Ed in Wonderland

Did you hear the news? Some people we know made the shortlist for the Shroud Flash Fiction contest. Let me hear a woot!

A few months ago, fool that I am, I agreed with Jamie Eyberg that if our stories weren't selected we'd post them on our blogs... Darn it, now I have to reveal my WTF to the world.






Playing Card Walls
By Cate Gardner

Ed swelled with pride. Tales of his escapades would be college gossip on Monday. Phil had chickened out and returned the cat costume. Wimp. Still, Phil’s departure had guaranteed Ed the team mascot position.

As he lumbered into the men’s room, sweat blurred Ed’s vision. He blinked. Either the eyeholes in the costume were distorting his vision, or a cat licked at a yellow pool that spread across the lavatory floor blocking access to the urinals. In his haste and struggling to find the zip in the stolen Humpty Dumpty costume, Ed almost slipped in the pee. His fist thumped against the door of the only stall.

A voice stopped him, “I wouldn’t go in there.”

For a moment, he though the cat spoke. Of course, that was ridiculous. He stumbled into the stall, his bladder close to bursting, and found himself in an unexpected place. A lime green corridor stretched ahead of him with not a toilet in sight. He turned to back up and found the way closed. The exit had sealed shut.

“Hello, hello, hello,” a voice drifted along the corridor. “Do I smell greasy follicles?”

A short man rushed out of the shadows, his elbows pumping air. Ed’s back pressed against the wall, willing it to soak him up. The heat in the costume was getting to him. He suspected he was still running around Peterborough, trying to evade the Queen of Hearts and the Mad Hatter. Maybe he’d swallowed a blue pill.

The man’s sharp fingernails pierced the costume and drew blood. “Your head is the perfect shape for the final wig.”

He pulled Ed along, or rather, he had a firm grip on the costume and Ed had no choice but to follow. At the end of the corridor, the space opened out into a dusty room: its walls formed out of playing cards; its occupants bound to chairs. A collection of men squealed. Fake beards and moustaches swallowed their words; they took in nylon with each breath. Wet patches on their corduroy trousers reminded Ed that his bladder was ready to burst.

Ed shook his head. He needed out of the costume before he started seeing rabbits carrying pocket watches. He patted the costume, trying to find the zip, and with each prod, he yelped. The thing had moulded itself to his skin.

“Sit down,” the wigmaker insisted. “Time for your fitting, egghead. Don’t make me roll you.”

Ed’s heart thumped against polyester walls, while around him the playing cards shuffled and closed off the corridor. Impatient, the wigmaker pulled at Ed’s left leg and toppled him. Pain shot up his arms and cracks formed in the costume that he was certain now formed his skin. The wigmaker forced a curly wig onto his oval head.

“Don’t worry,” the wigmaker said. “If your head cracks open, the blood will blend in with this fabulous autumn red shade.”

A red beard swallowed Ed’s scream.

***

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