tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57939880877010796732024-03-13T07:38:23.439-07:00The Dark RoomChris Reganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175026345423194092noreply@blogger.comBlogger6125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5793988087701079673.post-33818149065563972672010-05-05T11:06:00.000-07:002010-05-05T11:08:57.661-07:00At the end of the hall…There's a monster at the end of our hall.<br /><br />He lives in a room that was supposed to be occupied by another student. We were told he had come from overseas and so moved in before the semester began. We were told that he’d started his research early, that he’d already made good progress, that he could teach us a great many things.<br /><br />Then we were told the room was empty. He’d quit the course and moved away. In the week we had been there not one of us had once seen or heard him.<br /><br />We continued with our studies, much of which took place in our individual rooms with the clunky old PCs the university had provided us with; the best the under funded department could supply. But the interfaces were brand new, built to their unique specifications. There were rumours of investment from multinational corporations interested in the end product. For all their shininess they looked like over-sized electric pencil sharpeners; a large box with a hole through which the user could connect to the machine by way of a finger.<br /><br />A student in Japan had played a game of Pong using a similar device, moving the 2D paddle with a thought. We were working at an even more basic level, repositioning a cursor on a screen then making notes from the code. It was hard to reconcile what we were learning in our advanced computing lectures with the frustrating limitations we faced in testing the device.<br /><br />Then the noises started. Bumps, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">shufflings</span> and occasional beeps from the supposedly unoccupied room at the end of the hall. We reported this to the university accommodation office, to our resident tutors, to our lecturers - they all promised to look into it. When they <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">didn</span>’t we decided to look into it ourselves. We stole a key from the cleaner and one afternoon, after a seminar on nanotechnology, we opened the door.<br /><br />Sitting in the room, in the dark, was a student. He was at his desk, plugged into his machine as all of us were used to doing by now. But on closer inspection it seemed that the machine was perhaps plugged into him, wires running into his flesh. We tried to get his attention but he was unresponsive, staring at the endless stream of text flashing across his monitor. Except he <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">couldn</span>’t have been staring. He <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">didn</span>’t have any eyes.<br /><br />I have since decided to ignore the monster at the end of the hall. I’m doing better than the others. I’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">ve</span> realised that the key to using the device isn't in the code, but in meeting the machine halfway. Thinking like the machine.<br /><br />There’s a commotion outside. They've decided to disconnect him. I can hear him screaming, like a 56K modem failing to connect. I ignore it, plugging myself in.<br /><br />I can feel one of my eyes coming loose in its socket. This is okay. I won't need them soon.Chris Reganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175026345423194092noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5793988087701079673.post-58999944203287990442009-07-02T01:36:00.000-07:002009-07-02T02:10:00.843-07:00The Day They Tore The Dark Room Down - Part 3 of 3<span style="font-family:verdana;">The first thing Jenny saw when she walked into the bar was the bricklayer, or the man from the train who had joked about being a bricklayer. She almost gave him a polite hello, before she noticed that one hand was on an open briefcase from which a tiny clown person was climbing out. There was another clown dropping from the table to the floor, and another in front of him. She looked along a line of tiny, waddling clowns until she saw a mound of them piled on top of a writhing person, presumably Dante. The miniature knives in their hands were raised in unison then brought down repeatedly into Dante’s flesh.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Jenny acted quickly, and with a flick of her wrist and a whispered word she lifted the attacking clowns a few feet into the air. She <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">couldn</span>’t hold them there for long, but it was long enough for Gabriel to pull Dante free, or what was left of him. The tiny knives had slashed his clothes and flesh into confetti and his black blood had spread out into a sticky pool where his body had been a second ago. She had never seen him hurt this bad before.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Please,’ said the bricklayer, ‘I would prefer it if you <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">didn</span>’t interfere.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Jenny <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">couldn</span>’t hold the clowns anymore anyway and she let them drop. They landed hard and rolled around on their backs, waving their arms and legs like insects unable to right themselves. It would give her some time before they attacked again, she thought, but when she turned back to the briefcase there were already a dozen more clowns on the ground and on their way towards her.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘Maybe I can’t hurt them,’ she said, ‘but I can stop you.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Jenny rubbed her hands together, opened her palms and blew. White hot energy crackled between her fingers which she aimed at the bricklayer.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘And then what?’ he asked, ‘You think they’ll fall back just because I’m dead? They won’t stop until I make them stop.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Jenny gave this a moment’s thought, then redirected the energy at the dozen or so clowns now at her feet. She fried the majority, their eyeballs popping as they convulsed and span around before finally dropping to the floor dead. It <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">hadn</span>’t helped – two dozen more were already waddling towards her. Yet more were heading for the main room.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘You can’t do this, there are people in there,’ argued Jenny.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘You had fair warning,’ he replied, ‘You were given a chance to ensure the building was empty. You <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">didn</span>’t take it. Now it’s too late.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Gabriel pointed at a couple of clowns who had run into a steel pillar and full of disbelief he said, ‘They’re tearing the place apart.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Jenny could only watch as they slashed at it with their knives and when that proved fruitless chomped at the metal with their over-sized mouths. This second tactic was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">surprisingly</span> effective. Other clowns were using similar methods to turn chairs and tables to sawdust in seconds. And there were still more clowns emerging from the case with no sign of stopping. A couple more minutes and the Dark Room would be overrun, a few minutes after that and there would be nothing and nobody left.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Jenny repeated the incantation she uttered before, but widened the spread and lifted everything in the room a couple of inches off the ground. The clowns wiggled their legs frantically, trying to run through the air and looking around in confusion when they <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">didn</span>’t gain any ground. Those closest to Jenny, Gabriel and Dante slashed at them with the knives. Some even slashed at each other, desperate to destroy something.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘Can you hold them?’ asked Dante, pulling himself to his knees with the help of a nearby table. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Only the table had been partially destroyed by clowns and collapsed under his weight. He fell towards a couple of suspended clowns and Gabriel only just managed to pull him to safety. Jenny looked down at his wrecked body. He had been cut to ribbons and had lost so much blood that the wounds were slow to heal. She <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">didn</span>’t even know if he would heal fully this time. But at least he was moving.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘No,’ said Jenny, honestly, ‘Not for long anyway.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />She was already starting to sweat with the exertion of keeping so many things afloat with her magic. Across the other side of the room the bricklayer was floating serenely a couple of feet above the clowns. He had the briefcase in his arms and was shaking it so the clowns could escape into the room more easily. The tumbled out into Jenny’s spell like astronauts in zero gravity and drifted towards the others until the room was thick with clowns.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘We have to get them back into that case,’ stated Dante.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘Yeah, I gathered that,’ said Jenny.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Gabriel tried to grab one of the clowns but it slashed at his arm, drawing blood. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘Fucker,’ he swore, then grabbed at the clown again and brought it crashing down at his feet where he stamped repeatedly on the creature’s head. A pool of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">multicoloured</span> blood spread out behind its cracked skull.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />This was followed by a silence as the clowns all looked toward their fallen comrade in unison. It took Jenny a moment to realise that there was something more worrying about the silence, and it <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">wasn</span>’t until she saw a couple of very confused looking people walk into the room that she realised what it meant - the band had stopped playing.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">It was only when <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Django</span> found himself performing before the assembled masses that he began to question the logic behind what he was doing. And there was logic there somewhere, although it was more like a kind of dream logic than actual real life logic. Only he knew it <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">wasn</span>’t a dream – it felt too real. There was also nothing to gain in trying to make sense of it. So he’d decided early on to act as if in a dream, going along with every <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">increasingly</span> bizarre development until some meaning or preferably some means of escape presented itself.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />He <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">didn</span>’t feel quite so confident in the ring. They were all staring at him, waiting for him to do something. There were the people in coats on the left with large, bulging shapes bobbing up and down around their bellies, and then on the right the others. The others were the new people. The men in coats had been there a long time, perhaps forever. They knew how everything worked and the melting man had explained most of it to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Django</span>. The new people perform for them and if they perform well and one of the coats has a vacancy they get a permanent place on the left. On the left they get all the purple dream juice they could ever want.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />The melting man <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">hadn</span>’t called it ‘purple dream juice’. He had simply said ‘dreams’. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘We feed them dreams,’ he said, ‘It keeps them happy.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />But there <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">weren</span>’t very often vacancies for those wanting to feed on dreams. Mostly the people did their acts, took some abuse from the crowd then went back to the right where they were crammed into a space that would struggle to accommodate half their number. There were very few dreams over there, but there was the odd one. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />A few of the people in coats were pickier than the others and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">hadn</span>’t found their perfect act yet. So they wandered the cramped stalls looking for talent. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Django</span> was performing for one of them now. Jan had introduced them, thinking it would give <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Django</span> an edge over the other potentials. His full name was far too complicated to remember so <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Django</span> called him Jim. It seemed to fit. Jim was skinnier and shinier than most of the people in coats, but had a large belly where he kept the dreams. His dreams were clearly in demand as the other acts were forever crowding around him, trying to attract his attention. But Jim’s attention was on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Django</span>.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Most of the acts, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Django</span> had watched a good few before going on, had involved bleeding. In fact, come to think of it they had all involved bleeding in some form or other. They either started with a wound, or <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">incorporated</span> some kind of self-harm into the act whether it was a slit wrist or flaying of flesh, and almost all ended with a widening pool of blood on the ground beneath the performer. Some bled quickly and heavily, other bled slowly and for longer. No one bled long enough to die from it, although <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">Django</span> had seen more than one come close.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Jim <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">hadn</span>’t known what to make of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">Django</span>’s act. He bled, and he bled well, but it was the wrong colour and it went back into the flesh afterwards. This he found most unusual. It was different, different enough for him to take a chance on the hope that this was the act he had been waiting for. Which is how <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">Django</span> ended up performing for Jim and why he was now in the centre of the ring biting his wrist open.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />When the blood went back in there was silence.