Utter Nonsense

I found the following while going through my files, and own myself vaguely astonished by it. I have only the very vaguest memories of writing it back in 2002, as a self-imposed writing exercise, I think. Make what you will of it. 

Radium House

The first thing I saw when I woke was Chris’ face. It took quarter of an hour before I found the rest of him. This really was intolerable and it was high time I did something about it.

I found the number in the Yellow Pages and ‘phoned them up immediately. They answered promptly. Their behaviour may be shocking but their customer relations are impeccable.

“Hello,” said whoever had picked up. “Radium House. How may I be of service?”

“You know full well,” I replied. There was a shocked silence for some moments, followed by a frantically whispered discussion.

Finally, they asked, “Has your friend been to visit recently, sir? Your friend.. ah…” The sound of file pages being quickly thumbed through.

“Chris,” I supplied to save them the bother. “If you mean to ask, did my friend Chris call around and unexpectedly explode, the answer is yes. In truth, however, you and I both know it wasn’t really Chris in any meaningful sense.”

“Do we?” wavered the voice. “Wasn’t he?”

“No, not really. Not since you, I assume, abducted him and hollowed him out with tiny mechanical beetles before replacing his innards with a mass of delicate clockwork and his bones, I would guess, with a collection of beautifully constructed pipe-bombs.”

There was more whispering in the background at the other end. I was sure I made out, “How did he know about the beetles?”

“What,” I continued, ”I should like to know is what have I ever done to you to precipitate these frequent and unwarranted attempts on my life.”

They weren’t listening, but still bickering over how this latest attempt could have failed. I cut across them with, “For you information, I was showing the ersatz Chris my collection of Kevlar and ceramic plate armour when he… when it detonated.”

More muttering. Somebody distinctly said, “Jammy bugger.”

I grew impatient. “So, what are you going to do about it?” I demanded.

There was an abrupt silence on the line. Then, slowly building from a basso prodfundo as if a gramophone record was accelerating from a dead stop up to seventy-eight revolutions per minute, a voice, arch and scratchy, said, “Weeeeeeee’reeee veeeerrrryy ssoorryy buut there’s nobody available to take your call here at present. Thank you for your interest in Radium House. Please ring off. Now.”

They were going to have to work harder than that to fob me off. “I wish to speak to a supervisor.”

The low rumble of a gramophone at the end of a record suddenly vanished and a new voice cut in. “So, we meet at last.”

“No, we’re talking on the telephone. In no wise may it be considered meeting. Who are you?”

“I… am the Supervisor. Soon the whole world will know my power. We’ve been watching you for a very long time, Mr Presley. Unfortunately for you, we have decided that the time has come… to act.”

“I’d just like to stop you there.”

“We cannot be stopped. Our will is implacable, our power irresistible, our wrath…”

“I’m Mr Paisley.”

A pause. Then…

“I beg your pardon?”

“You said Presley. My name’s Paisley.”

“Paisley..?”

“Elvin Paisley.”

“Oh,” said the Supervisor. “Oh, my giddy aunt. I’m so terribly sorry. I thought you were Elvis Presley.”

“Why would you think I was Elvis Presley? I thought he was dead?”

“Ah, well,” said the Supervisor sagely, “that’s what he’d love you to think. We’ve been hunting him for donkey’s years. Him and Groucho Marx. Skipped at the same time.”

“So all these murder attempts..?”

“Misunderstanding. So very, very sorry.”

“And Chris..?”

“Dead. Hollowed out. Exploded. But we’re very professional here. He barely suffered.”

“Well, that’s something I suppose.”

“If it’s any consolation, we actually got a very strong impression that he was a bit dull and egotistical.”

“You gained this impression before hollowing him out.”

“Yes, before and even during. Especially during. No great loss, in our opinion.” The Supervisor sighed. “What more can I say? We’re terribly sorry. We’ll send you a complimentary pen set for any inconvenience this little misunderstanding may have caused.”

“That’s very decent of you.”

“Our pleasure. The customer is king, after all.”

“Yes. Incidentally, and a propos to nothing, what is it that Radium House actually does?”

But he’d rung off. 


Copyright Jonathan L. Howard 2002-2011
Yes, I don't know why I'm defending the copyright on this either. Principle, I suppose.