Christmas Special (part five)

©2011 David Jasmin-Green

As soon as Ian stepped inside the Ice Palace the door clicked shut behind him, and he found himself in a reception hall that could comfortably contain several average sized houses. “At least it isn't icy on the inside as well as the outside,” he whispered, rubbing his hands together vigorously. “And it's reasonably warm, thank God.”
The walls were clad in pale grey marble, the floor was chequered in red, white and blue tiles (very patriotic, he thought), and a chandelier as big as a rowing boat hung from the ornately plastered ceiling. Evenly spaced doors lined the walls to the left and right, each one bearing an elaborate brass plate numbering them from one to twenty two. Against the far wall was a large wooden desk nestled in a jungle of potted plants, and it was the last feature that Ian spotted because he was somewhat taken aback by the size and layout of the room.
“'Ello Ian, I'm Kerry,” the tiny, well dressed, slightly spotty young woman sitting behind the desk said, conveniently failing to emphasise his name this time. “Welcome to the Ice Palace. Come on over and take a pew - 'opefully we can clarify your business 'ere in a jiffy. Don't be nervous, I don't bloody bite.” Ian did as he was told. He was captivated by the modestly sized Christmas tree sitting beside Kerry's desk. There was a little train running around its base on a never ending circular course, and it was driven by a waving Santa.
“Look, I really don't think I'm supposed to be here, wherever 'here' is,” he said. “I got lost in the blizzard and I need to find my way home – I need directions to the Hannaman road on the Coppice estate, and then I'll leave you to your, erm, business, whatever that is – for some reason I don't think I want to know.”
“I'm the last person to ask for directions, 'cos I don't come from round 'ere,” Kerry said, pulling a printed sheet of paper from a large black file that she lifted from a dusty shelf on the wall behind her. “And of course you're supposed to be 'ere – you're on the 'called' list. This is a short, multiple choice questionnaire that all visitors are required to fill in. It's a simple information gavvering process designed to make sure you're referred to the correct department, nuffink more, nuffink less, so don't worry about buggering it up - all we require is the first answer that comes into your 'ead, and there are no right or wrong answers.
You might find some of the questions, well, weird, but don't fret. The management are test running a revolutionary new assessment process, but it's not a covert psychological test or anyfink like that. Just give me the answer you believe to be most appropriate and everyfink will turn out fine, I promise. Try to take the exercise light 'eartedly - after all it is Christmas - wa-haaaaay! Any questions?” Ian shook his head. “Right..... I'll ask the questions and give you a number of alternative answers. Give me your reply after each question and I'll tick the appropriate box for you. We used to ask our clients to complete these questionnaires themselves, but that approach led to all sorts of cock-ups – people were putting ticks in the wrong boxes, eiver accidentally or deliberately, and some particularly dense individuals were completely misconstruing the questions and ending up in a right tizzy, so my boss ordered me to do the paperwork. Gawd, some people are so stoopid you wouldn't believe it. That's no reflection on you, of course, Ian – I'm not saying you're a retard or anyfink. And I 'ope I 'aven't offended you.”
“You haven't offended me,” Ian mumbled. “Fire away.”
“Question one,” Kerry began. “Are you a retard? a) Yes. b) No). c) Bollocks, you pimply little slut, or d) I dunno, I don't understaaaaand 'cos I'm a bit sim-ple. Naah, I was just kiddin'..... Let's start again, shall we? Question one – 'Ave you ever, deliberately or accidentally, broken the law of the land? a) Yup. b) Nope, or c) No comment, you bacon flavoured undercover police woman twat.”
“You weren't kidding about the questions being odd,” Ian said. “I guess it's option a - yeah, of course I've broken the law - surely everyone's broken the law in some small way at some point in their life. For the last several years or more I've been a perfect law abiding citizen, though I indulged in a bit of petty crime when I was a kid.....
My friends and I used to revel in a spot of recreational vandalism, smashing windows and daubing graffiti wherever we thought we could get away with it, but eventually I got tired of that daft malarkey. At about the same time we used to nick sweets and other small items from various town centre shops, but I grew out of that too. I accepted a lift from a bunch of kids in a stolen car when I was about fifteen, but it was only the once because the driver almost got us all killed and the experience frightened the bloody life out of me. I smoked cannabis for a while, but I packed it in ages ago because I'm not a smoker so it makes me cough and splutter and I usually end up vomiting. That's about it, I think, but there may be several more examples that have temporarily slipped my mind.....”