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Bobby had expected Molly to freeze in front of the crowd, maybe for a moment, then he figured when the silence became more awkward than the sound of her own voice she might actually get over it. She ran away instead. Which left Bobby on guitar and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">Laloo</span> on drums, making sounds.<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />He looked at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">Laloo</span> and mouthed, ‘Drum solo’.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />She <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">wasn</span>’t even looking.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />He found Molly backstage packing her gear up. It <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">wasn</span>’t the first time, usually they’d figure out a way to carry on without her. It had happened so many times that Jenny had pretty much learnt to play the bass guitar based on the occasions she’d been forced to take over. They never came down too hard on Molly as a result – she was different in ways they <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">couldn</span>’t imagine. But this time it was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">unacceptable</span>.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘People are going to die if we don’t finish this set,’ said Bobby.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘Do you have any idea how ludicrous that sounds?’ argued Molly, ‘It’s a fucking gig! They came to see Jenny, just like always, she fucking left so now they’re not interested. That’s all.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘You’re the one who’s not interested, Molly,’ he spat back at her, ‘Every bloody rehearsal we have to sit through you going on and on about never getting a chance. And now you’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">ve</span> got it and you’re packing up!’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘Is it?’ asked Molly, ‘Can you call this my big chance when Jenny’s got the audience fucking hypnotised into thinking we’re fucking Zeppelin as long as we make noises?’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Bobby was silent, but not because he <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">couldn</span>’t think of a response. He had been distracted by the tiny clown at Molly’s feet, swinging a knife at her ankles.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36">Django</span> was lining up at the back of the tent. They <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37">hadn</span>’t liked his act. No one had cheered. No applause, not even a polite cricket clap. They <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38">hadn</span>’t booed either, they had mainly just looked at him in confusion. But that was worse than booing apparently and he was sent right to the back of the class. Or tent, where there was a queue leading to another exit.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />As he made his slow progress towards the exit he passed the insect band and though they were still in shadow he now realised they were much larger than he first thought. It was while he was looking at the creatures that Jim walked alongside him in the queue.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘Sorry, chap,’ he said, ‘It was a rather unusual performance, but that was your problem, you see. We can handle a little deviation here and there, but what you did, that was practically <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39">avant</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40">garde</span> and it just won’t do.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41">Django</span> nodded, accepting this, though in a way what he had seen the others do was to him much stranger than his act.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘Still, I don’t want you to leave here empty handed,’ Jim continued, ‘You won’t get many dreams where you’re going.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Until that point <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_42">Django</span> had presumed he was going home. Suddenly he started to wonder, but he <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_43">didn</span>’t have much time to wonder as Jim was opening his coat and the acts around him were abandoning the queue to get to Jim. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_44">Django</span> looked down at the weeping protrusion where Jim’s belly button ought to have been. A drop of the purple dream juice was dribbling out and down towards his crotch.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘A parting gift,’ offered Jim.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />And though their eyes were wide and their mouths watering the assembled acts scrabbling to get closer to Jim seemed to understand that this was meant for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_45">Django</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_46">Django</span> only.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_47">Django</span> looked at the exit, and saw that it <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_48">wasn</span>’t an exit at all but a distorted mirror. He watched as the next act in line, a skinny young man who’d flayed half the flesh off his torso, reached out to touch the curve in the reflective surface only for it to ripple like water. And as the flayed man stepped through the glass the reflection on the other side became even more distorted with parts of it shrinking and other parts, its head, feet and hands, remaining the same size. The thing that remained on the other side was not a man at all, but a tiny, ugly clown.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Another clown emerged from the briefcase, joining the hundreds of others floating in the bar of the Dark Room. Jenny was straining to keep the other clowns afloat but found herself distracted by the growing group of confused onlookers making their way through from the other room. One had already tried to make it to the exit and had been cut to shreds by the clowns’ knives as a result. At the same time a couple of rogue clowns had escaped Jenny’s spell and made it through. She could already hear the screams.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Dante was still piecing himself together and too fragmented to help. Even if he was at full strength there was little he would be able to do other than stare in horror like Gabriel. The furniture that had been in the room was nothing but dust now and the clowns nearest the walls had already torn most of the plastering apart.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘I’m losing it,’ she warned.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />The levitation spell was a party trick, not meant for prolonged use. She was amazed she had kept it up this long.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Dante turned to Gabriel who was reloading the shotgun, ‘Take out as many as you can.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Gabriel nodded, aiming at the clowns closest to the people.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘Stay back!,’ shouted Jenny, but they <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_49">couldn</span>’t hear. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_50">Collectively</span> the clowns made a noise that <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_51">individually</span> would sound like a chattering of teeth but in their hundreds more closely resembled an earthquake.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />She was so <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_52">focused</span> on the people and their suicidal dash for the exit that she failed to notice the clown at her feet that had crawled under her spell and was about to take a bite out of her leg.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘That’s it,’ said Molly as she backed away from the clowns at her feet, ‘I quit!’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘You can’t,’ said Bobby, although he was too confused by the sight of tiny clowns to offer any rational reason not to quit.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘I’m sick of this shit, Bobby,’ continued Molly, ‘We’re a band! The only thing that’s ever supposed to kill us is ourselves, or maybe each other, but not—‘</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />There was a dull smacking sound as Bobby turned to see what had shut Molly up. Evidently Laloo had punched her in the face. Her nose was bleeding and she looked as if she might cry.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Laloo lifted Molly’s head up to face her and said, ‘That’s better. They like it when we bleed.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Then she grabbed Molly’s hand and led her back out onstage. Bobby ran after them, and by the time he had picked up his guitar Laloo had started into another song – Molly’s song. Molly looked at Bobby and he started to play. The clowns were on the stage now, Molly had nowhere to go. So she wiped the blood from her nose and started to sing.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Jenny would’ve let go anyway, she had no choice, but it seemed that the moment she did so the band started to play and the people turned around. Suddenly Molly’s voice on the mic was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. Only it was followed by the worst - the sound of a thousand tiny clowns hitting the concrete floor.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Jenny, Dante and Gabriel looked down at the horde of clowns and realised with some reluctance that they would be torn down along with the building.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘Take him out,’ Dante said to Gabriel, indicating the man with the case.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘But how are we supposed to--‘</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Dante cut Gabriel off, ‘We’re not supposed to. Just take him out, make sure he won’t do this to anyone else.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Gabriel looked at the clowns clawing at his feet, then levelled the gun at the man with the briefcase. Only he didn’t have the briefcase anymore, it was on the floor at his feet. And something else was emerging from inside, something much larger than any of the clowns.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘Django!’ screamed Jenny, recognising his face as he pulled himself up into the room.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Django climbed to his feet took a quick look around. The clowns were everywhere now but that didn‘t seem bother him. He spat something into his hand then held it up for all in the room to see – a thick, sticky, purple liquid.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />The clowns all turned in unison and charged Django, not to hurt him but desperate to get to the liquid in his hand. But it wasn’t in his hand anymore, it was being squeezed into the open case at his feet, dripping slowly enough for the clowns to see it and try to follow.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />And follow they did, back into the case, back where they came from.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘No!’ shouted the bricklayer, ‘Only I can send them back!’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />The bricklayer had wrenched a knife from one of the clowns and was charging at Django. But he never made it that far, cut short when Gabriel took his shot and hit him in the chest. He fell, bleeding, and could only watch as his army disappeared into the darkness.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />And when the clowns had reduced in number to around five hundred, enough to see the floor again, the bricklayer dragged himself to the exit. Gabriel moved after him with the shotgun, but Dante stopped him.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘Let him go.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘But you said—‘</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Dante shook his head, ‘We’ve got the case. He can’t hurt anyone else.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />It was good enough for Dante and as usual Gabriel gave him the benefit of the doubt, but Django wasn’t satisfied. He was out of the purple liquid anyway, so he stepped away from the case and ran for the door. Jenny stepped into his place and when the last clown dived back into the case she slammed it shut, and then stood on it to make sure.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Outside Django caught up with the bricklayer as he crawled up into the alley.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘Wait!’ he shouted after him, ‘I need to know for definite.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />He dropped down onto his knees in front of the crawling man and looked him in the eye.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘I get it now,’ he said, ‘I know how things are destroyed. But is this how they’re built too?’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />The bricklayer said nothing for a moment, then shook his head.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘No,’ he said, ‘There’s another man, with another briefcase. I don’t know any more than that.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />And knowing that this was the most he could hope for Django pulled the bricklayer to his feet and sent him on his merry bleeding way.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">When Dante had finally reassured her that standing on the briefcase wasn’t required to keep the clowns in Jenny returned to the stage for a last couple of songs. Molly backed away from the mic at first, but Jenny held out her arms and took the bass from her. They played the rest of their set like that, Jenny playing mostly the wrong notes and Molly making up her lyrics as she went along. The people at the back started to lose interest and some left or went to the bar for drinks, but that wasn’t so important now – they were enjoying themselves for the first time that evening.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Meanwhile Dante and Gabriel were assessing the damage. It looked like a bulldozer had come through the bar, but it was mostly surface damage – nothing structural. Half the bar itself was gone and they’d need a lot of new furniture but all things considered they had been pretty lucky. They just had to decide what to do with the case – whether it was more dangerous to keep it or throw it away.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Django was sitting on the floor having a drink with Sara and some of the regulars. He was telling them what happened to him, in a matter of fact way that made it sound like it was the kind of thing that happened to him every day. This meant than none of the assembled audience really believed a word of it, and as he listened in from a distance Dante decided that this was probably for the best.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘What happened when you got to the mirror?’ asked Sara, wondering why Django wasn’t a tiny clown.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘Mustn’t have worked on me,’ he lied.