The Black Pages: The Supernatural Telephone Directory

THE BLACK PAGES:

THE SUPERNATURAL TELEPHONE DIRECTORY

Written By Peggy R Hand

The Black Pages:

The Supernatural Telephone DIrectory

First edition October 2016

Published by

Chipping Norton Writers with the Assistance from Lulu.com

© Peggy R Hand

The author has asserted their moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Design & Publications Act 1988

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any method electrical or manual including photography or any information storage and retrieval system without express permission from the publisher or author.

I S B N 978-1-326-82117-3

Typeface Arial 11pt

DIAL 900 666 HOTLINE SATAN

Life is so mundane; I never dreamed life could be so monotonous; I go to sleep, get up, have breakfast, go to work, come home, watch TV, it goes on and on in a viscous cycle Clarence Fulton grumbled to his wife Patricia. He continued that life is for living, and having a good time.  Of course Patricia had heard it all before, but due to their present financial circumstances; they could not go here, there and to liven things up. Patricia constantly prayed for a financial windfall that would give them a chance to expand their lives. Their monthly expenditure was a constant source of worry, with the mortgage and car payments, the utilities, and they had to eat.   Patricia Fulton always prided herself on her appearance; she was always neat and tidy. Her brunette hair was regularly trimmed at the hairdressers, a little luxury she worked for, at the local chemists. Not an avid follower of fashion, a Fashionista, but she was always smart. She put on her green work uniform and looked in the mirror, to see she was properly attired for work. Her green eyes that normally sparkled were dull today; Clarence’s constant moaning was getting her down.  At least she thought as she left home for work she could have a laugh with her colleagues.

Meanwhile, Clarence, Cal to his mates was at work; was heard to say that if he had to face yet another evening with his missus, he would go mad. Cal carried on same-o, same- o, nothing ever changes. Bloody Coronation Street got on his wick. He turned to Bert a long time work colleague and said, Look at me, I’m forty eight years old, got all my own teeth, and still have  a six pack on my chest  Cal paused, then said, he was considering buying one of those dyes, women use on their hair. Bert laughed, and said his hair was grey as well as Cal’s, but it could stay that way. Cal started to moan about the cost of living, but Bert and his mates all said they were all in the same boat. Some had overdue bills to face. Mike shouted across the factory floor, that if Cal and Patricia had children, he would really have something to complain about, the cost of raising a family these days was prohibitive. But Cal continued with his endless moaning, saying he was bored and boredom was driving him crazy. John Thrower the factory manager where Cal worked was walking through the factory and stopped close to Cal. He asked if Patricia was happy, had Cal ever taken her feelings into consideration? John detested Cal, because he had Patricia, and John had been secretly in love with her for years.

John Thrower told Cal that everyone was sick and tired of his constant moaning, and complaining; quite frankly, all the men knew Patricia and liked her.   Patricia is an attractive woman for her age, and you are lucky to have her, you are no oil painting Cal. From amongst his workmates, Cal could hear murmurings of men saying, you tell him, sir, Patricia is alright, she is, and one out of reach from Cal said in his loud voice, Yeah mate if I had the opportunity with Cal’s missus, wouldn’t I, couldn’t I. That brought wolf whistles and laughter from the men around him. Cal ignored everything that was said, and carried on moaning out loud.  He wanted more, the excitement, thrills, wild parties where anything went. Bert started up his machine; he wanted to drown the sound of Cal out. But Cal persisted, yes, he wanted wild women, a fast car; his Ford focus needed work and MOT, and he still had finance on it. He had to break out of the rut he had got himself into. By now, no one was listening except Slippery Vic Parkin. He was known by that name throughout the factory, because of his shifty approach to everything, thoroughly untrustworthy, with dark, darting eyes ever scanning the area he was in, just in case he was being clocked doing someone down.

Cal didn’t hear Vic slide up to him, no one ever heard Vic Parkin. Stan in packing said, it was because Vic wore brothel creepers. Thick rubber soled shoes that were silent on the ground. Listen Cal, I have a phone number here, it is a very special number; it isn’t advertised anywhere, it is handed out privately, use it Slippery Vic said. He placed a piece of paper in Cal’s hand. Vic was grinning broadly, his uneven yellow nicotine stained teeth showing clearly. Slippery Vic’s dark eyes darted furtively around to see if anyone was watching. Cal took the scrap of paper and put it in his overalls pocket. He looked at Vic who just winked the lines of the bags under his eyes, wrinkled even more as he forced a smile. Vic nodded and quickly slipped away amongst the guys working in the factory. Cal watched him walked away,  secretly he envied  Slippery Vic; they were both born on the same run down council estate, on  the wrong side of the railway track and both from poor families. Slippery Vic was considered by everyone who worked in the factory, as the typical ‘letch’ a lecherous, slimy man, who moved with stealth.

