The Room

A serialised novel


From last time…

 …So, no, Harry, I’m not up for polite conversation right now, y’know? You gotta do a bit of the running here o.k?…There’s something he doesn’t want to tell me and I can’t put my finger on what it is…He grimaces. “Ah, the remembering may not be such a big thing. It may come in handy…”…“What’s my name Harry?”… But he’s a terrible actor…. “It’s time I left I’m afraid. I’ll come and see you again, check everything’s o.k. tomorrow. How’s that, huh?… I’d stay here if I were you. It’s safe in here”… I try again but there’s no sound. I pull at the door but it doesn’t move at all…”Like I said. It’s safer in there than out here…” He swallows my name…I’m scared to look out of the window! It’s safer in here. Safer not to know. I’ll wait. I’ll look out the window in a minute…


It’s just a street right? Just a plain stupid street. I reckon I’m about two floors up. Across from me is a row of tall buildings that stretch out of eyeline to the right and to the left, a corner. No cars going by, which seems odd. Why? I don’t know. Something tells me there should be cars. Don’t ask me why I think that…how the hell should I know o.k?

Anyways, the place opposite looks pretty run down y’know? Paint’s peeling off the windows and there’re no curtains, just some kind of sheet half pulled across. I look down and see an awning or whatever. It was once dark green but now it’s all faded and nearly white in places. You can only see the dark green in the places where the buildings in the way of the daylight.

The sun shines and bleaches out the colour. Like my memory right? I wake up and there’s nothing left of it. The only places I can remember or think and feel straight are the parts that are still in the dark. Sheesh, what a shmuck.

So I’m looking out the window, up and down the street. Y’know, I thought of trying to smash it. Get out right? Get help. But there’s something…something about me that won’t. Crazy. It seems too much effort. Too much effort to be free right now. Here’s o.k. And I know the stuff in the movies ain’t true. Don’t ask me how I know that shit but I do. Smash that glass and I know I’d be cut to pieces either doing it or trying to climb out.

Yeah, like the hero gets pushed through the window, picks himself up and walks away. Now don’t ask me. I don’t remember seeing anyone do that but I just know it ain’t so.

Besides, Harry’s a clever guy. You got to give it to him. Bringing me food, being all gentle like, despite his size. So now I’m kinda feeling safe and also scared shitless of what’s out there. (Yeah, of what’s in here too – namely the shmuck who can’t remember.) What did I do? Is someone out to get me? Ha, yeah, there’s always someone out to get you, right?

Anyways, so I’m looking left and then I see him. No, not Harry. The guy. The one stood at the street corner, by the streetlight. Just leaning. Casual. But he’s smart. Thin suit, sharp and clean looking. Nothing flashy or big on him. Just leaning casually against the light – and looking straight up at me.

When he see’s me looking he kinda nods. I think it’s at me but then from around the corner comes this woman. She’s smart too. Sharp like him. Not quite your business woman but close. She goes next to him and they say a few things to each other. Now he nods up at me. Now it’s for sure. He straightens his tie and they start walking. This way. I mean, that far away? How did I know? Sheesh, don’t ask me…you just know they ain’t going to walk past my door right? They’re not out on some jaunt, window shopping or whatever. Why else are they there y’know?

Boy, you should of seen me! Running around the room like a cat with it’s tail on fire. Shit. I didn’t have a clue what to do. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to fucking hide in this dump. So I’m running around, looking at the door…I crouch behind the desk, behind the drawers, under the table. Shit. Nowhere to hide. Then I hear their footsteps, just like Harry’s, coming up them stairs and I stand still.

Maybe they won’t have a key. Yeah, that’s it. Unless they’re friends of Harry they won’t be able to get in, right? I sure as shit can’t let them in right? Yeah…that’s it…I’m thinking. Thinking. Standing in the middle of the room, my hands pumping open and close, open and close, listening to their footsteps.

Thinking ‘they can’t get in’ as hard as I can. Over and over.

There’s a knock. A small knock. I hold my breath. Nothing.

“Shem are you in there?” Comes a man’s voice with a strange accent. I can’t place it. It sounds calm. Not happy like Harry. But not cold either. Shit. “Shem? It is you isn’t it? I saw you at the window. It’s me, Frank. And I’ve brought Felicity with me. “

Another long pause. I’m thinking well, this is just the usual shit for today right? People turning up and saying stuff I don’t understand. Saying stuff and expecting me to know what’s going on. And I’m just about to go over to the door when I remember the note I found. “Don’t let her in...” Or something like that. Is this her? This…Felicit..whatever he said. I’m taking no chances right?

So I walk over to the door. Real quiet. Real close. Maybe I can feel if they’re on the level if I listen close enough to the door. They’re whispering. Real quiet. I push my ear closer, trying to hear. I think I hear that name…Shem…or whatever.

And then my heart starts to trip over itself. It’s like I said. You think you’re in control but all the time your bodies doing it’s own weird shit. I didn’t think my nose was that sharp. But when I can’t hear what the two charlies outside the door are whispering I realise it’s because my heart is banging like a big badass drum at my chest.

Because I can smell it. I can smell her. It’s the same damn perfume I found in the drawer. It’s her scent. And she’s right outside.

Dear reader – do you have a suggestion for the next chapter? A suggestion for what might be found in the room? Will anyone come to the character’s aid? Perhaps a plot idea? Or maybe you just want to tell me to stop! Whatever, drop me a comment! You may find it used in the next chapter!

‘Til next time,




About Stuart Dyer

Stuart Dyer, Christian Writer and Musician living in West Sussex, England. Works in the hope of producing the worthy novel or solo; giggles at Oliver Hardy, Peter Sellers and Spike Jones; admires Hudson Taylor, Dickens, Salinger, Bill Bailey and Neil Peart; listens from Wagner to Miles with lots of stops in between; dances to motown and aims to achieve balance in all things.
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One Response to The Room

  1. Paul Diss says:

    You have really got me going with this one! I can’t wait! Paul


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