They tried artificial respiration on him for several minutes before giving up and laying him out on the lab floor, next to the Simulator. They were stunned.

"It must have been the whisky," said the young scientist after a moment. "Must have been. I wouldn't like to drink a full bottle of Jack that quickly. Enough to stop anyone's heart."

"The s.h.i.t's really going to fly over this," said Inspector Perkins after a moment. He glanced up at Superintendent Matthews. "Notice the way he started panicking, sir? Maybe we shouldn't have based it on the town centre so closely. Might have made it too real."

Matthews snorted. "Christ Almighty, Perkins... a simulation's a simulation. What're we supposed to do, trawl the cities of the world 'til we find a suitable grid-pattern? Stop worrying... it was a simple accident. Probably find that he had heart-disease or something."

It was viewed that way at official level as well. So much so that the programme was allowed to continue. Hope was still expressed that the results could be published in time for the next drink-drive campaign.

Volunteers were less forthcoming now however. Neither policemen nor civilians offered their services. Even Inspector Perkins developed an unseasonal bout of 'flu the week before the experiment was due to resume. Superintendent Matthews didn't care. He'd drive the imaginary car himself, he told them. And drink a bottle of bourbon at the same time.

The spirit flowed down smoothly as he eased the vehicle out of the garage. They were right about one thing, he thought, as he cruised across the deserted lot to the gate. It was very realistic. A bit garish perhaps, the sky an odd greenish colour, but apart from that it mirrored the outside world impressively.

Ahead of him, he could see heavy traffic moving along the road towards an intersection. He applied the handbrake, then reached across himself and checked his seat-belt, determined to drive as well as circ.u.mstances would allow. He took another long swig of whisky, then pulled out onto the road. The other cars slowed down to allow him access. Matthews gave a thumbs-up to the closest one, though their interiors were too dark for him to see their drivers clearly.

Driving drunk wasn't as complicated as he'd first expected it to be, he thought, though so far he'd only had three or four mouthfuls. Doubtless it would get steadily harder. He noticed that he was falling behind the vehicles in front, so he stepped on the gas.

Then it struck him that objects to the side of his vision were slightly blurred. He'd first a.s.sumed this was a limit to the graphics, but when he actually glanced that way, he found everything crystal clear. Maybe the booze was having an effect, after all?

There was a sudden terrific jolt and Matthews was thrown forwards against his seat-belt. He looked round, startled, and found that he'd driven into the rear-end of the car in front. It had been waiting at a traffic light, behind a line of others, several of which had now concertinad into each other.

He'd done most of his service in Traffic, so he was able to a.s.sess the damage quickly: a six-car RTA, from what he could see. Six motors damaged, and he'd only been driving for three minutes! That was a good result for the experiment, but secretly Matthews was a little peeved. He'd have thought he'd be able to handle the car for longer than this.

In front of him, doors were now opening and figures climbing out. The Super watched them, feeling uncertain what to do. The average drunk would probably not hang around to give explanations. And anyway, what was the piont of arguing with computer graphics?

He took another long drag at the flask, then stepped on the accelerator, pulling sharply out of the line and into the path of more oncoming vehicles. Somewhere behind him, he heard a horn blaring, then a screeching skid and a crash of metal. Matthews didn't even bother looking. He rammed his foot down and swept straight through the lights which had just turned back to red. The figure of a lollipop-woman was walking out. He swerved round her and tore dangerously across the intersection. More horns tooted but he ignored them. He took another drink. Now he was definitely starting to feel it. It seemed to implode inside his head and he felt sweat greasing his brow.

He glanced up at the rear-view mirror but it was too fuzzy to see anything. Turning back to the front, he found himself soaring down an open dual carriageway with tall buildings to either side of it. He recognised it as the town centre. It was certainly a fascinating experience, this. The reality of road-markings, traffic-signs, even shop-fronts was astonishing. No wonder that student had started to freak out. With a deafening crash, the near-side of the car suddenly bounced up and Matthews realised he had mounted the kerb. He swore and fought to master the vehicle as pedestrians ran from his path.

