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    Happy Endings
    Happy Endings
    Happy Endings
    Ebook143 pages2 hours

    Happy Endings

    By Will Elliott

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    A fantastic collection of digital original short stories from award-winning author, WillElliott
    the stories cover a range of topics, all of them familiar to fans of Will's work and complementary to his backlist. there are moving stories of loss and saying goodbye, explorations of traditional fantasy worlds, suspenseful horror stories, unexpected twists to conventional stories, and tales from a wild and brilliant imagination. Like all of Will's work, each story is completely absorbing with a fully realised world and engaging characters.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins Publishers Australia
    Release dateMay 1, 2013
    ISBN9781743099544
    Happy Endings
    Author

    Will Elliott

    Will Elliott won the ABC manuscript award with The Pilo Family Circus; in 2006 it won the Golden Aurealis Award and was published in the UK, US, Italy and Germany to great acclaim. He also won The Sydney Morning Herald Best Young Novelist Award, a Spanish Nocte award for Best Foreign Novel, a Ditmar award for Best Novel and was shortlisted for the International Horror Guild Award. He published a memoir, Strange Places, with ABC books in 2009 and the Pendulum fantasy trilogy with Voyager in 2010 and 2011. His standalone novel Nightfall was published in 2012. He lives in Brisbane.

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      Book preview

      Happy Endings - Will Elliott

      Ain’t no ordinary ham

      Never did find out what Jimmy saw in that meat — Jimmy’s a weird one. All I know is, he barges in and shouts: ‘BORIS! We have just three days to eat this ham!’

      Now, my name’s Jake, not Boris, but Jimmy’s never been too keen on details ’ they confuse him. You just gotta roll with the punches sometimes. Get this: he kicks open the door and staggers in with a giant knob of meat in his arms, holding it like a baby, oozing salty ham juice down the front of his flannelette shirt and glistening pink, like he’d rubbed it all over with hair gel. He never said why we had three days — I guess he meant it was going stale. He lugs it to the kitchen and slams it down on the table with a grunt and looks at me with that look he gets when he’s stirred, which can unsettle folks: kind of lets foamy spittle hang around his beard, lips peeled back, teeth bared like knuckles cocked ready for a fist fight.

      When he gets like that, you just gotta keep your cool and let him know you’re on his team — but don’t say it outright, you gotta demonstrate. ‘Where in hell’d you get that meat?’ I says, sounding mighty impressed, which was a mistake: he might’ve thought I wanted it for myself. Sure enough he gets all defensive and throws his arms around it. And don’t get me wrong, it was a mighty lump, quivering pink on the table like jelly, smooching ham slime over the daily paper (was glad I read the funnies already). He stands there like I meant the meat harm, which I did — we were gonna eat it, weren’t we?

      ‘Hey, what’s cooking Jimmy?’ I says, backing up to show I didn’t mean no harm.

      ‘Cooking?’ he says, and looks all confused. Next he glances out the window and says, ‘Go lock the door.’

      ‘Why?’ I says. ‘You steal that meat?’

      ‘Lock it!’ he screams, so I shrug and lock the door, then drag the couch in front of it to kind of make the point he was yelling at me for no reason, then I put the small dresser on top of the couch.

      Jimmy missed the point.

      ‘Good,’ he says, nodding all grave like. ‘Good thinking. I’ll get the back door.’ Like it was the most sensible idea in the world. Next thing he’s bolting and chaining, wrapping a bike chain around the back door handle, would you believe it, and looking for his hammer to board up the whole damn house. I watched all this wondering, what the hell? Sometimes Jimmy gets in these moods where it’s best just to let him spit it up and throw things around, and you just hide in the cellar till he’s done. You know what people are like. Next day, you forget all about it.

      So I go to the kitchen while he’s slamming stuff around and mumbling about security and take a look at the ham. Never seen a lump of meat like it, big and round as a rolled-up sleeping-bag. I poked it and a moist spot went under my fingernail. Next thing I know, Jimmy’s right behind me, snuck-up like, and I screamed.

      ‘What’d you say about the ham?’ he whispered, creepy whisper. ‘You touch it?’

      ‘Yeah I poked it one,’ I said, all calm like. Times like this, you gotta put his attention back on the ham. I says: ‘Look at it. This ain’t no ordinary meat. Where’d you …’ Oh no, that wasn’t the right question to ask yet, not till he knew I was on his team. ‘Check it out,’ I whispered, creepy like him, like it was hidden treasure or something. ‘This is big meat, Jimmy. Wonder what kind of pig this come off? More like a mammoth or … shit, I dunno, some kind of sea monster.’

      Jimmy’s eyes went shiny and beady as that rat we caught in the microwave. He didn’t answer, just gave this half-sigh, half-grunt and ran a palm down the side of the ham, smearing finger trails in the grease. Wasn’t so sure I wanted to eat it after that ’ I’ve seen Jimmy’s personal hygiene habits and he don’t have any. Supposed it’d be OK if we cut the edges off it, like skinning an orange. Was about to suggest it when I heard Jimmy mumbling to himself, or maybe to the meat, I couldn’t tell. His throat was hoarse and full of muck, almost like a man in a peep show booth trying to talk himself into enjoying the show. And what he said? I swear, it’s not how he normally talks: ‘Beats it by a fine line … just a little, one section with no jiggles, no spaces to crawl into, no … hand to hold … could smack it like a cheerleader’s backside nonetheless … no charges pressed … she’d sing songs of love if I bought her the lips for it … stuff ‘em in my pocket at the butcher … oh sweet glory …’

      He wasn’t blinking, was kind of panting through the lips and a funny thought hit me that he was comparing the meat to … nah, damn it, that made NO sense. He bought it to eat, not marry it, right? That’s what he said when he came in, remembered it clear as day: We have just three days to eat this ham. What changed his mind? Whoever heard of a man falling in love with a ham? Anyways, I backed outta there, not sure what to say. He looked like he wanted to be left alone with it, so I left him to it. Can’t say I felt real comfortable with the whole business.

