Out Of Order: Random Tangent, #7

By Chris Hollywood

Death is not the end. Well, typically it is, but sometimes it's…it's complicated. Most of us know someone who has died, and some of us also know people who are surprisingly still alive. But there are a handful of folks who have had their cake and eaten it too. Yes, I'm referring to death as cake. More like fruit cake I guess; far from the best, but some people like it.

 

In a tragic turn of events, Mongrel Stevens finds himself on the wrong side of life. But while annoying the Grim Reaper, he strikes a deal (mostly using blackmail) and is thrust back to the land of the living. He immediately learns that he's traded one horrible place for another: the hospital. But things are about to get even worse, as the man responsible for his condition comes back to finish the job.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Hollywood
• Release date: Jun 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201539306

Book preview

A scream woke Mongrel from his dream, and he teemed with extreme...I don’t know, meanness? He was grumpy if anything.  Whatever; I tried.

He lay in his old bed in his old house in his old neighbourhood, near the middle of nowhere, staring at the ceiling and pondering his dream. It was a half decent one too, which was why he was so distraught to learn that it was, in fact, only a dream. In it, he had just won the lottery, and had blown all the money on hockey cards. But then he sold all the cards for a lot of money, and with it bought a house in the Caribbean, which shortly after accidentally burnt to the ground. But the insurance on the house paid off huge. So with his new small fortune he opened up a hole digging business. But it wasn’t long before someone fell in one of his holes and sued, and he had to close down his business. And after that he was attacked by a herd of walruses for some reason.

Then, before something else good happened to balance things out again, Mongrel was violently ripped from his slumber by a loud crash downstairs and a bloodcurdling scream from Biscuits. He sighed and crawled out of bed. It was going to be a bad day; he just knew it.

A good day was a rarity for Mongrel as of late. The best mornings he’d had recently were the ones he’d slept through. But the house was now full of noise, full of responsibility, and worse of all, full of people now, most of whom would provoke him into waking at the most ungodly hours – today being no different. Who gets up before noon anyway?

Hershule, his mother, was growing more senile by the day, and Mongrel had finally come to terms with the idea that the home he’d have to stick her in was her own, which was a shame because he wanted to move in here at the homestead permanently. Biscuits, the child he never wanted, could never manage to get his slave chores done right, and even beating him had lost most of its charm and novelty. Then there was Freddie Farcus, the man from yesteryear who needed to be taught how to adapt to modern life, something Mongrel was beginning to learn he knew nothing about, and was starting to wonder how he managed to get though it himself. It was obvious to him now that, much like his dreams, he was stuck in a rut. That, and they were out of sticky buns.

The only comfort he had was from the mon, which had extremely limited conversational abilities and gave everyone else the willies.

Mongrel crawled to the door and down the hall towards the screams of agony, thankful that whatever was going on wasn’t going on to him. He crawled haphazardly into the kliving-chen[1] and found Biscuits lying under the refrigerator (he was somehow always getting trapped under something). After a moment’s pause to contemplate the situation, he decided to leave Biscuits trapped there where he couldn’t get himself further into mischief.

Having addressed the problem and worked out a satisfactory solution, he turned to the next one: his mother, who’d been waiting patiently for him at the kitchen table while he attended to Biscuits, and even helped herself to some homemade meatloaf pudding in the meantime. When he was finished with the slave, she called for his help.

Mongrel! That red thing of yours is eating the curtains!