I stop next to a large puddle. Experimentally, I kick at it, sending a spray of water arcing upwards. Everything is still silent. I take a deep breath and jump in, shocked when my legs plunge downwards. For a moment my stomach leaps sickeningly into my throat until my toes touch the bottom. The puddle is deep enough to reach my chest. I laugh and the sound is so unexpected it reverberates around the strange street. I lift up my arms and crash them down, creating a mini tsunami, then bob there, marvelling at what I’m experiencing.
I’d thrown a few mushrooms into the pan when I made my omelette. They looked normal enough and the large supermarket chain I’d ordered them from shouldn’t have been selling hallucinogenics, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. I giggle at the thought of people up and down the country having similar visions because of dodgy fungi. As soon as I come round, I’ll have to order more before the supermarket realises its mistake. This is so much fun.
I heave myself out of the puddle. It’s surprisingly difficult and I end up half sprawled on the cobbles like a beached seal. I clamber to my feet, shaking my body to rid myself of the worst of the water and start walking again. Well, I say walking; it’s more of a skip to be honest. No, I don’t advocate drug use and I really enjoy my boring existence – most of the time, anyway. But after the day I’ve had, this hallucination is taking my mind off the horrors. Besides, it’s only a street with a few wacky puddles in it.
I start humming a skewed version of Ode to Joy. I’d love an umbrella because then I could recreate Gene Kelly’s dance from Singin’ in the Rain. I glance down at my empty hands and will an umbrella to appear but it doesn’t work. I wrinkle my nose and shrug: it’s no great disaster.
I continue, my humming getting louder. The rain continues to fall, the cobbles stretch ahead and the street remains silent. This really is ... oh, shit.
I crash to a halt as I see the figure ahead. For a moment, I feel a flicker of fear but it quickly changes to irritation. This is my hallucination, I think crossly. I’m an agoraphobic with few friends; there shouldn’t be anyone here apart from me. I have half a mind to march up to my mushroom-induced interloper and tell them to get out of my street.
I square my shoulders and decide to do just that. It’s a young woman wearing a tight red dress and high heels, so impossibly tall it’s a wonder she’s not toppling over. She doesn’t glance in my direction, even when I’m less than three feet away from her.
‘Hey!’ I say sharply.
She still doesn’t look at me. Instead she turns away and I follow her gaze, my heart sinking when I see another person strolling towards us. I tut like a petulant child.
‘Hello,’ drawls the young policeman who tried to help me earlier. He’s speaking to the woman.
I do a double take. What is he doing here? Although maybe it makes sense: he did play a major role in my day. It doesn’t mean I want him in my head though. ‘Why couldn’t I hallucinate Ryan Gosling?’ I mutter to myself.
Neither the woman nor the policeman seems to hear me. He walks up to her and pushes her against the wall. ‘I’ve been waiting for this for so long,’ he breathes.
The woman’s mouth curves into a slow smile. ‘Ally Bear, you’re my kind of man.’ Then, just like that, their lips lock together.
I cough. ‘Er, excuse me?’
His hand reaches down to the hem of her dress and tugs it higher. She moans, pressing into him and my cheeks flare up in embarrassment. I don’t want to see this! Why would I hallucinate this?
‘Do it,’ she murmurs.
No! Don’t do it!
‘Only if you beg me,’ he purrs in response.
I put my hands over my ears and squeeze my eyes shut. ‘No, no, no, no, no!’
I feel something sharp digging into me and hear a faint but familiar, low-pitched growl. I take my hands slowly away from my ears and stare at the Chairman. His hackles are fully raised and his pupils are wide and round. He hisses and spits, leaps off my lap and bounds away. I blink several times, shaking myself back into awareness. I’m still in my own living room and in my own chair.
I look round. Everything’s the same although my tongue feels furry and there’s a strange metallic taste in my mouth. ‘Maybe I won’t go ordering any more mushrooms again after all,’ I murmur.
I uncurl my legs, go to the mirror and stare at my reflection. I pull up my eyelids and examine my pupils. They look normal enough. Sticking out my tongue, I check for other signs that I’ve been drugged.
Then, the thought hits me that maybe someone did something to me today. One of the paramedics maybe, or that policeman himself. They could have given me something slow acting, which is why it didn’t take effect until now. Something that brushed against my skin. It might be related to the strange electric shock I received from the old man...