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The next morning Django was standing on the rooftop, looking across at the buildings again. The one that was still being built yesterday looked pretty much finished - it had been a busy night for someone. He had thought that greater knowledge about the way this world had been constructed would have been some comfort. But it wasn’t any kind of comfort at all.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />He looked down at his hand and remembered standing in front of that mirror and reaching out to touch his distorted reflection. He remembered the pain that shot though his body as his fingers sent ripples across the surface of the glass. And he remembered her voice.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘I can help you,’ said the woman in the mirror, ‘I can stop this, send you back home.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Django had agreed without hearing the terms, thinking nothing could be worse than the transformation he had seen the poor acts before him go through.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘All I ask in return,’ she said, ‘is that you owe me a favour. And that when I ask you for this favour, whatever it may be, you do it, without question.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />A slender, white hand emerged from the mirror at that point. Django had taken the hand in his and kissed it. And then he was back in the world and spitting dreams into his hand. He knew they’d be useful for something.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />But while he was here and the Dark Room was safe, there was something worse about owing the woman in the mirror a favour. At least before he’d known what he would become, what would be required of him. The tiny clowns knew where they stood, but he had no idea.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The bricklayer had bled his way to Blackfriar’s Bridge where he knew he would find the man in the bowler hat who liked to watch the sun rise over the Thames. His name was Mr. B.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘Didn’t go too well I see,’ said Mr. B without even looking at the bleeding bricklayer at his feet.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘They took my case…’ said the bricklayer.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘That won’t do,’ said Mr. B, ‘I shouldn’t worry though. They’ll be too afraid to get up to any mischief with it. I’ll get it back.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘Thank you…I can try again…’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘Not for you, dear boy. You’re being replaced. Your employment has been terminated.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />The bricklayer looked horrified for a moment, but it only took a moment for Mr. B to run the knife across his throat. And as he bled what remained of his life out through his throat Mr. B scooped out his eyes with a silver teaspoon and then tossed the bricklayer into the river. The cut was so deep that the bricklayer lost his head as he fell.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘Sometimes I just don’t know my own strength,’ said Mr. B to himself.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Then he quickly strolled over to the other side of the bridge to see which the current would pull through first – the head or the body. When neither came through he sighed, then headed off to work.</span><br /><br />-----Chris Reganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175026345423194092noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5793988087701079673.post-46776009517613990242009-06-06T09:30:00.000-07:002009-06-06T10:11:50.122-07:00The Day They Tore The Dark Room Down - Part 2 of 3<span style="font-family:verdana;">Dante had been doing some research of his own. The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Wikipedia</span> entry on ‘demolition’ helpfully advised that it was the opposite of ‘construction’. He watched videos of buildings collapsing like they were stacks of playing cards and scanned the websites of demolition contractors who seemed to treat the specifics of their work as a closely guarded secret. Mostly what he turned up were 9/11 conspiracy theories, which were no use. He knew what happened there.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Gabriel brought him a beer and pointed out that it was seven o’clock, ‘Only a couple of hours till opening. If you’re going to close the place tonight you’d better decide.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘We never close,’ said Dante, although Gabriel already knew that. It was just wishful thinking.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Jenny’s band were already rehearsing their set...without Jenny. They would have to be good tonight. They would have to keep people distracted, maintain the illusion that The Dark Room was the safest place in the world to be. Keep the heart beating.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Gabriel was lining up shotgun cartridges on the bar, tossing away the empties he’d collected by mistake and grumbling under his breath.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘If you’d rather go home…‘ offered Dante.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Wouldn</span>’t miss this for the world,’ said Gabriel with much more sarcasm than he intended.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Jenny’s bass player, Molly, walked over to Dante with a kind of mock decisiveness that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">didn</span>’t quite suit her casually nihilistic persona.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Where is she?’ she asked, lifting her watch to her face in one big, sweeping movement.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Talking to ex-boyfriends,’ said Dante.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘She’s supposed to be here now! We wanted to rehearse the new songs.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Maybe she’s doing more than talking’ suggested Gabriel, regretting it the moment Dante glared at him.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Look, if she <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">isn</span>’t here by the time we open I’m singing, okay?’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Dante and Gabriel both looked at Molly, unsure whether the idea was meant as a solution or a threat. They <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">didn</span>’t get chance to decide.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘We’re fucked,’ exclaimed Jenny as she walked through the door, ‘They’re going to burn this place to the ground and I have no idea how to stop them.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘You mean you learnt nothing’ asked Dante.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Less than nothing,’ said Jenny, ‘Less than we knew before. We have no fucking clue what’s coming for us tonight. Could be a bloke with a sledgehammer, could be fucking Godzilla – we won’t know until it gets here.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Dante took a moment to consider this as <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Django</span> strolled in behind Jenny.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Preoccupied with her own thoughts too much to care, Molly stated, ‘I’m going to sing tonight. I’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">ve</span> decided. Dante agrees with me’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Jenny looked across at Dante, ‘Jesus, you have to be the most insanely jealous person I’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">ve</span> ever met. Is this some kind of punishment? You’re kicking me out of my own band?’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Dante <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">wasn</span>’t even listening. He turned to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Django</span>, ‘What do you think?’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘I think we wait and see what happens,’ he said, ‘I’m excited.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘We can’t prepare for something we don’t know anything about,’ said Gabriel.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘We can do our best,’ Dante decided, ‘We treat it like any other night, except I want the entrance and the bar clear. Whatever comes through that door we stop it before it gets into the main room. Jenny, you need to keep everyone down in front of the stage. I mean everyone.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Jenny nodded, but it <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">wasn</span>’t good enough.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘I’m serious. You have to be good tonight. Better than good. You have to be the best thing they've ever seen. They need to believe that what they're seeing and hearing is something unique and perfect and not to be missed at any cost'</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘I can do that,’ said Jenny.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘So can I if you’d give me the chance.’ said Molly, but no one was listening.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">----- </span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">An hour later, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Django</span> was outside, waiting for it to get dark. Dante came out and lit a cigarette.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Not much happening yet,’ <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Django</span> told Dante.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Dante nodded and smoked a while.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />He was down to the butt before he asked, ‘What was he like?’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />It took <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Django</span> a moment to realise Dante was talking about Barry.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘I don’t know,’ he said, stalling while he thought of the best possible answer, ‘He was like someone who moves bricks around for a living.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Dante nodded again. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘You’re not seriously worried about it, are you?’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Yes, he was worried. He worried that sometimes he <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">couldn</span>’t give her what a normal man could. He worried that the things he offered instead sometimes <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">weren</span>’t enough. He worried that they were too different to really stay together, but he worried about what would happen to him if they <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">didn</span>’t. He wanted her; needed her, more than maybe she realised. More than maybe he’d ever told her. And he certainly <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">didn</span>’t tell <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Django</span> this.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘Look, if it helps, she <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">didn</span>’t look at all happy about kissing him.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Dante nodded, then processed what he’d just heard.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />‘Pardon?’</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Jenny and the band were coming to the end of another new song. It <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">wasn</span>’t great, borderline rubbish in fact.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Fuck it, we’ll stick with what we know,’ she said decisively, ‘We can’t take any chances tonight.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />She’d forgotten about one thing.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Oh I see,’ said Molly, ‘You can’t sing the song I wrote so we won’t do it at all. That’s just great.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Bobby sighed, knowing this <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">wasn</span>’t going to be pleasant. He glanced across at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Laloo</span>. She was staring at the ceiling oblivious, lost in the drumbeat that pounded a constant rhythm through her head whenever she was onstage.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘It’s not about you, Molly,’ Jenny tried diplomatically, ‘The song just <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">isn</span>’t ready yet. We’re not ready to play it.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Bullshit!’ shouted Molly, aiming her bass like it was a machine gun as she stormed over to where Jenny was standing <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">centrestage</span>, ‘It sounds fine, you’re not ready to sing it. Everyone else can do it, just not you.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘You’re not singing tonight and that’s the end of it,’ said Jenny, heading Molly off before she even got there.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Why not? I can do it! You know I can fucking do it – first time I played you the song I sang it and you said it was great.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Molly’s eyes had started to glow green which was a sign she was getting angrier by the second and bad things were about to happen. Jenny turned Bobby for support.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘What happened last time we let Molly sing in front of a crowd?’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘I’m staying out of this,’ said Bobby.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />But they all remembered. Molly got bad stage fright the moment there were more than two or three people watching. Mostly when she played bass she hid at the side of the stage, or made sure she was as close to being hidden as she could be without being completely off-stage.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />The lights dimmed and one of Dante’s <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">playlists</span> came over the PA. They were opening. There would be people here soon.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Not tonight, Molly,’ said Jenny finally, ‘I’m serious. If we fuck up this set…’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘What?’ asked Molly, ‘What exactly is going to happen if we mess this up?’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Jenny <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">didn</span>’t know.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The regulars were already queuing up outside the door. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">Django</span> scanned the line for anything unusual. There were a few faces he <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">didn</span>’t recognise, but there always were and he <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">wasn</span>’t great with faces anyhow.