“Fanks for being so 'onest, Ian, that's a super answer!” Kerry said. “We're not askin' for your bloody life story, though, so try to be a bit more concise..... let's get on to question two. Do you 'ave a criminal record for anyfink pervy, eg 'ave you ever been placed on the sex offenders' register or narrowly missed that crippling embarrassment for touching up some vulnerable schoolgirl, exposing yourself to innocuous old ladies in the park, maybe, buggering a reluctant golden retriever or any other inappropriate sexual behaviour?”
“No, I have not!” Ian snapped.
“I 'aven't given you the options yet, so kindly shut you marf,” Kerry said calmly. “'Ere they are..... a) No, definitely not, and I can't believe you 'ad the audacity to ask. b) Yes, I'm a twisted, dangerously psychotic class A sicko an' a veritable danger to society, and I ought to be burned alive or devoured by ravenous hyenas or bloody shot, or worse. c) Maybe, but I'm keeping my marf shut in the 'ope that you don't uncover my 'orrendous secret iniquities.”
“Are you serious?” Ian said.
“Yup, I sure am,” Kerry replied.
“I see,” Ian said. “Then my answer is a - no I definitely haven't got a criminal record involving anything even remotely pervy; in fact I haven't got a criminal record at all.”
“That's a real shame,” Kerry said, looking accusingly into Ian's eyes for an over-long, decidedly uncomfortable moment. “Let's move on to question three, then. Are you a professional fish smuggler? Or, to put it another way, 'ave you ever illegally sneaked sardines or any other type of fish into the country in a secret compartment in a suitcase or down yer skidders or somefink? Turbot? Sticklebacks? Tiger sharks? Guppies? Come on, admit your guilt - you know exactly what I'm talking about, you fishy bastard!” Ian stared at his inquisitor with a bemused expression on his face. “Now choose your answer,” Kerry continued. “a) Yeah, it's a fair cop, I admit everyfink, so slap the soddin' cuffs on and get your tits out, you cock-sucking pig bitch. b) No, I never, ossifer - I'm bleedin' innocent, slightly pissed and rather daft, and I don't even know what fish are. c) I did it, but I was just an ignorant fish mule at the beck and call of a Mr. Big whose identity was never revealed to me. Or d) I'm possibly guilty, but you 'ave no evidence against me, copper, and if you smell anything fishy the reek is probably wafting from your unwashed, seriously overripe pig pussy.....”
“You can't possibly be serious,” Ian said. “These questions are utterly ridiculous!”
“You bet I'm serious,” Kerry said. “That's what it says on the form in black and white, so I advise you to answer the bloody question.”
“It'll have to be b, then - I've never smuggled fish of any description into or out of this or any other country.”
“That's not what it says on the question sheet,” Kerry replied, her face poker straight. “You're supposed to repeat what it says on the question sheet.....”
“I've forgotten exactly what it says on the question sheet,” Ian muttered. “All I remember is that the appropriate answer is b, I'm innocent of fish smuggling, so come on, bloody get on with it.”
“Right,” Kerry said. “Now where were we? Aah, question four – 'ave you ever 'ad sexual relations wiv a dumb animal such as a red setter or a comparatively articulate one, eg a talking parrot or an ape that uses sign language or Nick filthy fascist bastard British National Party leader fucking Griffin? a) Yes, and it was very nice indeed. b) No. Nay. Ooh no. c) I've 'ad a nasty bang on the 'ead since the last time I rogered Flossie, Farmer Brown's stunningly attractive prize ewe, and as a result I've conveniently forgotten every intimate detail of our relationship. d) OK, I admit to shagging various geese, gophers and tapirs over the years, plus an occasional sleeping porcupine, which wasn't particularly kind on my cock, but at least I've never lain with a bleeding Nazi, so I can't be that sick..... And finally e) Forty three point three recurring.”
“What sort of an answer is forty three point three recurring?” Ian muttered.
“It's the sort of answer that sneaky, dis'onest people select if they're trying to 'ide the grisly troof, so I'd avoid that option like the plague if I were you.”
“I intend to,” Ian replied. “My answer is b – No, nay, ooh no.”
“Question five – are you a predatory 'omosexual?” Kerry said with a barely discernible smirk. “a) Yes, I'm as gay as a gay day, I'm as camp as a Scouts' jamboree, I'm as bent as a nine pound note and sadly I'm cursed with a vicious nature, so I'll brutally bone any man that keeps still long enough for me to ravish him. b) No I am categorically not a predatory 'omosexual, I'll 'ave you know, Mrs. Woman, and I find the question most impertinent. c) I'm not gay personally, but I'm a firm believer in equal rights for all. d) No I'm not a predatory 'omo, though I 'ave to admit I've shafted a few blokes by accident while I was drunk, especially at fancy dress parties where certain daft bastards insist upon dressing up as women and cry like girls when you quite innocently slip 'em one.”
