By Thomas Caterer

Billy’s snoring made Tiffany think of a diarrheic elephant. He had fallen asleep soon after he came. She dragged herself out of his bed, as her languid limbs gathered her under garments. She draped herself in a lace gown with the delicacy of a gift shop clerk. She pulled a cigarette out from her packet, and turned it round in her fingers. The back displayed an image of a cigarette curved into a phallic form. It was a sad sight, with the tip bent downwards, ash limply spilling. At the top it read; smoking may cause impotence. She laughed sardonically; thick and throaty. Maybe smoking too many fags is to blame…

Her phone buzzed, Tiffany checked it to see a message from Tyler. He wanted to meet that evening, suggested their favourite little Italian place. The mushroom risotto there is very good, and they do have a reasonable wine selection. She texted him back, and arranged to meet at 7pm. She glanced over at Billy. She had to admit she felt a little guilty. But surely Tyler only had himself to blame? After all, she had come to expect certain things from a relationship. Until recently things had been going great, they fucked 5 times a week, he splashed out on gifts for her and frequent holidays, and he was right on track for promotion to the head of marketing (not bad at all for a 27 year old). He was going to be taking home another 15k a year. Now, he had blown the interview, he had stopped being invited to the important parties thrown by the important people, and now he couldn’t even get it up. Although she didn’t miss his sex talk. ‘I’m the boss! I’m in charge!’ ‘Yeah babe, you’re the boss… yeah’

‘That Tyler?’ Billy was turned onto one side, eyeing Tiffany’s half-nude form, with a boyish grin.

‘Yeah, he wants to meet tonight. He’s taking me for Italian.’

‘You gonna chuck him?’

Tiffany took a deep breath, and pondered for a moment. ‘I really don’t know. I mean if I could just have the old Tyler…’

‘You need to ask him what the hell’s going on with him, he’s been rubbing people up the wrong way for a while now, always nervy, on-edge, he’s been erratic as hell.’

It was true. For some time now, Tyler’s behaviour had become increasingly bizarre. Thankfully he had stopped claiming to see things, and yet still he would trail off mid-sentence, or his eyes would glare alarmingly at a corner of the room, where no one else saw anything remarkable. He may have stopped claiming to see things, yet nonetheless, he was still seeing them. One night he had woken up screaming. Jumble! Jumble! Jumble! It had most likely been 30 seconds of straight screaming, the same word Jumble over and over again. It had felt like an hour.

Tyler glanced at his Rolex. 19.05. He was getting agitated. Absent-mindedly he begun to tap his fingers on the table. Something out of habit, perhaps a theme from a TV show. His eyes scanned the room. Blue stone-like eyes liberated from the sunglasses, resting on the table next to the salt and pepper shakers. He looked hard at all the corners and sides of the room. So far, things were clear.

It first happened in the interview he flunked. This was meant to be a celebration, now it was a last ditch attempt to save his relationship. Tiffany was a real prize. He had lost too much now already. Stresses were mounting. He had been assured of that promotion. Now he bitterly regretted moving to his new apartment too soon. The rent was too high for him, his car payments were catching up to him, and if he suggested to Tiffany about splitting the bill, he’d probably get a cold, frosty response at best, at worst a glass of wine to the face, as she basted him for being a cheapskate.

‘Are you okay there Tyler, you seem distracted?’

‘No, not at all, sir, I’m sorry, continue, I’m all ears.’

‘We’re discussing an amazing opportunity here, and my colleagues here, hold you in very high regard, I’m disappointed that you don’t seem to share our enthusiasm.’

‘No, I assure you, sir, I am 100% committed…’

‘70% alcohol by now’

‘Please… stop… please’

‘When somebody goes to Heaven, they CAN’T come back.’

It was in that abortive interview that Tyler had first seen it. The teddy bear from the night he had beaten some bum. It had stitching around the neck, where the head had been reattached, in a cross-hatch pattern. Red thread. Its head had moved slowly, he had glared at him accusingly. Somehow those button eyes had conveyed a terrible fury. He was sat at the opposite end of the conference table, eyes baring into Tyler’s soul. Tyler recognised him immediately, and could provide no logical explanation to himself for his presence. He had felt a terrible chill in his chest and stomach. His throat had been tight and dry.

It had cost him the job. Ever since, that fucking bear had been appearing at important moments in Tyler’s life, always with an increasingly grotesque appearance. Blood dripping from its mouth, its hands rotting, it had even began to smell. The stench of death. An inescapable aroma, once caught in the nostrils, it embeds itself like unforgiving tendrils.

