Day 261: Watch three spectators at a ball game and describe each one as a different animal.

A bear, a wolf and a serpent were in the crowd the day the Mad Dragons lost to the Spartans.

The bear, a man who towered above the other two, held their drinks and scoffed down food as if it were going out of fashion. A hot dog, a burger, crisps, all disappearing in due cause into the churning maw of his mouth. Watching him fight his way through to seat 15-H in the South Stand was like watching toothpaste leaving the tube, a very large mass squeezing through a very small space.

I watched one man spill his drink as the bulk passed him, something that man immediately wanted to have rectified. I watched him turn, see what had actually caused him to spill his drink, then swiftly face forward again in the hope that the walking mountain clad in a band t-shirt wouldn’t notice him. He sipped gently at the dregs of his drink, a look of abject sadness crossing his face, before sitting back down.

The wolf came next, a grizzled man wearing a black eye-patch over his left eye. His armour of choice was a black leather jacket, though I doubted he had ever even sat on a motorcycle. I actually passed him on the way to get a drink of my own and raised my hand to say hello. He growled, baring pointed canines and stained incisors in a grimace of anger.

I swiftly put my hand back down.

As he moved through the crowds towards his seat, the bear nodded to say hello then passed him a pint of lager. The pint was snatched from the bear’s hand, sunk in one large gulp, then thrown at a man a few rows ahead.

Even so, these men weren’t actually scary until the serpent came along. A small man in a shiny suit, thin as a rake and almost as sharp, he slithered through the crowd, leaving a trail of people behind him that all felt as if they suddenly needed to cleanse themselves. When I saw him, he was in furtive conversation with the wolf and the bear, the wolf getting angry and shouting and the bear simply sitting behind them, piling food into his face and nodding occasionally.

These three men were out to cause trouble.

The Idiot in Tin Foil

Day 260: Suddenly, you can hear everyone’s thoughts, and you are shocked by what they think about you. Write their thoughts.

God, I wish that guy would stop staring at me. Fucking creep. 

I blinked and brought myself back into the room. I’ve been suffering from a tendency to zone out for a while now, staring off into space like it’s sucking me in. Somebody’s sat at the table across from me now. I’m sure they weren’t there when I started my daydream… Ah well. I smiled awkwardly and went back to my flat white.

Urgh, what was I thinking coming here? Full of weirdos. 

I looked up again, but the girl across from me was staring intently at her hot chocolate, watching the marshmallows swirl as she stirred it.

I should have just waited at the station. 

“You’re waiting for a train?” I asked. She glanced up, glared at me with fierce brown eyes, then went back to her hot chocolate. I was confused as anything. I swear that she’d been talking to me.

Why is it that every time I go to a coffee shop, somebody has to talk to me when I just want to read my book? 

“Sorry.”

“Excuse me, can I help you?” The barista has come across, a smile plastered across her face but not quite reaching her eyes. “All done with these?” She stretched a hand toward my cup and I nodded, afraid of speaking to anybody else.

He’d be kind of cute if he talked. Oh well, just another hour. 

“You think I’m cute?” I blurted out. Her face went a deep crimson and she scuttled away with her new prizes.

“What the hell is going on?” I said to myself, looking out the window into the dreary, crowded street. That’s when the hubbub rose like a tsunami.

Bloody rain. 

Should I get a coffee, I will get a coffee. No, I said I wouldn’t. 

WHY IS WORK SO FAR?

I’m going to kill her. 

That one caught my eye. Well, ear. I tried to work out who’d said it but the fragments were coming thick and fast. It was almost painful, the overwhelming nature of the sentences, the emotions behind them building and building until everything went black. I hear myself say the words “Someone’s going to die.” Then I don’t remember much.

He’s a lot less cute when he’s unconscious. 

 

The Idiot in Tin Foil

Day 259: Write down everything you can remember about your algebra teacher

She was deaf in one ear and had straight black hair.

Oh, I’m sure there were other things. I’m fairly sure that she had blue eyes and that she got married at some point shortly after I’d finished school, but those are the two things that really stuck with me.

Her deafness came from a piercing through the strange nubby bit by the actual hole of her ear, the tragus. I’m told that they used a piercing gun, something that you’re not supposed to do with that area of the ear because surprise, surprise, you can end up deaf in one ear.

