The cacophony of irate shouting and hissing radiator steam slid gently away as the blessed quiet of the side road enveloped him like a cool but soft blanket. The balm of his relief, however, was incomplete. The cinema, his objective, was no more than a hundred yards up from the high street. The features board proclaimed that 'Aliens 1' and 'Aliens 2' were currently showing, both rated 'XXXX'. As Loofah drew closer to the heavy glass doors of the entrance, the cool quiet became a pulsing cold silence.
'One, please,' he said to the bored woman in the ticket kiosk.
'What for?' she asked, staring indifferently at her nails.
'Um. Aliens 1, please.'
She looked up.
'And what's wrong with Aliens 2?' she asked, with a hint of indignance.
'Nothing, nothing at all. It's just that I haven't seen—.'
'Aliens 2 is perfectly good, you know.'
'I'm sure it is, but—.'
'State of the art special effects. Award-winning cinematography.'
'Yes, but—.'
'Acclaimed at festivals across the globe.'
Loofah gave in.
'Alright then,' he said with a sigh, 'One for Aliens 2, please.'
The ticket seller gave him a long, penetrating look.
'You've changed your mind, then?' she asked.
'Yes, I've changed my mind.'
'So you don't want to see Aliens 1?'
'No, I don't want to see Aliens 1.'
'Sure?'
'Positive.'
'Then you can't go in,' she said, with smug finality.
Loofah stared at her blankly. 'Sorry?' he said, eventually.
'You can't go in,' she repeated.
'Why on earth not?'
'Because they're on together.'
'You mean they're on after each other on the same screen? Or on different screens at the same time? Either way, I don't see that—.'
'No, I mean they're on together,' she interrupted, 'On the same screen at the same time. In the same film, in fact.'
'I don't think I understand.'
'One film, two aliens. Seems simple enough to me.'
'But I don't mind seeing two aliens—even in the same film.'
'You just said you didn't want to see Aliens 1. You were quite definite about that.'
'Yes, but—.'
'And whatever happens, we don't want unhappy customers. We can't have you exposed to aliens you don't want to see, now can we?'
Even in the thick glass of the ticket booth that separated them, Loofah could make out a faint image of the ubiquitous reproachful features that now seemed to haunt him.
'But I have to go in.'
'Well you can't.'
'Please—it's very important,' he begged, gripping the worn mahogany of the counter.
'No, definitely not.'
He gave her a pleading look, to which she responded with tight-lipped determination and a slow shake of her head. With a sigh he gave up.
'Unless…' she said behind him, just as he was hauling open the glass entrance door.
'The Screen' declared the illuminated sign above the double swing doors. And, as if to back up this bold assertion, muffled music and voices percolated gently through the thick chrome-clad wood and out into the stiff air of the corridor.
Loofah paused to examine his ticket; 'Aliens 2' it said, with 'definitely not aliens 1' scrawled underneath in blue biro. It was going to be difficult, he thought, closing his eyes every time the first alien made an appearance. Still, this is what he had agreed with the ticket seller and whatever happened he didn't want to contravene the terms of his admission and get himself thrown out; he only hoped that the wretched thing didn't spend much time on screen, otherwise he wouldn't be seeing much of the film.
When the massive doors swung closed behind him, they did not so much seal out the other world as negate its existence; the flickering darkness that now swallowed him was the universe in its entirety. At first he was disorientated and stumbled clumsily towards the seating area, nearly tripping on the sticky carpet. But gradually, as the velvet blackness swirled over him and around him like warm sump oil, his awkwardness seemed to dissolve and blend into its flow, and soon he was being carried with the current down through the auditorium towards the rectangular window of colour and light and noise.
Lying on the warm silver sand, he was enjoying the shade of a swaying palm tree. Two laughing girls in bikinis splashed out of the tumbling waves and ran up the shore waving to him, rushing to be at his side. A few yards away a black barman in a Hawaiian shirt smiled him a dazzling smile and plopped a slice of fruit into a frosted glass full of ice cubes and blue liquid. He felt that warm glow of happiness inside, for he knew that he had chosen well: the right one, the bright one, the taste of paradise, the drink for people like him.
