Collection point
by Gary Hewitt

 

 

Is it really time? Thirty years gone since we exchanged. McCandrew expired soon after. They chose me to take over. I’ve been a bastard of a dictator yet I delivered. Profits grew and my bank balance became more than bloated.

I look out and stare whilst a dark red sun surrenders to the moon. I shiver despite it being eighty degrees. Summer never disappoints here on the south coast.

I swallow a mouthful of Glenglassaugh. My arm pulsates with angry goose bumps. I seize a fleshy chicken bone and devour half the meat with one bite. I switch on the central heating praying I’m not going down with a fever.

The doorbell sings. My head almost hits the ceiling. I march to the door, straighten my tie and open up. In front of me stands a small bespectacled bald rabbit of a man holding a simple attaché case and an impatient frown.

“Can I help you?”

He barges past, opens his briefcase.

“Excuse me, you can’t just invade my house. Who the blazes are you anyway?”

He pulls out a simple manilla file, hands it to me.

“I think you know full well, Mr. Reynolds. These last few years have been distinctly advantageous to you.”

I pour over the details of an old contract. I witness the payment due date and the signature etched in red.

“They have, but it wasn’t all down to your boss. I made this happen, I made a fortune and to be honest your lot didn’t really do very much. Sure, you took care of the old fool but I was always going to rise to the top.”

“Payment is due.”

“Oh really, and who is going to collect? You? Don’t make me laugh you’re hardly the type. Anyway, we could come to some new arrangement. I’ve just acquired a whole new development east of the city. I’m sure I can do great things there for us all.”

“My employer doesn’t take kindly to those who renege on their debt. The terms of the deal are non-negotiable. As for your offer, it is quite irrelevant.”

A diabolical howl pierces the air. I drop my whiskey glass.

“You don’t honestly think I collect do you? No, I leave that to him.”

I’m running, much to the debt collector’s amusement. I feel my heart scratching at its prison. I’m hurtling down to the beach, hear the footsteps of something momentous sprinting towards me. A hot breath licks at my neck. I fall when the hound bashes into my side. The black dog jags past before turning to face me. I cannot move. Two orbs of orange fire stare at me.

I thought at the time the deal was a joke. Twenty three years old and I knew it all when the salesman told me I could have anything for a simple price.

The beast leaps. I’m just currency now.

 

Rate this story.

Copyright is reserved by the author. Please do not reproduce any part of this article without consent.