The door to the restaurant opened, Tiffany entered wearing a beautiful black dress, and a stern yet sad expression on her face. Black for mourning. This is the death of us. Tyler had recently got things under control. The bear still appeared at times, but he was desensitised enough not to react anymore. Still it may be too little too late. Tiffany took the seat opposite him. Tyler attempted a smile, Tiffany’s face blank. They ordered wine, delayed the food order, claiming they needed more time. Eventually the dust settled. They made some light conversation, mostly gossiping about their friends; that fat chick, Alex had started seeing, Tiffany’s sister’s marital problems, the violent reprisal of Jenny’s acne. Tyler grew a little nervous. He had recently theorised that attacking others was one of the conditions for the bear to appear. With this in mind, he changed the topic to reality TV, he let Tiffany wax lyrical about a popular dating show, as he glugged his wine.

The evening passed pleasantly, Tyler was daring to feel hopeful for Tiffany and himself. The waiter came to their table, and asked for their dessert orders.

‘Do you have Neapolitan ice cream?’ Tyler asked. The words came from somewhere outside of him. He didn’t understand what had compelled him to say that.

‘I’m afraid not sir, only what is on the menu’.

‘Are you all right?’ Tiffany asked. She looked at Tyler with flushed eyes. Her patience had worn thin. Not this again.

They had both ordered lemon sorbet, as they waited, Tyler felt apprehensive, until finally in the corner of his eye, he saw it. He felt more angry than afraid. You won’t ruin this too, you won’t take everything from me! He had grown used to it by now. This shouldn’t matter.

On this occasion however things were different. The bear moved across the floor of the restaurant, making a bee line for Tyler. Its appearance was bloody and grotesque. Its rotting, skeletal hands reached for its neck, and the red thread was pulled apart in violent streams. It took its head in one hand and curled its arm to coddle it underneath its shoulder. Its face was more animate than it had ever been before. The mouth opened and revealed jagged teeth like that of a shark, hateful razors. Tyler leapt from his seat, he ran to the other end of the restaurant. He tried to open the door but couldn’t, the handle wouldn’t budge. His heart was pounding, ears ringing. The stench of death was aflame in his nostrils. He felt the fear of a child, helpless. All his strength and arrogance fled from him. He curled himself up into a ball on the restaurant floor. He closed his eyes tight. Go away, please go away. Please… stop… please.

Tyler opened his eyes. The waiting staff and diners were looking at Tyler with shocked expressions painted onto their motionless faces. The bear was gone. The jagged teeth were gone. And so was Tiffany.

Six months later…

Tyler drained the dregs of his soup. The café down the road from his makeshift shelter, always gave him a cup of leftover soup at the end of their business hours. Just as long as he didn’t stink the place up by going there during the day.

Tyler gathered up a few cardboard boxes and blankets and got himself ready to settle in for the night. It was another harsh, cold night of the British winter. I’m gonna bloody freeze in this. He sighed as he laid his back against the cold stone wall.

Footsteps approached. Tyler picked up his empty cup ready. A brown-haired teenage girl came into view. She had a cute hamster-like face, round and sweet, cheeks red from the cold.

‘Excuse me miss, spare any change?’

‘Oh hey’ she checked her pockets. ‘Oh gosh I’m sorry, I only have this’.

With embarrassment, the girl hesitantly handed him a 50p coin. Tyler made an effort to hide the look of disappointment on his face for her sake. It’s better than nothing.

‘Is that all you have to wear?’

‘I’m afraid so little miss, I foolishly didn’t pack for all seasons, when I moved here.’

‘Oh you must be freezing! Listen I don’t have far to walk home now anyway, here take this’. The girl removed her winter coat and placed it over Tyler’s shoulders with care. He felt the corner of his eye burn as a hesitant tear formed. He was grateful, very grateful.

‘You don’t have to…’

‘No it’s okay, you need it more!’

‘Thank you’ Tyler whispered hoarsely.

The girl walked away down the road. Tyler pulled the coat over his knees to use as a blanket, as he moved the coat up to himself, he saw a label stitched into the back of the coat, where the neck would rest.

On the label read; property of Caitlin Sharp.

‘Caitlin’ he muttered softly to himself. For a reason he couldn’t explain he felt a strange connection to that name. He felt a warmth spreading inside of him. He would sleep peacefully that night, and dream of things that grow, things that feel warm against the winter night.