Having a party or barbeque? Want your guests to be satisfied and impressed? Do you live on their validation? Don’t believe all their compliments of your previous snacks? Wish you could climb inside their brains and find out how much they secretly hate you? You need therapy and you also need these delectable homemade onion rings.

  “‘Having a rough day?’ Bit of an understatement, don’t you think, dear?”

  Rita gently elbowed her phone out of her husband’s hands as she manipulated the steering wheel. “Hey, if you want a lift to your badminton you’ll stay out of my stuff. Unless you want to be ejected onto the hard shoulder.”

  Ronnie Vassell rolled his eyes at his wife, before gripping the dashboard as Rita tore round the corner in her battered Micra, on a reckless mission to get to the Horseshoe Leisure Centre on time. “You teased that strange things were happening to your allotment pals. Of course I was going to be curious.” He didn’t bother to mention the hypocrisy of being asked to mind his own business by Rita.

  “I said they claimed strange things were happening to them. But I suspect they’re just overexaggerating. People do that when they’re in bad moods and they want someone to vent to. So I thought why not make myself available for those who need to do that.”

  Her husband said and waited for the other shoe to drop.

  “And alright I admit, they got me insanely curious too! I can’t help myself, our friends do anything interesting, I need to know about it! And if it really is something serious, other people should know about it! And better it be me than someone like Lady Thorne, who I swear only pretends to listen…”

  Ronnie smirked surreptitiously as he kept thinking. “And are these friends of yours prone to exaggerate their issues so wildly?”

  Rita frowned. “Sort of… not really? But then they have so much going on in their lives I wouldn’t blame them for being a bit dramatic. Maybe you should come help out sometime, then you can meet them for yourself.”

  God, I’d rather die

  “Nah, you’re alright love. I can’t even eat vegetables, never mind farm them.”

  Rita flicked her eyes off of the road in surprise at what she heard. It wasn’t Ronnie’s stated disinterest in vegetables; that was well established to her. Last night he refused her homemade, home grown, onion rings to go with his fish fingers and chips. But she had never heard such a blunt rejection from him before, and she swore she heard it before he started speaking.

  A blaring horn from an overtaking van sharply refocused her attention.

  Fuck’s sake, keep your bloody eyes on the road woman!

  “Careful now, dear.” said Ronnie nonchalantly.

  “Well I would keep my bloody eyes on the road if you didn’t keep being so rude!”

  “What?!” Ronnie’s face turned more crimson than the traffic light Rita ran through.

  Fuming slightly, Rita made a point to her complaining passenger by concentrating wholly on the traffic on the intersection ahead of her. But as she eyed up each car on the road, however, more disembodied voices burst into her mind.

  Why did I let Tomas sign up for karate lessons? Now I’m his bloody chauffeur all evening

  Ooh, is that a new Thai place on the corner? That would be an impressive place to take Gail out to.

  Ce-o s? fac dac? acel monstru se ?ntoarce la cafeneaua mea?

  Grazed the curb, grazed the curb, I grazed the fucking curb, I don’t deserve my licence.

  Fuck yeah, keep jogging sweetheart, those puppies are nearly popping out

  WHY ISN’T SHE FUCKING INDICATING?!

  With a gasp, Rita heaved the steering wheel and narrowly swerved around the taxi barrelling into her path as she made a right turn onto Silchester Road. Ronnie was almost weeping as he clung to the grab handle over the window like a safety blanket.

  “What’s gotten into you Rita? You’re driving more carelessly than… this is really unlike… this isn’t good!”

  Rita pulled over and, after fiddling with the radio dials until she was certain they were off all along, dared to ask the question. “Did you hear a load of voices in here just now?”

  Shit, is she really losing it?

  “No, Ron, I am not losing it and I thought you promised you’d watch your language. There. You didn’t say that, but I heard it.”

  Ronnie whimpered imperceptibly, then took a deep breath. “I think I can walk from here. Ta love.”

  “Nah, what’s the point in that? I’ll still be driving right past the Horseshoe on my way to the allotment.”

  As long as you’re not driven to distraction by me thinking too loud. Literally.

  We’ll be fine. Now I understand where the voices are coming from, they won’t be as distracting.

  Oh blimey, now you’re talking without speaking!

  Oh, I guess I am. Well, you know how I hate feeling left out.

  And tell me, dear, do we have any theories whatsoever as to why you’re able to-

  WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING?

