Vesna McMaster - The Jolly Old Fellow Got Stuck In The Chimney

‘I can’t do it, Marge.’

‘Yes you can, all you need is reach a bit further.’

‘I can’t! My belly’s in the way!’

‘Breathe in and stretch! Imagine you’re at my yoga class.’

‘Fuck, Janice. I’m not into yoga and you know that.’

A large clot of soot falls into the hearth and explodes into a fine black mist. Tim starts choking violently.

‘Oh, love, are you OK? Come back out.’

‘I can’t!’ He barely got five words out before being overcome by another fit of coughing. Janice stats to panic. She tugs at his torso.

‘Get out of there!’

Tom’s lungs are currently functioning as a bellows cleaning the chimney. It’s an accelerating process – the more cough, the more soot – the more cough. Critical velocity seems to be about to be attained. Janice launches herself at Tom’s legs in a final rugby tackle. The fenders give way. Tom’s cough morphs into a guttural cry of pain and surprise, but the desired effect is attained and the torso dislodges from the chimney, landing in a blackened pile on top of the grate.

Janice picks herself up, leaves Tom sprawling on the hearth for a minute to run to the kitchen to get a glass of water. A trail of soot smudges follow her steps.

When she returns, Tom is sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at something in his hand.

‘You all right, love?’

‘What do you reckon this is, Jan?’

He pats the soot off the object. It’s roughly fist-sized, black, and spikey.

Janice peers close.

‘Oh my god, Tom.’

‘What? I’m sure the stains will come out of the carpet. Eventually.’

‘No. That’s a heart. I’ve read about these.’