The Big Sofa: A Short Story
Created | Updated Apr 19, 2002
*Author's note: Apologies for width inconsistencies. Please feel free to cut and paste into a more readable format. Thankyou.*
The Big Sofa, by Matthew J. Turner
"Come on, push. We're almost there now."
"That's easy for you to say - you're on the pulling end. Okay. Here goes. After
three - one, two, three, h-e-a-v-e....there. Whew. I'm exhausted. I need to sit
down."
"Oh no you don't, Phil. Look, come on, we're five feet from the door. Once we
get it into the apartment, then you can sit down."
"Sally, you are a hard task-mistress. But I suppose you're right. Okay. You
open the door and I'll push the sofa. Right. Uhhh-hhhh-uh. Now help me lift it
sideways. Okay, God, it's heavy, okay, lower it again. There. Now. Where shall
we have it?"
"Over there, in front of the TV and beside the window."
"Right you are. There. Now can I sit down?"
"Yes. You've earned it. Sit down and I'll make some coffee."
Phil plumped himself down onto the newly-positioned sofa with a mock sigh of
relief. He sank into it, the cushions moulding themselves around him as if they
were welcoming him and encouraging him to put his feet up while they went and
fetched his slippers. It really was remarkably comfortable - your legs bent at
just the right place, the arm-rests were just the right height and your head
rested perfectly at the back. They had been incredibly lucky. And it hadn't cost
them a penny. In fact, now that he thought about it again, it had saved them
almost four hundred pounds. He wished he could see the expression on that
salesman's face. They had told him that they were going to fetch the money, but
really they had been going home to talk about it. Then, on the bus home, Sally
had been staring out of the window and, on a stretch of open road, she'd spotted
a skip, and next to it, this rather excellent sofa. It was quite humourous
really, the way she'd let out that yell so the bus stopped, and then dragged him
off the bus to look at it. He'd been initially suspicious, after all, why would
someone throw out a perfectly good sofa like this? There must be something wrong
with it. But as they tested it out they could find nothing wrong with it - it
didn't smell, the material looked new, the cushions were firm, the parts were
solidly put together, and best of all, it was really comfortable. So then they
had decided that it belonged to someone who was coming back for it, so they sat
on it for an hour, and when nobody came, Sally made Phil stay where he was (in
case someone else spotted it) while she went to fetch a friend with a van.
Still, he had to admit, it had been worth it. And at least they hadn't had to
shell out four hundred for that pink monstrosity in "Sofa So Good". He'd hated
that smarmy salesman too...
"Here we go, here's your coffee."
"What? Oh, cheers love. Sorry, I was miles away. I was thinking about how lucky
we've been."
"Incredible, isn't it?"
"I must admit though, I do feel better, having left that note".
"I wouldn't worry about it. After all, if it did belong to someone, they would
have left some sort of note themselves, wouldn't they?"
"Yes. Yes, of course."
"Have you noticed how the pattern matches our curtains and carpet?"
"Err...now that you mention it, yes. Looks rather good, doesn't it?"
"Oh, darling, I'm so happy. Come here and kiss me."
"...mmm..."
"I've got an idea. We could...you know..."
"What?"
"You know. Christen it."
"You mean here? Now?"
"Yes. Come here."
"Woah! I...um...ooh...well, alright, since you put it that way."
The next morning Sally and Phil awoke with big smiles on their faces - the
smiles of two people that have found The Perfect Sofa. Sally couldn't wait to
tell the other people in her office. Phil, on the other hand, didn't think the
people at the pub where he worked would be all that interested. Besides, he
didn't have to be at work till twelve, so he was going to take it easy. So, once
Sally had left, he made himself some toast and went to sit on the sofa, in front
of the TV. With the toast crunching in his ears, intermittently drowning out the
TV, Phil reflected that this was true luxury, vegging out in total comfort, his
legs bending in just the right...wait a minute. Something was different. But
what? He shifted position, raising himself upwards a tiny bit. That was it.
Although his legs still bent in the same place, where yesterday, his feet had
touched the ground, today they were just a fraction of a centimetre off the
floor. Probably because he wasn't wearing his shoes at the moment. Bound to be
it. Phil settled back into his toast and TV state. But it still nagged at him a
bit. Putting down the toast, he got up, put his shoes on and came back to the
sofa. Okay. Now his feet touched the ground and his legs bent in the right
place, but, hang on, now his arms and head were wrong. Well, not wrong, exactly,
he was still comfortable, but, well, not perfect. Not like yesterday. Oh, he
must be imagining it. He'd see if Sally noticed. Phil finished his toast
thoughtfully, but even that was somehow unsatisfactory now. He stood up and went
to get ready for work.
At six o'clock that evening, Sally came home and flopped straight into the
sofa. Phil wouldn't be back until after closing time, and she hoped he'd left
her some of whatever it was that she could smell. She wandered into the kitchen
- yes, he had, there was a plate of Shepherd's Pie in the oven. She put the oven
on to warm it up and went back to the sofa. It really was lovely, the way it
matched all the furniture like that. She turned on the TV and sat down again.
She kicked off her shoes and rested her feet on the...hang on. For some reason,
Sally's feet didn't quite touch the ground today. She could have sworn they did
yesterday. Had she shrunk? What was it one of her friends had told her once?
That you are shorter in the evening than you are in the morning, because of
gravity or something, wasn't that it? Yes, but she'd been on the sofa yesterday
evening, hadn't she, so that couldn't be it. She shifted position. Okay, now her
feet were on the floor, but her arms and head were wrong. Surely not. She must
just be being paranoid. She'd wait and see if Phil noticed anything.
"Hello, love - what are you doing here?"
"I was bored - I thought I'd come and see you at work."
"Great. What do you want?"
"Hmm? Oh, I don't know. Whiskey. Whiskey and...no. Just whiskey."
"Rough day at the office, eh? Do you want to talk about it?"
"No. Not really. Thanks for the dinner."
"Did you like it? To tell you the truth, I threw most of my half away. I just
didn't feel hungry for some reason. Here's your whiskey."
"Thanks. No, I ate most of it - it was nice. Mind you I was really hungry."
"Hang on, I've got to serve someone else. Back in a sec'."
"Phil, I..."
"What?"
"Nothing."
When they got up the next morning, Phil and Sally were no longer happy, smiling
people. They had both tried and failed to bring up the subject of the sofa the
night before, each of them reluctantly dismissing their feelings as just
silliness. After all, the sofa was still comfortable. They must have imagined
it's perfection. Certainly not worth bothering each other about. As it was
Sunday, neither of them had to work, so they got up slowly. At certain points in
the morning each of them stole suspicious glances at the sofa. Finally, Phil
went to sit down on it. This time his feet were a full couple of centimetres off
the floor. He looked at Sally, quickly. She was staring at him, waiting for him
to say something.
"You know, it's a funny thing, but..."
"Your feet don't touch the ground anymore?"
"Yes. How did you know?"
"It's the same with me. I thought it was just me. I thought I'd shrunk. I even
measured myself last night."
"And?"
"Still five foot seven."
"How odd."
"But why? I don't understand."
"I think I know. The sofa must have been out in the rain or something, and the
heat in here has slightly expanded the wood."
"Would that happen?"
"Yes, I think so."
"God, what a weight off my mind. You're so clever."
"Come and sit down."
"Will I be safe?"
"From the sofa, yes. I can't vouch for anything else though."
"Well, ok then..."
The next morning, there was really no question about it - the sofa had
expanded. Phil and Sally both got up early to check on the sofa and found that
their feet were now a full five centimetres off the ground when they sat down on
it. And it was pretty hard to attribute five whole centimetres to Phil's theory
of heat expansion. They tried though.
"It's bloody weird, however you look at it."
"I just don't understand it. It shouldn't expand this much, should it? And if
it was, wouldn't we hear creaking noises or something?"
"I wonder if it's stopped yet?"
"What? You mean it hasn't?"
"Well, who knows? I'll tell you something else that's been bugging me, though."
"What?"
"The material hasn't stretched."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, look. The wood has expanded lengthways and sideways by about five
centimetres, right. And when we got the thing, the material was a perfect fit.
Well, the material is still a perfect fit."
"Oh God. You're right. What does that mean?"
"Well, either the material is some miracle stretch-to-fit fabric, or something
weird is going on."
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know. It's my day off today, so I think I'll just stay at home and
keep an eye on it. I'm going to start measuring it too."
"Okay. Well, I guess I'd better get ready for work. See you later."
"See you."
Phil spent the whole of that day reading, watching TV and measuring the sofa.
He measured it every hour, and wrote down the measurements on a piece of paper,
length, width and depth. But by the time Sally got back all he had to show for
his day was a list of ten sets of identical figures. The sofa hadn't grown an
inch. And he hadn't finished his book, either. They discussed this latest
development over dinner, each of them more relieved than they were letting on.
"Well, I guess that's proved that it's stopped, anyway. Perhaps we should just
write it off to Unexplained Phenomena and forget about it."
"Yes. Provided it doesn't grow anymore, no problem."
"Good. That's that settled then."
"Yes. That settees that."
They laughed, and the sense of relief broke all the remaining tension. That
night they went to bed smiling happy people again.
Tuesday morning however, the tension came flooding back. Overnight the sofa had
grown another five centimetres, so that now Phil and Sally's feet were a full
ten centimetres off the ground. Phil quickly measured the sofa and the
measurements confirmed his suspicions. He didn't know what to think.
"I...I...I just don't understand it. How? How could it? I..."
He looked at Sally, but she was sitting on the floor, staring at the sofa.
"It's like it's having a laugh - playing a joke on us. And enjoying it."
"What shall we do?"
"Look. You watched it yesterday, and nothing happened. I'm going to call in
sick and watch it today."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Well, I'll stay with you till twelve, then go to work, ok?"
"Ok."
The sofa didn't grow at all while Phil was there, and they duly recorded the
three sets of identical measurements. After he left, Sally measured the sofa
every half hour, though she only wrote down the measurements every hour, because
she didn't want Phil to think she was being irrational or anything. At five
o'clock she had measured it ten times and it still hadn't changed. After that
she measured it every fifteen minutes. Still nothing. She was torn between a
mounting sense of hysteria and a sense of relief. By midnight, when Phil got
back, she had a list of twelve sets of identical figures to show him, but her
head was swimming with those figures, repeating themselves over and over. As
soon as she'd shown him the list she burst into tears.
"I just don't understand it. (sob) How can it grow five (sob) centimetres
overnight and not change during the day? (sob) HOW?!?"
