Gore Bag

Written by Matthew Shute

A lazy Friday evening. Some smooth beats played in the background. My stereo purred like a sleek rat. I was laid back, watching an old episode of Night Rider. The small amount of beer in my system made the edges of the room just fuzzy enough so that the moment seemed to be held. I was more relaxed than I'd been in ages. The liquids in the glass plipped, warmly and gently. The temperature of the room was just about perfect.

Then the doorbell ding-donged.

I swooned along to the front door, and opened the wooden panel. There, in the hole, stood my friend, Jeremy.

"Hi, Jeremy," I said.

"Hi, Martin," Jeremy said.

"Come inside," I slurred.

"Okay, Martin," Jeremy said.

Graceful as dust, we ambled into my cosy room, where I often slackened to watch Night Rider and other Friday shows. The smooth beats seemed to get louder as we got closer. Then, abruptly, we were at the sofa, and the tempo evened. The sounds were still lush, with a Hip Hop edge, though lyricless. Jeremy and I eased into the sofa, its depths taking our easy weight.

"Martin," Jeremy said. "How are things?"

"Things are good," I told Jeremy. "As quiet as an impounded fiddle."

(Maybe there was a little more beer in my system than I thought.)

"That's good," Jeremy said.

I said, "And how are you, Jeremy?"

"Me? I feel well, Martin. I feel very well."

Jeremy was taller than me. He was slim. His hair was blonde with a reddish tinge, combed into just the right slither. His eyes were a dull blue, wistful, sneaky as a caged badger. He was the sort of man who liked to take children to his garage for slinky games, but I didn't mind his company that much. Sly as a robed cardinal, Jeremy had a furtive manner. His clothes were casual today, but I'd known him to wear creepy suits of sombre tones. He held a small, smart bag made of a black, synthetic material.

"Martin," He said to me. "Martin, Martin, Martin..."

"Yes Jeremy?" I spoke, my words crystal clear. Inside, I was moving the angles of the room, working through the grooves, but all was, in actual fact, as stationary as a cart without propulsion. Only the moving things moved, like the goldfish in its bowl, and the Night Rider in his screen. Also the dust in the air, and the atoms that made up the dust, and the universe outside my thoughts.

Jeremy shifted craftily as he said, "Erm. I've brought back Daniel's computer games."

My mind was half on the background beats and half on the Night Rider episode, but it was my turn to speak next. "Oh. Have you?"

"Yes," Jeremy said, unzipping his bag. "They're in here."

After he said that, I found myself thinking about the lighting in the room because I'd lost the plot of the Night Rider episode. The lighting, I realised, was perfect. I'd managed to use the dimmer switch exactly and brilliantly. Such nice lighting. Such a lazy, Friday feeling.

"Thanks, Jeremy. Just put them on the glass table in front of you."

Jeremy finished unzipping, and took out the collection of game-CD's that he'd borrowed from my son Daniel. Daniel was only seven, but he liked some computer games. His favourites were "Postman Pat" and "The Running Ostrich." Sometimes Jeremy leant Daniel games to play with, but I'd had to confiscate them all. The content of those games was too mature for my son, so I locked them in a safe in my bedroom. Jeremy was known for doing inappropriate things, and giving children inappropriate things. I had to remonstrate Jeremy for giving Daniel those pornographic games, especially the "First-Person Spunk Gun." That had been like the anus of a cockroach.

Jeremy said, "I especially liked the Postman Pat game. Can I borrow it again some time?"

Gazing at the faraway goldfish bowl, I said, "Yeah, sure. In fact, you can keep all of those games if you like. Erm... Actually, that's a good idea. You can put them all back in that great little bag of yours, if you like."

I liked that bag. I was sure I'd seen it before somewhere. I couldn't quite place where. Perhaps the only thing I didn't quite like about the bag was the reddish smears and the strange little lumps that were speckled across the surface. So familiar, though. Where had I seen it before?

"Really, Martin? Thanks. Oh... but won't Daniel mind?" There was something surreptitious about Jeremy's face and voice when he said that last part.

