A story I've written - it will either be called "Chaos" or "A Night To Remember"

hatrickpatrick

Genre: Action packed slapstick comedy. I tried to make it as fast paced and chaotic as possible

Also, do be advised that this is a semi-long story.

Credits:
Helen Cresswell, whose Bagthorpe Saga inspired this story,
A Mhathair Eivlin, who provided endless critique and editing suggestions,
Johnny O Neil, who contributed the description of the cat as "a brave captain going down with his ship" - thanks Johnny


It had all been so well planned. The biggest event of the summer and possibly the greatest party ever to be thrown. Pete had been excitedly planning this for so long - the perfect way to end his first year in college and cement his reputation as THE party planner, the king pin of raves, the big cheese of revelry. It was to be held in his old family holiday home, which had just been renovated and was therefore unoccupied. Although the renovation was not entirely finished yet, he had been assured by the building team that holding a party in the house would be perfectly feasible - there were only minor adjustments which still had to be made, such as the completion of the new staircase and the removal of some leftover pieces of building equipment - nothing too serious, just some hoses, shovels, and bags of cement. Certainly nothing which could put the grand event in any serious jeopardy.

Of course, as always with these events, it had grown from the original plan for a modest gathering into a monstrously massive affair, with all of the initial guests inviting friends, who invited brothers and sisters, who invited cousins, who invited neighbours, who invited the members of the local racquetball society, and so on, until it had become the most talked about upcoming bash for several weeks. Not that Pete or Jack minded, of course - "The more the merrier" was what Jack always said, and Pete, of course, saw it as a chance to create an even bigger reputation for his pioneering business plans than even he had dreamed of. One of Jack's friends, John, had also shown a keen interest in the party planning scene, and it was with great enthusiasm that he had offered his services, which had been accepted with relief by Pete and Jack, who despite their grand aspirations, had begun to wonder if they'd bitten off more than they could chew. John was a fantastic help, being an innovative entrepreneur, who always seemed to solve problems in a most original manner which Pete and Jack felt would probably never even have crossed their minds without him. Better still, with three organizers now involved, the available budget for the party had steadily increased, until they had found themselves able to hire a catering team for the event. The house was already very well furnished, having been used by the family partly as a sort of "holding tank" for any furniture which was either too big or too unnecessary to warrant taking up space in their houses. As a result, there was no need to hire tables, chairs, cutlery, or crockery - all this was already in abundant supply.

The three organizers had arrived early that morning to investigate and see what remained to be done before the doors could be opened to the party which would change the world (well, at least that's what they had said on their initial invitations. The likelihood of this being the case was still the subject of furious debate). The catering team had also arrived early to help set up the huge living room for the grand occasion. It was just across the hall from the kitchen, so there would be no problems about moving between the two rooms. This would come in handy, as the kitchen was not quite as large as the living room and could potentially get very cramped if too many people were in it at once. With the team's help, Pete and John began to move the tables and furniture into the living room, while Jack welcomed the chef and showed him around. When all these preparations had been completed, the chef took his place in the kitchen and, after admiring the huge ovens and cookers, had set to work creating his masterpiece. As Jack returned to help Pete and John, he heard a distinct purr behind him, and turned to see the resident tortoise shell cat. He laughed, having forgotten completely about the eccentric animal which had lived in the house for as long as he could remember. He was surprised to see him still there given that the house had lain dormant for so long, and could only assume that he was being fed either by the builders or by some other house nearby. he reached out to pick it up, but as always, it had disappeared quick as lighting.
It seemed to take forever, but at last the house was ready for the party. At around half seven, the first guests began to arrive. Pete had been well prepared for a sudden influx, knowing that many had probably travelled together, and he greeted them enthusiastically at the door. Slowly but surely, the living room came to life, and an excited buzz was beginning to fill the house.This was, after all, an event which had been in everyone's minds for months, and all were determined to make it as memorable as possible. Music was played, and various party lights which had been drafted in began to flash, creating an authentic rave atmosphere. Ater several minutes Jack wandered in and announced that the first course of food was on its way, and indicated the large buffet table which stood at one end of the huge room. Even as he said this, the waiters arrived and began to serve the first round of drinks. As if to compound the success, even in the first twenty minutes of the party, John pulled Jack to one side and warned him that more chairs would be needed much sooner than they had expected. Leaving the front door open for the rest of the party to arrive, Pete happily wandered in to the living room and started to mingle with the party. To all intents and purposes, the hard work on everyone's part had paid off and the party would, indeed, be a night to remember.

