by Spike Black
“Stop!” Theo yelled.
The guy halted, frowning as he saw Theo holding an upside down mop out in front of him, then looked over at the washbasin. He reeled at the sight of a giant poop curled around the porcelain. “Oh my God!”
“It wasn’t me,” Theo said sheepishly.
At that moment the creature lifted its head, looking from the guy to Theo and back again.
The guy’s mouth dropped wide open. A terrible image entered Theo’s head of the creature launching into the guy’s open mouth, but instead the guy turned and ran for the door.
The poo python sprang from the washbasin and plopped onto the floor, slithering after him, leaving a brown trail in its wake.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Theo said. He grabbed a bottle from the cleaner’s cart and squirted a ribbon of bleach at the creature. The thing changed course, heading directly for him, but the bleach had got it and was eating into its body, burning a hole through the excrement.
It’s working! Theo squeezed the bottle, spraying a jet of bleach at it. The creature dodged the spray, zigzagging swiftly across the tiles. Theo squeezed again, but the bottle was empty. He threw it down and searched frantically through the cart for another bottle.
The creature advanced on him. He crouched behind the cart.
There was no more bleach, and so he improvised, throwing anything he could at it: the mop bucket, a brush, a plastic Cleaning In Progress sign. Everything missed.
Think, goddamn it, think. How do you kill a turd that is too big to flush?
Then it came to him. Of course. You break it into smaller pieces.
Theo came out of hiding, raising the upside down mop above his head. He charged the creature, bringing the mop down in a stabbing motion. The monster wriggled out of the way. Theo tried again, and missed. Giving it one more try, he successfully speared it directly through the hole that had been burned through it with the bleach.
The beast thrashed like a fish on a hook. The hole widened around the handle until the creature ripped itself in two.
Okay. It was now half the size. That should make things easier.
But no. Theo watched in horror as the newly-ripped bottom half began to wriggle independently, forming a second creature that reared up, displaying a set of sharp fangs.
Theo blinked in disbelief. Now there were two of the bastards.
***
The devil dung double team turned their heads to look at Theo, mirroring each other. The newly formed creature didn’t have corn grains for eyes like its bigger brother, but Theo knew that it didn’t matter. These things relied on their other senses, anyway.
He brandished the mop handle in both hands, adopting a defensive stance, ready for them. They pounced as one, flying through the air in perfect symmetry. He met their attack with his makeshift staff, knocking the pair of them to the floor. As they flailed, trying to right themselves, Theo grabbed a plastic bag from the cleaner’s cart. He flipped the bag inside out and wrapped it around his hand, the way he always did before picking up his little dog Rex’s poops on his morning walk.
He approached the baby brownie before it could orient itself, wrapping the bag around it. Then, in one swift movement, he flipped the bag the right way in, capturing the turd. As he lifted it, the creature wriggled, trying to fight its way out of its plastic prison. Theo tied a double knot in the top of the bag and hurled it into the waste basket.
“He scores!”
The remaining monster looked over at him as if it couldn’t believe its corn grain eyes. Theo dived for the cart, grabbing another bag, but the creature skittered away. Theo chased after it, flipping the bag and wrapping it around his hand as before, but this beast, he realized, was considerably bigger. Almost twice the size, in fact. It would never fit in the bag.
Theo had a change of plan. He ran into the stall, letting the door yawn wide, and then lifted the toilet seat with the bag still wrapped around his hand. He leapt onto the toilet bowl and turned to face out, feet precariously balanced on either side of the scum-stained rim. He would definitely have to throw these shoes away when he got home.
“Come here, you piece of shit,” he growled. “Come and get me.”
The monster slithered into sight, stopping to look at Theo crouched on the toilet. Baring its fangs, its mouth dropped open in an expression that suggested that if it had lips, it would have licked them.
It reared back. Theo held his breath.
The thing pounced.
Now. Theo jumped up onto the tank and watched as the turd sailed through the air, landing with a plop in the toilet bowl. He slammed down the lid and flushed the chain.
