The Little Brat

This is the story of not me, the narrator, but of the neighbours that share this stinky little street with me.

I live on a crescent, it is not a crescent as such anymore, not since a gas pipe blew up one winter's morning, leaving a gaping hole in the road that resembled a pornstar's anus. The hole divided the street into three sections, those who live either side of it, and those who live around the crater. The gas board haven't even acknowledged the damage, not willing to take responsibility, they fixed the goddamn pipes so they could continue to feed us our bills, yet they refused to fix our road.

Anyway, that's history now, this story is about those horrible, wretched people that live next door. It hurts me to write this story because I grit my teeth together in pain if not only to hold back my gagging reflex. Okay, I'm ready, I'm sitting at the keyboard; I've actually just emptied my bowels, wiped cleanly, and made sure that every drop of urine has been paroled from my bladder. Into these words, I share my tortured soul.

Lucy and Mary, two elderly bitches of the sixties age range who live next door. Lucy, the short and stout one, wears thick rimmed spectacles which perch like a bloated stick insect on her button of a nose. Because those glasses are so thick and heavy, they constantly slide down, and Lucy has developed a habit scrunching her nostrils up in order to push them back up. Mary is lanky bitch, tall like a tree, arms wispy like branches and legs like trunks. She often wears headdresses in bright sickly colours, smokes like a chimney that's on fire, and sometimes walks around with her knickers around her ankles. Lucy works at the local supermarket, while Mary teaches life drawing classes - Excuse me while I puke...

I have not spoken of the little boy that lives with them. His name is Darren, a name that forces violent shivers down my spine. Darren is seven years old, like most boys of the same age, Darren rolls around in the dirt, plays with his toy cars; and unlike most boys of the same age, Darren likes to crawl under Lucy and Mary's skirts and stay there - until, he crawled out by himself, or either woman moved. Nobody knows how these old bitches acquired the little brat, but what everyone is certain of is that the little boy is no angel.

One morning, I heard the doorbell ring, it was about 6am, and it was Sunday. That can't be right, I thought to myself, who would call at this time. The doorbell rang again. I heard myself shouting loudly, 'THAT CAN'T BE RIGHT, WHO THE FUCK WOULD CALL AT THIS TIME!'. I threw the covers over my head and squeezed my eyes tightly - the doorbell continued to persist. I rolled myself out of bed, bleary eyed I shuffled down the stairs to the front door. Through the frosted glass panel of my front door I could make out a pair of glasses. With a bit of difficulty, I took the chain off the lock and opened the door - There she stood, that stupid bitch from next door, Lucy.

Next to the bitch, cowering behind her with his arms wrapped around her skirt was the little boy monster, Darren; his wolfish eyes staring up at me, black muck smeared over his mouth and cheeks. 'Hi, morning John!' said Lucy chirpily. She always got my name wrong; it was Jan, NOT John - I growled under my breath. Her mouth quivered nervously, 'It's a beautiful morning, isn't it? - how are...'

'What the fuck do you want?' I interrupted.
She stood there, wide-eyed in shocked and swung her gaze towards the ground.
'I'm sorry Mrs. Peacock, I've had a rough night,' I added, '...yes indeed it's a wonderful morning - what, perchance, am I to be honoured by such a visit not to mention your grace and charm?
Lucy Peacock giggled, she placed her hand over her mouth as she did so, she snorted slightly and some mucus flew out of her nostrils. She looked coyly at the ground, her eyes met mine flirtingly, 'Oh John...' - I felt sick, but I managed to pull a twisted smile.
'How is the young chap today?' I said while I looked at the boy in disgust, my face confused at the pretense with which it had to bear. I lifted my hand and placed it on the boy's head, rubbing it reluctantly. His hair was thick and greasy, leaving a thin film of oily dirt on my palms and fingers. 'What a handsome boy! He'll grow up to be a fine man oneday!' The boy stared hatefully at me, he wiped snot from his nose with the cuff of his sweater.
'He's a wonderful boy our Darren,' she replied, 'in fact John, that's why I'm here - me and Mary know how much you like the boy so...' she smiled and wrinkled up her nose to push her glasses up, 'we wondered if it would be possible for you to look after him today while we spend a day on Brighton Beach.'
'It would be a pleasure Mrs. Peacock!'

