The month after the novel before....

I most definitely have a post Nanowrimo hangover.

I managed to finish the damn thing though, finishing off at just over 80,000 words. I got to the end on Saturday night, which means it only took me 28 wo write the whole thing. I'm pretty impressed about that. Now the trauma of editing lies in my path like a bloated fish. I'm not even attempting it until January. I think I need a bit of distance from the act of writing the novel, and then I can try reading it like I would a normal book (as opposed to a 'special' book like mine...).

In the meantime, I'm having the usual struggle with writing. I've edited a bunch of stuff I wrote in October. I've got three good short stories out of it, and I want to extent a some of the other pieces into Novellas/longer short stories.

My current project is a rewrite of Richard III crossed with Hamlet, written as a farce set in an alternate East Midlands. Or at least, it's supposed to be. I have no idea what time period to set it in, or what sort of world. To be fair, I've only written about 500 words so far, and it's shit. Give me the benefit of the doubt (whatever that means. What does that mean?) I've had a very bad cold, and I'm out for most of the next week in the evenings. And I've had to go to college a couple of times this week. I've not had a lot of time for writing.

But, the show must continue.

Here's to the Future! And Novels! And Christmas! And the knowledge that whatever happens, we will always end up somewhere! Hurrah!

Gosh, I feel like writing a National Noval Writing Month style pep talk now.

Pops open champagne

Not really, but I'm enjoying a very nice glass of Rose.

I've done it! 50,511 words in 21 days. Blimey. However, I think my spelling has become steadily worse over the course of the month. Now I've got 9 days to see if I can actually finish the story. =)

And then I'm going to have a nice lie down.

Nano 08 - 25000 words!!!

Last ngiht I broke the 25000 word point. I really dont know what has happened. It's been really difficult to keep going the last few days after work but I've still somehow been pulling out 1700 words a night. I just don't know where I have been finding the stregnth to keep chippng away at this thing, given that I usually have the motivation of a hungover snail on valium. I'm halfway to falling in love with the bloody thing.

Mind you, I've got to the point where I want to be done with the boring middle and steam right ahead with the final part of the book, but I want to try and write it in the right ordeer. I think after the 15th I may write the last part and when the actual story is finished I can pad it out however much I like.

Read the really poorly spelt, first draft version here: Metaphysical Mindfuck part 2 (up to 25000 words)

I just wonder if I can keep this 1700 a day thing going on after November? I want to set myself a challange of writing 10000 words a week when this is all over and see how I get on.

Day 8 (Mental Mindf***)

What a day... I was incredibly productive this morning:

Drank two cups of tea
Came up with a new title that has a very nasty swear word in it, but which fits the novel perfectly
Created a new 'NaNo playlist' comprising of Snow Patrol, Goldfrapp, Razorlight, The Scissor Sisters, Marilyn Manson, Rocky Horror picture Show soundtrack and Muse
Procrestinated for an hour and toyed with weather I should watch Spaced or start some writing
Sat down and wrote about 1300 words.
Wondered if I'd flipped out a tiny bit. It's only day eight. I'll be a gibbering wreck, crouching in the corner with a bottle of whiskey adnd giggling about bells before the month is out.

Then this evening I decided to get drunk and watch 'Clue' on Youtube. I know... I have this incredibly unheathy obsessin with Tim Curry films at the moment. There are only two that I can think of, but they are both absolute crackers. Anyway, after watching Clue, and getting horribly drunk, I decided to really get down to it and do some real writing. And of course, my characters were already in a creepy old house, so it just ended up being like Clue on steriods, only utterly awful. I do seriously think I've gone bit odd in the head though...

However, I am now about 2500 words ahead of schedule, for once in my life. I think that is due to my wonderful soundtrack, in all honesty.

12627 words!!!

I'm as shocked as you are. I'm actually 937 words ahead. Mind you, yesterday I was 5000 words behind and I've been writing most of the day, when not skipping around dancing.

Here are the first 12627 words for your deliberation NaNo 08 - draft.

The spelling is atrocious, but I haven't done a lot of word padding and I'm really having a whale of a time with this one. I haven't felt like this since earlier in the year when I was writing my Doctor Who Parody series. :) Writing is good when it's on fire.

Obligatory Post About The Cold Weather

Oh my heavens! I am at this moment, sitting in my room with my electric fire on, wearing jeans, socks, one cardigan, one fleece and a scarf and I'm still cold. Its like the Day After Tomorrow.

Even worse, I'm awaiting the imminent cold/flu which must surely be on its way as almost everyone at work is coughing and blowing their noses all over the place. Great. I'm expecting to contract a hugely sore throat and runny nose ready for my hectic social weekend (cousins party on Friday and possibly staying at hers on Saturday night as well) and NaNoWriMo.

I'm going to spend Sunday afternoon typing 5010 words and popping Soothers lozinges and drinking Lemsip like a mad bastard, aren't I? Never mind. Some days you eat chicken, some days you bite a mouthful of feathers.

Uhh...

*slumps on bed*

It isn't fair that some days I feel really motivated and manage to write 6500 words and start thinking that I've written something that isn't absolute shite, and then other days I just can't do it. Yesterday I wrote this wonderful story based around the idea of someone creating a giant fish finger, while today I have no ideas, no motivation, to little people talking to me, and i think I must have done about 500 words.

It's probably because I'm all nervy about going back to work tomorrow. It almost isn't worth it having a day off because its so nerve wracking going back the next day. Ugh. And also there's the horror of having to get up at 7am and brave the arctic temperatures outside. When is it Christmas already? Mind you, from looking round the shops, you'd think it already was christmas. That's what bugs me about it - you get Christmas shoved down your throat for the two months preceding it, and then when it actually is christmas you are so sick of it you wish it would just leave you alone and go back home. The holiday is nice though.

On the other hand, at least I have a new CD player so I can listen to music without having to log on to my computer and boot up Windows Media Player.

I suppose I ought to have another stab at writing something. I've got til 11... perhaps I could watch a DVD while I'm writing (with me, that can help. I was watching the Mighty Boosh yesterday and the words were just flowing out of me) and I could have a lovely cup of tea.

Stuff and updates (original post title I know...)

Well, I've got a new short piece (I've got lots actually, but a lot of them are crap). Here's the link: Marigold the mermaid

In other news, I'm finally starting to catch up with my pre-nano word count thingy. I managed to get myself 8500 words behind in the last week but I've written 4500 today so I'm not doing too badly now. There's at least two of them that will be good enough to send to magazines, and there may be a few others if I combine them or edit them or whatever.

Last week of hellish college this week. Hurrah! Last one for this term anyway. And then four weeks til the exam, which isn't so good as I won't have time to do any revising because obviously National Novel Writing Month is more important than revising...

I'm just hoping to get myself discaplined in the last week of my practise, becasue I don;t know what I'm going to write yet, and if my plot is rubbish I'll give up like i did last year. The first weekend is going to be a write off anyway because I'm going to my cousins for a party on the 31st and if I end up staying over on Saturday night as well, I'm screwed. Still, I can't do any worse than last year, can I?

Nano Practise and update

Well, I've got to catch up on 4910 words before I'm up to date. I think I'm doing quite well so far - I'm being so disaplined.

Anyway, so far today, I've done nothing with my day off, except caught up with some fanfiction on the LJ communities, danced around my room, said 'Woot woot!' at every oppourtunity for absolutely no reason and eaten a number of things. Oh, and the sky looks really grey and depressing.

So, a day fruitfully spent on the internet it is then.

So, here's the link to another Nano Practise piece. Some of these I'm seriously going to have to polish up and extend and send to magazines when I've made them nice and shiny and good. It's a homage to a NaNO phenomenon called 'The Travelling Shovel Of Death' It may return for another episode before November: The Shovel Of Death

Diamond (Nano practise)

Another short peice of projectile vomiting. :)


DIAMOND

Toby Shipley let himself into the flat. It was the only way, now.

He called out to her anyway, as he made his way through the dark rooms, a fine layer of dust covering everything. He wondered if he should take the time to get out the polish and a cloth and clean the p[lace up a bit, especially the horrible grey film over the mirrors that made him look as though he was looking at himself through a veil, or that he was ghost.

He decided he didn't have the time, and Isabella wouldn't care. Not when she couldn't even blink.

He dusted everything he touched, however. He couldn't go about rubbing his fingers in the dust and then getting it all over his clothes. He dusted the kettle, the tap, washed down the kitchen tops with a bit of kitchen towel while he waited for the kettle to boil. He got out his mug, the one he chose on one of the first nights he came round to Issy's flat - the faded Thomas the Tank Engine one that had belonged to Isabella's son, Paul. Paul was in America now and didn't know anything of what was happening in his absence. Best not to, really, with his Canadian girlfriend and that baby on the way, and their dog, who was called Polly.

Toby drank the tea, sitting in one of Isabella's armchairs, dusty and uncared for, they had that nasty clammy feel when he ran a hand over the blue material, flipping through an old TV mag, reading three week old articles and reviews of programmes finished last week. He brought it with him last time he came to visit.

At last he went upstairs, after quietly washing his cup out and replacing it in the cupboard. "Is?" he called as he walked up the stairs, one hand on the dark wooden bannister, feet creaking on the aging steps. He knocked on her bedroom door as he entered her room, even though he knew she wouldn't be able to call out to him. Hell, she probably wouldn't be able to hear him come in.

"Hello, Isabella. How are you? Look, I brought you a new bangle." He took the silver trinket out of its red velvet box and slid it over her wrist. Cold to the touch and rigid. Transparent, but betraying the shapes of her fingernails, the veins running along the back of her hand. "Well, what do you think?" He looks up at her face to guage her reaction. Isabella is frozen in mid breath, her eyes wide, her expression vaguely surprised. He sometimes wonders if she knew what has happening to her at the last second. He has the impression that she is still alive in there, still thinking, but unseeing and unhearing, all her nerves petrified.

Toby brushes her away from around her face. Tiny crystaline shards, little diamond tubes, so thin they are soft to the touch, almost like real hair. "You're beautiful," he breathes.

How do you destroy a diamond?

Fall (NaNo practise)

I'm doing all right with this so far, you know. Of course, I'm likely to miss out on most of the first day as I'm going to a party on the 31st, but I intend to at least get my title and symbolic first paragraph written down.

So, yeah. Here's one of the my little practise pieces. Most of them are dreadful, so I'm not even going to bother, but this one is quite nice.


FALL

Take a deep breath. Look at what you are about to become. Fall in. Don't jump. Fall. See the colours swirling around the vision of your closed eyes. And you're scared, of course you're scared, but you allow yourself to fall. Every day.