"There, look. It's alright. It must have really stopped now."
"And another thing (sniff) why exactly five centimetres? (sniff) Why not four
thirty-two? Why not three forty-two? (sniff) I don't get it."
"Come on - forget it. It can't possibly grow anymore. Let's go to bed."
"Okay. (sniff). You don't think it'll grow overnight again?"
"No. I'm sure it won't. Ten centimetres is more than enough for any sofa to
grow. It must have grown out of it's growing stage by now."
"That's not funny."
But she laughed anyway. And she felt better. But all the same, she set her alarm
for five a.m. so she could check on it as early as possible. Phil didn't think
this was such a good idea, but he knew better than to argue.
At five past five the next morning, Phil was woken up by Sally shaking him and
crying.
"Come and look. (sob) It's grown another five. (sob) Another f*****g five!
(sob)"
"Okay, okay, I'm coming. Calm down."
"I wouldn't mind if it wasn't so (sob) so f*****g exact the whole time. (sob)"
"Eh?"
"It's FIVE!!! Don't you understand?!? Another five!!! Not four (sob), not three
(sob), FIVE !!!"
At this Sally gave a big tug on Phil's arm, and, though he was halfway through
putting his trousers on, he had to follow her. He hopped through to the
living-room, his trousers round his ankles. Sally was on her knees in front of
the sofa, measuring it, still sobbing.
"See. It's grown again. Five centimetres in just five hours. (sniff) But it
didn't grow at all yesterday in twelve hours. (sob) How do you explain that?"
"Perhaps it only grows at night..."
Phil and Sally stared at each other as they comprehended the full meaning of
this remark. Then, abruptly, they shook their heads.
"Naaaah."
"Look. You go to work. I'll call in sick and watch it today. Okay? And then
we'll watch it tonight as well, together. Alright?"
"Okay."
Phil had to admit that the whole thing was really starting to get on his nerves
now. His fear had changed into anger, or at least, it was trying to pretend it
was anger. Once again, he measured the sofa every hour on the hour, and once
again, nothing changed. At three o'clock, through an immense act of self-will,
he held off measuring it, as if this would make some sort of difference come
four o'clock. But at four, nothing had changed. When Sally came home at six, he
had the same set of identical figures, each five centimetres different to
yesterday's figures. Sally, fortunately, was channelling her fear into anger as
well.
"I knew it. I bloody knew it. F*****g thing."
She kicked the sofa. It didn't move.
"We're onto your game now, just wait. You'll see. Hah."
After a whole day of sofa-watching, Phil really did not want to stay up the
whole night doing it, but since he'd suggested it, he felt he had better. He
gamely suggested to Sally that he take first watch, and that she should relieve
him at four a.m. Sally, in turn, gamely suggested that she stay up with him till
twelve, and it was agreed. They ate their dinner in silence, and settled down to
sofa-watch together. Sitting on the sofa, they began to find it quite funny,
with their feet swinging fifteen centimetres off the ground like that. It was
like they were shrinking. Sally broke into a fit of giggles.
"It's like that movie you made me watch - what was it called? The Smallest Man
or something?
"The Incredible Shrinking Man. I was thinking it's more like that Laurel &
Hardy thing we saw. Where they play parents and kids, and they end up flooding
the bathroom."
"I feel like I'm five years old again. If it grows again tonight, I'm going to
need help getting onto it tomorrow."
"There's something else. If it grows again tonight, we won't be able to get it
out of the house..."
"Still. It's still nice and comfortable. The two of us can, um, lie down
together quite comfortably, see."
"Yes. Um...are you thinking what I think you're thinking?...Oh, you are...Jolly
good..."
When Sally went off to bed at twelve, Phil had to fight to keep his eyes open.
He tried walking up and down, but eventually that just made him more tired. He
watched TV, but found his eyes creeping closed. He made some strong coffee,
which helped a bit. At three o'clock, nothing had changed, and he was glad when
Sally got up slightly earlier than four. She staggered into the living-room,
bleary-eyed, but awake.
"Go on - you go to bed. I'll watch the b*****d now."
"Ok. Thanks. See you tomorrow, ok?"
"Ok. I've made coffee, if you want some."
"Thanks."
Sally settled down to her watch with a sense of duty. To keep herself awake, she
talked to the sofa, alternately threatening it and soothing it.
"There's a nice sofa. You're not going to do any more silly growing now, are
you? Because if you do, mummy will be very cross, and you'll have to be spanked. With a f*****g hacksaw. Hear me, you bag of sawdust. Hacksaw, hacksaw, hacksaw. Chop you up into little bits, you b***h, and feed them to the fish. Get it?"
But after a while, she started to get tired. At six in the morning it still hadn't grown. Phil had said that he'd get up at what, nine. Ok. Then she had to stay up till then. Seven o'clock came and went. No change. It was a struggle to stay up till eight, but, by walking around a bit, and then watching the sun come up, she managed it, and at eight, she wrote down the same measurements she'd been writing all night. She felt pleased with herself now. It was daylight. She'd done it. And it hadn't grown. It was the sofa-equivalent of an exorcism. She decided she'd close her eyes for five minutes. After all, the sofa was still exceptionally comfortable...
She was awakened by Phil, at eight fifty.
"Sally!!! Sally!!! Wake up!!! When did you fall asleep?!? When, Sally, when?!?"
"Wha-? Uh? What time is it?"
"Eight fifty. What time did you fall asleep? Quick!"
"It's there on the sheet. I...I recorded the time. Eight. I must have gone to sleep at about quarter past. Why?..."
"Look."
But Sally had already started to notice. As she stretched her legs down over the edge of the sofa, it was obvious. They were at least twenty-five centimetres from the floor. The sofa had grown ten centimetres, not five. And in just over half an hour. With her on the sofa!!!
"But...but...I...I only...Just half an hour. I swear, just half an hour. I'd filled in the time I was supposed to and everything!!!"
"I know, I know. It's not your fault."
"But look at it now. It's enormous!!!"
Sally jumped off the sofa and took two or three steps back away from it. It was true - the sofa was now noticeably bigger. One side touched the wall, whereas previously there had been a gap of about five centimetres. Phil stood looking at it, scratching his head.
"I don't get it. It's like a dream."
"That's it. It only grows when we're asleep."
"What?"
"Yes, don't you see? That's the only possible explanation. I mean, I was only asleep for half an hour. It must be it."
"But that doesn't make any sense."
"And a sofa growing a quarter of a metre does? It makes as much sense as anything else, surely."
"But, if that's the case, what do we do? I mean, is it just when we sleep? What about if we're not here?"
"How do I know?"
"No, but, I mean, in order to find out these things, we're going to have to try them out, and we can't risk it growing much more. It's already too big for the door as it is."
"You've got a point. What can we do?"
"Well, let's both leave the house for an hour - we'll do some shopping or something. If it's grown by the time we come back, we'll know it is sleep-related. Ok?"
"Ok. But who's going to work today?"
"Hmmm. You're right. You'd better go. I'll go too, if it hasn't grown when I get back from the shops. But just to be safe, don't sleep till I get home. Ok?"
"Ok."
When Phil got back from the shops he dumped the load of bags on the floor and went straight to the sofa. It hadn't grown. He noted down the time and measurements, put away the food and went to get ready for work. Alright, so it doesn't grow when it's left alone during the day. But what about tonight? We'll have to sleep at some point. And what if it grows another ten centimetres? Who the hell do you call with a problem like this, anyway? Maybe I should tell someone? No. No, probably not. God, I'm tired.
On his way out the front door, Phil shot the sofa a pleading look.
"Please don't grow anymore. Ok? We won't tell anyone. It'll be our little secret. Ok? Please?"
Then he felt stupid, and hurried out.
When Sally got in at six o'clock, she immediately went to the sofa. It hadn't grown and she heaved a huge sigh of relief - largely forced, but the sofa wasn't to know that. She made herself something to eat and gingerly sat down on it. Another five centimetres though, and gingerly would be out of the question entirely. It didn't move. She turned the TV on. A film called Attack of the 50 ft Woman was just starting. She smiled as she thought of Attack of the 50 ft Sofa. But then she realised, that was becoming an imminent possibility. She imagined the sofa growing and swallowing her up, losing her forever behind the cushions like a piece of small change. And worse, she couldn't even hide behind the sofa in case it grew and squashed her against the wall. What good is a sofa if you can't hide behind it, that's what she wanted to know. How big is 50 feet, anyway? And what would happen if they couldn't stop it growing? By the time the film ended, she had scared herself more than she cared to admit, so she grabbed her things and went to join Phil in the pub.
At midnight, when Phil and Sally got in, they were relieved to find that the sofa hadn't grown. However, due to their collective lack of sleep the night before, neither of them was looking forward to another night of keeping watch, either. Phil suggested that they test it by sleeping for half an hour, like Sally had done. If it grew another five or ten centimetres, then perhaps it would be finished for the night, and they could get a decent night's sleep. And if it didn't grow, then one of them would check on it during the night. Sally wasn't too sure about letting it grow any more, but she was desperately tired too, and the thought of the slightest possibility of "a good night's sleep" wooed her over, so, five minutes later they were both sound asleep.
Half an hour later, Phil's alarm went off and he gently nudged Sally awake. They crept out into the living-room. Sure enough, the sofa had grown another ten centimetres, the same as it had the night before. Phil smiled - he was pleased with himself. He'd been right.
"I guess that settles it. We can go back to bed - I don't think it'll grow any more tonight."
"I...I guess so."
"I mean, you said yourself, it always grows to exact measurements. Five for two nights, and now ten for two nights, yeah?"
"Yes. Yes. Okay. Let's go back to bed."
"I'll tell you what. I'll balance these books at either end of it. That way, if it grows enough to knock them over, we'll hear it and come in to check. Sound good?"
"Yes."
"Right. That does it. Come on, love."
As Phil opened his eyes the next morning, he reflected to himself, with relief, that he hadn't heard the books fall over, which probably meant everything was alright. He rolled over and gently nudged Sally awake.
"Sally. Sally, wake up."
"Wha-?"
"Come on. Did you hear anything last night?"
"No...No, did you?"
"No."
Sally still had her eyes closed. Looking at her, Phil realised that the fact that neither of them had heard anything didn't mean a thing - with all the sleep they'd missed lately they'd both been dead to the world. But he kept up the pretence.
"Come on Sally, let's go and check. I'm sure everything is fine."
"Uhhh...okay. Okay."