'Your ticket, sir?' said the usherette, hauling him back into the darkness.
As Loofah settled into his seat, the camera was panning across a livid orange desert, past sun-blasted buttes and dried up river beds. It focused briefly on a yellow lizard slithering across a slab of sandstone, before picking up on a vapour trail of red dust hurtling across the valley bottom. The camera zoomed in just as the car skidded to a halt.
'The car for every occasion,' said a sincere voice on the soundtrack and someone tapped his right shoulder.
'Are you comfy enough?' whispered a man's voice in his ear.
'Yes, I'm fine thanks,' replied Loofah.
The car was now in a drive in front of an opulent suburban mansion. The camera panned over it, sliding lovingly over the paint-work and the glinting window-screen. But despite the stylish camera-work the car was somehow strangely blank: nondescript in colour, ordinary in shape, basically featureless. Loofah was not impressed.
A rattle of paper in his lap. 'Would you like a sweetie?' asked the woman in the next seat, holding out a small bag.
'No, thank you.'
A man emerged from the house; immaculately groomed in a crisp dark business suit, he had chiselled good looks and a hard mantle of cool assertiveness.
'For business,' said the soundtrack, as the man strode up to the car.
'Or a crisp? They're prawn cocktail—very tasty.' This was the man next to the sweet-lady, leaning across her to proffer the packet.
'No, I'm OK,' said Loofah, 'Thank you.'
The businessman got into the car and shut the door.
'Are you sure the seat's soft enough?' whispered the man behind him, leaning forward, 'You don't want a cushion or anything?'
'I'm fine, honestly.'
The businessman pushed the key into the ignition and instantly the car seemed to change. The paint-work, which had been a sort of muddy blue, suddenly became a sleek velvety navy, while the bodywork moulded itself into smooth opulent curves, with discrete but assertive fenders and light assemblies. The transformed vehicle purred out of the drive, radiating wealth, power, and dominance.
'They're lovely sweets,' said his neighbour, 'Lemon bon-bons.'
'I'm sure they're very nice,' replied Loofah, 'but I'm afraid I've not got much of a sweet tooth and—.'
'Excuse me, sir, we do ask patrons not to talk during the programme.' The usherette was in the aisle beside him, shining her torch onto his lap. Loofah looked quickly to his neighbours—who were both sitting bolt upright, silently watching the screen.
'Oh. Sorry,' he said, with a sheepish grin.
In the next scene the car was parked outside a pub—a sixties built, down-market looking place—and again it looked nondescript, uninteresting. A gaggle of youths burst out of the pub and swaggered across the car park, shouting and tussling with each other like a pack of rutting bucks.
'Or a night out with the lads,' said the soundtrack. The youths piled into the car, swinging shoulders and flexing biceps. The doors slammed closed and instantly the car changed; the paint-work now shone in a deep, metallic black with a pattern of red and orange flames down the side, the radiator grille snarled with carnivorous chrome teeth, and the headlight assemblies glinted like leopards' eyes. Spraying gravel, it screamed out of the car park with a throaty roar, a blue haze pumping from its twin silvered exhausts.
'I get them from a little shop in the village,' whispered his neighbour, 'A proper old fashioned sweet shop.'
'That's nice,' said Loofah, his patience beginning to wear thin.
'I always bring a spare cushion with me,' said the man behind, 'I find the seats are always too hard in these places.'
'If you don't mind, I would very much like to—.' Loofah began, turning round and coming face to face with the usherette's torch.
'Sir, our other patrons are trying to enjoy the programme,' she said, sharply.
'Yes, I'm sorry,' he said, 'But you see this gentleman…'
The man in the seat behind was now watching the screen intently.
'Thank you for your co-operation,' said the usherette and was gone.
The car—back once more to its original blandness—was now parked outside what seemed to be some kind of theme park and was filling up with excited young children.
'And even a day out with the kids,' said the soundtrack.
The smiling young mother climbed into the driver's seat and closed the door.
'I always go for the bon-bons,' said the lady beside him, 'But they do do a lovely toffee. Nigel always prefers a toffee, don't you darling?'