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />It was pointless anyway – the ones who came to knock the place down <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">wouldn</span>’t be queuing. For all <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">Django</span> knew the earth could suddenly open and swallow the building whole. It was just as feasible as anything else he’d thought of so far. Maybe opening tonight <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">wasn</span>’t such a good idea. He knew what Dante would say –<br />‘We’re always open’. But if the building was going to be swallowed up by the earth <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">wouldn</span>’t it be better for all concerned if that building were empty?</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />There was a tugging at his arm and he looked down to see Sara, one of the regulars, staring up at him from behind dark glasses – even the moonlight was too bright for her.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Are you opening tonight or what?’ she asked.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />She looked to him for an answer, as did everyone else in the rapidly expanding queue.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">Django</span> glanced at his watch, but he was just stalling. Then he heard Dante opening the door behind him. It was no use arguing. He stepped to one side and the regulars flooded down the steps and into the club.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">-----<br /></div><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Jenny and the band stood in silence, staring into the dark as they waited for the right moment. She could see the first few people, drinks in their hands, making their way into the room. She whispered something into her hand, and all the way across the other side of the room, a girl heard it like it was whispered into her ear. And she turned to her friend and whispered the same thing, and her friend turned to the person next to her and whispered it again. And so word spread that a very special show was about to start.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />The room filled up quickly then, people pushing eagerly to the front in anticipation of something wondrous, even if they <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">didn</span>’t know where that anticipation had come from. There were a few shouts from the back, from people who <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36">hadn</span>’t heard the whisper yet, but they’d be okay – she’d have them once the music started. Otherwise it was completely silent. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />She looked down at the front row, right into the eyes of the most excited members of the audience. They looked up into the blackness on the stage, unaware they were being watched.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Jenny spotted Gabriel at the back of the room giving her a wave – the majority of the people were in here now which meant it was time. As the music faded out she looked up to the balcony of the upstairs bar at the back of the room. Dante was standing there, watching. He nodded.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Now,’ she said.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37">Laloo</span> tapped her drumsticks three times, then the stage exploded in light and colour as the band started to play.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38">Django</span> could hear Jenny sing from outside, and as always wanted to be in there listening, and watching her. The thought crossed his mind that he may never get the chance to do so again – that this could be the last night Jenny Ringo played The Dark Room. And as he was thinking this a man stepped towards the door.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Hold on,’ said <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39">Django</span>, looking the smartly dressed man over, ‘What’s in the case?’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />The man in the pin-stripe suit <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40">didn</span>’t answer right away. Instead he pulled out a gold pocket watch, read the time, and said, ‘I’m late for an appointment.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />And Django knew he was the one.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Show me what’s in the case,’ he asked again.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />The man sighed, then, ‘Here. I’ll show you.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />He laid the briefcase on the ground, entered a combination into the lock and opened it slowly. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41">Django</span> stared into a blackness that seemed to go on forever. Before he knew it he was falling into that blackness, and hearing the case snap shut behind him.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Gabriel was alone at the bar. He could just about hear Jenny sing her siren song on but it was muffled by the earplugs he’d forgotten to give to his bar staff. He watched as they moved further and further towards the main room. It <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_42">didn</span>’t matter – better they were in there than in here.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />He looked up to see a handsome, smartly dressed man in his early forties standing at the bar. He was carrying a briefcase.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘What would you like?’ asked Gabriel.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘I’d liked to see the proprietor,’ he said, ‘I have an appointment. He was notified by letter.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Gabriel <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_43">couldn</span>’t hear a thing and was thankful when Dante stepped into view.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘You’re here, then,’ he said.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />The man nodded, then he moved over to a table upon which he placed the briefcase.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘I’d like to start now, if I may,’ he said, ‘I’ll give you a moment to evacuate the building. If you don’t want anyone to get hurt that is.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘I can’t allow you to go through with it,’ said Dante, ‘Not until I’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_44">ve</span> shown you what’s downstairs.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘I’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_45">ve</span> seen your heart, sir,’ said the man with a smile, ‘It’s old and dying. It needs to be put out of its misery. We’re building a new heart. A better one. One that will beat with the screams of the helpless and pump the blood of the dying through the renewed arteries of a rejuvenated city.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Dante considered this, then decided,</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"> ‘I’m afraid I still can’t let you do it.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />The man entered a combination and snapped the locks open.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘You had your moment.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />And with that he opened the briefcase.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Django couldn’t remember quite where the light had come from, but it was there, he could see it. He wasn’t sure if he’d fallen here, in which case he couldn’t remember landing, or just appeared, in which case he wasn’t sure how long he’d been here. There was light ahead, he could be sure of that. But when he decided to move towards the light he couldn’t be sure if he was physically walking or just moving. Did he even have a body anymore?</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Before long there was enough light to confirm he did indeed still have a body and there was solid ground beneath his feet. Unfortunately the light itself was not the way out as he had hoped. It was simply an ancient looking streetlamp. The circle of gaslight only extended a few feet until it hit blackness again, but Django could see another light in the distance. He moved on. Better to stick to the light rather than strike off into the darkness – there were sounds of scuttling things out there. Sometimes he even thought he heard a kind of high-pitched giggle.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />By the time he reached the third or fourth light he was starting to wonder where he was being led. By the seventh and eighth he had started to lose count. After a few more he started to wonder if the lights were taking him in a circle. He became more aware of this the further he walked, until he finally realised that it wasn’t a circle at all, but a spiral. And in the centre of the spiral he came across a large, brightly-coloured circus tent with lights strung around the perimeter. He had never been to the circus.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Django circled the tent once, making sure there wasn’t anything he was missing. There wasn’t, so he went in and immediately wished he hadn’t. There were people inside the tent. Lots of people. And they had all turned to look at him. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Ahead of him was a large, open ring surrounded by tiered seating that was rammed full of people. There were too many faces to take in any details – he noticed that some were smartly dressed, others in more outlandish attire, most did not look happy. There was a young woman standing in the centre of the ring and he realised with embarrassment that he had clearly interrupted some sort of act. She looked at him, her smile shimmering almost as much as her sparkly red dress. She was clearly waiting for him to take a seat so she could continue.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Django looked around anxiously for a space. He’d spied the one on the front row some time ago but didn’t like the idea of sitting so close – what if there was audience participation? When people started tutting he gave up the search and took the front row seat. The man next to him, a chubby, sweating gentleman in an even larger coat who appeared to be melting under the heat of the lights, gave him a knowing wink. But Django didn’t know anything.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />There was a drum roll from the shadows. Django squinted – there were shapes there. They didn’t look like human shapes, but he didn’t have time to concentrate on the band – the woman in the ring was about to perform. She took a long sword from a barrel at her side and swallowed it to the hilt. The crowd applauded. It was true that Django had never been to the circus, but he had seen this before. He watched as she withdrew the sword in one fluid movement, much to the crowd’s amazement, then chose another, longer than the first. This continued for some time but as the crowd’s interest escalated Django found himself looking towards the band again. There were long, spindly legs in silhouette against the back of the tent moving with each drum roll, like some sort of insect.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />By the time Django looked back to the ring the woman had in her hands a sword that looked to be quite clearly bigger than she was. He laughed, presuming it was a joke, but the melting man scowled at him. The crowd was silent. She lifted the sword, wavering slightly beneath its weight (was that for effect?) and slowly inserted the tip between her lips.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Django watched in awe as the sword slowly descended down through her throat, visibly widening her neck as it went. It was over sooner than he thought, the sword buried to the hilt. There was a glint of metal at the hem of her dress, between her legs. She span around, stripping off her dress as she did so and revealing that the tip of the sword had indeed emerged where Django had presumed it must have done. The crowd leapt out of their seats in approval, applauding and roaring with excitement. She turned around for them, unable to bow but clearly enjoying the applause.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />The melting man nudged Django, clearly wondering why he wasn’t applauding like the rest of them. But Django was too busy staring at the floor beneath her feet, and the deep red blood that was dripping so frequently now the sawdust was no longer soaking it up. And he wondered if there would be clowns.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Dante looked at the open briefcase, knowing that whatever was in there would be dangerous but not confident enough to act until he knew exactly what it was. The briefcase moved slightly, shunting half an inch towards the edge of the table, then back again. The smartly dressed man just watched, smiling, as he took another step back. Then something glinted as it rose out of the case and into the room.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />The thin, sharp looking knife was followed by the normal sized hand that was holding it. The hand dropped the knife onto the table and grabbed the edge of the case to pull whatever its arm was connected to up and out. The body, probably about a foot long, was dressed in brightly coloured, oversized clothes with huge shoes on its man-sized feet. Like the hands and feet, the head was also regular size in contrast with the body, maybe even larger, and perfectly round like a bowling ball. The flesh was pure white, with brightly coloured make-up smudged over the eyes.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />The teeth were perhaps the most distinguishing feature of the creature. When it opened its mouth to smile the red-painted lips stretched from ear to ear and parted to reveal a hundred or so teeth, each sharpened to a vicious looking point.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />The tiny clown picked up its knife and leapt down off the table, giggling. It waddled across the floor towards Dante, lifting the knife as if to slash at his ankles. Dante didn’t let him get that close. He aimed a kick at the oversized head and sent it flying across the room. The clown hit a wall and slid to the floor, still giggling until it landed on its head with a bump.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Dante looked to Gabriel to see if he was missing anything. Gabriel looked as confused as he did and just shrugged. Dante turned back to the smartly dressed man expecting to see him packing up the case to leave.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">But he wasn’t leaving. Another knife was emerging from the case, followed by another. There were more clowns.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">-----</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />When they were halfway through their usual set Jenny started to think that maybe they would make it through the night without incident. They were playing at their best (despite the occasional glare from Molly), the crowd seemed to be enjoying themselves (although Jenny hadn’t really given them a choice), and she hadn’t seen anything suspicious from the back of the room. It was perfectly reasonable to believe that Dante had contained the problem without any issues (he usually did).</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Then she noticed Gabriel standing at the side of the stage looking worried. She nodded at Bobby who immediately went into an over-the-top guitar solo – something she would normally never allow, which is why he leapt at the opportunity. Gabriel pulled Jenny backstage.