Dropping down onto the lid, Theo whooped with delight. When the tank had filled, he flushed the chain again - he had to make sure. Even though it was now only two-thirds of its original size, the turd was probably still too big to flush. But it was trapped now, so Theo just had to keep on flushing. It was either that or lift the lid and keep playing whack-a-mole every time it poked its head out.
Theo climbed off the toilet, knelt down and waited.
The lid thumped up, making him jump. Son of a bitch! Theo held the lid down and flushed again.
At that moment he felt a hand on his shoulder.
He gasped and turned. Peering up, his heart sank.
It was Curtis Buckner. The very last person he wanted to see.
“In the dunking position already?” Curtis asked.
Theo tried to get up, but Curtis restrained him, placing an enormous hand on the back of his neck and lifting the toilet lid.
“No!” Theo screamed.
Curtis exploded with laughter. “It’s your lucky day, dweeb, ‘cause I need to drop the kids off at the pool. So if you’re not squeezing one out, then leave.”
Theo clambered to his feet. “Trust me, Curtis, you don’t want to be in here.”
“Is that right?” Curtis grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and threw him out of the stall, slamming the door.
“Stop!” Theo yelled. “You can’t! You’ll let out the —”
“What’s that, asshole?”
Fragmented images of the dunking Theo had endured two years earlier flashed before his eyes. The revolting taste haunted the back of his throat. “Nothing.”
He heard a creak as the toilet lid was lifted. The thump as Curtis dropped his weight onto the seat.
He winced, gritting his teeth, and waited. This was not going to be pretty.
A blood-curdling scream emanated from the stall.
The door flew open. Curtis emerged, his face a mask of frozen horror, his pants around his ankles. Tears streamed down his face, and he was whimpering.
He struggled with his pants, pulling them up, and waddled, incredibly straight-legged, across the bathroom floor toward the exit. His torso twisted violently as he went, as if something was writhing around inside him.
A colon cobra, Theo thought, and Curtis Buckner was gone. He almost felt sorry for the guy.
Almost.
Theo looked around the empty bathroom. At long last, he had it all to himself. He stepped over to the line of vacant urinals and unzipped.
Closing his eyes, he exhaled and started to flow.
It was absolute heaven. He let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Thank you, shit weasel. Thank you.”
Happy Thoughts
“Are you wearing any metal?” the technician asked. “Carrying keys or change?”
Tony sat on the end of the bed, his dignity barely concealed by an ill-fitting hospital gown. “No.” He glanced over at the scanner, his guts performing somersaults, his heart thumping somewhere in his throat.
“Any metal inside your body? Pacemaker? Pins? Steel plates in your head?”
Tony chuckled, a nervous little laugh that betrayed the level of his fear far too much for his liking. “No.”
“Okay, now the machine is loud, so you’re going to want these.” The technician gave him a set of earplugs. They were orange and spongey. Tony inserted them with t
rembling fingers. “If you could lay back for me, with your head on the tray.”
Tony did as he was asked. The technician pulled a sheet over him, and then fastened a strap that restrained his arms. Next, the young man brought up the second half of the head tray and placed it over him, containing Tony’s head. The clips snapped shut like gunshots in his ears. He felt an encroaching claustrophobia, and he wasn’t even inside the machine yet. He took a deep breath, resisting the urge to tug against his restraints. How long is this torture going to last?
“It shouldn’t take any longer than thirty minutes,” the technician said, as if reading his mind.
Thirty minutes? Oh, boy. He’d hoped to be out in ten. “Is that all?”
“That’s all,” the technician replied, entirely (or perhaps intentionally) missing the sarcasm.
Suddenly the machine jerked to life, and Tony gasped. He was pulled inside the scanner. Staring up at a circle of lights, he bit his lip to subdue the panic. It’s really not that long. An episode of Fawlty Towers, that’s all. You can do it.
