Short Story Saturday: Rabid Dog: A Creepy-Colin Escapade by Guest Author Paul Skelton

Rabid Dog

(A Creepy- Colin escapade)

“I'm  a sick dog, a slavering canine,

My brains inflamed, come and be mine,

I got it viral, I got me a fever,

Come and taste my saliva, girrrrrl.”

“Coz, I'm a dog, a rabid dog, I'm a dog, a rabid dog,

I'm a dyin' breed doncha wanna snog,

With a rabid dog, a rabid dog like me?”

   The punk rock song blasted out from Jessica Wilson's boombox.

  'What vile lyrics, Jessica, who are they Slipknot?' Mrs. Sandra Wilson enquired of her sixteen-year-old daughter.

  'Uh? Mum, you're so lame. Slipknot? God, they're, like, so pre-historic,' Jessica spat back.

  'They sound a bit like them. Sorry, I'm sure. So you're out with Colin Gilby tonight, are you?'

   'Yeh , and?'

   'Just so's I know who you're with and . . .'

  'Yeh? Well, like, we're gonna go down the graveyard and have sex with dead bodies, coz Col’s well into necky feel ya,' Jessica said sarcastically. 'But I'll be in before eleven.'

  'Haha, it's necrophilia if you must take the piss, daughter of mine. Where are you really off to?'

  'Actually, Mum,' now more friendly, 'Col's got tickets for “Rabid Dog” at the Wagons. Says they include a backstage meet and greet with the band after.' Clearly Jessica was excited.

  'Well, watch that Colin, he gives me the creeps. Pete reckons it was him took some of my lingerie off the washing line.'

  'Mum! I'm not stupid, Colin is a creep. He won't get my knickers off. Pah! I'm just stringing him along to get gig tickets, ain't I? Huh!'

   'And this meet and greet business, Jess, what's that about? In my day, it was . . .'

   'I know, I know what it was in your day mother. That's how you met my real Dad, blah blah blah. So, I was a Rock n' Roll baby, so what? Col thinks it's cool, being Ralph Stocker’s illegitimate daughter. I ain't ashamed.'

   Mrs. Wilson blushed. 'No, what I meant was . . .'

  'It just means you get to, like, meet 'em, chat with 'em, maybe have a drink. I'll be with others, Mum. It's proper safe, everyone does it. God, you're so . . . so . . . oh I dunno . . . pot calling kettle black.'

   'Ok. Well, I'm not going to say you were an accident. It's just that I would rather have had you in other circumstances, that's all, and I'm just concerned that there might be drugs. I love you, Jess, and I want you to be careful and be safe, that's all.'

   'Yeh, whatever,' yawning, 'I'll be safe, and I'll be in by midnight.'

* * *

   'So, girrl, liked our show, did ya?' Connor Bryant, lead singer with Rabid Dog leered.

   'Oh yeh, like, WOW!' gushed Jessica.

  'Connor, what tuning do you use on “Snotty Little Creep”?' enquired Creepy-Colin, but he was ignored. 

   'Wanna come in the dressing room for a little vodka?' Connor continued, drooling slightly.

   'I'm up for it,' said Creepy-Colin, eagerly.

  'Not you, creep. He means me,' Jessica sneered, followed by a “no, not you” look from Connor.

   'What about “us”, Jess?' Creepy-Colin sounded hurt, and his lower lip quivered.

  'There's no us, Col. I just wanted tickets and him,' gesturing at Connor, 'he's lush, and you're not, pimple face! Now, piss off.'

   Creepy-Colin walked off sheepishly, back to the function room bar, whilst Connor led Jessica into a dressing room and locked the door. It was quite basic, the only furniture being two plastic chairs, a full-length mirror and a massive bean bag, which was heavily stained and discoloured. Connor produced a bottle of cheap vodka and two hotel bathroom type tumblers. Having both slugged their vodkas, Connor, salivating heavily, poured out more and put his arm 'round Jessica's waist.

   'Gotta question for ya,' he slurred. He seemed hot, almost feverish.

   'Okay.'

   'Listen, “Got the liquor out the back of my car, take a drink take off your bra,

Got the hots and gettin' hotter, lemme get inside your knickers”,'  Connor sang a line from one of his songs softly into Jessica’s ear.

   Jessica replied softly into his ear. 'You can't get my bra or knickers off,' she cooed.

   'Oh, ok, babe. Ya can't blame a bloke for tryin', eh? Just love what I'm seein', girrrl, and . . .' Connor started to say, but Jessica interrupted.

  'Because I haven't got any on. None. No bra, no knickers, wanna party?' she purred provocatively.

   They “partied” on the filthy bean bag, and Jessica just about made it home by midnight in the back of the Rabid Dog tour van.

* * *

    The first thing Pete (Jessica’s step-dad) noticed were the love bites on Jessica’s neck, on the Sunday morning after the show, as she emerged from the bathroom.

    'Bloody Hell, Jess, you got a bit heavy with Colin last night, didn't you?'

    'What?' she replied irritably.

    'Bit hungover, are we? The love bites on your neck, Jess. You're only sixteen.'

    Jessica checked her neck in the hallway mirror. 'It wasn't Creepy-Colin. I was just neckin' with, like, a real man.'

   'Well, you'd better put on a roll-neck or something, your Mother will go ballistic. One of the band, was it?' He smiled.

   'Yeh!' she said in a triumphant tone. 'Connor Bryant, the lead singer. He's lush, I mean like, so lush. Got his number an' stuff. Yeh. Like he'll get me in any gigs for free, and he said he wants to see more of me, coz I'm the prettiest girl he's ever, like, ever seen.'

