The Barn

It was a box. Just a standard, semi-shiny rectangular box, the kind you get games in at Cole Brothers. There seemed to be nothing in it, it was light. Empty. “This is your intelligence”, said the man. “Do you want to read the ingredients?” I looked up and down the side of the box. There was some professional writing on the side. Blurb like sentences describing the contents. “Dee comes from labourer stock, has border-line intelligence which saw her through dull and uneventful school days where she performed glaringly average. She went on to achieve an average degree in what is considered a Mickey Mouse subject….” The man turned to the other and smirked. … “and this strangely, gave her the impetus to go on to perform acts of mild subversion, political activism and non-violent direct action. Which has led her here.” They looked at me, expectantly. “How does that make you feel?” one asked. This one wasn’t the one who brought me in. This one was older with a head full of grey stubble and craggy skin. The younger one had an old fashioned punkish flat-top with mother of pearl wide-screen glasses and full lips.

“It doesn’t make me feel anything really. It’s sort of funny, but that’s it. Should I feel unhappy about it?”

“Funny? Funny? said stubble head, turning as red as his dead blood vessels would allow. “This is your life, Dee. This is what it has amounted to. You think that’s funny?”

“Does anyone know I’m here?” she asked. “No Dee.” said Flat-top. “No-one knows”. “They would know by now” she said. “No, they don’t.” He said.

She had come down the stairs of her house to find the front door wide open and the woman in the house opposite looking directly at her through her own front door. She was ashen faced in her white night-dress, shaking her head. “Curtain twitcher” Dee mouthed at her smiling, but felt uneasy, like there was someone in the house. It felt a little like the time she and Emm were burgled, but there was nothing missing, yet.

Suddenly from the back of the house, a man emerged from the yard, and said forcefully, but not impolitely, that she was to go with him. The house would be searched while she was held at a secret location until they saw fit to let her go.

Dee struggled, naturally. She was thinking about what the penalty was for possession of cannabis these days as she was dragged out of the house backwards, her eyes trained on a small circular silver receptacle with some skunk inside wrapped in a torn off piece of red silk from a handkerchief Emm bought once to do some magic with.

“It’s a tiny compacted thumb nail of stuff – it’s nothing!” she said out loud. “What did you say?” said Flat-top. “I’m saying nothing” she replied.

She was blind-folded and shoved into the back of a small white van. When the blind-fold was removed she found herself in a cattle pen with the cows removed. There were no associated smells and no sound. She was wedged behind a metal compartment used for injecting beasts. There was a fence like construct in front of her, beyond which she could see an expanse of barn. The compartment was elongated and behind it were doors spaced ten feet apart. She edged towards one of them in the confined space, sliding her back along the chalky wall and guiding herself along the fence with her hands. Eventually she backed into one of the doors.

The room was musty and filled with every item and article of possession of hers throughout her life from her teenage years. There were dirty old teddy bears on shelves, with diaries and jewellery, odd items of clothing and a bicycle in the corner.

She turned around and saw stubble head with Flat-top, standing with their hands clenched behind their backs. Flat-top still suited, and stubble head smart casual in chinos and cotton shirt. Maybe they were doing a nice/nasty routine. Maybe one was the man in black and the other the laid-back mastermind of the operation.

“I want to phone my mother.” she said. “That’s fine.” said stubble head. “Go get her the phone.” Flat-top produced one from behind his back and dialled for her.

“Hello mum!” she said. “Hello love, are you alright?” “Yes. But I’ve been brought in mum. Does Emm know I’m here?” “Yes, he knows. He’s fretting a bit.” “Mum, I don’t know when I’ll get out.” “I know love.

“Dee love, can you remember the names of those people you went to Menwith Hill with last year? They called and left a message for you, but didn’t leave their names.”

Dee paused. Mum’s voice had suddenly become slightly lighter and less grainy. “Who the hell is this?” she shouted down the phone. It went dead, and Flat-top took it from her. “That’s the only phone call you’ll be able to make.” he said.

“I want some representation. I demand it. It’s my right”. “I’m afraid you can’t have any.” He said, “You’re not in prison you know”, and they left the room.

She sat down on a stool. It wasn’t anything that had belonged to her. She looked around and saw shelves full of things that did. “They’ve been studying me for a long time. So this is why things just disappear when you move house. Strange, but I wouldn’t have believed they did this to common or garden activists like me, if it wasn’t for the Lobster.” From beneath the door, an A4 laminated sheet emerged. She picked it up. “You have been admitted to The Barn” it read, followed by, “It has been brought to our attention that you have wilfully exposed yourself to unhelpful elements in society, and that you are contaminated with a fatal dose of the ‘the Bigger Picture’. Your inoculation against this at University has failed; therefore you must be monitored here until you are fully recovered.

Attendants at The Barn are fully aware of your delusion that the Lobster exists. It is a symptom of your illness, and will hopefully be cured. Our staff are friendly and helpful and willing to assist your recovery. They have put this room together for your reflection, and to aid your return to a former state.

We hope your stay here will be productive. We will see you soon.