Chapter XXIX

Wilberforce awoke from yet another nightmare featuring the doll from test card F. It was one of his less frightening and more curious dreams.
The girl playing noughts and crosses with the doll was replaced by Wilberforce’s sister; the way she looked when he last saw her seven years previously.
The still picture began to move, and Grace Windcheater began the game by chalking an x in the bottom left square. The doll responded by marking a nought diagonally opposite. After each player’s turn, both competitors turned back to face the viewer, and were freeze framed for a few seconds in the pose familiar to millions. Grace Windcheater did a fine job replicating the Mona Lisa half grin of the replaced girl.
The game continued in equal time spans of still and moving picture until only the centre square remained. It was Grace’s turn, and her final x would defeat the doll.
As Grace lifted the chalk toward the blackboard to deliver the knock out blow, granny Windcheater and Tommy Trite appeared onscreen. As they did so, the circular borders of the picture expanded to fill the whole screen.
Granny Windcheater lifted the doll’s torso, while Tommy opened the lid to a large wooden box – decorated with various black and white test patterns.
The doll showed mild displeasure, turning to face the three adults in turn with a why me? look. Grace and Tommy joined forces with granny to help lift the doll into the box and slam the lid shut. Grace and granny sat on the lid, while Tommy affixed a padlock.
Despite having no limbs, the doll made continuous thumping noises inside the box, which were enough to shake the camera that was filming the scene.
Eventually, the doll’s panicked thumping became softer and less intermittent, before everything became silent.
The three adults shook hands and embraced with one another, before they stood in line and saluted to the camera. All three then engaged in informal chatter, but Wilberforce couldn’t make out any of the words spoken. The conversation between the three was light-hearted, and accompanied by nods, smiles, and gentle gesticulations.
The doll came into view at the left hand side of the screen, behind the still chattering adults. The doll’s expression was one of secret plotting, and one that encouraged the viewer to keep its appearance a secret.
The scene then became black, and was accompanied by a high pitched and agitating drone.

It was three-fifty when Wilberforce awoke, and the June sky was beginning to lighten outside his bedroom window. He led still for a few moments, puzzled by the silly surrealism of his latest nocturnal adventure involving the doll.
He made his way compulsively down the stairs and into the kitchen, lifted the kettle onto the hob, and took a seat at the table in order to wallow in a period of remembrance and nostalgia.
His sister’s wellbeing was uppermost in his concerns. Although a lot of his childhood was spent being teased and aggravated by his older sibling, Wilberforce recalled her fondly and hoped that she was well, wherever she was.
Wilberforce was a million miles away with his thoughts, and was only freed from his trance by the whistling kettle. He poured the boiling water into his mug adorned with an illustration of Stephenson’s Rocket – a much treasured gift from Tommy Trite, which he received a week before the old man passed away.
Owing to Wilberforce’s emotional state of mind, it took him several seconds to realise that he’d forsaken one of his long term obsessive compulsions – re-boiling the kettle if he failed to lift it off the hob before it began singing.
The nineteen year old was beginning to realise that various obsessions were affecting his life, and that the stress caused by such strict adherence to them wasn’t doing him any favours in the outside world.
Wilberforce decided that he would conduct a little experiment as soon as he finished his milky coffee. It would be designed to show whether or not he was free of the ‘whistling kettle’ compulsion.
He placed the kettle back onto the hob to boil again. Wilberforce endured sweaty palms and nausea as he awaited the outcome. The kettle whistled, Wilberforce lifted it off, and he was now free from his anxiety.
The second cup of coffee tasted infinitely better than the first, and Wilberforce decided to strike while the iron was hot by making his way back to the foot of the stairs.
He knew that the kettle compulsion was now behind him, and that if he could get through the barrier of breaking a habit once, then it would be broken forever.
Wilberforce stood trembling as the daunting task of climbing the stairs without the merest thought of correct foot positions awaited him.