'Not always, darling,' said her partner, 'I often like something savoury. Like peanuts. Or crisps.'
The car changed again, the bodywork swelling out into a jolly bubbly balloon and the paint-work acquiring a glossy shine like a new pair of shoes. The headlights were a pair of cheery eyes and the radiator a friendly toothy grin.
'I don't know why they can't upholster them properly,' whispered the man behind, 'Cutting costs, no doubt.'
'Proteus—every car you ever wanted,' said the soundtrack, as the camera zoomed away from car, now back speeding across the original desert valley.
'You should try their truffles. They're absolute heaven.'
'Prawn cocktail is my favourite, but—.'
'Please be quiet!' hissed Loofah, 'I'm trying to watch—.'
'Sir, I am going to have to ask you to leave,' snapped the usherette, shining the torch into his face.
'But these people won't stop talking to—.'
'Shhh!' His neighbour leaned towards him, shushing crossly.
'This isn't fair!' whined Loofah.
'Please sir—if there's any more trouble I shall have to call the manager,' said the usherette, before stalking away into the darkness.
With a disgruntled sigh, Loofah slumped back into his seat, resentment bubbling in his skull like superheated bile. For a few seconds he stared at the screen, then the boiler ruptured in a hissing explosion of corrosive steam—Under Manger's instructions or not, up with this he would not put.
He started to get up, but then stopped half-way out of his seat. During his altercation with the usherette the adverts had finished and the main feature appeared to have started. The camera was panning quickly over a smiling scene of rolling hills, patchwork fields and woods, before zooming in on a bridge over a strange, two-way river. And coming across the bridge was a human figure: a man in a black jacket.
'Aliens,' said a slow, portentous voice, 'They come from somewhere else.'
As the camera focused in on the man on the bridge, his jacket fell open—to reveal a lime green tee-shirt with a flash of orange lettering. A creeping coldness like wet seaweed slithered over Loofah's skin and he sank back into his seat.
'And now that they are here,' continued the voice, 'no-one is safe.'
The next scene showed the same man walking in a wood, followed by a close-up of an unusually flowered plant—the memory oozed through Loofah's skull like warm slime and he shuddered. In the next shot he was standing close in front of the plant as it wrapped its tendrils around his back and clutched at his buttocks. Loofah cringed into his jacket while the scene cut to a woman striding up a footpath with two jolly schoolgirl dogs at her heels, obviously through the same wood.
'A pleasant walk in a public wood—' as the camera followed the woman she suddenly came upon him, still entangled with the plant '—turned into a confrontation with depravity!'
That's not right!—his conversation with the dog owner had been perfectly civil.
But the scene had already changed: a pretty little girl holding a doll was now smiling into the camera. Peony! Loofah guessed what was coming next and winced.
'Even a little girl and her favourite toy are not safe—' cut to him holding the doll, fiddling between its opened legs and pulling at its knickers: followed instantly by Peony's anguished face as she burst into tears '—from—the Aliens!'
Loofah squirmed with shame. And yet it hadn't been like that—a cold thread of doubt coiled around in his squirming brain—had it?
'Animals!' exclaimed the soundtrack, as the scene cut to a silver grey dog, a Weimaraner, wearing a black lace suspender belt and stockings which was clambering over him as he lay writhing on the grass, licking his face with its obscene pink tongue.
Loofah shook his head to dispel dark clouds of confusion, for he had no recollection whatsoever of the Weimaraner. He remembered the two little spaniels, of course, but they were too far young to be wearing titillating lingerie.
'And public property.'
He now wrestled with a parking meter, trying to wrench it out of its mountings and smashing at it with a broken house brick. But surely this was wrong—it had been a telephone, hadn't it?
'The Aliens are here!' said the voice, as the soundtrack dissolved into a climax of dark music.
There he was—filling the screen now, grinning out into the cinema—with his dark hair and glasses, the black jacket and the green and orange tee-shirt, and the embarrassing fawn slip-ons.
