Toasters don’t shrink, Mary said, looking at it to her side, a little concerned.

    Then why doesn’t my bread fit in the slots anymore?

    You haven’t got any bread, Taylor said, a finger in the air with mock triumph.

    I stopped buying it because my toaster is shrinking.

    That’s what you get for ordering electrical goods off the internet.

    Never know who could be ripping you off.

    And besides.

    The toaster’s not our responsibility.

    Exactly.

    The stuff that’s been in the flat the longest is shrinking too. Norman said.

    Except the TV.

    That’s newer.

    Ooh, you just said it wasn’t new. You big fat fibber.

    It’s not new, again he heard himself sounding like a frustrated child. It’s just newer than the toaster.

    Taylor narrowed her eyes. If the stuff that’s been in the flat the longest is shrinking, how come you’re the same size?

    I don’t know, he threw his hands in the air, gasping for the words to win his argument. Maybe because I spend most of my time out of it. At work and stuff.

    How much time? Mary asked, her eyes flicking to Taylor with a glint of mischief.

    Eight hours, I dunno.

    Sub let?

    Sub let.

    No, you’re not sub letting my fucking flat. That’s it, he stormed towards a door. I’m getting the string.

    Oh Christ, he’s getting the string.

    He pulled open the door to the closet, pushing back the falling pile of stuff, and felt about for the length of string he had tossed in there.

    That’s a closet?

    I thought that was a second bedroom, Mary said.

    What? he turned to look at the twins, still holding up the contents of the cupboard.

    Nothing.

    Are you charging me for a two bedroom flat?

    Don’t be absurd, Taylor made an overly dramatic face.

    You bloody are, he turned on his heels and stood there trying to look angry as everything tumbled out of the closet and fell around his feet. He gestured back at the empty cupboard, like he had meant that to happen. You think that’s a second bedroom?

    Maybe it shrunk.

    "I’m sure there used to be

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1