PsychoHead Fiction
Book Two And A Bit
Light Humour Edition
A Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 T.D.Green
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Contents
The Egg [783 words]
The Awakening Brain [1174 words]
A Most Unfortunate Life: Part 1
A Most Unfortunate Life: Part 2
The Egg
The month was November, the year 1942. The location was inside Laboratory-A at the Bioengineering Sciences Foundation of California.
Sylvester, Bioengineering’s pet cat and chief mouse catcher, spat and hissed aggressively as he slowly backed away from the bench on which stood a large wire cage that contained the experimental Egg. With his sense of impending danger heightened, Sylvester continued to back away until he finally came to rest in a darkened corner of the room where he cowered, spitting and hissing fiercely until the opportunity to escape arrived. And he waited …
The door to Laboratory-A suddenly swung open, and in the next moment the room was flooded with light as Sarah Fielding, Head of Research, stood in the open doorway.
“Sylvester, what’s wrong with you?” Sarah immediately called out upon hearing the cat’s fury. But before she could utter another word, the terrified cat sprang out from his sanctuary and raced across the room towards the open door, passing between her legs and out into the corridor. Sarah laughed to herself as she closed the door behind her. “Silly boy!” she playfully quipped.
A full hour had elapsed since Sara had entered Laboratory-A, a peaceful hour in which she’d had time to analyse that day’s data and results and complete corrections as needed. All new bioengineering experiments were treated with equal respect and care, and it was she and Professor Eric Hadley, who were the joint-creators of the Egg experiment. And tonight was expected to be the night when their creation was due to hatch …
After a further half hour had passed by, Sarah’s attention was caught by the faint sound of something stirring nearby. Her first thought was that Sylvester had caught himself a mouse earlier that night, and had toyed with it instead of killing it straight away. But no, the sound was coming from the large wire cage which contained the Egg. She crossed to the bench and stood there silent, her gaze fixed on the Egg, watching for the slightest movement and listening for the merest sound.
Duly the Egg began to move ever so slightly as the experimental life form inside it tried to break free from within its shell. The Egg’s movement steadily grew more erratic, swaying from side to side as the forcefulness of the creature within became ever stronger.
Sarah ran over to the intercom and hit the speaker switch.
“Professor Hadley, the Egg is about to hatch!” she excitedly announced. “Come quickly!”
Within a matter of minutes, Professor Hadley came rushing into Laboratory-A, with the cat following closely behind him.
“Have I missed the hatching?” Professor Hadley immediately asked, rushing toward the bench.
He hadn’t. The Egg was still intact, even though the shell was heavily cracked by now.
Several minutes passed by, and though the experimental life form had not yet hatched, its struggle for freedom had increased dramatically. Both Sarah Fielding and Professor Hadley knew that it was only a matter of time before the life form would break free and reveal itself to them. And both were well aware that previous bioengineering experiments they’d worked together on had gone horribly wrong, and they’d been forced to terminate their creations on hatching. But perhaps this time success would be theirs.
Being protective by nature, Sylvester was now standing guard on top of a small filing cabinet beside the door, which had been left open by Professor Hadley in his excitement to enter the room. The cat was intelligent enough to realise that if a sudden escape route was needed, his swift exit would be ensured.
Suddenly, the life form’s struggle to break free became increasingly frenzied, rocking the Egg violently as it did so.
“Sarah … we’re going to make history tonight, I just know it!”
Then crack! The Egg broke in two, revealing a yellow-coloured creature that had a large head and small body, with tiny hand-like wings and a beak which could inflict serious injury. Its eyes were large and bulging, and now scanning the room which surrounded it. The life form’s gaze came upon the cat on the filing cabinet, and an expression of shock widened its eyes.
Sylvester arched his back, and started to hiss and spit furiously. Then without warning, he jumped down from the filing cabinet and raced out of the room through the open doorway.
Sarah and Professor Hadley looked on in awe at their creation, neither able to utter a single word.
Not quite believing what it had just seen, the life form turned to look at its creators and duly announced, “I tawt I taw a puddy tat! I did, I taw a puddy tat!”
And that folks, is the story of how Tweety Pie came into existence….
The End.
The Awakening Brain
The following is fact-based, recalling the harrowing ordeal the author put himself through to bring you this story of isolation and paranoia.