And then it began: a loud, rhythmic clacking sound, like a metronome inside his head. Except that it was too fast. He tried putting it out of his mind and thinking of other, happier things, but the experience of being inside the machine was all-consuming, and unrelated thought seemed impossible.
Cla-clunk cla-clunk, cla-clunk cla-clunk, cla-clunk cla-clunk…
His heartbeat, represented by a pulsing in his ears, seemed to speed up to match the rhythm of the machine’s caterwauling. His breathing, too, had quickened. But his breaths were too shallow, and he wasn’t taking in enough air. Was there even any oxygen inside this thing?
Cla-clunk cla-clunk, cla-clunk cla-clunk, cla-clunk cla-clunk…
Tony closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. But his lungs hurt, and he wheezed a little.
Oh, Jesus. Oh, God. I can’t do it. Let me out. Let me out. Let me out let me out let me out!
Tony jolted. Everything had changed.
He was still in the examination room, but no longer in the scanner. He was now upright, perched on the end of the bed. Disoriented, he rubbed his eyes. Had he passed out? That must have been it. A wave of shame washed over him.
Still, he was out, thank goodness. It was over.
“Are you wearing any metal?” the technician asked. “Carrying keys or change?”
“Pardon me?”
“Metal. Are you wearing any?”
“Well, no…”
“Any metal inside your body? Pacemaker? Pins? Steel plates in your head?”
Tony glanced back at the scanner, and then returned his attention to the technician. “Wait… didn’t we already do this?”
The technician stopped and held his look. “Do what?”
“I’m not going back in there again, am I?”
“The scanner? Yes, that’s why you’re here…”
“We’re done though, right? Aren’t we done?”
“Are you okay, Mr Stafford?”
The technician had that look of concern on his face that Tony had already grown to hate during his short stay in the hospital. He couldn’t stand the way all these young people treated him like he was a crazy old man. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. Just a little… woozy, I guess.”
“All right. Good. Now the machine is loud, so you’re going to want these.”
Tony took the orange earplugs and squashed them between his fingers, watching as the sponge expanded back into shape.
It wasn’t a dream, he suddenly thought with a rising panic. It’s not deja vu. I really have done this already.
“If you could lay back with your head on the tray.”
He did as he was told, almost as if he had no choice in the matter. Then came the sheet, the straps, the top half of the head tray. The clips snapping shut like gunshots in his ears.
The technician smiled reassuringly. “It shouldn’t—”
“—take any longer than thirty minutes,” Tony finished.
“Right.”
Yeah, he thought. I’m not so sure about that.
The machine jerked to life, pulling him inside. The circle of lights. The intense feeling of claustrophobia. Fawlty Towers. Good God. He was even having the same thoughts.
And then it began.
Again.
He braced himself.
Cla-clunk cla-clunk, cla-clunk cla-clunk, cla-clunk cla-clunk…
***
“There’s no easy way to say this, Mr Stafford.” The doctor stared at him from across the desk, his beady eyes peering out from beneath bushy eyebrows. “I’m just going to be blunt. You have what’s called a pituitary adenoma.”
Tony looked at him blankly.
“It’s a type of brain tumor.”
Tony nodded slowly as he processed the news. Inside, his guts were churning. “Does it have any… unusual side effects?”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes.”
The doctor paused before continuing. “Well, standard symptoms include seizures, severe headaches, memory loss, drowsiness. Blurred vision.”
“Hallucinations, maybe? Intense feelings of deja vu?”
“It’s possible. Look, Anthony…”
“Tony, please.”
“You have to know something. I’m afraid it’s a high-grade tumor. It has spread to other parts of your brain.”
Tony stiffened. The back of his throat hurt. It took a moment to get the words out. “How… how long?”
“Well, it’s difficult to know, exactly…”
“Look, doc, you said you’d be blunt. How long? Six months?”
The doctor took a breath. “Considerably less, I’m afraid.”