  FUCK! WHAT AM I EVEN LOOKING AT?

  FLOOR IT! GET AWAY FROM THE MONSTER!

  Sorry Ron, can I put you on hold? I’m getting a lot of panicked voices on the line.

  The source of these half-crazed thoughts became obvious as the couple approached the junction with the access road leading to the leisure centre. Half a dozen vehicles zoomed away from the Horseshoe at breakneck pace. Rita stalled at the entrance, fearful as to what imminent danger could have provoked this behaviour.

  A sleek, silver car approached the junction in an unnaturally jerky fashion. The jarring motion was no fault of the driver, but of the gigantic, inordinately-muscled humanoid, now only vaguely recognizable as Horace McGinty, gripping the roof of the car. He was growling a patronising lecture as he stomped down the road.

  “Now you see, the speed we’re going at now is 5 miles per hour. This is the speed you were supposed to be going in this car park. That’s why that sign here has a big number 5 on it.” The giant pointed vigorously at the sign, then leaned over to peer his scowling face through the driver window. “Do you think you’ll remember that in future, or will the thrill of owning a shiny new Mercedes still be too much of a distraction?”

  As Horace spoke, he struggled to meet the driver’s eye level on account of being thrice the height of the car. Thus, his hands relaxed their grip enough for the terrified motorist to speed away from his overbearing captor.

  The titan watched him go, wincing his beady eyes at the noise emanating behind the car. “Typical, they never listen. And of course he’s drilled holes in the exhaust.” With a billowing sigh he turned towards the waiting car. “Oh, hello Rita.”

  Dear! You know this freak?

  That’s Horace McGinty, that’s… just what he looks like now, I guess

  Wait, you mean this is that anal stick-in-the-mud?

  He had quite the monstrous makeover yesterday. I’ve no idea how but we were all really hoping it was temporary. But no, he’s actually bigger than ever!

  Now that Horace had acknowledged her, Rita had no choice but to engage in the traditional “awkward conversation with the acquaintance she saw regularly enough to talk to, but not know well enough to know what to say”. And as she rolled down the window and looked over Horace’s transformed body, clad in a hand-sewn tunic and makeshift tea tray sandals, the awkwardness from this encounter had no upper limit.

  “Horace! Hello… So… What brings you to the Horseshoe?”

  “Sorry, if we’re going to chat, I’ll need you to roll off the double yellow lines. I can help with that if you like. Seems everyone needs help driving properly today…”

  Rita wordlessly sped ahead to a grass verge where she could park freely, as fast as the speed limit allowed. She was less unnerved by the goliath’s offer to manhandle her car than the coldly stern thought she’d received from his mind:

  I expected better from you. Why do I keep expecting anything from people?

  Meanwhile Horace continued speaking casually, “Much obliged, duck. Anyway I just had a fantastic circuit at the gym here. As over budgeted as I believe this site was, it is extensive enough to let me explore working every muscle group.”

  “So is that how you’ve bulked up?” Ronnie squeaked.

  “No, just started today. I couldn’t have hoped to survive a gym with the state my back and knees were in, until it got fixed up.” Horace chortled and slapped his bicep. “Quite a lovely turn of fortune, though I would prefer an explanation of how it happened. Right now it’s just one of those things that happen. One of those things that cost me a ton in damages.”

  “I can imagine.” Rita remarked, looking over all twelve feet of him.

  Horace shrugged. “I paid in full of course, but I called them out for charging me for two ruined treadmills when they were the ones who insisted I wouldn’t fit on one. By the way,” He craned his neck to address Ronnie. “If you’re waiting for Neil, I saw him crouched under a table in the cafe, probably looking for a contact lens but didn’t seem to want any help. Hope you two have a good game!”

  Ronnie glanced confusedly behind him to check the monster was talking to him, in doing so confirming that all his pricey badminton gear was out of sight in the boot. “Right, but how did you know I had a game with Neil?”

  Horace frowned. “Just a feeling, I guess. I’ve been gleaming a lot of facts about people lately. Spence says it’s creepy, but I think it’s just good intuition.”

  “Sounds like you can read minds too. Brilliant. You and my missus have so much to silently transmit about.” Bordering on hysterics, Ronnie leapt out of the car, grabbed his things from the back and raced down the path to the Horseshoe, leaving Rita hoping the place was still in operation following Horace’s visit.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  “Well, bye dear, I guess. So Horace, I was going to work the ground over at the allotment. Would you like to tag along?”

