This used to be my local shopping centre. Occasionally I came here on Saturday afternoons, when one of the centre staff was tasked with riding a miniature battery-powered version of Thomas from the Thomas the Tank Engine, complete with Annie and Clarabel passenger cars, with enough room on both to fit seven or eight rather excitable young toddlers on the journey around the ground floor.
Around and around the carriages would travel, gliding across the tiled floor, looping around the coffee bar and the key cutters, its passengers waving eagerly to the shoppers at the Cotton On, and then the Cotton On Kids next door, and then the Cotton On Baby next door to that, as speakers in the drivers' carriage blared out the same eight bars of the Thomas the Tank Engine overture over, and over, and over again. I must've heard those same eight bars, I don't know... probably 8,736 times.
Oh, how the children laughed and laughed! But would they laugh if they knew what wickedness was being wrought?
The changes were gradual at first. I noticed that every time I heard Octopus's Garden or Yellow Submarine on the radio, my nose started inexplicably bleeding. On the street one evening I saw a slightly overweight, foppish man wearing a mustard coloured vest, top hat and black waistcoat, and I became paralysed with a deep and mortifying sense of fear that receded as soon as soon as he turned into the milk bar and disappeared from sight.
It has taken years, but my life is back in some semblance of order Even now, I refuse to own a TV for fear another bout of accidental exposure to...it... on ABC3. I can't go back to the group home. The shocks. The screams. I swear on all that is holy, I'll die before they take me back there, mother. Mark my words.
Oh also, word of advice: try not to use the multi-storey car park. Driving through that thing is like trying to dock with a space station in the middle of the asteroid belt, if all the asteroids in the asteroid belt made the sound of angry, threatening bogans interspersed with honking horn noises that could deafen blue whales. Christ I hate that car park. read more