Sometimes I wake up in the night screaming. I scream for a
good ten minutes, waking up all of my neighbours, making dogs bark completely
out of tune and giving a baby little option but to cry. I’ve no idea where the
baby fucking came from, and this only makes me scream more. Eventually it gets
so bad that someone Tweets about it and, after a series of retweets from minor celebrities who want to seem human
by talking about real life issues, one of my friends discovers that I am upset.
Reluctantly they ring me up. I answer.
“Argh!” I say.
“Are you that caterpillar from that one Simpsons’ episode?”
they ask. I am too alarmed to recognise the reference and just continue
screaming, convincing them that they are right. After a lot of calming words
and then even more shouting, I shut the hell up long enough to tell my by now
very bored friend what the problem is.
“Giant yellow bird…” I gasp. “A woolly mammoth that isn’t
extinct… COUNT DRACULAR!” My friend hangs up at this point, correctly assuming
that I’ve been drinking, and I’m left to wallow once again in my own despair.
I’m freezing cold yet somewhere sweating, I can’t stop
shaking long enough to stand up and my eyes are darting about my room looking
for danger. There is always danger when you wake up at night. I want to get
under my sheets and hide away from the world but it’s 500 degrees outside and I’d
die if I tried. My only option is to front up and face it, but how can I when
the truth is so unpleasant? How can I live in a world that these things
inhabit? How can humanity have let it get so far?
Suddenly I hear a voice.
“One cookie…” it whispers. “Two cookie… three cookie…” I can
hear the tones of a strangely rustic accent and it chills me to the bones.
“What do you want?!?” I shout out into the darkness. “What
do you want from me?!? Leave me alone!” It ignores my pleas and goes on.
“Four cookie…”
“What did I ever do to you? I’m innocent! I swear whatever
you want, I’ll do!”
“Five cookie…”
I try and ring my friend up once again but they’re not
answering. I hope that my surprise viral tweet has attracted the attention of
the police and that they’re on their way this minute, but I can see no lights
and hear no sirens.
“Six cookie…”
I search rampantly throughout my room to try and find a
weapon. A large book, a sharp pen, anything that a copywriter with absolutely
no method of self-defence might have at his disposal. I find nothing, largely
because I am too scared to move.
“Seven cookies…” the voice is getting closer, I can feel the
heat of its breath on my neck and something furry brushing against my face. I
do not like where this is going. “Eight cookies…”
“Just take all of the cookies!” I snap. “They’re yours! All
of the cookies are yours!” There is silence for a moment. I wonder if it has
gone…
“All of the cookies?” it asks. It hasn't gone.
“Yes… all of the cookies are yours…” I insist, hoping to
have found some common ground. There is a pause.
“ALL OF THE COOKIES! DGROHKRGOHRGHOGROKDGKHLRGDKHLRDKGH”
And with that I am dead.