Simon was sat on the sofa, his bony body sunken into it, his skull pointed towards the blank television. you could almost make out a smile by his skeletal jaw.
out of nowhere and into the armchair; Terrance appeared, his head twisting around like an owl’s as he adjusted to his reality.
“good evening!” announced Simon with a dull element of excitement in his voice pointing to some kind of enthusiasm.
“Whats so good about it” Terrance replied his ghostly body twitching, his arms stretched out and his face was yawning wide.
“Where’s harry” inquired Simon. “Harry, who the hell is Harry” replied Terrance; scrunching up his face in confusion
“you know the blood sucking freak” responded Simon in a condescending tone. “Nah don’t know im” scoured
Terrance. “You know the guy that got me my fags” said Simon suddenly realizing that he wasn’t smoking. He reached out his bony hand shakily to the coffee table, picked up his pack of cigarettes and preceded to pull out a death stick. “Ah the evil weed, my one true friend!” said Simon in a lazy throaty voice while exhaling the smoke; his yellowed finger bones extended to a tight v, gripping to his cigarette.
Then, out of nowhere; came a thud at the window, and then another. A few drops of blood splattered on to the window pane.
“For fucks sake, let harry in” exclaimed Simon. “I cant let him in I’m a bloody ghost” snapped Terrance.
Simon, still sat at the sofa calmly taking another toke of his cigarette. He stubbed it out and proceeded to fall asleep.
The bat at the window hovered outside for a moment and then flew away.
Bzzzzzz Bzzzzzz Bzzzzzz; the intercom was going off, Simon woke up. His arms accidentally flinging the ashtray onto the floor with a bear like clumsy stretch. The butts were all over the carpet and a mist of cigarette ash spread through the enclosed dusky air like a plague.
Simon slowly got up and walked out of the room and into the flat hallway where the intercom was, he then picked up the receiver ready to speak. “Who the hell is this” he moaned, ready to slam it down at a moments notice.
“It’s harry, it’s harry, let me in before the sun comes up” huffed harry in a hurried voice. “Oh okay” groaned Simon pressing the door release button for only a brief moment.
With groaning and straining noises from downstairs also came the loud bang of footsteps as if Harry had gained some weight.
Simon put the door on the latch and strolled back to the living room to sit down. Harry was taking his time and Simon couldn’t be bothered to wait for him.
Simon sat back down on the sofa, proceeded to pull out a cigarette and lit it; breathing in slowly as if he was Bob Marley.
“Who knocked the ashtray over” complained Simon noticing the cigarette buts on the floor. “You bloody idiot” mumbled Terrance half under his breath.
And immediately there was a crash and a bang and several bangs afterwards resonating through the walls, Harry had fallen down the stairs. “I think Harry fell down the stairs, should we help him” said Terrance. Simon stubbed out his cigarette with a gormless look and slowly sank into the sofa.
Meanwhile downstairs there was a moan and a groan as if someone was taking a shit, which was followed by a stomp and another stomp and another as Harry walked up the stairs.
Harry had finally made it up the stairs, there was a huge thud, he was putting something down. Harry opened the door struggling to pick it all up again and walked through the hallway and into the living room.
“Hi guys” shouted Harry enthusiastically. Somehow even after his fall he was still happy, he always was.
“What you got there, beer?” inquired Simon looking at the two crates of cans looking like they had come straight from the back of a lorry or supermarket.
Harry struggled to to put down the crates onto the coffee table, he dropped them halfway and the table legs broke under the immense weight.
“For fucks sake” shouted Simon sat on the edge of the sofa, his knees trembling of the shock.
“Theres one thing I love as much as I love the blood of virgins” said harry, his eye brows raised and a devious smile rising up on his face…
“Energy drinks!” exclaimed Harry. “Ooh energy drinks” said Simon ripping open the plastic wrapping on the top crate and helping himself to a can.
The crack and fizz of the can opening reverberated through the room as Simon poured the whole can through his skeleton, waterfalls of the dank yellow liquid came gushing through his rib cage like waterfalls; the fizz sounded through the room as the liquid soaked into the sofa and the carpet.
“Ooh thats satisfying” said Simon helping himself to another can. “I want one, I want one” yelped Terrance like an over excited puppy who had just hit puberty.
Harry obliged and opened a can to pour it right through Terrance; the surgery chemical spill soaking into the armchair making it look like Terrance had wet himself.
Just half an hour later and all of the 48 cans were empty and were just dumped on the floor in a messy stinky pile.
Terrance was sat on his own head upside down on the arm chair and Simon’s teeth were chattering as if he had come in from the cold.
Poor Harry hadn’t even had a single can and was sat next to Simon on the wet sofa with a frown on his face and his arms folded.
“Oh it’s okay, I can get more tomorrow” he pondered to himself.
“I wanna write a song, I wanna write a song, wheres my guitar” shouted Simon as if he was shouting to himself.
“A song, a song!, thats a great idea” shouted Terrance in a muffled voice. He was still upside down but facing the back of the arm chair.
Simon wandered to the storeroom to find his guitar while Terrance attempted head spins on the floor and Harry sat down huffing to himself in disappointment.
Simon found himself in the store room facing an enormous mountain of junk being circled by vultures while Spanish guitar music resonated in the background.
He buried himself under some of the junk and wandered on to find two shrunken heads hanging off and old table, they were arguing about a woman who had long since died on the plains of Africa; “Shes mine dammit, I kissed her” said the first one in a high pitched voice. “Well I got over the sweater action” argued the other his voice not dissimilar.
“Shut the hell up you two” shouted Simon, “have you seen my guitar, it’s painted black with skull stickers on it” continued Simon. “guitar” they both squelched in unison; there heads pointing west.
Simon moved on, he was still desperate to sing and play some chords, an hour later after walking through the ruble, disused furniture and old catalogs his guitar was finally within sight. He ran to his beloved tripping over a huge pile of odd smelly socks. As he fell there was a mighty rumble and showers of junk fell all around him; dusky clothes, empty wine bottles and various other forms of trash.
“Oh sodding hell, I’m stuck here” he pondered picking up his guitar and playing some melancholy chords. “theres no way out of hereee, theres no way out of hereee” he sang in a mono tonal croaky voice. His song resonating through the chaotic endless spiral of disused junk. He had finally crashed from all the caffeine.