Post by PASTIE on Nov 22, 2007 23:20:53 GMT -1
7. A Corridor of Dark Matters
The gentle grating sound of glass rolling over an uneven concrete floor woke PASTIE from his already fitful sleep. With his cheekbone firmly planted into the ground, his blinking eye resisted the sense of pressure about its socket to focus on the object moving slowly in front of him. A flailing arm had toppled the empty bottle of Jamesons. Slowly, idly, it rocked back and forth on its side. The sound gently echoed, but everything else was frozen. Something was wrong.
PASTIE’s instinct told him not to move. The corridor was still, but there was an unfamiliar presence.
A light came on.
A light? There had never been light before. But here it was. The corridor was illuminated for the first time in PASTIE’s experience. The floor was scraped, soiled and uneven. The walls bore stains; green smears spread foul rainbows from floor to floor. Somewhere high above there was a ceiling, but the light was neon, blinding white and PASTIE could see no further.
Still motionless, he became aware of shapes. Some of the shapes were familiar but some almost lacked substance. What was going on?
PASTIE could see the prone form of Roaster spread eagled across the floor opposite. He was flat on his back, snoring softly with a can of ASDA bitter in his hand and an unlit cigarette wedged between his upper lip and nose like driftwood trapped in rocks. Beyond him there was the sofa. In this light it actually steamed. GfJ, lay asleep upon it; he had already released his bladder into it through his trousers.
Repelled, PASTIE altered his gaze. Propped against a wall was ArgyleSmurf, his domino’s cap tilted back against the wall he rested upon, faintly shaking as he coughed and muttered in his sleep with his hand thrust deep into his bum bag for comfort. Alongside him, unconscious on the floor was Mrs H. Chopper had clearly rolled the width of the corridor to be alongside and had sneakily taken her hand and placed it somewhere intimate.
Beyond them there lay Morton. He was talking in his sleep. None of it made sense. COYS was equally asleep, the heel of his boot resting on Morton’s throat. Then there was a strange corner, more dank and musty even than elsewhere filled with deep green plants with beautiful leaf patterns. Dan was among them, breathing softly as he reclined upon a watering can. How did he manage to get those plants to grow in here?
Further down the corridor, there was only murk but there were heaps of incumbent bodies fading into the haze. From one such pile, there were two feet protruding most prominently. In the dazzling light, PASTIE could see what was inscribed upon them. Size 19.
“Gres…” mouthed PASTIE softly.
Why is there a light? Surely this had never happened before. PASTIE sensed that he was not supposed to be awake.
Then something moved.
Something, and nothing. Was it a shadow? Was it a tremor passing through the corridor? What was it and where did it go?
Then there was another one. It was in the periphery of PASTIE’s vision, the size of a normal non-Stafford man; it lived but did not breathe. It was there but had no substance. It moved in the white light, but had no colour. And there were lots of them. They scurried but made no noise, saw but had no eyes. They were glimmers, refractions zipping through the corridor. But they had purpose, and their purpose was malice.
The walls were being taken down. The floor was being consumed.
PASTIE had long suspected it, but now he knew that the Corridors have spectres. You can Prowl for so long, but they will catch up with you in the end and they mean you harm.
A powerful sense of panic overwhelmed PASTIE and left him frozen. He could feel his heart beat pound through the compacted tissue of the cheek still wedged into the floor. The Corridor was ending, and he knew not what to do.
The catalyst to action was anger. The spectres gathered around the hull of Gres, shuffling below him straining to remove him. As they did so, PASTIE observed the spectres who tackled his feet. He sensed their presence.
“GB” whispered PASTIE and the spectre froze. They had taken the one time Prowler into the land of the cyberdead. The other spectre turned then turned again. It seemed confused, disoriented, almost lost and threw itself into the wall. “Pete!” PASTIE yelled!
As he did, Gres woke and his shoe fell to the floor. The seismic tremor passed beneath them and Sterland’s floor crumbled beneath the recumbent Prowlers. As one they woke.
“They’ve come for us!!!” cried Smurf, a pizza box falling to the floor as he scrabbled to his feet. “Oy!” yelled Mrs H as she recovered her hand from Chopper’s undergarments. GfJ started, and soiled himself into the sofa once more. Ro’s fag fell effortlessly back between his lips. It was time to act.
PASTIE grabbed the Jameson’s bottle and smashed it into the floor. It shattered fragments all over the floor but left a weapon in PASTIE’s hands.