Sally raised herself up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. At least that hadn't changed. Rubbing her eyes, she stood up and followed Phil over to the door. Phil paused for a second, then pushed down the handle and pulled open the door. Quickly he shut it again.
"That's not funny, Sally."
"What isn't?"
Sally had been rubbing her eyes when Phil had opened the door, but they were wide open now.
"You mean you didn't..."
"Didn't what? Phil? What?! Open the door!"
Phil's face slowly drained of colour as he swung the door open again. As the door opened, Sally's jaw dropped. Then she screamed. Then she fainted. Phil caught her just in time and laid her down on the bed. He noticed that his legs were shaking. He turned back to the doorway. The sofa was pushed completely against it, but sideways, with the arm of the sofa just a foot or so below the top of the door frame. Phil swallowed. He went over to it and pushed. It didn't move. He kicked it, hard, then swore, loudly. Sally was coming round.
"Phil?...What...what's...what's going on?"
"It's alright, Sal. I'm here. How do you feel?"
"Okay. Okay, I guess. But...but..."
"Yes. Look. It's true, okay, but calm down. We've got to get out of this room. I need your help, okay?"
"Okay. How...how big is it?"
"Judging by the side at the door, pretty damn big. We need something to stand on to get over the edge."
"Er...the bed, maybe?"
"Yes. Help me move it over there."
Standing on the bed, Phil could just see over the edge of the arm-rest. But all he could see was sofa - sofa so far as the eye could see.
"We need to get into the living-room. Do what I do, okay?"
"Okay."
Phil raised himself up to the edge of the sofa and squeezed through the gap between the arm-rest and the door-frame. He landed on the cushions on the other side and turned round to help Sally. In a moment she was there with him on the sofa. They surveyed their surroundings. The back of the sofa was pushed right up against the wall of the house - the wall with the front door in it - and the top edge of the sofa was jammed up against the ceiling. They estimated that the back wall of the sofa was now about three foot thick. The other side of the sofa had completely blocked out the window. The front end was about Sally's height off the floor. Down between the front end of the sofa and the wall that divided the living-room and the kitchen were the TV, a little table and the chairs that had been the only furniture in the living-room, everything squeezed together up against the wall.
"Well", said Phil, sitting back, "at least we can still get breakfast. What do you want?"
He hopped down onto the floor, opened the kitchen door, which gave about the width of the TV, and squeezed into the kitchen. Sally mutely followed him.
Ten minutes later, Phil was heartily eating his way through a plate of bacon and eggs. Sally just sat staring at the table, her bowl of cereal untouched. Finally she spoke.
"You're acting as if nothing has happened. What are we going to do?"
"It's a funny thing, you know, before, mmm, before, when we first suspected something odd was going on, I couldn't eat a bite, but now, mmm, now I'm starving."
"Stop it. Stop eating and tell me - what are we going to do?"
"I'm hungry, ok? Look. It can't grow anymore, even if it wants to - there's no room. So it's over."
"But, our living-room. We can't even leave the house."
"So? We've got loads of food, and neither of us have to work today. Let's just take our time and come up with a solution. Don't panic - that's the main thing."
"Look, it's my living-room and I'll f*****g well f*****g panic if I want to, alright?!?"
Sally started to sob, hysterically.
"You're (sob) just sodding sub-(sob)-limating, that's all."
"What-limating?"
"Sublimating. (Sob)"
"No I'm not."
"Yes you are (sob)- channeling all your fear and (sob) panic into your appetite. That's your (sob) fifth egg, your fifth! You never eat that much normally (sob). So help me. What are we going to DO?!?"
"Now you're sublimating."
"How?"
"Your being angry has stopped you crying. And you're not shaking anymore, look."
Sally took a deep breath. Phil was right - she'd stopped sobbing. She let the breath out, slowly.
"Okay. So I've calmed down. That still doesn't answer my rather important question, viz - what are we going to do with the sofa that has eaten our living-room?"
"I don't know."
"What?"
"I don't know. I'm not up on what one does in these situations. But I do know something."
"What?"
"We can get out of the house through the window in the bedroom."
"But...but, we're a floor up!"
"It's ok. I'll jump down and go get a ladder or something. Don't worry. Now sit tight and let me finish my breakfast."
So that's what happened. Phil jumped out of the window, sustaining no injuries, and quickly fetched a ladder from a nearby window-cleaners. But Sally didn't want to stay in the house with "that Thing" any longer than was necessary, so she climbed down and they spent the day in town, downing cups of coffee at regular intervals, till the pubs opened and the coffees became beers, in even more regular intervals. Eventually they had, somewhat inebriatedly, resigned themselves that they had "a F*****g Big Sofa" in their house, and that really, the whole thing was rather funny, wasn't it? If a little bizarre. So at a little past midnight, the two of them, with the intense carefulness peculiar to the drunk, crept back up the ladder and back into bed. The Sofa Problem could wait one more day. After all, it wasn't going anywhere.
At four in the morning, Phil and Sally were abruptly awakened by a loud cracking sound. Switching on the light they saw a huge crack appearing in the wall, the crack sounding like a horrendous thunderclap. Sally screamed. Phil swore.
"Oh my God. It hasn't finished!!!"
"It's coming for us!!! It wants US!!!"
"Don't talk crap. Look out!!!"
A piece of plaster succumbed to the pressure put on it from the other side of the wall and pinged towards them. It missed Phil's head by a fraction of an inch.
"Right. That's it. Of course, you realise, this means war..."
Phil got out of bed.
"What time is it? F**k. Four o'clock. There's nothing we can do until morning, unless you want to stay outside. What do you think?"
"Is it safe?"
"I think so. It seems to have stopped growing. In fact, this could just be residual pressure from last night."
"I don't know. What if the roof collapses?"
"I...I don't know. Where is the safest place to be, do you think?"
"I er...I don't know that either. Wait. Wait, yes, I do. But I don't think you'll like it."
"What? Where?!? Tell me!!!"
"On the sofa."
"On it? What do you mean, on the sofa? How?"
"Look, when I was little we used to make forts out of sofa cushions. You prop them up against the back of the sofa. It should be easy now that they're so big - they won't slip anywhere. And if anything does fall onto it, it'll slide right off."
"I...I guess you're right. And, I mean, even if it is growing, it's still just a sofa, right?"
"Right. Come on. Let's make that fort."
The gap between the door-frame and the arm-rest was now quite a bit smaller, but by squishing down hard on the arms and sustaining a few grazes each, they managed to crawl through again. Then they set about making the fort. This involved the pair of them wriggling down behind the cushions (Sally's nightmare came back to her in a flash) which by now were just about waist-height. Then they levered them upwards, bit by bit, until the edges were jammed between the ceiling and the far wall. There was just enough room to stand upright too, in the triangular space the cushions made against the back of the sofa.
"Doesn't seem quite so intimidating now, does it? Now that we've re-arranged it's shape a bit. Sleeping here'll be okay, I think."
"Yes. Yes, I guess so."
So Phil reached down between the door-frame and the arm-rest again and pulled their duvet from the bed, and the two of them settled down to sleep, both trying to pretend that it was all a bad dream and that they'd wake up in their bed, safe and sound.
"Phil?"
"What?"
"What if it hasn't stopped? What if it, you know, grows again, while we're asleep?"
"I don't know. But there's nowhere for it to go. So I think it'll be alright. Go to sleep."
"I'm scared. Hold me."
"Okay. Come here."
Phil was glad she'd said it, because now he didn't have to. He held her close to him and wondered what the bloody hell to do next. Perhaps it would be better if they didn't sleep after all
Four hours later, Phil and Sally awoke with a start.
"What was that?"
"Oh no. Did you sleep?"
"I...yes. Yes, I must've. Did you?"
"Yes. What was that noise?"
"Sounded like glass breaking."
"Oh NO!!!"
Phil lept to his feet. Squeezing through the cushions at the far end of the sofa, he peered down towards the floor.
"F**k!!! It's crushed the TV. And our little table. B******s!!!"
Sally appeared behind Phil.
"So it is still growing! What do we do?"
Before Phil could answer the sofa shook softly, like an earth tremor and inched forwards. More glass broke as the TV buckled further. Sally screamed.
"It's growing!!! But we're awake!!! Phil?!? What do we DO?!?"
"Quick! The bedroom!!!"
But it was too late. The space between the door-frame and the arm-rest had completely disappeared.
"Now what? We're stuck here!"
"Follow me! QUICK!!!"
The sofa shook again as Phil and Sally raced over the sofa-lining and once more squeezed between the cushions.
"We'll have to jump. Have you got your shoes?"
"Of course not - they're in the bedroom. So are yours."
"Okay, but look out for broken glass. I'll go first and see if it's ok."
Phil jumped down onto the floor. He shouted and swore as he landed on some glass and cut his foot. Sally peered down anxiously.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes...yes, it's just a cut."
"Can you see through to the bedroom door?"
"Hold on."
Phil picked his way over the buckled remains of the TV and negotiated his way over the splintered table. He reached the corner of the room. Between the wall that divided their bedroom and the living-room, and the side of the sofa, there was a space about half a foot wide, provided by the arm-rest that hung above him, which was busy embedding itself into the wall. Along the space, he could just make out light from their bedroom. Phil turned to Sally.
"It's okay. Come on."
But at that moment, the sofa gave a tremendous shake and slammed up against the kitchen wall, obliterating the remains of their furniture, and completely cutting Sally off from where he was. At the same time, the wall above him, under pressure from the expanding arm-rest, began to creak and groan ominously. Through that, he could hear Sally screaming.
"PHIL?!? WHERE ARE YOU?!?"
"SALLY!!!", Phil shouted back, unsure if she could hear him, "GET INTO THE KITCHEN!!! GET UNDER THE TABLE AND STAY THERE TILL I GET BACK!!! OKAY?!?"
There was no answer. Phil tried to remember just how much of the kitchen door-frame would be left. Well, if the arm-rest was that high, then this side, without the cushions would be just about...
"CRRRR-ACK!!!"
A great crack appeared in the wall above his head. There was no time to lose. He forced himself along the gap, petrified lest another sudden burst of growth should suffocate him right there against the wall. After what seemed like an age he reached the bedroom-doorway and popped through it, falling over the bed as he did so. He quickly pulled on his clothes and headed for the window. The last thing he saw as he started down the ladder was a shower of dust and plaster as the bedroom wall cracked in fourteen different places and the sofa began to show through.