Hope that one day if you put the wordage in, force yourself to exorcise your brain of all those facts and lives and sentences, maybe something good will come out of it, something good, once you have cleared away all the dead wood. All those words, your whole life reduced to lines on paper, surely something must be good.

And when you look back, read what has gone before, you don't understand a single word - pretty words, put together in a nice and musical way but you have no idea what you were trying to say, what story you were trying to tell. Whose story. It's seperate from you now, stillborn, meaningless. Cold and dead. A child you never heard cry. You can't even see your blood any more, the things you gave when you sat at your desk, your stained bedroom floor, your blood, your sweat, your pain.

And you start again. This time, you will find a story, you will make something that you can care about, and that, in turn, someone else will learn to care about, fall in love with. You play the music that makes you want to cry, the music so beautiful it makes your heart hurt. The music you know you would never make. You make yourself a pot of Rose Pouchong, bring the pot upstairs with you, bring biscuits, a plate of sandwiches, cold milk in a flask, supplies for your long journey, and you sit. On the bed with a typewriter cradled in your lap, leaned against the bed with a notepad propped against your knees, sitting at a desk, sitting on the desk. Every which way. Taken. Raped. That's what it feels like you look at it later, crying, sick, because you know it's no good, and you feel so wasted and used up and tired and broken and torn, three stitches in your brain from the forced entry.

So you spend the whole of the next day reading. It is your last day before you have to go back to work. You sit and read in a fit of rebellion, thinking you can stop time if you stay there long enough, read yourself into someone else's story so you don't have to make up your own poor imitation, because that's all you can do. More tea. You read until your head aches, another forced entry, from the happy, fulfilled, functional writers who sit at their tidy and clean wooden, big desks, cheap from second hand antique shops. They choose second hand so they can kid themselves that other great writers have sat there composing a masterpiece, instead of the table being used for supper for a family of five who have to sell the table when dad loses his job at the factory.

Those functional writers, the bastards who wake at five in the morning and do yoga before writing until eight, when they have to take the kids to school. Those bastards who have a nap in the afternoon and spend the rest of the evening writing, taking their time, loving their wives, drinking strong coffee. And so you throw the book across the room and go for a walk downstairs - you feel trapped, a rat in a cage watching the mice steal all the cheese - to lok out the window. It's so bright and sunny. You can't stand to look at it, so you go back upstairs, stare at your books, all those happy bastards telling you what to do, telling you to write for yourself until you get to the second draft, or to write the worst story ever. You tried that and it really was awful, you ripped it up after the first three sentences and hurled it across the room. There's no time, and you can't think of anything you'd rather do, so you go to sleep, you think about giving up. But there's something inside you, some little part of you like a line of steel, that won't ever break and won't let you stop. Ever.

And you don't want to stop, because of the feeling you get when you fall in and you feel that vortex of silver and gold and black and blue and red seep into your head and all you want is to fall in ever deeper and never return. But of course you have to, because everything ends and sooner or later you have to stop to count your words. But you can start again, you can always start over again, with something different.

Once you've had a taste of what it feels like, to have all those ideas rushing at the front of your head, waiting for their turn to fly to the tips of your fingers, you can't stop. You remember the times it was real, and you were there and living someone else's life, and coming out of it was like going up for air, and the air didn't ever taste quite right and all the colours were dull afterwards. Because that's how it feels to fall.

Flowing out of me like vomit....

In the run up to National Novel Writing Month (see previous post) I have decided to try and write 1670 words a day as a sort of practise. 1670 about anything, as long as it isn't one of those 'about my day' things. So far it's going quite well -

Monday 6th October: 240 words
Tuesday 7th: 675 words
Wednesday 8th: 800 words (and this was with college so I didn't get home until half past eight!)
Thursday 9th: 0 words
Friday 10th: 0 words (oh, gimme a break!)
Saturday 11th: 860 words
Sunday 12th: 1960 words (so far, although I don't think I'm going to think anything else done tonight. I think I'm going to catch up with watching Merlin, get drunk and play around on the internet)

I think I might start from scratch actually. I've still got nearly 3 weeks left.

Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that I was thinking of posting my better practise pieces on this blog. Or maybe the worse, because one or two (out of the seven) of them are just about ok to send to a magazine. I thought I might make it a bit of a feature bewfore Nano starts. It might give me the motivation to post in this blog a bit more often.

So here's the first, raw and uncut (hey, you better get used to it. I intend to post my novel as I go along, if there is a novel):

LIGHTS

She wakes up screaming, only there is no sound. She can feel in her throat that she is shrieking as loud as she can, can feel her vocal chords straining, but she hears nothing but the harsh and frightened rasp of her breathing. It's hot. So hot. She rips the heavy quilt away from her, flings its dead weight across the room. She sits up in bed, cradling her knees, bathed in sweat, feeling sick, but at least she has stopped not-screaming.

It's so dark, she blinks a few times, feeling as though she has been blindfolded. Where is the streetlight outside her window, and the streak of light that should be falling across the middle of her bed? Oh, light, that's what she needs more than anything else in the world. Light. Beautiful, life giving light. Slides out of bed. Where is she? She blinks a few more times, but it's no use is it? Eyes useless. Eyes not working. Ok.

She pauses where she is for a minute and concentrates on where she is. Carpet - chilly, like opening the fridge door, skin clammy. Her neck aches. Ok. Everything is fine. She's alive, she isn't dreaming. She pinches har arm just to make sure. Good. She definately isn't dreaming.

Now then. She must find the light switch. She takes a deep breath and steps forward. "Oh..." her foot bumps something hard, must be her straighteners. She left them on the floor last night, didn't she? Good, only a couple more steps to the light switch. She reaches it with no other mishap, carefully avoiding the pile of coats and jackets on the floor, and the guitar. She knows her way around now, It's fine.

One hand touches the panel of the light switch, but she suddenly thinks perhaps she shouldn't turn the ligth on after all. Why ever not? Silly. The dream coming back to her in funny ways. There's nothing to be scared of. Absolutely nothing.

Shit. Nothing happens when she switches the light on. Must be the bulb. She flicks it back off and then on, just to make sure. Hmm. She isn't scared. Really. She steps out of her bedroom doorway and onto the landing, and feels for the hall light switch, listening to the hammering of her heart. On. Off. On. Off. It's not working either. Oh, dear.

She strolls back into her room - there are some matches on her bookshelf. She picks them up, listens to the rattle inside the cardboard box. But she pauses before lifting one out of the box and lighting. Somehow she knows it would not light if she tried. 'I think I'll put them back on the shelf. It can't be long before it gets light again. I'll sit here and wait.' So she does. She waits. And waits.

It's kind of based on a dream I had, where I was dead and haunting my own house, and I didn't know I was dead and kept trying to switch the light on and couldn't. Great fun.

That time of year again

Well, I've done it. I've signed up for National Novel Writing Month 2008. I just hope it won't be such a total shambles as last year, where I managed to write about 3500 words and then just gave up because my heart wasn't in it. Bring it on, baby... I'm ready.

New Story

I've been trying to get round to doing this for a couple of days actually. It's only a simple copy and paste job, but I have been too busy watching videos of Little Britain and the Catherine Tate Show (ah, the shows of my youth!) on youtube.

I can't really describe Interview With The Muse, only that it was inspired by the sentence: If you don't pay your demon, you could get repossessed. It kind of inspired me to write a story about a writer and his relationship with the clever little person with the pouch full of magic writing powder (the Muse).

Read the story here: Interview With The Muse

Coming soon, the thrilling finale to my Doctor Who Parody series, premiering on Timelord. I really need to persuade someone to film it or record it or something.

Marigold the Mermaid (part 1)

Andrea was feeding her pet.

"Marigold! Marigold! Dinner," she called gaily as she tipped some food into the large fish tank.

A blonde head stuck itself out from the miniature castle embedded in the sandy floor. "About fuckin' time!" snapped Marigold, as she wriggled out of one of the castle windows and floated up to the top of the tank, her hair flowing behind her like tentacles. She reached out a delicate hand and caught one of the bits of chicken Andrea had just poured in. "What's this friggin' muck? Come-cheese?"

"No, it's chicken."

Marigold dropped the bit of chicken, and it slowly dropped down to the bottom of the tank. "Fuckin' stick it up yer arse. I had chicken yesterday. I need fresh vegetables with my complexion. Carrots and fucking apples and strawberries and things."

Andrea fished a few of the pieces of chicken out of the tank. They were floating on the surface like severed ears. "Ok, ok. I'll get you fruit or something."

"Good. And clean out this bastard tank. It'll stick of chicken ghoulies by this evening."

Marigold watched her human disdainfully as Andrea arranged the chicken on a plate and went into the kitchen. Running her hands through her hair, she went back to the castle to change and look at her calander. She had two consultations today, but she couldn't remember what time they were due.

At last, after what seemed like a lifetime, Andrea returned, with a selection of finely chopped fruits and salad - pineapple, cucumber, carrots, peaches and bananas. Marigold heaved herself out of the tank and perched on the edge of the fishtank so she could have a closer look at the plate, her tail swishing like an angry cat. "I'm not having motherfucking bananas. I bet you've been using them to pleasure yourself up the cunt. Slapper."

"Marigold, please don't swear."

"Fuck off! I'll do what I bastarding like. You're not the one stuck in a fucking tank with people gawping at you all day long."

"I don't gawp at you." Andrea handed Marigold a sliver of peach, which the mermaid greedily ate, smacking her coral coloured lips.

"Yes, you do. I know what you're up to. You knock on the walls of the tank to make sure I'm still alive, but it's not really because of that, is it? You just like annoying me."

"Whatever you say."

Marigold snorted, and dipped her fingers in the water next to her to clean them. "You got any grapes?"

"No. I'll get you some when I go shopping."

"Good. I like them. I can eat them like you do apples. By the way, I've got two clients coming in this afternoon, so I want this cunting tank cleaned out by then, or I'm going to pretend you neglect me and have someone call the RSPCA or something."

"Ok."

"And I want some new clothes. I'm sick of only having three fucking bikini tops. I want a cardigan for the winter."

"Yes, Marigold." Andrea plopped the last of the fruit into the tank and shooed Marigold back into the water so she could put the lid back on.

-

The first client woke Marigold up from her afternoon nap. The bastard was three minutes early and she wasn't ready.

"Fuck off! Andrea! You're not supposed to let these wankers come in early."

It was a new client, someone called Paulette Simmons. She looked nervous. "Hello," she said, bending down to peer into the tank, smiling gormlessly like Marigold was a three year old child.

"What do you fuckin' want then? And step away from the tank, you look like your ruddy gormless, fucking hell, I seen better things in the gutter zonked out on heroin. What do you want?"

