The Man who had Himself as a Pet

By Kay Hurrell

Our story follows the hapless Wally, who, while engaged in his cleaning job in a laboratory, inadvertantly clones himself ... in miniature.

Wally's clone is fantastically intelligent, hyperactive, and incredibly annoying.

Wally's problems are increased as he must now care for the irritating little fellow while concealing his mistake from the rest of the world. He is afraid of repercussions from the owners of the machine he ruined; afraid of being dissected in the name of science; and afraid of the ghost in his spare room.

Meanwhile it becomes increasingly difficult for Wally to woo his attractive neighbour with a miniature version of himself always looking through the keyhole.

Then the discovery of something under the floorboards makes life even more complicated...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kay Hurrell
• Release date: Feb 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465974860

Kay Hurrell

Kay Hurrell was educated at an English Grammar School and then at L'Institut Francais du Royaume Uni. She admits to killing off people she dislikes on the page! Unless you recognize yourself in which case she is only kidding! Or is she??

Book preview

Extremely funny, but also suspenseful, Candy Jones

Funny, playful, tense, simply a brilliant book and truly fun to read,

James Griffiths

THE MAN WHO HAD HIMSELF AS A PET

By K. S. Hurrell

Copyright K. S. Hurrell 2012

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

CHAPTER ONE

(In which our brave hero experiences a terrible shock, encounters a tiny demon, and has two baths.)

There was a BANG and everything went black.

When Wally was capable of opening his eyes, everything was still back. He blinked and tried again: black. But he was conscious so he decided he must be dead. The light was dim and there was a strong smell of smoke. He could see very little, just huge dark masses with no familiar shape or form. He reached up and ran his hands over his face. It felt normal and his eyes were open. He flexed his legs and wiggled his toes. He did not seem to be hurt anywhere. He licked his dry lips and swallowed.

All around him was an eerie silence. And sitting next to him, smeared with soot was a small demon. A small demon that looked exactly like himself. That’s it, thought Wally, I am dead and I’m in Hell.

He tried to remember what had happened. How did he get here? Why did he get here? What had he done? But the last thing he could remember was bumping into Lily outside his flat. … . ah beautiful Lily with hair like silk and creamy skin . . . now he would never see her again because she assuredly would go to Heaven to be with the angels and … he was in Hell.

And anyway, Lily wasn’t dead.

Unless he had killed her. That wasn’t why he was here, was it?

He dredged his memory. Lily. When had he last seen her and what had he done? And like pieces of a jigsaw, fragments of his last movements came drifting back.

Lily had a smile like sunshine, even when he had made a complete fool of himself and slipped over in front of her, knocking her shopping across the floor, as the piece of (slightly burnt) toast he was carrying in his mouth landing in her open handbag as she searched for her door key. Oh god, maybe it was just as well he would never see her again.

He gave a sigh as he remembered how nice she had been;

Goodness me, are you all right? she’d asked, her voice full of genuine concern.

Oops, he had muttered, feeling himself growing hot. I’m so sorry.

He tried to retrieve his toast, but Lily pulled her handbag away abruptly. She obviously thought he was a bag snatcher, and would be in for a puzzling experience later. He contented himself with collecting her spilt shopping, enthusiastically picking up oranges, tomatoes, and a box of tampons . . . Why was he invariably such an idiot when Lily was about?

Because he was also an idiot when she was not about, he admonished himself.

He recalled that prior to the embarrassing Lily encounter, he’d had to have a cold bath because he’d become distracted and forgotten how long ago he’d run it. He was already late for work so did not have time to add more hot water, or make himself something decent for breakfast. Except his breakfast time was dinnertime for other people because Wally worked at night.

And Lily worked during the day so he only saw her when they passed in the hallway. He’d never had the courage to ask her out.

And now he never would. Because now he was here, awaiting a fate worse than death.

Wally gave a sigh and sat up. He looked at the demon, which was studying him closely. It blinked. Wally blinked. It blinked again, blotting out the small windows of white in a totally dark face.

Wally let his eyes rove over the demon. It was about a quarter of his size being approximately eighteen inches high, naked, except for a covering of soot, and er … perfectly formed. It was definitely humanoid. In fact, not only was it a fully mature humanoid male, it was an exact replica of Wally himself. Spooky! But who knew what to expect in Hell? He stared at the demon for a long time, braced for some hellish torment. The demon stared back.

Wally cleared his throat. Are you me? He asked at last. His voice sounded weird as if he were underwater.

Am I you? said the demon in reply; which gave Wally cause to wonder whether it a reduced mental capacity? Or perhaps it had trouble hearing Wally’s voice because it sounded as if he were underwater? The demon’s voice did too.