Once on the street, Phil looked around helplessly. Who should he call? The Police? "Hello? Yes - help me, my girlfriend is being eaten by a giant sofa." No. Definitely not. Fire-brigade? "Hello? Giant sofa division?" No. Ambulance? He didn't want to think about that. What about the army? No. No-one would believe it. He had to face facts - he was on his own. Think, man, think. What would they do in the movies? What would Clint do? What would Harrison do? What would Arnie do?...
The old proprietor of "A Chainsaw Is As Good As A Rest" gave a little sigh as he lifted the faded yellow blind on the shopdoor and turned the closed sign round to open. Business, he'd had to face it, had been bad. Especially since that big Homebase had opened last year. There was just no call for your local neighbourhood chainsaw dispenser, nowadays. Fast service, that's all people wanted these days. Well, he hoped their teeth rusted, them and their fancy cheap Homebase rubbish, ha. Suddenly the little bell on the door rang and shook the proprietor from his melancholy reverie.
"The Chinese is down the road and on the...", he began.
"I don't want a Chinese, I want a chainsaw. The best you've got. And quick!", said Phil, his breath heaving.
"What? You do? Certainly sir! What are your needs?"
"Eh?"
"What materials will sir be working with?"
"Er...wood. Wood, material and, um...stuffing. And maybe plaster."
"I see. Then sir will be requiring the EE-ZEE CUT 2000, our finest model, not like these cheap models you get at certain places I won't mention, such as..."
"Great. I'll take it. Do you take plastic?"
"I...certainly, but, won't sir require a demonstration?"
"Yes. Yes. But quick!!!"
"Well, you make sure the throttle is open, and, naturally, that you're charged up, like so, and then you just pull the cord and let 'er rip, like this."
He pulled the cord and the EE-ZEE CUT 2000 roared into life. The man smiled.
"SEE THAT?", he shouted over the noise, "FIRST TIME. QUALITY'S VERY RARE THESE DAYS."
He waved it around, enthusiastically. Ah, it was a beautiful machine alright. Phil's hand reached out to his arm. He turned it off, blushing, as he realised he'd gotten carried away.
"Sorry. It's been so long, see?"
"That's ok. So. That's the off-button. What about cutting? Anything to remember?"
"Just keep it away from you and to one side. But you won't have any trouble with this baby, let me tell you..."
"Great. I'll take it."
"Would you like me to wrap it up for you?"
"No. Here's the card."
"Okay. Well, I must say, it's been a pleasure doing business with you - here you are - and all our items come with a five-year warrantee and..."
But Phil had gone. The old man blinked quietly and then shrugged and sat down. Perhaps business would pick up after all.
Phil raced back to the house. As he climbed the ladder, the EE-ZEE CUT 2000 strapped to his arm, he could see the sofa-material poking through the window. God only knew what that meant.
"HANG ON SALLY!!!", he shouted, "I'M COMING."
He reached the window. It was a wall of sofa. He pulled the cord and the EE-ZEE CUT 2000 sang out. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and plunged the spinning blade of metal teeth deep into the sofa. There was an agonising wrenching sound, and then he felt something soft against his face. He opened his eyes. The stuffing from the sofa was shooting out into the air, like a snowstorm in the movies. It was a downy, feathery material, the softest Phil had ever felt. It made him feel almost guilty. In five minutes, Phil had carved a decent space for himself. He turned off the chainsaw and paused to get his bearings. Ok. Window behind me. Bedroom. Door over there. Kitchen to the right. Right. He shouted again.
"SALLY?!?"
He thought he heard something. Then the sofa shook around him and he heard a muffled scream. With a hard, wrenching yank he brought the chainsaw back to life and pushed on through the wall of stuffing. For some reason it was denser - as if cotton wool had metamorphosed into plasticine. All sorts of images flashed through Phil's mind as he hacked his way forward. An electric carving-knife and some play-dough. Clark Gable hacking his way through the jungle in black and white. Doctor Livingstone, I presume. Tarzan and ...and Sally. Phil paused, the chainsaw roaring in his ears. He could swear he was in the living-room now. That meant he was just a few feet from the kitchen. He shouted again.
"SALLY?!?"
The moment that she had been cut off from Phil, Sally had almost fainted. She had screamed "Where are you?", but fear had risen in her throat and choked off any reply. She had just caught Phil's muffled advice and, petrified, she had scrambled towards the space between the sofa and the top of the door-frame and squeezed through it just as the second burst of growth completely sealed the gap. She landed with a thud on the kitchen floor. She looked around, wildly. No exit. What should she do? She looked at the doorway. The sofa was bulging through it, causing the doorframe to strain. Sally ran to the cutlery drawer and grabbed a carving-knife. She took it in both hands and plunged it into the sofa, repeatedly.
"Leave...me...alone!!!", she screamed.
But nothing happened. Some stuffing fell out of where she had torn the material, and she began to feel quite stupid. Would she do this to a normal-sized sofa? But suddenly the sofa shook again and the whole of the kitchen wall began to creak. Small cracks appeared around the door-frame. The doors on all the cupboards along the kitchen wall swung open simultaneously. Sally panicked. She dived under the kitchen table. Then there was a cacophony of splintering noises and a horrendous crash as the cupboards all fell down, smashing free of their doors and spilling crockery and tins of food all over the floor. Sally peeked out - there were now huge cracks in the wall, which were visibly quaking under pressure. She quickly grabbed two of the cupboard doors and propped them up in front of the table. Peeking through the gap between the doors, she saw the cracks in the wall vibrate and grow larger, and then the sofa gave another horrendous shake and the wall itself splintered and gave way, crumpling to the floor in a shower of plaster. Sally screamed as the shards of wood and plaster rained against her cupboard-doors. The noise, for a second, was deafening, but, as the dust settled, so did an air of silence. Sally peeked between the doors again. As she did so, however, a huge piece of plaster fell from the ceiling, crashing down onto the table. She screamed again. Then the sofa shook again and moved forward another foot, advancing smoothly across the floor and crunching through the remains of the ceiling like someone carelessly eating a piece of toast. Sally stared in amazement and realised she had stopped screaming. She was still scared, but screaming wasn't getting her anywhere. She realised she had to do something, and quick. With a burst of adrenaline-fuelled strength she lifted up the table so the plaster slid off it. She turned the table up lengthways and propped it against the wall so she could stand behind it. Then she lifted the length of plaster and propped that up against the table, for extra protection. Finally she gathered up all the cupboard doors that were loose and stacked them on top of the up-ended table, in case anything else fell from the ceiling. As she reached up to put them in place, the sofa advanced again and gave her a tiny little push. She jumped.
"It's teasing me - like a cat with a mouse", she said, then added "B*****D!!!" as an afterthought. Then something strange happened - she couldn't be sure, but she was sure she'd heard it...no, it couldn't be...could it? She insulted it again. "F*****G BITCH COW SOFA FROM HELL!!!", she shouted, and this time she was sure. The sofa was growling. At that moment it gave another jump forward and Sally quickly ducked behind the table just as another shower of ceiling-bits rained down. She listened, petrified. The growling was getting louder. She screamed, loudly. The sofa advanced again - it was now pressed up against the table. The growling was now more of a snarling roar - louder and somehow closer.
"Christ", thought Sally, "it really is going to eat me..."
The legs of the table were beginning to creak and buckle under the strain as the roaring became more and more deafening.
"HELP!!!", she screamed, "HEEELP!!! PHIL!!!"
Suddenly the table legs gave way, simultaneously, each splintering into tiny pieces. The whole tabletop, pushed by another spurt from the sofa jumped forward and smashed into her face, giving her a nosebleed. She was now jammed between the table and the wall, bleeding and sobbing. Her head was pressed to one side and she couldn't move - one more push would crush her to death.
"I'm sorry", she whispered, barely able to hear herself above the roaring noise, "whatever I've done, I'm sorry, just please, don't eat me..."
Suddenly something bit through the table just above her head. Teeth?!? No, it couldn't be!!!
"NOOOOO!!!", she screamed. "HELP!!!"
But the teeth continued, moving above her head and into her line of vision. She held her breath. Then they turned and cut straight down to the floor. The table was pulled away and there stood Phil, chainsaw in hand.
"Hello", he said.
Sally fainted.
When Sally woke up, Phil was gently wiping her face clean with his handkerchief.
"Is it...am I...?", she said.
"It's dead", said Phil. "I cut the heart right out of it. Are you ok?"
"Still a bit shaky, and my nose hurts, but, yes, ok, I guess. Thankyou."
"What for?"
"Saving my life...I always wanted to say that..."
Phil laughed.
"The pleasure was all mine."
"Phil?"
"Yes?"
"What are we going to do? We can't afford a new fla-"
"We don't have to. I've been thinking..."
Sally was sceptical at first, but she had to admit she couldn't think of anything better. So she sat on the downy floor and watched while Phil diligently carved their entire flat out of the skeletal remains of the sofa. They had been lucky - the water fixtures for both the kitchen and the bathroom had been on the wall Sally was trapped against, so they still had plumbing, a sink, a toilet and a bath. And they still had electricity - Sally had found the kettle (a tad dented, but functional) and Phil's first job was cutting away access to the sink and a power-point, so they could have tea.
When he had finished he surveyed his handiwork.
"You see?", he said. "The sofa walls are thick and strong enough to replace the outside ones, and the inner material is dense enough to use as inner walls. I think it's great!"
Sally had to agree.
"Okay, so you're a genius. But how can you be sure it won't, you know, attack again?"
"It won't", said Phil. "It knows who's boss now. Come here, I want to show you something."
He led Sally into what had been the bedroom. In the corner was a home-made bed, carved from sofa-insides, over which Phil had lain their sheets and their duvet.
"Most comfortable bed you've ever slept in, I guarantee it", he said.
Sally was smiling. She walked over and sat on the bed. It was lovely and soft.
"Nice to know you've got your priorities right, anyway", she said. "Now come here..."
A week later Phil and Sally had pretty much replaced everything the sofa had destroyed. They had a new, slightly smaller TV, new cupboards, a new kitchen table, a new coffee table, a new window and a new telephone - even new light bulbs. One of Phil's friends from the pub had kindly donated two large armchairs, rather pink in hue, admittedly, but comfortable nonetheless. In fact, there was only one thing missing...
"Thankyou very much indeed, sir. Believe you me, that's three hundred and ninety-nine, ninety-nine well spent, that is. A very popular model, sir, oh yes indeed. We sell two hundred of these a year, you know. Very popular with young couples like yourselves."
"Thankyou", said Sally. "Yes, we like it, don't we, Phil?"
