The loneliest man in the world was in a club that only he was a member.

"Don't worry," the nice woman said, when she showed him into the room - painted starkly white, with only one chair a small table and a laptop sitting on it. "The others will be along soon."

"OK," the man said. "Thanks. Now what?"

"Well, you just amuse yourself by writing a little post about your nomination into the club. We don't expect much from you, of course. But you'd better make it good, because you are the first in the club, so..."

"Oh. OK," he said. He sat down at the table and opened the laptop. "Could I have a -" the door slammed behind the nice woman, before he could complete the request. And he heard a key turn in the lock.

"Oh," said the man, again. He stared at the keyboard, and the screen in front of him. How on earth was he supposed to come up with something worth reading? And then he remembered themostdangerouswritingapp and he fired that baby up and started writing.

And he couldn't stop, because if he did the laptop would extend small electrodes and they would attach themselves to his bits and bobs and give him an electric shock.

Or, he would lose his work.

He couldn't remember which.

And he couldn't remember which was worse...

...

Thank you for my nomination (which I accept, of course!) to be the first ever member of the #Over100Club (for people who have written over 100 freewrites). I started on day 27 (@felt.buzz/empty-5-minute-freewrite-prompt-it-s-what-i-do-at-2-30-in-the-morning-when-i-can-t-sleep) and have written a #freewrite everyday since. A year before then I hadn't written any fiction in over a year. Before discovering the lovely freewrite people I used to write something maybe every week or so, but now, for over five months, I have written at least something everyday. @mariannewest and her merry gang of freewrite elves are truly very special people.

It doesn't seem like very long ago since I selected my favourite freewrites for my Over20Club (@felt.buzz/the-over-20-club-a-look-back-at-some-of-my-freewrites-not-all-of-them-thankfully) although it is 3 months ago, apparently!

So I thought that to celebrate this time I would do a reading of my Jelly story (all 40 five minute #freewrite parts). I have included the whole text beneath too (all 7000+ words of it). I have to say I got a bit sick of writing it, but looking back now, I am pretty pleased with it, and it stands up OK as a (somewhat bizarre short story).

It takes just over 40 minutes to watch the entire reading. To make it more manageable I have produced 8 videos (five parts per video, just over 5 minutes each video). I apologise for the dog barking (happens at least twice) and the facebook notification ping (happens once).

I love you all, and hope someone comes by the Over100Club room, at least with a cup of tea and a biscuit (if not a plate of curried sprouts) soon...

Jelly: 1-5

Jelly: 6-10

Jelly: 11-15

Jelly: 16-20

Jelly: 21-25

Jelly: 26-30

Jelly: 31-35

Jelly: 36-40

Jelly: all the portions in one meal:

Jelly (prompt: yard sale)

He found it in a yard sale. The neighbours, the Jellys - who he didn't like very much - were downsizing, so were selling off everything they owned. Mike decided to have a nose around and see what kind of crap they owned. It was a beautiful sunny day, and Mike found half the neighbourhood round at the Jelly's house.

Ulsa Jelly - a stick insect of a woman, all legs and arms - was at the gate, and welcomed him as if they didn't hate each other.

"Darling!" she said, attempting to give Mike a hug, and a kiss, which he avoided with skill. "So nice of you to come. Please feel free to wander round, and if you see anything you fancy, make me an offer."

She fluttered her eyelashes and for an awful moment, Mike thought she may have been flirting with him.

"Thanks," he said, awkwardly. "I'll let you know."

She smiled and winked at him...

…

California (prompt: California)

"Have fun, darling," she said, and waltzed off to annoy someone else.

Mike edged past some people who were looking at what looked like broken crockery sitting on the neatly mowed lawn, and headed for the house. He had always wanted to know if their taste in interior decoration was as bad as he imagined. It was.

Garish seemed to have been invented just for them. Bright colours that clashed with each other, patterns, stripes, dots.

He had a headache, already.

He was about to leave when he noticed a bookcase.

"All books free to those who want them," read the sign.

Mike loved books. He scanned the titles. Most of them seemed to be really bad romance books, or "How to be a millionaire" books.

A title caught his eye "California: a novel". No author. Intrigued, Mike picked it up. The cover was plain, which was pleasing. There was no blurb on the back, which was not. He flicked open the book and began to read the first page.

"Anything caught your eye, there sport..?"
...

Banjo Playing Giant Ants (prompt: dream)

Mr Billious Jelly was in some ways the exact opposite of his wife. Whilst she was thin, and stick insecty, he was rather large and blobby. He bounced over, like an over enthusiastic beach ball, and looked at the book Mike was holding.

"California, eh?" he said, chuckling for no good reason, that Mike could see.

"Have you read it?" Mike said, for want of anything better to say, and feeling it was probably rude to punch Mr Jelly in the face and run off.

