Robert Rankin - Web Site Story

Big Bob mumbled and grumbled and moaned.

'What is he saying? He's saying something.'

'He's saying "No, no Ann, no".'

'Who's Ann, his wife?'

'Who knows, get him onto the stretcher.'

The ambulance man and the woman driver struggled to move Big Bob. He was a big fellow and heavy with it, he really took some shifting.

'Ooooh,' mumbled Big Bob. 'Ann I'm sorry. I didn't mean to kill you.'

'God's golf balls,' said the ambulance man, struggling some more and getting one of Bob's legs onto the stretcher. 'He's killed somebody.'

'It's not our business,' said the ambulance woman. 'Our business is to get him to hospital. His nose is broken, he's covered in lacerations and look at his left foot. That big toe's fractured, best mention that to the medics or they're bound to miss it.'

The ambulance man got Bob's other leg onto the stretcher. 'Yes, but if he's murdered someone.'

'Not our business, tell one of the policemen. If you can find one who's still standing up.'

'Madness,' said the ambulance man. 'Are you going to haul out the cafe proprietor? I think the men from FART zapped him with some of that new Mute Corp nerve gas.'

'Then I'm not going in without a biohazard suit. Let's get this one into the ambulance. Then I'm calling it a day.'

It was certainly a struggle, but they finally got Big Bob on board. The ambulance, bells all ringing and hooter hooting too, swung away from the crash site. Leaving the tour bus imbedded in the front wall of the Plume Cafe, the assorted walking wounded, walking wound-edly, the Fire Arms Response Team, who were gung-hoing it with the singing of filthy songs, opening up cans of beer they had liberated from the fridge of the banjoed cafe, and the blond-haired beauty in the turquoise dress with the good-looking dark-haired young man, looking on.

The ambulance did roarings up the High Street. Strapped onto the stretcher, Big Bob's head slapped from side to side and up and down as the ambulance took corners at speed and bounced over numerous speed ramps.

'Ann,' mumbled Big Bob. 'I'm sorry I killed you. I didn't mean it to happen.'

'He's saying that stuff about murder again,' called the ambulance man to the driver. 'We've got a psycho here, you should call it into the station.'

'It isn't our business. It's nothing to do with us.'

'Look, he's alive and he's pretty much conscious and he's only got a broken nose and a twisted toe. We could drop him off at the police station. Let them sort it out.'

The ambulance driver stood on the brake. The ambulance man hurtled forward and so did Big Bob's stretcher. Big Bob's head struck the rear of the driver's cab.

'Is he unconscious now?' the driver called back.

The ambulance man examined Big Bob. 'Out for the count I think,' said he.

'Then he's going to the cottage hospital, he might have concussion.'

'I wouldn't be at all surprised,' said the ambulance man.

There are speed ramps as you enter the cottage hospital grounds, but if you drive slowly and carefully you hardly notice them. The ambulance passed over them at speed, bouncing Big Bob's body in the air.

'You want to drive more carefully,' said the ambulance man.

'You want to shut your face,' said the ambulance driver.

'Oh yeah, right. You're never -wrong, are you?'

'Of course I'm never wrong.' The ambulance driver stood on the brake once more and the ambulance man tumbled forward once more and Big Bob's head hit the rear of the driver's cab once more, once more, once more.

'Home again, home again, jiggedy jig,' said the ambulance driver.

It was a bit of a struggle getting Big Bob out of the ambulance. The stretcher he was attached to seemed to have become somewhat twisted during the journey and the drop-down wheels didn't drop down properly. Big Bob slid from the end of the stretcher and fell onto the tarmac right upon his head.

'And I suppose you'd like to blame me for that !' said the ambulance driver.

'Who, me ?’ said the ambulance man.

They finally got the drop-down wheels dropped down and they finally got Big Bob back onto the stretcher. Then they did that comedy wheeling the patient through all those double hospital swing doors routine, where the patient's head goes bang bang bang against them.

'Do you remember the time', said the ambulance man, as Big Bob's head opened the doors into casualty, 'when you were put in charge of organizing the hospital dance?'

'Of course,' said the ambulance driver. 'The Sixties Hop, and what a success that was.' Big Bob's head opened the doors into the main corridor.

'Oh yeah, right,' said the ambulance man. 'And you booked "name" bands. Chas 'n' Dave, Peters and Lee, Sam and Dave and Peter and Gordon.'

'And?' said the ambulance driver. Bang went Big Bob's head.

'And you gave them all separate changing rooms and then you forgot who was in each one and got them all mixed up. How well I remember Dave and Dave singing on stage. And Peters and Peter, not to mention Gordon and Lee.'

'Gordon and Lee?'

'I told you not to mention them.'

Bang went Big Bob's head. And 'That is quite enough,' said he.

'Eh?' went the ambulance man.

'What?' said the ambulance driver.

Big Bob said, 'Stop and let me off this stretcher.'

'That was a bit unexpected,' said the ambulance man.

Td been expecting it,' said the ambulance driver.

'Let me off\' Big Bob struggled and being Big Bob and so very Big and all, he burst open the straps that constrained him and leapt down from the trolley.

'Ouch,' he went, hopping on his big right foot.

'Fractured left big toe,' said the ambulance man. 'You should have that put in a sling.'

'Prat,' said the ambulance driver. 'You mean splint.'

'I said splint.'

'No, you said sling.'

Big Bob hopped about some more. 'Shut up!' he shouted. 'Thou blathering ninnies.'

'There's gratitude for you,' said the ambulance driver.

'Best leave it,' whispered the ambulance man. 'Remember he's a psycho!'

'I'm not a psycho!' roared Big Bob, in a very big voice indeed. 'And I am not here. I know I'm not here. This is all a deception. Someone trickest me. I won't be manipulated any more. Yea and verily, I shan't.'

'Anything you say, big fella,' said the ambulance man. 'We'll just pop off for a cup of tea and leave you to it then.'

'Grrrrr,' went Big Bob, which was new.

The ambulance man and the ambulance woman rapidly took their leave. Big Bob stood alone in the corridor breathing hard and knotting massive fists.

'Speak to me,' he shouted. 'I know thou art there. Speak to me.'

'you failed level one,' said the large and terrible voice. 'you were supposed to save the little girl.'

'I tried.' Big Bob shook and great big veins stood out upon his neck. 'I tried to save her. But that was a trick. That wasn't real. That wasn't how it happened.'

'yes it was,' said the large and terrible voice. 'we're inside your head. we have your memories. we know what makes you tick.'

'Who art thou?' Big Bob shook his fists. 'Show thyself to me.'

'you have lost one life.' The voice pressed hard upon Big Bob's ears. 'you only have two more, then you lose the game.'

'I will beat thee,' shouted Big Bob. 'Thou foul and filthy fiend.'

'we cannot be beaten,' said the voice.

'I will beat thee,' said Big Bob, through gritted grinding teeth. 'I will play thy games and I will beat thee. I ask only this. Tell me who or what thou art.'

Silence pressed about Big Bob.

'Come on,' called the big one. 'I'll play thy evil games. And if thou canst not be beaten, what harm can it do to tell me who thou art?'

Silence pressed again.

'Come on,' called Big Bob once more. 'What are you scared of? Thou hidest from me. I cannot put my fingers about thy throat. Speak unto me. Tell me who thou art.'