M is for Matty-Bob (A-Z of Horror Book 13) by Iain Rob Wright

Author:Iain Rob Wright [Wright, Iain Rob]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: SalGad Publishing Group
Published: 2015-05-07T04:00:00+00:00

2.

I legged it down the road, the acid induced visions finally dissipating and I realised that I must have come across as a right psychopath to Iain. I was still concerned for his precious little family's safety with the real psycho still out there.

I had noticed that I was getting a bit cold, what with my current outfit, and coincidentally I found myself standing outside Freaky Frankie's Pawn Shop. A young, dark haired woman, with a scary backcombed coif stood in the doorway and beckoning me with a finger. She would have been attractive, if not for the drool dripping down her grey sweater.

She made a lecherously guttural noise at me as she took in my manly physique and whispered in the filthiest voice imaginable, "Oi, oi, saveloy "

She was obviously some kind of pervert, but I eyed the clothing rack in her shop and wondered if we could come to some arrangement. I told her my predicament and she led me into the shop.

She smelt quite nice, of avocados and banana bread.

As I followed her, she walked up to the counter, one hand down the back of her dirty sweatpants scratching frantically. She pulled her hand out and ran her fingertips along beneath her nostrils like she was playing some kind of nasal panpipes. She offered her hand towards me and grunted. "Arse?"

I politely declined her offer and watched as she switched a CD player on. An excruciating rendition of Careless Whisper, played on saxophone, filled the shop.

"Dance! Dance for me and I'll give you an outfit for your outfit."

Feeling like a piece of meat, I slowly started swaying in time with the music.

"No, not like that," she said, sitting on the counter and seductively eating a tandoori chicken mayo baguette. "Like a Cossack dancer."

Frankie gazed even hungrier at me and told me to dance like one of them Greek men who do the plate-smashing thing at the end. I tried my best.

After ten minutes of being subjected to performing various nation’s national dances, she wiped her mayonnaise-stained face and hands on my y-fronts and cape before throwing a scruffy brown tuxedo at me.

The thing was revolting, like it had been found in the bottom of an antique chest.

As Frankie fastened the buttons on the suit jacket she stood up on tiptoes and licked my face like an excited dog. "There, all clean." she slipped a ten pound note in my pocket and sent me on my way.

Next door to the pawnshop was a greasy looking take away with the name of P is For Pizza. I remembered the unusual note on the scary writer dude's piece of paper with Iain's favourite pizza topping.

Without hesitation, I walked into P is For Pizza and ordered the biggest pizza they had, which used all the money I had on me. This bothered me not, for I would sacrifice the twenty mile bus journey to my house for a chance at rectifying this misunderstanding between me and Iain, and for a chance of warning him of the danger he was in.

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