Heavy Showers

Contains bad language . . . sorry 


‘Nice weather to have a day off,’ I thought as I strolled home from the King’s Head.

Just as I was passing the block of flats they’re building in Lamb Street, it began to rain — Bricks.

It was just spitting at first. One landed at my feet and another glanced off my left shoulder. I suppose I should have been more alarmed, but it didn’t seem that strange. A pack of Nobby’s peanuts and four pints of Stella for lunch will do that.

Then it began to pour down. What the weather-men call a brief heavy shower. Well, it doesn’t take long for a ton of house bricks to slide off a broken pallet, does it? That’s when it all went black.

I don’t know how long I was out. I heard this bloke calling out in a weird sort of sing-song voice.

‘Is there anybody there? . . . Is there anybody there?’

‘Get me out of here.’ I said. ‘I can’t see a damn thing.’

‘It’s moving Ethel. It’s moving.’

‘Oh, that’s good, Fred.

‘Is there anybody there?’

‘Yes! For Christ’s sake.’

‘It said yes, Ethel.’

‘Ooo. Ask it what it’s name is, Fred.’

‘Hello. Can you tell us your name?’


‘W. Starts with W, Ethel.’

‘Could be Walter, or Wally. Maybe it’s Wendy? Ask it to spell it.’

‘Can you spell your name for us, please?’


‘W-E. Can’t be a male Ethel. I don’t know a man’s name beginning with W-E.’

‘Ask if it’s a female’

‘Are you a female?’

‘No! Do I sound like a fucking girl?’

‘Says no, Ethel.’

‘The only man’s name I can think of is Wendell, but that don’t sound English. Ask him if he’s English.’

‘Are you English?’

‘Yes of course I’m bloody English. What’s with all these questions. Just get me out from under these bricks.’


Why’s he asking all these stupid questions? Is he some sort of official? Yeah. It’d be just my luck to get rescued by a fucking traffic warden


‘He says he is English, Ethel.’

‘Ask if his name is Wendell, then.’

‘Is your name Wendell?’

‘No, it fucking isn’t. Why can’t you just start lifting the bricks away.’

‘Say’s no Ethel.’

‘Can you spell out your name please.’


Jesus Christ. Okay if it’s gonna help to get out from under these bricks. . .



‘It’s Paul, Ethel. His name’s Paul.’

‘Well, why did he say it was Wendell then?’

‘He didn’t say his name was Wendell. He said his name wasn’t Wendell, Ethel’

‘Ask something else then. Maybe he has a message for us.’

‘Okay Ethel. Hello again Paul. Do you have a message for us. If you do please spell it out.’


What the bloody hell’s going on with these twats. Yes I’ve got a message for them!



‘Oh dear, oh dear, Ethel. I think we’ve got a bad one. He wants to get out and he’s using bad words. What should I do, Ethel?’

‘Remember what the man in the Ouija shop said. If you got a bad one, just to tell it goodbye and don’t say no more and it’ll go away.’

‘Well Paul, thanks for dropping in, but I have to say goodbye I’m afraid.’

‘Goodbye? What d’you mean? Goodbye. You can’t leave me here like this.’

. . . Silence


. . . Silence

‘Oi. Hellooo!’

. . . Silence

‘Is there anybody there?’

. . . Silence



© Guaj 2023
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G, this is an extremely witty and clever piece, and the language lends to the authenticity.


Just re-reading it, and it is so wonderfully surreal!


An entertaining piece in which the suspension of disbelief comes naturally and adds to the enjoyment.


Yes, very witty, and a novel proposition too. I enjoyed this, Guaj: Nicely done.

One day these anthologies will be treasured for the gems they are.



Haha – neat twist, Guaj. Any Wesleys waiting in the wings…

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