Help! I've fallen down the toilet! I'm hungry, cold and it smells funny here. There are monsters after me, my arm has turned a strange shade of green and worst of all, an alligator called Barry wants to be my new best friend...
But wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. Where are my manners? First, some introductions. My name is Rupert Dickory, I'm fourteen years old and I live in a small town of no particular note, in the middle of nowhere. If someone had to describe me in 4 words they would probably use 'shy', 'curly-haired' (Is that all one word? Probably. I certainly wouldn't question it if they used it as one of their three), 'tall-for-my-age' (that definitely isn't one word, but once you've shown a sign of weakness, people pounce on it), and 'The-Under-Fourteens-West-Midfordshire-County-Cross-Country-Champion' (Ok - that's just silly. If someone said that one, I'd make them start again. I know its only a game, but if you don't stick to the rules, what's the point in having them...) I live at home with my mum and we play scrabble twice a week. Every third weekend I travel into the city to see my dad. He lives in a modern high rise flat with his girlfriend, Chelsea. I'm up near the top of all my classes in school, and I'm also in the football and athletics teams. Not geeky enough to be bullied for being a swot, not cool enough to hang out with the popular kids, I tend to go unnoticed; a quiet loner ignored by pretty much everyone.
So now you know a bit about me, I guess the question you're asking yourself is how did this quiet, unassuming boy come to fall down the toilet. Well - as with, i'm sure, many long stays in a toilet over the years, it began with a curry....
It is a well known fact in my home town that my mum makes the meanest Lamb Bhuna this side of Hyderabad. Imagine the best curry you've had. Ok, have you got that fixed in your head? I can guarantee you that my mum's is fifteen times more delicious. Maybe even seventeen. It's fantastic! Everyone who's ever tasted it raves about it. The local vicar came to tea last week - he didn't even like curry before he came, but his sermon on Sunday at St. Reginald's was entirely devoted to the virtues of my mum's bhuna. One hour and forty minutes is a bit excessive, even for someone who has never had it before, but it hopefully goes some way to explaining just how good my mum's curry is. And one of, if not the key secrets to the curry is my mum's home grown chillies. They're explosive! And unlike anything you would have had before. And after Reverend Potter's praise on Sunday, it seemed like everyone in the town wanted an invite to our house - those that had come many times, and those that had never sampled the delights of my mum's cooking before. My mum hadn't been planning on entertaining but, forced into it by the weight of expectation caused by the vicar's high words of praise, she agreed to cook for three people at the last minute - Pauleen Mackerel - the wife of the mayor, Sgt Archibald Jackson - head of the local constabulary, and Mickey Thomas - a janitor at my school.
When I arrived home from school that afternoon, my mum was in a right panic. She was running round the kitchen, grabbing ingredients. Pots and pans lay everywhere. Seeing that I was home she quickly enlisted my assistance.
"Be a dear would you, and grab a few chillies from the garden - five or six should be enough."
I wandered up to the greenhouse at the top of our garden, where my mum grew her chillies, only to discover the strangest sight. A small rabbit was sat on the floor of the greenhouse, eating the last of the chillies from the plant. He looked quite sick, and gave me a guilty yet sickly look that suggested he had eaten a few more chillies than were good for him. I quickly sprinted back to the house to inform my mum.
As you can imagine, she was mortified. Without the chillies, her curry would just be like any other one, and her reputation would be in tatters.
"Well, there's nothing else for it. I can't cancel now...you'll have to run down to the shop and buy me some chillies. They won't be as good, but there'll be better than nothing. I'll just have to explain." And so I was hastily pushed out the front door with a five pound note in my hand, and my coat half on.
The nearest shop to our house that would sell chillies is normally a fifteen minute walk away. But as I was in a hurry, I decided to take the short cut down the alley behind Marjorie Walker's house and along the canal. This was my first mistake. My second quickly followed.
Hindsight is a wonderful thing. Things that seem sensible and logical at the time can, when you look back after the event, seem silly and foolish. When a strange bearded man skulking in the shadows of the canal bridge offers you a magical chilli for the measly sum of just five english pounds, and you are in desperate need of a chilli (magical or otherwise), at the time it can seem like a fantastic idea to proceed with the purchase (particularly if it will save you a ten minute walk). However, after you have purchased said chilli and are walking back home, you may start to ask yourself some probing questions. Such as who exactly was this man with the strange odour and the purple hat? Why was he hanging out in such a obscure and dingy location? And just how convenient was it that he was selling the one thing that you needed, particularly when that item was a chilli?!
It was a little too late for these questions though, and despite my reservations I felt that I could do nothing else other than give my mum the chilli. I didn't tell her it was magic, and I certainly didn't tell her who I had bought it off, merely shrugged when she commented how quick I had been, and mumbled something along the lines of "that's all they had" when my mum questioned why I had only bought one.
"It'll just have to do", she said, and rushed off to finish preparations.
Now, it may surprise you to hear that the meal was a resounding success. The three guests all had a fantastic time, and the curry turned out tremendously, even better than normal. After everybody had left, my mum gave me a huge hug and thanked me for fetching the chilli.
"You really saved the day! Maybe I'll buy chillies from the store all the time from now on" she proclaimed. I still didn't have the heart to tell her where I had really obtained the chilli from, but I did begin to wonder about the bizarre man with the sunflower in his coat pocket. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all. Maybe the chilli was magical...
It was only later that things started to go badly.
Its normal to need the toilet after you've had a curry, and so I wasn't that surprised when my belly starting rumbling as I climbed the stairs to bed. But ten painful minutes later, as I was was winding up proceedings, I began to wonder if the chilli, and the man, weren't beginning to take their revenge. It was when I heard the small voice coming from within the toilet bowl that I really began to realise that this had been no ordinary curry.
"Help me! I've fallen down the toilet"
I stood up, peered into the bowl, and there I saw the strangest sight. In the depths of the toilet was what I could only describe as a naan bread....with a face! Not a human face, but a definite darkening around the areas where you would expect 2 eyes and a mouth to be. I stood there transfixed.
"Are you going to just stand there staring, or are you going to help me?" The naan bread's strange, squeaky voice made me jump even more the second time.
"Help me!"
I didn't know what else to do, and so I reached down with my hand into the bowl. I grabbed the naan bread's small...well...hand i guess, and tried to pull him up. I quickly realised that this was a big mistake because rather than me pulling the naan bread out of the toilet, he began to pull me in. First my head submerged into the darkness, then my whole body followed, plummeting downwards, falling for what seemed like an eternity.
Eventually I landed with a crash. Onto what, I didn't know. It felt vaguely squelchy.
The naan bread burst out laughing.
Everything around me was pitch black, so much so that I couldn't see my own hand in front of my face.
The naan bread's laughter continued, and began to sound sinister.
"Welcome to the world beyond the U-bend Rupert Dickory," it whispered, "I'm sure you'll enjoy it here," before continuing to cackle.
As I mentioned above, i'm a cross country runner. Running is my escape, the way I relax and forget about the world around me. Not knowing what else to do in this situation, I ran....
And four days later, I'm still running. Its dangerous to stop for too long - they may catch me. I've already risked my luck too much taking the time to tell you this part of my story. I may be able to update you further soon. But then again....