Only then did it strike him that he was doing nearly seventy miles an hour, but in that brief distraction he lost control of the wheel again, and went further onto the pavement, sending a waste-bin spinning out of his way. Seconds later he was back on the road, and slowing down considerably. He risked a glance over his shoulder, but saw only a ma.s.s of vehicles, the front-runner a brilliant shade of red. Everything seemed normal. Apparently he'd got away with that one.

Then he ran into somebody crossing the road.

It happened in the blinking of an eye. There was a shuddering thump, and a dark shape flitted down past his rear window, to land rolling on the tarmac behind.

Matthews' reaction was to chug some more bourbon. To calm his nerves as much as to get drunk. He wondered what the rest of the team would be talking about up there in the real world. Probably sn.i.g.g.e.ring, pa.s.sing comments about how their boss was an even worse driver than that s.c.r.o.t.e Belper.

He'd show them! Alright, he'd caused some damage, but now he'd slow things down a little and try to get to the bottom of the flask without hitting anything else. It wasn't easy though. The world drifted past him in a foggy dream, and soon he was having trouble reading signposts. He couldn't even tell if traffic lights were on red or green.

He'd had several more minor collisions before he tipped the last drops into his mouth, and his head was swimming. Objects swirled around him. Things were invisible until he was right up to them. And where was he anyway? Because he had to get back; had to get the car into the garage. That would impress them, that would.

On impulse, he turned sharply right, glancing a lamp-post. At least this imaginary car never took damage, he thought. Every hoodlum should have one. Still, home now. Home. If he could just identify a landmark.

That was when he noticed that he was driving alongside the river. At last something he recognised. He was sure he could find his way back from there.

Seconds later he was on the suspension bridge and picking up speed. He would turn round when he got to the other side. Just then however, he realised that he was being overtaken. It was the red car from before. It was overtaking at speed too. Matthews veered left to avoid it, but the vehicle kept on coming, surging ahead then cutting sharply into his path and braking.

Matthews screamed and dragged the wheel left. His car bucked as it crashed over the pavement, catapulting itself at the crash-barrier. A vast gulf seemed to open in front of him. Despairingly, Matthews looked back at the red car, and in that last split-second, realised it was a Ford Mustang.

Behind its wheel there was a driver who, unlike all the others, was neither dim nor featureless. He was even grinning, and throwing a big cheeky salute...

[Originally published in Kimota 12, Spring 2000].

THE WEDDING JOB.

by Paul McAvoy.

There are some events in a person's life he just will not forget, and boy I will not forget the wedding job. What happened that day will be etched upon my brain until the day I die. It was the day I learnt that in life you just have to expect the unexpected at times, a serious illness just around the corner, redundancy looming; I also learnt that there are strange things lurking underneath the everyday things we know in life. That there is something else other than what we both see and touch, what we know to be real. I only glimpsed it, but I wonder just how large this other plane of existence is; I wonder if there is goodness in it, or if it is totally evil.

I got the job through a friend. Cash in hand and with Christmas coming up and a new baby in the house it was money that would come in handy.

This is what was supposed to happen: I was to go to Pristine Car Company at eight o'clock, get changed and take the Rolls to the home of Mr and Mrs Smalley. I was to pick up Mr Smalley and his daughter Lilly. I was then to take them both to the church, wait until the wedding was over and drive the new Mr and Mrs Gavin Peterstone to a reception at the Black Friars Inn.

Straightforward, yes? That's what I thought. I would get fifty quid in my hand for it, too. I don't think I ever saw that money.

This is what did happen: I went to pick up the car and was given a five-minute lecture by one of the bosses. I was not to smoke whilst driving the car, was not to drive over thirty miles per hour and was definitely not to put a single scratch on the thing. I was to be polite at all times to the customers and if things worked out okay there could be other jobs in the pipeline for me.

Once I was changed into a silver grey suit to match the Rolls I sneaked out for a quick cigarette before I headed for the Smalley residence. Driving the Rolls felt good. It was as though every eye was upon me. I received appraising glances from both women and men. I enjoyed posing as I made my way to the Smalley's house.