“Aah,” Ian said. “It'll have to be c – I'm not gay myself, but nevertheless I'm a firm believer in equal rights for all.”
“I see,” Kerry grunted. “So you stand firmly behind 'omosexuals. 'Particularly when they're bending over,' you might 'ave added if you were a bit braver – that's most revealing, Ian.”
“What exactly are you implying?” Ian said.
“I'm not implying anyfink – anyfink at all, duckie,” Kerry replied. Ian was furious, but he decided that it was probably best to ignore the woman's snide comment.
“Right, question six,” she continued, a more obvious smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. “'Ave you ever killed another 'uman being, Ian – 'ave you ever committed a murder or murders in the plural, whevver it be a single accidental slaughter, maybe a crime of passion in the 'eat of the moment that you regret every day of your life, or a cold-blooded, brutal serial killing spree that you secretly delight in? Hmmm? a) Yes, I'm a vicious, despicable, utterly in'uman bastard and I deserve to be electrocuted or 'ung by the neck until I'm most definitely dead, but, thankfully, so far I've avoided detection. b) No, perish the thought, I'm a sweet little baa-lamb and I'd never even consider such an awful fing. c) I might 'ave done, but if you fink I'm gonna give you any incriminating details you've got another fink coming, you nosy tart, or d) I've killed loads of innocents, you prying slut, but I'm obviously as mad as a bloody 'atter so no court in the land would convict me, and my worst outlook is being locked up for a few years in a secure unit and then being pronounced cured by some gullible twat of a psychiatrist who believes every word that spews from my lying lips and eventually released into some unsuspecting community wiv a squeaky clean new identity ready, willing and able to resume my monstrous passion.”
“My answer is b – I'd never consider such an awful thing,” Ian said. “This is daft – it's unreal, and I'm getting rather sick of it.”
“You're not the only one, luvvy” Kerry sighed, “but rules are rules and procedure is procedure, so I'm afraid you 'ave to answer the questions to the best of your ability or face the consequences.”
“And what might the consequences of not answering these pointless, increasingly stupid questions be?”
“You wouldn't want to know.....”
“Actually I would like to know, ma'am,” Ian said. “I'd like to know in explicit, totally unexpurgated detail.”
“Right, you asked for it so I'll tell you, you daft 'a'porth,” Kerry replied. “If you refuse to answer the questions, deliberately give false replies or fuck me around in any other conceivable way the Reverend will storm in with unparalleled fury and deal with you 'owever the mood takes 'im, and I warn you, 'e's in a particularly foul mood today, so your fate is unlikely to be pleasant. You really, really don't want that to 'appen, believe me.”
“Who is this bloody Reverend?” Ian said. “Surely no reverend could be anything less than amicable and perfectly reasonable.
“Shhhhh!” she whispered. “'E might 'ear you..... 'E's not that sort of reverend, you know, the churchy kind, but I fink you've already figured that out for yourself. 'Is Worshipful Reverend 'Oly Baloney Certainly No Phony Fructose Fuckalori is an out and out monster – 'e's a wolf who doesn't even bother dressing up in 'uman clothing. 'E takes no prisoners, 'e's a total bastard with no redeeming qualities whatsoever, 'e's a cold-blooded killer and an utterly unrepentant baby eater. 'E's a bit like a seriously inbred member of the 'Ouse of Lords, actually..... Rumour 'as it that 'e's a squirrel fucker in 'is spare time, but don't tell him I told you that or 'e'll be well pissed off. Look, Ian, the Rev, as he likes to be called, is an out an out wanker. 'E's a prize winning cunt, and you don't want 'im dealing with your case, 'cos 'e'll swindle you as soon as look at you. 'E'll shaft your granny and/or grandpa and your baby nieces and nephews just to 'umiliate you. 'E'll knock you down when you least expect it, beat you senseless, back-scuttle you, roast you over a slow fire and then gobble you up – and if that doesn't frighten you into compliance, I don't know what will.”
“And how do I know you're not bullshitting me, Kerry?” Ian said. “How do I know this isn't some sort of elaborate joke? I think you're talking advantage of my confusion and inebriation, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if Dom Joley or some other comedian burst in to the room and revealed the hidden camera.”
“You don't know,” she replied. “Look, what can I say in my defence? I 'ave no interest in watching you being cruelly tortured and 'umiliated and ultimately slaughtered like a pig, 'oney bunch. I'm just the receptionist - I'm just doing my fucking job - and I'm not an in'erently cruel person. Wevver you like it or not, Ian, you just 'ave to trust me.”
“Right,” he said after a long, painful pause. “I suppose you'd better carry on asking your fool questions, then.” But there were no more fool questions at that point in time, because door nineteen began to swing open with an ominous creak.