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘He needs your help,’ said Gabriel.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Why? What is it?’ asked Jenny.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Gabriel tried to say something, then, ‘You’ll just have to come and see for yourself.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘If whatever’s back there is as bad as you’re making out you need me here. I leave the stage that crowd are going to lose interest.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Oh get over yourself, Jenny,’ exclaimed Gabriel, ‘You did your stuff, they’re hooked, let someone else have a go for a change.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘It’s not that simple. You have to ride the magic, like—‘</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Jenny stopped as she realised the song was coming to an end. The crowd had started into a slow, zombie-like applause, clearly missing her already. But there was another sound over the applause and Bobby’s wailing guitar; a sound she had never heard before as long as she had known him. Dante was screaming.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Jenny turned to and shouted to Molly.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘You’re on!’ she said, ‘Don’t fuck it up.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Molly nodded, looking excited, until Jenny added, ‘I’m serious – we can’t allow even one person out of this room. That’s up to you now.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Molly nodded again, then thought about what she would now have to do and shouted, ‘Wait! I can’t do it!’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />But Jenny had already gone, leaving Molly to staring out at the expectant crowd as Bobby came to the end of his solo. She made wild hand signals in an effort to get him to drag it out. He saw her, but thought he meant for her to stop, so he did. Laloo continued to play until she realised Bobby and Molly had both stopped, at which point she stopped too. Molly played a few notes on her bass to fill up the silence, but they only made the silence seem bigger; more oppressive.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />There were a couple of shouts from the crowd. She peered out into the darkness and saw movement among the shadows. They would start to leave soon, and then she’d really be in trouble. This wasn’t about her talent or Jenny’s ego anymore. It was bigger than that and it was all on her shoulders. So she stepped up to the mic.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />She froze. Bobby saw it and immediately waved to Laloo to start playing something, anything to draw attention away from Molly. He started to play along – it was the new song, the one Molly had written, but still she didn’t sing.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Bobby walked over to Molly, ‘Jenny got them hooked, just keep them interested.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Molly’s head nodded, but that was the most she could get her petrified body to do. Laloo and Bobby continued to play and Molly just watched as the people in the audience started to look at each other in confusion, wondering what they were doing there. Soon they would realise they didn’t have an answer, and they would leave. Molly almost wished they would get on with it – it would be over quicker that way.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The next act was a skeletal man with a parasitic twin where his penis should’ve been, although the cynic in him wondered if the entire act was simply constructed from a dead baby and a lot of staples. Just when he thought he had decided on the latter the thing started to move.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘He used to be one of mine’ said the melting man, guessing wrongly that Django was enjoying the show.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘One of your what?’ asked Django.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘One of my acts,’ replied the man holding out his hand, ‘Name’s Salo January. Call me Jan.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Django shook the sweaty hand and was horrified to find it felt as moist to the touch as it looked. Maybe he really was melting.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Django,’ he said in response.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Jan prompted him for more but Django wasn’t really sure what he meant.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘You only have one name?’ asked Jan, but before Django could respond, ‘Then you’re on the wrong side! This area is for promoters, like me. You should be over there.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Django looked where Jan was pointing. The opposite side of the tent looked even more packed full of people than this side. On closer inspection he realised the majority of the people took up at least three times as less space as the people on Jan’s side. They were mostly skinny and wearing all kinds of ill-fitting clothes that may once have been bright and colourful but were now dull and dirty. Some carried props that gave away their acts, like unicycles or spooky looking dolls or armfuls of assorted sharp objects, presumably for juggling. Others carried complex-looking engines and contraptions the use for which was often not apparent.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘I’m not one of them,’ stated Django.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘If you’re not a promoter you’re an act,’ replied Jan, ‘And you don’t have enough names to be a promoter.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Jan prodded Django’s belly, ‘You don’t have the right gear either.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Django looked back at the ring. The parasitic dead baby twin was now taking a bow. He’d been wrong on all counts – it was the man who had been dead.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘I’ve got an act,’ said Django.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘I don’t care,’ said Jan, ‘Over here, we’ve already got acts. Here comes mine now.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Django watched as the sword swallower he saw earlier squeezed passed other promoters to get to Jan.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Can I have it now?’ she asked eagerly.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Jan gave her a mischievous smile and said, ‘What happened to the finale? What happened to the rehearsal?’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />She looked ashamed, almost scared as she replied, ‘It hurt. It hurt too much.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Well I don’t know about that,’ said Jan, ‘You’ve done better.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘I thought it was great,’ said Django, but Jan shot him a disapproving look.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘I’m sorry,’ said the sword swallower, ‘I’ll try harder next time.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Jan looked at her for a moment, then nodded. Her face lit up as he opened his coat, revealing a sweaty, blubbery belly beneath. Django noticed Jan’s belly-button protruded about an inch from the flesh, forming a stiff cone of wrinkled flesh. There was some kind of fluid, purple in colour, dribbling from the end.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />The sword swallower dropped to her knees and clamped her lips around the protrusion, her eyes rolling up into her skull as she drank the purple fluid. Jan closed his coat over her, prompting Django to take another look at the crowd around him. This time he noticed that many of the obese promoters had their coats buttoned up over human-shaped bulges that bobbed up and down with a steady rhythm. He turned back to Jan slightly horrified, but Jan clearly mistook his horror for disappointment.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Okay, show me your act,’ he said, ‘I can’t help you, but if you want to show off your act go ahead - I won’t tell anyone you’re not supposed to be here.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Django didn’t want to show him his act anymore, but a couple of other promoters had turned to look at him now and he had a feeling this was a rare opportunity. He lifted his wrist to his mouth and bit into the flesh, hard. After some gnawing he drew blood and held the wrist out for the onlookers to see. A thick black jet of blood spurted a couple of feet into the air, then froze, solidified and slithered back into Django’s flesh, closing up the wound on re-entry.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />There was a moment of silence while Django tried to read the expressions of the faces around him.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Mine can do that,’ said one.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Mine too,’ said another.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Django looked to Jan, fearing the worst.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Not like that they can’t,’ said Jan, clearly astonished, ‘If you’re looking for representation...’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘I’m not,’ said Django, ‘I just want to get out of here.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Jan pointed to an exit behind him. There a promoter, much skinnier than the others, was opening his coat. A healthy looking, plump performer emerged, purple fluid running down his chin. The performer shook the withered promoter’s hand and walked out through the exit.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘That’s the only way out,’ said Jan, ‘You perform for long enough you’ll be strong enough to leave.’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />Django thought about this and decided he didn’t really have any other options. There were rules governing this world that he didn’t yet understand and he had always believed that you can’t bend or break a rule until you understand why it’s there. He did consider making a run for it, but when the slit in the tent had been pulled to one side for the performer to exit all he had seen was darkness. It was a way out of the circus but he was not convinced it was the way home. Not yet anyway.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘Fine,’ he said, ‘Then you’ll take me on?’</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br />‘I can’t possibly take on any new clients at the moment,’ said Jan, motioning towards the bobbing bulge beneath his coat, ‘But I know a man who can.’</span><br /><br />-----Chris Reganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175026345423194092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5793988087701079673.post-84387400503758226652009-05-30T10:19:00.000-07:002009-06-03T06:32:55.395-07:00The Day They Tore The Dark Room Down - Part 1 of 3<span style="font-family:verdana;">‘I still like Bathory’s Loving Trio,’ said Bobby in yet another attempt to rename the band ‘It sounds kind of dangerous--’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Dangerous like a sandwich,’ replied Jenny, beginning to regret ever challenging him to come up with a better name than hers, ‘Besides, there’s four of us.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Exactly! There are four of us!’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘That’s what I said.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Jenny looked optimistically up at the screen above the platform – still a couple of minutes until the next train, which unfortunately gave Bobby time to explain himself.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘No, see that’s what people will think it means,’ Bobby started, ‘but the trio part doesn’t refer to how many of us are in the band.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Thankfully the sound of the train roaring into the station drowned out Bobby before he could explain what exactly the trio part of his genius new band name did refer to. After an eight hour rehearsal Jenny could barely string two words together, but lack of sleep and exhaustion seemed to work the opposite way for Bobby than it did for everyone else. It wasn’t the only thing that was different about Bobby Eck.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Not having a face was a big difference. His whole head was featureless – no hair, no eyes, nose, mouth, ears…he was a surprisingly good guitar player considering he had no ears. Jenny had made him a mask out of electricity and rhythm that worked well enough for him to be seen out in public. As a result looking at Bobby was kind of like looking at someone through a camera that’s out of focus – you can see that it’s a face but you can’t quite make out any features. Luckily they lived in London, where no one looks anyone in the eyes anyway so it didn’t matter that there were no eyes to not look into.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">When they stepped onto the train Jenny realised what time it was – 6am. Laloo, their drummer, had the best rehearsal space and couldn’t be bothered lugging her drums across town anyway so they always went to her’s. Unfortunately she also lived the wrong side of the river and Jenny and Bobby often ended up heading back into the city at this time of the morning – commuter time.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The train was packed full of smartly dressed men and women in suits, some reading newspapers but most studying countless pages of stapled reports. Jenny had worked in offices – she knew how that world of money and bureaucracy worked. Some of them were probably people like her, well, like she used to be. Then again, this was the early-bird crowd – the ones who would be in the office for 7 and then wouldn’t leave until midnight. Then they’d go out on Fridays, get fucked up on coke and cocktails, spend Saturday puking blood and cum and be back at work by Sunday afternoon. That was the life.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘What do they all do?’ asked Bobby.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">It was a good question, one that Jenny had also been pondering, but did Bobby realise he’d said it out loud? The way he was leaning over the shoulder of the woman next to him to read her report suggested he did realise and he intended to get an answer.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Excuse me, what’s your job?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The woman ignored him – the first stage of the regulation response to communication on the tube. The second was turning away, then maybe she’d throw him an evil look and finally she’d move down the other end of the carriage. That was if Bobby pressed his enquiries to that point and Jenny nudged him in the hope that he wouldn’t.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Bobby turned away from the woman, but he wasn’t done. He was looking for a more responsive target. He found one – a large, burly man who looked like he’d inflate to twice his already substantial size if his shirt buttons were undone.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘You, sir. What is it that you do?’ Bobby continued.