"Yes, are you me?" demanded Wally, wondering why he was even asking. Obviously the demon couldn’t actually be him if he was still able to reason. The thought then occurred that perhaps he had diminished mental capacity for even asking such a question. Or maybe the demon was just an embodiment of part of his soul?

Are you an embodiment of part of my soul? asked Wally.

No I’m me.

Who are you then?

Me. said the demon.

Wally thought about this. Are you being deliberately obtuse? he said.

No.

Perhaps this is what Hell is like – never getting a straight answer, thought Wally. He cleared his throat.

Is this what Hell is like then, never getting a straight answer?

I wouldn’t know about that, said the demon.

Why wouldn’t you?

Because I’ve never been to Hell.

Aren’t you from Hell? asked Wally wondering, even as the words left his mouth, why he asked that when he’d already been told the answer. I’m confused, he mused.

No.

Aren’t you a demon?

No, replied the non-talkative non-demon.

Wally let out a sigh of relief and let his whole, poor sore body relax. He wasn’t in Hell after all. Where was he then? He licked his lips and continued his interrogation.

Where are we then? Not Heaven? And who are you?

I’m your clone.

"My clone? Wally gulped. Clone? Did such things really exist then? Are you certain?"

Whatever it was, the creature was very sure of itself. Yes. You cloned yourself and created me. As to where we are, you would be more aware of the geography of this dystopia than I. said the clone, raising one eyebrow in a gesture wholly familiar to Wally because he did it on rare occasions when he was adopting a supercilious tone.

Wally scratched his head and tried to make sense of the situation. "So you are me?"

No I’m me.

Oh don’t start that again, said Wally. I’m confused enough already. This is all very confusing.

The clone cocked its head on one side. Sorry. I am a replica of you, it said. It seemed to consider something. Only cleverer. It added.

Wally considered being offended by this remark; after all, he was clearly being insulted, but decided to let it go. That’s probably for the best, he said humbly. But how can you be sure?

I can’t. I was being funny. But your reply has definitely got me worried, answered the clone dryly.

Wally grunted. He glanced round the room. It was still dark, but now his eyes had grown more accustomed, he was able to distinguish furniture and he suddenly remembered where he was. He was at work. Wally worked nights cleaning laboratories, although seeing the fire damage in this one, he doubted that the job would last much longer. He had no idea what the equipment was, why it was there or what it was used for. He just dusted, emptied the bins and swept the floor. He washed up any used coffee cups he came across. The money he earned from this was low but it kept body and soul together while he spent the days painting. He was twenty-eight years old and still awaiting the big break he deserved, when his skill and artistic talent would be discovered and recognized worldwide and his fortune would be made. Until that day arrived, he would continue to paint and earn his bread however he was able.

So, somehow, he had done something really incredible.

Really incredible.

By accident.

Because he had absolutely no recollection of how he had done it.

So, where exactly did you come from? He asked the clone.

The clone walked across the floor, leaving small, child sized footprints in the soot. It stopped in front of a machine that had formerly resembled a fridge. Wally had actually considered it to be a high tech refrigerator. There was a dial on the front of the door, which now hung from its hinges and a panel of what used to be colourful buttons on the side. Now just charred plastic. Wires protruded from it like whiskers. Crap! Wally thought. I hope it wasn’t too expensive.

You’ve certainly buggered that, said the clone. My birthplace… ruined!

"I did that?"

"Yes you did. All by yourself. Don’t ask me how. The clone rubbed his nose. I appeared out of the ashes like a phoenix. Quite a dramatic beginning I would say."

Wally circled the remnants of the machine. He touched it gingerly. He wondered if there was any way he could clean up the mess and make it appear presentable.

Do you think there’s any way we could clean this up? he murmured, shocked.

What and pretend you didn’t do it? I doubt it, replied the clone in a rather derogatory tone, in Wally’s opinion.

Hmmm. I suppose not, agreed Wally, making a halfhearted attempt at pushing the wires back behind the dislodged panel. They popped straight back out.

And anyway, continued the clone, what about the rest of the room? It’s covered with soot and you’ve no light because the power’s down.

Wally stared at the clone. The power’s down?

Haven’t I just said so? said the clone, folding its arms.

Wally vaguely remembered tongues of flames leaping from the machine, and how he had panicked and thrown water on them …

Oh god. I think I caused a short circuit. What else is damaged? Will they know it was me?

Probably. All the electric clocks have stopped …

At the time when they know I would have been cleaning. Oh my god …

Wally began, then still not quite convinced the clone wasn’t really a demon trying to fool him into thinking otherwise, continued, Goodness gracious me, this is appalling beyond belief.

Quite, agreed the clone.

I’ll lose my job. We’ll starve to death.

What do you mean ‘we’? Me too?

You too, if I’m responsible for you. That is, unless you can support yourself. I suppose I could sell you to a circus as a freak.