What worries me most is the fact that this was only eight years ago, but that’s all I can really remember about her. It’s amazing how memory fades so fast. How much everything changes over eight short years…

Ah well. At least I can remember all of the words to Hakuna Matata and other such important things.

The Idiot in Tin Foil

Day 258: Polite dinner conversation isn’t supposed to include religion, politics or money. Write a scene at the dinner table where one or more of these topics is discussed.

The shark’s dead black eyes stared out at the assembled guests, deep and accusing from its prominent position as a centerpiece. Mina looked across the table at the grotesque man before her and shuddered. Why Calvin had insisted on inviting this fool, she’d never know, but for now she’d have to keep her spirits up and try to stop imagining his grisly murder.

Her current favourite was the idea of removing his eyes with a salad fork, with feeding him slowly to sharks as a close second. She plastered a false smile onto her face, then tuned back in.

“And sho,” the fat man said, food falling from the sides of his mouth and quickly being scooped up in his podgy fingers for a second attempt at eating, “the war ish coming to Karlin. All because the Merkian King rejected Jarl Halvard’s girl Eila. I can’t shee why.” He gronfed his food, a term Mina made up to describe the noise as she was fairly certain existing words couldn’t cover the horror, and finally swallowed. “She’s a fine piece of work. Shame she’s a goddamn Sisterine.”

“Harold!” The fat man’s wife, who almost as grotesque in the completely opposite way, stick thin with translucent skin stretched over aged bones. “You shouldn’t say such things in front of our hosts.” She turned to Mina, saying, “I do apologise for my husband. He does get carried away, especially after a few glasses of wine.” It was as if she thought it would make it all better.

It didn’t. Mina glanced at her husband who was sipping his brandy quietly, the lines around his eyes drawn taut by the smile he was barely suppressing. “Now, Harold, you mustn’t feel that we are trying to keep you quiet. The Jarl’s daughter has joined with the Sisters?” Mina asked, probing for more information. She’d been looking for an entrance to meet with the Sisters for a while and this could be her chance. She’d known Eila for years, corresponded with her about the foreign king.

“Aye, girl. Eila Halvard is one of the newest members of the Sisters of Mercy. Sworn off men completely, I’m told. Go around helping the poor, claiming to be touched by the gods. They’re definitely touched. I tell you, if I get much more capital I’ll start my own religion to get back at them. Just need a couple more major contracts then you’ll see it!” He slammed a hand onto the table, causing his wife to jump. “Haroldism! The one true path.”

His wife slapped him painfully across the arm. “You shouldn’t go saying things like that. There’s one true god and he will lead as he always has. His name,” she prodded him viciously with a bony finger with each word. “Is not Harold Montague.”

“Say, Harold,” Calvin said, a rich low tone that was like chocolate running into your ears, “how do you fancy coming with me into the den? You know what they say about discussing business at the dinner table. Shouldn’t do it. Along with some other stuff…” He raised a hand and pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Still, nothing important, I’m sure. Mina, darling,” he looked towards his young wife with her fake smile and eyes that screamed for help, “You’re happy to entertain Clarissa?”

Mina nodded, screaming internally. She was definitely not happy to entertain this walking skeleton, but by the time she’d found an argument she could say, the men had retired. “So, Clarissa,” she said, her mind casting long and hard for something to talk about, “how are your boys?”

The Idiot in Tin Foil

Day 257: The one thing you’re most ashamed of.

I had potential and I squandered it. All through secondary school, I was one of the cleverest kids in the classroom and so I could coast and still get good grades. After that it was on to sixth form where I also chose to coast. What did I have to lose, after all? Nothing. The grades came easily, good enough to get where I wanted to go to university so what was the point in pushing for anything more?

Then I went to uni and it all seemed the same. I went to lectures where they taught the same thing as A-Levels and I thought to myself ‘This is easy.” I was right. So once more, I decided that I could coast.

Then second year rolled around. I assumed it would be much the same as first year, with everything falling neatly into place and minimal studying time to interrupt my fun. I was wrong.

I managed not to fail that year, but it did cause me trouble. All of a sudden I wasn’t the cleverest person in the room, I was the one begging for scraps at everybody else’s academic table. I was lost, confused and as such my work went downhill again in third year. The same third year that I had to repeat.

I managed to claw my way through my second attempt at third year. Somehow, I came out with a degree. But it wasn’t without realising that I wasn’t the best in the room and that I wasn’t alone.

I dug myself a deep hole over my time at university. I’m not saying that I regret going, as a lot of good things came from it, but I have certainly put myself onto the back foot for my life to come.