Paulette blinked like a startled something. "Just a quick one. I want to move in with my boyfriend, but I'm not sure it's the right thing to do. How much do you charge for that?"

"we'll see at the end, won't we? Waste of my fucking time, I'll charge you whatever I damn well like dependin' on what mood I'm in at the end. Got that?"

"Yes. Ok."

Marigold squinted through the glass. "Take this lid off, would you? I can't see through the glass properly - you've got a bollock for a head."

Paulette tugged the black plastic lid off the tank, and Marigold poked her head out of the water, regarding the young woman stonily. "Right then, you cunt. How do you want me to do it? Palm reading? Tarot? Good old fashioned crystal ball? Candle wax? Tea leaves?"

"Oh... um... tarot?"

"Right." Marigold disappeared below the surface again, and returned a few minutes later with her own, specially made set of tarot cards, tiny pieces of paper, painted on with waterproof paint and then laminated with Andrea's nail varnish.

Paulette was instantly charmed by the cards. "Oh, aren't they gorgeous! Did you make them all by yourself?"

"Yes, I'm not fucking simple, like you."

"Oh, but they're so tiny and wee."

Marigold rolled her eyes, and brushed a hunk of hair to one side of her face. "Oh good, you noticed! Do you think we can get on? I've got another one of you tossers coming in about an hour and I want you frigging gone so I can cleanse my auras or whatever the fuck it is. Now be quiet would you? I need to concentrate."

Paulette smiled expansively as Marigold began to shuffle the cards.

-

Andrea came in after Paulette had gone. "Did it go well?"

The mermaid shrugged. "Alright, I suppose." She rubbed her temples and winched.

"Are you ok?"

"My aching bollocks! What do you think? It takes it out of you, this fortune telling lark. That bird was a fucking fool. Hoe much did she give you?"

"£40. I think you impressed her."

Marigold smirked. "Well, fucking bully for her. I want a new filter thingy with some of that then - do you have any idea of how filthy this fucking water gets? It would help if you cleaned it out a bit more often."

"Yes, Marigold."

"Shut up! And I want a new pet. I want a salamander or something. You know, one of those little water lizards."

"Ok," Andrea said soothingly and closed the curtains to help Marigold's sore head before she left the room.

Featuring the Invisible Travelling Shovel Of Death

Carol was climbing out of her bath when she heard the noise.

She opened her mouth to call "Who's that?" but closed it again, thought better if it. She pulled the towel around her body as quietly as she could, and crept to the bathroom door, feet padding and leaving puddles all over the faded pink carpet. She opened the door cautiously and stuck her head out, listening.

There it was again. It sounded like metal scraping against a wall, a kind of grating noise. Carol chewed her lip thoughtfully, plucking nervously at the towel. She moved further out, and stood at the top of the stairs, listening to the noise get louder and louder. Whatever it was, it was coming up the stairs, but she couldn't see anything.

"What are you?" she asked the invisible advancing thing. Another scrape, metal on her nicely painted wall. Another second and she actually saw a scratch appear on the paintwork as she watched.

Carol started to back away. She ran through the scenario in her head, wondering how she could make an escape. Run into her bedroom, run quickly round the bed, and hope whatever it was followed her and didn't cotton on to what she was up to and wait by the door. Then she had a clear run to the stairs so she could get out of her house and away from this creature, whatever it was. If only she could see it, it would be a lot easier.

Suddenly, Carol felt a whoosh of air, cold and fast moving, near her head and ducked just in time. She squealed and shot down the staits, tripping over a loose corner of the towel and going down on her knees, bobbing against each stair until she landed in a pile on the floor. She sensed the thing gathering itself to swoop down after her.

"Leave me alone!" she whimpered, and scrambled up, pulling the towel around herself to try and protect her modesty. Her still foot slipped on the carpet and she skidded agin, but managed to keep her balance this time, starting to cry in frustration.

Carol ran through her hallway, her kitchen, and through her back door into her garden. She yanked an overly large jumper from her washing line and threw it over her head, pulling it down over her knees. The towel she tossed behind her, in the direction she hoped the thing was advancing in. She knew it was still following her, because she had heard the clatter as it came after her, bashing into door frames and into furniture. Across her neat green garden she ran, in bare feet, the stones and grit cutting into her, although she didn't notice. As she slipped through her gate, and into the street where she lived, she heard the thing go clanging into a parked car, and saw the dent that appeared in the silver paintwork as she heard the noise. It was a nice and shiny Subaru as well.

Carol kept running. She needed something to fight with, some large stick or bin lid, or a hose pipe. Anything.

An old lady was walking past, so slowly, with a little yorkshire terrier on a long lead. The dog yapped and wagged it's little tail in double time, it was so pleased. Carol dodged the old lady neatly, but clipped her ankle on the kerb as she passed. She let out a cry of pain, but kept going. She had no other choice. Suddenly the old lady screamed. It was a proper, throaty scream, the scream of young girls from the olden days, which Carol supposed the old lady had once been. Carol slowed - she had to anyway, because of her smarting ankle - to look, and saw the kindly, gentle old lady kneeling on the pavement, holding a little, still whimpering red bundle in her hands. The bundle, or what was left of it, was fluffy. The tail wagged, probably some sort of reflex action.

Carol must have looked for a little bit too long, because suddenly she felt a blinding pain between her eyes. The pain lasted for probably less than a second before everything went a pure white, whiter than snow. The invisible spade chuckled to itself as it regarded the bloody shape of the young woman, one eye looking up a the sky in an almost dazed way, and red blood leaking on to the pale lilac coloured jumper. It pushed down the jumper a bit, to cover up the young lady's thighs. It wouldn't be nice to leave her like that, with all her bits and pieces showing.

Nano 08 - up to 25000 words

He sat with her for a couple of hours, as Farne sat with Verdigris, and eventually he slept, his head pillowed on his leather jacketed arm.

When he awoke, there was a small furry face peering down at him. Charlie tried to smile. "Hello, Verdigris." The cat was sitting on the slab next o him, tail held getnly away from his body. He was still wearing the hat with the feather in it. He seemed to have taken a bit of a shine to it.

Ther cat appeared to smile back, a preditrory smile. "YOu cut my tail off," he said pleasently.

Charlie tried to sit up, and Verdigris stood up and sat down again on his stomach, he was sur[risingly heavy. "I'm trying to think of the most suitable punisment for oyu."

"Now, look, I cab explain. Mirabelle made me do it, and it could have been a lot worse. I threw her aim off just enough."

"Just enough to cut y tail off? I liked my tail. I wouldn't have cared if you'd killed me, I wouldn't have known any better, bu tI really liked my tail. I could say that I was rather attached to it, in fact."

Charlie tried to free himself from underneath the cat, but he really was quite heavy. Was he making himself heavier or aomething? "Farne!"

"Don't bother. She sleeps like the dead. I have to bite her ear to get her to wake up to feed me. Perhaps That's what I should do to you?"

"No... no, don't do that."

Verdigris was twitching his stump of a tail, eyes alive with feverish cruelty, and not quite focussed. Probably still slightly groggy from the aneathetic, Charlie thought. "Or your nose. Or your eyes. Yes, that owuld be rather fitting owuldn't it?"

"No, don't do that. PLease..." Charlie was babbling, while at the same time digging into th pocket of his jacket. There were always spare bullets in there, he never knew whn he might need them.

Verdigris lay down on Charlie's chest, purring as he went through various scenarios. "Maybe I could bite your ears and nose off and make you east them. Or even better... I could have your-"

He broke off as Charlie's fingers finally closed around the small piece of metel in his jacket ocket and waved it in the air, so it caught the light.

"Ooh... shiny!" verdigris's littl eface lit up and he raised a paw to touch the silver bullet "Pretty."

Charlie made sure the cat's eyes were following th epath of the bullet and then flung it to the floor. Verdigrtis watched it dispassionatly for a moment, and then sprang when it rolled a little to the left. As he jumped, his tail struck the edge fo the slab and he swuarked with pain, breaking the shiny thing spell.

"You bloody sod!" Verdigris spun round and got himself ready to jumop up again. But he had given Charlie enough time to get up and grab hold of the gun that still lay on the op[erating slab.

"Go on then. You go for me and I'll make sure I blow off a lot more than just your tail this time."

The cat hunkered back down on the floor. "Revenge is sweter the longer you wait to savour it's pleasue, human." The gun wavered in Charlie's hand. "Don't ever doubt that I will have you eventually." The cat stared at Charlie for a minute, each of them blinking slowly, unwilling to be the first to look away, and then he turned around and walked back tot eh basket Charlie had found for him, swinging his injured tail high in the air on full view. He curled in it, and put a rotective paw on Farne's sleeping forehead. He stared at Charlie until he dropped back off to sleep again, after uttering a little squeaking yawn, probably just so he could show off his rows of sharp catty teeth. Charlie didn't sleep again, the grandfather clock had just faintly struck three in the morning and it ould soon be time to go about his tasks. the creatures liked to be fed before they went to sleep for the day.

*

"What have you done with the mistress?" The raven, as clever as Mirabelle in his own way, asked as Charlie entered the room with a plateful of lamb mince.

"Ther was a bit of an accident."

"Yoou mean you killed her?" The Raven hopped down from it's perch, it's balance slightly impeded by the thick chain that had been roped around it's left ankle, and tackled the mince with relish. "I an't say I'm surprised. It was always in the air that you wanted to kill her." It cocked it's head at Charlie. "Does that mean your'e in charge now?"

"I imagine it does, yes."

The Raven paused to swallow a morsel of food before replying, "God help us."

"I wouldn't get too excited. I've a mind to get out of here and leave you lall to it."

The Raven considered this. "Are you going to take my chain off, first?"

Charlie examined the gun he still hedl in his hand. He hadn't let go of it since Vedigris's attempted attack. "I suppose it would only be fair. I could leave you all to fight it out, and ope no one ever comes ot this house again."

He watched the Raven for a minute or two, and then left. He had to let the Vampires out of their cages so they could go down to th basement and bed down in thier coffins, hose down the living waxworks with cold water, wash the cross dressing ferrets bondage gear. They were in the next room and he could hear their agutated squeaks of hunger and discomfort as he stood outside the Raven's door. They were doing the Time Warp as he entered, but rushed at him in an awful furry tide as he slipped into the room. A pile of tiny pink handcuffs and corsets appeared at his feet.

"You're late!" snapped one of them. harlie couldn't make out which one it was, as they always like to keep the room dark.

"We had a visitor last night," another one continued. "A..." he shuddered "cat."