It must be said, however, that the reasons for the latter might perhaps not have been quite what they had had in mind.

On a hill not so far from the house there was a big farm. The farmer was something of a local celebrity and known for many things, not least the huge crops he managed to produce out in the country, which had won him many awards over the years. Outside the massive grounds of the party's venue, a small forest separated it from the farm. This was a forest in which Pete, Jack, and John had spent many summers searching for ghosts in, and playing various variants of hiding games.
The farmer was, as it happened, out of town, at another garden show, at which he made a regular appearance. As always when he went away, he had left his animals free in the countryside - there was hardly any traffic in those parts so it was perfectly safe. His dogs, in particular, required no looking after, being totallty self sufficient, and fantastic hunters. They roamed the countryside unchecked, and had always been able to look after themselves.
This night, however, was different. The usual tranquility of the forest had been disturbed. Since early that morning, cars and vans had been driving through its road with unbelievable frequency. (These, of course, were the cars of the partiers and of the catering team, although the dogs, naturally, were no to know this).
As the self-styled rulers of the land, the dogs were more than curious whenever the peace was disturbed, and this was no exception. When they noticed the increasing volume of traffic, they perked up, excitedly anticipating that some action might be provided for them during what had otherwise been a relatively boring and uneventful week. Moreover, their keen senses of smell had detected the delicious smell of a wide assortment of food contained in the vans which had been passing through, and the dogs, being skilled scavengers, had set off straight away to follow the trail left behind. They were very organized when they had to be, and their pack had designated sniffers, hunters, and explorers. The sniffers led the pack, falling in behind the unspoken leader (in this case, the dog who had first noticed the level of activity in the woods and sniffed out the banquet which was being transported). This trail led them out of the forest and to the edges of the farm.

They were not at all used to anything interesting happening in this part of the land, and as such did not know it very well. This added to their anticipation and sense of adventure, and they excitedly explored the new terrain. Eventually, they remembered what they had come for, and the sniffers at the front identified the source of the enticing scent as being the old abandoned house over on the far side. Although this did surprise the dogs - that house had been nothing more than a building site for weeks now - they nonetheless set off towards it. Whatever was going on in there, they thought, it was sure to provide them with a bit of fun. With this, the leading scout cautiously slipped in through the front door.

* * *

Jack, meanwhile, had gone into a store room at the back to get more supplies. He was thrilled at the success of the party, and this was underlined the fact that despite their preparations, they simply hadn't bargained for so many people turning up so quickly. He was trying to see if there were any more chairs in the store room before himself and Pete had to drive to John's house - the closest to the party - and get more, as a last resort. The store room was dark and dank, and its light had blown, making it rather difficult to see where he was going. At last, however, he spotted a stack of patio chairs in the corner. There were at least fifty of them - obviously the summer weather hadn't warranted having so many and they had been dumped here for safe keeping by various people. Relieved, he began to make his way past the assortment of bric-a-brac and retrieve as many chairs as he could carry. They were very dusty but would do, he reasoned, if he could wipe them down a bit. He cast around for a cloth and spotted a rag covering a box in the other corner. He reached out for it, but when he pulled on it, the box it was covering teetered over and hit a neatly stacked column of smaller boxes next to it. As the boxes smashed into eachother, Jack realized that he had started a domino effect which could potentially obstruct his exit, and so he hurriedly began to pul at the chairs. When he did so, the chairs stubbornly refused to budge. He pulled again, to no avail. He then noticed that the chairs were wedged in between several huge wardrobes, and that he would need some help if he was to get them out. He duly turned and headed back towards the living room.

