God Laughs Ch. 08

I shuddered to think of that. I mean, bad enough in just my house.

"That's what the Albanians were up to. Weaponize to city levels. Country, even."

"Jesus." It was enough to make anyone scared.

"Anyway. Time to wrap this up a bit I think. Let's visit your pool house," he said, suddenly gaining energy.

The moment he said that, Amber started squirming in my arms. She looked up into my face and said, "We don't need to go there. Nothing there for us right now."

"What?" I wanted to know. "Weren't you there all last night?"

"Some of it," she admitted, "but I don't remember much. That briefcase, the effects, you know what I mean. Anyway, I think we just need to go upstairs. C'mon sweetie. I can make it worth your while."

Now my interest was piqued. We'd been avoiding the pool house all day. A few people had ventured in and everyone who'd come out had... well, events had happened to them. Now I came to think about it... quite a lot of stuff had happened around there. The cat 6 in my pool for a start. The animals wandering around. Amber's lost time. Yeah, now he mentioned it...

I looked down at Amber. "I think we need to see what is going on here, Amber."

She shook herself loose from me and said, "I have a headache. I'm going to lie down." She walked off up the stairs, without looking back. That was weird.

I looked at Bob and he looked bemused back at me.

"What was that all about?" I asked him, as if he'd know.

"You'll see," was the twinkle in his eye.

Off we trooped, to the pool house. I couldn't help but notice the damn Cat 6 was still in my pool, and I had no clue who was going to get it out. Rhino sure wasn't; like everything, it would come to down to me. I'd also have to get the landscaper in to sort out the large amounts of missing and partially eaten shrubberies. Where were the Knights who say Nee when you really need them?

When we got there, I was ahead of Bob, and I got to try the door. It wouldn't budge. I don't mean 'it just wouldn't open', I mean the whole thing was rock solid. Like it was all just made of stone: door, frame, pool house, the whole bit.

Bob chuckled behind me and the said, "Allow me. Be quiet now..." and he reached around me and twisted the knob.

For him, it opened. This was so ridiculous. This was MY pool house. I'd been in there thousands of times. Why the hell would the door not open for me? This was just another stupid thing in a day of stupid things.

What's more, it opened silently. We'd lived there for almost eight years, and I'd been in this pool house, literally, thousands of times, and in all the time I'd been in and out, it had never opened as silently as it did that day. I needed to look up what oil had been used and lay in a supply.

We slipped in since the door opened outwards, and then just stood, in amazement, at the little tableau revealed inside.

Inside my pool house there was an oversized table, where I host a card game every Thursday. There's a wet bar built in along one wall. We have several easy chairs and stools around the card table, plus a shower in the corner, for when we did actually use it as a pool house. One wall actually rolls up, to face the pool, which was currently down.

What was interesting was what was going on right then. Or rather, who. There were seven people sitting in the room, playing some kind of card game. The room was dark, apart from the light over the table, casting shadows from the people sitting around it. There was music playing quietly— Genesis, I think— and the light was hazy from various different smoky sources. Everyone had either a drink in front of them, or were holding one. There was conversation and laughter and giggling, all the things you would expect from a little impromptu party. I could see six-packs of beers on the floor and various bottles opened, all from my private stock, which made me bristle.

There was even a large dog sitting on the floor, some kind of Doberman mix, I think. He saw us and raised his head, inquiringly, staring at us for a few moments, before he met the eyes of my companion, Bob, at which point he lost interest and laid his head down on his extended paws.

But the people. Now they were interesting. Two women and five guys. One of the women was a dusky brown color, tight yoga pants clothes, with the kind of body you normally find dancing around a pole. Sitting next to her was a blond, with the kind of chest that not only launches ships, but sinks them as well. She had long blond hair, down to her ass, that was shaved along the sides of her head. It almost looked like a horse's mane.

Of the five guys, one was bald, and drinking what looked like a Stella Artois, and holding a massive Churchill cigar. One that looked suspiciously familiar, too. He'd gotten into my private stock of Cohibas, the douchebag. He had a British accent, too. Another guy was younger, and sitting back drinking out of what looked like one of those German beer steins, plus he had a slightly Teutonic accent. The other three were pure American, one was drinking out of a small wine glass, with something very red inside it. One of the others was a little rotund and the last guy was just really tall, and holding what was obviously a joint. One of the women had one too, I could smell it from where I was standing. Smelt like good stuff, too. Amber would approve.

The lady dealing -- the chocolate flavored one -- was handing out cards and laughing and saying, "This one looks a good one -- When I wake up in the dark I want to wake up..." I don't know quite how she managed to talk with dashes in her speech, but she managed it. I couldn't help noticing there was a small doll by her chair. It was all covered in oils, but it looked damn like Dominique. What was that all about?

"Oh man, good one. I got the perfect answer to that," said the British guy, grinning like an idiot.

"Yeah, as good as 'with a weightlifting midget'? I think not," answered one of the other guys, the guy with the wine drink. Wait, was that port? Sure looked like it. You don't see that every day and I wondered where he got it, since I didn't have any in my bar.

"As long as the answer has a rack in it, I'm all in," smirked the tall guy, glancing at the pony haired woman, who rolled her eyes.

"H, c'mon. How many times..." she started to say, before the H guy interrupted saying, "Oh, I'm sorry, did I make boob of myself?" and cracked himself up.

The German guy leaned forward and said, with that little pause people use before they drop something they think is extremely funny, "I think he's just trying to make a clean breast of it, G."

