The Song of the Sewer Boy

fracture_childFri 18/01/08 18:40

A short story, that I'll expand one day. I'd like to return to it after I've finished work on my second novel.

The song of the sewer boy

Like all good employees, there was nothing remotely special about him. At six thirty each morning he woke up just before his alarm was set to go off. He spent fifteen minutes washing and shaving, making sure that no aspect of his appearance might be considered objectionable. After dressing - smart casual, naturally - he ate a hurried but nutritious breakfast before making his way through the long, cream coloured corridors from his allocated quarters to the workstations. His name was David. To his many superiors, he was Terminal 564/22 on Floor 203.
His desk was one of eighty five in a medium sized office. For the last six months, he had been placed at a workstation near the wall on which there hung a large framed photograph of a beach at sunset. Many of his colleagues had been envious. A seat with a view was not to be sneered at. But a week ago he had been re-allocated to a desk in almost the exact centre of the office.
This morning, as he walked past the rows of workers, David exchanged the customary brief greetings with familiar faces. He tried not to notice the gaps left by the down-sized. As usual, his tie didn't feel quite right and he still hadn't been able to get the coffee stain out of his yellow jacket.
Arriving at his workstation, he sat down and plugged the receiver into his ear. The tiny black sphere buzzed once and the flat, hexagonal screen in front of him lit up. It was twenty minutes before he was officially due to log active. The guidelines recommended an early start of forty minutes, but David had never quite managed it. A discreet square symbol in the corner of the screen flashed repeatedly and insistently, alerting him that there were new messages. Scrolling through them, he found that there was a new line of suits being made available at a reasonable price. Well tailored. Perfect for making the right impression. There were also new communications attachments that meant you could now catch up on data cleansing tasks whilst you were bathing. Who wanted to waste all that time spent in the shower? A red time bomb icon warned David that he would soon be twenty two and should have signed up for the pension program by now.
Running a hand through his dark, ginger hair, he tried to muster some enthusiasm for the day ahead. Foil sheets lay on his desktop, ingrained with urgent things to do. He could just about remember the days when they had used paper, before the great audit had claimed the last of the forests. Looking round at his co-workers, he could easily spot the promotion hungry, sitting with ram rod straight backs and eager smiles, Today might be that one day in a thousand when a sub-manager noticed them. David had no wish to progress. There were rumours that the upper echelons were so drained of life that their skin was as grey as their suits. Some said that they had lived for so long without sleep that they couldn't even blink anymore. Just stories, but it was enough to convince David to stay where he was. All he wanted to was to do his shift, dodge the overtime pressgangs and go home before midnight. The sub-section co-ordinator had told him many times that that was the philosophy of the down-sized.
Fifteen minutes until his official start time. He missed the photo. The beach had seemed a beautiful place - the golden sands, the fading sunlight shimmering on the sea. It couldn't have been real. The oceans now held more phone lines than they did water. However, even though it was so obviously a fake, the picture had made each day easier to bear. Since they had moved him to his new desk, David's sleeping hours had been plagued by nightmares of paralysis and suffocation.
Maybe he should get himself a coffee or better still a Pro Cube. That would give him some much-needed energy. He was about to get up and go to the canteen, when he heard the music. It was a strange, lilting melody, melancholy and enticing. David couldn't imagine what sort of instrument could produce such a sound.
He looked round to see how his colleagues were reacting. They were all staring intently at their workstations. No-one else seemed to have even heard the music. Was he hallucinating? He strained to place where the melody was coming from but he couldn't. It seemed to emanate from all around him,
Suddenly it was gone.
His hands were shaking. Whatever the sound was, it had effected him in a way he didn't understand. There were pains in his chest and a heavy ache in his stomach. How could he work in this state? The second that he logged active, the voices would start endlessly streaming through the earpiece. He needed to be alert for that. Perhaps he would be allowed to go back to his quarters if the Medical Consultants were convinced that he was genuinely ill. Unfortunately, David had had a few days off four months ago and a repeat occurrence would reflect badly with the bonus processors.
There was only one thing for it. He would go to the toilets and make himself vomit. A splash of water on his face afterwards and he might just get through the day. Praying that no-one would notice, he got up from his desk and made his way unobtrusively to the gents.
When he reached the salmon tiled convenience, he was relieved to find that it was empty. No-one stood at the dripping urinals and none of the cubicles that lined one wall were occupied. There was, however, a hole. It looked as though part of the flooring had been brutally ripped away, revealing the open hatch of a narrow access shaft. David stood, staring down into the darkness. He couldn't see the bottom. Vague clicks and gurgles were coming from somewhere in the shadows.
Everyone knew about the under workings but they were hardly ever spoken of. Employees were encouraged to engage only in appropriate conversations and the sewage processing systems were an unsavoury topic. As with everything else, there were stories. Rumour had it that when the Corporate Structure had finally encircled the surface of the entire globe, there had been those that had hidden away beneath it, pursuing a new and unimaginable existence.
The music had started again. The notes were even more hypnotic this time. David listened, aware that nine o'clock was drawing ever nearer and yet powerless to tear himself away. He had never imagined that anything could be so beautiful. Yet it was coming from a sewer.
Almost without thinking about what he was doing, David began to climb down the shaft, grasping onto the metal handholds that jutted out of the slime coated walls. The further down he went, the clearer and more enchanting the melody became. The opening above was an ever receding circle of light. For a while he was descending in pitch black, Then he realized that there was a faint glow coming from somewhere beneath him. He was very close to the bottom of the shaft and there were no more handholds. He had to drop the last few metres onto to the damp floor. Fortunately, he managed to land on his feet.
The low chamber was lit by flickering electric lamps that swung from thick chains. The grimy stone walls were riddled with circular openings of various sizes. In one of them sat the source of the music.
The Sewer Boy was tall and pale, his skin almost pure white. His large eyes bulged like a frog's. He had long, greasy, black hair. The brown leathery clothes he wore were wet an

fracture_childFri 18/01/08 18:40

wet and shiny, decorated with small metal shapes. He seemed to David like some strange mixture of reptile, insect and human. He was playing on a set of wooden pipes. For a few moments he carried on with his tune. Then he stopped and looked at the suited intruder.
‘No way back for you now, my friend'
David swallowed before replying. His voice, when he spoke, was little more than a whimper.
‘What….what do you mean?'
‘You belong to the under workings. If you didn't, you wouldn't have been able to hear my music. You have no choice but to stay here and…'.He smiled, revealing crooked teeth. ‘Explore'
The Sewer Boy sprung to his feet, turned and disappeared into the gloomy tunnel beyond the opening. Terrified at the thought of being alone down here, David followed him. The floor was pitted and uneven. Deep puddles soaked his polished shoes. Oily mechanisms pulsed and bubbled in the darkness. A metallic stench pervaded the air.
This was madness. He should stop, but the music had changed him. Already he could feel his perceptions altering in response to this underworld realm.
He heard a sudden, resounding clang! echo down the tunnel. He knew what must have happened. The hatch had closed, sealing off his escape route. Panicking, he turned back the way he had come. Something shifted beneath his sodden feet and he was falling forward. The floor connected sharply with his head…
When he awoke, he was being carried through the darkness. The Sewer Boy was unexpectedly strong. He was holding him as though he weighed nothing. He was singing as he walked, an unearthly song in a language David had never heard before.
How far had they come now? How deep into the under workings was he? Briefly, he remembered the office. Someone would have noticed by now that he wasn't at his workstation. He reached up to his ear and was not surprised to discover that the earpiece was gone. Such things no longer mattered. He belonged to the sewer now and he would learn its ways soon enough.

By Damian Whittle