As he got closer, he thought he could hear people shouting, but dismissed this as the usual banter of such a huge gathering. As he passed through the doorway, however, he collided with John, who was running pell mell out of the room, a look of sheer panic on his face. Looking into the room, he quickly discovered the source of John's distress.

The resident cat was perched on a shelf in the far corner of the room, hissing, meowing, and swinging its tail menacingly. The reason for this was immediately clear. The dogs had picked up his scent and were assembled in pack formation in front of the cat's ledge. It was a stand-off. The cat stared the dogs at the front straight in the eye, which, to a dog, is a direct challenge to authority. The biggest, near the front,stood stock still, feeling confident with the backing of his companions. The cat, however, was completely unperturbed by the presence of the dogs, and as if to underline this, it started to edge closer to the edge of the shelf.

At some point, the cat must have calculated the chances of one of the dogs reaching the shelf, and discovered that its vantage point might not have been quite as safe as previously thought. At the same time, one of the dogs farther back had reared up on its hind legs, and the cat had been alarmed to note its full height. Worse, now that some of the dogs were shifting impatiently in line, the sheer size of the pack could be clearly seen. The cat took all of this information in and began to arrive at a hideous conclusion. Meanwhile, the dogs grew more confident in eachother's company and were almost ready to make their move. The party had momentarily ground to a halt, as the guests watched this display, torn between fear and fascination. For several seconds, nobody dared to even breathe.
The deadly silence which had descended was broken by a deep growl from one of the bigger dogs. One or two near the front took several steps forward. The cat, finally sensing that it was outnumbered, bolted.

The confusion which ensued was, by any standards, extreme. The dogs, which had been eyeing the cat with undisguised hostility, charged.


Chaos reigned. Panicked, the general population of the room scattered in all directions as the dogs charged madly after the cat. The cat, running for dear life, was frantically calculating its safest escape route. At length it decided that the dogs were unlikely to fit between the lower legs of the buffet table, and so it quickly darted in under it. The dogs, unfortunately, were not quite so quick minded, their sense of reason being totally suppressed by whatever primal instinct it is that fuels the canine hatred of cats. The leader of the makeshift pack, without pausing to think of the consequences, turned sharply and followed the cat under the tablecloth.

No one was ever quite sure exactly what had happened next. This was partly due to the fact that the tablecloth obscured whatever was happening below, and partly due to the extreme level of chaos which followed. A loud thud was heard, followed by a confused yelp. This was almost immediately cut short by a chaotic cacophony of barks, yelps, and bangs. The end of the table which the dogs had entered bucked violently, and promptly gave way. The massive arrangement of delicacies above slid to the lower end with remarkable ferocity, The chef let out a terrible wail as he watched his pained efforts go to waste, and after only fractional hesitation, raced towards the table. It would be fair to say that his judgement had been severely impaired by the overwhelming grief he was experiencing for his work of art, but even so this decision was extremely foolish. Pete realized far too late what was about to happen, and he lunged forward to pull the waiter back. Before he could do so, however, the inevitable happened.