We could do a double act, suggested the clone, unhelpfully. Big freak and little freak.

Or I could sell you to a scientist for research.

Wally thought for a moment, rubbing his forehead. This was all so weird. So totally weird. Was he dreaming? Or had he gone mad? Had there been some hallucinogenic gas expelled in the explosion? That would explain a great deal. He’d obviously had a blow to the head; maybe he was imagining this.

Wally looked down at the clone, which stood beside the calf of his leg. Pinch me, he commanded.

Have you gone mad?

That’s what I’m trying to find out. OW! He was awake then.

It was the clone’s turn to circle the machine. How did you calibrate this thing anyway? And where did your DNA come from? demanded the clone, its little hands on its hips.

I have absolutely no idea, confessed Wally.

You must have some idea, said the clone bossily.

Well, I didn’t do anything consciously.

What did you do by mistake then? asked the clone.

Wally bit his lip and tried hard to remember his actions immediately preceding the explosion. I’m not sure. I was cleaning this machine, as usual, just gently with a damp cloth, you know, when I … He cast his mind back and suddenly it all came back to him in a flash. When I put my hand in a dish of that jelly stuff. I scraped it off and shook it and it landed on the controls. So then I had to clean them really thoroughly. I didn’t do anything wrong. Not really.

And did some of the jelly land inside the machine by any chance? asked the clone.

Wally looked like a deer caught in the headlights. A little bit might have, he answered slowly.

Hmmmm said the clone. That explains a great deal.

Well it might to you, brain box. It certainly doesn’t to me. I had no idea what this thing does. I thought it was a fridge or something.

You can’t be that ignorant.

I can be, Wally defended himself. I am … er hang on … I mean who are you to call me ignorant? What is your name, anyhow?

Wally, of course, said the clone.

"But that’s my name."

"But I am you."

Oh god! Wally sighed. He was tired of this difficult, argumentative Lilliputian person. He took a deep breath. Well you will have to have a different name. How about Wally Two?

That’s stupid!

Why?

"Because I am Wally too."

Aargh! Wally could imagine the veins in his neck swelling as he tensed in frustration.

Okay, okay. The clone considered. What about Tolly?

I suppose, said Wally, too tired to argue. His head ached. His throat felt like sandpaper and his mouth was as dry as a desert. He wanted to get out of this nightmare. In actual fact, as far as names for the clone went, any moniker would do. But Wally and Tolly? It sounded … it sounded moronic.

Look, I just want to go home, said Wally. I don’t feel well. My whole body hurts and I’ve probably lost my job…

And you’re covered in soot, added Tolly. And your hair in singed. You look a mess.

Wally raised his eyes heavenward. Cheers mate. He paused for a moment. Well you’re naked.

The clone glanced down at his own soot-covered naked body and conceded this fact with a nod. Then said, You’re most likely concussed. So what’s the plan?

The plan is: we go home. I’ll figure out what to do with you later when I’ve had some sleep …

Sorry, I can’t let you sleep.

What?

I can’t let somebody who has concussion sleep. It would be asking for trouble, said Tolly.

It will be asking for trouble if you don’t let me, replied Wally vehemently. Trust me.

You made me. It’s my duty to watch out for you.

Wally tried to straighten his thoughts. What had he done? How did he create a creature that could be this annoying? And then another thought occurred to him. A thought so complicated and beyond his comprehension, that he would have to come back to when he felt better: did God feel like this? Were humans this annoying and bossy and pestering?

You know, you are becoming really annoying and you should be careful. I made you, that’s true. But no one else knows about you yet. No one. I could kill you right now; dispose of your remains and nobody would know or care. Is that clear?

As crystal, said Tolly, closing his mouth firmly and adopting the posture Wally recognized as his own when he did not want to volunteer for something.

Wally sniffed and rubbed his sore eyes. Leaving the building would not be without problems, he decided. There were security cameras at regular intervals along the walls of the corridors. Whether they were still operating due to the power failure he had caused, he did not know but he could not take the risk. There would certainly be questions if Tolly were discovered; explanations demanded; that sort of thing. He had to look as if he was by himself when he left.

He stumbled round the dim laboratory until he located his trolley of cleaning equipment and rummaging around, found just what he needed. A black plastic bin liner.

Tolly gulped. Please don’t, he gasped.

Don’t …?

Please don’t suffocate me.

"I’ve got to hide you. I can’t just walk out of here with a miniature naked man, can I? Besides, it would be like exposing myself on camera. Get in the bag. I won’t seal the top. You’ll be able to breathe."

Tolly obeyed and got in. Wally slung the bag over his shoulder and made for the door of the laboratory.

Outside in the corridor, the lights were still working. The glare made him wince.

"Shit! I’m cooked!" he muttered. He walked steadily to the exit,