5. Deathly Cotton

As the door closed behind me the darkness was vurtually complete. I felt as smug as a cat that had left a dead bird on the carpet. Like the cat, I knew I had made the right choice, but I had the sneaking suspicion people were going to go ape shit so I had best get the hell out dodge. The only other source of light was a small light in the distance. I kept strutting towards it. My feet ringing off the floor. Clunk-clunk. 

Clunk-clunk, my shoes went. My shoes were of the finest Koskin leather the sports vendor had told me. Apparently it was from a rare bird that was discovered by Gulliver on the isles of Gullible. I only wear the best you see. Clunk-clunk, they did squeak awfully as well. The haunting squeaks ringing off the dark corridor like I was the Pied Piper in his later years and was being haunted by the vengeful mice I had run off the cliffs in my youth. Clunk-clunk, I did like the colour of my shoes. Day glow pink with Banana yellow highlights of course. You could not argue with taste really. 

Clunk-clunk, the light was getting bigger and brighter, I would soon be out of this nightmare. Clunk-clunk, this walking malarkey was such a drag. I would hope that if I was in hell, that it least would have soft deep pile carpets, as the clunking and squeaking of my shoes were starting to drive me nuts! 

Clunk-clunk, I did not think I was a bad person, not bad enough to go to hell anyway. I mean sure, I have done some bad things. Like that time, I went to the funeral of someone I hated and I replaced all the pamphlet hymn sheets. This meant everyone had sung "Ding! Dong! The witch is dead!". But, I mean, that was hilarious! Plus, being able to put you were run out of Brixton on the old CV is a plus. Clunk-clunk, that was all the bad stuff I had done that would count, surely? I mean yeah, I used to bang on the loo wall every time, day or night, when I went potty. Clunk-clunk, I used to bang the spot on the wall that roughly corresponded with where my room mates headboard was on the other side and yell “Hey! Guess what? Guess what I’m doing right now!”. But who does not find that funny? I mean he loved it so much he moved out after trying to get me to hug a knife. Last I heard he was living in some whacky house. 

Clunk-clack, the light was getting closer now, it seemed to be resolving into a brightly lit doorway. Almost there! Clunk-clack, I mean maybe having a self declared party trick of being able to flick anyone in the nipple super hard through clothing, “may” not have been the best skill to demonstrate at parents evening that one time. Still, who knew the principle had a piercing? Certainly not the local councillor when it hit her in the face from across the room. Click-clack, coincidentally it was around that time I first had what my parents called therapy. Click-clack, still, I had spent most of each hour in breathless laughter every time I saw the scar the councillor sported afterwards. 

Click-clack, I stopped as I ran out of breath laughing at the memories. Click-clack, it slowly dawned on me that I could still hear my feet shuffling but they were still. Click-clack, it was not my feet. Click-clack, it was the Loom! With that sudden realisation the corridor was filled with blinding light. Click-clack, I turned and it was there. Click-clack, its parts moved to the sounds. The operator was wearing a large cloak, with a shadow filled hood that hid its face, except for a long white beard that emerged and fed into the loom to make its tapestry of horror. 

Click-clack, I turned and ran, my leggings causing sparks to jump between my knees as the built up static from my thighs rubbing together was discharged. Click-clack, my feet stumbled and I fell. I rolled over to find the Loom looming over me. Click-clack, the operator lifted a skeletal hand and pointed at me. Threads from the Loom attacked and wrapped around my face. I screamed a stifled scream and the Loom clacked on.