  “Sorry, I must head home and deal with my wardrobe situation. Another downside to my new health, alas, but at least I’ve put my Scout’s sewing badge to good use. I made a few of these long-shirts last night, but with more time I’d like to make something a bit more dignified. Trousers, for instance. I’ll catch you later.”

  Still adjusting to this new reality, Rita carried on down the road, leaving Horace staring after her. There was something in his eyes that seemed troubled and, despite her more sensible judgement, listened in to what was bothering him.

  The towers are in scaffolding again. Their promise to abide by the law… now lies in ruins. This injustice cannot go… unaddressed. Not that you care, eh Rita? Well, do you?

  Following Horace’s gaze whilst suppressing a chill, she found the context for these ominous words: the housing development next to Viceroy Allotments, the one Horace lodged a successful objection to prevent their storeys blocking the light to the allotments, had begun new construction work on its rooves. Rita cringed, remembering how tense Horace’s crusade against the complex had made the atmosphere at the allotments.

  He was a one man political rally, railing against Vantage Property Development. Circulating petitions, calling round the local press, standing in front of the Council offices at the Guildhall all day, he did it all. And throughout, he asserted he was speaking for all the “infuriated” tenants at Viceroy, a claim Rita and many other tenants did not agree with any more than they’d asked for all the media attention whilst they were potting. As she finally rolled into a parking space by the allotments, Rita looked over the modest patch of ramshackle farms and imagined it as the centre of another epic legal fight, only this time with its fuming spearhead as a powerful, colossal monster. She shuddered.

  Walking briskly down the path Rita saw another, more welcome surprise: her sister taking the garden hose to their plot.

  “Josie! What are you doing here? I thought you were working late on the Hay article?”

  “Huh? Oh yes, I thought I’d need to work late, but I ended up finishing the final draft by lunchtime.” Josie tittered in disbelief at her luck.

  Such a laugh signalled to Rita that her sister was hiding something. “Really? I mean, that’s fabulous news, bang-up job, sis! That was a four page feature, wasn’t it?”

  “It was six actually, and even after they told me to edit it down to one page because all my thoroughly researched reviews and interviews were too niche and wouldn’t appeal to anyone, I still finished with plenty of time to come down and water.”

  Said watering was an awesome spectacle. Josie swung the hose across the width of the plot with such velocity her arm became an invisible blur. This wasn’t ideal, as well as physically improbable, as the water jet was reduced to a barely perceptible mist that merely breathed on the crops, as well as a nearby Spencer Tompkins.

  Rita instinctively wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery as fast as possible, and began concentrating on the back of Josie’s head to trigger another brainwave before having a pang of conscience. Breaching the private thoughts of others with her esoteric powers of clairvoyance probably shouldn’t be used eagerly at every opportunity, as she did with her new pasta maker.

  Instead, Rita casually suggested “The courgettes at the back could use a sprinkling, with your new aerosol hose.”

  When Josephine followed this advice by moving down the allotment path faster than Rita’s eyes could process the sight, she finally maxed out her tolerance for witnessing bizarre happenings and blurted out “Josie, I think we need to talk.”

  Josephine’s movements instantly went from supersonic to glacial. “What is it? That was a ‘Mum’s in the hospital’ tone of voice.”

  “I wish… I mean, I wish it was that straightforward. Strange things have been happening to everyone we know. First everyone says they’re getting weird illnesses, then I start hearing… voices, like the voices in people’s heads and then I run into Horace again…”

  “Oh God, where was he?” Spencer broke the illusion of not-eavesdropping with a jolt.

  “At the leisure centre. He’s bigger than ever and he’s on the warpath, I’ll warn you now. To cap it all off you’ve suddenly become the new Paula Radcliffe, when you move I can’t even see you,”

  Josephine scoffed, dumbfounded by the accusation. “Don’t be ridiculous, don’t you think I’d have noticed if I was speeding around the place?”

  “No it’s true.” Spencer interjected. “I was watching your tools and trubs move about the plot by themselves and I thought you were a ghost for hours.”

  Josephine paled at this, in a coincidental yet unintentional mimic of a phantom. “Seriously?! Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Say something to a ghost? That’s just asking for trouble.”

  Rita wrested control of the conversation again. “My point is, we’re all having these weird… disorders, manifestations? Whatever we want to call them, I don’t think it’ll do any good to keep ignoring them. Heavens, hearing voices in my mind nearly made me crash my car…”

  “No huge change, to be fair.”