"Yes", said Phil. "And it matches our chairs..."
THE END.
The Big Sofa, by Matthew J. Turner
"Come on, push. We're almost there now."
"That's easy for you to say - you're on the pulling end. Okay. Here goes. After
three - one, two, three, h-e-a-v-e....there. Whew. I'm exhausted. I need to sit
down."
"Oh no you don't, Phil. Look, come on, we're five feet from the door. Once we
get it into the apartment, then you can sit down."
"Sally, you are a hard task-mistress. But I suppose you're right. Okay. You
open the door and I'll push the sofa. Right. Uhhh-hhhh-uh. Now help me lift it
sideways. Okay, God, it's heavy, okay, lower it again. There. Now. Where shall
we have it?"
"Over there, in front of the TV and beside the window."
"Right you are. There. Now can I sit down?"
"Yes. You've earned it. Sit down and I'll make some coffee."
Phil plumped himself down onto the newly-positioned sofa with a mock sigh of
relief. He sank into it, the cushions moulding themselves around him as if they
were welcoming him and encouraging him to put his feet up while they went and
fetched his slippers. It really was remarkably comfortable - your legs bent at
just the right place, the arm-rests were just the right height and your head
rested perfectly at the back. They had been incredibly lucky. And it hadn't cost
them a penny. In fact, now that he thought about it again, it had saved them
almost four hundred pounds. He wished he could see the expression on that
salesman's face. They had told him that they were going to fetch the money, but
really they had been going home to talk about it. Then, on the bus home, Sally
had been staring out of the window and, on a stretch of open road, she'd spotted
a skip, and next to it, this rather excellent sofa. It was quite humourous
really, the way she'd let out that yell so the bus stopped, and then dragged him
off the bus to look at it. He'd been initially suspicious, after all, why would
someone throw out a perfectly good sofa like this? There must be something wrong
with it. But as they tested it out they could find nothing wrong with it - it
didn't smell, the material looked new, the cushions were firm, the parts were
solidly put together, and best of all, it was really comfortable. So then they
had decided that it belonged to someone who was coming back for it, so they sat
on it for an hour, and when nobody came, Sally made Phil stay where he was (in
case someone else spotted it) while she went to fetch a friend with a van.
Still, he had to admit, it had been worth it. And at least they hadn't had to
shell out four hundred for that pink monstrosity in "Sofa So Good". He'd hated
that smarmy salesman too...
"Here we go, here's your coffee."
"What? Oh, cheers love. Sorry, I was miles away. I was thinking about how lucky
we've been."
"Incredible, isn't it?"
"I must admit though, I do feel better, having left that note".
"I wouldn't worry about it. After all, if it did belong to someone, they would
have left some sort of note themselves, wouldn't they?"
"Yes. Yes, of course."
"Have you noticed how the pattern matches our curtains and carpet?"
"Err...now that you mention it, yes. Looks rather good, doesn't it?"
"Oh, darling, I'm so happy. Come here and kiss me."
"...mmm..."
"I've got an idea. We could...you know..."
"What?"
"You know. Christen it."
"You mean here? Now?"
"Yes. Come here."
"Woah! I...um...ooh...well, alright, since you put it that way."
The next morning Sally and Phil awoke with big smiles on their faces - the
smiles of two people that have found The Perfect Sofa. Sally couldn't wait to
tell the other people in her office. Phil, on the other hand, didn't think the
people at the pub where he worked would be all that interested. Besides, he
didn't have to be at work till twelve, so he was going to take it easy. So, once
Sally had left, he made himself some toast and went to sit on the sofa, in front
of the TV. With the toast crunching in his ears, intermittently drowning out the
TV, Phil reflected that this was true luxury, vegging out in total comfort, his
legs bending in just the right...wait a minute. Something was different. But
what? He shifted position, raising himself upwards a tiny bit. That was it.
Although his legs still bent in the same place, where yesterday, his feet had
touched the ground, today they were just a fraction of a centimetre off the
floor. Probably because he wasn't wearing his shoes at the moment. Bound to be
it. Phil settled back into his toast and TV state. But it still nagged at him a
bit. Putting down the toast, he got up, put his shoes on and came back to the
sofa. Okay. Now his feet touched the ground and his legs bent in the right
place, but, hang on, now his arms and head were wrong. Well, not wrong, exactly,
he was still comfortable, but, well, not perfect. Not like yesterday. Oh, he
must be imagining it. He'd see if Sally noticed. Phil finished his toast
thoughtfully, but even that was somehow unsatisfactory now. He stood up and went
to get ready for work.
At six o'clock that evening, Sally came home and flopped straight into the
sofa. Phil wouldn't be back until after closing time, and she hoped he'd left
her some of whatever it was that she could smell. She wandered into the kitchen
- yes, he had, there was a plate of Shepherd's Pie in the oven. She put the oven
on to warm it up and went back to the sofa. It really was lovely, the way it
matched all the furniture like that. She turned on the TV and sat down again.
She kicked off her shoes and rested her feet on the...hang on. For some reason,
Sally's feet didn't quite touch the ground today. She could have sworn they did
yesterday. Had she shrunk? What was it one of her friends had told her once?
That you are shorter in the evening than you are in the morning, because of
gravity or something, wasn't that it? Yes, but she'd been on the sofa yesterday
evening, hadn't she, so that couldn't be it. She shifted position. Okay, now her
feet were on the floor, but her arms and head were wrong. Surely not. She must
just be being paranoid. She'd wait and see if Phil noticed anything.
"Hello, love - what are you doing here?"
"I was bored - I thought I'd come and see you at work."
"Great. What do you want?"
"Hmm? Oh, I don't know. Whiskey. Whiskey and...no. Just whiskey."
"Rough day at the office, eh? Do you want to talk about it?"
"No. Not really. Thanks for the dinner."
"Did you like it? To tell you the truth, I threw most of my half away. I just
didn't feel hungry for some reason. Here's your whiskey."
"Thanks. No, I ate most of it - it was nice. Mind you I was really hungry."
"Hang on, I've got to serve someone else. Back in a sec'."
"Phil, I..."
"What?"
"Nothing."
When they got up the next morning, Phil and Sally were no longer happy, smiling
people. They had both tried and failed to bring up the subject of the sofa the
night before, each of them reluctantly dismissing their feelings as just
silliness. After all, the sofa was still comfortable. They must have imagined
it's perfection. Certainly not worth bothering each other about. As it was
Sunday, neither of them had to work, so they got up slowly. At certain points in
the morning each of them stole suspicious glances at the sofa. Finally, Phil
went to sit down on it. This time his feet were a full couple of centimetres off
the floor. He looked at Sally, quickly. She was staring at him, waiting for him
to say something.
"You know, it's a funny thing, but..."
"Your feet don't touch the ground anymore?"
"Yes. How did you know?"
"It's the same with me. I thought it was just me. I thought I'd shrunk. I even
measured myself last night."
"And?"
"Still five foot seven."
"How odd."
"But why? I don't understand."
"I think I know. The sofa must have been out in the rain or something, and the
heat in here has slightly expanded the wood."
"Would that happen?"
"Yes, I think so."
"God, what a weight off my mind. You're so clever."
"Come and sit down."
"Will I be safe?"
"From the sofa, yes. I can't vouch for anything else though."
"Well, ok then..."
The next morning, there was really no question about it - the sofa had
expanded. Phil and Sally both got up early to check on the sofa and found that
their feet were now a full five centimetres off the ground when they sat down on
it. And it was pretty hard to attribute five whole centimetres to Phil's theory
of heat expansion. They tried though.
"It's bloody weird, however you look at it."
"I just don't understand it. It shouldn't expand this much, should it? And if
it was, wouldn't we hear creaking noises or something?"
"I wonder if it's stopped yet?"
"What? You mean it hasn't?"
"Well, who knows? I'll tell you something else that's been bugging me, though."
"What?"
"The material hasn't stretched."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, look. The wood has expanded lengthways and sideways by about five
centimetres, right. And when we got the thing, the material was a perfect fit.
Well, the material is still a perfect fit."
"Oh God. You're right. What does that mean?"
"Well, either the material is some miracle stretch-to-fit fabric, or something
weird is going on."
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know. It's my day off today, so I think I'll just stay at home and
keep an eye on it. I'm going to start measuring it too."
"Okay. Well, I guess I'd better get ready for work. See you later."
"See you."
Phil spent the whole of that day reading, watching TV and measuring the sofa.
He measured it every hour, and wrote down the measurements on a piece of paper,
length, width and depth. But by the time Sally got back all he had to show for
his day was a list of ten sets of identical figures. The sofa hadn't grown an
inch. And he hadn't finished his book, either. They discussed this latest
development over dinner, each of them more relieved than they were letting on.
"Well, I guess that's proved that it's stopped, anyway. Perhaps we should just
write it off to Unexplained Phenomena and forget about it."
"Yes. Provided it doesn't grow anymore, no problem."
"Good. That's that settled then."
"Yes. That settees that."
They laughed, and the sense of relief broke all the remaining tension. That
night they went to bed smiling happy people again.
Tuesday morning however, the tension came flooding back. Overnight the sofa had
grown another five centimetres, so that now Phil and Sally's feet were a full
ten centimetres off the ground. Phil quickly measured the sofa and the
measurements confirmed his suspicions. He didn't know what to think.
"I...I...I just don't understand it. How? How could it? I..."
He looked at Sally, but she was sitting on the floor, staring at the sofa.
"It's like it's having a laugh - playing a joke on us. And enjoying it."
"What shall we do?"
"Look. You watched it yesterday, and nothing happened. I'm going to call in
sick and watch it today."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Well, I'll stay with you till twelve, then go to work, ok?"
"Ok."
The sofa didn't grow at all while Phil was there, and they duly recorded the
three sets of identical measurements. After he left, Sally measured the sofa
every half hour, though she only wrote down the measurements every hour, because
she didn't want Phil to think she was being irrational or anything. At five
o'clock she had measured it ten times and it still hadn't changed. After that
she measured it every fifteen minutes. Still nothing. She was torn between a
mounting sense of hysteria and a sense of relief. By midnight, when Phil got
back, she had a list of twelve sets of identical figures to show him, but her
head was swimming with those figures, repeating themselves over and over. As
soon as she'd shown him the list she burst into tears.
"I just don't understand it. (sob) How can it grow five (sob) centimetres
overnight and not change during the day? (sob) HOW?!?"
"There, look. It's alright. It must have really stopped now."