"Oh, no!" he chuckled. "I am what you'd call thinly read. I did dream about going to California, once. It was a strange place. Full of elephants and circus people and giant ants playing the banjo. That was what it was like in my dream anyway. Put me off going. I told Ulsa, 'I'm not going to a place full of banjo playing giant ants!"

He laughed...
...

Slope (prompt: ski)

Mike was fighting a very real urge to kick Mr Jelly in the nuts, right now. He wasn't sure why the man irritated him so much.

He just did.

Clash of personalities, perhaps. He remembered the first time they had met. The Browns, who lived a few streets down, had a dry ski slope installed in their garden ("it's a long story," Jeff Brown said, when Mike asked him if he had lost his mind. "You haven't got children, have you?") and he had been invited over to the opening day. Most of the neighbourhood was there. And the local newspaper, and a television crew too.

And the police.

Apparently Jeff hadn't got the correct authorisation ("I mean, who knew installing a dry ski slope in your own garden could be so bloody complicated!"). They were here to shut the thing down.

Billious Jelly had bounced into the garden, all smiles and poor jokes, with his horrible sticky wife behind him...

...

Jar (mason jar)

The Jelly's always made an entrance at any event. Mike had spotted that early on. For one thing, they looked such an unlikely couple that people's gaze was immediately drawn to them, like a wasp to a pint of beer on a hot summer's day. For another Mr Jelly was so loud (his clothes as brightly coloured as his voice high in volume) that you couldn't help but look.

"Jeff!" Billious Jelly cried, and bounced his way over to join Mike and the aforementioned host. "How are you dear boy! Like the ski slope."

Mrs Jelly stalked around the garden. She reminded Mike immediately of a stick insect a friend of his had kept in a mason jar, and brought into school one day. They had left it by the window, and the poor thing burned to death before the lunch break.

Mike was forced to shake hands with Billious Jelly. His hands, like his name, soft and springy. Mike had to resist wiping the man's sweat he'd left on Mike's palms, onto his trousers...

...

Duck (prompt: canal)

"Would you like a drink, sport?" Billious Jelly said.

Mike suddenly realised that he has been staring into space, probably with his mouth wide open, for he didn't-know-how-long.

"Oh.... errrr-" he said. Then he remembered something, that Jelly had mentioned at Jeff's ill advised ski slope party. "Have you still got that Venetian canal, up on the second floor?"

Jelly looked startled, as though he is trying to work out how Mike would know about his secret canal.

"You told me about it, at Jeff's" he said, by way of explanation. "You said you got the idea from Vegas. But Mrs Jelly wasn't keen on the ducks."

"Ah," said Jelly wobbling his head back and forth. "Yes, I did tell you didn't I? The ducks moved out, luckily. They made a dreadful noise. Yes, we still have it. We have a gondola for sale, if you are interested. Come and have a look."

Mike must have looked as reluctant as he felt, because Jelly added.

"Oh, come on. Please... I have a bar up there..."

...

Pray (prompt: church)

Mike looked at Mr Jelly. He looked so pathetic. Mike realised he felt sorry for the man.

"Oh, alright," he said, sighing. "One drink. And only on the condition we take a ride in your gondola."

Billious nodded, his jowls wobbling like... well like jelly.

"Yes, of course," he said, smiling. "Of course! Follow me."

What the hell was I thinking of? Mike thought as he followed Jelly out of the room and up the staircase. The two of us in the gondola. The bloody thing is bound to sink.

He thought about doing a runner. The fat bastard would never be able to catch him.

But he really did want to check out that canal.

At the top of the stairs was a large oak door. Jelly, puffing with the exertion, gestured to it.

"Could you open it, sport?" he said. "I am too tired."

Mike opened the door. And found himself in a church.

"What the actual fuck?" Mike said.

"Oh, the canal is on the other side of the church, sport," Jelly said...

...

Doily (prompt: lace)

"Christ!" Mike breathed, looking in wonder at the high vaulted ceiling of the church on the second floor of the Jelly house. "I mean..," he said, realising that blasphemy wasn't entirely appropriate. "Bloody hell! How big is your house... and why the hell - er sorry - why on earth, do you have a church on the second floor of your home?"

Mr Jelly scratched his head, looking genuinely perplexed, as if the thought had never occurred to him that people would think that odd.

"Well, for the same reason I have a canal on the second floor, I guess, sport. Because I can," he smiled. "You know, I don't know how big my house is. I have never been in all the rooms."

Mike closed his mouth, realising he was looking gormless again.

"I can see why you want to downsize, now," he said.

"What?" Jelly said. "Oh, yes. The yard sale. We did say it was for that reason, didn't we. Come on, the canal and the bar is through here."

Mike picked his way through the pews, each with a strange lace doily on the back of the seat...

...