"Sorry. He was one of the mistresses guaests. Nothing to do with me." He waved the gun at them. "Go on, you lot, get to the back of the room. I don;t want any of you getting out and causing havoc. YOu really badly upset Frankensteins Monster last time. You lucky we have a psychiatric hospital in the attic."

This somment was met by a chorus of sniggers.

Charlie cleared his throat. "Now, I feel I| ought to warn you. I'm off. At four O'cloch this afternoon, when it gets dark, I'm going to open all the doors and you can go out an fend for yourselves in the house."

A couple of hours later, all his work done for the time being, Charlie slipped in the dining room, where he found Farne and Gwendolyn sitting at the same table as the night before, helping themsleves to sherry and dishes of Kedgeree and chilled meats. Charlie wondered if he should say something sbout the meat, but decided he didn't want to upset them any more than they already wre, abd besides, what they never found out wouldn't hurt them.

"Hello." He came into the room and pout the gun on the table, smiled reassuringly. True, he had betrayed them, but he hadn't meant to. And Gwendolyn looked nice with her hair all pver her face, and her face dazed and still slightly drugged. She looked vulnerable. He went over ot he trolley ytat leaned against the wall and started a cup of tea for her. "I'll just go and boil some water!" he said gaily, skipping off with the metal teapot, and ignoring Farne's scowl.

Gwendolyn appeared beside him at the kitchen sink, and he guessed she was going to give him some asngt. It wouldn't be a proper story without some agsnt, he figured. He felt he probably deserved it. He put the kettle on the side, and turned to face Gwendolyn. "Ok. Call me a bastard. Call me every name under the sun, kI don;t care."

To his surprise she smiled. The food had given her face some colour. What had Farne hsaid about her being an alien? "You've upset Farne and Verdigris very badly, which is understandable, bit I know you only did it becasue you had to, and I know what that's like, and she doesn't. You deserve so much more than this... place."

Charlie shrugged and handed he the kettle. He wadsn't sure why, it just seemed like the right thing to do. "It's my life. I'm used to it. Anyway, I'm leaving."

"Where are you going to go?"

"I have no idea. Just away. You said there were all these portals in this house, perhaps you can teach me to use one or two of them."

And with that, he turned away and started making th tea. Gwendolyn played with her dark hair and chewed on her lip. "Wht about al the creatures?"

"Once we're gone, they will have the house to themselves, to do with as they wish."

"We'll have to lock all the portals, whereever we go. They'll be able to leak into other worlds if we leave them unchecked. So where ever you go, they'll be no coming back."

Charlie picked up the tea tray and managed th erather spectacular feat of carrying the tray and holding the door open for Gwendolyn. "I wouldn't want to come back."

She laughed. "Don't you know? It always leads back to the creepy old house. Thw first time you had a flat tyre, you'd end up back here." Charlie glanced at her for a moment, and then leaned his face lose t her ear.

"Why are we doing all this?" he asked softly. His lips brushed her ear and his breath was warm, and so alive.

"What?"

"All this creeping aorund in the kitchen staring at each other and being all emo thing. I think we should go and hide in the cupboard and have sex."

*

Gwednolyn cast her eyes up at the ceiling in annoyance and stalked off down the hallway. "I guess the little cow wants to wait a while before the obligatory sex scene..." she muttered. Charlie glanced about for somewhere to leave the silver tray of teaware, and upon seeing nothing, rolled his eyes and dropped the tray on the floor, where it landed with a heart lurching clatter. Gwendolyn spun round.

"WHat was that for?"

"I don't know. I don't even think I can use the excuse that it felt like a good idea at the time."

Sighing, Gwendolyn brushed past him. "Come on, let's get pout of here! Farne! We're going."

Charlie took her arm. "We can'tgo. I can't leave until four O'clock."

"Why?" Her face contorted in anger as she looked at him.

Charlie shrugged, and the tea tray suddenly threw itself at him. "Ooh... blimey!" He managed to catch it, upside down, but it quicjly righted itself. He brushed a loose lock of black hair away from his forehead. "I promised."

"You madew a promise to the bats and the ghosts upstairs?"

"Yes... good point." Charlie flung the tea tray at the window. It clattered against the glass that wasn't really glass and they floated up off the floor as one organism - teapot, milk jus, sugar bowl, and those funny little tweezer things that you use to pick up sugar lumps - and flew at them. "Run!!" cried Charlie, pushing Gwendolyn through the door. Farne stared up at them over her soup.

"Where the hell did you get soup?!" roared Charlie.

"Never mind that - what's with the psycopathic tea service?"

Gwebdolyn took the soup off Farne and tipped it all over her head. Vrown liquid leaked down Farne's unimpressed face. "We're going. Charlie is going to set all the inhabitants of the house free, and then we are going to use a portal to get out of here." She pushd Farne out of the chair.

"You're not saying he's coming with us?" she asked, wiping soup out of her hair, and eating the pieces of carrot she found. "Hmm..."

"Why not?"

"He tried to kill Verdigri, if you hadn't noticed."

Gwendolyn drew herself upto her full height, which was considerably more than Farne's and houted at her. "He didn't mean to! He is my new contrived love interest, and it isn't my fault if you;re bloody jealous!"

Open eyed and open mouthed, Farne stared at her as if she had just been slapped. "Well... I... I-"

Charlie sat down at the table and peered at the soup in the tureen. He picked up a spoon and tried a small bit. "The soup's been poisoned!" he announced.

"No, it hasn''t. I've already had two bowls. If it were poisioned I'd be dead," said Farne, at which Charlie muttered something neither of the two woman could catch.

"Well, that's becauise you weren't supposed to," he pointed out.

T this point, Gwendolyn realised what was going on. "It's the writer!" she cried. "She knows we're hre, and she's trying to flush us out. She'll decide to make an appearance in her own novel in a minute! Let's go, quickly, before the fourth wall vanishes entirely." She shot out of the room. Farne and Charlie glanced at one another dubiosly, before following. Verdigris was trotting down the stairs and watched all three of them run past, before joining the procession, wondering if Gwendolyn had been at the gin, or weather the other two were just trying to kill her.

When they reached the study, there was a throng of thr house's inhabintants already there. Gwendolyn stopped dead in the doorway and stared in at the assembled monsters and creatures and people in evening dress. Charlie skidded to a halt in the doorway. "Well, bugger me."

"Do you think, if we go really quietly, we'll be able to escape?" asked Farne, creeping up beside them.

One of the creatures noticed tham and raised it's glass with a grin "Well, come inside, why don't you?" it said and it's mouth opened wide, exposing three long and sensual pink tingues. The tongues licked the creatures lips and teeth playfully.

They all ran back out into the hall.

"The door's locked!" Gwendolyn said, as she tugged ineffectually at the knob. Charlie tried the other door, the one leading back to the dining room, and found that was locked too. Verdiris ran back up the stairs, the bow on the end of ail dressing bobbing in the air.

There was the sound of a cat screaming. "Holy bloody Jesus!" Verdigris yowled, and shot back down the stairs, a horde of transsexual ferrets at his heels. Farne decicded that now was a good moment to scream, and Charlie slapped her. She slapped him back, and it could have continued in this vein, had Gwendolyn not made up her mind to slap them both. On seeing the horrific apparition, which is much too horrific to even imagine, let alone describe, she screamed herself and grabbded the othe two by the hands before setting off at a run.

Only to find herself barred by the un-unlockable front door. She screamed in frustration and kicked at the door. On glancing down, she noticed something in Charlie's hand. "Charlie! Why did you not tell us you still had the gun?"

Charlie looked down at the gun in his hand, looked up at Gwendoloyn, raised a hand as if about to say something, opened his mouth, shut it again, and then suddenly spun round and shot the atrotious abomination in the traot, or what we can probably assume is it's throat, as it is attached ot what is most likely it'shead. "Good shot!" cried Farne, leaping up and pumping her fist in the air.

The horrible thing snarled and screamed in pain, rolling about on the floor. Charlie raised the gun and tried ot shoot it againm but it had evidently run out of bullets. "Of course.. I hadn't fille dit up after you shot Mirabelle..." he said, and flung the gun to the floor, along with a couple of silver bullets for fgood measure. The abomanable horror coughed up a bit of blood, and then, coughing, dragged itself to its feet, arms ourstraetched and making a ghastly hungrey gurling noise at the back of it's injured windpipe.

Farne backed away, trying ot get behind Gwendolyn, who was at the same time, trying ot get behind Farne. "Ok.. maybe not asuch a good shot."

Gwendloyn was suddenly tugging at her arm, having seen what she had been looking for. There was an old typewriter on the hall table, and she could see a faint light of potential shimmering above it. It was th only portal in sight and she knew the four of them had to take it. As more of the horrid creatures filtered out of the study and into the hall, she was heading for the typewriter, pulling Farne behind her, who wouldn't take her eyes off the monsters.

"Come on! Charlie, put up that sodding gun - we might have need of it." Too late,m for Verdigris had run into the centre of the hall, dodgeing the 'I've run out of names for how spectacularly horrid and bile and malevolent and horrific and how it is made of liquid sick creature' quite skillfully, and picked the gun up. He scampered back with it and jumped at the typewriter, bathed in a blue light for a moment, a brighter blue than anything els ein this dark old house of nightmares, the house where all the things that live in oold houses eventually come to rest. Farne called his name as he disappeared, th white flash of his tail bandage the last thing they saw. She quickly followed him, leaving Charlkie and Gwendolyn in the hallway.

Gwendolyn looked up at Charlie, who was gaxing at the blue lit typewriter with a sort of tearful fear lighting up his eyes. "Come on. They're laive, I promise you. It's not as if you can stay here now, is it?"

Charlie looked at the typewriter, than at the things behind him. "But..." Gwendolyn shook her head and ran at the typewriter, still holdin Charlie's hand. Together they were submerged in the soft blue light, glowing with it for a moent before they vanished.

The inhabitants of the household poured into the hallway, monstres with green skin, and putrefying bodies with blood stoll oozing down their faces, and young and beautiful young irls with razor shapr fangsm and at last the Raven, stood and looked at the typewriter, as gradually it's glow started to fade. Gwendolyn, as promised was deactivating the portal. There were other ways out of the house, other links to other stories, but none to the one that she had her friends had founs themselevs in.

"Gosh," said a tall man with the eyes nd fac of a large fly, "I only wanted to ask them if they wanted to play 'pin the tail on the dovkey'."

"No one wants to play that game, Arnold. We'd all much rather have an orgy," said Miss Redding, rolling her eyes. "Now, would someone like to take this damned straight jacket off?"