I’ve no idea where I am. Can’t recall anything of where I was or what’s happened to me. My thoughts are my only companion in this dark and silent place. Wherever and whatever this place is …
The sound of a familiar or friendly voice would be welcome, and ease the anxiety that’s growing within me … if there is a me, that is … I’m not even sure of that? Just where the hell am I? This solitude is really starting to freak me out! Oh crap, a horrible thought just crossed my mind …
Am I in that very moment of death? That instant when life is passing on? Jeez, I’m too young to die! Or at least I think I am? Crap … I’m not even certain about that!
Perhaps I’m between heaven and earth, yet there’s no tunnel of intense white light that I can see ahead of me. Hang on a minute, how do I know if I have eyes to see? It’s so dark in here, almost like night. Oh nuts, I must be a blind person! This day just keeps on getting better and better – if it is daytime of course? Okay, I’m blind, so what …
It’s strange but, I don’t sense that I’ve got a body as I can’t feel or move any of my limbs. I guess I could be paralysed, probably due to an accident of some sort? Yeh, that’s probably it.
Come to think of it, I don’t appear to have any sense of smell either. Crikey, I wish I could reach up and touch my nose right now, just to make sure I’ve got one. Heck, what am I gonna do if I get an itch on the end of my hooter? Best not think about that right now.
I can feel myself becoming more agitated with every passing minute, and it’s not a nice feeling, nope. If this is a nightmare, then I want to wake up right now!
Oh crap, another horrible thought just came to mind … what if I’m not human? What if I’m an alien being from a distant planet? What if I’m being experimented on? Will I exist like this till they’re done with me, then kill me? Perish the thought! Hang on a moment, what kind of alien says ‘Perish the thought!’ to himself, or herself? Jeez, I’m getting paranoid now …
It’s possible I could be a robot. Some type of android, with artificial intelligence and a good command of the English language. Yep, could be. If I am an android, I just hope that my creator hasn’t named Kevin or Wally, I don’t think I could live with that … no thank you!
Heck, I’ve no idea who or what I am, all I know for certain is that I’m talking to myself and not making much sense of anything. Crap, it’d be my luck to be a psychotic android in need of therapy! I don’t reckon my situation could get any worse right now. It simply couldn’t …
Ha, I spoke too soon!
There are tiny spark-like flashes going off inside my head. Oh-oh, there’s even more of them and they’re getting brighter with each passing moment. Oh nuts, I think I’m about to pass out! My thoughts are starting to fade!
My God, I’m feeling so nauseous that I could throw up … if I thought I actually had a stomach to throw up from! Could this day, or night, get any worse? Surely not! Cripes, I’m fading fast! Oh no … no … n …
Heck, I’m back!
Jeez that was a close call, I thought I’d finally fizzled out. The flashing sparks have gone and it’s back to silence and darkness for me. Wait a minute, I could swear I just heard the sound of a voice? It’s barely audible but, yeh, I do hear a voice … I do! And the voice seems to be gradually getting louder. It’s a man’s voice! And it’s becoming clearer! Oh, thank God for that, it means I’m alive and no longer alone! Thank you … thank you … thank you!
Bummer, I don’t seem to be able to reply.
Hello! Hey! I’m in here you know! Nuts, nobody can hear your thoughts you stupid clot! For crying out loud, now I’m arguing with myself. Durr!
Ooh, the man’s voice is much clearer now, and I can understand everything he’s saying, and if I’m not mistaken, I think he’s talking to me!
My eyelids have just opened and I can see, just the ceiling, yet it’s better than nothing! It’s a white ceiling. Jeez, it’s very bright in here, almost clinical. If I could only speak and ask a few questions …
Ah, there’s a man wearing a white surgical gown and mask standing over me now. I think he’s about to tell me something, most likely that I’m coming out of a deep coma after a serious injury or illness. Yeh, that’s probably it. I know this man’s a doctor for sure, the only people who dress like that are doctors in hospitals. I just can’t express how truly grateful I am at being alive, and human! Ah, he’s just cleared his throat. I guess he’s ready to inform me of my present condition. Come on, doc, I’m ready … give it to me straight!
“My name is Doctor Joshua Reynolds. It’s very important that you remain calm.”