On the positive side, I’m getting out of the hole. I’m on my way out of it and the sky has never looked so expansive. The future is wide open and mine for the taking.

All of this is true. It has taken me quite some time to accept these things, but now I’m getting there. Only with the tireless help of my family and friends, but I’m getting there.

So if you’re struggling with anything, drop me an email. I’ll listen and I’ll respond as best I can. I make no promises and I don’t pretend to be a counsellor, but if you just want to get things off your chest I’ll listen. 

The Idiot in Tin Foil

Day 256: Your grandmother gave you a book that you refuse to read. What’s the book? Write a thank-you note to your grandmother pretending you read it.

Hi Gran,

I just wanted to say thank you for your diaries. I know it meant a lot to you and as such parting with it must have hurt. You’ve told me so many of the stories inside, I couldn’t wait to delve right in and read some more. 

I loved your adventures in school. All of them, from sneaking out to see the boys at St Thomas’ to scaring the teachers with the broom and the nightgown. It was so lovely seeing them written down as opposed to just hearing you tell them. You have a gift as a storyteller. 

Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that it’s appreciated. 

Kind regards,

Thomas

Thomas put down his pen and looked at the books. A slim stack of school exercise books, perhaps twelve of them in total, sitting on his bed. “What did she give them to me for?” He asked the empty room. “She knows I hated her stories, I’m sure.”

His phone began to buzz insistently, causing the desk to shake. The display, when he opened it, revealed his mother’s number. He sighed, then hit the green button to take the call. “Thomas? Are you there?”

“Yes. What’s up?”

“Can’t a mother call her son to see how he’s getting on out in the big bad world?” Her tinny voice sounded excited, just as it always did when she was working her way through the formalities before getting to her point. “Just fancied a chat with you, what with you being halfway across the country. Are you making friends?”

Thomas stared out of the window longingly. There was a group of guys kicking a ball around on the green, laughing and joking with each other. It wasn’t really his thing, but he was jealous of the group. All he wanted was some companionship and instead? He got more work. “Yeah, I am. I’m meeting up with some of them later.”

“That’s wonderful! Anyway, I just called to let you know that your Gran’s here! She’s going to be staying a few weeks and it would be lovely if you could get home. Tell you what, I’ll just put her on. Maggie! Maggie!”

“No, Mum, don’t… Urgh.” His mother’s voice became distant as she left him behind in search of the old woman. The last thing he wanted was to speak to the doddery old fart.

“Thomas? Is that you?” Gran’s voice came through loud and clear as she yelled at the phone. “Yes, thank you Phillipa. I’m fine. I’m fine!”

“Hello, Gran.” He looked at his watch, then over at his computer. Tempting Fate should have downloaded by now, but he couldn’t go over there until he’d gotten rid of Gran. The curse of a family out of touch with technology means that hand-me-downs had cords. “How are you? Have you got your hearing aids in?”

“Yes! Come home soon. Now,” here Gran’s voice dropped low as if she were telling a secret, “Have you read the diaries?”

“Yes, actually.” Thomas’ hand began to shake as he lied. “I loved the part about your school adventures, I’ve even said so in my thank you.”

“Pah! I told you about my school adventures so you wouldn’t have to read them. Idiot boy. Read the books! Then come home. And don’t lie to me. I’ll know.” She began to yell again, returning to the odd world of Gran the doddery. “Phillipa! How do I hang up?”

Thomas looked down at the blinking phone, the message CALL ENDED printed across its screen. “How bizarre,” he said.

He plucked the note from the desk, sighing as he did so. He’d really put thought into that lie and it turned out to be useless. His grey eyes scanned the page one last time before he tore it in half. Then again. Once more. The pieces began to fall to the ground, fluttering like autumn leaves.

As the last piece fell, he stopped to consider the call. Gran had sounded far more with it than she’d sounded for years. What the hell was in the diaries?

He would have to find out. He sat down at his desk with the first diary in his hand, fingers itching towards turning on the screen and ignoring the whole phone call. But as always, he fought the urge and began to read.

18th June 1961

If you are reading this, then it’s coming back. The world as you know it is not what it appears. I’m sorry, whoever you are, but even by reading these words… You’re in. I’m sorry. I can only hope that my words in this book will stop these troubles from repeating. If not, at least it will provide you with ammunition in the war to come. 