Cluck Me (prompt: fried chicken)

As he passed through the church, Mike grabbed one of the doilies from the back of a pew and stuffed it in his pocket. He had no idea why.

But he did it.

Jelly, wobbled his way ahead, and didn't notice. Or if he did, he didn't say anything.

At the other side of the church, Jelly pushed a door open and Mike gasped as he found himself looking at what looked very much like a fried chicken takeaway.

Generic.

Not from Kentucky or anything.

"Bloody hell," he said. His mouth was open now. Mrs Jelly was behind the counter.

That also didn't make sense.

Wasn't she outside? In the garden?

"Would you like a bucket of chicken, dear?" she said. Jelly nodded his head, vigorously. "Not you, idiot. Him," she pointed at Mike.

Mike just stared back.

"You..," he said. Then he coughed, shook his head, and said, "I think I need to sit down."

Jelly nodded, as though he completely understood, and showed Mike to one of the red plastic chairs.

"Sit here, sport," he said. "I'll get you some chicken..."

...

Pill (prompt: vitamins)

Mr Jelly waddled over to the counter and whispered something in Mrs Jelly's ear. She nodded and rummaged around under the counter. A couple of minutes later Billious Jelly came back with a bucket of chicken and a glass of water. Ulsa Jelly came from round the counter. Mike noticed she was wearing an apron with Jelly's Chicken emblazoned on it.

He decided things were definitely getting odder.

"Here you are dear," Mrs Jelly said, handing him a small white tablet. "Take this, it will make you feel better."

Mike put out his hand automatically, and almost popped the pill into his mouth. He stopped, just in time.

"Er, I don't think so," he said. "What the hell is it."

"Vitamins, dear," Ulsa Jelly said.

Next to her Billious Jelly smiled. A rather unsettling leering smile, that made Mike feel very uncomfortable.

"You have to take your vitamins, sport," he said. "They'll make you feel much better."

Mike looked at the pill in his hand. Billious handed him the water and nodded, encouragingly.

"Go on, sport," he said, grinning. "You'll feel much better soon..."

...

Dip (prompt: spa)

Mike hesitated. He didn't like taking medication as a rule. And felt that taking supplements such as vitamins were a waste of time. If you had a balanced diet, you shouldn't need vitamins.

If you mostly ate fried chicken, on the other hand...

"Er, no, I won't thanks," he said. "I don't really like medication."

Jelly looked a little bit cross, then.

"But I brought it over here specially," he said, like the trip from the counter to the table was a five mile hike, or something. "And besides, the pill will help you relax before the spa."

"The what-now?" Mike said. "I thought we were going on the canal..?"

"Oh, for God's sake!" Mrs Jelly said. "Haven't you filled that bloody thing in yet? Those ducks better not still be hanging about."

Mr Jelly looked a bit sorry for himself.

"No dear," he said. "The ducks have gone." He looked at Mike, and whispered "I'll take you to the canal in a bit, sport. First we need a nice relaxing session in the spa. And perhaps a massage. I do a really nice shoulder rub."

Mike was starting to think he had made a very big mistake...

...

Termite Be A Problem (prompt: fumigate)

Mike shifted in his seat.

"Sorry, I don't mean to be rude," - he did, he wanted very much to be rude - "but there is no way I am letting you give me a massage." He stood up. "I want to leave," he started towards the door he had come through, the door that led back to the church.

Mrs Jelly moved to stand in front of him.

"You can't go back that way," she said, hands on hips. "You have to go through the other door."

Mike felt his hands form into fists. He was losing patience.

"Just move out of the way please," he said, his voice shaking.

"No," Mrs Jelly said.

Mr Jelly moved next to her, blocking his path with his girth.

"Sorry, sport," he said. "There is no way you can go through that door."

"Why the fuck not?" Mike shouted.

"Because we have just had it fumigated," Jelly said. "Terrible termite problem. You probably noticed when we came through."

Mike looked from one Jelly to another.

"I don't know what the fuck you two are playing at," he said. "But if you don't let me through that door, I am going to have to use physical force."

"No need for that kind of language, sport," Mr Jelly said...

...

Slippery (prompt: snake)

Mike clenched his teeth and his fists, and walked towards the Jelly's.

"Move," he said.

"Look," Jelly said. "You really can't leave through that door. I lied about the termites. But there is a pest problem," he looked at Mrs Jelly, as if for approval. She nodded.

"There is a giant snake who lives in the house," Jelly said. "And it has escaped. We think it has gone into the church."

Mike shouldered his way past the two Jellys.

"I have had enough of this crap," he said, taking hold of the door handle and twisting it.

It came off in his hand. The door remained firmly closed. Mike kicked it. It sounded odd. Like it was not made of wood, anymore. It sounded as if he just kicked a brick wall.

And his foot hurt like he had too.

"Ouch!" he said.

"Ah," said Jelly. "I wondered if that new security device would work."

