candlelight

There’s been a blackout. There’s no moon; it’s pitch black. I can see nothing.

Feeling my way, I creep along the corridor to my apartment. Here’s my door, oh, the door’s open. I wonder why and creep inside. Must make sure Susan is OK. Yes, sounds of breathing from the bedroom.

I head to the kitchen and search for matches and a candlestick.

That’s funny. They are not in the usual place. Only a pack of biscuits. Wonderful. I’m starving after a night with the boys and munch into them.

Hello, there’s a noise from the bedroom, and grunting.

I recognise that low, reverberating grunt. It's Brewster, a giant ugly man, my neighbour, and he hates me. And the worst of it is, he’s stomping out. By the reflection of his candlelight, I can see I’m in his flat by mistake. Where can I hide? No cupboard. Help!

I have no choice. I lay back jauntily against the sink and eat his chocolate biscuits.

He finds me, glares and grunts, his chin out. ‘I’ll have you, you interloping creep.’

His wife appears beside him in the doorway. She is wearing a provocative sheer nighty.

‘Oh Johnny,’ she says cheerily to me. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea.’ She walks over to me. Just then, a gust of wind blows out Brewster’s candle.

My chance to escape! In the dark, I make kissing noises, mow, mow, mow. ‘Oh, Mrs Brewster,’ I moan. Kiss, kiss. I know this will drag him away from the door. I can hear him furiously swishing his arms around to make contact with me. In the dark, I immediately sink to my hands and knees and paddle silently around him and out to the front door.

But he relights the candle and follows me.

Bugger. I have paddled into his bedroom.

He stands in the bedroom door, glowering, red-faced, raising his fists. ‘You’re going to get it.’ he scowls.

I lift up a blanket and waft it at him. He grabs it, but the waft blows out the candle. I know he will come for me. I slide under the bed. I hear his footsteps heading back to the kitchen to get matches to light his candle. I use my trick of kneeling and paddle out of the apartment, fingering my way down the blacked-out corridor into my own flat. I had escaped!

But the door to my apartment is ajar. What’s this? I creep in and see candlelight in my kitchen. There, standing next to Susan is bloody Treloar from number 27. He’s leaning against the sink and eating my chocolate biscuits.

‘Susan let me in,’ he said calmly. ‘I was lost.’

I was just about to object when I heard a noise at the front door.

I turned. There in the doorway stood the shimmering outline of an ogre. It grunted and stomped forward.

‘Like a chocolate biscuit?’ I asked.

Just then, the lights came on. Brewster's face shone. He looked at his watch. ‘I’ll just catch the end of the footy game,’ he yelled. And with a deft swish of his feet, he vanished out of the door.