by Adele Abbott
Whoops!
Our New Flatmate
Is A Human
Published by Implode Publishing Ltd
© Implode Publishing Ltd 2016
The right of Adele Abbott to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved, worldwide. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, dead or alive, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 1
“You must be the new girl.” The man perched on Susan Hall’s desk had a comb-over and bad breath.
“And you are?” She pushed her chair back in an attempt to get out of halitosis range.
“Dougal Andrews.”
“I thought so.”
“You’ve heard of me, then?” He smiled a nicotine smile. “Nice to know my reputation precedes me. How are you settling in?”
“So far, so good.” She checked her watch. “But then it is only ten past nine, and this is my first day.”
“A bunch of us usually go to the Walrus and Hammer at lunchtime. Why don’t you join us? We could do with a pretty face.”
Susan wasn’t about to argue with that sentiment. Dougal Andrews could definitely have done with a prettier face.
“Thanks, but I’ll have to pass. I’m not much of a drinker.”
“That’ll soon change, after you’ve been here a few weeks.” He grinned. “What are you working on?”
“Nothing much.” She clicked the mouse to minimise the window on her computer screen. “I’ve got a meeting with the boss in five minutes.”
“The boss? You mean Fat Freddy? I wouldn’t take much notice of him. We’re the ones who keep this boat afloat.”
“We?”
“Me and the other reporters. If it wasn’t for us, this place would have sunk years ago.”
“Interesting.” She stood up, hoping that he’d take the hint.
“Yeah. So, like I said, we’ll be in the Walrus from about midday. Try and make it. You’ll brighten the place up.”
Susan watched Dougal saunter back to his desk, cracking jokes with his male colleagues as he went. She couldn’t hear what he said, but would have bet her first month’s salary that she was the butt of them. She felt a little dirty, but wasn’t sure if that was the result of her encounter with Dougal, or the shower in that flea-pit of a motel she was holed up in. It had been on the blink that morning. Again.
***
“Mr Flynn?” Susan knocked on the already open door.
“Come in. Push the door closed behind you, would you?” He waited until the door clicked to. “Please call me Flynn.”
“Sure.”
“I see you’ve met Dougal Andrews.”
“Just now.”
“He’s one of the reasons I hired you. The other reasons will be with him in the Walrus at lunchtime.”
“He invited me to join them for a drink.”
“What did you say?”
“That I don’t drink.”
“You’re teetotal?”
“No. I just don’t drink with men like Dougal Andrews.”
“I inherited this crowd of no-hopers.” He gestured to the outer office. “My predecessor had very low standards when it came to recruitment criteria. If they could spell their name, and were prepared to stand him a drink, he’d hire them. You’re my first recruit, and hopefully the foundation of the new Bugle. To tell you the truth, I was a little surprised when you accepted the job offer.”
“I like a challenge.”
“Just as well because the future of this newspaper may well depend on our ability to turn it around.”
“No pressure, then?”
“There’ll be lots of pressure. That much I can promise you. Pressure from me, pressure from the new owners who want this newspaper’s reputation restored, and pressure from Dougal and his drinking buddies who will do everything they can to resist change. Think you’re up to it?”
“I’ll give it my best shot.”
As Susan made her way back to her desk, one of the other reporters stood up, and deliberately blocked her way. The man was fat, ugly, and had sweat patches under both of his arms. A real catch.
“While you’re on your feet, why don’t you make me a cup of tea.” He held out a mug which was already stained brown. “I like plenty of milk and a couple of sugars. Oh, and check if we’ve got any biscuits. If not, be a good girl and nip to the shop next door to buy some digestives.”
“If you want a cup of tea, I suggest you make one yourself. I’m not here to make drinks for you or anyone else. Now, if you wouldn’t mind getting out of my way.”
The man stepped to one side, but left only just enough room for her to squeeze past. As she did, he gave her a light tap on her backside.
Susan spun around, grabbed his arm, pushed it up his back, and slammed him face down onto the desk.
“Let me go!”
“If you ever lay another finger on me, I will rip off your hands, and feed them to you. Do you understand?”
“Okay. Okay. It was only a joke. Let me go! That hurts.”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. Let me go. Please!”
When she released her grip, there were tears in the man’s eyes, and his nose was running. As she made her way back to her desk, her heart was racing. Behind her, she could hear a dozen whispering voices.
This was going to be a very long week.
Later that morning, she was in the ladies’ room when another young woman came in. Susan had noticed her earlier, sitting at the far end of the office. Her red hair was in a bob, and she looked as though she’d have trouble saying boo to a goose.