"And another thing (sniff) why exactly five centimetres? (sniff) Why not four
thirty-two? Why not three forty-two? (sniff) I don't get it."
"Come on - forget it. It can't possibly grow anymore. Let's go to bed."
"Okay. (sniff). You don't think it'll grow overnight again?"
"No. I'm sure it won't. Ten centimetres is more than enough for any sofa to
grow. It must have grown out of it's growing stage by now."
"That's not funny."
But she laughed anyway. And she felt better. But all the same, she set her alarm
for five a.m. so she could check on it as early as possible. Phil didn't think
this was such a good idea, but he knew better than to argue.
At five past five the next morning, Phil was woken up by Sally shaking him and
crying.
"Come and look. (sob) It's grown another five. (sob) Another f*****g five!
(sob)"
"Okay, okay, I'm coming. Calm down."
"I wouldn't mind if it wasn't so (sob) so f*****g exact the whole time. (sob)"
"Eh?"
"It's FIVE!!! Don't you understand?!? Another five!!! Not four (sob), not three
(sob), FIVE !!!"
At this Sally gave a big tug on Phil's arm, and, though he was halfway through
putting his trousers on, he had to follow her. He hopped through to the
living-room, his trousers round his ankles. Sally was on her knees in front of
the sofa, measuring it, still sobbing.
"See. It's grown again. Five centimetres in just five hours. (sniff) But it
didn't grow at all yesterday in twelve hours. (sob) How do you explain that?"
"Perhaps it only grows at night..."
Phil and Sally stared at each other as they comprehended the full meaning of
this remark. Then, abruptly, they shook their heads.
"Naaaah."
"Look. You go to work. I'll call in sick and watch it today. Okay? And then
we'll watch it tonight as well, together. Alright?"
"Okay."
Phil had to admit that the whole thing was really starting to get on his nerves
now. His fear had changed into anger, or at least, it was trying to pretend it
was anger. Once again, he measured the sofa every hour on the hour, and once
again, nothing changed. At three o'clock, through an immense act of self-will,
he held off measuring it, as if this would make some sort of difference come
four o'clock. But at four, nothing had changed. When Sally came home at six, he
had the same set of identical figures, each five centimetres different to
yesterday's figures. Sally, fortunately, was channelling her fear into anger as
well.
"I knew it. I bloody knew it. F*****g thing."
She kicked the sofa. It didn't move.
"We're onto your game now, just wait. You'll see. Hah."
After a whole day of sofa-watching, Phil really did not want to stay up the
whole night doing it, but since he'd suggested it, he felt he had better. He
gamely suggested to Sally that he take first watch, and that she should relieve
him at four a.m. Sally, in turn, gamely suggested that she stay up with him till
twelve, and it was agreed. They ate their dinner in silence, and settled down to
sofa-watch together. Sitting on the sofa, they began to find it quite funny,
with their feet swinging fifteen centimetres off the ground like that. It was
like they were shrinking. Sally broke into a fit of giggles.
"It's like that movie you made me watch - what was it called? The Smallest Man
or something?
"The Incredible Shrinking Man. I was thinking it's more like that Laurel &
Hardy thing we saw. Where they play parents and kids, and they end up flooding
the bathroom."
"I feel like I'm five years old again. If it grows again tonight, I'm going to
need help getting onto it tomorrow."
"There's something else. If it grows again tonight, we won't be able to get it
out of the house..."
"Still. It's still nice and comfortable. The two of us can, um, lie down
together quite comfortably, see."
"Yes. Um...are you thinking what I think you're thinking?...Oh, you are...Jolly
good..."
When Sally went off to bed at twelve, Phil had to fight to keep his eyes open.
He tried walking up and down, but eventually that just made him more tired. He
watched TV, but found his eyes creeping closed. He made some strong coffee,
which helped a bit. At three o'clock, nothing had changed, and he was glad when
Sally got up slightly earlier than four. She staggered into the living-room,
bleary-eyed, but awake.
"Go on - you go to bed. I'll watch the b*****d now."
"Ok. Thanks. See you tomorrow, ok?"
"Ok. I've made coffee, if you want some."
"Thanks."
Sally settled down to her watch with a sense of duty. To keep herself awake, she
talked to the sofa, alternately threatening it and soothing it.
"There's a nice sofa. You're not going to do any more silly growing now, are
you? Because if you do, mummy will be very cross, and you'll have to be spanked. With a f*****g hacksaw. Hear me, you bag of sawdust. Hacksaw, hacksaw, hacksaw. Chop you up into little bits, you b***h, and feed them to the fish. Get it?"
But after a while, she started to get tired. At six in the morning it still hadn't grown. Phil had said that he'd get up at what, nine. Ok. Then she had to stay up till then. Seven o'clock came and went. No change. It was a struggle to stay up till eight, but, by walking around a bit, and then watching the sun come up, she managed it, and at eight, she wrote down the same measurements she'd been writing all night. She felt pleased with herself now. It was daylight. She'd done it. And it hadn't grown. It was the sofa-equivalent of an exorcism. She decided she'd close her eyes for five minutes. After all, the sofa was still exceptionally comfortable...
She was awakened by Phil, at eight fifty.
"Sally!!! Sally!!! Wake up!!! When did you fall asleep?!? When, Sally, when?!?"
"Wha-? Uh? What time is it?"
"Eight fifty. What time did you fall asleep? Quick!"
"It's there on the sheet. I...I recorded the time. Eight. I must have gone to sleep at about quarter past. Why?..."
"Look."
But Sally had already started to notice. As she stretched her legs down over the edge of the sofa, it was obvious. They were at least twenty-five centimetres from the floor. The sofa had grown ten centimetres, not five. And in just over half an hour. With her on the sofa!!!
"But...but...I...I only...Just half an hour. I swear, just half an hour. I'd filled in the time I was supposed to and everything!!!"
"I know, I know. It's not your fault."
"But look at it now. It's enormous!!!"
Sally jumped off the sofa and took two or three steps back away from it. It was true - the sofa was now noticeably bigger. One side touched the wall, whereas previously there had been a gap of about five centimetres. Phil stood looking at it, scratching his head.
"I don't get it. It's like a dream."
"That's it. It only grows when we're asleep."
"What?"
"Yes, don't you see? That's the only possible explanation. I mean, I was only asleep for half an hour. It must be it."
"But that doesn't make any sense."
"And a sofa growing a quarter of a metre does? It makes as much sense as anything else, surely."
"But, if that's the case, what do we do? I mean, is it just when we sleep? What about if we're not here?"
"How do I know?"
"No, but, I mean, in order to find out these things, we're going to have to try them out, and we can't risk it growing much more. It's already too big for the door as it is."
"You've got a point. What can we do?"
"Well, let's both leave the house for an hour - we'll do some shopping or something. If it's grown by the time we come back, we'll know it is sleep-related. Ok?"
"Ok. But who's going to work today?"
"Hmmm. You're right. You'd better go. I'll go too, if it hasn't grown when I get back from the shops. But just to be safe, don't sleep till I get home. Ok?"
"Ok."
When Phil got back from the shops he dumped the load of bags on the floor and went straight to the sofa. It hadn't grown. He noted down the time and measurements, put away the food and went to get ready for work. Alright, so it doesn't grow when it's left alone during the day. But what about tonight? We'll have to sleep at some point. And what if it grows another ten centimetres? Who the hell do you call with a problem like this, anyway? Maybe I should tell someone? No. No, probably not. God, I'm tired.
On his way out the front door, Phil shot the sofa a pleading look.
"Please don't grow anymore. Ok? We won't tell anyone. It'll be our little secret. Ok? Please?"
Then he felt stupid, and hurried out.
When Sally got in at six o'clock, she immediately went to the sofa. It hadn't grown and she heaved a huge sigh of relief - largely forced, but the sofa wasn't to know that. She made herself something to eat and gingerly sat down on it. Another five centimetres though, and gingerly would be out of the question entirely. It didn't move. She turned the TV on. A film called Attack of the 50 ft Woman was just starting. She smiled as she thought of Attack of the 50 ft Sofa. But then she realised, that was becoming an imminent possibility. She imagined the sofa growing and swallowing her up, losing her forever behind the cushions like a piece of small change. And worse, she couldn't even hide behind the sofa in case it grew and squashed her against the wall. What good is a sofa if you can't hide behind it, that's what she wanted to know. How big is 50 feet, anyway? And what would happen if they couldn't stop it growing? By the time the film ended, she had scared herself more than she cared to admit, so she grabbed her things and went to join Phil in the pub.
At midnight, when Phil and Sally got in, they were relieved to find that the sofa hadn't grown. However, due to their collective lack of sleep the night before, neither of them was looking forward to another night of keeping watch, either. Phil suggested that they test it by sleeping for half an hour, like Sally had done. If it grew another five or ten centimetres, then perhaps it would be finished for the night, and they could get a decent night's sleep. And if it didn't grow, then one of them would check on it during the night. Sally wasn't too sure about letting it grow any more, but she was desperately tired too, and the thought of the slightest possibility of "a good night's sleep" wooed her over, so, five minutes later they were both sound asleep.
Half an hour later, Phil's alarm went off and he gently nudged Sally awake. They crept out into the living-room. Sure enough, the sofa had grown another ten centimetres, the same as it had the night before. Phil smiled - he was pleased with himself. He'd been right.
"I guess that settles it. We can go back to bed - I don't think it'll grow any more tonight."
"I...I guess so."
"I mean, you said yourself, it always grows to exact measurements. Five for two nights, and now ten for two nights, yeah?"
"Yes. Yes. Okay. Let's go back to bed."
"I'll tell you what. I'll balance these books at either end of it. That way, if it grows enough to knock them over, we'll hear it and come in to check. Sound good?"
"Yes."
"Right. That does it. Come on, love."
As Phil opened his eyes the next morning, he reflected to himself, with relief, that he hadn't heard the books fall over, which probably meant everything was alright. He rolled over and gently nudged Sally awake.
"Sally. Sally, wake up."
"Wha-?"
"Come on. Did you hear anything last night?"
"No...No, did you?"
"No."
Sally still had her eyes closed. Looking at her, Phil realised that the fact that neither of them had heard anything didn't mean a thing - with all the sleep they'd missed lately they'd both been dead to the world. But he kept up the pretence.
"Come on Sally, let's go and check. I'm sure everything is fine."
"Uhhh...okay. Okay."
Sally raised herself up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. At least that hadn't changed. Rubbing her eyes, she stood up and followed Phil over to the door. Phil paused for a second, then pushed down the handle and pulled open the door. Quickly he shut it again.
