Twisted Tales for Toilet Time: Volume II, Part VIII

Eight PM

Once Upon a Hour of Time…

I was born at exactly 8PM on the 8th August, 2008. So naturally my nickname at school was “Susan”. Well at least that’s what the bullies called me. When I went to University I managed to get the name “Crazy 8” working for me. Funny that I was the eighth child of my family, first born male after seven girls.

So I always felt at home with slumber parties, having make up put on me, painting my nails, and all manner of other things often stereo-typically labelled “girl” activities. I even had a considerable amount of hand-me-down clothes that I would wear quite happily.

When I eventually realised why it had always felt right and made sense to me. The string of eights, the nicknames, everything now fell into place and as if my eyes were opened for the first time I went to my parents house for afternoon tea for my birthday.

Funnily enough, on the 8th August 2028 at 8PM as it happened …

‘Mum, dad You know how you always joked it would have been fun and more “tidy” to have all eight kids be girls?’

I took a long slow sip of my tea, seeing if the penny would drop. They had said it many times, yet would they accept it now it was true? Was it something they truly wanted, or just a joke?

Penny is still in the air … Here we go.

‘You know how I was born on the 8th of the 8th, 2008 and I’m your eighth child … Well, good news. There’s another eight in the sequence now …’

‘Crazy … Eight, huh?’ Dad smiles.

‘I can finally manage a professional Tug-of-War team!’ jokes Dad.

Mum smiles.

Penny drops …

Nine PM

Once Upon a Hour of Time…

It was getting late when the doorbell rang. It had just gone Nine PM in the evening, and I usually wouldn't even think about opening the door at this time. However on this particular night, some strange feeling of adventure took over me. I opened the door wide to face the man who would soon be my killer.

Of course I didn’t know that at the time.

His smile told me he was not to be trusted, but it was too late. He was in the house now, he went straight to the kitchen and switched the kettle on. Took the special cake I had in the fridge, a knife from the drawer, and made a pot of tea.

I knew there was something off about him, but I couldn’t tell what. He looked familiar.

‘What are you doing? I didn’t say you could come in.’

He poured two cups of tea, served us each a slice of cake, and dropped a small tablet into one cup of tea.

‘Choose your cup, if you choose right I will give you a million dollars. But choose wrong and you die tonight.

How did he know I had a cake in the fridge? I was saving that for my birthday tomorrow.

‘Choose,’ he said. Gripping the knife in his hands.

Shaking, I pointed to the cup that had not been tampered with, he never switched them around.

We drank the tea at the same time …

Turns out he had actually poisoned the cake. He was a baker, the one I bought the cake from, that went mad and ended up killing thirteen people over a two week period. I’ve heard they’re in talks to make a TV show about it all, I’ve never understood this morbid fascination people have for shows about killers. They’re going to call it, ‘A Baker’s Street Dozen: The truth you knead to know.’ I’d be upset about that, but where I am now is pretty good.

Ten PM

Once Upon a Hour of Time…

‘It’s 10 o’clock. You said we would leave at 10.’

‘I know, but listen. This is my favourite song! Can we just stay for it?’

‘Ugh … fine.’

We had been at this club for five hours now. I was terrified of checking my bank balance, fearing the damage this place had done. Wanting nothing else but to leave, but she wanted to stay, so we stayed.

Hard to believe that song actually saved our lives. The train we should have been on derailed.

I couldn’t believe it, how staying for one more song had so much impact.

More unbelievable was that it happened again!

Tonight, at 10PM again. We stayed for one extra song again, the same song again. At her request. Once again, it's hard to understand how that decision had so much impact and carry on effect for the rest of our lives.

All that is to say, that is why I am now staring at the barrel of a gun, pointed at my face, being wielded by a maniac. All while the same song as last time, continued to play, only slightly distorted by all the screams and crying.

'I should be so lucky

Lucky, lucky, lucky

I should be so lucky in love

I should be so lucky

Lucky, lucky, lucky

I should be so lucky in love …'

Eleven PM

Once Upon a Hour of Time…

‘Did you ever think about how today becomes tomorrow?’

My friend was drunk, they got very “wise” when they were drunk. It was 11PM, all I said was that I should get going because the day was nearly over.

Mistake

It spiralled from there …

‘Are today and tomorrow actually the same thing? Does tomorrow even .. exist?’ they said.

I looked at my watch, “today” was slipping away, and fast. Slowly fading into “tomorrow” and soon to be “today” once more. Ugh, my brain hurts. I’m not sober enough for this train of thought.

All of a sudden he started screaming and crying, shrieking into the night about how he couldn’t let another “today” disappear. I still don’t know how he reached the oven so quickly.

Or how he managed to unhook it, releasing the supply of gas into the house.

For that matter I don’t even know where he got a lighter from. Neither of us smoked. However he did it, at least his fears about the day disappearing on him were over.

Tomorrow never got the chance to become today …