14 years on from the original project, a new year of daily writings. another year of unconfirmed true stories.
October 15 Cordon is lifted at skeleton site
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Cat darts between my legs as I walk upstairs, the door open. A phone number written on a tiny scrap of paper pushes all the air out of my body. Me and Cat, now the only ones left in the house.
Since September incidents have been reported over the country with an alarming similarity. Each involves a group of friends who turn on one another for what appears to be trivial matters: sixty three people have been hospitalised, twelve marriages are over (eleven new romances have begun) and one woman has remained asleep, her body and brain functioning normally, for over two weeks. The press are rife with scare stories and the government has today dismissed claims that many of individuals had visited Germany in the previous month.
Up from the 36 chambers they came, all black and gold, bats and slacks: Spam Kings, the last gang on the estate, alone in their dominion, eating doritos and ordering pizzas. Our village has been plagued by trouble recently; crude graffiti, disappearing milk and newsagent walk offs and finally we've had enough. That was why we called them. If you want to beat a cancer you have to become a cancer Thomas said, he had contacts that could help us in ways the police had been unable to. That was how how we got in touch with them. The initial meeting between the members of the village society and representatives of the Spam Kings was cordial I'd say. We have more in common than I'd initially thought, we all like Jazz and Coke for a start and it was easy to agree the improvements we wish for our community. They start work tomorrow, I imagine it will only take a day or two.
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