“You can’t take them all on!” yelled Janner from the far end of the corridor.
“No need” replied PASTIE. He looked closely at the jagged edges of the bottle in his hands. He knew that the edges were sharp, but somehow he could not see the point; it was as if the shards of glass had no focus. PASTIE somehow knew that this was “The Subtle Bottle” and he leaped to his feet and ran past the spectres and at the wall. With a desperate scream he plunged the bottle into the wall. It instantly cut a flapping gash in the wall.
“Climb through!” PASTIE told the others and he leaped out of the Corridor. One by one, the others scrabbled through after him, even Gres, pushing his way through the orifice like a gigantic birth. Ro counted everybody through…
“Wait!” he shouted, “Where’s GFJ?”
PASTIE and Ro peered through the gash back in to Corridor 6 and saw GfJ struggling alone trying to drag the sofa to the opening. The spectres were encircling him, bearing down. Ro dived back into the Corridor and grabbed his brother by the hand. Then he remembered what he used that hand for and grabbed him by the collar.
“Just leave it!” shouted Ro
“Noooo!” came GfJ’s plaintive cry. But Ro had dragged him through the gash in the wall.
“Shut it” he shouted at PASTIE. PASTIE grabbed the sides to the gash and drew them together. He threw The Subtle Bottle back into the Corridor and the last thing he saw as the gash fused shut was the hurried rush of spectres shimmering furiously towards him. But the gash did shut. PASTIE rested his hands against the wall. It was solid once more, damp, filthy and a sickly yellow green. He turned and rested against it, and viewed the breathless others.
“But the sofa…” GfJ said to him, his expression filled with hurt and rage.
“Look…” It was Gres. A mighty finger pointed down into the white lit haze. GfJ turned, blinking with uncertainty.
“But how?” asked GfJ
“A parallel sofa” replied Smurf
Together they looked all about themselves. An uneven floor, green stains and fag burns. GfJ breathed deep and knew the sofa aroma so well. Dan skipped joyfully into the corner of iridescent green plants in the corner. Smurf found a corner of an old pizza and nibbled a jalapeno off the side.
PASTIE and Ro looked at each other. As one they said the same word.
“Seven!”
And, with that, the light went out.
The gentle grating sound of glass rolling over an uneven concrete floor woke PASTIE from his already fitful sleep. With his cheekbone firmly planted into the ground, his blinking eye resisted the sense of pressure about its socket to focus on the object moving slowly in front of him. A flailing arm had toppled the empty bottle of Jamesons. Slowly, idly, it rocked back and forth on its side. The sound gently echoed, but everything else was frozen. Something was wrong.
PASTIE’s instinct told him not to move. The corridor was still, but there was an unfamiliar presence.
A light came on.
A light? There had never been light before. But here it was. The corridor was illuminated for the first time in PASTIE’s experience. The floor was scraped, soiled and uneven. The walls bore stains; green smears spread foul rainbows from floor to floor. Somewhere high above there was a ceiling, but the light was neon, blinding white and PASTIE could see no further.
Still motionless, he became aware of shapes. Some of the shapes were familiar but some almost lacked substance. What was going on?
PASTIE could see the prone form of Roaster spread eagled across the floor opposite. He was flat on his back, snoring softly with a can of ASDA bitter in his hand and an unlit cigarette wedged between his upper lip and nose like driftwood trapped in rocks. Beyond him there was the sofa. In this light it actually steamed. GfJ, lay asleep upon it; he had already released his bladder into it through his trousers.
Repelled, PASTIE altered his gaze. Propped against a wall was ArgyleSmurf, his domino’s cap tilted back against the wall he rested upon, faintly shaking as he coughed and muttered in his sleep with his hand thrust deep into his bum bag for comfort. Alongside him, unconscious on the floor was Mrs H. Chopper had clearly rolled the width of the corridor to be alongside and had sneakily taken her hand and placed it somewhere intimate.
Beyond them there lay Morton. He was talking in his sleep. None of it made sense. COYS was equally asleep, the heel of his boot resting on Morton’s throat. Then there was a strange corner, more dank and musty even than elsewhere filled with deep green plants with beautiful leaf patterns. Dan was among them, breathing softly as he reclined upon a watering can. How did he manage to get those plants to grow in here?