   Jessica got dressed and put on a roll-neck sweater. She joined her step-dad and younger step-brother, Jacob, in the kitchen.

   'Coffee, Jess?' Pete called out as she sat at the dining table.

   'Nah. Just juice, please. Where's Mum?'

   'Gone 'round to help Creepy-Colin’s Mum with Church flowers. So did you do him then?' Jacob sniggered. Jessica ignored him, but he persisted. 'Did you 'ave him, Jess? Ol' Creepy-Colin? Haha, you'll catch pimples. He's well diseased he is. Haha.'

   'Shut up, Jacob, you plank,' she spat back at him.

   'Jacob! Go to the garage, get the mower out and do the lawn, now!'

   'Uh? Oh, Ok, Dad,' Jacob responded truculently and went outside via the back door, which he slammed violently.

   'Here's your juice, Jessica. Er, look, did you have sex with this Bryant guy? I won't be mad at you. We know you're on the pill.' Pete spoke evenly.

   'What? That's gross. I mean, what?'

  'Ok, so you did then.' Pete sighed. 'Like Mother, like daughter. Look, Jess, there's something you need to know about him. For a start, he looks young but he's thirty-two and married, at least in theory, and . . .'

   'So? That's only what Twitter says.' Jessica was defiant.

  'And, I was going to go on to say, he's Ralph Stocker's son, which makes you, my little groupie, his flipping half-sister! We'd better not tell your Mother.'

   Pete turned his laptop 'round so Jessica could see the aging Ralph Stocker with his arm 'round Connor Bryant. The text read: “Rocker Ralph proud of his 'Rabid Son', Connor Bryant, frontman of award-winning ska-punk's 'Rabid Dog'.”

  Jessica ran to the downstairs toilet and threw up with violent retching and coughing. Later she deleted a contact in her mobile phone and cried her eyes out.

* * *

“I'm drooling over your rancid corpse,

My brains are exploding my head is sore,

I got it bad, the fever's high,

Gonna have you before I die, girrrrrl.”

“Coz, I'm a dog, a rabid dog, I'm a dog, a rabid dog,

I'm a dyin' breed doncha wanna snog,

With a rabid dog, a rabid dog like me?”

* * *

   Colin Gilby listened to, and simultaneously read, the lyrics with growing concern. It was about eight weeks since the Rabid Dog gig, and Jessica had been ill for the last couple of days. Colin’s Mother, who had visited the Wilson's that day was most concerned.

   'They're getting the Doctor out if she's not better in the next couple of days,' she said to her son.

   Colin tapped furiously on his laptop, and upon finding what he was looking for, slammed it shut. He rummaged around in a drawer, produced some items and thrust them into his leather jacket. He grabbed the jacket, put it on, tucked his laptop under his arm and stormed out of the house.

   'What is it, Colin, you don't look well?' Mrs. Wilson gasped as she opened her front door to Colin.

   'Look, I know you don't like me, Mrs. Wilson, sometimes I don't like myself, but I think I know what's wrong with Jess. LOOK!' He opened the laptop and showed her the screen. Mrs. Wilson fainted, collapsing at Colin’s feet.

   'Sorry, Mrs. Wilson, gotta see her now. while there's still time,' he said as he stepped over her body, raced up the stairs and burst into Jessica’s bedroom.

   'What the . . . ? Colin?' Pete was standing over Jessica’s convulsing body with a glass of water as Colin went over to her.

   'Don't give her water, Mr. Wilson. Look at this,' he said as he handed his laptop to the stunned step-father.

  Jessica was panting, salivating and babbling incoherently her skin drenched in perspiration. She was clearly delirious.

   'Rabies? Fucking Rabies?' Pete Wilson was ranting, his eyes bulging and glued to the screen on the laptop. 'I'll get the Doctor,' he finally bleated weakly.

   'No time for that. Help me out,' said Colin. 'Got any whiskey, vodka or such?'

   'Er . . . yeh-yeh. I'll get it for you.' In a daze Pete fetched a bottle of vodka.

   'Right!' said Colin with authority. 'It maybe too late, but wash her neck where those welts are with the vodka, ok?'

   'Er . . . yeh, right. What are you gonna do?' At that moment, Jacob walked past the bedroom and peered in.

   'Huh, Creepy-Colin. Like dying bodies do ya, acne face?'

   In perfect unison, Pete Wilson and Colin looked up and yelled, 'PISS OFF!’

   ‘Do something useful and call the NHS, get a Doctor, tell ‘em it’s Rabies,' Pete added.

   Jacob rushed off to dial “101”. Pete turned to Colin. 'What are you doing?'

  'This!' said Colin as he stabbed Jessica’s thigh with an epi-pen, he then produced a syringe and plunged that into her leg as well.

  'Epi-pen, I have allergies,' he gasped breathlessly, holding it up so Pete could see it. 'And an injection I made up. Basically anti-flu inoculation and liquid paracetamol, I use it on my pet python, Boris.'

   The Doctor arrived thirty minutes later, examined Jessica, who was now lifeless, and prepared himself to share some bad news with the family waiting fearfully downstairs. Colin was still in Jessica’s room with the Doctor, having described his home-made treatment to him.

  Suddenly Jessica sat up, vomited and stared at Colin. Then she relaxed, and in a hoarse whisper said, 'Thank you, Colin.'

* * *

   Jessica's seventeenth birthday party, six weeks later, was more “Rag ‘n’ Bone Man” than “Rabid Dog”. Colin had been invited, and he appeared to be the centre of attention. Connor Bryant had recently died of a “mystery illness”, according to his publicist. The Wilsons and Gilbys knew better!