Mrs Jelly smiled.

"Time to leave through the other door," she said.

Mike gulped...

...

Door (prompt: cinnamon)

Mike knew the Jellys were up to something.

And this house was fucking weird, to say the least. But what choice did he have? If he wanted to leave this madhouse - and he certainly did want that - then it made sense to walk through the only door in the room.

And hope that somewhere on the other side was the way out.

Mrs Jelly smiled.

"After you dear," she said.

Mr Jelly nodded his head, his fatty cheeks wobbling enthusiastically.

"Go on, sport, open the door." Mike walked over to the other door. Took a deep breath and opened the door. At first he wasn't sure what he was looking at. The room was a strange kind of colour. The word that sprung to mind was "cinnamon" but it could have been terracotta.

He was no interior designer.

The room was long, and there was indeed a canal that ran the length of it. The ceiling was so high up, at first Mike thought there was no ceiling.

This room was huge.

A gondola awaited them, and he felt Jelly nudge him...

...

Flip (prompt: switch)

"Can't we just walk?" Mike said. He really didn't want to get into the gondola with the fat man. Not just that he was worried that the boat couldn't hold his weight, but the boat looked kinda narrow.

And Mike didn't want Jelly's sweaty blubber rubbing up against him.

He pointed at the path, "Let's take a nice gentle stroll towards the exit," he said. Hoping that the path did indeed lead to an exit.

Jelly looked disappointed. His wife laughed.

"Don't worry," she said. "Jelly doesn't do boats. Oh, he likes to look at them, but he doesn't enjoy being in them. Get in the boat." Mrs Jelly's tone seemed more threatening than it had before.

Mike swallowed hard, and started walking.

"I'm not getting in the fucking boat," he said. "And you can't fucking make me."

Mrs Jelly laughed. It was a horrible sound and it made Mike stop in his tracks.

"We'll see about that," she said. And Mike saw her flick a switch on the wall.

The lights went out and Mike's world suddenly flipped upside down...

...

Up A Certain Creek (prompt: sunburn)

Mike wasn't sure how long he had been in the dark. Nor did he know if he had lost consciousness or not. All he did know is that he did seem to be on the Jelly's bloody gondola. From what he could tell - by gently feeling around him in the dark - he was alone. No one seemed to be in the boat with him.

That was something.

When the lights did come on, he sat still for a few minutes, covering his eyes against the sudden glare. When, at last, his eyes had adjusted, he could see that he was indeed floating along the Jelly's canal. There was no one he could see on the banks, either side. Perhaps he could jump into the water and swim to one of the banks and try to find a way out.

But the house was weird.

He suspected there maybe things living in the water that would like to snack on "Mikes".

The light was strong, and Mike had an odd feeling that it was not artificial. It was as powerful as the sun, and, before long, Mike could feel his skin burning...

...

Ouch! (prompt: fingernail)

Mike was fully aware that he should have been freaked out a long time before now.

But he was definitely really freaked now.

He was in a room. He could see the walls. Granted they were a long way off - a very long way off - but they were there. But - and this was where he was starting to question his sanity - there did not seem to be a roof. The "light" above him was definitely sun-like.

But possibly not the sun.

Which was obviously worrying.

The gondola continued to drift along the canal. Mike decided that because the Jellys wanted him in the gondola, and because they wanted him to drift along the canal, that was as good a reason as any NOT to be in the gondola or the canal. He was going to have to swim for one of the banks. But he did worry about what was in the water.

He had seen shapes.

And the water kind of shimmered a bit too.

He knelt and looked over the edge of the boat. Gingerly, he dipped his finger into the water. It seemed warm enough. He pulled out his finger and screamed.

His fingernail had been pulled right off...

...

Stingy Water Bastards (prompt: wasps)

Mike stopped himself screaming by sticking his fingernail-less-finger into his mouth.

Bloody hell! That hurt like fuckery! Jeez.

He always hated the idea of having his fingernails interfered with. They seemed like an essential part of his finger. When the pain died down to a throbbing agony, he looked down into the water (still sucking his finger like a little toddler). The water was definitely moving strangely. He could see little black and yellow shapes, swarming around.

Fuck me! Bloody water wasps!

Not that such a thing existed.

Apart from that is exactly what he was looking at. There was no way he was diving into a canal full of fingernail-ripping-off-stingy-water-bastards!

So that meant he was stuck on this boat. He hated the Jellys more than ever. What kind of people had a canal with water wasps on the second floor of their house?

He started to wonder if he had taken something, some kind of hallucinogenic.

But he was fairly sure he hadn't given them the chance...
...

Drifting (prompt: solitude)

Mike continued to suck his finger until the pain eased enough for him to take a look. The fingernail had indeed been ripped off. But it wasn't bleeding.