Further down the corridor, there was only murk but there were heaps of incumbent bodies fading into the haze. From one such pile, there were two feet protruding most prominently. In the dazzling light, PASTIE could see what was inscribed upon them. Size 19.
“Gres…” mouthed PASTIE softly.
Why is there a light? Surely this had never happened before. PASTIE sensed that he was not supposed to be awake.
Then something moved.
Something, and nothing. Was it a shadow? Was it a tremor passing through the corridor? What was it and where did it go?
Then there was another one. It was in the periphery of PASTIE’s vision, the size of a normal non-Stafford man; it lived but did not breathe. It was there but had no substance. It moved in the white light, but had no colour. And there were lots of them. They scurried but made no noise, saw but had no eyes. They were glimmers, refractions zipping through the corridor. But they had purpose, and their purpose was malice.
The walls were being taken down. The floor was being consumed.
PASTIE had long suspected it, but now he knew that the Corridors have spectres. You can Prowl for so long, but they will catch up with you in the end and they mean you harm.
A powerful sense of panic overwhelmed PASTIE and left him frozen. He could feel his heart beat pound through the compacted tissue of the cheek still wedged into the floor. The Corridor was ending, and he knew not what to do.
The catalyst to action was anger. The spectres gathered around the hull of Gres, shuffling below him straining to remove him. As they did so, PASTIE observed the spectres who tackled his feet. He sensed their presence.
“GB” whispered PASTIE and the spectre froze. They had taken the one time Prowler into the land of the cyberdead. The other spectre turned then turned again. It seemed confused, disoriented, almost lost and threw itself into the wall. “Pete!” PASTIE yelled!
As he did, Gres woke and his shoe fell to the floor. The seismic tremor passed beneath them and Sterland’s floor crumbled beneath the recumbent Prowlers. As one they woke.
“They’ve come for us!!!” cried Smurf, a pizza box falling to the floor as he scrabbled to his feet. “Oy!” yelled Mrs H as she recovered her hand from Chopper’s undergarments. GfJ started, and soiled himself into the sofa once more. Ro’s fag fell effortlessly back between his lips. It was time to act.
PASTIE grabbed the Jameson’s bottle and smashed it into the floor. It shattered fragments all over the floor but left a weapon in PASTIE’s hands.
“You can’t take them all on!” yelled Janner from the far end of the corridor.
“No need” replied PASTIE. He looked closely at the jagged edges of the bottle in his hands. He knew that the edges were sharp, but somehow he could not see the point; it was as if the shards of glass had no focus. PASTIE somehow knew that this was “The Subtle Bottle” and he leaped to his feet and ran past the spectres and at the wall. With a desperate scream he plunged the bottle into the wall. It instantly cut a flapping gash in the wall.
“Climb through!” PASTIE told the others and he leaped out of the Corridor. One by one, the others scrabbled through after him, even Gres, pushing his way through the orifice like a gigantic birth. Ro counted everybody through…
“Wait!” he shouted, “Where’s GFJ?”
PASTIE and Ro peered through the gash back in to Corridor 6 and saw GfJ struggling alone trying to drag the sofa to the opening. The spectres were encircling him, bearing down. Ro dived back into the Corridor and grabbed his brother by the hand. Then he remembered what he used that hand for and grabbed him by the collar.
“Just leave it!” shouted Ro
“Noooo!” came GfJ’s plaintive cry. But Ro had dragged him through the gash in the wall.
“Shut it” he shouted at PASTIE. PASTIE grabbed the sides to the gash and drew them together. He threw The Subtle Bottle back into the Corridor and the last thing he saw as the gash fused shut was the hurried rush of spectres shimmering furiously towards him. But the gash did shut. PASTIE rested his hands against the wall. It was solid once more, damp, filthy and a sickly yellow green. He turned and rested against it, and viewed the breathless others.
“But the sofa…” GfJ said to him, his expression filled with hurt and rage.
“Look…” It was Gres. A mighty finger pointed down into the white lit haze. GfJ turned, blinking with uncertainty.
“But how?” asked GfJ
“A parallel sofa” replied Smurf
Together they looked all about themselves. An uneven floor, green stains and fag burns. GfJ breathed deep and knew the sofa aroma so well. Dan skipped joyfully into the corner of iridescent green plants in the corner. Smurf found a corner of an old pizza and nibbled a jalapeno off the side.
PASTIE and Ro looked at each other. As one they said the same word.
“Seven!”
And, with that, the light went out.