When I got there I guess I knew something was wrong the moment I saw the curtains flicker and then the front door open wide intuition I suppose. I felt a cold chill race up my spine.

The house was detached and set back from the road. It looked big. I saw a dark blue BMW parked in the drive.

The woman was perhaps twenty-two, and she came lumbering towards the car, holding the hem of her dress so that it would not drag on the floor. I saw that the dress was virginal white with splashes of red on the chest. I remember thinking it was an odd design. I got out of the car, ready to open the door for her and pa.s.s nice comments even though she did look dishevelled and hara.s.sed.

"Drive," she said, and wrenched open the back door.

I felt stunned. "But... your father? Isn't he..?"

"I said drive."

That was when I saw that the odd design on her dress was not a design at all but were splashes of blood. A quick appraisal of the rest of her body told me the blood did not appear to be hers.

I thought, Run? or do as she says? Deciding she might well have some kind of weapon concealed about her, and coupled with the fact she looked stressed to the point of breaking; I got in the car as she climbed into the back. She looked capable of anything.

"Drive," she repeated.

I did not need telling again.

When we turned onto the main A road towards town I asked her "where to" and she said I was to head for the motorway. "There I will be able to do a bit of thinking, do some relaxing before... well, before it happens. Christ. Revenge, I will tell you, can harbour so tightly and so abundantly at times. Revenge can be well worth the wait and the Peterstones's revenge must taste quite sweet now!"

I looked at her through the rear view mirror, not having the faintest idea what she was talking about.

"It's a long story," she said. "And I would a.s.sume you wouldn't want to hear it. Anyway, if I told you, you would not hear me, you'd be too busy looking at the blood on my chest, too busy wondering where we are going and why we are not at the church. You will be wondering if I am a crazy b.i.t.c.h."

I saw her picking at her fingernails, slicing bits of hard red stuff from out of the nails.

"Why aren't we going to the church?" I asked her. Then, more as an afterthought, "Did you kill someone?"

"The groom won't be at the church; at least I'm pretty certain of that. No, I did not kill someone, but given the chance I would!"

"Are you going to kill me?" I asked and she laughed incredulously. "Does that mean no, that I can relax?"

"Relax," she said and looked out the window as we turned onto the M55. "Murder is not my forte. But I could certainly kill someone at this moment in time. Kill them with my bare hands, rip their heads off."

I shifted in my seat uncomfortably and took a moment to study her. She was quite tall and slim with fine straight blonde hair. She was fairly attractive and on first inspection had a nice personality. Shame she was crazy, I thought. I put my foot on the accelerator and we sped up towards seventy.

"Faster," she said and so I put the foot down and we went to eighty. "What is your name by the way?"

"My name is Mark," I told her, "and I am not going to go any faster than eighty. I've never driven this car before, I have never driven a Rolls Royce before, so I am going to be careful."

"Be as careful as you like," she said. "Makes no odds to me."

"Well it does to me," I said. "I have a wife at home who wants to see me come home tonight. I have a baby..."

"Okay, okay, I get your gist," she said. A pause fell between us then. I remained still, my heart racing. I noticed I was shaking. I took a hand off the wheel and viewed my trembling hand for a moment. I asked her where she wanted me to drive to. "Just keep going," was her reply.

"You must be Lilly," I said after a moment, heart beat starting to slow and become more steady, thankfully. Lilly Smalley nodded.

"Lilly of the valley," she told me with a smile. "Soon to be a real b.i.t.c.h." She laughed then. It was a sudden, sharp laugh. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck p.r.i.c.kle. "I don't mean to scare you; I am sorry I have put this on you, Mark, but I had no other choice. It's not nice watching... well... watching death..."

I turned to face the road, hoping I would get out of this in one piece, and if not, at least alive. It is amazing how life is so precious at times like that. Faced with the uncertainty of it all (for all I knew Lilly Smalley might have been some crazed killer and I was next on her list) you just pray you will be all right. Sure, life is hard, you worry about your family and you worry about money, but all those worries go out of the window when you come face to face with the prospect of death.