Much. He pulled the doily he had stolen from the Jelly's church and wrapped the finger in it, as a form of rather crap bandage. It fell off a couple of times, until he worked out how to use the holes to tie it all together.

He sat back and watched the walls slip by. He thought the gondola was moving more quickly. Good. He thought it probably wasn't going to be a good destination, but he wanted to get it over with.

And he hoped the Jellys would be there so he could punch both of them. Hard.

He noticed a little brass plaque on the side of the gondola. "Solitude". Was that the name of the boat? Was that some kind of commentary on his current position? It was funny, but he didn't feel alone at the moment. Aside from the buzzing of the water wasps he could feel through the bottom of the boat, he could see little animals on the banks. He wasn't sure what they were. Sort of rabbits, or squirrels, perhaps...

...

No Place Like Gnome (prompt: gardening)

Mike squinted in the bright "sun"light. He blinked. The creatures weren't squirrels, or rabbits, he realised. They were little men, garden gnomes in fact.

He blinked again, and shook his head. They were moving too. They seemed to be either elaborate robotic thingies or actual living beings.

And they were gardening.

One of them seemed to be mowing the carpet on the edge of the canal.
Another was digging. A third lent on a broom and waved at Mike as he drifted past. Mike raised his uninjured hand in greeting.

"Hello!" the gnome called. "You off to visit HIM are you?"

"What?!" Mike called back.

"HIM!" the gnome said.

Mike didn't know what to say other than, "What?" again.

The gnome shrugged and started sweeping.

"Who is HIM?" Mike shouted as he continued past.

"Oh..." shouted the gnome. "You know!" Mike felt like crying. With frustration, he thought...

...

Up (the attic)

After thinking about it for a minute or two, Mike decided that having a good cry was probably the best option he had.

He didn't remember the last time he had cried (because he was very drunk, and he was on his knees in front of his girlfriend begging her not to leave his sorry drunken ass), but after ten minutes of solid blubbing he decided that it was something he should do more often.

He felt much better.

The canal seemed to stretch on forever. There was no end. Whoever "HIM" was, he was a bloody long way off.

As Mike peered into the distance he could see something hanging down. Hanging down from where he did not know, because he couldn't see a ceiling (remember?). As he neared it he realised it was a ladder.

He had a choice, at least.

He could stay in the gondola and take his chances with "HIM" or he could try to get on the ladder and find out what was up there. After careful thought he decided on option two.

He grabbed hold of the ladder as he passed under it and began to climb. For hours it seemed like. Just as he thought he might fall off in exhaustion, he arrived. In what looked like an attic. It reminded him of the attic in his grandparents house. Only much MUCH bigger...

...

Kilt Trip (prompt: plaid)

Mike heaved himself through the hole and onto the firm floor of the attic.
How is there a floor here, when there was not a ceiling of the room below?
Mike shook his head, and decided not to think about it too much. Perhaps it was one of those situations that if you believed there was a floor then it would be safe enough to walk on. The moment you stopped believing...

He gave himself a little slap and put one foot in front of the other until he was far enough away from the hole, with the ladder poking through it, to stop thinking about the ceiling/floor issue.

He looked around him. The first thing he noticed was a kilt. It was an unusual tartan, not the usual red number that he associated with Scotland. This one was made up of a purple and pink plaid design. He thought it looked pretty cool. He had always fancied he had the knees for a kilt, but had never worn one.

He wasn't going to start now, so he moved away from the kilt and over towards a large tower of boxes. It seemed to go up forever, which obviously wasn't possible. But he couldn't see the top of it...
...

Belt Up (prompt: belt)

Mike had an urge to push the tower of boxes.

He resisted that urge, worried that the boxes might land in random places (like on top of his head).

He moved away.
And then ran quickly back pushed the tower as hard as he could and ran in the opposite direction, shouting "timmmmbbbeeeeeeerrrrr!" as he ran.

For a second he felt a joy he hadn't had since he entered the strange Jelly house: a childish freedom.

And then a box hit him on the head and he lost consciousness.

When he woke, he was sitting in a very small white room, his hands and feet tied together with a leather belt.

It was his belt, he noticed. His trousers were around his ankles. He suddenly felt very vulnerable.

Where the fuck am I? What the hell happened? And who tied me up? And what the fuck do they want from me?

All these questions flew through his mind. The room gave no answers, the walls blank and unhelpful.

"Hello?" he called out. "Anyone there?"

...

Cackle (prompt: witches)

There was no answer to Mike's call.

He stopped and thought about things for a moment. Did he really want whoever had tied him up - with his own belt - and left him in a strange room, with his trousers around his ankles, to know he was awake?

Hmmm, probably not.

Probably too late, now though. Mike struggled a bit to see if he could loosen the belt, or slip a hand or a foot free - something he had seen done in a hundred films he had watched.

Apparently, it is not as easy as it is in the movies.

Bugger.