The chef had almost reached the table when he let out a yell of surprise and fear. The dogs, terrified by the collapse of the table, had been momentarily immobilized, but their terror had quickly turned to a survival instinct, and their leader had decided that the best (and indeed only) course of action available to him was to get out, fast. He had wisely aimed for the side of the table which was still standing - but this, unfortunately, was the same side that the chef was reaching for. It's hard to say which was most horrified, the chef or the pack leader, but regardless, the end result was that the chef tripped over the dog and went flying headfirst into the table, which at this point collapsed completely. The dogs, rushing to get out of the way, scattered. What had moments before been a rampaging but organized pack turned into a rampaging riot of individual dogs, which had decided that their leader had proven himself incompetent (beyond measure?) and that they would rather take their chances going it alone. The consequences of this for the rest of the room's inhabitants were dire. Just as the table collapsed, sending all manner of food and drink flying in every conceivable direction, the dogs began to charge in every conceivable direction, baring their teeth and looking incredibly menacing. The revellers panicked, and for a few moments there was complete and utter confusion.

On top of this, the cat was nowhere to be found, and this led the dogs to literally tear the room apart looking for it. They went into this task with gusto and efficiency, promptly wreaking total destruction on many of the room's larger set pieces. Jack, showing incredible momentary bravery, intervened, doing the only thing he could think of. He cupped his hands together and whistled, long and shrill. The dogs, which up until now had been racing randomly around the room and leaving a trail of devastation behind them, stopped dead. The leader of the pack whirled around, looking for the source of the whistle. It was at this point that Jack realized he had no follow up plan, and this was underlined when the dog finally spotted him, and almost immediately lunged forwards, followed by his pack. As the dogs charged across the room, Jack did the only thing he could do, which was to run. On instinct he raced straight out of the living room and around to the front door. The dogs reacted instantly and followed him out into the hall. He fumbled for the key, desperately trying to get it open. The door was wedged tightly shut, and it took all of his strength to try to prise it loose. This was even more difficult as he was acutely aware of the angry dogs charging towards him, getting closer by the second. Finally, he managed to wrench it open, and the dogs, relieved at finally finding the way out of hell, charged through it. Jack quickly slammed the door behind them and breathed a sigh of relief. is relief quickly turned to confusion as he became aware of the deafening din from the living room. Bewildered, he turned around and cautiously peered in the door.

It was not a pretty sight.

After the table had collapsed, those who were near it had literally dived out of its way. What was unfortunate, however, was that they had been driven by an automatic survival instinct which had overcome any (sense) of common sense and reason. Many others in the room had been watching the charge of the dogs with awe and horror, and they were now standing in what was, for many, the favored escape route. To make matters worse, some of them were holding plates, bowls, and glasses, all of which had only just been filled and collected from the ill-fated buffet table. The survivors of the table's collapse did not have time to register these obstacles, and when the inevitable collision finally occurred between these two groups, chaos erupted like never before. Plates flew, glasses spilled, shouting and cursing broke out, and the more unlucky members of the party were knocked to the floor and trampled in the charge. It was not unreasonable, therefore, that tensions and tempers had risen dramatically in the few minutes it took for the dogs to be gotten rid of and for the panic to subside, and in the aftermath of this, an epic row had developed. Recriminations flew, post mortems were held, and responsibility was universally disclaimed, . This was further complicated by much stronger emotions on the part of the tramplees who had been caught at the front of the rout. For them, rage and revenge were now a priority. Another factor was that those who had been served first had consumed considerably more drink than those who hadn't, and depending which side these were on, they were either particularly angry and seen as a major threat, or particularly merry and seen an easy target by those seeking vengeance. All of this had led to an unbelievably complex and massive melee. What made matters worse was that many who had not been involved at all in the initial incidents were dragged into the developing riot when, for example, a mis-aimed punch landed on their table and overturned it, or a flying projectile hit them and they set about finding and bringing the perpetrators to justice. Within minutes, the vast majority of the party's guests were involved in what was, quite possibly, the biggest riot ever known to mankind. Jack watched in disbelieving awe, amazed by how much water can pass under a bridge in such a short time. Pete, on the other hand, had been there to witness the opening blows of the fight and had tried in vain to calm down the situation. He now found himself in the middle of the fight, desperately trying to defend himself, stop the dight, and get out of it all at the same time.