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The man just stared at Bobby, skipping stages one and two and going straight for the evils. But Bobby’s out-of-focus face confused him so he moved back a stage and turned away.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Bobby, stop,’ pleaded Jenny quietly, ‘They’re in commuter mode, you won’t get an answer.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Bobby continued to scan the faces of the commuters on the train for his next victim. One of them, a thin, handsome man in his mid-forties with a briefcase on his lap, was looking straight back at Bobby almost daring him to ask the question.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Bobby went for it, ‘How about you? What’s your job exactly?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘I’m a bricklayer,’ he said, with a straight face.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">This made Jenny laugh, mainly due to the effect on Bobby who was lost for words for the first time that day. She looked at the man more closely this time. He was good looking for his age, and seemed a little more at ease than his fellow commuters, although he clutched his briefcase between both hands as if his life was in there. Then his eye’s met her’s for an instant and she found herself thinking of Dante.</span><br /><br /><div style="FONT-FAMILY: verdana; TEXT-ALIGN: center">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The man from the council wasn’t even looking where he was going, let alone looking Dante in the eye when he told him they were tearing his nightclub down. Dante was used to this – they had been trying to clear him out ever since he signed the lease. The fact that the building was old and ugly perplexed their computers. They could do so many things with it if they were allowed.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">They were not allowed. Dante had signed an agreement that said so, and it didn’t matter that he had the only copy, that the officials who put that agreement together were long dead, that it was written in a language that was no longer recognised and referred to laws that had been in effect since the dawn of time and had been forgotten for just as long. It was an agreement signed in the blood of the earth by the blood of the earth. And if they knew what would happen if he broke that promise they would not be trying to shut him down.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘I’ll show you,’ Dante offered. Worth a try, ‘I’ll show you why we have to stay here. It’s not far.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘No, thank you,’ was the response ‘I was just supposed to give you notice, that’s all, I’m leaving now.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">As the man from the council scuttled towards the door Dante considered reaching out and grabbing him, digging his thumb and forefinger into the neck at the base of the skull and then ripping his spine out, fully intact, with the brain bobbing around on top…</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘What’s that you got there?’ asked Gabriel, lugging a stack of crates over to the door.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Dante looked at the thing in his hand that Gabriel was referring to and was rather disappointed to see the letter he had been given and not the man from the council’s spine.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘They’re knocking this place down,’ said Dante.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Again?’ Gabriel dumped the crates and snatched the letter from Dante’s hand, ‘They bloody well are too. Didn’t you show him downstairs?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘He didn’t want to see.’ Dante watched the door shut behind the man from the council, trying to convince himself this was okay, ‘Maybe we can convince the men with the machines.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Do they use machines? Don’t they just blow things up?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Dante thought for a moment.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘I honestly don’t know.’</span><br /><br /><div style="FONT-FAMILY: verdana; TEXT-ALIGN: center">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Django was up on the roof, looking out over the city, or what you could see of it from on top of the club. Technically it wasn’t even the roof of the club – it was the roof of the archive building that sat on top of the club. The long abandoned archive building that didn’t archive anything much anymore. It was a wonder they hadn’t knocked it down. So there he stood, staring across at two building sites, wondering how they worked.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">One of them wasn’t a building site anymore. It was a fully finished building now. It still had the condom of scaffolding wrapped tight, still had the odd builder wandering around on a fag break, but it was there, it was done, it was finished. It wasn’t finished yesterday, he swore it wasn’t. It had sprung rapidly into its erect state overnight, prompted by the gentle touch of…of what?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Dante wants to see you,’ Gabriel stepped up behind him and said, ‘There might be some trouble tonight.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘There’s always trouble tonight,’ replied Django, and then ‘Do you know how buildings work?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Gabriel looked at Django for a moment, considering how best to reply.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘I don’t know. It’s all pipes and wires and stuff. Go ask a builder.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Django gestured to the skyline, ‘Doesn’t it worry you that you don’t know where all this came from?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘I can see where it came from,’ said Gabriel, pointing at a couple of workers on a lunch break in the scaffolding of the unfinished structure, ‘They’re built by overweight, chain-smoking monkey-men like that lot.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘They’re not though, are they?’ argued Django, ‘I’ve been watching them. They just sit there all day, talking. Then sometimes a man in a suit comes and they pretend to move bits of scaffolding round.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Well they must work sometimes.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘I’ve never seen them build anything, and I’ve really looked. See that one?’ Django pointed at a third, brand new office building on the horizon, so new it was only out of its steel chrysalis, ‘It was a building site for weeks. No progress, nothing. Then one day I come up here and it’s all done. Finished. Just like that. As if it was built overnight. How does that happen?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Gabriel was just trying to decide if Django’s innocent curiosity was endearingly cute or just rather annoying.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘I don’t know,’ he said, deciding it used to be cute and had since become annoying, ‘All I know is that Dante needs to see you right now because there really is trouble this time.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘What kind of trouble?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘They’re knocking the place down,’ said Gabriel.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Django shrugged and turned back to the buildings. They worried him. Sometimes the city felt oppressive, with all the buildings closing in around him, new ones being put up every second. If he knew how they were built maybe he’d understand how they worked and maybe then they wouldn’t seem so terrifying in their masses.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">A thought occurred to him, ‘Do they send the same people who build the things to knock them down?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Gabriel had given up and was already heading back down into the building. Django looked back one last time at the builders. As if they knew they were being watched they had started to move bricks from one pile and stacking them somewhere else. Django hoped they didn’t have to knock the things down. It was depressing to think they might spend half their lives creating things and the other half destroying them. That’s if they even did create the things in the first place.</span><br /><br /><div style="FONT-FAMILY: verdana; TEXT-ALIGN: center">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The meeting was in full swing by the time Jenny arrived, if you can say that about three people sitting around a table in confused silence. She’d only managed to grab a couple of hours of sleep at home before Dante had called and asked her to come over early and she was not in a good mood. Jenny didn’t like getting involved in the day-to-day running of the club. Technically she was on the payroll and if she was free she worked behind the bar. But tonight she was playing a show, and when she was playing a show she liked to pretend she was just visiting The Dark Room rather than spending every waking moment in there.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">She kissed Dante on the cheek as she sat down next to him and he smiled, which made her forget all about being tired. He only smiled for her.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Django and Gabriel were sitting at the table also, Gabriel looking more tired than she was, presumably having not slept since the previous night, and Django looking as perpetually perplexed as always.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Dante handed her the letter from the council.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘They’re knocking us down,’ he said.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Is that all?’ replied Jenny, starting to get annoyed again – this better have been worth getting out of bed for, ‘They’re always knocking us down. We’re still here aren’t we?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Dante thinks they may be serious this time,’ said Gabriel.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Jenny scanned the letter. It looked serious.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">She asked the obvious question, ‘Did you show them downstairs?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘He was just the messenger,’ said Dante, ‘They’re sending their men over tonight.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Possibly with machines,’ added Gabriel, ‘We don’t really know.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘They’re coming at night?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">She checked the letter for her answer. It stated quite clearly that the building was scheduled for demolition at midnight.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘It must be a mistake,’ she decided.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘I don’t think so,’ said Dante, ‘I think maybe they’re not sending the regular crew this time. </span><span style="font-family:verdana;">We’ve been through that before. We’ve shown them what’s downstairs and they never come back. I think they’re sending something else.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Jenny thought about this for about as long it took for another, more relevant thought to replace it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘What’s this got to do with me?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">There was a moment of silence. The others seemed to be looking to Dante for the answer.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Then Gabriel said, ‘You fucked a builder once.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Jenny glared, first at Gabriel, then at the estimated source of the revelation.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘That’s not what I said,’ protested Dante, ‘I said you were once courting someone in the construction industry and perhaps he passed on some knowledge of how these things work…’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Jenny knew who he meant, but still had to think for a moment, until she had the face, then the body and then finally, ‘Barry?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Yes, Barry,’ nodded Dante, ‘Barry the builder.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘That was years ago. How do you remember stuff like that?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Did he ever say anything about knocking things down?’ asked Dante, avoiding the question, although Jenny already knew how. The fact that he had an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of her former lovers made her feel both secure in his jealousy and slightly disturbed by his possessiveness.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Gabriel was closer,’ answered Jenny, ‘We fucked once. During that fuck I never thought to ask about the exact details of his profession. Anyway, he was a builder, not a…what do they call people who demolish buildings? A demolisher?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘We don’t know,’ said Gabriel, ‘That’s why we’re presuming it’s builders what do it.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Jenny thought carefully before she said, ‘I could call him.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘You still have his number?’ asked Dante, which is exactly why Jenny thought carefully before she said it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Then Django asked, ‘What’s downstairs?’</span><br /><br /><div style="FONT-FAMILY: verdana; TEXT-ALIGN: center">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Down in the cellar Django immediately wished he hadn’t asked. He’d been down there before – Gabriel sometimes had him changing the barrels if it was quiet on the door – but he had never liked it. There was something in the dark, something alive. Worse, it felt familiar and reminded him too much of his own otherness.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Dante led Django over to the damp, brick wall at one end of the room. He snapped open his lighter and moved the flame towards a small opening in the brick, just large enough for a fist.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Put your arm in there,’ he said.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Fuck off,’ he laughed nervously, ‘You put your arm in there!’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Dante just stared at him. Django was beginning to learn that was what Dante did when he wanted something. He would stare at you, looking vaguely disappointed until the silence became unbearable. He often wondered if that was how he had convinced Jenny to be with him.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">As if catching the thought Dante changed tactics and said, ‘Just do it.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Django pushed his hand tentatively into the hole. It was wet inside and he felt something crawl over his fingers.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Go on.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Django pushed his hand in further, up to the elbow. The inside of the hole seemed to be getting more and more damp the further he pushed his arm inside. Then his fingers found something soft. He looked to Dante for approval.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Push it.