“Hi.” Susan smiled. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“Stella. Stella Yates.”
“I’m Susan Hall.”
“Yes, I know. I hope you don’t mind my saying, but I thought what you did out there was fantastic.”
“You mean to the fat guy?”
“Yeah. That’s Bob Bragg. He’s been asking for that for ages. Where did you learn that stuff?”
“I have three older brothers. Two of them are into martial arts; the other is a boxer. I did both—just so I could kick all of their asses. What do you do here, Stella?”
“I’m one of the admin assistants, but really I’m just a dogsbody—like all the other women in this office. The men think we’re only here to make tea and coffee, and run their errands. I wouldn’t mind so much if they would just ask nicely. And, they’re always trying it on like Bob did with you.”
“You shouldn’t put up with it.”
“I know, but I can’t afford to lose this job.”
“If anyone does anything like that to you again, come and talk to me.”
“I don’t want to get into trouble.”
“You won’t. I promise. Just come and tell me, and I’ll sort it.”
***
“Can you tell me who looks after the classified ads?” Susan said.
She was on the floor above her own—in advertising sales. The huge room, which was much noisier than the newsroom, was a hive of activity as the sales team made phone call after phone call in a desperate bid to hit their target, and make that month’s bonus. It was a certain breed of person who sold display ads. Susan had encountered them before in her previous job. The men all had slicked-back hair, and used way too much aftershave. The women spent half their bonus on makeup.
“You want Carly.” The man pointed to a desk in the far corner of the room.
As Susan zigzagged her way through the rows of desks, her senses were assaulted by a dozen different perfumes and aftershaves.
“Carly?”
The woman looked up from her computer screen. Carly was a mouse in an office full of hungry cats.
“Yes?”
“I’m Susan Hall. I’ve just started here today.”
“Oh, hi. I didn’t know they were taking on any more sales people.”
“I’m actually a reporter—from the floor below.”
“Oh, right. I wouldn’t like to work with that lot downstairs. This crowd are bad enough, but at least they keep their hands to themselves. Most of them anyway.”
“I wanted to ask you a favour.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m living out of a suitcase in a motel just outside of Washbridge. I desperately need to find a flat-share, but every time I see something that looks even half decent, it’s already been snapped up. I was just wondering if you could give me the nod if you get any flat-share ads. That way, I can get the jump on them before they’re published.”
“Of course. What’s your extension number?”
***
When Susan had been interviewed for the job by Flynn, he’d told her that he wanted someone who could bring in the ‘big’ stories. The Bugle had a reputation, which stretched far beyond Washbridge, for being a sleazy rag not much better than the average gossip magazine. When its new owners had taken control, one of the first things they had done was to sack the previous editor-in-chief. Flynn, who had built a solid reputation at a publication in the north, had been their first appointment; Susan was his. There were many reasons why she’d taken the job, some of which she hadn’t shared with Flynn. The challenge of bringing in the ‘big’ stories had certainly been a major draw. Now all she had to do was deliver.
“Hey, Suzy!” Dougal called from down the office. “There’s someone here who’d like a word with you.”
Dougal walked a woman across the room to Susan’s desk.
“There you go, Margie. This young lady will look after you from now on, won’t you Suzy?”
Susan could tell by the smirk on Dougal’s face that she wasn’t going to like this, but she offered the woman a chair.
“Hi, I’m Susan Hall. Dougal said you were Margie?”
“Margie Redflower.”
“Is there something I can help you with, Margie?”
“It’s the usual.”
Susan glanced down the room. Dougal, Bob and three other men were congregated by the water cooler. They were all looking her way, and laughing.
“What exactly is the ‘usual’? I only started here today, so I—”
“The wizards.”
“Wizards?”
“And witches.”
“Witches?”
“And all the others.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not sure I follow.”
“I’ve told him all this before.” She pointed to Dougal, who was clearly enjoying Susan’s predicament. “But he hasn’t done anything about it.”
They’d had their fair share of nutjobs at Susan’s previous newspaper. The tinfoil hat brigade with their conspiracy theories and UFO sightings. It looked like Dougal had passed on Washbridge’s version to her.
“I’m not familiar with your story, Margie. Maybe you should start at the beginning.”
“My husband, Gary, disappeared two years ago. They took him.”
“They?”
“Rogue Retrievers. That’s what Gary used to call them.”
“Rogue what?”
“Retrievers. They’re from Candlefield.”
“Is that close by?” Susan had thought she knew all the local towns and villages.
“It’s in the supernatural world.”
It was at precisely that moment that Susan decided she was going to have a serious talk to Dougal Andrews after she’d managed to get rid of crazy Margie.