Huh, that’s easy for him to say!
“You’re unable to speak at this point in time, so what I’d like you to do is blink once for yes, and blink twice for no. Can you do that for me?”
Too ruddy true I can! And so I blinked once.
“Do you know your name?” he enquired.
I blinked twice.
“Do you know where you are and why you’re here?”
Again I blinked twice.
“Very good. You’re in the Synapse Rejuvenation Unit of the Hoffmire Cryogenic Foundation.”
Huh, like that name rings a bell with me? Must not complain because things are most definitely looking up.
“We now have the perfect donor for you, and shortly you’ll be taken to the operating theatre where the transplant will take place. Do you understand?”
I most certainly did understand, and I blinked once. God, it’s so good to know what’s going on, a tremendous relief! I feel so silly getting myself all worked up over something so straightforward as a simple organ transplant. And it does sound as though I’m in capable and experienced hands. I’m starting to sense overwhelming joy! Things are just getting better and better …
What? What did you just tell me? Crap! You can’t be serious! Doctor Reynolds has just informed me that if the surgery goes well, my head will be attached to the donor body within a matter of several hours!
If I could only scream!...
The End.
Introduction:
What follows are three separate events in the life of Roger Preston, a man now in his late fifties, who has experienced a constant series of unfortunate events throughout his life. Some would say these events are just plain bad luck. Others would suggest he is paranoid. And there are those who reckon he was cursed at birth….
A Most Unfortunate Life: Part 1
Roger Preston – ‘Roger’ to all who knew him – was woken that morning by the sound of his father’s voice calling out loudly from the bottom of the stairs in the hallway.
“Roger, c’mon, it’s time to get up!”
Roger rubbed at his eyes a moment, then slapped at his cheeks to wake his face. As the night’s sleep slowly began to drift away and his head became ever clearer, his first thoughts were of the day that lay ahead. For it was today that his father was to take him out for a trip to the seaside. Roger was only seven-years-old, and had seen the sea only on the telly and in photographs, so this was going to be a big day for him. Excitedly, he jumped from the bed and started to dress.
Seated at the kitchen table, Roger piled spoonful after spoonful of cornflakes into his mouth, barely chewing each mouthful before swallowing. He was eager to set off to the train station and be on his way to the seaside. Back in the early 1960’s, it was a rare treat for a child to have a day out at the coast, especially if you were born to a working-class family and even more so if that family had only one supporting parent; Elizabeth Preston, his mother, had died giving birth to him.
“Dad, tell me again what happened to me mam?”
“She went to collect you from Heaven and liked it so much that she decided she’d stay there. Now, hurry up and finish your breakfast, we don’t want to miss the train to Bridlington.” Mr Preston rarely smiled, and though he never directly blamed Roger for the loss of his adoring wife, Elizabeth, it was clearly obvious to everyone around him that sometimes his attitude towards his son was, to say the least, not quite the paternal bond of affection it should’ve been.
With breakfast over and the sandwiches and flask packed away in a duffel bag, it was time to set off for the train station.
Young Roger sat quietly as he gazed out from his window seat as the train rolled on towards its destination. The bright colours of the sprawling countryside in summer brought back a memory of the time his dad took him for a day out in the Yorkshire Dales, and lost him during a game of hide-and-seek.
Roger recalled that it did seem rather odd to him at the time to start a game of hide-and-seek just before sunset. His dad was very good at this game, and no matter where he looked – behind every boulder, around every bush, and each single tree – his father was nowhere to be found. He recalled also of how lucky he was to have come across a cottage after many hours of playful seeking, and how the nice elderly couple who lived there treated him to freshly baked scones and home-made strawberry jam, before they phoned the police. And they called out to him to come visit anytime as he walked down the garden path to a waiting police car. Such a lovely couple, he’d thought.
Roger also remembered the very moment when his dad opened the front door that same evening to two burly constables, with him standing between them. His father did look quite surprised as he’d shouted out in that instant, “Found you!”
Duly the train reached its destination, pulling into Bridlington Railway Station a little before midday. Eager to begin his day out, young Roger lead the way out of the carriage and onto the platform, with his father following close behind.