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Django pushed his hand into the soft, fleshy growth inside the wall, and the wall gasped. Slowly, the bricks began to move inward, widening the opening as they did so, only stopping when it was wide enough for a man to enter. The only sound inside the black was the heavy breathing of the wall, or what lay behind it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘After you,’ said Dante.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Django stepped through the hole and into the darkness the other side. Then he stopped. There was another sound, very faint, but there all the same. It sounded like the beating of a heart.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘What is that?’ he asked.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘It’s what I needed to show you,’ replied Dante, ‘It’s the heart of the city.’</span><br /><br /><div style="FONT-FAMILY: verdana; TEXT-ALIGN: center">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Jenny had to practically hold Django’s hand as she led towards Holborn tube. And he hadn’t even seen the heart of the city. The sound of it beating had been enough.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Jesus, it’s just a big fucking heart,’ she said, ‘Like what we’ve got, only massive.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">For a moment it was like Django hadn’t heard a word she said, for more than a moment even, then finally, ‘But what’s it connected to?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Jenny looked up at the sky, at the buildings towering over them.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘All this,’ she said, ‘It’s connected to all of it.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Django also looked at the buildings.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Is that it?’ he asked, ‘Do they just grow, like people do?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Jenny had expressed some confusion at Django’s decision to accompany her on the visit to Barry the Builder, but Gabriel had helpfully explained Django’s fascination with buildings. Unlike Gabriel, she did still find Django’s lack of knowledge and therefore cynicism somewhat endearing. To a point.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">They didn’t speak again until they crowded into a packed lunchtime train, Django thinking about where buildings came from and Jenny preoccupied with thoughts of lost loves. Had she loved Barry the Builder once? Would it ever have worked out? Could she have married a builder by now and be living in a house built to order with three kids and a flatscreen TV?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Django broke the thought in two, ‘Each station is right next to the next one; in the dark, London belches dirty air and heat, rattling our carriages for its amusement before we emerge just metres away from the space we left in a place unrecognisable every time you visit.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘What’s that from?’ asked Jenny, guessing that he was quoting something.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Django look confused for a moment, then, ‘One of your songs?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Jenny shook her head, ‘I like it here.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Maybe it came from the heart,’ he suggested, then looking her in the eye, ‘Does Dante scare you?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">His childlike way of switching topics without warning never failed to confuse or unnerve her.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘He scares everyone,’ she replied.</span><br /><br /><div style="FONT-FAMILY: verdana; TEXT-ALIGN: center">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">They resurfaced at Liverpool Street and walked half a mile to the brand new office building where Barry the Builder was working. She had to call him to get him to meet them outside the site. He kept them waiting about fifteen minutes then stepped casually out through a door in a temporary wall – so overly casual it was almost as if he’d been waiting there the whole time. He had cultivated a rather dubious moustache, which made Jenny happy. He looked like he’d stepped off a porn set – far too ludicrous to qualify as an actual regret.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘This your new bloke then?’ he said, looking at Django.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Yes,’ said Jenny. It was easier that way.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Django shook Barry’s hand, looking at him in awe like a child seeing the fake shopping centre Santa Claus for the first time. What wondrous secrets you must have, he was saying with his eyes.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘We want to know how you build things,’ she said, wanting to get this over with, ‘Or more specifically, how you go about knocking things down?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Barry looked at her for a moment, then asked, ‘Do you want a tour?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Django nodded eagerly. They followed Barry inside where he showed them piles of bricks and occasionally scaffolding. They watched other builders move stacks of bricks and occasionally scaffolding from one end of the site to the other. It all looked like hard work but Django noted that he had yet to see anything actually getting built. Jenny wanted to go up higher but Barry told her it wasn’t allowed. This was fast becoming a wasted trip.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Fancy a cuppa before you go?’ asked Barry.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">One last chance, thought Jenny.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">While Barry was boiling the kettle in the portacabin Jenny discreetly searched the fridge and hid the milk in a filing cabinet. When Barry left the cabin to get more she stuck a needle into her palm and bled a little into the boiling water. Django watched, about to say something.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Shut the fuck up,’ said Jenny, ‘Don’t drink the tea and don’t say anything weird, okay?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Django nodded, as Jenny reached into her bag and added a pinch of organic matter and a few strands of glowing fibres into the mix. Then she shook the kettle like a cocktail and put it back down seconds before Barry re-entered, waving a carton of milk victoriously.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Minutes later Django was staring at his tea suspiciously, as Barry necked his. Jenny nudged Django and he tried to play along a bit more, sipping air from his mug. Jenny was chewing something that made her teeth black.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘I’m sorry, Jen,’ said Barry, ‘There’s not much I can say. You’ve seen what it’s like out there. Madness. Building, that’s what I know. Fuck knows how they knock the things down.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Barry hesitated for a moment.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Then, ‘Fuck knows how they knock the things down… Fuck knows—‘</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Jenny leant over the table and kissed him, clamping her lips over his and forcing her tongue down his throat.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Django stood up, uncomfortable, ‘I’ll leave you to it.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Jenny pulled away suddenly, a black, sticky goo stretching between her mouth and Barry’s.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Sit down,’ she said, ‘Barry wants to tell us a story.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Barry nodded. The black goo from Jenny’s mouth was evaporating into a thick grey smoke that forced its way down Barry’s throat, no doubt mingling with the contaminated tea.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Go on, Barry,’ Prompted Jenny, ‘You want to tell us what you do here all day.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Barry just sat and stared at her, or more specifically at the space over her head.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Jenny turned to Django and ordered, ‘Get him another cup of tea.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Django was about to do so when Barry said, ‘We don’t do anything.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘What do you mean?’ asked Jenny, ‘You must do something.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘You’ve seen what we do. We start late, we finish early. We move things. We go on breaks,’ he paused, then, ‘We pretend.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Jenny paused, taking this in, then asked, ‘Who builds the things then?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘We never see them,’ replied Barry, ‘We get told about a job through the post and we turn up and look like we’re busy. We all know the routine. Read a paper, smoke a couple of fags, watch the girls walk by, move a brick here and there - it’s an easy life for good money, so we don’t complain. ’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Jenny looked at Django to see if he was as perplexed and surprised as she was. He wasn’t. She turned to Barry again.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘But where did you learn the routine?’ she asked.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘We all start as apprentices. You learn the basics, moving stuff, when to have your breaks. One day you ask, “Is this all there is?” And the boss nods, and you carry on with it.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Jenny was about to continue when Django nudged her – there were more builders approaching. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Moments before the door opened she popped something that looked like a peanut into Barry’s mouth and tipped his head back. There was a sound, like air escaping from a tyre.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘You off then?’ asked Barry.</span><br /><br /><div style="FONT-FAMILY: verdana; TEXT-ALIGN: center">-----<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">As soon as they were off the site Django started straight into his questions. Only they weren’t the questions Jenny was anticipating.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Do you do that to a lot of people?’ he asked, ‘Have you ever done it to me?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘No,’ she replied, ‘It takes a lot of prep and it doesn’t work on everyone. Sometimes it makes people crazy. Barry couldn’t be crazy if he tried so I guessed it was safe.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘And you’re sure you’ve never done it to me?’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘No!’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘No, you’re not sure, or no…’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">‘Did you hear what he said? It’s all pretend! They just sit around all day and someone else builds the things.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Django considered this for a moment, then, ‘I thought that was probably the case.’</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Jenny gave up, deciding to focus instead on how she was going to explain this to Dante. All they had managed to learn was that it probably wasn’t going to be a man with a machine on his way to the club that night. It would be something else.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">-----</span>Chris Reganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175026345423194092noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5793988087701079673.post-54837409388588040822009-02-12T14:52:00.001-08:002009-02-12T15:29:12.707-08:00Enter at your own risk...<div class="scrippet"><br /><p class="action">FADE IN:</p><br /><br /><p class="sceneheader">EXT. LONDON. NIGHT.</p><br /><p class="action">Various shots of the city at night.</p><br /><p class="character">DANTE</p><p class="parenthetical">(V.O.)</p><p class="dialogue">Those of us who live in the dark have our music...</p><br /><br /><p class="sceneheader">EXT. STREETS. NIGHT.</p><br /><p class="action">Various NIGHT PEOPLE, dressed in black, are making their way along an empty street.</p><br /><p class="character">DANTE</p><p class="parenthetical">(V.O.)</p><p class="dialogue">...and sometimes we need to dance.</p><br /><p class="action">One of the Night People passes us, revealing glowing red eyes on otherwise human features.</p><br /><br /><p class="sceneheader">INT. THE DARK ROOM, MAIN ROOM. NIGHT.</p><br /><p class="action">The main room of a large, old night club. We are standing behind DANTE, a tall, thin man in his late thirties. He is always smartly dressed, always in black and rarely smiles.</p><br /><p class="character">DANTE</p><p class="parenthetical">(V.O.)</p><p class="dialogue">So I opened a nightclub over the heart of the city...</p><br /><p class="action">Dante flicks a light switch, plunging the room into darkness.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">He then flicks another switch that turns on a dozen or so dim blue lights that provide minimal illumination.</p><br /><br /><p class="sceneheader">EXT. THE DARK ROOM, ALLEYWAY. NIGHT.</p><br /><p class="action">A narrow, grubby alleyway off a busy street. There are stairs at the end of the alleyway leading down.</p><br /><p class="character">DANTE</p><p class="parenthetical">(V.O.)</p><p class="dialogue">...A place where the shadows are dark enough to hide us from the world...</p><br /><p class="action">The Night People are gathering in the alleyway, now numbering a hundred at least, with more joining them.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">There is something slightly odd about each of them - some have animal-like eyes, some have small horns, others have more outlandish mutations.</p><br /><br /><p class="sceneheader">INT. THE DARK ROOM, STAGE. NIGHT.</p><br /><p class="action">An attractive young woman in her late twenties is onstage at a piano. She is wearing a ragged black dress, her hair is streaked with red and purple, and she has an intricately detailed tattoo running the length of her right arm. This is JENNY RINGO.</p><br /><p class="character">DANTE</p><p class="parenthetical">(V.O.)</p><p class="dialogue">...and the music is loud enough to make us forget what's out there.</p><br /><p class="action">Jenny PLAYS a couple of notes on the piano, then waves her hands over the keys and the piano starts to PLAY itself.</p><br /><br /><p class="sceneheader">INT. THE DARK ROOM, BAR. NIGHT.</p><br /><p class="action">Dante walks through the bar area.</p><br /><p class="character">DANTE</p><p class="parenthetical">(V.O.)</p><p class="dialogue">We get complaints. Sometimes people like you come to shut us down.</p><br /><p class="action">The bartender, GABRIEL, is a tall, well-built viking of a man in his early forties with a mane of blonde but greying hair. He wears all black except for the large gold crucifix around his neck.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">Gabriel nods to Dante as he walks past. </p><br /><br /><p class="sceneheader">EXT. THE DARK ROOM, STEPS. NIGHT.</p><br /><p class="action">There is a door at the bottom of the steps with a queue of Night People waiting outside.