He thought about having another good cry. That had made him feel better, before. But now he thought it might put him in a more vulnerable position, should the person - or persons - who held him, came in.

There was a noise from outside. It sounded a little bit like a cackle. There was an answering cackle.

Mike wasn't best reassured.

Then, through the doorway came three women, Mike had never seen before. They appeared to be disguised as witches - pointy hats, broomsticks and all.

Oh, and they were only one foot tall.

Apart from that, everything normal, here...

...

Hags (prompt: syrup)

"When shall we three-"

"Isn't that a little bit overused dear?"

"Well, really! All your bubble and trouble, my dear-"

Mike watched the three tiny witches argue with each other for a moment and then coughed.

"Sounds like you have a nasty cough, young man," one of the very small hags said. "You wanna get some syrup for that."

"I've got some!" said one of the other hags.

"It's no bloody wonder 'es got a cough, dressed like that," said the third.

"Actually," Mike said, his face reddening, as the three witches looked at him in the not-wearing-any-trouser-area. One of them nudged the other, and smirked.
"Actually, I don't really have a cough. I was just trying to get your attention. I wonder if you could just get this belt off me?"

"Well, deary," one of the hags said. "I could try to magic it off you, but the last time I tried that near a young man's trouser department, he couldn't sit down for a week. And - come to think of it - we still haven't found that snake."

...

Bits and Bobs (prompt: artichoke)

"I was thinking that perhaps you could just undo the belt, errr with your hands.... rather than magic," Mike said.

"Ha ha ha!" said one of the witches, she had a blue tinge to her face.

"Not use magic!" said another witch, who had a face that looked a bit like an artichoke. "What an idea!"

"I, for one," said the third witch, who had a purpley tinge to her skin. "Am not touching that with my hands!"

"Disgusting!" said artichoke witch. And with that they all turned on their heels and walked out.

"Oy!" shouted Mike, at their pointy hatted backs. "Please help me."

Artichoke witch turned back.

"Oh, well, if you ask nicely," she said, and waved her wand. There was a flash of light that left Mike blinking for a few seconds. When his vision cleared there was no sign of the witches.

Nor of his belt.

Nor of his trousers.

He panicked and had a quick check of his bits and bobs...

…

Museum (prompt: the first African in space)

Luckily everything seemed present and correct in Mike's trouser department.

Apart from the fact that he wasn't wearing any trousers.

Luckily the spell had left him with his underwear, so he wasn't as embarrassed as he could have been as he stuck his head out of the door.

He did not seem to be in the attic anymore.

In fact, he seemed to be in some kind of museum. He walked out and looked at the nearest display. It was about space travel. Space tourism, in fact. How the first African in space (a South African billionaire, apparently) had paid to go to the international space station.

He moved on to the next display unit. This one was about knitting.

Strange.

The next unit was about tree slugs. This was the oddest museum Mike had ever been in.

Not entirely surprised, he looked above his head, hoping that there would be a neon sign that read Exit.

There wasn't.

There was one that read "No Chance Sucker"...

...

Envelope (prompt: grocery list)

Mike stared at the sign. Could the museum read his mind? Did it know what he wanted and was telling him it wasn't going to happen?

Can museums be that cruel?

What was he thinking? Of course they can.

He had choices again. Perhaps the museum was double bluffing, and if he followed the signs he might find his way out.

Or - and given the day he was having this was the more likely scenario - he would find himself in a bigger pile of shit than he was in right now.

Hmmm.

Perhaps he could have a look around whilst he was thinking about it.

There might even be a display with a pair of trousers he could 'borrow'.

He walked to the next display unit. There seemed to be a small piece of paper stuck on a fridge. Mike looked closer. In fact it was an envelope, torn around the edges. And on the back of the envelope was a grocery list.

The shopper really got through a lot of beer, wine and chocolate by the look of things.

Then something struck him. The handwriting was very familiar.

And the address on the envelope rang more than just a few bells...

...

Army (prompt: the military)

The envelope with the grocery list scrawled on it, was his.

And, come to think of it, so was the fridge.

He went back to the display on knitting. It was a pullover he had been given as a child by his nan. The other displays seemed to be connected to his Google history - which was a little bit worrying.

This museum appeared to be a Mike Museum.

Mike took a deep breath and then let out a little scream. No. He didn't feel any better. He decided he needed to get the fuck out of here. And that meant taking a chance on the door with the No Chance Sucker sign swinging above it. He put his hand on the door knob and twisted it.

Alarm bells started ringing, lights flashing, and from somewhere he heard the heavy stomping of feet. Out of nowhere he was suddenly surrounded by what looked suspiciously like military personnel.

All armed.

With very big guns.

"Hands up, sucker!" one of them shouted in his face. "Now, which display did you escape from?"

…

Cake (prompt: frosting a cake)

A gun was thrust into Mikes face.

