Basildon and the Thin Man

A Creative Writing set task from 2009 – we had to write a short narrative in a fantasy dreamscape. I assume now that my lecturer at the time was a Twin Peaks fan.

I have since tried writing ‘better’ dream logic (the futility is not lost on me), and I even had a dream diary for a while. You can check out a more recent dream piece here: Hypnopomia

The room was small and demanding: red carpets; black walls; eternally rising ceiling. The thin man with the face of a glove and the suit of a crime-lord rattled his fingers, in order, over the single circular garden table. Basildon was in the corner opposite, his brown fur clumping and rough, and the saliva from his snout disappearing with each drop to the floor. The thin man stopped rattling his fingers. The ceiling was coming into view from high into the black heavens. Basildon edged towards the thin man. The thin man lowered himself onto his haunches, and in doing so, became the very shape and stature of a dog. Basildon recognised himself and returned cautiously to his corner. The thin man was the mirror of Basildon, and every single move was directly inversed and replicated on his side of the stretching room.

The ceiling was moving closer and faster and with the sound of cheering apes. The thin man returned to his pinstripe suit, and continued rattling his fingers, in order, on the single garden table. The thin man smiled through the fingers of his lips, and let out a sigh of dust. Basildon lay down, chin on the crimson floor, and eyes obtusely stuck upwards, taking in the fast approaching ceiling. The thin man’s smile faded and his entire head sank into his neck. Basildon let out a cry of effort and woe, but this was drowned in the now oppressive sound of ravaging apes. With seconds to go before the ceiling impacted upon the terrible room, the thin man’s legs began to grow proportionally to the shrinking size of his arms. This continued until the thin man was now a torso on stilts, though still in the pinstripe suit.

Basildon hid his tail beneath his hind quarters and tried desperately to sink into the floor. The thin man’s stilts grimly felt their way around the room, his body following. Each movement of this macabre creature propelled the flesh of his body into a wall. The tall creature had no room to fall over, and so continued its horrible stumbling and thudding against the black walls. Basildon closed his eyes from the creature and the ceiling; he closed them tightly, they quivered and shook, distorting his brow. After a dozen seconds, the sound of the apes had subsided, and only the sickly dull thumps of the torso were present. Basildon waited. The thumps stopped, and a cracking, slapping sound took place. This too dissipated. Basildon opened his eyes to the room again. The thin man returned to his pinstripe form, with a glove face, and rattled his fingers, in order, on the single garden table.