As I said, I’m sorry.

Maggie Morello, Grade III

The Idiot in Tin Foil

Day 255: What can happen in a second?

Don’t blink.

You’ll miss it.

You think that you’re safe, where you are? You’re sat at your desk staring at your computer screen, or perhaps you’re looking at your phone on a crowded train.

It doesn’t matter. You’re in your space and you feel safe. But even then.

Don’t blink. You’ll miss it.

You can feel yourself getting uncomfortable as you read these words, as if there’s something just on the edge of your vision trying to edge its way in. You turn to your left and right, but see nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps you think you hear a faint swishing, like a curtain being drawn, but when you go to check there’s nothing there.

Feel free to check again. I’ll wait.

Are you done? You’ve found nothing waiting for you, so you’ve returned to your screen to read my words. Have you figured out what they mean yet? It’s fine if you haven’t but don’t blink.

You’ll miss it.

There it is again, the swishing sound. Perhaps it’s your imagination, being fuelled by the words you read on the screen. That is the purpose of writing after all, to create an image in another’s head, to let it breed and multiply until that image is all that they can see, keeping them turning the page or scrolling down the screen.

But what if it’s not? What if it’s something that you just can’t see? It’s trying to evade you, moving so fast that it’s barely a blur. It zips past you like a bullet, so small that you barely feel that rush of air. Now you’re sure there’s something there, something watching. But what does it want?

You can’t blink.

You’ll miss it.

It’s getting closer now, but does it come as friend or foe? Is it even alive? Is it controlled by something else? Your heart begins to beat quicker as your mind runs through all the possibilities, everything ranging from the supernatural to the mundane. Your breath speeds up to match, striving not to be outdone by your heart. your eyes flick from screen to side to screen to other side, constantly cycling through as you beg for more information. What is it, what does it want? Your eyes are watering as you fight the urge to blink because you know you’ve been told that you must not blink.

You’ll miss it.

You think you’ll be okay. Even as you realise that you’re coming to the end, you notice one final piece of advice and you can’t decide whether to worry or be relieved. It’s fine though. I’m still going. Just remember though…

Don’t blink.

You’ll miss it.

The Idiot in Tin Foil

Day 254: Describe an electronic in the future that you won’t be able to operate

“Okay, so I’ll just access a search engine and we’ll find a relevant…” The teacher immediately looked for a terminal, voice trailing as realisation began to dawn. A tentative hand rose in the class and a girl’s voice came out of the crowd, weaving its way through the giggles and chuckles.

“Sir, remember that we can now use Thought-To-Holo stream in order to access things like that.” She smiled sympathetically at the teacher who had gone almost as red as his choice of trousers.

“Yes, thank you Deyna. Now, appearing behind me you’ll find…” The chuckles erupted into full blown laughter and Deyna’s face matched the teacher’s in hue. A three-dimensional model of her face had appeared. “Umm… Well, not that. I was… Well…”

“Sir, umm…” Her voice had gone very quiet. “You have to consider public browsing first. Then, well, umm, this won’t happen.”

“You will see that the Holo of the mantis shows… For fuck’s sake, what is it now?” He turned to observe what was being projected as the front row, who so far had managed to hold it together dissolved into fits of laughter. “Oh.” He took off his glasses and cleaned them against his tweed jacket. “You know what, we’ll call this one quits. See you all on Thursday. Dismissed.”

This arrived from memories of teachers typing Google into search bars to begin searching for things and other such painful experiences. Nothing quite as bad as this, but still. 

The Idiot in Tin Foil

Day 253: A four-year-old child is afraid of the dark. Write about the child’s fears and what you might say or do to help the child overcome the fears?

Richard screamed for his father, drawing the duvet covers up to his chin in a bid to protect himself. His father burst into the room, brandishing the poker from the fireplace. “I’ll get you!” He yelled, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “I swear to God above!” The father paused for a moment, realising he was shouting at an empty room save for his son. “Ricky? What’s wrong?”

Richard snaked out of his bed, sprinting towards his father and grabbing onto his leg. “It was the dark, Daddy! It was coming to get me!” His voice was muffled, seeing as he was trying to talk into his father’s leg.

“Okay, Ricky.” His father said, lifting him easily with one hand. “It’s okay now. No darkness. See? The light’s here. I’m here.” He held his son tightly as he made the few steps across to the bed, rocking his son gently in his arms.