I don't know if I was hallucinating then, for as I had a look at her in the rear view mirror, I thought I saw her face change a fraction. It only lasted a moment, then her face returned to normal. I exhaled deeply, blinking and then turning to the road once more. For a moment I thought I saw a bulbous lump the size of a marble appear under the skin on her forehead. I blinked again.

"Shall I tell you a story?" Lilly asked. "My parents, who from now on will be known as the Smalleys, and my fiance's parents, who shall from now on be known as the Peterstones were once great friends. Then the Smalleys, in nineteen seventy-seven did something not so nice to the Peterstones. Want to know what it was?" she asked, then continued without an answer. "They opened a sandwich shop next door to the Peterstones' sandwich shop, selling m.u.f.fins and barm cakes cheaper and better. The Peterstones went out of business and the Smalleys marched on. The Peterstones were not very happy at all, thought that the Smalleys had robbed them of their livelihood. Which they had done, of course. And this was a terrible mistake. You do not cross the Peterstones. The Smalleys, I would guess, should have realised that, especially if they had listened to the rumours about them. The friends decided not be friends anymore and did not speak for years, not until me and Gavin became involved. Not until we started seeing each other and later decided to get married.

"Let me just tell you about the Peterstones and what pa.s.sionate people they are. They took it really, really badly when my parents opened up the sandwich shop next to theirs and consequently stole all their trade. They went from doing something they enjoyed to getting mundane jobs, from being their own bosses to having to answer to people. It hurt them really badly, so badly I did not realise until this morning when they got their revenge."

Lilly paused a moment and undid the top three b.u.t.ton on her dress. "It's getting hot. It will happen soon, I guess. I did not think it would happen to me as well, but I ate the cake as well so it is obvious it would do. I wonder if the Peterstones wanted me to pay for it too. I wasn't even born then! I guess they must have because if it had been meant for just my parents they would have made two separate, smaller cakes. Sorry. Off on a tangent there. Where was I? Oh yes, the cake.

"They brought it round last night. Gavin was out with friends having a few beers; I was in alone watching TV with my Mum. The Peterstones brought around the chocolate cake, knowing how much we Smalleys adore chocolate cake. They mentioned the thing with the shop and how it was all water under the bridge. They left and I had one slice of cake while my parents had two slices each. That must be why it got to them sooner, and it is taking longer for me.

"They must have watched us eating through the window somehow, made sure we ate it that night, because this morning on the doormat was a note that said, Hope you enjoyed the cake - have a howling day! - you b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, love the Peterstones. My parents did not know how to take the message. I was getting changed into this dress. Then suddenly they started changing, becoming... That's why there is blood on my chest. G.o.d, it's hot."

Lilly took off her dress to reveal cream bra and matching panties and light beige stockings. She screwed up the dress. "Over a grand, ah well. Weddings are just a total waste of money. You married? Of course, you said you were... waste of money, huh?" I just shrugged. She sighed and I carried on along the motorway. She had lovely smooth skin, tanned and flawless. I thought of my wife and immediately felt guilty.

"I had heard rumours about the Peterstones as well, all about them being into black magic and the occult. Guess everything I had heard was true, huh? Once heard a rumour they conjured up one of the Devil's chief henchmen, or henchdemons. Beelzebub or Baal, one of those." She ran a hand across her brow and sweat fell down the side of her face. "I'm going to burn up. That's how my mum and dad started. Then they changed. Now they are... G.o.d knows where. G.o.d knows what!

"They must have used this magic on us. b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. How they must have waited to get their revenge. Turn their enemy into... that... on the morning of their daughter's wedding to their own son. Ultimate revenge.

"Stop the car now, over there on the hard shoulder. I need to get out. Don't worry, I won't bite you." Then she laughed again, that same sharp laugh.

I pulled up on the side of the road. I did not know what to make of Lilly's story; a lot of what she said was still sinking in. I suppose I did not want to think much about it all, just wanted the whole ordeal over with. I turned off the engine. "Mind if I get a cigarette," I said. "It's not as though I am going to run off." We were probably five miles from the nearest civilisation.