"That's not funny, Sally."
"What isn't?"
Sally had been rubbing her eyes when Phil had opened the door, but they were wide open now.
"You mean you didn't..."
"Didn't what? Phil? What?! Open the door!"
Phil's face slowly drained of colour as he swung the door open again. As the door opened, Sally's jaw dropped. Then she screamed. Then she fainted. Phil caught her just in time and laid her down on the bed. He noticed that his legs were shaking. He turned back to the doorway. The sofa was pushed completely against it, but sideways, with the arm of the sofa just a foot or so below the top of the door frame. Phil swallowed. He went over to it and pushed. It didn't move. He kicked it, hard, then swore, loudly. Sally was coming round.
"Phil?...What...what's...what's going on?"
"It's alright, Sal. I'm here. How do you feel?"
"Okay. Okay, I guess. But...but..."
"Yes. Look. It's true, okay, but calm down. We've got to get out of this room. I need your help, okay?"
"Okay. How...how big is it?"
"Judging by the side at the door, pretty damn big. We need something to stand on to get over the edge."
"Er...the bed, maybe?"
"Yes. Help me move it over there."
Standing on the bed, Phil could just see over the edge of the arm-rest. But all he could see was sofa - sofa so far as the eye could see.
"We need to get into the living-room. Do what I do, okay?"
"Okay."
Phil raised himself up to the edge of the sofa and squeezed through the gap between the arm-rest and the door-frame. He landed on the cushions on the other side and turned round to help Sally. In a moment she was there with him on the sofa. They surveyed their surroundings. The back of the sofa was pushed right up against the wall of the house - the wall with the front door in it - and the top edge of the sofa was jammed up against the ceiling. They estimated that the back wall of the sofa was now about three foot thick. The other side of the sofa had completely blocked out the window. The front end was about Sally's height off the floor. Down between the front end of the sofa and the wall that divided the living-room and the kitchen were the TV, a little table and the chairs that had been the only furniture in the living-room, everything squeezed together up against the wall.
"Well", said Phil, sitting back, "at least we can still get breakfast. What do you want?"
He hopped down onto the floor, opened the kitchen door, which gave about the width of the TV, and squeezed into the kitchen. Sally mutely followed him.
Ten minutes later, Phil was heartily eating his way through a plate of bacon and eggs. Sally just sat staring at the table, her bowl of cereal untouched. Finally she spoke.
"You're acting as if nothing has happened. What are we going to do?"
"It's a funny thing, you know, before, mmm, before, when we first suspected something odd was going on, I couldn't eat a bite, but now, mmm, now I'm starving."
"Stop it. Stop eating and tell me - what are we going to do?"
"I'm hungry, ok? Look. It can't grow anymore, even if it wants to - there's no room. So it's over."
"But, our living-room. We can't even leave the house."
"So? We've got loads of food, and neither of us have to work today. Let's just take our time and come up with a solution. Don't panic - that's the main thing."
"Look, it's my living-room and I'll f*****g well f*****g panic if I want to, alright?!?"
Sally started to sob, hysterically.
"You're (sob) just sodding sub-(sob)-limating, that's all."
"What-limating?"
"Sublimating. (Sob)"
"No I'm not."
"Yes you are (sob)- channeling all your fear and (sob) panic into your appetite. That's your (sob) fifth egg, your fifth! You never eat that much normally (sob). So help me. What are we going to DO?!?"
"Now you're sublimating."
"How?"
"Your being angry has stopped you crying. And you're not shaking anymore, look."
Sally took a deep breath. Phil was right - she'd stopped sobbing. She let the breath out, slowly.
"Okay. So I've calmed down. That still doesn't answer my rather important question, viz - what are we going to do with the sofa that has eaten our living-room?"
"I don't know."
"What?"
"I don't know. I'm not up on what one does in these situations. But I do know something."
"What?"
"We can get out of the house through the window in the bedroom."
"But...but, we're a floor up!"
"It's ok. I'll jump down and go get a ladder or something. Don't worry. Now sit tight and let me finish my breakfast."
So that's what happened. Phil jumped out of the window, sustaining no injuries, and quickly fetched a ladder from a nearby window-cleaners. But Sally didn't want to stay in the house with "that Thing" any longer than was necessary, so she climbed down and they spent the day in town, downing cups of coffee at regular intervals, till the pubs opened and the coffees became beers, in even more regular intervals. Eventually they had, somewhat inebriatedly, resigned themselves that they had "a F*****g Big Sofa" in their house, and that really, the whole thing was rather funny, wasn't it? If a little bizarre. So at a little past midnight, the two of them, with the intense carefulness peculiar to the drunk, crept back up the ladder and back into bed. The Sofa Problem could wait one more day. After all, it wasn't going anywhere.
At four in the morning, Phil and Sally were abruptly awakened by a loud cracking sound. Switching on the light they saw a huge crack appearing in the wall, the crack sounding like a horrendous thunderclap. Sally screamed. Phil swore.
"Oh my God. It hasn't finished!!!"
"It's coming for us!!! It wants US!!!"
"Don't talk crap. Look out!!!"
A piece of plaster succumbed to the pressure put on it from the other side of the wall and pinged towards them. It missed Phil's head by a fraction of an inch.
"Right. That's it. Of course, you realise, this means war..."
Phil got out of bed.
"What time is it? F**k. Four o'clock. There's nothing we can do until morning, unless you want to stay outside. What do you think?"
"Is it safe?"
"I think so. It seems to have stopped growing. In fact, this could just be residual pressure from last night."
"I don't know. What if the roof collapses?"
"I...I don't know. Where is the safest place to be, do you think?"
"I er...I don't know that either. Wait. Wait, yes, I do. But I don't think you'll like it."
"What? Where?!? Tell me!!!"
"On the sofa."
"On it? What do you mean, on the sofa? How?"
"Look, when I was little we used to make forts out of sofa cushions. You prop them up against the back of the sofa. It should be easy now that they're so big - they won't slip anywhere. And if anything does fall onto it, it'll slide right off."
"I...I guess you're right. And, I mean, even if it is growing, it's still just a sofa, right?"
"Right. Come on. Let's make that fort."
The gap between the door-frame and the arm-rest was now quite a bit smaller, but by squishing down hard on the arms and sustaining a few grazes each, they managed to crawl through again. Then they set about making the fort. This involved the pair of them wriggling down behind the cushions (Sally's nightmare came back to her in a flash) which by now were just about waist-height. Then they levered them upwards, bit by bit, until the edges were jammed between the ceiling and the far wall. There was just enough room to stand upright too, in the triangular space the cushions made against the back of the sofa.
"Doesn't seem quite so intimidating now, does it? Now that we've re-arranged it's shape a bit. Sleeping here'll be okay, I think."
"Yes. Yes, I guess so."
So Phil reached down between the door-frame and the arm-rest again and pulled their duvet from the bed, and the two of them settled down to sleep, both trying to pretend that it was all a bad dream and that they'd wake up in their bed, safe and sound.
"Phil?"
"What?"
"What if it hasn't stopped? What if it, you know, grows again, while we're asleep?"
"I don't know. But there's nowhere for it to go. So I think it'll be alright. Go to sleep."
"I'm scared. Hold me."
"Okay. Come here."
Phil was glad she'd said it, because now he didn't have to. He held her close to him and wondered what the bloody hell to do next. Perhaps it would be better if they didn't sleep after all
Four hours later, Phil and Sally awoke with a start.
"What was that?"
"Oh no. Did you sleep?"
"I...yes. Yes, I must've. Did you?"
"Yes. What was that noise?"
"Sounded like glass breaking."
"Oh NO!!!"
Phil lept to his feet. Squeezing through the cushions at the far end of the sofa, he peered down towards the floor.
"F**k!!! It's crushed the TV. And our little table. B******s!!!"
Sally appeared behind Phil.
"So it is still growing! What do we do?"
Before Phil could answer the sofa shook softly, like an earth tremor and inched forwards. More glass broke as the TV buckled further. Sally screamed.
"It's growing!!! But we're awake!!! Phil?!? What do we DO?!?"
"Quick! The bedroom!!!"
But it was too late. The space between the door-frame and the arm-rest had completely disappeared.
"Now what? We're stuck here!"
"Follow me! QUICK!!!"
The sofa shook again as Phil and Sally raced over the sofa-lining and once more squeezed between the cushions.
"We'll have to jump. Have you got your shoes?"
"Of course not - they're in the bedroom. So are yours."
"Okay, but look out for broken glass. I'll go first and see if it's ok."
Phil jumped down onto the floor. He shouted and swore as he landed on some glass and cut his foot. Sally peered down anxiously.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes...yes, it's just a cut."
"Can you see through to the bedroom door?"
"Hold on."
Phil picked his way over the buckled remains of the TV and negotiated his way over the splintered table. He reached the corner of the room. Between the wall that divided their bedroom and the living-room, and the side of the sofa, there was a space about half a foot wide, provided by the arm-rest that hung above him, which was busy embedding itself into the wall. Along the space, he could just make out light from their bedroom. Phil turned to Sally.
"It's okay. Come on."
But at that moment, the sofa gave a tremendous shake and slammed up against the kitchen wall, obliterating the remains of their furniture, and completely cutting Sally off from where he was. At the same time, the wall above him, under pressure from the expanding arm-rest, began to creak and groan ominously. Through that, he could hear Sally screaming.
"PHIL?!? WHERE ARE YOU?!?"
"SALLY!!!", Phil shouted back, unsure if she could hear him, "GET INTO THE KITCHEN!!! GET UNDER THE TABLE AND STAY THERE TILL I GET BACK!!! OKAY?!?"
There was no answer. Phil tried to remember just how much of the kitchen door-frame would be left. Well, if the arm-rest was that high, then this side, without the cushions would be just about...
"CRRRR-ACK!!!"
A great crack appeared in the wall above his head. There was no time to lose. He forced himself along the gap, petrified lest another sudden burst of growth should suffocate him right there against the wall. After what seemed like an age he reached the bedroom-doorway and popped through it, falling over the bed as he did so. He quickly pulled on his clothes and headed for the window. The last thing he saw as he started down the ladder was a shower of dust and plaster as the bedroom wall cracked in fourteen different places and the sofa began to show through.