“The Rogue Retrievers are sent to take back sups who have broken the rules.”
“Sorry? Did you say sups?”
“Yes—supernaturals.” Margie sighed, obviously exasperated at having to explain the whole thing again. “They took Gary back.”
“To Candlefield?”
“Yes. Because he’d told me he was a wizard. That’s why they did it.”
“When did he tell you? That he was a wizard, I mean?”
“A few years after we were married. But I’d already guessed something wasn’t right before then.”
“How do you mean?”
“I’d caught him doing magic.”
“Card tricks? That sort of thing?”
“No. Real magic. One day, he turned next door’s dog into a statue because it was making too much noise.”
“And you actually saw this?”
“Yes. He didn’t know I was there. He turned it straight back, but I’d already seen it.”
“Right. And, you haven’t seen Gary since he was—err—retrieved?”
“That’s right.”
“What about the police?”
“They reckon he must have left of his own accord.”
“Did you tell them about the—err—wizard thing?”
“Of course, but they just think I’m crazy. Everyone does.”
“Right.”
“What about you? Do you think I’m crazy too?”
“I’d like to think I have an open-mind.”
“Will you look into it? This could be a big story.”
And probably the last one she’d ever write. “I’ll certainly give it some serious thought, but it is my first day in the job, so it might be a while before I get around to it.”
“I can bring you up to speed, if you like. I’ve got lots more information.”
“Why don’t you leave me your contact details, so I can get in touch with you?” Susan pushed a notepad and pen across the desk.
“This is big,” Margie said, after she’d scribbled down her address and phone number.
“I can see that. I’ll be in touch.”
Before Margie was even out of the office, Dougal was standing at Susan’s desk. “No need to thank me for the scoop.”
“She needs professional help.” Susan slid the notepad into the top drawer of her desk. “How long has she been coming in here with that same story?”
“Every month for the last two years.” Dougal laughed. “It’s good of you to offer to take it on.”
Chapter 2
“Charlie!” Dorothy shouted from the kitchen area of the open-plan apartment.
“What? I’m busy.”
“Come here.”
Charlie hauled his huge frame off the sofa, and dragged himself over to where Dorothy was standing. “What’s up?”
“Have you seen my blood?”
“Only that time when you’d been shaving your legs, and nicked one of them.”
“Not that blood. I mean my synthetic blood. The stuff I drink. Are you even awake?”
“Not really. It was a full moon last night, remember?”
“Oh yeah. Sorry. Late night for you, I guess?”
“Yeah. Very.”
“I pu
t two litres of blood in here yesterday, but it’s disappeared.”
“Morning.” Neil was wearing his Doobysaurus dressing gown and matching slippers.
“Neil, have you seen my blood?”
“Only that time you’d been shaving your legs, and—”
“She means the stuff she drinks,” Charlie said.
“Oh, right. Yeah, I put it in the bread bin.”
“In the bread bin?” Dorothy shook her head in disbelief. “Why?”
“None of us eats bread, so it was just standing empty.”
“I don’t mean why did you put it in the bread bin. I mean why did you take it out of the fridge in the first place?”
“It turns my stomach. Every time I open the fridge door—there it is. It put me right off my porridge yesterday.”
“I thought we’d agreed.” Dorothy sighed. “The top shelf of the fridge is Charlie’s, the bottom shelf is yours, and the middle shelf is mine!”
“We did. But that was only for food. Not for—” He pulled a face. “You know—”
“You’re allowed to say the word. It won’t kill you. B-L-O-O-D. Blood!”
“Blood, yeah.” Neil shuddered. “But, like I said, the fridge is just for food.”
“That is my food.”
“It’s not really food though, is it? Not like fish and chips, or steak and onion pie?”
“It’s real food to me. If I don’t get a regular supply, I’ll die.”
“Aren’t you dead already?”
“No—yes—well—sort of. But what does that matter? It doesn’t give you the right to mess with my meals. If it makes you feel so queasy, why don’t you cast a spell so you can’t see it?”
“It’s not like I threw it out. It’s right there—in the bread bin.”
“It’s no good to me in there. I like my blood served cold.”
“What we need,” Charlie interrupted. “Is another fridge. One for food, and one for—err—other stuff.”
“And who’s going to pay for that?” Dorothy turned on him. “Not me. Have you forgotten we’re six days late with this month’s rent?”
“Ten.” Charlie yawned. “It was due on the fifth. It’s the fifteenth today.”
Dorothy walked over to the bread bin, took out the two bottles of synthetic blood, and put them on the middle shelf of the fridge.