Everyone tittered and the two girls exchanged "Jesus, can you believe these morons think they are the superior sex?" glances. I'd seen that a lot in my life.

It sounded suspiciously like they were playing 'Cards against humanity', in fact. Wait, a weight lifting midget? Hold on a second...

Bob chose that moment to clear his voice dramatically.

There was instant silence— apart from the music playing softly— as everyone looked up and saw us standing there. Hands froze on their way to picking up cards, or shuffling them around in their hands.

"Ah," said the chocolate skinned one.

The tall guy sighed, threw his cards down on the table, and said, simply, "Hey Bob. How's it going?"

"Well," replied Bob, slowly. "Looks like you are having quite the fun time."

He turned to me and then nodded at each one.

The chocolate girl got, "That's R. She organizes things around here."

Then the horse girl, "That's G. She's the emphatic one."

The guy with the beer stein was, "That's S. He's the clever one."

The guy with the port glass was introduced as, "That's T. Just...don't get him upset."

The tall guy, "He's H. He's the unabashed hound."

Then he nodded to the rotund guy, "That's Q. He's one of the best of them."

And lastly, the bald British guy got pointed out, "That's J. He's an asshole. But polite with it."

They all raised their glasses in salute to Bob— and me?— and took a sip.

"This is John. John Graham. Although I think you know that."

H smirked again and murmured, "Well, we met his wife. Does that count, pretty little thing, very flexibl...." He cut off as he caught J's eye's, which were wide in warning. And rightly so. I had caught what he meant.

I stepped forward, and the dog raised its head, growling a little. Bob put up his arm to hold me back. I don't know why I didn't just teach this asshole some manners, but something about Bob just kept me standing there. Why, I have no idea. I still didn't even know this guy's last name.

"So, this little group only use initials. Cause, they are like some secret society or something. In their heads."

He stepped forward between the women, R and G, and picked up some of the cards on the table, glancing down at them, and then stepping back and handing the cards to me.

"Yes, I thought so," he murmured. "I thought I told you lot, no more?"

"Look, it was just a bit of fun," said the German guy. S, I think? "It was all just a day's outing. No harm, no foul." He looked around the group, looking for support, and everyone was nodding.

"I suspect John's pool might disagree," said Bob, dryly.

R smacked her lips and said, "Okay, we are in the wrong here -- what's it going to take to make this go away, Bob?" Again with the dashes! How did she do that??

"We don't want any trouble," said G, pensively.

"It's no bother," protested T.

"Right. That's what you said about the Mystery project," replied Bob, staring at T. "And look what happened there. Then there's the Nautical invite. God knows what's going to happen there. You guys have been warned. Pack it up, put it all right and go back to where you came from. You know the drill."

He glanced at me. "Yeah, I know this is a bit much to take in."

He was right. I was looking through the cards in my hand.

It was 'cards against humanity', although it looked pretty tailored.

One question card was 'What I want to find in my pool most is...' and in the answer cards that went with it was 'A big yellow bulldozer'. Son of a Bitch. Although it could have been worse. One answer card was 'A bowl of diarrhea', so be thankful for small mercies, John. On the other hand, there was another one that read 'The Swedish bikini team.' I mean come on. Why didn't anyone pick that? I could have handled that just fine.

There was another question card that read, 'My next door neighbor is best described as...' and again, the answer card I had in my hands read 'An ex rocker British drug addict'. Well yes. That's Ronnie to a T. And, again, it could have been so much worse for everyone, when I found the card that read 'Jason from Friday the 13th'. But, like the other card, there was much better option which, of course, no one had taken. It read 'your friendly neighborhood Spiderman'. Who doesn't want to live next door to Spiderman? Why couldn't that have been the one selected? But no. These assholes...

"So... wait. What is going on here? My life is being dictated by these cards? Who are these guys? Some kind of gods or something?"

"Worse," intoned Bob solemnly. "Writers. They only think they are gods."

I turned to them and said, shaking, "You did this to me? To my house? You played god?"

They looked at each other and shrugged weakly. "It just kinda got out of hand, a bit," said the Q guy, looking apologetic. "We didn't mean for it to...well..."

"Where the hell is the monster when you really need him," muttered the T guy. I had no idea what that meant.

"Hey, it could have been a lot worse for you," said Bob, putting his hand on my shoulder. "If V was here, there would have been extreme violence by now. Someone would have a pickaxe handle in their head. Or if M was around you'd have a 4 inch dick and your wife would be unapologetically being stuffed by some asshole named Hugo, and saying 'gawd' a lot. It can always be worse. At least this lot are just out for some laughs, unlike some authors I could name."

I was shaking though. Who the fuck did these people think they were?

"Come on, time to let these morons pack up," he said and turned me to leave. We got to the door and he turned and yelled back, "And I better not catch you again. Or you know what'll happen. One star bombing for all of you."

And with that, we left the little pool house.

Bob walked up to the house, and I just stood there, debating what to do. These fuckers. They were just going to get away with it! Suddenly, what H had said about Amber suddenly came to the forefront of my brain. She'd been there all night! What had they done to her?

Fuck this. That other comment about pickaxe handles. I looked wildly around, and my gaze fell on a, oh yes, a pickaxe, handily left by the landscapers. Right. Picking up the pickaxe, I let the cards drop from my grasp. Pausing only to pull the head off the handle, yes, I know that's not possible, but this was my story going forward, I turned and headed back to the pool house.


Time for some 'writers' to learn their lesson...