  “Thank you Josie, and now Horace has spotted the Viceroy tower blocks are being built on again. Couple that with his massive strength, and I’m worried he’ll do something very silly.”

  “Christ.” Spencer gripped his fork in front of him. “I thought I had more time to prepare for that. Why did they have to put the scaffolds up so soon? They just announced their plans in the news! I know because I had to buy up all the local papers at the off-licence before Horace could squeeze through the door.”

  “Oh, Spence.” Rita looked at him pityingly. “You shouldn’t have to put that responsibility upon yourself. Horace should be able to mind himself.”

  “Yeah.” Josephine softly agreed. She was slightly mesmerised by the accelerated blur of her arm motions as she verified Rita’s observations for herself. “You should just be thankful you’ve managed to avoid whatever’s going round the rest of us.”

  “Mmm, about that. May I direct you two ladies to this little development?” Spencer pointed downwards and Josie let out a scream as the two women noticed for the first time how the tines of the garden fork had cleanly pierced the centre of Spencer’s right foot.

  “God almighty!” Rita shrieked. “That must hurt like hell!” She whipped her phone out to call an ambulance before Spencer held out a hand to stop her.”

  “What’s the rush? I did this a while ago, as in half an hour ago. If I’m right I suspect it won’t matter.”

  “Oh no. Are we having some deep thoughts today? There’s always light at the end of the tunnel” said Rita consolingly.

  Shaking his head, Spencer yanked the fork out of the ground and nonchalantly removed the shoe and sock from the wounded foot, except it wasn’t wounded. There wasn’t a puncture or even a scratch to be found. The only evidence of injury was a couple of deep crimson marks that resembled large mosquito bites rather than the expected gashes.

  Rita was at a rare loss for words, so Spencer proceeded to explain. “This is the fourth time it’s happened. First time I was at home cutting my corn off the cob, sliced the end of a finger off and it grew back while I was looking through my mess of a bathroom for a plaster. I thought it was pure luck, but then I was rammed by that car, and you both saw how little damage that did. Then today I fell hard, flat onto concrete, racing round for all those newspapers, heard a break in my ribs but couldn’t see or feel anything wrong. Each time the only mark left behind is this reddish skin, and that’s just cosmetic. Doesn’t even feel sore.”

  Rita noted the tone of his explanation was more melancholy than the amazement she’d have in Spencer’s situation. This mood was confirmed when a gloomy thought crossed, without prompting, directly from Spencer’s brain.

  How can feeling no pain be so depressing? Is this what being a ghost feels like?

  Spencer, no, there's no need for that talk. You're not feeling like a ghost, you’re just feeling different, which is a totally reasonable reaction.

  Bloody hell, well you made me feel a jolt just now. What's this speaking in my head?

  That's what's been going wrong with me. Sorry, I could have explained it normally but trying to say ‘I'm telepathic’ out loud makes me feel even more insane than I already do. Thought a demonstration would be better.

  I suppose it would sound mad… and you can do this with anyone?

  Seems so, it's only started today. Still working things out. Hold on, Josie's looking left out, and likely confused about us just staring blankly at each other. Hello Josie, can you hear me now?

  …they about to bloody kiss? Oh shit, what the ACTUAL fuck?!

  Calm calm, dear sister. I was just about to check if Spencer could hear you, so maybe turn down the swearing.

  Indeed I can. Welcome to the telepathic exchange, Josephine. Please hold while Rita tries to connect you with someone who knows what the hell's going on.

  Wait, no, sod it, I don’t want my mind read. I'm struggling enough as it is. Stupid boss, losing track of time, can't see my arms move, broken fucking printer.

  What was that?

  Sorry, I'm used to juggling several trains of thought. Maybe we should revert to actual human speech or else this may fast become incomprehensible.

  Of course, of course, just wanted to quickly get us all on the same page. I'll go back to speaking now. Speaking with my mouth, I mean. This right now feels like speaking normally to me, funny how quickly it's naturalising. But I suppose a lot of things do-

  It's not naturalising to me, so for the love of God stop it! Why are you always like this?

  Josephine’s distress at the mental infiltration manifested as jumping nervously on the spot, sped up to the point that it appeared she was merely hovering haphazardly in the air. Fortunately she was able to verbalise at a normal speed, albeit with visible effort, so her serious questions didn’t sound like it was coming from a chipmunk. “What are we going to do about all this? What can we even do?”

