Goatie 3

I slept tranquilly. It gets to the stage where you become acclimatised to anything. Even prisoners at Auschwitz slept soundly. I’m in pretend mode and refuse to hallucinate. Refuse to apologise.

I’m surprised when my phone rings. I like it that way. It’s a nuisance caller. Someone from Human Resources phoning for a chat.

He sounds foreign. ‘Where yeh fae?’

He hesitates. Goes off script and refuses to answer.

The sun shines through the living-room windows, but I jump when a sparrow flies into the glass with a bang. I felt sorry for it. Poor wee thing. Which made me feel better. I’ve been in a cul de sac unable to feel much for anybody, or anyone else. I’ve been too caught up in a medieval world that doesn’t exist.

‘What did you say? HR asks.

‘I didnae say anythin.’

‘Strange, so we’ll see you back at the office on Thursday, 30^th at 2.15 pm and we’ll have another little chat.’

‘Yeh,’ I agreed enthusiastically, knowing I’d immediately cancel. ‘Whit wiz it yeh thought yeh heard, anyway?’

He laughs, which makes him sound almost human. ‘I think we must have automatically connected with another server. ‘It sounded like you were babbling like a sheep at one point. Totally loopy.’

I hang up before he can say any more. He’s probably got around ten seconds before he’s automatically routed into another call. I wait for him to call back, but he doesn’t.

I fill a glass with drain cleaner that night and put it beside my bed. I’ve gone to war. No longer fucking about. But I don’t sleep. And take the glass into the toilet in the morning and flush it down the lavvy. The fumes could have killed me.  

I hear my neighbours getting up and bang on the walls, shrieking they should could keep the noise down. People are trying to sleep. I know it’s crazy, even when I’m doing it. I skulk out of the house with a skip-cap on my head when the school run is finished. The roads aren’t busy and neither is Asda carpark. I fill my trolley with all the things I don’t need. Milk and eggs and ice cream and strawberries. Wandering back and forth, I get lost.

The woman on the checkout has no neck and a bad perm, but she looks at me funny. Buzzes for security. Customers stare at me as if I’m on Supermarket Sweep, and scatter to other tills. I hold my hand over my mouth to prevent grunting noises.

The Security Guard’s teeth glint to show it’s all been a joke. ‘Can you come this way, Sir?’

I barrel past carrying my plastic bags, waving my receipt. Out of breath, in the carpark, I text Charlie to meet me outside Dunelm at the bridge.

I have to hang about waiting for him. Jehovah’s Witnesses have set up basecamp on the midpoint of the bridge. An invisble force-field around them which busy shoppers swerve around unseeing.  A dumpy Witness, wearing two raincoats, eyes me through thick glasses, which she pushes up on her nose. She carries a magazine in her hand. As she approaches, she fixes me with a smile and attempts a bit of subterfuge. Tries to hide The Watchtower by pushing it flat against the top layer of coats. ‘Terrible weather,’ she says. ‘What kinda day are you having?’

‘Shite. I’m jist waiting for my dealer. An I’m gonnae buy some speed an smack.’

She nods. ‘Uhu.’ Turns her head to check on the other Jehovah and waves her hand. She wears thick NHS specs too, but she’s younger and gangly. They might be the Jehovah equivalent of Starsky and Hutch, and they’re waiting for Huggy Bear. I don’t know if Jehovahs are allowed to watch telly. But none of them can see. The older one wanders back to get her.

Both of them return armed with leaflets. The younger one carries a Bible. I must be the kind of prospect they’ve been waiting for.

‘We’re all ignorant, afraid and have our problems to seek.’ the older Jehovah speaks for both of them.

I’m making the kind of grunting noises I made in ASDA. I blurt out, ‘I’m possessed by the devil.’ And I start greeting like a wain.

‘Jehovah will save you.’

They gird themselves up for a group hug, but I spot Charlie’s denim jacket hovering over the top of her shoulder. ‘I hink my drug dealer is here.’

They both turn and gawk at him. The daughter takes off her spec and cleans them before putting them back on, bending her neck down and peering at him anew. The old woman pulls at the cuff of her coat. She turns and hands me a leaflet. ‘Perhaps we can talk again.’ The tone of her voice suggests Jehovah plays for other team, and I’ve not been selected for salvation, but she’s willing to lie.

I let the magazine drop at my feet. Charlie swaggers over. ‘Whit’s that about?’   

‘Cut the shite,’ I reply. ‘I’m lookin for some speed and some smack.’

‘I don’t do smack,’ he’s quick to say. ‘Well, not on me. How much marching powder yeh wantin?’

‘Enough to drive a tank fae Berlin tae Paris and nae fuckin about, an takin detours through Belgium.’

Wide-eyed he becomes uneasy. ‘I’ve no got that much on us, man. I’ve got some good quality dope.’

   I pull out a bundle of twenties. He pushes my hand. Turning his head, making sure that nobody else is watching us, other that Jehovah.

‘Put that away,’ he hisses. ‘Whit kinda weird animal shit noises yeh makin? Yeh, takin the piss o’er something?’

‘Gie me whit yeh’ve got and fuck off,’ I told him. ‘I’ve got the devil on my case. You could pull a machete, an I wouldnae even blink.’

‘Yer fuckin completely crazy.’ But he took the money. ‘Yeh’ve lost it. That’s the last time. Don’t phone me.’

Putting a line on the table at home, I snort it. Then I go on the computer and do my research. Invisible beings, demons and their domains.

I lose a day or two and head out to B&Q and buy hammer drills and screws. Sheets of metal from Screwfix I can attach to the doors with proper locks. They don’t do handcuffs or chains. I need to go online to Ann Summer’s Party for that.

A crick on my neck and my jaw shuffling my teeth like a pack of chewed tarot cards. I fall asleep at the computer, and dream of walking down by the Clyde in the cool night air. I get the strange feeling of déjà vu. I see myself sitting on the chair from above, and it’s a doppelganger inhabiting my body. But he fled when he knew I was onto him. I hear the front door banging shut.

My phone rang. But I’d not charged it, and it was out of power. Demonology is full of cases of apparitions draining electrical power outlets. The obverse also held true. Lightning frequently strikes twice.  

‘Who is it? I didn’t recognise the number.

Heavy breathing. I was ready to hang up when I heard a whispering voice, ‘It’s me!’

I held the phone closer to my ear. ‘Is that you, Hughie?’   

‘Aye, we need tae talk,’ he starts greeting. ‘Yeh’ve got tae help me.’

‘I thought yeh were in Spain.’

‘I’m hame.’ I can hear the desperation in his voice. ‘We need tae talk.’

‘Right, I know whit tae dae noo.’

‘I cannae sleep. They’re in the room wae me.’

‘Perfect,’ I tell him.