The Unfortunate Case of Brian Jones, and other short stories

The Unfortunate Case of Brian Jones

Mr Brian Jones, of 124 Newmarket St.,  had no idea what was happening to him. Of course, there was every chance that it was in his head, but the bruises all over his chest said differently.

Mr Jones worked in customer services for Tesco. An ordinary enough job, really, and Mr Jones was certainly well suited for it - he was friendly, easygoing and had a near-infinite supply of patience.

It was, however, difficult to placate a customer about their rotten cucumber whilst one was being hit repeatedly in the chest by a series of tennis balls that seemed to come from nowhere. This wasn't even the first time it had happened.

When Brian had first applied for the job, it had been vacant for a while. This was because the previous occupant had been admitted to hospital in a freak accident when a lead box had fallen on his head out of nowhere (coincidence? Brian was beginning to think not) and ever since people had been wary of applying for the job. Was it cursed? Something Brian would once have dismissed instantaneously suddenly held a bit more weight.

As the sole applicant, Brian had immediately been given the job, though he was well suited to the profession anyway. He had started with the usual things one does when one works at customer services; namely, telephone calls and pacifying those who called. But as they days wore on, things had started to get slightly bizarre.

Was it poltergeists, maybe? Brian hoped not. His grandmother had claimed she saw a poltergeist once, but the shock had given her a heart attack.

Anyway - about five days into his new job, Brian had come to his office as usual, only to be faced with a most distressing sight. His desk, broken in half down the middle, and a strange metal box on top, which seemed to be the culprit. Gracious, Brian had thought. That could have been me. He had stored the box in the corner of the office, and his insurance had gotten him a new desk within the week.

Brian glanced at the row of metal boxes in gradually increasing size in front of him. Only about ten in total, but, after all, that is ten desks worth of damage. (Only four, actually. His insurance had quickly stopped replacing his desks, so of late he had taken to working at one of those metal-framed tables one finds in the town hall. It had seemed sturdier than a wooden desk.)

It was most unfortunate luck, he reflected, that every time he moved his desk the objects had an uncanny habit of hitting him - or the table, if he wasn't there. Several times he could have sworn some echoing laughter followed the boxes through their spiralling tornado. (That part must have been in his head, said the logical part of his brain. One does not find hurricanes indoors.)

Brian put his head in his hands as he surveyed the ten boxes and their newly arrived companions, the tennis balls. The universe, he decided, was most cruel. And she was probably also female and with a depraved sense of humour. Such things are sentences one hears quite often - "the universe is cruel", "the universe has a strange sense of humour". But for Brian, they had never held more truth.

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A/N I hope you enjoyed this!! 😊
If you would like me to continue this, please leave a comment, I'm also open to suggestions for future chapters!
For those of you who noticed there are other chapters in this book, it's not a continuation (yet), this 'book' is a collection of all my fanfics (but please do read them as well!)
This story was inspired by NewtValdez 's story 'Those Chosen Kids', please give it a read!

[A/N (Jul 2022, 2-3 years later): I will not be continuing this. Please do enjoy, though, and do check out my friend's story which he is rewriting at the moment!]