Happy Goat Horror

Dark, dark bleatings, my tribe! I don’t know if you’ve noticed but something is amiss. I was calling it ‘Case Day’ until I found out that my friend (and one of my favourite authors) Kit Power is releasing a book soon called ‘Millionaires Day’, about that day in 2019. My understanding is that this “story” details the events of Millionaires Day, but is being presented as fiction. Interesting.

Furthermore – and I think it’s okay for me to talk about this a bit now – this book is being released by French Press Publishing (owned by Stephen Kozeniewski), an American indie press. Two things strike me about this; it’s interesting that it’s an American press taking this book on, and it makes me wonder if Kit couldn’t get anyone in the UK to touch it. Secondly, I actually work for Stephen as his assistant, and usually I’m in the know about any and all projects going through French Press Publishing, but I didn’t know about this until very recently. When I eventually DID find out, I was so confused about why Steve would keep me in the dark about such a huge project, but now I’m wondering if he might have been jumping through some legal hoop or something, and kept me out of it until he knew there wouldn’t be repercussions?

Anyway, I did put my own first-hand experience up here recently and as always, I did post it to FB. Weirdly, it disappeared, but hey ho. I asked people to get in touch if they were willing to talk about it, and got some responses.

Here’s an account from Richard Daniels (who runs the excellent Occultaria of Albion magazine). As with all things uncomfortable, and in true Daniels style, I think he’s trying to find the funny side here a bit (I did tell him that he didn’t have to include the specific medical condition but this is the lens he wanted to tell the story through, to lighten the tone, he said!). I did have to twist his arm to let me post this, so enjoy (if that’s the right word?).

MILLIONAIRES DAY – THE EXPERIENCE OF RICHARD DANIELS

I never thought that I would put the following words together into a sentence, but enough time has gone by, so here it is: I could have been a millionaire if it wasn’t for a boil on my bottom.

It was December and the build up to Christmas. Rather than the office party, or what I was going to get my little nephew Malcolm, or even when I was going to start thinking about the logistics of journeying home to my parents all too small bungalow for three days of enforced food and fun, all I was concerned about was the throbbing pain at the bottom of my spine.

To begin with I thought it was a return of the disc trouble that had plagued me on and off for several months. Then, one day in the shower, I realised it was actually a very angry and very swollen boil, tucked away at the top of my bum crack. As soon as I discovered this the pain seemed to increase so that concentrating on anything or even sitting for any amount of time became virtually impossible. The following day, off to A&E I went.

Given the current state of the NHS it may seem unlikely, but once seen I was admitted almost straightaway. It was determined that my carbuncle needed lancing and draining – it was all something to do with an ingrown follicle and the operation would require general anaesthetic and a subsequent day of monitoring before I would be allowed home.

It was the night before my operation was due to be performed the following day. I was in a room with four other gentlemen with various ailments. As my condition was quite embarrassing and relatively minor, I hadn’t told any friends and family of my sudden stay in the hospital. I figured that once I had had the surgery and was free, I wouldn’t need to disclose anything about it. Consequently, I had no visitors.

I was as comfortable as I could be, laying in a hospital bed with my bum in the air, or on my side with a great wad of pillows to support me. Of course I couldn’t sleep. I was awake for most of the night, listening to the hospital radio through an uncomfortable pair of grey plastic headphones. If only I had managed to nod off perhaps things would have been different.

The following morning it took a while for me to realise what had happened. The others in my room all had their cases of money. There they were, sat up in bed, clutching their cash. Everything was bewilderment, excitement and confusion. It didn’t take long for the chaos to start.

Many nurses hadn’t bothered to come on to shift. I suppose having a million pounds can quickly change your motivation. It wasn’t only nurses – cleaners, porters, kitchen staff, even some doctors. Everything fell apart pretty quickly.

At first, after the confusion, I was angry that I had missed out on this seeming miracle. But then, as my pain medication wore off, I couldn’t think about the money and everything I might do with it. All I could think about was the throbbing pustulous eruption that felt like an alien was about to come bursting out of my anus. No one came to my aid, not for hours. From distant corridors came the sound of screaming, from outside there was the noise of distant sirens. The world had changed but all I could think about was how I could go about draining the cyst, my demon of pain lurking at the bottom of my spine. I didn’t need a million pounds; I just needed a razor blade or a knitting needle.

Okay, actually…besides me being childish enough to laugh at “boil on my bottom”, this really isn’t funny at all. I can’t even fathom what it would have been like to be in a hospital during this. People you rely on suddenly having no good reason to turn up to work didn’t even occur to me.

If anyone else wants to come forward with their first-hand experience, I’d love to host it here (I can do so anonymously if you don’t want to attach your name to it).

I’ll be posting more details of Kit’s book, MILLIONAIRES DAY, as and when I know more!