</p><br /><p class="character">DANTE</p><p class="dialogue">But we have adequate signage - over the door it says 'enter at your own risk'.</p><br /><p class="action">Over the door it does indeed say 'Enter at your own risk'.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">Dante opens the door and lets the eager Night People inside.</p><br /><br /><p class="sceneheader">EXT. THE DARK ROOM, ALLEYWAY. NIGHT.</p><br /><p class="action">Dante walks into the alleyway as the last of the Night People disappear down the steps. He lights a cigarette and takes a look around.</p><br /><p class="character">DANTE</p><p class="parenthetical">(V.O.)</p><p class="dialogue">As far as I'm concerned that absolves us of everything.</p><br /><p class="sceneheader">EXT. OFFICE BUILDING. NIGHT.</p><br /><p class="action">We are outside a large office building at night.</p><br /><br /><p class="sceneheader">INT. OFFICE BUILDING, CAMILLA'S OFFICE. DAY.</p><br /><p class="action">A large, private office. CAMILLA, a smartly dressed, attractive woman in her late twenties, is sitting a desk.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">The door opens and another office worker, JESSICA, steps in.</p><br /><p class="character">JESSICA</p><p class="dialogue">Are you coming or what?</p><br /><p class="action">Camilla switches off her computer.</p><br /><p class="character">CAMILLA</p><p class="dialogue">Where's Django?</p><br /><p class="character">JESSICA</p><p class="dialogue">You didn't invite him, did you?</p><br /><p class="sceneheader">INT. GENTS TOILET. NIGHT.</p><br /><p class="action">DJANGO is staring at his reflection in the mirror. He is in his mid-twenties and wears a shirt and tie but everything is a bit scruffy and slightly out of place.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">CLOSE ON Django's reflection as the veins on his face begin to show through, only they are black and prominent.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">The visible veins spread out across his cheeks as he stares. He seems to be concentrating fiercely, trying to force the veins back into hiding.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">A door opens and a male office worker, RALPH, steps in.</p><br /><p class="character">RALPH</p><p class="dialogue">Hurry up, mate. They're all waiting!</p><br /><p class="action">Django turns around, his face suddenly normal.</p><br /><br /><p class="sceneheader">EXT. OFFICE BUILDING. NIGHT.</p><br /><p class="action">Six office workers step out of the building.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">The women are Jessica, Camilla and HELENA.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">The men are Ralph, TOBY and Django.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">They simultaneously retrieve cigarettes from shirt pockets/handbags and light up, except Camilla who plucks her cigarette from Django's mouth, which he doesn't seem to mind.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">A dozen or so OFFICE-WORKERS swarm out of the doors behind them and head off along the road.</p><br /><p class="character">TOBY</p><p class="dialogue">Ten o'clock on a Friday night and those wankers can't wait to get home.</p><br /><p class="character">HELENA</p><p class="dialogue">It's two weeks til pay day, Toby.</p><br /><p class="action">Camilla produces a credit card from her purse.</p><br /><p class="character">CAMILLA</p><p class="dialogue">And they don't have the company credit card.</p><br /><p class="action">Camilla drops her cigarette down a drain.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">We follow the cigarette down into the darkness.</p><br /><br /><p class="sceneheader">INT. SEWER. NIGHT. - CONTINUOUS</p><br /><p class="action">Still following the cigarette we descend into a complex sewer system.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">The cigarette is carried along by a stream of waste then disappears through a crack in the wall.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">We follow.</p><br /><br /><p class="sceneheader">INT. TUNNELS. NIGHT. - CONTINUOUS</p><br /><p class="action">The crack opens out into a tunnel into which a trickle of waste flows. The tunnel should be pitch black, but there is a moving light source coming from somewhere.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">We focus on the cigarette as it comes to rest against a rock.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">There is the sound of something MOVING. Behind that, there is a dull, continuous THUMP, like the beating of a heart.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">A large, arachnid leg STAMPS on the cigarette. The SPIDER-LIKE CREATURE it belongs to scurries off into the dark before we can make out any features beyond the fact it is the size of a horse.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">Then we come face to face with the lightsource - a bloated, SLUG-LIKE humanoid, with huge glowing eyes like those belonging to deep sea fish.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">We move further through the tunnels, past more CREEPING THINGS in the dark. We hear them MOVING, we see their shadows, but thankfully rarely see them face to face.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">Then we start to ascend. There is MUSIC in the distance that gets louder the closer we get to:</p><br /><br /><p class="sceneheader">INT. THE DARK ROOM, BAR. NIGHT. - CONTINUOUS</p><br /><p class="action">We emerge through a crack in the floor into the bar area of an underground night club. The music increases SHARPLY in volume as we enter the room and come to rest in view of a large sign above the bar that reads:</p><br /><p class="action">'THE DARK ROOM'</p><br /><p class="action">Gabriel hands a couple of drinks to a YOUNG GIRL who winks at him as she walks away. Gabriel isn't paying attention, more concerned with two MEN at the other end of the bar who seem to be arguing.</p><br /><br /><p class="sceneheader">INT. THE DARK ROOM, UPPER BAR. NIGHT.</p><br /><p class="action">Dante is sitting at a table overlooking the main floor of the club. There is another MAN next to him but he is in shadow.</p><br /><p class="character">DANTE</p><p class="dialogue">Sometimes regular people come in here. And sometimes they get into trouble. When they get into trouble we have to hide the bodies.</p><br /><p class="action">There is a flash of something silver moving between them.</p><br /><p class="character">DANTE</p><p class="dialogue">We have good hiding places.</p><br /><p class="sceneheader">INT. THE DARK ROOM, BAR. NIGHT.</p><br /><p class="action">A handsome, smartly dressed young man wearing a crimson suit walks behind the bar and grabs himself a drink. This is ERIC.</p><br /><p class="character">GABRIEL</p><p class="dialogue">You're not supposed to drink on duty.</p><br /><p class="character">ERIC</p><p class="dialogue">What are you going to do about it?</p><br /><p class="action">Gabriel turns away from the arguing Men at the bar for a moment to face Eric with a smile. He puts an arm around Eric's waist and pulls him in close.</p><br /><p class="character">GABRIEL</p><p class="dialogue">You'll have to wait until I get you home.</p><br /><p class="action">Gabriel and Eric kiss.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">Eric pulls away suddenly, seeing something horrifying over Gabriel's shoulder. Gabriel turns to see the two Men have come to blows. But one of them isn't a man anymore.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">The smaller of the two Men is being physically and bloodily ripped to pieces by a LARGE SPIKED CREATURE - the same Man that was there before, only now long, bone-like spikes have pushed through his flesh, which he uses to impale and dismember his SCREAMING victim.</p><br /><p class="character">GABRIEL</p><p class="dialogue">Get Dante.</p><br /><p class="character">ERIC</p><p class="dialogue">What are you going to do?</p><br /><p class="character">GABRIEL</p><p class="dialogue">Just go and get Dante, now!</p><br /><p class="action">Eric runs.</p><br /><br /><p class="sceneheader">INT. THE DARK ROOM, UPPER BAR. NIGHT.</p><br /><p class="action">Eric steps into the upstairs room. It is dark and the tables are empty except for Dante's.</p><br /><p class="character">DANTE</p><p class="dialogue">I can't let you shut us down. These people need somewhere to go.</p><br /><p class="action">Eric COUGHS and Dante leans into the light to look at him.</p><br /><p class="character">DANTE</p><p class="dialogue">Is there a problem?</p><br /><p class="action">Eric takes a step forward, then notices Dante pulling something from the throat of the other Man.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">There is a sudden, rapid spray of blood as Dante pulls out the knife.</p><br /><p class="character">ERIC</p><p class="dialogue">I'll go see Jenny.</p><br /><p class="sceneheader">INT. THE DARK ROOM, BACKSTAGE. NIGHT.</p><br /><p class="action">Jenny is standing at the stage door, peering through at the BAND coming to the end of an intro.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">Eric runs over and grabs her.</p><br /><p class="character">ERIC</p><p class="dialogue">We've got trouble at the bar.</p><br /><p class="character">JENNY</p><p class="dialogue">Fuck off, I'm on in a minute.</p><br /><p class="character">ERIC</p><p class="dialogue">Gabriel's on his own over there!</p><br /><p class="character">JENNY</p><p class="dialogue">So get Dante.</p><br /><p class="action">Eric's face drops.</p><br /><p class="character">ERIC</p><p class="dialogue">Can't you just--</p><br /><p class="action">There is a loud CHEER from the CROWD.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">Jenny blows into her hand then opens it, revealing a hovering, flaming ball of energy.</p><br /><p class="character">JENNY</p><p class="dialogue">Best I can do.</p><br /><p class="action">Jenny tosses the ball to Eric then steps through the door onto the stage.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">Eric tries to catch the ball but it burns his hands and he ends up dropping it.</p><br /><br /><p class="sceneheader">INT. THE DARK ROOM, STAGE. NIGHT.</p><br /><p class="action">Jenny picks up the mic and starts to SING along with the Band as the Crowd SCREAM their approval.</p><br /><br /><p class="sceneheader">INT. THE DARK ROOM, UPPER BAR. NIGHT.</p><br /><p class="action">Returning upstairs, Eric shuffles gingerly over to Dante's table. Dante is watching Jenny perform on stage with the Band. We can hear her SINGING.</p><br /><p class="character">ERIC</p><p class="dialogue">Excuse me...Dante? There's a problem...downstairs.</p><br /><p class="character">DANTE</p><p class="dialogue">Gabriel can handle it.</p><br /><p class="character">ERIC</p><p class="dialogue">I'm not sure that he can...and anyway it's not his job.</p><br /><p class="action">Dante stands up suddenly, making Eric jump back a few paces.</p><br /><p class="character">DANTE</p><p class="dialogue">Do you think he'll die?</p><br /><p class="action">Eric nods, getting upset.</p><br /><p class="character">DANTE</p><p class="dialogue">Promise me something. Promise me a part of you.</p><br /><p class="character">ERIC</p><p class="dialogue">I...I don't know what you mean...</p><br /><p class="character">DANTE</p><p class="dialogue">A part. Like a finger. A hand maybe? Whatever you think he's worth.</p><br /><p class="action">Eric looks at Dante, terrified.</p><br /><br /><p class="sceneheader">INT. THE DARK ROOM, BAR. NIGHT.</p><br /><p class="action">Dante and Eric enter to see an exhausted Gabriel beating the Spiked Creature's head in with a baseball bat. He is covered in bleeding gashes from the spikes.</p><br /><p class="character">DANTE</p><p class="dialogue">Looks like you get to keep it.</p><br /><p class="action">Eric just runs over to Gabriel and throws his arms around him.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">Gabriel stands up slowly and glares at Dante, tossing the baseball bat to one side.</p><br /><p class="character">GABRIEL</p><p class="dialogue">We need more security.</p><br /><p class="sceneheader">INT. COCKTAIL BAR, TOILETS. NIGHT.</p><br /><p class="action">We are inside the spotless, stylish ladies toilets at a posh cocktail bar.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">There are female GASPS of increasing volume coming from inside one of the cubicles.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">We peer over the door. Camilla SCREAMS as Django SLAMS her up against the side of the cubicle, pushing himself further inside her.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">Django's face is expressionless as Camilla thrashes around wildly, then stops, collapsing into his arms.</p><br /><br /><p class="action">Django pulls himself out and pulls up his trousers while Camilla, out of breath, reaches for her handbag.</p><br /><p class="character">CAMILLA</p><p class="dialogue">Hold out your hand.</p><br /><p class="action">Django holds out his hand perfectly straight. Camilla taps a line of coke onto the palm and SNORTS it through a twenty-pound note.</p><br /><p class="character">CAMILLA</p><p class="dialogue">Don't fucking look at me like that. You wanted this.</p><br /><p class="character">DJANGO</p><p class="dialogue">I wanted a job.</p><br /><p class="character">CAMILLA</p><p class="dialogue">This is your job now. You do want to keep it, don't you?</p><br /><p class="action">Pause.</p><br /><p class="character">CAMILLA</p><p class="dialogue">I gave you everything you begged me for and I can take it all away. Just remember that.</p><br /><p class="action">Camilla does another line then licks Django's hand clean, before sliding it between her legs.</p><br /><p class="character">CAMILLA</p><p class="dialogue">It's not all that bad is it?</p><br /><p class="action">Camilla releases Django as she steps out of the cubicle to check her appearance in the mirror.</p><br /><br /><p class="sceneheader">INT. COCKTAIL BAR. NIGHT.</p><br /><p class="action">Ralph, Helena, Toby and Jessica are sitting at a table downing cocktails. There is already an array of empties arranged in front of them.</p><br /><p class="character">RALPH</p><p class="dialogue">Where we going after this, then? The usual?</p><br /><p class="character">JESSICA</p><p class="dialogue">I'm not going to fucking Harpo's again, Ralph, I'm so fucking bored of that place.</p><br /><p class="character">TOBY</p><p class="dialogue">Where else is there?</p><br /><p class="action">Camilla arrives at that moment pulling Django along behind her by the hand.</p><br /><p class="character">CAMILLA</p><p class="dialogue">I heard of a place...</p><br /><p class="action">Camilla throws down a flier which reads 'The Dark Room'.</p><br /><br /><br /></div>Chris Reganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175026345423194092noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5793988087701079673.post-91555851727214912042009-02-12T13:43:00.000-08:002009-02-12T15:28:56.986-08:00The Dark Room...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uHxy2ZAGzjo/SZSYroUk2-I/AAAAAAAAALo/T-r5VZzPbmU/s1600-h/LondonTube.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 350px; height: 234px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uHxy2ZAGzjo/SZSYroUk2-I/AAAAAAAAALo/T-r5VZzPbmU/s400/LondonTube.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302030536647433186" border="0" /></a>Chris Reganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175026345423194092noreply@blogger.com