  Rita sighed. “All I can think of is seeking medical help. I know asking, like, a GP isn't going to answer all six thousand questions we have right now, but it’s likely the best place to start.”

  “Are you expecting them to refer you to a specialist in psychics?” Josephine asked. Rita could only shrug in response to her blatant cynicism. Josephine was often the one to keep her sister grounded, but Rita wasn’t finding that helpful now nothing seemed grounded.

  “And here I thought I had the advantage of never needing to see a doctor again.” Spencer cracked a smile. “Yeah I'll go down the surgery with you, Rita. A medical miracle like this will probably make me very popular with the nurses if nothing else.”

  Rita looked expectantly at Josephine, who shook her head. “You go on ahead, I'm not convinced it’ll be more than a waste of time. Frankly, doctors have never handled anything out of the ordinary very well in my experience.”

  “And what about Horace?” said Spencer. “He'll still be running amok, and you won't get him down the doctors. Not without an artic lorry and some horse tranquilisers!”

  “I think we have to accept that Horace's escapades are out of our hands. We could never dissuade him before, I don't see any hope now.” Josephine suggested.

  Rita nodded reluctantly. “Agreed. I know you're mates, but running around after him buying up newspapers isn't going to make much difference. You should focus on yourself Spencer. Retirees like yourself should have fewer stresses in their lives!”

  Spencer mulled this over as he turned over the last spots of his turnip patch. “Fine, but someone has to at least keep an eye on him, if only for his own safety. I'll be seeing him tomorrow evening anyway. That's chess night.” he began gathering his tools, to pack up and head back to his flat in town.

  After he left, the Roscoffs were left to finish working on their allotment without outside distractions. This consisted mostly of Rita trying to follow Josephine's supersonic motion blur and then offer advice from her Monty Don guides in the seconds before they became completely redundant. Eight minutes later, all the ground was plowed and a crop of assorted summer squash had been picked.

  Josephine loaded the vegetables into Rita’s car with the swiftness of a delicate hurricane. “So you'll be seeing the doctors tomorrow?”

  “Hopefully.” Rita replied. “I expect Spencer and I will have to ring up at 8 tomorrow morning to fight for an urgent appointment. Maybe earlier if there are many others going all weird too.” She sighed, considering the logistics of her plan for the first time. “It’s a shame no-one else turned up today. Either everyone else’s ailments are more serious than we thought, or so banal they weren’t worth discussing. I wonder if I should get appointments for the Marygolds and Brian too, just in case?”

  “Oof, don’t torture yourself, especially not with a weapon as foul as an automated telephone menu. Let’s wait and see how your appointment goes first, then let everyone else know how it went.” Josephine looked at her sister with a mix of incredulity and concern. “Do you really think they'll be able to help with this madness?”

  “Maybe, eventually? Right now I'm just looking to gain as much information as possible, or indeed, any information will do. Then maybe we can find out something that can stop other people's voices butting into my mind.”

  Josephine nodded, smirking. “Absolutely, can't have you getting distracted on the road… more than usual.”

  “Heh, quite.” Rita brushed the comment off. “And I'm sure everyone else around me doesn't want their thoughts read. Though… if you’re right and the doctors can't help, what can the people do about it?”

  Josephine could only answer by sucking air through her teeth. “Well, I suppose I won't need a lift home today.”

  “Oh, did you want to come around our house for tea?”

  “Wish I could, but since I got all my articles in early, I’m now expected to provide ‘creative assistance’ to the flagging contributors. So says the grand overseer of Arcadia Publishing.”

  Despite trying her utmost to respect Josephine’s boundaries, Rita’s brain disobeyed and pried the definition of ‘creative assistance’ from her sister’s inner commentary, playing in stereo with her spoken words: Doing all the work with no shitting credit.

  Rita refrained from saying anything and watched Josephine shoot off like a rocket over the horizon. Settling into her car, Rita was contemplatively staring into space for a few minutes until she was interrupted by a notification on her phone. She unlocked it to find a message from Josie:

  Just got home, world sprinting records completely broken. Discovered another weird symptom when I grazed a postbox that I’ll tell you about later. But I saw this online and thought you might want to see asap [Link]

  Following this link to Instagram turned out to be a rabbit hole that revealed to Rita that the maddening situation she was in was spreading faster than she could imagine.