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| Red and yellow venomous snake |
I hear
999 being read out loud for radio. The publisher has given it 4 alternative titles and I like the jaunty feel of it.
I crawl on hands and knees through the darkness into the black but circus-like tent where a publishing meeting is in progress. I clear my throat.
"Anyone want a scary story?" I ask.
A large woman in a tent-like black dress leans to one side so she can see me over the shoulder of her colleague. She has short, curly, blonde hair and has a touch of Victoria Wood about her. She speaks loudly but in hushed tones, which I find an endearing affectation.
"People send me scary stories," she says excitedly from her cross-legged position on the floor. "What I really want is a sad one!"
She puts her fleshy hands together, illustrating how much she wishes for this.
"Twenty-four hours?" I suggest, considering how long it will take me to craft a story for her.
"I'd publish it!" she says, beaming. I know that she smiles at everyone like this. This is her manner. What will be different about our interaction is that I will actually come up with a story and deliver it within 24 hours.
I nod and slide out of the tent.
As I go, someone looks in a bin bag, which is serving as the slush pile, and she says:
"Did nobody take the snake out of there? Oh, never mind."
I spend the rest of the night watching for snakes coming in under the doors. All the doors seem to have snake gaps.
"We just paint the poisonous ones with a yellow stripe and send them on their way," I hear one guy say.
I'm sleeping on the top bunk tonight. Tomorrow I'll write my story and get the f*ck out of here.