Once on the street, Phil looked around helplessly. Who should he call? The Police? "Hello? Yes - help me, my girlfriend is being eaten by a giant sofa." No. Definitely not. Fire-brigade? "Hello? Giant sofa division?" No. Ambulance? He didn't want to think about that. What about the army? No. No-one would believe it. He had to face facts - he was on his own. Think, man, think. What would they do in the movies? What would Clint do? What would Harrison do? What would Arnie do?...
The old proprietor of "A Chainsaw Is As Good As A Rest" gave a little sigh as he lifted the faded yellow blind on the shopdoor and turned the closed sign round to open. Business, he'd had to face it, had been bad. Especially since that big Homebase had opened last year. There was just no call for your local neighbourhood chainsaw dispenser, nowadays. Fast service, that's all people wanted these days. Well, he hoped their teeth rusted, them and their fancy cheap Homebase rubbish, ha. Suddenly the little bell on the door rang and shook the proprietor from his melancholy reverie.
"The Chinese is down the road and on the...", he began.
"I don't want a Chinese, I want a chainsaw. The best you've got. And quick!", said Phil, his breath heaving.
"What? You do? Certainly sir! What are your needs?"
"Eh?"
"What materials will sir be working with?"
"Er...wood. Wood, material and, um...stuffing. And maybe plaster."
"I see. Then sir will be requiring the EE-ZEE CUT 2000, our finest model, not like these cheap models you get at certain places I won't mention, such as..."
"Great. I'll take it. Do you take plastic?"
"I...certainly, but, won't sir require a demonstration?"
"Yes. Yes. But quick!!!"
"Well, you make sure the throttle is open, and, naturally, that you're charged up, like so, and then you just pull the cord and let 'er rip, like this."
He pulled the cord and the EE-ZEE CUT 2000 roared into life. The man smiled.
"SEE THAT?", he shouted over the noise, "FIRST TIME. QUALITY'S VERY RARE THESE DAYS."
He waved it around, enthusiastically. Ah, it was a beautiful machine alright. Phil's hand reached out to his arm. He turned it off, blushing, as he realised he'd gotten carried away.
"Sorry. It's been so long, see?"
"That's ok. So. That's the off-button. What about cutting? Anything to remember?"
"Just keep it away from you and to one side. But you won't have any trouble with this baby, let me tell you..."
"Great. I'll take it."
"Would you like me to wrap it up for you?"
"No. Here's the card."
"Okay. Well, I must say, it's been a pleasure doing business with you - here you are - and all our items come with a five-year warrantee and..."
But Phil had gone. The old man blinked quietly and then shrugged and sat down. Perhaps business would pick up after all.
Phil raced back to the house. As he climbed the ladder, the EE-ZEE CUT 2000 strapped to his arm, he could see the sofa-material poking through the window. God only knew what that meant.
"HANG ON SALLY!!!", he shouted, "I'M COMING."
He reached the window. It was a wall of sofa. He pulled the cord and the EE-ZEE CUT 2000 sang out. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and plunged the spinning blade of metal teeth deep into the sofa. There was an agonising wrenching sound, and then he felt something soft against his face. He opened his eyes. The stuffing from the sofa was shooting out into the air, like a snowstorm in the movies. It was a downy, feathery material, the softest Phil had ever felt. It made him feel almost guilty. In five minutes, Phil had carved a decent space for himself. He turned off the chainsaw and paused to get his bearings. Ok. Window behind me. Bedroom. Door over there. Kitchen to the right. Right. He shouted again.
"SALLY?!?"
He thought he heard something. Then the sofa shook around him and he heard a muffled scream. With a hard, wrenching yank he brought the chainsaw back to life and pushed on through the wall of stuffing. For some reason it was denser - as if cotton wool had metamorphosed into plasticine. All sorts of images flashed through Phil's mind as he hacked his way forward. An electric carving-knife and some play-dough. Clark Gable hacking his way through the jungle in black and white. Doctor Livingstone, I presume. Tarzan and ...and Sally. Phil paused, the chainsaw roaring in his ears. He could swear he was in the living-room now. That meant he was just a few feet from the kitchen. He shouted again.
"SALLY?!?"
The moment that she had been cut off from Phil, Sally had almost fainted. She had screamed "Where are you?", but fear had risen in her throat and choked off any reply. She had just caught Phil's muffled advice and, petrified, she had scrambled towards the space between the sofa and the top of the door-frame and squeezed through it just as the second burst of growth completely sealed the gap. She landed with a thud on the kitchen floor. She looked around, wildly. No exit. What should she do? She looked at the doorway. The sofa was bulging through it, causing the doorframe to strain. Sally ran to the cutlery drawer and grabbed a carving-knife. She took it in both hands and plunged it into the sofa, repeatedly.
"Leave...me...alone!!!", she screamed.
But nothing happened. Some stuffing fell out of where she had torn the material, and she began to feel quite stupid. Would she do this to a normal-sized sofa? But suddenly the sofa shook again and the whole of the kitchen wall began to creak. Small cracks appeared around the door-frame. The doors on all the cupboards along the kitchen wall swung open simultaneously. Sally panicked. She dived under the kitchen table. Then there was a cacophony of splintering noises and a horrendous crash as the cupboards all fell down, smashing free of their doors and spilling crockery and tins of food all over the floor. Sally peeked out - there were now huge cracks in the wall, which were visibly quaking under pressure. She quickly grabbed two of the cupboard doors and propped them up in front of the table. Peeking through the gap between the doors, she saw the cracks in the wall vibrate and grow larger, and then the sofa gave another horrendous shake and the wall itself splintered and gave way, crumpling to the floor in a shower of plaster. Sally screamed as the shards of wood and plaster rained against her cupboard-doors. The noise, for a second, was deafening, but, as the dust settled, so did an air of silence. Sally peeked between the doors again. As she did so, however, a huge piece of plaster fell from the ceiling, crashing down onto the table. She screamed again. Then the sofa shook again and moved forward another foot, advancing smoothly across the floor and crunching through the remains of the ceiling like someone carelessly eating a piece of toast. Sally stared in amazement and realised she had stopped screaming. She was still scared, but screaming wasn't getting her anywhere. She realised she had to do something, and quick. With a burst of adrenaline-fuelled strength she lifted up the table so the plaster slid off it. She turned the table up lengthways and propped it against the wall so she could stand behind it. Then she lifted the length of plaster and propped that up against the table, for extra protection. Finally she gathered up all the cupboard doors that were loose and stacked them on top of the up-ended table, in case anything else fell from the ceiling. As she reached up to put them in place, the sofa advanced again and gave her a tiny little push. She jumped.
"It's teasing me - like a cat with a mouse", she said, then added "B*****D!!!" as an afterthought. Then something strange happened - she couldn't be sure, but she was sure she'd heard it...no, it couldn't be...could it? She insulted it again. "F*****G BITCH COW SOFA FROM HELL!!!", she shouted, and this time she was sure. The sofa was growling. At that moment it gave another jump forward and Sally quickly ducked behind the table just as another shower of ceiling-bits rained down. She listened, petrified. The growling was getting louder. She screamed, loudly. The sofa advanced again - it was now pressed up against the table. The growling was now more of a snarling roar - louder and somehow closer.
"Christ", thought Sally, "it really is going to eat me..."
The legs of the table were beginning to creak and buckle under the strain as the roaring became more and more deafening.
"HELP!!!", she screamed, "HEEELP!!! PHIL!!!"
Suddenly the table legs gave way, simultaneously, each splintering into tiny pieces. The whole tabletop, pushed by another spurt from the sofa jumped forward and smashed into her face, giving her a nosebleed. She was now jammed between the table and the wall, bleeding and sobbing. Her head was pressed to one side and she couldn't move - one more push would crush her to death.
"I'm sorry", she whispered, barely able to hear herself above the roaring noise, "whatever I've done, I'm sorry, just please, don't eat me..."
Suddenly something bit through the table just above her head. Teeth?!? No, it couldn't be!!!
"NOOOOO!!!", she screamed. "HELP!!!"
But the teeth continued, moving above her head and into her line of vision. She held her breath. Then they turned and cut straight down to the floor. The table was pulled away and there stood Phil, chainsaw in hand.
"Hello", he said.
Sally fainted.
When Sally woke up, Phil was gently wiping her face clean with his handkerchief.
"Is it...am I...?", she said.
"It's dead", said Phil. "I cut the heart right out of it. Are you ok?"
"Still a bit shaky, and my nose hurts, but, yes, ok, I guess. Thankyou."
"What for?"
"Saving my life...I always wanted to say that..."
Phil laughed.
"The pleasure was all mine."
"Phil?"
"Yes?"
"What are we going to do? We can't afford a new fla-"
"We don't have to. I've been thinking..."
Sally was sceptical at first, but she had to admit she couldn't think of anything better. So she sat on the downy floor and watched while Phil diligently carved their entire flat out of the skeletal remains of the sofa. They had been lucky - the water fixtures for both the kitchen and the bathroom had been on the wall Sally was trapped against, so they still had plumbing, a sink, a toilet and a bath. And they still had electricity - Sally had found the kettle (a tad dented, but functional) and Phil's first job was cutting away access to the sink and a power-point, so they could have tea.
When he had finished he surveyed his handiwork.
"You see?", he said. "The sofa walls are thick and strong enough to replace the outside ones, and the inner material is dense enough to use as inner walls. I think it's great!"
Sally had to agree.
"Okay, so you're a genius. But how can you be sure it won't, you know, attack again?"
"It won't", said Phil. "It knows who's boss now. Come here, I want to show you something."
He led Sally into what had been the bedroom. In the corner was a home-made bed, carved from sofa-insides, over which Phil had lain their sheets and their duvet.
"Most comfortable bed you've ever slept in, I guarantee it", he said.
Sally was smiling. She walked over and sat on the bed. It was lovely and soft.
"Nice to know you've got your priorities right, anyway", she said. "Now come here..."
A week later Phil and Sally had pretty much replaced everything the sofa had destroyed. They had a new, slightly smaller TV, new cupboards, a new kitchen table, a new coffee table, a new window and a new telephone - even new light bulbs. One of Phil's friends from the pub had kindly donated two large armchairs, rather pink in hue, admittedly, but comfortable nonetheless. In fact, there was only one thing missing...
"Thankyou very much indeed, sir. Believe you me, that's three hundred and ninety-nine, ninety-nine well spent, that is. A very popular model, sir, oh yes indeed. We sell two hundred of these a year, you know. Very popular with young couples like yourselves."
"Thankyou", said Sally. "Yes, we like it, don't we, Phil?"
"Yes", said Phil. "And it matches our chairs..."
THE END.