"Do what you want," she said. I got out the car and walked over to the bushes next to the barrier at the side of the hard shoulder. I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. I blew smoke, wondering what the h.e.l.l I was going to do now. Lilly Smalley looked quite sane, but she talked nonsense. She ranted on about demons and magic. I surmised that she was crazy, had blotted out some events of the morning. Was she a murderer though? Or had she witnessed a murder, her parents' murder?

Suddenly, I heard a m.u.f.fled thud and turned to the Rolls to see the windows splashed in blood.

I let out a small cry of shock and reached out for the door handle. I pulled open the door, calling out Lilly's name. A single second pa.s.sed and then Lilly came half crawling out of the back seat of the car. She got to her feet as I stepped backwards, staring at the side of her face. It looked as though she had been shot. There was a gaping hole full of seeping blood just above her right jawbone.

Then she swayed, as though drunk. Steadying herself, her eyes rolled and what happened next is something I will never forget. The whole of her stomach seemed to explode. Bits of flesh and blood shot in every direction, some hitting me on the face. Then she appeared to crumble to the floor, the whole of her body seeming to tear apart. From a huge gape in her stomach something black began to emerge.

The dog was perhaps the size of a Labrador but did not appear to be of any breed. It's fur was black and bloodied. It looked at me cautiously for just a moment. Then it emerged from the remains of Lilly Smalley proper, turned and sniffed at the woman's dead flesh. It slipped a purple tongue from out of its mouth and tested the remains of Lilly's shoulder.

(Don't worry I won't bite you) I watched the dog for what seemed a lifetime, hearing the licking and slurping sounds, watching the black eyes.

The sound of a police siren filled the air and the dog looked up, body tensed. The sound began to grow louder and the dog sniffed the air briefly before it turned and ran.

"Lilly?" I asked. The dog only paused for a moment, its head tilted slightly. I watched it head along the hard shoulder, then over the barrier and into the fields beyond.

I looked over at the other side of the motorway, at the police car coming in the opposite direction.

I looked down at what was left of Lilly. My eyes fell upon a severed hand, then at her disembodied head, looking up at me with lifeless eyes.

I turned and vomited.

I don't know how I got back into town. The smell of blood and death was almost unbearable. I noticed the occasional driver giving me a strange look or the odd pedestrian eyeing me closely. They were not looks of admiration as they have been when I drove to the Smalley's; they were looks of caution, of fear.

At the police station I got out and told a Sergeant all I knew, about the pickup, about her turning into some dog. He remained surprisingly straight-faced. He either thought I was a loon and he was humouring me or he was naturally so sour faced. He checked the inside of the Rolls. We went up to the Smalley residence with some other policemen, and saw the remains of Mr and Mrs Smalley in the front room. Everything was a daze to me. Two dogs, one black and one golden were found dead in one of the rooms upstairs. The chocolate cake was taken away to be examined.

(Hope you have a howling day) They found nothing in the chocolate cake.

They went to the hard shoulder, of course, for what was left of Lilly.

They arrested me, held me for as long as they could for questioning, but even they did not know the cause of Mr and Mrs Smalley's death. I had decided not to talk about people turning into dogs anymore.

(It's getting hot. It will happen soon, I guess. I did not think it would happen to me as well, but I ate the cake as well so it is obvious it would do) They set me free. They thought of spontaneous combustion and looked into the rare phenomena.

(Once heard a rumour they conjured up one of the Devil's chief henchmen, or henchdemons. Beelzebub or Baal, one of those) Sometimes when I am lying in bed and unable to sleep, my wife breathing heavily beside me and my son in bed in the other room, I think of what happened. I think about the Peterstones and then the Smalleys. The dogs, lying dead upstairs. Strange, the neighbours had said, because the Smalleys had no pets.

(Don't worry, I won't bite you.) Sometimes, when I lay there thinking of that realm I visited, that place where the notsupposedtohappen happened, I pray I never go there again. I would rather be ignorant. I sometimes hear a dog barking somewhere in the night and I wonder.

(Don't worry, I won't...) I wonder. But that is all I do, for I want to remain ignorant and safe. I am not a hero. I'll leave all that alone I think.

Bite you.

[Originally published in Kimota 15, Autumn 2001].

THE IDIOT STICK.