Straight To Hell

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You are a very lucky man, mate.

I said sombrely to my Brother as we pulled up outside his house in the car.

How?

Replied my brother Big D in the manner of Scottish folk who say how when they actually mean why.

There are many theories as to why this is but my idea is that why just isn't aggressive enough for Glasgow.

Seriously, try saying why aggressively. You can't, you just sound like a snivelling wretch. HOW? on the other allows a good furrowing of the brow and a great ape-like 'O'ing of the lips.

Truly, the joys of living in Scotland are beyond counting.

How? Fucking how? Because you had a stroke and it is the second one, you never told anyone about the first one because you didn't want to bother anyone, and here you are. Still alive, mostly still in working condition.

I took a calming breath as I opened the door and got out of the car.

That is how you are lucky. Some people can't walk without a stick after a stroke. Some people can't think properly after a stroke and you? Well, apart from being a bit more annoying you seem alright and the Hospital let you out after a mere week! You are lucky to even be alive.

I slammed my car door shut to emphasise my point.

Aye, suppose so. Did you check my lottery tickets?

He came round and joined me as we walked in his gate and down the path to his door.

No, I fucking well didn't. The Lottery is a scam. It's just a tax on the poor.

We both rolled our eyes at this. Me because I fucking hate the lottery and him because he fucking loves it and truly believes that every time the draw is made he will win and be reclining on a yacht in the Balearics with David Guetta spinning the decks whilst sultry bikini-clad sirens totter about on heels bearing trays heavily laden with exotic drinks and cocaine.

We got to his front door and I stepped in front to wrestle with the lock which was stiffer than a vegan waking up in a field of plantain.

Oh yeah. There is a surprise inside, for you getting out.

I opened the door and motioned him inward.

Whit surprise?

He looked suspicious. The way all Scottish folk do when someone does something nice for them because they expect to get stabbed after it.

Taada!!!!!

I threw open his living room door and ushered him in.

What the fuck is this?

He stared aghast at the sight before him.

The furniture and the carpet had been pushed to the sides of the room. On the bare floorboards, a giant pentagram had been crudely daubed in rough crimson strokes on the floor. Candles flickered from each of the points of the pentacle.

The body of a goat with a gaping wound in its neck lay nearby along with a discarded paintbrush.

What's going on?!

My brother turned, his jaw slack with panic.

Well, my good Broham! I said you were lucky to be alive... But you should know... No one escapes the dark lord so easily. NO, YOU CHEATED DEATH ITSELF AND NOW I CONSIGN YOU STRAIGHT TO HELL!!

I placed a palm flat on his chest and thrust him into the room sending him stumbling into the pentagram which exploded downward in a fiery avalanche sucking him and the body of the Goat swiftly out of sight.

I raised my hands and laughed evilly over the swiftly diminishing screams.

Mohohohoawaaahr!


You opening the door or what?

Big D nudged me impatiently out of my daydream on the doorstep.

Oh yeah, sorry. Was somewhere else for a minute.

I lifted the key to the lock and turned with a half smile on my face.

Good to get you home, and oh yeah, I meant to say...

I turned the key with a click.

There is a surprise inside, for you getting out...

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