After a playful session on the beach, Mr Preston suggested that he and Roger go take a stroll along the cliffs, and if he was a good boy, his dad would buy him a paper kite from a shop on the promenade. Roger was delighted, a kite of his own to fly! He was the best behaved young lad a parent could wish for, and not once did he stray from his father’s side as they made their way off the beach and along the promenade.
Mr Preston soon had the kite up in the air and soaring in the light breeze that blew along the cliff top.
“Here Roger, take hold of the string,” his dad told him. “You’re the pilot now, my lad.”
Thrilled, Roger took command of the kite and immediately began to dart back and forth like a champion sprinter. Mr Preston watched from a short distance away.
“Look at me, Dad, I’m driving the kite!” No boy had ever enjoyed a kite the way Roger had that day.
“Roger, run closer to the cliff edge – the wind’s much stronger there, son.” It was evident by the smug grin on Mr Preston’s face, that Roger would obey his advice.
And young Roger did just that, running ever closer towards the cliff edge.
“Closer, son! You need to be much closer than that, my lad!” For the first time in many a year, Mr Preston was smiling, sinisterly.
A strong gust suddenly caught the kite and sent it swooping downwards at great speed, eventually crashing into the top branches of a rickety old tree close to the cliff edge. Roger was mortified, and no matter how hard he tugged at the string, he couldn’t free the kite.
“Dad! The kite’s stuck!” Roger yelled.
Mr Preston was no longer smiling as he began to climb the tree, muttering softly to himself as he did so.
“That’s it, Dad, you’ve almost reached it! Just a bit higher, Dad!”
Suddenly the branch that his father was pulling himself up on, broke. Mr Preston quickly disappeared as he and the rotten tree branch were sent crashing down to the rocks below.
Luckily, the kite had somehow managed to untangle itself from the branches and was once again free to fly, which is what concerned Roger the most at that particular moment in time, as it would any seven-year-old boy.
After an hour or so had passed, Roger, sitting alone a short distance away from the cliff edge and eating a sandwich, turned to see a middle-aged couple approaching along the well-trodden pathway. Duly the middle-aged couple stopped and looked across at him.
“Are you okay, son?” enquired the middle-aged man, looking a little concerned.
“Aye, I reckon so, Mister,” Roger said, stuffing the last bit of the sandwich into his mouth with a finger.
“Are your parents nearby?” asked the middle-aged woman.
“Er, … no. There’s only me and me dad. Me mam’s in Heaven.”
“Then where’s your dad?” the middle-aged man asked.
Roger considered the question a moment before answering.
“Me kite got stuck in that old tree over there,” Roger began, pointing a finger, “and me dad climbed up to get it back for me.”
The middle-aged couple looked at one another, both appearing puzzled as to why this young boy’s father was absent.
“So, where is your dad right now, son?” the middle-aged man enquired.
Roger momentarily pondered the question. Then, with the natural innocence of a child aged seven, he replied.
“Aw, I reckon after he freed me kite, me dad went for a swim.”
Roger Preston was taken by the middle-aged couple to the nearest police station in Bridlington. Mr Preston’s body was recovered later that same day.
A Most Unfortunate Life: Part 2
Roger had spent some happy years growing up with his aunt and uncle in a small village on the outskirts of Leeds, making a couple of good friends along the way – and more than his fair share of enemies due to several unfortunate instances. But now at the age of 35 and living alone in his rented council house, he was prepared and confident that whatever fate had in store for him, he’d cope because finally he was the master of his own destiny. Having had numerous jobs throughout his working life, and not being particularly impressed with any, he’d decided to become a self-employed painter and reap the benefits and financial rewards that working for himself would eventually bring.
It was Monday morning, the start of a brand new week. And it was a special day, a day when his very first customer would see the results of his craftsmanship with a paint brush and roller. It’s true that Roger was feeling a little nervous as he loaded his tools into the back of the white Ford van that morning but, his excitement was steadily rising too. He also felt a sense of pride at his business logo on either side of the vehicle which read, ‘Jolly Roger’s Colours’, with a skull and crossbones flag below the lettering.
Bradbury Towers stood out like a monolith against the skyline of the surrounding area overlooking Leeds City Centre as Roger pulled into the parking zone in front of the tower block. Like a man on a very important mission he quickly gathered together his tools, locked the van securely, and marched forward to the entrance and punched in the flat number on the intercom.