“But you’re gonna go away again. Then it’ll come back.” Richard looked up at his father with bright blue eyes on the verge of tears, his bottom lip quaking as if it belonged in San Francisco. “The dark’ll come back again. I’m scared, Daddy!” He looked poised to leap from his bed again, but his father perched at his side, bedsprings creaking under his weight.

“What are you afraid of, Ricky?” His father asked, reaching out to stroke his son’s blonde curls. “Is it the dark itself? Or do you think there’s something in the dark?”

“Both!”

“Well, the dark itself can’t hurt you. The dark is nothing. Humanity conquered the darkness years ago when we discovered fire. Your Da always told me that the cavemen had the right idea. They had a problem and they found a solution.” He took his hand away from his son’s forehead and moved long fingers across a stubbled chin. “Then again, he always told me that Babybel and Ritz Crackers were an evil plot, so can’t be too sure on that one.”

“Daddy…” His son yawned, the gap in his teeth obvious in the big movement, causing his father to smile. He’d seen the thing fly out when Ricky had run into the lamppost.

“Right. So, the dark isn’t to be afraid of. It’s for us to beat. You get me?”

“What about the monsters?”

“I’ll show you what we do to monsters. Say, where do yours come from?” His father took hold of the poker, grasping it firmly in his strong hand. “They’re all beatable. Especially with the poker.”

“They’re under the bed, Daddy.” His father got to his knees, pointing for his son to look over the other side. He counted under his breath, counting down on his fingers for his son. He got to one, then dropped to the floor, shouting at the space beneath the bed.

Looking back at him was the terrified face of his son, gap in his teeth showing bright in the darkness. The boy said, “It isn’t me, Daddy! It isn’t me!”

That’s when the screaming began anew.

The Idiot in Tin Foil

Day 252: Write about one thing on the list from Day 53

Day 53, it’s time to get angry. I’ve chosen the books being owned and not read option from my previous list to expand upon. Now read on…

The Collector roams the aisles, row upon row of mint conditions stacked from floor to ceiling in towering mahogany shelves. He swears and rolls his head from side to side as he moves, taking in each and every sight to ensure…

Wait, something is wrong. The Collector has stopped, gnarled hands bunching into fists as he whirls towards a glass-fronted cabinet beside him. He wrenches open the door and moves a withered finger to the inspection line before him. “Zone? Eight hundred and twenty one. Section? Sixty-four. Book? One, two, four. Where is number three? Who has done this?” His voice wheedles its way out, barely above a whisper yet in the silence of the library it carries. “My collection is far from complete,” he says with a snarl, whipping around with narrowed storm cloud eyes, “Yet they seek to corrupt it from within?”

He marches onward, heavy boots clattering against the tiled floor. He is angry, his arms flailing as he continues his rant. “This is not what they are for!” He cries, raising a fist to the heavens. “They should be preserved! I will have them all!”

Meanwhile, in a forgotten corner of the library, there are two boys hiding under a sheet with a flashlight. Even the Collector doesn’t remember this place, hidden in a gap between two shelves. These days, withered and crooked, he would struggle to make it into this hidey-hole, but the boys make it just fine.

When they first came here, they found nothing but the decaying remains of a set of chairs, patchy silk and stuffing erupting like zits on the surface. But they found comfort enough. As their time in the library continued, neither able to find a way out, they made the place a home. They stole sheets that draped over some of the units, revealing other treasures along the way. A book of matches. A tin of peaches with a ringpull lid. Somebody must have been caring for them, but when they investigated they found nobody. They’d found food. They’d found medicine. Even, on one joyous occasion, they had found the torch they are using now.

“Are you ready, Jason?” One of them asks, with his long hair hanging limply around his gaunt face. His companion, a blonde, pudgy boy draws a sheet up to his neck and nods vigorously. “You sure?”

“Yeah! Story!” Jason replies, blue eyes flashing as the torch roams around their small shelter.

“Okay, I’ll start. Once upon a time…”

My idea, that I hope is fairly easy to follow, is that the Collector has books to have, not to read. This is my personal bugbear. You’ve got a signed copy of a book? Fabulous. When did you last read it? Oh I haven’t. What do you mean? Oh, it’ll be worth money someday.

It’s worth far more than money right now. You want something worth money, get into stocks and shares. Books are for reading, for passing on, for moving knowledge and stories from person to person until they can do so no more and they go to the Great Library in the Sky. 

The Idiot in Tin Foil