It was at this moment that John reappeared in the room. He had scarpered earlier when the dogs had first arrived, and had been hiding in a back room trying to think of a plan. He had eventually hit on the solution of luring the dogs outside with food and locking them out, and felt that this was probably the easiest and least dangerous method open to them. He was therefore shell shocked to find that the problem he had gone away to solve was long past, and that he was now confronted with a totally new and even more messy situation. "What the...?" was as far as his thoughts got before he was hit by an orange which had come out of the right hand side of the riot. Before he could react, he was grabbed from behind by Jack, who pulled him into the corner. "What... What..." he spluttered incoherently. "Don't ask" Jack panted, breathless. "We have to help Pete" he explained, pointing. Pete was, at this moment,, involved in a three way brawl near the center of the melee. Pushing their way through the outer rim of the fight, they at last found Pete, who was desperately attempting to hold back two particularly angry rioters who were attempting to throw eachother against the drinks table which stood next to the wall. As Pete fought his losing battle, it became abundantly clear to Jack and John that there was, in reality, no way he could win. Taking this on board, John grabbed Pete's arm and started to pull him bak. Pete struggled furiously against him, determined to do his bit, but they managed to force him out of the crowd. After he had taken several deep breaths, he gasped "Thanks, I had gone a bit crazy in there..." At that moment, he turned just in time to see the table, finallly, crashing to the floor, amidst the shouting of disgruntled revellers. "Let it go, Pete" John insisted. There was absolutely nothing anyone could do. Pete said nothing, and at length he just nodded somberly and followed Jack and John as they took refuge from the ongoing feud.

Back in the kitchen, things had begun to fall apart. The two remaining waiters were puzzled and even irritated by the lengthy absence of the chef and their colleagues, as this, naturally, upset the proceedings a great deal. They were not, nor had they ever claimed to be, experienced cooks, and it was therefore with a great deal of uncertainty that they had decided to just leave everything alone, despite the fact that several things looked as if they were about to be overdone to the point of inedibility. "Where could he be?" one asked in annoyance. "Beats me", said the other, "but he'd better get back in here fast before the whole thing is ruined...". The first waiter had more experience, having been working in this team for longer, and therefore knew the temperamental nature of the chef in question. "Ah he's just eccentric, you know... he'll be back in time, don't worry". They had sat for a long time pondering this, until one of them had finally decided that he'd had enough. "I'm going to find out what's going on, I'll be back in a minute" he said, grumbling. With that, he left the kitchen and disappeared across the hall.
The second waiter had then waited for him for upwards of ten minutes, before he began to wonder what was up. Left alone in the kitchen, he was totally unequipped to do anything at all, and the longer he waited, the more tedious it became. Finally, with an irritated sigh, he decided to occupy himself and bring another tray of drinks in to the party. with any luck, he reasoned, he might find out what the hell was going. So thinking, he picked up a tray and loaded about twenty impressive looking cocktails - complete with the fancy straws and umbrellas - and left the kitchen. As he approached the door of the living room, he hesitated. The sounds he was hearing did, indeed, sound like one hell of a party, but there was something amiss, which he couldn't quite identify. The shouting and roaring which usually accompanies an event such as this generally had an air of jubilation and thrill, which seemed to be disturbingly absent from the noises floating across the hall. If he hadn't been so busy concentrating on not spilling anything, he might have noticed the shrieks and the shouts, but as it happened he was too distracted to hear anything specific. He finally decided that no matter how wild the party had become, they would probably still be glad of the drinks. He also had a paranoid inkling that his colleagues had joined the revelry and left him to handle it all on his own, which, although ludicrous, was nonetheless a feasible explanation, and one which made him feel slightly resentful towards the rest of the team. If he caught them in the act, he thought he might be able to guilt them into coming back and finishing the job at hand.