"No," I said. "That's not a problem anymore."

Jeremy put the games back into that bag of his that I found so strikingly familiar, and zipped it up again. While he did it, he said, "Postman Pat is my favourite. Such a nice little game. It's easy to see why Daniel always liked it."

I closed my eyes for a second, and tried to absorb the flowing tunes. The sounds made me think of the liquids in the beer glass for some reason.

"Postman Pat? Yeah. I suppose so. I was never really into it, though, I have to say. That sort of thing is a bit young for me."

Jeremy was thirty three years old, and he seemed to have a high I.Q. I could never understand what he saw in games like Postman Pat.

When I opened my eyes, Jeremy winked at me and said, "I like young things."

"Yes," I said. "I know."

"Has Daniel got any other good games I haven't played?" Jeremy inquired, his head slightly to one side for a moment.

"Maybe," I replied. "He might have some others in his room."

Jeremy said, "Can I go up later and have a look?"

"Yeah," I said. "Why not?" My stereo continued to purr out snoozy rhythms. I could really feel the funk. Such futuristic, melancholy sounds... Also, the liquid depths of the beer inside the glass on the glass table was somehow deeply soothing to my mind and soul.

Jeremy looked at me, narrowing his eyes like a bird coming in for the kill. "Are you sure he wont mind?"

Was that a tiny smirk I saw dart across his face, for less than a second, when he said that? Was there a hint of a snigger, just under his breath? Sometimes I found Jeremy to be quite spooky, although, mostly, I'd never minded his company. "No. I've told you. That's not a problem anymore."

"Oh... I see." Jeremy said, perhaps with a meagre speck of sarcasm in his voice, as usual.

"So," I went on. "You can whatever games and computer equipment of Daniel's you want. He won't need any of it anymore."

"Thank you," Jeremy said. "So... Erm. Where is Daniel, then?"

My mind was drifting around the room again, enjoying the details. "Hmm? Daniel? Oh, I forgot to tell you; he's dead."

Jeremy raised one eyebrow, while the rest of his face remained as sardonic as a hidden bat. "Dead?"

On the TV screen, Night Rider came to an end. Soon, a new show would come on. "Yeah. He died yesterday. Got himself killed, didn't he? I'm always telling him to be careful. He never listened. And now look what's happened, as a result..."

The eyebrow came down. Jeremy's face never looked unhappy. His face always wore various shades of amusement, usually the darker shades. "So, um, how did he die?"

"Who, Daniel? Oh, he got himself raped and murdered, didn't he? The killer took all of his clothes and belongings. Even took his school bag. Some people will take anything." I stretched out, putting my feet up on the table.

Jeremy leaned forward. "A school bag, you say? Wow. Isn't that a coincidence? Yesterday, I went and bought a bag just like Daniel's. I wanted us both to have the same bag, so we could be best friends."

"A new bag?" I said, pointing. "Is that it?"

"Yes," Jeremy said. "Nice isn't it?"

"Ah," I said. "I thought it looked familiar. It's because it looks exactly like Daniel's bag."

Jeremy said, "What a shame. Daniel and I can't be best friends now, can we?"

"No," I said. "But did you say that bag of yours is new? It looks pretty grimy to me."

Jeremy said, "Oh. That's because I gave it to a friend of mine yesterday. He was in desperate need of a bag to take his lunch to work, so I loaned him this for the day. He works in an abattoir, you know."

"Ah. I see. That explains it."

Just then, Jeremy seemed to snigger. But a moment later, I realised it was only a cough. He said, "Can I have the games and computer equipment right now?"

"Yes," I said. "Help yourself."

I leaned back further in my seat, really enjoying the smooth sounds now. An episode of Columbo was just beginning.

Jeremy stood up and started moving towards the hallway. Then he faded out of sight, out of my visual range, into the background.

That's another strange thing about Jeremy. Whenever he fades into the background, he usually doesn't show up again until weeks later. And then, when he does reappear, he always seems to have a story to tell...