Barred
“It’s the sort of estate surrounded by children lobbing stones at cars, whilst curtain twitchers look on. The kind where you bend down to pick up a fiver only to accidentally prick yourself with a needle. The sort you don’t walk through at night, but night is the sort of the safest time to really be walking through it because no fucker is actually there.”
“Sam, what are you actually chatting?”
“You honestly don’t remember? You’re shitting me, you were there too and all.”
“Whatever you say Samantha. I don’t know how any of this relates to Brick anyway.”
“I’m getting to that! Anyway, we were walking through, we, that’s the two of us. And you’re getting wavvy and you’re struggling to stand up so I’m kind of propping you up like. I was gonna get us a cab, but I’m out of cash and I don’t really feel like pimping myself out just to get your heavy arse home. And I am not fucking walking the way we came, so I get google maps up to find us a shortcut. So we’re jumping through hedges and over car parks and eventually we wind up in this place.
But, you’re desperate for a piss. And you’ve got airs and graces and apparently are far too ladylike to ever consider pissing behind a bin. I’m pretty sure my ex lives round here at this point, so I suggest a nice letterbox for you. But no, apparently you’d rather explode.”
“Yeah, that sounds like me”
“So I’m fannying about trying to get you to the nearest bathroom and all these To Let signs are starting to look like ‘toilet’. And as we’re walking along, all these faces start appearing at the window. There’s all these creepy pensioner silhouettes that keep popping up everywhere. And they’re just standing at the window, staring at us but not moving. And I figure that’s fine, there’s not a lot going on in cul-de-sac’s anyway. This is probably just how they get their rocks off round here.
So we’re wandering around in the dark and I start to get this buzzing sensation. I think, oh is that butterflies in my stomach? Is that my childlike sense of wonder? Nah, my phone’s dead innit!
I am freaked the actual fuck out by this point so I go up to the next guy I see and ask for some directions, to literally anywhere. He’s a tall bastard, maybe 6'5" and he’s got this cloth hood on, sort of like a monk. I’m about to ask him where we are, but then you decide to shout:
‘I need a pissssssss!!!’
And I says to him, ‘I am so sorry about my friend, don’t mind her’. But as I’m saying this, right, I don’t see him understand it. I don’t see anything, because I swear to god his eyes were red. Like lens flare on a bad photograph. And then I see it. The geezer under the hood, behind the overexposed eyes, it’s Brick.
“Brick, the guy who’s letterbox you wanted me to piss in? That Brick?”
“Yeah, that Brick! And I’ve got 50 bajillion questions to ask our Brick, but before I can do that, I heard this wheezing sound. I feel all of this warm dampness in my trainers and (no, I haven’t wet myself) I have a look down. It’s you, you’ve vomited all over my new shoes! And whilst we’re on the subject, you’re bloody buying me some new ones!! So anyway, when I look back up, Brick-The-Shithouse has vanished! A man that size! Gone! Poof!
“Your trainers look fine to me”
“Yeah, how’s that happened? You owe me anyway, for emotional distress. Next pint’s on you.”
*Sigh* “If you insist”
“Sam? Sam, I don’t want to scare you. I just… I just saw something…”
“What’s happened? Oh you’re shaking, you poor baby!”
“I went to get a drink. I sat down on a stool. And the guy behind the bar, he had red eyes. I’m not fucking around Sam, he had red eyes.”
“Shhhhhhhh… It’s alright… Just breathe, slowly… Tell me what happened.”
“He wasn’t normal Sam. He wasn’t right. He looks like it from here, but I don’t think he’s human. No! Don’t look over! Keep looking at me.
I ordered some drinks and he looked just like a normal person, attractive even. He had a good jawline and a nice smile. But he didn’t talk, and his eyes were red. And then he looked to the side and I saw it. His entire face is flat.
“FLAT?! What do you mean it’s FLAT?!
“Sam. I need you to shut the fuck up. The people in the pub are looking. Don’t fucking turn. They. Are. All. Flat.
“I saw it when the man with the greasy hair turned round. He’s not a person, he’s a flat-man! What the fuck is this?”
“Don’t panic. I say we stay here, finish our pint and calmly leave. Don’t let them know that we know. We need to figure out how to get out of here, and to do that, we need to figure out how we got here.”
“I don’t know what happened. I think we kept walking and I got tired and passed out in a bush. I thought Brick might have taken us here and I was just too drunk to remember it. But I don’t even know where ‘here’ is.
It’s just a pub. One of those old council-estate pubs that hasn’t changed since the 70s. It’s got that hideous brown wallpaper with those cream stripes running down it, and everything is sticky. It’s like the one my granddad used to sneak out to when he wanted to get pissed. Hold on, is that a jukebox?
I think it’s the same pub.
It is! It has the exact same stains on the lino, and the exact same varnished wooden chairs with the wobbly legs. That bit has got those blue tassels on the wall they used to put up when there was a party, and there’s those droopy silver balloons in the corner. But I don’t understand. They knocked this place down in 2005.”
“I think I recognise these people. I mean I don’t recognise, recognise them. But I saw them at the bar. They had one of those strings with Polaroids attached across the top. You know, for when people get barred. And that guy with the greasy hair, he was definitely on there.”
“Where are the photos? Are they over…
Why can’t I turn around? My arms, they’re sticking to the table?
ARGH! What the fuck did they spill on this table! Why can’t I MOVE MY ARMS?!”
“You’ve got to be quiet! The barman’s coming over now! Just stay still, be nice, we’re going to be fine.”
“Did he just TAKE A PHOTO OF ME? WHAT THE FUCK DID THAT TWO DIMENSIONAL FUCK BOI JUST DO TO ME?”
“Sam… Oh God, Sam…”
“What?!”
“Sam… you look like them.”
“What are you talking about? I just look like me? Stop it, you’re scaring me.”
“Sam, I can’t stay. I’m so sorry, I don’t want to end up like you. Here, finish my pint, I’ll come back for you when I can.”