*

The computer screen had lain doment ofr a long time, the keyboard unused and unloved. There was n one to see the delicate blue glow that surounded it, and the computer. Gradually the glow grew a little brighter, a little deeper and in the centre of the light, soemthing shimmered. A second later something burst out from the eye of the glow - a ginger cat with half a tail, and a hwte bandage where the ret of it hould have been, and a gun in its mouth. The cat dropped the gn adn ducked its head up and down a few times, as though it was expecting to be sick.

"Thank god..." it said in a rather gentlemanly upper class drawl, and then sat down to wash its face.

He heard a noise behind him and watched as something else, a young woman, spilled out of the blue glow and landed in an undignified pile beside him. "I say, Farne. It's a good job you're not waering a skirt if you're going ot land like that." Verdigris poked his mistress in the nose. She didn't stir, so he curled up on her face to wait for the others.

Gwendolyn and Charlie came through a minute later. Charlie took one look around him ,rolled up his eye and fainted. Verdigros thought he looked like he might have sone it deliberately.

He came to a moment later and sat up, staring at the room he had found himself in. "What is this place?" he asked. He wa trembling like a frightened rabbit, and blinking rapidly as he tried to take in the unfamiliar television, computer, the lava lamp. Verdigros stalked pup to him and Gwendolyn, stump waving in the ait. He wanted to show it off, ut Charlie wasn't looking at him.

"Farne's passed out," he said.

"Yes, I can see that." Gwendolyn crouched down beside her friend. "Ket's put her on the bed, next to the... ah..."

There was another body on the bed. Gwendloyn walked up to it and stared into familiar eyes. The body in the bed was her own, with blue eyes instead of violet, and dark aubern, almost reddish hair, instead of her daerk brown locks. She seemed drawn into the lifeless blue eyes, marbles in the girls head. She was so pale..

Gwendolyn struggled to stifle a scream as a hand touched her shoulder. Charlie. "It seems I have found myself in a world that is just as strange, if not even more dangerous, than the one we just left..." he said.

Togther they stared down at the body, Gwendolyns body, but in different colours, the same person just a different type, and gredually, wasting away, it began to disappear. Gwendolyn reached down and placed a hand on the body's arm, but it slipped right through. The girl disipated like mist the final thing to vanish being her blue eyes, givign the illusion that they wer rising off the bed and into Gwendolyns eyes. Gwendolyn brushed her hand over the empty sheets. Nothing Nothing to indicate that there jhad been a body there, no blood, no hair, no dent in the bed where the bosy had lain. She g;anced up at Charlie. He glanced back at her.

It was Frne who broke the silence, by waking up. "Why didn't you warn me?" I think I bashed my head on that stupid typewriter as I cane through... bloody hell, Verd. Get off me!" She shook the cat off, and groggiy got to her feet. "Now what? Sweet surburbia? Whata re you two doign?"

CVharlie and Gwendolyn jerked away from each other, Charlie wiping at his mouth. Gwendolyn stuck her hands in her jeans pockets, trying to pretend that they hadn;t just been emtining in Charlie's hair. "Testing for fingerprints?" he hazarded.

"There was a dead body in the bed," said Gwendolyn.

"What did you do with it? Wrap it in a curtain and flush it down the toilet while I was unconscious?"

Charlie glanced around the room. "Where's the fucking cat?"

The three humans (well, one of them isn't scrivtly human, but I didn't realyl want to say, the two humans and the not quite humkan, although maybe in hindsight that does sound better....) looked at one another and then shot out of the room, only to be blockd by a an invisible barrier on the door. It was open, but none of them could pas through it. Gwendolyn hammered on it. The abrrier made a thwacking sound as she banged her fist on it. SHe snatched up a lamp from the dressing table and bashed oin the invisible door until it broke. "What is it with lamps? They're supposed o be so hard wearing!" SHe flung the broken lamp away from her, pieces of china tinkling into the wall like piano keys. Gwendolyn decided than that the best course of action wwould be to start kicking the barrier.

Suddenly, Verdigris the cat poppd ot of an empty Primark bag. "What the devil are you doing?" he asked.

"Trying to get out."

"I don't think you can. I think this story is limited to this one room, the writer sbedroom."

GWendolyn frowned. "What do you mena, the writers bedroom?"

Verdigris sighed and rolled his eyes. "As humas went, Gwendolyn was bright a lot of the time, but when she was thick she really was think. The moments when she was think were highlighted by her usual intelligence."

"All right! you don't have to tell everyone that!" There was a pause. "How do we get out of this then? If you'r eso damned clever?"

"The bag is one of your portal things. There's all this funy blue light and when I stuck my hea dout the other side I found myself in this spaceship wiht all these red numbers counting down to lft off or something. Hang on..." Verdigris disappeared back inside the bag. He reappeared with his whiskers turned down in a frown. "Oh.. it's gone."

"Great. So what now? I'm not going back to that house," said Farne.

"Too late. I deactivated it while you were zinked out." Gwendolyn pulled a small pen out of her pocket and waved it in Farne's face. "Literary trans inducer. It removes the links between stories." Sure enpugh, there was no longer a blue glow around the computer screen. But ther was somethign diffrent about it, somethign that either hadn;t been there before, or somethign no one had noticed because f the blue light.

Charlie walked up to he screen. "There's writing." He sat down in the blue office chair, and squinted inorder to raed what was on the screen, unfamilier with computers. He started to read. "The mit was pure white and clung to the irls body, a thick steam that swirled aorund her, seeming to feed, burning itself dee into her pores. Her name wa sMargaret Annabelle Rocket... Rocket? What kind of name is that?"

"A fictional one," said Gwendolyn, coming to sit on the chair arm. She took hols of the mouse (no! not that kind of mouse! This isn't Carry On) "Her anme was Margaret Annabelle Rocket and she was stumbling through the mist as though wading though a think jungle. She knew ther had to be something beyond. She had been walking to the library, a quiet sreet in the middle of the afternon. Then she had walked straight into the mist and everything changed. All sounds ceased, and her body moved sluggishly. She had th eimpression taht ther wer others in the mist, close by, but she couldn't hear them and she could only make thm out as vague shadows floating just in front or just to the side of her." Gwendolyn suddenly gasped and pulled away from the screen. For a second he had been there, truly been there, not Margaret's body, but still in her own body walking jsut behind a small girl with freckles and moousy brown hair.

She nearly fell ff the chair arm, but Charlie caught her, pulling her half onto his lap. "You too?" She nodded. "I don't think I want to go in there."

Gwebndolyn smiled softly, a sad little smile. "I don;t think we've got any choice. I think this is where the writer had been pushing us right from the start of this chapter."

"It's a trick," said Farne.

"Not nessacerily. I have the feeling that she had even less of a clue of what's going on than we do" sh looked around. "Where's Verdigris gone?"

"I'm in the wardrobe, ahving a power nap! I haven't slept for two hours, I'm exhousted."

Farne was standing by the bookcase, a small child's case, with a mish mash of volumnes. She was rading a dog eared copy of Thomas the Tank Engine. She replaced the book back on the shelf and was opening another before she realised that the others were watching her and she ganced up. "I was thinking taht mayeb if we can read ourselves nto another world with that thing on the screen, perhaps we can use another book to choose somewhere." Gwendolyn was just staring at her. "Haven't you thought about now you're going to get Mark back?"

"Mark?!" exclaimed Charlie.

"Mark<" comfirmed Farne. "Isn't there a method to your madness? Do you actualy have such a thing a 'plan' or are you just going to leave it to chance and hope we stumple upon him by accident in some dark world while your;e flitting from place to place ahving a good time shagging people and getting drunk?"

Gwendolyn grinned. "Yeah. That's what I usually do."

"Mark?!" repeated Charlie.

"Shut up Charlie. I'm not human ither, if you must know. Gve me a few minute and I'm sure I can thin of two or three other revelations to upset you, if that's what want."

"I know you;re not human. Farne told me."

"She what!!?"

Charlie flolded his arms across his chest. "Never mind that. What about this 'Mark'?" Gwendolyn opened her motuth to speak, but she must have been atking an awful ong ime about it, because a heavy book - Volume 1 of Shakeseares plays came flying across the room at them.

Farne stood at the bookcase, a book in each hand, scowling. "Would you two gilrs sto phaving your domestic, and help me read up out of heer?"

"I'm not readin ym wayi into Shakespeare. Nothing wrong with Shakespeare, you understand, I just mean I refuse to read myself into a play. I hate being in plays. It's so one sided and dull and all that stage direction...."

Another book - rather predictably, the second Volume of Shakespeare plays - was thrown across the roomand hit Gwendolyn on the forehead. She remained standing for a moment, looking dazedm and then dropped like a brid shot in midair.

The books didn't work. Charlie and Farne flipped through most of a shelf, reading excerpts reading aloud, acted out the stories within the boks. Gwndolyn, when she woke up, woudl have nothing to do with the exercise, and sat down on the bed eating a Terry's chocolate orange (other chocolatey products are available), complaining that she shouldn't be kncoked out so often and she needed the sugar.

Farne snapped at her, "Do you always complain about your status as a not quite human, and use it as the bassi for hundreds of made up conditions?"

"Yes, I do!" Gwendolyn snapped back.

"I don;t think you should be eating that, anyway. You don;t know where it's been. And it's not real, anyway."

"Of course its real. This palce is just as real as our own world, just as real as Charlie's world. You ate the soup there, remember?"

Fane shook her head "No, This place is different. It's liek an empty shell wher etime has stopped and there is nothing living, it's like there never was anything living here, and it's all a set up to trap us and trick us into doing what your stupid writer wants us to do."

"So what if it is? There's nothing we can do about it." Gwdndolyn battled Farne with her eyes, shining as she nibbling on a slice of cholate orange.

Her companion put the book she was trying to read abck on the shelf. "There is something we can do. We can mutineer. We can stay hear and see what happens. Do nothing. Sit on the bed and not talk, not eat, not drink. I supopse we could sleep... See how long it takes for the writer to get bored, and then see what she does when she hasn't got a story to tell."

Gwendolyn swallowed the last of the choclate, and seemed to ponder this. At last she odded.

Charlie came to sit beside her on the bed.

Vedigris went back in the wardrobe for a sleep.

Farne sat dwn in the middle of the floor, apparently mediatating.

Gwendolyn yawned.

Charlie Yawned.

Farne gave the both dirty looks for daring to yawn, daring to do something. Daring to have something for the writer to write about.

Verdigris continued to sleep.

*

The writer put down the keyboard, her mouth twisting in frustrationa nd abger. "Bloody.. bloody! Fluffy! They are mutineering against me!!! hat am I going to do?"