"Which display are you from, Mike?" the soldier barked. "You have no business leaving your post! Get back to work!"

Mike just stared open mouthed.

Firstly, he wasn't used to having a gun shoved in his face, and secondly he hadn't quite got his head round the Museum of Mike concept.

"Errr," he said.

"Err, nothing Mike!" the soldier barked. "Now come on march!" And he pushed Mike with the gun. Mike just stood there. "

"Actually," he said. "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind awfully, just showing me the way out?"

The soldier stared back at him. And then smiled.

"Of course," he said, clapping Mike on the back. "And would you like me to bake you a cake too? The type with the frosting on top?"

Mike smiled and nodded. That sounded nice.

"Well," the soldier said. "That ain't gonna happen, you big sucker! NOW MOVE YOUR ASS!"
…

Mouthwash (prompt: deodorize)

"No," said Mike. And he sat down.

"What!!???" the soldier shouted. Still waving the large gun around.

"I said, 'No'," Mike clarified, quietly. "I have had enough, you see? I have been in this house for - I don't know - hours? days? and I am sick of it. Sick of this house, sick of the fucking Jellys, sick of the-"

"What did you say?" the soldier barked, the question in Mikes face, a fine spray flying out of his mouth and covering Mike.

"You know," Mike said. "You could do with using a mouthwash or something. To deodorise your mouth. It really is quite disgusting. What have you been eating."

The soldier gaped at him. Then, "chicken," he said. "Mostly, fried chicken. Look, did you mention the Jellys?"

Mike nodded. "Can I just have a look at your thigh, young man?"

Mike shrugged.

"Whatever," he said.

The soldier peered at his leg. "

“Hmmmm," he said. "No serial number..."
…

Actual Mike (prompt: monkey)

The soldier lowered his gun and gestured to his colleagues to do the same.

"Not a robot, everyone!" he shouted. "This is an Actual Mike!"

Guns lowered as did the jaws of the other soldiers.

"A real life Mike," Mike overheard one of them say. "Wait 'til I tell mother, she will be so stoked!"

Mike looked around at the amazed faces, a look of confusion on his.

"Errr," he said to the soldier with the bad breath. "Could you tell me what the hell is going on? And if possible," he looked around. "Show me the way out."

The soldier nodded. "I can certainly take you to the creature who can. Follow me, Actual Mike, Sir."

Bad Breath started marching off, and Mike and the others fell in behind him.
They walked too fast for Mike to check all the displays but he did notice there did seem to be quite a few people who looked like him in them.

And one that looked like a monkey dressed like him...
...

HIM (prompt a picture - described in text)

Mike noticed that, in fact, there was more than one display unit with monkeys wearing clothes that may, or may not - but probably may - have been worn at one time by him. There were a few pairs of socks that he'd been looking for, for some time.

He wanted to ask Bad Breath where they were going, but he was having trouble walking and breathing at the same time, the speed they were walking, let alone talking and walking. Eventually, Bad Breath came to a sudden stop and Mike walked right into him.

"Here you go," Bad Breath nodded at a door marked 'HIM'. "Just knock, and wait for the answer."

And before Mike could say a word, Bad Breath and the rest of his Army Chums had turned on their heels and were gone.

Mike took a deep breath and knocked on the door. There was no answer. So Mike knocked again. This time the door swung open and Mike was face to face with a picture of a witch taking a red apple from a tree.

And underneath that picture was a monkey, wearing a large grin and a pair of Mikes underpants.
…

Mashed (prompt: potatoes)

The monkey motioned at a chair beside him.

"Sit down, Mike," he said. "Please, make yourself comfortable. I'd shake your hand, but I've just been eating mashed potatoes," he held up both hands to show Mike. They were covered in powdery looking stuff that Mike assumed was the aforementioned potatoes.

"I couldn't find a fork," the monkey said, as Mike sat down in the chair, that squeaked as he put his weight down. "Glad you could join me, Ulsa said you might be along soon."

So, Mike thought, the monkey and the Jellys know each other. And presumably work together.

"What is this place?" Mike said, staring around him. "And, more importantly... why is it?"

The monkey laughed, a chattering noise, familiar to Mike from old Tarzan films.

"Oh, this place is part of the Jellys house," he said. "This is my office. And that," he pointed a potato covered finger up at the picture of the witch...

…

Elephant Turd (prompt: sizzling)

"This," the monkey said, after a long pause - to Mike it seemed as if the pause had lasted almost two days. "This is my aunt Edna."

Mike's mouth fell open.

"Isn't she a little bit, errr, well..."

The monkey laughed, and clapped his potatoey hands together, some of the aforementioned foodstuff flew off and landed onto Mike's face.

"Oh yes," the monkey said. "She is a little bit witchy looking, isn't she."

Mike shook his head.