Through the net curtains, I watched Lucy and Mary get into their rusty old lime green Volkswagon Beetle and slowly drive away, leaving a voluptuous grey cloud of vehicle fart behind on the road. Darren had already made himself at home, he was bouncing up and down on my sofa and screaming. The Beetle chugged up the side of the crater, then confirmed it's departure by turning a bend in the road and disappearing from view. I turned to look at the boy, he wore grey trousers which were smeared in miscellaneous brown colours, a discoloured green army style sweater which had snot stains along its lower sleeves. A distinct smell had violated my house, it wasn't nice; it was pungent like gravy with pieces of rotten meat in it.

'Darren!' I said in a firm voice, 'I'm going back to bed.' The brat continued to jump up and down on my sofa. 'Please don't break anything, otherwise I'll have to...' I formed a deliberately twisted smile because I relished the thought of what I was about to say, '...otherwise, I'll have to kill your aunt Mary and aunt Lucy.' The boy hadn't paid attention to what I said, but I didn't care. Sleepily, I went back upstairs and crawled into my warm bed; the birds were singing outside and I fell into a soft cotton dream.

Something was shaking the room. Whooah, an earthquake? - not here in England. I tried to move but the tremor was too great forcing me to lie helplessly in my bed. At the side of my vision, a dark blur was moving up and down. There was a smell, oh the smell - then I remembered. I sat upright in my bed, as Darren bounced up and down at the foot of it. 'DARREN! Get off the bed - NOW!' I shouted; it worked, the smelly boy ceased jumping, became inactive as a deflated balloon and slid off the bed. He sat down on the chair in my room, his shoulders sagged with his bottom limp inflated. The smell in the room was unbearable. 'Darren -' I said, the boy looked at me, 'did you just shit your pants?' - he nodded.

Lucy had left me the key to the couples house, 'in the event of an emergency,' she said. This was an emergency. I walked the boy over next door to get him showered and in some clean underwear, I could see the shit rolling around the boy's trousers like spuds in a sack as he hobbled like a monkey ahead of me. As I was about to put the key into the door, a filthy little hand placed itself on my wrist, 'Mr. Vermeer, I want Chico Pops!' I ignored him. 'I want Chico Pops!' I slipped the key into the lock and tried to turn it. It didn't work. I tried again, no luck, and I began to panic. It was obvious that Lucy wasn't going to trust me with the key to their house, so she had given me a dud; later, she would most likely apologize and go into a tirade about how keys confuse her.

I needed to get inside the bitches' house, there was absolutely no way that that boy was going to use my shower. That filthy, disgusting little brat of a boy. I walked around the back of the house, the monkey hobbled behind me. The stupid bitches had left a kitchen window open, it wasn't a large aperture, but it was enough room to get a brat in. I turned to the kid who was rearranging the objects that now occupied his underwear, 'Kid, I want you to climb through that window, and unlock the front door for me, can you do that??' He nodded with a grin on his face.

I cringed as I lifted the boy up to the window. His feet caught the window sill, but not before kicking me in the teeth, at which I swore loudly. On the other side of the window was a side cupboard, Darren crawled onto it. He stepped onto a chair and vanished on the other side, I heard tiny footsteps dissipate into the background. I went back to the front of the house to wait for the brat to open the door. A minute later, the lock clicked and the door swung open; a musky smell greeted my nostrils.

I had never been into Lucy and Mary's house before, although they had often invited me over for tea, I thought it in my and their best interest for me to decline. 'Darren,' I said, 'throw your underpants in the bin and have a bath.' The boy ran upstairs to his bedroom to do what I said. I walked into the living room. The wallpaper was patterned with wide vertical stripes alternating purple and silver, there were hand painted plates hanging on the wall with pictures of ponies on them. The sofa was upholstered in some course linen woven with floral designs, a pair of white knickers with yellow stains rested upon it. A coffee table stood attentively next to the couch, an ashtray filled with cigarette butts and cat poo balanced on a raggedy pile of torn porno magazines. I gagged.

to be continued...