Fluffy the cat, who was actually Verdigris secret daughter, but no one is supposed to knwo wthat yet... oh.. whoops. Anyway, fluffy was sitting on the floor, half asleep in that manner that cats have of sleeping somewhere really uncomfortable ike the floor, when they have a perfectly lovely bed made up specially fo rthem by their owers. She completely ignored the writer, who got up from her desk with a flounce and stalked off to get herself a cup of tea.

*

Gwendolyn leapt up from the bed. "Quick! Let's go ebfore she comes back."

"Go where?"

"Anywhere!"

Verdigrid cralwed out of the wardrobe Having done a poo in there, it was no longer so comfortable. "What, out the window?"

"Anywhere apart from that." Gwendolyn looked at the computer screen, apparently their only means of escape, and had a sudden idea. She sat down at the chair, put her hands to the keyboard and started to type.

*

Another world, another blue flash. Only this one was more ofa mid grey flash, and that not particularly bright. The four figures appeared almost simutaneously, and only Gwendolyn seemed unsurprised by the world of blacks and greys and cloudy whites, all washed over with a faint tint of old brown, like decayed film, which is exactly what this new world was.

"Where th efuck are we?" squrwked Farne.

"Would you stop swearing? This thing wil never get published if you keep on with your potty mouth," said Gwendolyn.

"I am not fucking swearing! And anyway, I don;t want this fucking thing to ever get published." Farne raised her arms so she could look at her hands. "MY hands have got grey."

"Yes, I did notice," replied Gwendolyn.

Verdigris looked up at the two woman. "Why have your voices gone all funny? I'm sure you used to have that ghastly East Midlands accent," he said.

"I can explain. I have written us into the Invisible man."

"Why?" asked Farne, her face all screwed up again.

"It was the last film I watched, so the story is kind of fresh in my mind., Unfortunely I have only ever seen the film, which is why it is in sepia toned black and white, and we all have didgy upper class 'Queen's englihsh' accents, except for you and Charlie, who had them already, due to a whim of the writers."

(NARRATOR: When the writer returned, she was stunned to find that her characters had slipped out of her grap and she cursed herself. She sat down with her cup of tea, wondering what on earth she was going to write about now, for Gwednolyn Carvetti had proven herself to be much more resourceful than she expected her to be, and had disappeared from sight, so intent was she on her search for her former friend.)

The four characters looked at each other. Gwendolyn's mouth opened and then closed again. Charlie looked up at the sky, expecting to see a vast and omnipresent face vanaish back into the dark grey coulds of the night sky.

"What was that?" asked Farne.

"I think it was a Narrator which is a bit odd, seeign as the Invisible man doesn;'t have one..." Gwendolyn also looked up at the sky, expecting something to come out. "She's probably sent out scouts to try and find us."

They stood there in silence for a minute longer, hoping that the writers rader would skip them because they weren't doing anything. There was a sudden outbreak of screaming from a cluster of houses somewhere to thier left, and the sound of gunshots. "Come on, I think we hd better go along with the story," said Gwendloyn, and she ran in t direction of th houses, Charlie right behind her. Farne and Verdigris exchanged dubious looks and the followed. None of them noticed the white bandage, now a dirty and discolourd grey, that was left on the gorund, tied into a loving bow by Farne just a few hours ago.

There was only the sound of her own footsteps on the ground, her sight blurred as she wsn't yet used to the sepia overtones and the lack of colour. In fact, Gwendolyn was starting to regret writing them all into the Invisible man. Thew film she had watched before that had been the Titantic, how ever, so that probably wouldn;t have been a good idea either... She was concentrating only ont hese things and something, running as fast as she was and heavier, bashed into her. "Oomfpfy!" she muttered, as she toppled over onto th hard and stony ground. Whatever it was it had mashed her top lip against her teeth. She tased blood in her mouth, and raised a hand to wipe it away, groaned when she saw the slick dark grew sheen on her fingers. A second later Charlie was at her side.

"Are you alright? You just fell down..."

Gwendolyn looked at him, and thenl looked groggily at the space in front of her, looked around for the someone that had kncoked her over. She squealed as she felt another hand clap itself onto her arm, a gentle hand, that wasn;t Charlie's.

"What is it? Are you hurt?" asked Charlie.

"I'm most awfully sorry. I don't htink you were supposed to atep in front of me like thatm were you?" the voice came from nowhere, kind and curious. Gwendolyn reached out her own hand to the nothingness that held her arm and felt the bones of a hand, taut muscels and soft cool skin.

They'r found the Invisible man without even looking, without even wantint to look for him. Gwendolyn smiled at the irony. "No, we were. We probably shouldn;t have done, but we were distinctly meant to go bumping into you." The Invisible man helped her to her feet. She shook his hand. "Sorry, I think we may have ruined your story now, and ours, beacsue we were trying to escape from something and our escape relied on not metting you."

Snow was starting to fall, whih she wasn;t convinced was supposed to happen, but she couldn;t really ermember what had happened in the film, with it being in black and white and on acocunt of the fact that she was drunka t the time. The snow gathered on the man's shoulders, outlining a tall an thin man, with a good strong nose, from the way the flakes landed and then slid down the ridge of his face. One of them ran along his forehead, along the lines. He was frowning. "I don't understand. Who are you? Are you escaping from the law as I am? I must say, you're remarkably well dressed."

Charlie put a hand on Gwendolyn's arm, shok his ehad at her as she prepared to speak. The look in his eyes carried meaning, but she wasn't quite sure what sort o f meaning it was. "WWhat?" she whispered.

"He doesn't need to know all the details. It'll only confuse the poor fellow, and he's got his own problems. We'll just keep it simple."

The Invisinle man laughed. "I hardly think your situation can be stanger than mine."

Gwendolyn and Chalrie laughed, a tinkling and uneasy sound against the falling snow and the rotton acoustics of the 1920's. "It can, belkive me. Nothing gets stanger than fiction." She looked over his shoulder, "Oh, here are the other members of our party." She nodded, and the invisible man turned to see Verdigris and Farne trotting up to them.

Verdigfris shook his coat free of fallen snow and scowled up at Gwendolyn, "Why'd you have to make it snow, b****?" He froze. "B****. F***. Boll***!" The cat paused, blinking, and then sat down in the snow. "Gwendolyn," he asked sweetly, "What the f*** is happening?"

She shrugged "It's the 1920's. I don't think you were allowed to swaer back then." she looked to Charlie for clarification, but he just shrugged.

"Don't llok at me, I've always been able to swear, but then, I dont come from any particular era. My house must have been split across different times." He shruged.

Farne shrugged as well, so as not to be left out, and The cat just muttered somethign under his breath, probably trying to find a nasty word he could actually say. "Who were you talking to anyway?" he asked.

Gwendolyn beamed. "The Invisible man, He's actually a really sweet and charming chap. He's right here." She reached out a hand to where she thought the Invisible man's was, menaing to pull on his arm and introduce him to the rest of the 'team', but there was nothing there. "Um.. where'd he g?"

"Who?"

"The Invisible man. Where is he?"

"I didn't see him go anywhere."

"Well, you wouldn't would you? He's invisible. Thats' heis tag line. The film would nevr have been the phenominal success if has been if the titla had been 'The incredible man who peple can see'."

There were footsprints in the snow, leading further way from the houses, Gwendolyn guessed the Inviisble man must have some kind of base in the village about a mile away. She knew there ws a hotel there. "He's gone that way!"

Farne sighed as she prepared herself for yet another bout of running, this time through the snow in highly inappropriate shoes. "Here we go again..."

*

They had pursuaded the hotel receptionist to let them into the hotel on the pretence that the Invisible man had dropped his wallat in the sow and they were trying to return it. The young woman behind the desk had argued, saying that 'Mr Crooks' hadn't left his room all night and in any case, she didn;t think he was in a fir state to go anyhere in the cold, as he appeared ot be unwell. Charlie replied that that waswhy it was so important that they returned his wallet, and she had wavered before finally letting them go up to his room.

"Why are you following me?" snapped the Invisible man, as he held open the door to his room, and one by one, they all trooped in, being careful to wipe their feet on the doormat.

Gwendolyn sat down on the bed. "I have no idea, but I just have this inkling that you;ll be able to help us. I hope you are, because I don't see how we are going to get out of this therwise."

"Get out of what?" asked the invisible man irritabely. It seemed that they had just caught him in the act of having a shower for he was rubbing a towel vigorously around the area f his head. For the fist tim, it struck Gwendolyn that he was actaully naked, and had been in the snow which perhaps explained why he had ru off so quickly, and she suddenly felt her cheeks burning red, She couldn't helo it, and she turned away.

The invisible man seemed to stare at her, and then he signed and pulled a threadbare blue dressing gown from a hook on the door and shrugged into it. Charlie took up a position next to Gwendolyn on the bed, swiftly joined by Verdigris, who hoped up swinging his half tail in the air. Farne remained standing by the door, unwilling to invire herself in as the other had done. She smiled awkwardly at the invisible man, and he gestured that sh should enter. "Would anyone like a cup of tea? Coffee?"

"I'd rather-"

"Shut up Gwendolyn," snapped Farne, perching on the very edge of the bed. It was hard to tell in the sepia toned mono colour, but Gwendolyn thought she looked pale.

The Invisible man, or rather the arm of his dressing gown, gwaved at a jug taht was tanding on the table next to the sink. "Water?" He found some glasses with difficulty, having to use the soap dish for Verdigris, and the tooth mug for Charlie in favour of giving the proper drinking glasses ot the ladies. He placed the soap dish in front of Verdigris and then moved away from him quickly. The cat scawled up at him, the lok in his eyes clkearly eyes, 'What? You think you look normal, mister perspex?' but for a change he kept his little bewhiskered mouth shut.

The Invisible madn paused, looking at them, or maybe not looking at the,, for who could tell? Finally he heaved out anotherg great sigh and sat down in the chair near the door. "Now, I think one of you had better explain what on Earth is going on, or preferably more than one of you. There's nothing quite like hearing several sides of the same story. Why don;t we let the talking cat go first?" he laughed, hopelessly. "You know, someone told me I was going mad, and I am beginning to wonder myself - you charming younf ladies and gentleman, and your cat could just be the symptoms of my sikness."

"I assure you we're not," said Gwendolyn.

The Invisible man considered. "No. You seem ar too civil to be creatures born of madness. But I don't know where you are from... I've heard stories of men travelling from the future into th past and the past into the future, and of creatures from Mars invadint he Earth, (here Gwdnoyln and Farne exchanged a look. Of course he would be aware of them, the Martians and the man who built a time machine, but would they share the same universe, or were they all just myths in each others worlds?) and people swear that those storie are true, and with people like you sitiing in my hotel room, I begin to wonder." Thw Invisible man stood up and crossed the room. "Would anyone like a cigarette?"