“Painter?” enquired the female voice over the intercom.
“Yeh, Roger Preston. Not too early am I?”
“No. Come on up.”
A shrill beep sounded as the door automatically unlocked. Roger struggled to pull the door open wide enough for him and his large bag of tools and step ladders to enter the building. Luckily for him help arrived as a female pensioner who approached from inside the hallway entrance and wanting to leave, pushed open the heavy door and kept it open as Roger began to make his way through it and into the hallway.
“Ouch!” cried out the female pensioner in pain as the step ladders accidentally hit her in both knees.
“Oh, I’m ever so sorry, love – are you okay?” Roger asked as he quickly swung around to face her, unwittingly smashing the old lady in the stomach with his large bag of tools and causing her to cry out in pain once again. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry! So very, very sorry!”
Winded by the force of the impact of the large bag of tools, the breathless woman managed just two words, “Clumsy idiot!”
Roger, filled with a deep sense of guilt, remained silent as he watched the old lady pensioner limp away down the pavement.
The lift doors closed as Roger pressed the button for the 16th floor.
An hour later Roger stepped from the lift on the 16th floor, having been trapped in it on the 5th floor due to a mechanical failure and subsequently having to be rescued from it by the Fire Brigade. Not to be deterred, he proceeded directly to his customer’s flat and pressed the doorbell.
The customer, a shapely woman in her late thirties, had the spare bedroom cleared of furnishings the previous day and this meant that Roger could begin to paint without delay, which he did. The ceiling first, walls second, and the gloss paint last was the plan.
The time was nearing midday and sandwich time as the shapely customer brought with her a steaming cup of coffee into the spare bedroom, starting a friendly round of small-talk as she did so. She complimented Roger’s emulsion work on the ceiling and walls, then asked how long it would take him to do the woodwork; his reply was just a couple of hours at most. She did appear to be pleasantly surprised and grateful that the room would be finished that very day. With the spare bedroom door left wide open, it wasn’t long before Frosty, the customer’s pet white kitten, entered.
“You’ve got a pussy then?” Roger playfully quipped, noticing the moggy.
The shapely woman giggled to herself a moment before answering.
“Yes, her name’s Frosty. Had her a couple of weeks now.” She picked up Frosty and began to cuddle her like a baby. “Cute, isn’t she?”
“She’s very white, just like a baby seal.” Roger noted.
“Frosty’s very curious, she pokes her nose into everything.”
“Well, you know what the saying is about curiosity and cats …” joked Roger.
The two continued chatting idly until Roger had eaten his sandwiches and once again began working on the room. The shapely woman took Frosty with her as she exited, closing the door behind her.
By mid-afternoon most of the room’s woodwork had been glossed, and only the window itself needed to be painted. Roger partly opened the window, not only to let out the paint fumes, but also to gain better access to the sides of the frame. Before starting, he thought it a good idea to visit the bathroom and did so without delay, leaving the door of the spare bedroom wide open.
Frosty scampered into the spare bedroom just a moment later. The kitten noticed a butterfly fluttering outside the window. To a cat, anything that moves is fair game. And just seconds later, Frosty leapt for the window like a fearless lion, launching herself out through the opening and into a most unpleasant surprise.
The time was nearing 5:30 p.m. as Roger put away the last of his tools in the large bag, contented he’d completed the work in a single day. The shapely female customer was delighted with the results, and complimented him as she handed over the payment for the job.
The time came for Roger to leave.
“I’ll carry your bag for you, Roger,” the shapely woman started, “the step ladders must be awkward devils to hump around.”
Roger agreed to her offer.
Outside in the parking zone, the shapely female customer suddenly dropped the step ladders and let out a blood-curdling scream of sheer horror as she noticed Frosty’s splattered corpse on the windscreen of Roger’s van. Roger was momentarily speechless as he too, saw the flattened and bloody corpse of the kitten.
“Oh my God – I’m so sorry! So very, very sorry!” he announced.
Roger Preston never heard from his first customer again. He continued to run his painting business until his insurers finally refused him cover for accidental damages. And cats don’t always land on their feet – it all depends on what height they fall from.
End of stories.
Thank you for reading this e-book, it’s highly appreciated. I hope I’ve managed to brighten up your day a little.