      So, I went to bed with no dinner because I wasn’t too hungry after that. Couldn’t sleep well either, cause I could hear Jimmy sometimes shouting at the ham, and the floorboards were creaking out there, which made me wonder what the hell he was doing. Must’ve dropped off around twelve, but at one a weird smell woke me up. Jimmy was in the room with me, just sitting there looking out the window with this real sad look on his face. The moon lit him up like a Halloween pumpkin. I screamed but he didn’t flinch or blink or anything. He just says, ‘You have to help me, Boris.’

      Enough’s enough, I reckoned. ‘Hey! I’m sleeping you fuck.’

      He says: ‘I can’t stand her just … sitting there. Not moving. Not talking. It’s taking me over Boris. I need help.’

      I wanted to clock him one, but there was a greasy shine on his face and beard, and I reckoned I knew why: he’d been rubbing his face on the slab, I’d bet my thumbs, and he smelled salty. I didn’t want that slime on my knuckles, so I just shook my head. Seen Jimmy do some weird stuff in my time — once he got up on the roof and wouldn’t come down for a week, kept screaming about earthquakes. He only came down when magpies started swooping him.

      ‘What you want me to do?’ I says. ‘How’m I meant to help? You want to eat that damn meat or what? What’s the story Jim?’

      He looked out the window at the moonlight. I could just tell he was thinking of boarding up the window, but whether to keep folks out or keep me in, I couldn’t tell. Then I backed up a step and realised he’d called the ham her.

      I kinda lost it. ‘JIMMY!’ I screamed. ‘THAT HAM … IT’S NOT A SHE, ALRIGHT? NOT A SHE.’ It was all I could think to say. For a second it looked like I’d got him stirred, cause he reached in his pocket and pulled out a knife — by God — and a fork. Still looking out the window, he laid them across my sheets where my belly was, and without a word stood and made a ‘follow me’ sign with his hands, all solemn like. It was like we were at Scuffy’s funeral all over again. So I follow him down the hall, out into the kitchen where the meat pile was starting to stink the place up. There was a chunk missing from around the top, looked like it’d been gouged out with fingers. He’d eaten some then, which seemed fine to me — that’s how people and ham are supposed to get along.

      ‘So what do you want me to do?’ I says, though I reckoned I knew: he wanted me to eat it for him, God knows why, only he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Next thing he’s crying like a baby, sitting on the kitchen floor bawling, whole body lurching around like he was being kicked. Didn’t know what to tell him — what was making him sad? He wasn’t even drunk.

      Enough’s enough, I reckoned again, and said, ‘I’m throwing this out, you watch me.’

      He says: ‘NO.’

      I says: ‘YEAH, FUCK YOU. IT’S GONE ON LONG ENOUGH.’

      He says: ‘SHE CAN’T BE NOTHING BUT WHAT GOD MADE HER.’

      I says: ‘WHAT’S GOD GOT TO DO WITH IT? AND IT’S NOT A SHE JIMMY.’

      He called me insensitive or some such, so I did what I had to: popped him in the mouth.

      Thought he’d fight but he broke down again and said: ‘TAKE IT, TAKE IT AWAY, I CAN’T DO IT BY MYSELF, I’M LEANING ON IT LIKE A MAN WITH A CRUTCH, AIN’T SPOZZA BE LIKE THIS, HELP ME BORIS FOR GOD SAKES HELP ME.’

      So I grabbed the ham and went to the door, but the damn thing’s barred up and I couldn’t get the boards loose. I set the meat down and Jimmy’s had a change of heart all of a sudden, and he’s running at me with murder in his eyes, yelling about me taking her away from him, and how everyone always took everything away from him, and how he wasn’t gonna let it happen no more. I said fine, take the fucking meat and do what you gotta do, just leave me out of it OK?

      Back in my room I could hear him blubbering, then an electric carving knife started up. Next thing there’s a quiet tap on my door and I open it, and Jimmy’s left a plate of ham slices out there on the floor. He’d cut ‘em into the shape of tears, probably trying to make me feel guilty for something I couldn’t quite understand, but they might’ve been quotation marks, I never really found out. You know what people are like. Some of ‘em are lonely, I guess, and some of ‘em had too much taken away and they get attached to things they probably shouldn’t. Guess it makes you think.

      In the morning the meat’s all gone and Jimmy seemed to have pulled the boards loose from the doors and his coat wasn’t hung up. There was meat slime all over the damn kitchen … I never knew ham could be so wet. Around then I thought I heard digging in the yard. I went to the kitchen window and saw someone had spit up some ham in the sink and left it there. Wasn’t me, is all I know.

      Out in the yard, there was Jimmy. He’d dug a hole with a shovel and the ham was lying in the dirt. Felt kind of sorry for it, and for Jimmy, who just stood there with his

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