Tony’s breaths were shallow again, and he was hot. Almost unbearably so. He felt winded. Claustrophobic. He needed to get out of the tiny office. He moved to get up and stumbled, falling to his knees.
Happy thoughts. Calm yourself. Think happy thoughts…
The doctor leapt to his feet and moved around the desk. “My goodness, Tony, are you all right? Stay with me. Stay with me, Tony…”
The doctor’s voice became distant. Echoing. Reality melted away before Tony’s eyes and in a flash he was… elsewhere. On the terrace of a country house. It was a beautiful summer’s evening. He heard the throb of distant music. And then, with a gasp, he realized what had happened.
He was there. The Eldham Estate. The place he had been thinking of when he… shifted? He didn’t know quite what to call it. He looked down at himself. He was slim, his arms muscular, his hands no longer ravaged by arthritis. He was himself, thirty-three years earlier, and he felt amazing.
He had been invited to the wedding of Trevor and Hayley, close friends who, it had turned out, would no longer be married a few months further down the line. But it was here, on their big day, that Tony had met her. Penny Milton. Pale, petite, perfect Penny.
And tonight had been the night. His first time.
He had asked her to dance. Can’t Take My Eyes Off You by Frankie Valli. Meet me on the terrace, he had whispered to her as the song finished. And here she came, around the side of the building, breathtaking in her silk bridesmaid’s dress. A vision in violet. Even more beautiful than he remembered.
A smile lit up her face as she saw him. His heart fluttered.
He felt an odd pang of nerves as he realized that he was about to relive the best moment of his life. Oh, there had been many, many others throughout the years. But Penny was special, of course, because she was the first. And you never forgot your first time.
Suddenly a bright white light sparked in his vision, blinding him. This wasn’t a part that he recalled. He blinked, struggling to regain his sight, and stumbled. He fell into a bramble bush, the vicious thorns scraping his arm, and cried out in pain.
Tony. Listen to me. Come back to me, Tony…
The white light. A snap of fingers.
“Tony. Come back to me, Tony…”
The doctor was leaning over him, shining a pe
n light in his eyes. “Ah, there you are,” he said. “Where did you go? I lost you for a minute.”
I saw her. I was there. She smiled… As the haze of disorientation cleared, Tony registered the doctor’s words. “Wait… I was right here, the whole time?”
“You were catatonic. Clearly a symptom of the tumor.”
Tony was distracted by a sharp, stinging pain. He looked down.
There was a scratch wound on his arm, and the blood around it was fresh.
***
On the long walk back to his apartment, Tony thought only of Penny Milton. Why had the time jumps been so random? And how could he get back there to be with her again? Her delicate features flashed before his eyes as he walked. He was so distracted that, a mere ten feet from the steps to his apartment block, he bumped into someone.
“Very sorry,” he said, glancing up. “I do apologize.”
A bald brute glared back at him, a dotted line tattooed across his thick neck with the words CUT HERE in the center. “Hey, you want a piece of me, old man?”
Tony backed off, holding up his hands, but the guy pushed him anyway. “So sorry,” Tony said.
“Do you? Huh? You want a piece of me?”
“No. It won’t happen again.”
The guy brushed himself down. “Be careful, old timer.”
Tony nodded, hurrying on his way. He raced up the steps, his heart pounding against his rib cage as he entered the building. His legs ached as he ascended the stairs, thinking once again of Penny Milton, and how he could get back there to her. It had to be the tumor that was causing the time shifts. But how?
And then he realized: happy thoughts.
When it had first happened, during the MRI scan, he had been thinking about the scan itself, and how terrifying it had been. The second time, in the doctor’s office, he had forced himself to think happy thoughts after receiving news of the tumor, and that’s when he had traveled back to Penny.
But what was the common thread? Why had he traveled through time on those occasions, and not any other? He stopped on the staircase as it came to him: they had both been moments of high stress. Suddenly he knew how to get back to Penny. He turned around and descended the stairs.