'Brought here by the forces of darkness for one purpose and one purpose alone,' said the soundtrack, ominously, as the music dropped in volume, becoming slow and sinister, 'To commit—evil.'
The next scene was of a whitewashed country cottage with a thatched roof basking in a summer afternoon. Roses bloomed and vegetables flourished in the neat garden that stretched down to a sleepy river with a golden cornfield beyond. But all was not well, something was moving in the hollyhocks—it was him, stalking towards the cottage.
Was that the old lady's garden?—though he didn't remember any hollyhocks.
They were now inside the cottage, where a young woman in a floral print dress and a Laura Ashley apron was rolling pastry on a scrubbed pine table. She smiled down at her young daughter who was playing with her teddy on the quarry-tiled floor.
'A young mother bakes for her family,' said the soundtrack, 'unaware of the danger that lurks.'
Outside again. He had reached the back door where, animal-like, he crouched briefly to listen. Then he pushed the door open and slid silently into the cottage.
What was going on? Loofah had never been to that cottage, he'd never set eyes on that woman.
'Another unsuspecting victim.'
Had he?
The camera panned back, showing the entire cottage basking innocently in the sunshine. A moment later a woman's shriek tore through the scene like a panther's claw.
Surely this was a mistake? It must be somebody else—an actor perhaps, who just happened to look like him. Squirming with horror, Loofah wriggled down into his seat, not wanting to watch but unable to look away. There was a low muttering from beside him: the sweet-lady and her husband were leaning forward, staring at him open-mouthed. As soon as he turned towards them, however, they snapped back to face the screen.
A litter of Labrador puppies now frolicked on a sun-dappled lawn: golden yellow bundles of innocent joy racing around the grass and tumbling over each other with yelps of happiness.
'There is no limit to their foulness,' said the soundtrack.
Cut to a different angle, of him crouched behind a hedge peeping out at the puppies. He was clutching a huge axe, fingering its glittering blade to feel the sharpness. Turning towards the camera, he grinned a wicked grin, the light glinting on his spectacles.
A man in the row in front turned round to look at him, then turned back quickly.
'It's not me, you know,' said Loofah to the back of his head, 'It looks like me but it isn't.'
The creature on screen now crept forward and disappeared round the side of the hedge. The camera held the same angle, of an empty wall of privet, while the soundtrack carried the happy yelps of the puppies playing on the other side, out of view.
'It's somebody else,' Loofah said, turning to the couple beside him. They stared at him with a shared expression of blank horror.
Suddenly the happy yelping stopped and the cinema was filled with screams and howls, interspersed with manic laughter and the swish and sickening crunch of the axe. Then came silence—followed by one last satanic chuckle.
'It just looks like me, that's all,' Loofah went on, with growing desperation, 'I like puppies, I really do.' He leaned forward as he spoke and they backed away, the woman gasping with fear.
The new scene opened on a school playground with young children on swings, playing hopscotch, and jumping skipping ropes, to a background tinkle of merry laughter and happy shouts. It was a scene of innocent pleasure under a china blue sky in a secure, safe world.
But not so safe—the dark rhythm of the music gave that away. The camera panned away from the children towards a corrugated iron bicycle shed and as the view shifted to behind the shed, the music reached a sinister crescendo; for there was the familiar figure, peering out at the children, giggling to himself and lovingly fondling—a chain-saw!
Loofah couldn't bear any more and turned away. A bubbling mess of mud was now swirling around in his skull, swamping everything in its dark confusion; little Peony and her doll were in there somewhere, he was fairly sure of that, but he couldn't remember the puppies, he couldn't remember the children. No, it must be someone else. But then the likeness was too perfect, he knew that it couldn't be an actor. The auditorium was now rolling like a storm-tossed dinghy and a wave of dizzy nausea rushed up his gullet.
On the soundtrack a chain-saw engine sprang to life and a gasp of horror rippled round the auditorium. A tide of angry muttering now rose up around him and hostile faces were briefly illuminated by the screen-light as they turned to stare. Loofah sank back into his seat, keeping his eyes lowered, avoiding the horrors on the screen. As children started screaming above the ululating whine of the engine, his skull became a cauldron in which an unholy brew of sharp guilt, muddy confusion and blank horror boiled merrily together.