No one knew when or where he was going to appear. Vic’s shoulder length pepper and salt straggly hair, thinning on top didn’t make him a hit with any of the ladies; but he tried, he saw himself as a ladies man. He had a plaid wool travel rug on the back seat of his Volvo estate car. Yes, thought Cal, Slippery Vic is a typical ‘letch’, with his dark swarthy skin. Rumour had it years ago, that Slippery Vic’s, the family was Romany/gypsies, and the children had to sleep on the ground underneath the gypsy wagon. Later they managed to get a council house, and sold their wagon to a young man from London, who wanted to harness it to a horse and travel around the UK. Cal remembered that he and Slippery Vic had started at the factory at the same time. But, while Cal was chasing and courting Patricia, Slippery Vic was chasing every bit of skirt around. Slippery Vic’s workmates had laughed with him when he related to them who he had been with the night before; and where he had ‘scored’. But now he took everyone by surprise when he married Carrie Hawkins the factory boss's daughter. That did not go down well with any of the factory workers, Cal especially. Vic had kept that a secret.

Cal found the thought of how well Slippery Vic had done in his life, by comparison to him stuck in his craw. Cal’s frustrations were getting the better of him, and he worked his machine harder than he should, and broke it. While he was waiting for the mechanic to come to repair it, his thoughts were still on Slippery Vic, he asked himself why was it that Slippery Vic now lived in a luxury house in the best area of town while he, lived in a semi-detached in Harwell Street.  Furthermore, Slippery Vic was always off on business trips overseas, as he was now the managing director of the factory. Cal was very resentful as recalled that the only holidays he and Patricia

Could afford these days was in Blackpool.   Bugger Blackpool, thought Cal, year after bloody year for years, he had suffered it because Patricia loved it. The mechanic arrived and Cal’s machine was soon up and running again. The end of day alarm sounded and the men filed out of the factory and left for their homes. When Cal arrived home, he took his overalls off, and took all the bits and pieces out of his pockets and left them on the kitchen counter to put away later. He then tossed his overalls into the washing machine for Patricia to wash.  The dirty, grubby piece of paper Slippery Vic gave him fell to the floor. Cal bent down and picked it up.

Cal had difficulty reading Slippery Vic’s spidery writing, but the number on it was quite clear, and he could read part of Slippery Vic’s message. It reads, man you can go to paradise if you want to, you’ll be given a choice, but careful what you wish for. The grubby piece of paper had food stains on it so he couldn’t read the rest. Cal put the piece of paper in his jeans pocket as he had just changed from his overalls. He went into the living room to watch TV. Patricia shouted to him that she had forgotten to check the mailbox at their gate and she was going to take care of that now. Cal mumbled something, and Patricia closed the front door behind her.  It only seemed a couple of minutes when Patricia returned. She said she would out for thirty minutes, as Ann needed help with her children, and she had left the post on the hall table.  Cal heard her close the front door, and he could hear her high heels clicking down the stone driveway. Getting up from his comfortable blue recliner armchair, Cal ventured into the hallway and picked up the post. He moaned as it was bills as usual, and tossed them back onto the hall table, Patricia can deal with these, he thought.

Cal was about to return to the living room and the TV, then he remembered the grubby piece of paper that Slippery Vic had passed to him. Why not, Cal thought, I can give it a try; where’s the harm in that? Yes, he had been working hard all week and he needed a good weekend, wine, women and whatever else. Yes, please think Cal, rubbing his hands together. With the telephone nearby on the hall table Cal picked up the receiver and dialled 900 666 HOTLINE SATAN. Cal is asked to give his name to a deep, gravelly voiced man who answered the phone. Then the man asked for Call’s address, phone number, and date of birth; he explained that it will cost him 25 pounds per minute, but the results will be guaranteed. The man asked Cal what was his pleasure, what did he want? Cal blurted out into the phone that he was fed up with his wife, his job, everything, he wanted to have some fun.  He wanted a weekend to remember, but hell, I want it all. The man with the deep voice on the phone chuckled. Cal continued drooling into the phone he wanted to go to paradise, all the trimmings, nothing spared, especially with the women. The man with the deep voice chuckled again and said Cal would have his weekend of a thousand delights, he would send the message down to the boss.

Suddenly Cal didn’t feel bored, he felt a weird sensation, but it was an exciting one. Cal, grinned, he felt over the moon, this was going to be a weekend to remember. He was abruptly interrupted from his euphoric state of mind, when the front door opened and Patricia walked in. Her normally neat, brunette hair was windswept and untidy. She looked flustered, and her pale skin unusually flushed. Cal thought she looked tired, and her eyes that used to sparkle, were dull and lustreless.

Patricia had looked after herself well, and was still considered by many men; to be an attractive and desirable woman. But as far as Cal was concerned, she was just around like a comfy, worn settee, he didn’t notice her these days. Many times she had to ask him if she looked alright, if they were going out somewhere nice. As a rule, he grunted something that sounded like a rooting pig. Patricia had long since given up on asking Cal. Patricia said the Ann’s children had been playing up and worn  her out, so she had to step in and help. Cal grumbled, he wasn’t amused, and said he didn’t see why they had to be involved.

Cal had enough; he grabbed his jacket, and told Patricia he was going out. She asked where? But he replied it didn’t matter as he a coming back. He had other fish to fry, and there were plenty of fish in the sea. He had enough of her, his job, everything, things had to change; now he had the opportunity to do that. Patricia was stunned;