I think I’m gonna puke. Don’t do it on the hand, it’s holding a note. I can see that! You gonna read it? Gimme a minute, ah fuckit I’ll have to open the fingers. Alright. Get over here and give me a hand! You’ve already got o- Don’t fuckin say it, just help me. Slowly start walking around the bonnet. Menace is frozen on the ground, white and staring at it, drug smashed mind calculating infinite scenarios as to where it came from who it belongs to and how we’re next. The red dot starts to blink and zip on my chest as I kneel down. What the fuck…? Menace looks up. Ah fuckinell! It’s alright mate, If they wanted us dead we’d be dead, they must have a sniper rifle in there. Yeah, I can see that, but what…? The note. With shaking fingers we both begin to open the hand. Pull the children’s orange crayon scrawl note free, hold it up high and read it aloud: The red dot is hungree. If you do not follow his orderz he will eat you. Go to the house markkd 8 and knok on the door. Introduice yourself. That’s it, straight over there. We start walking towards it, between a semi burnt down bungalow and a brown brick mansion sits the spotless white weatherboard house, number eight, beautiful thick garden of colours, creaky retro iron front gate, now up the path, cracked headless gnome, rusted heart shaped arches overgrown heavy with randomly planted ivory tinted roses and under the fragrance of all the flowers, something can be smelt decaying. Yep, see- Keep your head down so they can’t read your lips. Ok, see the laser, coming from the front window, between the drawn curtains. Could be bluffing? We scope out our running options, as we twist our necks and eyes around, a shot rings out. Fuck! What are we gonna do? The berretta’s still in the car, between the seat. Alright, let’s just keep walking for now. On the clean spinach green floorboarded verandah, lies a painted punctured picture of an Elizabethan lady smiling, a dirty slashed tire, thick greasy power tools and a bloody red pile of tissues. Bang on the security screen. Nothing. Go again. I’m freakin out man. Ye- Inside, the locks begin to clink clink turn.
The Prettiest Nightmare