A man two rows in front turned, blazing him a look of pure hatred. Then the cauldron boiled over and, bellowing like a dying buffalo and covering his ears with his hands, Loofah leapt from his seat. He charged up the aisle, preceded by a bow wave of fury and loathing, at any moment expecting his way to be blocked by outraged and vengeful citizens. To his surprise he passed the back row unimpeded, but as he stumbled down a darkened corridor towards the exit sign, the usherette emerged from the shadows in front of him, carrying an illuminated tray.
'Ice cream, sir?'
'No—thank you.' He tried to get past her, but she moved across the corridor, blocking his way.
'Kia-Ora? Peanuts?'
'No, nothing thank you,' said Loofah, stepping sideways.
'They're jungle fresh!' she exclaimed with a cheery smile, again blocking him.
For a few seconds they waltzed together in the corridor, the usherette nimbly matching Loofah step for step.
'Please—I must get away!' he cried, as his frustration burst.
'Of course, sir,' she said with exaggerated politeness, 'We wouldn't want to hinder the great quest, would we?'
Her words were like a sharp slap across the face. 'Quest? What quest?' he asked.
The usherette glanced quickly around and then leaned forward confidentially.
'For the Seeker there is only one quest, one true quest that is,' she whispered, 'Though some would have it otherwise.'
With this she smiled knowingly and stepped back out of the way.
'I hope you enjoyed the film, sir,' she continued more loudly, 'You can't beat a bit of horror, can you? Though people do sometimes get a bit carried away, don't they?—and start taking it all a bit too seriously. But after all it's only make-believe, isn't it?'
As the usherette disappeared into the darkness Loofah hesitated, struggling to extract meaning from her final words, but then a volley of infant screams burst out from the auditorium, pursuing him like hounds from hell, and with a cry of his own he ran.
Bursting out into the full brightness of the day, he was dazzled and staggered to a halt, shielding his eyes from the glare.
'That way!' bellowed an uncomfortably familiar voice.
Standing beside the glass entrance doors was rather heavy woman in a burgundy commissionaire's uniform, pointing imperiously in the direction of the high street. Without thinking Loofah went to obey, but then wavered—there were people up there, lots of people, he would be recognised, lynched, torn apart. He turned to go the other way but the woman grasped his arm, digging her fingers into his flesh, and pulled him back round.
'I said that way!' she shouted and pushed him forward. It was only when he stumbled out into the dreaded high street, propelled by the woman's command, that his tortured mind registered her identity.
Sucked into the milling crowd, Loofah was soon afloat in a sea of blank strangers which flowed around him in endless eddies. Now here he had no definite idea of where to go next and so was carried by the aimless currents of the throng, being swept this way and that up and down the pavement. He moved like a shambling tramp, avoiding eye contact by staring at the pavement and into shop windows, hiding his face. Although the vengeful citizens' attack that he had so dreaded had not yet materialised, he knew it could not be long.
But a different fate awaited him. The crowd, as if directed by some Old Testament choreographer, suddenly parted in front of him and there, at the end of the corridor of open pavement, was a figure he recognised: the fat man in the dark suit, his bowler bobbing amongst the shoppers like a black velvet ping-pong ball. His little friend saw him and with an oily grin waved his umbrella. This time Loofah didn't run, but like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car, dumbly awaited his fate.
'I am so pleased to meet you at last,' said the little man, with an unctuous smile.
Loofah did not reply but stared blankly into the chubby face.
'Look,' continued his companion, 'I think we should go somewhere we can talk, somewhere—what shall we say?—out of the public gaze. There's someone who would very much like to meet you, someone I know you will—.'
He stopped suddenly, the grin vanishing from his pudgy lips. Then he turned quickly on his heel and without another word vanished into the swirling crowd. Puzzlement had hardly registered in Loofah's numbed brain, when he felt a firm grip on his left shoulder.
'Would you mind coming with us, sir?' said a deep, slow voice behind him, 'There's one or two questions we'd like you to answer.'