Gwendolyn started to put her hand, but Farne gave her such a forbidding look that she didn;t even dare open her mouth. The Invisible man put a white stick in his mouth and lit it, the flame from his match lighting up for an instant his face, the light reflecting off his features.

(the image of Wadsworth the transsexual butler beating peole up with a candlestick...)

They saw the look of shock on the invisible mans face, even though they couldn';t see his face, his shock and vague horror and incomprehension was evident from the shape of the air around his head.

"Excuse me?" he said, stubbing the cigareet out in the sink. Gwendolyn gave him her best 'please don't kill me, and eeven if you do try and kill me, I'm going to do my utmost best to talk myself out of it, which is why I@m smiling like this, I'm trying to think of somethign to say' smile.

She said, "Nothing, absolutely nothing." Still beaming confidently, she tured to the other and mouthed 'F***, she's f***ing found us again!'

Charlie raised his arms in the air to try and placate the invisible man, "I don;t think we have much time," he said.

"YOu'r telling me. I@m thinking of telephoning for the police, and look at the state I'm in. I don;t know which of us is the mor illegal party."

"We haven't killed anyone," said Gwendsoly.

The INvisible man jumped and looked wildly around for the pistol he had hidden in the room, but too late, it was in Gwendolyn's hand alrady and had been for some time. "That's right. We're not murderers, but you are, and if you don't help us, we'll turn you over to the police. Just like that." She hoped she sounded more confidanrt than she felt, because she didn;t know what number you were supposed to dial for the plice in the early twentient century.

The inviscible man complied and sat back don in th chair. "Very well, but I fail to see how I can help you."

"So do we," Farne put in, "But Gwendolyn seems to think you can help us, and she claims to know how the writer's mind works, so she could be right."

"The writer?"

"Our writer. Not yours. Yours wasn't a psychopath," aid Farne.

Gwendolyn smiled, and lowered the gun a little, "That's right. Somehow, you can help us."

"But how?"

Gwendolyn glanced behind her at the others, who were still assembled on the bed, "Yes... how?"

"By hiding us," suggested Farne."

"That wouldn't work, This was my nest plan, writing us into a work of fiction that the writer hadn't written, btu she still foudn us. He can't hide us in a hotel room - the writer alreday knows we're here."

Charlie put his hand up next, "BY gicving us some of the invisible stuff?"

Verdigris rolled his eyes, which as I think I've poitned out before cats aren't supposed to do, but what the hell, "That wouldn't work, We'd just go mad and start runnign around killing people," he said.

"He isn't mad," said Gwednolyn, who privately thought that the invisible man was actually a rather sweet and clever chap, adn dnot at all mad. "Of course, that's it!"

"What's 'it'?"

"You can hide us! All you need to do is create a new story. Instead of goign menatl and killing people and finally being shot and dying a=in a hospital ned sureounded by your loved ones, you could become good and use your invisibility for good instead of evil."

At this point, farne managed to rous eherself enough to spring off th bed. "So the writer wouldn't know of the new story, so she wouldn't be able to find us! You are a genius!"the two girls embraced, to further eye rolling from Verdigris.

"Wooh oo, " said Gwendolyn and flousiehed the gun in the air, accidentally pulling the trigger, causing the lightbulb to erupt in a small and very glassy explosion. There was th soudn of footsteps on the stairs.

"Oh, shit, what do we do now?"

The invisible madn started to herd them into the centre of the room, "Qucik.. get in the wardrobe," he said, usheruing them all in, and shutting the door, locking it just to be on th safe side. When the domestics started hammering on the door, he yanked it open, in his full bandage regalia waving the remaind of the broken light bulb in the maid and the managers face.

"How dare you! How dare you put substandared shitty light bulbs in your rooms! I demand my money back at once! I have been in a terible accident and i don;t think I can tak many more shocks." He then leaned back int he doorway, vindicated, panting and heaving from his outburst.

*

The manager made a great fuss of putting in a new light bulb for him. The invisible man dprowled aorunf the room, snarlign and exclaiming and swearing, in an attempt to cover up the shiffling noises from insdie the wardrobe. As the manager left, and the maid was just emptying the last of the broken glass int the dustbin, the invisible man schreeched out, "And sort out your goddamn rat infestation! I had to listen to them in the wordrobe all night last night, aving an orgy and god knows what else!"

When the manager and his employees had fled, the invisible man let them all otu of the wardrobe. "What do we do now?" he asked.

"I don't know," relplied Gwendolyn. "The linguistic filter had gone, so either you ahve amaged to change the story o much that there isn;t one anymore, or the writer knows exactly where we are and is homing in on right this very second... I hope it's the first one. I suggest you carry on in exactly the way you are doing... well, not exactly like that, but being different is good."

Th Invisible man lit up another cigarette. "What am I supposed to do next then?"

"Why don;t we go and see yor girlfriend?" suggested Farne.

"Why?"

"Because it would be so out of charactre. You're supposd to be going mad, not visiting loved ones." The invisible man laughed again as they mentioned his sanity.

Togetherm they hustled him out of the room, all bekted up in an overcoat, scarf and gloves.

On the way, they passed an old woman leanign against the wall of one of the beaten down old houses. "Invisible man going ot see his girlie!" she muttered to herself, and then cackled. GWednolyn and Farne shared a glance, Gwendolyn wordlessly being the one nominated for strolling up to the woman, and she dod so, tripping confidenlt over the snow, beaming.

"HellO! I couldn't help hut overhear your conversation.. with.. er.. ourself, and I was wondering how you came to that conclusion?"

The woman peered up at Gwendolyn, she was shrt and alomost goblin like, all wrinkles and sprightly blue green eyes. Grey wisps of hair danglied down from her man's cap. "I gort a pixie in my pocket," she said, leering at Gwednolyn, who shrank back from the filthy smell eminating from her mouth. "She telle me of future things." The old woman leant back wisely against the wall, and farted contentedly.

"A pixie?"

"Aye..." the old crone reached into the pocket of her grimy overcoat and brght out a tiny little creature, a human, but only about five inches tall and thinn as a bundle of sticks. At least, her head an arms and torso were human...

The tiny mermaid thrasjed her green tail abot on the old hag's palm and glowered up at Gwendolyn. "What t'fuck are you lookin' at? Didn't se enough in't circus?" She was also achingly pretty, with long golden hair and delicate features, poinprick hazel eyes.

"WHat's her name?" asked Gwendolyn.

"Dont have one," said th old woman.

"Marigold," said the mermaid in the same instant.

Gwendolyn coldn;t help herself from bending down a little to get acloser look at the ctreature. The mermaid, it has to be saod, took it all with remarkable good grace, as she sighed and folded her arms, but managed not to sewear. "What sort of thing does she tel you"? Too latem she discivered it was a msitake breathing in so close to the old woman.

"Futreut hings. Visions. Earn me lots of money. You have a little bit of miney to give to an old and ailing grandmother?"

"Sorry, no. Money i one of the things I seem to be lacking at the moment..." Gwendolyn trailed off as an idea hit her. "ON the other hand, I thin my friend over ther emight have some money. I'll be back on just one moment." Gwendolyn retreated, still smiling confidently, and walked back to the rest of her team. "

"May I borrow som emoney please?" she asked of the invisible man.

"What for?" his hat and scraf moved along with hsi invisible face, and Gwendlyn thought he might be frowning at her. His hand moved to the pocket of his overcoat. "And how much?"

He sounded suspicious. "There's a mermaid over there that can tell the future."

"Doesn't llok much like a mermaid."

"No, taht's some random old woman, but she ahs got a furtune telling mermaid in her pocket, and she looks like she oculd be a link to another story."

The invisible man sighed. "How much?" he repeated.

"Come with me," Gwendolyn said, and led him over towards the ols woman, who looked up with interest, licking her long greying teeth, deep in thought.

Veedigris yawmed in th snow, causing the writer to remember his existance and be forced to write a sentance about him.

(Would you stop it? I can only concentrate on two characters at a time.)

"Screw you," said Verdigris.

"What did yo just sat to me, you horribe little cat?" snapped Charlie.

(Oh no, not you too.... the wr=iter muittered inside his head)

Farne gav ebth odd looks, "What's going on? Don't tell me you having another of your little tifs."

Verdigris and Charlie looked at each other, but Farne's eyes followed the footsteps in the snow and watxhed Gwednolyn and the invisible man, who apperaed o be leading the old woman into a pub on the corner, "What are they do-"

At that moment, Verdigris pounched on Charlie's leg, he screamed, jerking about in the suddenly blood stained snow, struggling to kick away the cat athat gnawed at his boot, and tore at his trousers and skin.

"What? Verdigris!!" Farne pounced n the cat and grabbed at him. he waved what was left of his tail inher face and then shot off down the road. "Verdigris? What did he do that for?"

Charlie thoguht he mgiht ahve an idea why Verdigri shad don what he did, btu he didn;t say anythign out loud, and treid not to think about it, becasue he had a feeling that he could neve now be sure of who was listening to his thoughts. "It doesn't matter. Let's just go after him," she said, taking her hand and pulling her off down the snow covered path.

"But what about-"

"Never mind Gwendolyn. Don't you think that, ou of any of us, Gwednolyn is the one most able to to look after herself? We'll only be a minute." And with that they jogged off intot th snow, and soon become only blakcish shaped among the white.

The snow continued to fall, a grey and white bird flitted from a tree to the roof of a house, adn bolted down the chimney. All was quiet, and the moon glittered pure and bold in the black sky. At last, a moving figue puntuated the silent snow. Verdigris. He took up a position next to the pub door, narrowly missing a pair of legs as they eft the oub, and he waited for the others.

"Where are they?" asked Charlie, as he came u the slight hill at a run. "It can't have taken thta logn surely, whatever they were doing. There was the sound of panting behind them.

Farne trotted up, limping a little in her heels, which she really shouldn;t have worn to go adventurign with Gweendolyn Carvetti. "Where the fuck is she?"

They indicated the pub. "Right then," said Farne, and walked inside. Charlie went next, but held his hand up when Verdigris tried to follow him.

"You;re a cat. I think it might give them the wrong idea."

The cat, for indeed, Verdigris was a acta, as I do so enjoy endlessly poitnign out to you, sat down on the cod wet snow, tail stump wrapped partly aroun dhis feet and loked up at Charlie with wide, and somehow childish green eyes. "Fuck you," he said, and trotted inside.

"They've gone," Farne was already on her way out. She paused in the doorway, a shock away from wringing her hands in despair.

"What do you mean 'gone'? Where could they go?"