William Windcheater was a sound sleeper, and the stresses of the real world rarely overlapped into his dreams.
For the first time since his childhood, he was ruffled by a night terror. The contents of the dream were so vivid, it took William almost a minute to unfold enough layers of consciousness before realising that none of the events had actually occurred.
The head of the household took great care not to wake his silently dozing wife as he swung his legs off the bed and placed his feet into his slippers in one movement. Although the youngest Windcheater was in a league of his own with compulsions, William’s regimented peculiarity of having his slippers aligned perfectly on the bedroom floor for feet insertion was an obsession of the top order that even Wilberforce would’ve admired.
William softly padded down the stairs and met his son stood halfway.
“Shouldn’t you be back in bed?....you know you’ve got a long day in front of you.”
Wilberforce gave his father a puzzled look.
“How can I sleep if you’re always inviting people round?”
Wilberforce left his father standing on the stairs as he took the few steps to the bottom, turned right and opened the front door, leaving it ajar as he stepped outside the house.
William was spooked by his son’s behaviour, and was curious to know what he meant by his brief reply.
Mr Windcheater shook his head as he entered the lounge adorned in his light blue pyjamas and beige slippers.
He had no idea what time it was, but because it was still pitch black outside, knew that it was sometime during the very small hours. He was aware that the summer solstice was only a few days away, and realised that his natural waking time was a long way ahead. Despite the ungodliness of the hour, William decided to switch on the television in an attempt to receive some answers. It was a long shot, but worth a try.
William sat himself down in a huge wicker chair to view the TV. There was room for two people on the chair, and he was immediately joined by his veteran bank customer, Mrs Trumpworth, who almost immediately sprang back up again. She stood two yards in front of William.
“Good morning Mrs Trumpworth, and how are you today?”
William offered the greeting with nervous reluctance, as the old woman had been dead a good few years now.
“I can’t complain, though my being dead is playing me up a bit.
“I saw the doctor, and all he said was to snap out of it, eat plenty of vegetables and sausages, and I’d soon be feeling alive.
“He’s only half my age, and he thinks he knows more about being dead than I do!”
Mrs Trumpworth then raised her left leg high into the air in order to break wind in comfort.
“Cor blimey....it’s been years since I’ve managed to do that!”
Mrs Trumpworth was delighted with her handiwork.
“I don’t care what the doctor says, you don’t get many of those to the pound!”
The old lady giggled at her own response, then produced a crisp five pound note and proceeded to wave it in front of the nocturnally dressed bank manager.
“Just think William, this’ll pay for a few doughnuts, eh?”
Mr Windcheater was welling up with paranoia, but found himself unable to respond.
“I was talking to Miss Worlechort just the other day; that was a right song and dance I don’t mind telling you!
“She had to keep prodding me with her stick to wake me up!
“Because she’s still alive, it was a right to-do!
“Anyway, we carried on like you shouldn’t wonder. We were talking about how young people had no respect any more, and how they’re shown bad examples by people who have doughnuts flung at their John Thomas!
“The long and short of it was that Miss Worlechort said you had a tiny one.”
William’s nightmare status had now taken on storm force twelve proportions, and reached an even greater intensity when he looked down at himself to discover he was naked, with his genitals replaced by a child’s doll style nothingness.
“You wouldn’t give it credence would you!”
Mrs Trumpworth’s latest excited exclamation was accompanied by another raising of the left leg and lusty wind release.
“She told everyone on the high street that your cock was so small that you wouldn’t be able to pierce candyfloss with it!
“Then of course all hell broke loose. The man from the gas board said he’d never seen anything like it, and that bloke from over the road who’s on the buses said he’d never known anything so daft.
“He had a point, mind you. I’ve never known such a palaver!”
William was mesmerised by the chirpy hostility shown by the old woman toward his inadequate dimensions. His inability to respond was more powerful than ever.
“Anyway, I’d best be getting along.”
William viewed Mrs Trumpworth walk toward the open living room window, climb out of it with a leading left leg, and emit one final statement from her backside.
“Oops! Oh well, better out than in I can tell you!”
The old lady paused briefly as she straddled the window frame. She pointed at the television set, turned back to William and signed off with,
“I don’t want to intrude in your hour of grief, so I’ll leave you to it.”
Mrs Trumpworth then disappeared into the blackness.
William stared at the blank screen with extreme fascination and fear as to what further ignominies awaited him.
An image of seventies television star Hughie Green gradually came into focus, and he began to talk as soon as his image reached full clarity.
“Good morning everybody, and welcome to Opportunity Cocks.”
The relentless attacks on William’s private measurements were enough for him to sink his head into his hands. He wasn’t given any respite when after a few seconds he looked at the screen again.
“Tonight, we have six contestants – all waiting to hear the news from our studio audience that they have the tiniest of todgers.”
William watched in escalating horror as the show’s host walked across to greet the contestants. All six were duplicate images of Mr Windcheater himself – naked and genitalless.
Before Mr Green could speak to any of the Williams’, a rapturous burst of applause thundered out from the audience, which continued unabated in its ferocity until the clapometer exploded in protest.
“There you have it ladies and gentlemen, a star is born!”
Hughie Green climbed out from the television, walked past the aghast William, and muttered,
“Let me be the first to tell your good lady wife the wonderful news.”
Mr Windcheater leapt up from his seat and chased after the TV star maker.
Green bounded up the stairs two at a time, with the troubled bank manager powerless to make up ground. As William eventually reached the landing, he was horrified to see the master bedroom door wide open. He stepped inside to find Hughie Green underneath the sheets and shaking Catherine violently.
William got into bed and tried to prise Green away from his wife. The TV host had no intention of giving quarter, and continued his fervent attempts to awaken Mrs Windcheater.

Catherine was rudely awakened by her husband’s shaking of her shoulders.
William led back on the pillow, sweat pouring from his face. Catherine rested herself on her right elbow for several seconds staring at William’s panicked physical appearance.
“It’s okay love – I’ve just had a bit of a bad dream.”
William kissed his concerned wife on the cheek, then strode across the landing to the bathroom. He studied his face in the mirror, and saw that his remaining wisps of hair couldn’t have looked more dishevelled if he’d spent the night fastened to a whirring helicopter blade.
He allowed himself a couple of minutes to gather his composure and to return to complete consciousness. William was relieved beyond words that his private parts were in fact not the main subject for debate throughout the entire country.
He got back into bed after using industrial amounts of brylcreem, and the sheer joy brought about by such utter relief worked as the aphrodisiac to get the Windcheater’s love life out of the sidings and back in service.
Ria Roughgorge’s unconventional doughnut therapy would no longer be required, and William would be quite happy to waive the remaining appointment that he’d paid for in advance.
In one way it was a shame, as the baker’s shop on the high street was sporting limited edition red, white and blue commemorative doughnuts in honour of HM Queen Elizabeth II’s silver jubilee.