Читать книгу William Walker’s First Year of Marriage: A Horror Story - Matt Rudd - Страница 44

‘Let’s just get an agent or two around to value the place. We don’t have to move or anything but it would be nice to know what sort of move we could make if we decided we wanted to…move, that is.’

‘OKAY, I suppose it would be nice to have a little garden. And if we don’t go too far, I quite like the idea of commuting.’

‘Excellent, darling…Hello, I’d like to arrange an evaluation…Tomorrow? That’s rather sudden…No, no, that would be lovely.’

Good night’s sleep ruined by a horrible nightmare. I was having a drink outside a pub with my childhood pet dog Fluffy, miraculously reincarnated twice as large and twice as fluffy, with the ability to drink beer. Across the road, a woman screams as a terrifying bloke with a baseball cap and face tattoos grapples with her handbag. Fluffy barks, the terrifying bloke stops mugging the woman and turns to confront us. He’s laughing maniacally and being all sarcastic about how fluffy Fluffy is.

As he advances, a huge knife glinting in his hand, I reach for my pocket penknife. For what seems like ages, I can’t get it open. When I do, it’s only the nail file. He’s getting closer and closer as I find the corkscrew, then the letter-opener, then the tiny little nail scissors.

As the terrifying bloke raises his knife, which is now a very efficient giant pink razor, above his head, I am cornered with nothing but the hole punch. Like a fluffy blur, Fluffy is there, flying through the air like Lassie. Except Lassie wouldn’t have been razored clean in two. The last thing I see is a look of total astonishment on Fluffy’s fluffy little face. Then I wake up clutching one end of a pillow.