Patient Blue

Guru George died a happy man, lodged between the firm thighs of the woman he loved, dick deep inside her. It took Barbi a while to realize he was dead, he just stopped pumping away and with the final beat of his heart shot his load with a convulsive shudder, gave a sigh, a rattle in his throat and expired. After about thirty seconds realizing he had still not moved, Barbi became worried, called his name shook him and when she got no response began to panic and tried to extricate herself from under his heavy six foot plus body. She also had to somehow remove his considerable and still, thanks to his last tablet of Viagara, stiff cock from inside her, a task more difficult to accomplish than she imagined.

Barbi though, was a strong woman and eventually after much effort, contortions and intimate bruising, separated herself from the lifeless body of the late great Guru George. She left him lying face down on the bed and covered him over with a sheet. It was just after nine in the morning but was still dark, and the blizzard of dirty grey snow continued to rattle against the window driven by a gusting freezing wind.

She went to Rosslynne and Michael’s room which was empty, and remembered they had spent the night in the summerhouse. she hoped they were alright in the storm. She sat on Rosslynne’s bed covered her face with her hands and began to weep uncontrollably. She wept from shock, loss, loneliness and fear, but most of all she wept for her wasted unfulfilled life, for the children she never had, and all the lost opportunities that were gone and would never come again on this dying world.

Barbi sat in the kitchen nursing a cup of instant coffee and smoking a cigarette. The kitchen was illuminated by six large candles and one of the oil lamps. Wavering light flickered and reflected off chrome fittings and polished black slate work tops. She had just returned from her room, where she had pulled back the sheet from George, and in the soft glow from the oil lamp could tell that he was most certainly dead, the deadest thing she had ever seen. His limbs cold and stiff, skin mottled and veined. She replaced the sheet over him and left the room quickly.

She didn’t know what to do, worried about Rosslynne and Michael but couldn’t leave the house and look for them in the blizzard that continued to batter the house. It appeared, if anything, to be growing more fierce and dangerous by the hour.

There was no one to call and nothing to call them on anyway as none of the phones had worked for months. She had ventured outside once, only briefly, to collect the firewood that was now blazing in the hearth in the sitting room, bringing her at least some cheer. The Aga was also alight keeping the bone numbing chill at bay. She determined that once the storm had abated she would try to reach the summer house, find the other two and together the three of them could remove George from her room and maybe store him in the cellar until proper arrangements could be made. One thing was for certain, she would never sleep in that room again, let alone that bed.

As the morning stretched into the afternoon and then evening, the day hardly brightened at all and now at four in the afternoon it was pitch black and the blizzard continued unabated. As she sat in the sitting room in front of the blazing fire trying to concentrate on a book that just didn’t hold her interest, she sipped red wine and smoked a joint, which didn’t seem to calm her nerves, quite the opposite in fact. Feeling haunted and on edge, she started as each new gust of wind made the house creak and groan and fresh squalls of tainted snow hammered against the windows.

At nine she took her last three tranquilizers to help her sleep and went slowly up the stairs, always aware that the body of George was still in her bed, his presence was strong. She lit her way with an oil lamp, a Victorian antique, but still effective, and went into Rosslynne and Michael’s room where she would try to get some sleep. She lit four candles, put the oil lamp on the bedside table lay on the bed and closed her eyes.

Falling into a light fitful chemically assisted sleep, she dreamed of George and when she half woke cried out his name,‘George, please don’t leave me, why did you have to die? I don’t want you to leave me here all alone, oh George I’m scared and lonely, please come back to me.’

Underneath the howling wind, the structural groans and protestations of the house, there came a different sound, quieter, out of place, a scratching on the wall behind the bed that bordered her bedroom. Her eyes snapped open and she was suddenly very, very wide awake. There were three sharp raps and she let out a scream. From next door there came the unmistakable sounds of movement, the creaking of her bed as if a weight had shifted as if someone or something was getting up, distinct footsteps and sounds of furniture being bumped into, then a whisper close to her ear, sounding inside the room with her. ‘Baarbiii, Baarbiii, come to me.’ There was a loud bang on the door and the handle began to move then another loud bang. ‘Barbi, help me, come to me I’m lost and don’t know where to go. Barbi where are you?’

’George, please leave me, please leave me alone,’ she screamed.

There was stillness in the room, just the sound of the wind blowing and the snow battering against the windows, the air felt heavy and oppressive. Then the flame in the oil lamp slowly faded to a faint red glow and died and all four candles were extinguished suddenly in a cold rush of air, leaving her screaming in the pitch darkness as violent banging shook the bedroom door in its frame.

She ran to the door locked it, then went to the large sash windows that overlooked the grounds, managing with difficulty to open one. She climbed onto the icy ledge and jumped into the snow lying feet thick on the flat roof of the conservatory directly below, breaking her ankle as she landed awkwardly. From there she jumped to the ground, her fall cushioned in the huge drifts banked against the side of the house. Staggering to her feet she half ran, oblivious of the pain, never looking back, the snow whipping into her face disorientating her.

She wore just a thin night dress, no coat or shoes and as she waded through the waist deep snow and ice she had only one thought, run get away, escape from the dread, the animated dead thing moving through the house, searching for her. After no more than a few yards she fell heart pounding and lay in a deep drift of dirty grey snow, feeling the beats become more erratic, weaker and life begin to ebb slowly away in the deadly cold.

So tired, so very tired she needed to sleep, closed her eyes, so drained, no longer any fear just tired and needing to rest. She could hear a song, not a lullaby, but a song she knew and she joined in whispering the words, ‘the Sun has got his hat on hip hip hip hooray the sun has got his hat on and is coming out to play.’ She opened her eyes and there was George, standing naked, still erect, on top of a drift of snow, smiling down at her, he spoke, ‘you silly girl I would never hurt you.’

‘I know that now. I love you George.’

‘And I love you too Barbi, always and forever.’ He offered his hand which she took and lifted her without effort from the grey drift. ‘Let’s go home I know the way now, now that I’ve found you.’

‘Sounds good to me Guru, sounds, so good.’

Hand in hand they headed home, away from Treetops towards the Deep Black storage area, dissolving into golden sparks as they went. They left no foot prints in the tainted snow.