That 'IT' thing.

3am at number 66 Flashdrive avenue, the full moon rests on a thin clouded blanket and watches over what seems to be a resting red bricked stately home assigned as the centre viewpoint of a dead end roundabout. A house that wouldn't look out of place in an ideal home magazine or a model house that young adults aspire to when the thought of having a family becomes a positive ordeal.

That is, if you ignore the screams.

From what seemed like a package on the doorstep, sharp shrieks bellowed throughout the avenue that the humans of Flashdrive carelessly seemed to ignore. The shrieks became louder and frostier as the night grew colder, with every brisk wind carrying a cry that illuminated the silence. The screaming continued long into the night without one spark of a lightbulb in any residents window, it instead attracted the attention of the local wildlife. Dogs, cats and foxes all flocked to the spectacle that was 'attention-seeking baby'.

Its mass popularity amongst the animal kingdom caught the attention of a hunchbacked human who emerged onto the estate with a camera firmly latched around his neck. A man who was seemingly under privileged in his looks with hanging baskets forming around his eyes, severe spots of baldness and a bone structure that mostly resembled that of an under developed boar. He approached the house with a keen curiosity while nervously steadying his camera towards the disturbance. With his high optical lens zoom with extra stabilization capabilities he homed in on the package. His coffee-fuelled body and blackened jittery eyes were remarkably tuned to be wary of every sound or sign of movement, hoping to gain an even better shot than he was currently planning.

Also hoping not to get caught.

A flicker of a curtain from the house looming before him caused his eyes to jerk frantically as he quickly tried to adjust his digital zoom to optimum quality. His muscles twitched and sweat drained down his cheeks as he scrambled with his camera, adjusting the contrast and anxiously waiting for the disturbance to loom its head slightly to the left for the perfect shot. The cries seemed to have disturbed the upstairs of the house. More lights sprang up over the cul-de-sac and gradually the echoes of shouts moved around the house slowly getting closer to the front door. The photographer loomed closer over the stone wall, balancing on one foot and arching his camera to grab a shot of the disturbances head. His finger trembled to the top button, he leaned ever closer and…

BAM!

The door blew open with such velocity that the photographer lost his footing and collapsed behind the wall. The bright flash blinded the well groomed man standing at the door in a purple velvet dressing gown, The initials R.J plastered on either side of his chest and a gold medallion hanging from his neck. The photographer quickly composes himself and dashes away from the house hoping not to be spotted, thinking the dumbfounded man would pass his temporary blindness as the bitter night breeze. Unfortunately for him the photographers raspy breathes were visible in the darkness.
‘Oh hoax shows again, what will they have me for this time' he grunted. He glanced down at the blanket drowning the disturbance beneath him.
'What the..' he grabbed the basket and the shrieking stopped. He then let go and systematically the shrieking began again. He toyed with this novelty for several minutes, relishing in the beauty of its reaction, something he never normally received in his everyday life. He eventually stood up with the basket and gradually took one last sweeping look at the houses around, and another, then another before completely closing the door. Almost hoping that the photographer wasn't too far away.

It was nearing dawn and the photographer had leapt his way to the printing office, breathing heavily with a hand caressing the door. He yearned for the printer that could blow up his captured image to glorious size. The thought of a handwritten pay check addressed to Gavin Hoggs made his knees wilt and his heart exasperate in ways he never knew possible.
‘ for gods sake won’t this place open already!’ he cried. ‘This photo could finally be it, M&S food on the table, the beginnings of a controversy, a ten page spread on a scandal that was started solely by me. ‘I’ve got a good feeling about this, its Hoggs’s time to bring home the bacon!’

He had been waiting outside the BNBN news building for around 3 hours, clawing and scraping the automatic doors waiting for his existence to be registered by an electronic sensor. He knew the place did not open until 7am but he had nowhere else to occupy, his wife had recently chucked him out and his mothers house, that he was now staying in, also housed a Chihuahua named Prudence. A dog that in his mothers eyes was not only his sibling but his older sibling, she was therefore in charge and occupied the master bedroom, fed canine treats at will and barked for his mothers services. All in all, he wasn’t missing much.

Finally 7am came and the arrival of Zak Lance, the editor and chief of BNBN news. He walks with what they would call ‘swagger’ in his tight black jeans and contrasting white shirt with a new set of females equipped every other week to his right arm. His dark combed back hair was perfectly formed to resemble an oil spill tsunami and his honey glazed face wouldn’t be far off hosting a daytime game show.
‘I apologise ladies, it seems I have another footballer crawling at my door trying to cover their dirty work, you wouldn’t think with that much money they’d be so thick’.
The ladies cackled hysterically, striding forwards with heels the width of toothpicks and Chihuahuas sat in Goochi bags, their other hand pointlessly holding the dog lead.
Hoggs who had crumbled halfway down the door shot up at the sight of Zak, smells himself, and then quickly shunts his arms down.
‘Sir,sir, I’ve got something, something you’ll like’ he utters.
‘Oh it is you Hoggs, I thought I’d have an unpleasant morning of arse-licking for a second there’ Zak remarked sarcastically. ‘What is it this time, a dog finds drugs in his own backside? Or a pidgeon honeymoon on a postbox?
Gavin pants excitedly as the door is swiped open and then upon noticing the swinging Chihuahuas cowers closer to Zak.
‘No,no,no, much better, a photo of a basket outside the house of none other than Randy Jacks’.
He pauses and turns to Gavin, ‘ a basket outside Randy Jacks house?’
‘Yes, yes sir, its all on camera, I just need to blow it up and can see what’s inside the basket’
‘Gavin’ interrupted Zak. ‘When was the last time you heard Randy Jacks?’
Gavin looked at Zak at the absurdity of the question, Randy was renowned for a top ten single ten years ago by the name of ‘Hot Hurricane’. It had become a massive pop anthem from its simple lyrics, ‘Your Hot like a Hurricane, it’s a shame about that stain, I’d smash you through the window pane’ and accompanying dance routines. Since then he had kept up numerous television appearances with mixed reception.
‘Erm I heard his song in the pub a few days ago…’ he muttered
‘Maybe I should phrase that differently, when was the last time anyone cared about Randy Jacks?’ Zak remarked snidely. ‘And guest starring on Celebrity Shark Bait doesn’t count’.
‘Erm, I don’t..’
‘Exactly Hoggs, he is nothing, a man crawling for any last scrap of attention he can grab, his story is lost, the world has moved on, Jack’s name has been run through the dirt already and the readers are bored, we need the ‘fresh’ to slip’.
Gavins heart sunk, all night he had waited and built up the idea of a pay check deservingly placed in his hands, in one fell swoop it had been ripped away from him. He glanced at the Chihuahuas yapping away in their branded cradles, wishing his stare would somehow burst them into flames.
‘But what if….’
‘No Hoggs’ Zak said abruptly. ‘The Jacks are dead to us and the sooner he gets that in his head, the better this world will be’.
Gavin watched as Zak marched up the stairs to his office on the top floor, feeling lost and deflated with the grip on his camera slowly loosening. Unsure of what to do, he slowly etched towards the doors staring into the floor. His head then collided against the glass door pane, the automated sensor failed to acknowledge him.