Flux

again.”
    Iain froze and let out a deep breath, he’d know that rasping sound anywhere. Turning slowly he found himself confronted by the sight of Bertie sitting the toilet facing him, pyjama trousers around his ankles, skinny, bony knees jutting forward, the stall door wide open for all to see. He was smiling.
    “You’re not real!” Iain said defiantly.
    “Oh I’m real enough.” He strained, a motion which was accompanied by a rapid plop plop plop noise as small lumps were forcibly expelled into the pan. The stink intensified threefold.
    “What do you want with me?”
    “You!”
    “Me? Why?”
    “You belong with us Iain, you know this and yet you deny us. Look around you, you deserve more than this crappy little job in this crappy little town. Join us and it’ll all be over.”
    “Why would I join you, you’re filthy and stinking. Just look at yourself.”
    “Have you looked in a mirror lately, you’re not exactly a picture of sanity and health are you?”
    Iain went quiet, for all his faults, Bert was right. Since the events in his own bathroom mirrors were to be avoided, for the time being anyway. “How would I join you?” He had no intention of belonging to the same gang as this abomination, but was curious none the less.
    “That’s the spirit. I’m afraid you have to work that one out for yourself.”
    Iain screwed his eyes tight shut, “For fuck’s sake, what is happening to me?”
    When he opened his eyes, Bertie was gone.
    Shuffling back to his desk, trembling, he tried to blank everything from his mind and concentrate on work. It didn’t help and the day got no easier. As the clock reached twelve thirty, Iain couldn’t escape for his lunch break quickly enough. Going outside for his ritual cigarette, he wandered round to the back of the building, away from prying eyes and wept; his back sliding down the red brick wall until he was left slumped on the floor.
    The afternoon went pretty much the same as the morning, although fortunately without the presence of Bertie or any other monsters.

    Iain found himself haunted by the dream in which the spider creatures came; and imagined the gore.

Chapter Sixteen
    A Long and Lonely Road

    Drudgery and monotony were the order of the day for Thursday. Iain wasn’t late into work though; he hadn’t slept and so, being bored, made his way there early. His concentration was even worse than the day before and as he looked out through tinted glass onto the street outside, he saw the occasional ghost pass by. Some of them still showed the injuries which had led to their demise. This was his entertainment in an otherwise dull and totally non-inspiring environment. One apparition he saw was moving in such a peculiar fashion that Iain had to stare; concluding that both legs and back must have been broken.
    “Can you stop staring out of the window and do some work please!” Michelle giving orders again.
    He didn’t reply, snapped out of his trance he stared at the screen in front of him, blankly.
    This is shit.
    Yup.
    I really don’t know how long I can carry on for.
    Needs doing if you want a roof over your head.
    There’s got to be more to life than this.
    You should be glad you’ve got a job at all.
    I can’t do it any more.
    You have to
    Can’t
    I need a break
    There’s no way out…
    The voices got faster and faster until becoming a blur of arguments and nonsense. He heard Bertie laugh. Nothing seemed real; he was becoming totally detached from the world. The voices in his head evolved into pure emotion, a seething cauldron of anger, fear, hate, love, sadness; going round and round and round and round like a centrifuge spitting out one after another at random so that his mood changed five times a second. Iain was losing his grip.
    Without thinking or knowing why, he opened the drawer in his desk and pulled out a small craft knife he kept there. He didn’t even know why he had it in the first place, he’d never used it. Looking around first, to make sure no one was watching, he wouldn’t want anybody thinking he was nuts, Iain pressed the tip of the blade into the bare skin of his arm. The point pushed down, he did this slowly, applying ever-increasing pressure so as to create a dent. He stopped short of piercing the skin.
    Fucking coward. He couldn’t even muster the courage to cut himself.
    Choking back the flood of tears which were now building, like pressure behind a dam, Iain fled the office and ran around the back of the