"I don't know Charlie. All I know is that the old woman is sitting at a table near the window, drinking a pint of gin which I suspect the Invisible man has bouhght for her, and there is no mermaid, no Gwendolyn and no invisible man, although I suppose he could be hanging around... we'd neve rknow. I asked art the bar and the barman said tehy in here, but hey vasihed. Literally vanished. He said he'd seen some fnny things in his life, but that was-"

"Alright, I get the picture." Charlie rubbed han over his face, his own way of coping with stress.

"So they've gone into another of Gwendolyn's damn worlds, without us," said Verdidris.

"Buy why?" nwo she really was wrtingin her hands.

Verdigris shrugged adn thougthfully ahd a wee against the wlal of the pub. "I expect she thinks we're not in as much danger as she in, ebcause this whole silly searxch wasn';t out idea. She thknks the writer of hers can't be in two places at once and she'd rather follow Gwendolyn than us."

Charlie drummed his fingers on the door frame. "So that means we are free to do whatever we like, without fear of the writer chaing after us."

"Great.. trapped in a black and whit film... I wonder what I'm going to do. Dye y hair a vibrant and exciting new shade of dark ashy tarmac grey, or perhaps i could buy a lovel new pale silver pashmina. Whoopee."

The cat paused in the act of burying his business. "It's not even tha, any more, not the Invisible man has gone."

"May I suggest that we do the only sensible thing?"

"What's tha then?" asked Farne.

Charlie gforced a grin and clapped Farn on the shoulder. "Let's go to the pub. I've never been to a pub before. I mean, I know of them of course, but I never had any oppourtunity to visit one, and my enture litrrary life has been lived inside that dingy little house I never got the chance to get drnk in a proper pub. Come on. I'll buy you a pnt."

"I'm not sure if they ahd pints in those days... thses days..." Nontheless, she followed him inside, the cat bounding ahead of them, to drink nasty looking greyish alcoholic ds=ish water out of chipped glasses.

*

(NARRATOR: Meanwhile, Gwednolyn, who ha once again given the writer the proverbial slip, has found herself in yet another new world, with a brand new set of intriguing and colourful companions, and is starting to get an idea of what she will have to do, and what further tortues she will have to go through in order to find her frined. From the peculiarties and horros that ahve gone before, it was clear to her that getting Mark back and restoring hinm to the world was going to be a bigger mountain for her to climb than she had first anticipated...)

"Oh, shut up, Narrator."

(NARRATOR: I have no doubt that Gwednoyn will one day have cause to regret telilng the narrator of this tale to end all tales to 'shut up'. I like all Narrators, am a very stressed and irritabel person, due the inane and torrid inevitability of the story and the boredom of my position...)

"I said, shut up. Stay o your side of the bloody fourth wall."

(NARRATOR: The narrator sighs and shake his head in mingles sadness and despair as Gwendolyn insults him. then he ducks as Gwendolyn flings an empty wine glass ay him, narrowly missing hitting him on the head and knocking him out. She cries out as an invisible force prevents her from venting her anger even more....)

"Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you, but do you rally think you ought to be throwing glasses at the story's narrator?"

"He's not th ereal narrator."

(NARRATOR: The narrator has to admit he is rather insulted-)

"SHUT UP!"

Another voice joined them. "Do you fuckin' mind? I'm trying to sleep here!"

"Sorry Marigold," said Gwendolyn, "But we are going to have to leave this world already." She has realised that it was the only way to outwit the writer, only know that I have revelaed her plan, and voiced her idea that the only way to outwit the writer is to do what she plans on doing, does that mean that the writer now knows what Gwendolyn is planning and will be able to stop her? And perhaps, an even more burning question, should I telephone for th emen in white coats before or after I finsih writing this damned novel?

Marigold sighed irritably and stretched on Gwendolyn's palm, brushing at her golden hair with ehr hand. "How?"

"Lonliness."

They faded intot he ble light that permeated the small room, and it was only after they had gone that a small figure roused itself from it's place in the corner, and looked at their retreating shapes with sad eyes, eyes that always seemed to be watery. The figure wiped at its eyes with grubby fingers and stared around the tiny square confines of its cell.

*

"FDear god, this is one sweet welcome to your fuckin' life, isn't it?" Marigold snapped, wiping the vomit from her mouth. Gwendolyn winched and looked as though she was about to be sick herself, as she handed the marmaid to the invicible man and rubbed her hand on her jeans.

She smiled, "Sorry."

"Well, I didn't bloody ask for this."

"I didn't ask for my former colleague to blow up a plante and get towed by the writer," replied Gwendolyn. "I didn't ask for you two to be tied round my neck." She thought of Charlie and Farne and Verdigris. Leaving them in the black and film of the Invisible man'd world had been the only way to give the writer the slip, but was she even now following them with her mind? There was no way to be sure, except to keep an eye out for various narrative slips.

"What are you doign in my house?" said a voice from (yu guessed ity) the doorway.

"Oh, hello. I'm Gwendolyn. And this is the invisinle man. Obviously you can't see him because he;s invisible, but he is nere. And this is Marigold. She's a mermaid."

The girl in the doorway folded her arms over her slightly transparent check and sighed. Gwendolyn tok a closer look at her - a wispy blonde, pale with high cheekbones, and pale blue eyes. Again, that sensation of looking into a mirror that revealed a different colour. "I said. What are you doing in my house?" she repeated, speaking very slowly and carefuly so that Gwdnolyn understood evert word.

As the gril spoke, Gwendolyn nodded her head with each word, making it look like she was thinking very hard about what was being said. "We're from another place."

"I've had enough of people waltzing into my heouse and making themselves at home. Why don'y ou just-"

At theat moment the invisible man interrupted them. "What's wrong with the light?" he cried, wving his hands in the air. "It's all horror and pain and glorious technicolour!" he tared at his left forearm as though he had never seen it before, which in a way he hadn't done, at least not in the way he saw it, all kind of pale and flesh coloured. Of course, in his world, it was not flesh coloured, but more a sort of pale grey.

Gwendolyn turned on him, throwing her own arms up the air, then catching them and spontaneously reattaching them to her body. "Stop rolling your 'R's', invisible man, you're not in posh brit land any more."

"Yes, you prat, shut up," chipped in Marigold, just for the hell of it. Seiosul;y, why can't I have any characters that are called 'Bob' or 'Tina' or 'Lou'? Why do my chacters insist on being called silly long stupid names lkike Gwendolyn and Marigold and the invisble man, why!???!??!??!

"Thart is a good point, writer, yes<" said Gwendolyn. "Why are you called the invisible man? Do you actually have a real name, or do we just have to call you the invisible man because your copyright hasn't expired yet and the writer doesn't want to get sued."

At which point the invisble man sensibly fainted before he is forced to reveal certain facts about his life that thew riter doesn't want him to in case she gets sued by H G Wells descendants as a result. As the empty looking pile of clothes lid to the floor in a dead faint, Gwendolyn ignored him and stepped over hte body. "I'm really most dreadfulkly sorry for invading your space...? What's your name?"

"My name...? I... name?"

"Yes, do you have a name?" even at this point Gwendolyn was as doubtful as thw writer, but about the fact that the girl standsing in the doorway in front had a name, while the writer wad doubtful about something comepletely different. It her line of work, it wasn't unusual, for anything.

The girl mutely shook her head. I don;'t quite know what we were expecting... for the girl to shake her head to the sound of beels perhaps? But no, she shook it mutely, as you generally do, unless you have a pair of singing potatoes for ears. Gwendolyn put an arm ropund her. "I'm sorry..." she said. Her arm slipped off the girls shoulders and kind of into her. Gwendolyn pulled away with a yelp. "But anyway... we have to go. Nice meeting you, er... you...." she tried to smile and le tout a scream as she fell over the invisible man. She grabbed hold of his huge overcoat as she stumbled and dragged him, and Marigold with her into the quietly shimmering blue wall.

*

Meanwhile Gwednolyn's three droogs were making their way vack to the invisible man's hotel room rather despondantly. Verdigris had spent most of the night hiding under the table stealing money from the other patrons of the pub, and the threeof them were now quite rich by this era's standards.

The snow had turned to a nasty, sleety sort of rian, that poured down relently and was almost invisibl eitself due to th poor light quality of the sepia tones land. Farne held her hands up to her face to shield herself from the worst of the downpour. "Perhaps you should have stolen an unberella as well, while you were at it," said Charlie, who was seriously beginning to regret leaving his leather jacket in the house of creatures. There was a crak of lightning and they all jumped. "Good god!"

Farne started to run, "I bet they won;t even let us in that stupid sodding hotel room, and we';ll be turned out onto the cold to die of rain and hunger and awful early twentienth century deseases!" she wrung her wet hair and snivled, drips of water sliding off her nose. Catching up, Charlie put an arm round her.

"We're going to be stuck here for ever!" She creamed as another crack of thunder and a flash of lightning broke out at precisely the same moment.

"She'll come back for us. In any case, she's got to come back to return the invisible man to his own story, so she will come back, and we'll get out."

Farne laguhed, a high and screeching sound which wasn't really a laugh at all. "You trust heer? How can you - you haven't even known her for a day! I don't even trust you."

"You and Verdigris haven't known her for much longer than I have, and yes, I do trust her. She saved me from a danger i didn;t even realise i was in, because i was so used ot living it I didn;t notice what was really going on."

"Oh, don;t get all poetic..."

A clock started to chime the hour - one, two three four fivve six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen fourteen.

"Did that clcock just chime thirteen?" asjked Verdigris.

"No. It was fourteen."

"Was it?"

"Yes. One two three four five six seven eight ten eleven twelve thirteen fourteen."

"You missed out nine," said Farne.

"No I didn't!"

SHe put her hands on her hips, "Yes, you did, You said one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen fourteen..."

"So I did say nine then!"

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did. You're lying. Just because you don;t like me."

"No... you definately missed out the number nine," said Farne.

"Doe sit really matter if Charlie missed out the number nine? The poiunt is that the bloosy clock ha just struck thirteen, and that can't be a good thing!"

"Fourteen," pointed out Charlie.

"Alrihgt, fourteen. But that's still not good. There is no number fourteen on a clock."

"There is if you are using the Demonaterisn decimal clock."

We're trapped in the invisible man," said Verdigris, "Where are wqe going to get a Demonateriam decimel clock from?"

"MAybe she's got one," sid Charlie, pointing. They all spun round to see a figure stumbling through the rain, a hand held up to her face, and a long coat almost a cloak billowing about her person. The figure was all greyish in the rain, onscured and almost pixilated the picture quality was so bad, a black grey shadow in the pounding rain.

*