"Errr, I think I was going to say that she was a little bit human looking."

The monkey laughed again! "Ha ha ha!" he said, underlining the fact that he was laughing. "I do look a little bit simian-y, at the moment, don't I. Now let me explain-"

Mike held up his hand.

"Let me stop you there. I don't give a sizzling elephants turd about your aunt Edna, your potatoes, or," he narrowed his eyes at the monkey. "Why you are wearing a pair of my fucking underpants. What I'd really like to know is how I get the fuck out of this house. And... where are the fucking Jellys?"

…

Nut Rustling (prompt: medium)

The monkey laughed and stuck his hand down Mike's underpants.

Not the pair he was currently wearing, luckily. The pair that the monkey was wearing.

"I'll answer your questions in good time," he said, rummaging away in the underpant department. "In the meantime I'd like to tell you more about Edna. Portrayed in this rather amazing painting as a witch. In fact she was a medium."

"A medium, what?" Mike said, a little bit distracted by the monkey's nut rustling.

"Not a medium as in size, you silly man!" the monkey said. "Not like these underpants are supposed to be a 'medium'." He laughed. "They are small, Mike! Even I have trouble getting everything packed in down there."

Mike was going to have to punch the monkey in a minute.

"No she could tell the future. That kind of medium. And do you know what the future said?"

Mike sighed.

"Did it involve stealing someone’s underwear, and then insulting said person, whilst playing with themselves in front of said person?"

The monkey looked at Mike.

"Well..."

…

UBIGARSE (prompt: brand)

“Actually, Aunt Edna did say I was going to get into your underpants, but," the monkey leaned forward and winked at Mike. "I thought she meant something else!"

"Right!" Mike said, pushing his chair away as he stood up. "I have had enough. Why the hell am I having a conversation with a fucking monkey anyway? I'm leaving."

He walked over to the door and tried the door handle. He wasn't surprised to find the door unyielding at his insistent touch. He turned back to the monkey.

"Can you let me out," he said. "Please."

The monkey grinned at him and said, "Seeing as you asked soooo nicely." He leaned over and pushed a button, and Mike heard a click of the lock. He pushed the door and it swung open.

Outside everything had changed. Again.

Mike felt as though he had lost the ability to be surprised. Gone was the museum, it now appeared to be some kind of store. He picked up a pair of trousers from the rack nearest to him. He didn't recognised the brand "UBIGARSE" but he wasn't entering a fashion parade, he just didn't want to be wandering around in his underwear.

Like a fucking monkey...

…

Exit (prompt: speaker)

The jeans fitted Mike like a glove.

Well, like a pair of well fitting jeans, but you get what I mean.

He looked around him. The store that he found himself in seemed to be empty of people. High above there were signs, and to Mike's considerable relief, one of them read "EXIT". He made his way in the direction in which the sign pointed.

Suddenly, a loud noise erupted from a speaker in the ceiling. It sounded like a wolf being eaten by a dragon. Or rather, what Mike imagined that to sound like (Mike spent a lot of time imagining strange sounds). Just as suddenly the noise stopped, and Mike heard a voice. "Stop where you are! You THIEF! Stop moving! Put your hands in the air and stay absolutely still!"

Mike thought about obeying and then thought, Fuck it! and kept moving towards the Exit.

He was within ten metres of the door when the wolf/dragon sound started again. He decided to run.

He threw himself at the door in front of him...
...

Void (prompt: nothing)

The door flew open under the force of Mike's body hitting it.

That was easy, he thought. Followed very quickly by, ffffffuuuuuuuuuccccckkkkk! As he realised that he had just flown threw a door into...

...well, nothing.

He looked around him, as he fell through a void of nothingness, but he could see nothing. It wasn't that it was dark. If it was dark, he would have seen something. Shapes, absence of light.

But all he could see around him was nothing.

Nothing bumped into him, hard.

Have you ever been hit by nothing?

It hurts. Like nothing else.

He carried on falling, whilst briefly wondering what the physics were of falling through nothing. If he was in a vacuum wouldn't he have exploded (imploded?) by now.

And he could still breath.

So that suggested, that in fact there was something.

Air, for a start.

And when he realised that he hit SOMETHING very hard and lost consciousness.

When he awoke, Mike found himself in a bed. Unfortunately, not his bed. He had really hoped (as had some readers, probably) that this was all a bad dream.

But no.

Beside him, in the bed was...
…

Hell (prompt: whiteboard)

Beside Mike in the bed was a whiteboard.

This was a bit odd. To say the least.

Mike sat up and looked at the whiteboard. On it was written two words,

“Hello Mike.”

What new form of bollocks is this, Mike thought.

Hello Mike was erased before his eyes, and new words appeared.

"Time to explain, I guess."

Oh for fucks sake, what now?

Erased words.

"You are dead, Mike."

I'm what now?