The very instant the waiter opened the door, he was pulled into the biggest riot he had ever seen. It was extremely unfortunate that someone had been about to flee through the door just as the waiter had opened it, and not having time to react, the waiter grabbed hold of the door handle and clung on for dear life as the door was violently shoved open from the other side. There was an almighty clash as the tray of drinks, which the waiter had abandoned when he instinctively clung to the door, overturned and deposited its contents on the unfortunate guest who had been trying to escape from the room. Covered in drinks, and having been hit in the head by the falling tray, he angrily cast around for whoever was responsible, and seeing the waiter running back out of the room, he deduced that this must be the idiot who has been so unforgivably clumsy.

"Get out of here" he hissed. "You're a menace to society..." Taking aim, he fired a tomato at the waiter, who just managed to get into the kitchen and slam the door in time The tomato instead hit a bookshelf, dislodging it from its frame and sending it crashing to the floor. The vibrations caused by this resulted in several extremely valuable paintings which had been hanging near the bookcase to fall, and above that, the priceless shield which had been overlooking the hall proudly was wrenched from its plaque, joining the mess in the hallway below. Watching this chain reaction, horrified, he ran back into the living room and slammed the door, hoping no one would know that he had caused the chaos out there. As he ran in he heard several more crashing sounds behind him, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw a mounted deer's head falling from the wall above where the shield had been. As he slammed the door, he heard an earth shattering smashing sound, and deduced that the ornament had hit the giant chandelier which hung in the middle of the hall. Seeing it swinging and creaking was enough to make him finally turn and rejoin the fray."

Hiding in a corner, Pete, Jack, and John were taking refuge from the ongoing rioting and desperately trying to come to a solution. "Right, I have a plan", announced Jack at length. "There's a high powered hose coiled up outside, we could use it to get their attention - we've tried everything else, and if we don't do something soon they're going to start either killing eachother, or worse, do some serious damage to the paintwork in there..."That sounds like a plan" John agreed". I'll go and get the hose. Pete, come out with me and turn the hose on when I'm in position..." So saying, he went outside with Pete. They found the industrial-standard pressure hydrant outside, like Jack had described. Pete examined the pump it was connected to. "How do you turn this thing on?" he wondered out loud. John bent over it, peering at the controls. "Wow" he exclaimed, "there sure are a lot of buttons for such a simple machine..." Pete glanced at the back of the device, and said "Hang on a sec, there's a sticker over here with instructions on it..." "Brilliant", replied John, "I'll get the torch". He returned an instant later and flashed the torch over the back of the machine. "Wow" Pete said in awe, "Look at all those warning labels... This must be one badass water cannon" "Excellent" John said, grinning. He started to read the instructions. "How is it possible", Pete asked in irritation "that a PUMP could be so complicated? This is more like an encyclopedia than a manual..." "I THINK I've figured it out" John said at length. You press this button here to turn on the power, than after waiting for it to heat up you pull that lever to open the flood gate. The farther you pull it, the stronger the blast". "Right, well I'll pull it all the way, then" Pete said, a grin spreading across his face. "Those barbarians won't know what's hit them". With a look of pure evil, John grabbed the nozzle and ran back inside with it. "You turn it on as soon as I'm in position" he said excitedly. "Perfect", Pete replied. "Hang on, how will I know when you're ready?" he asked. "I'll give you a shout" John called from the doorway, and disappeared inside.

It was a pity they had been so hasty in assuming that the cannon's manual had been unnecessarily long. Had either of them taken the time to read it properly, they might have noticed the big, bold lettered warning reminding users to make sure the safety lock on the hose was off before pulling the lever - otherwise, the warning explained, the water would back up and serious damage could occur to either the pump, the mains pipe it was connected to, and/or to the person holding the hose. As it happened, none of these warnings were heeded, or even noticed, by the pump's intended users. It must therefore be said that Pete and John, though acting with the best intentions, must undoubtedly share at least some of the responsibility for the unbelievable havoc which followed.

* * *

John entered the living room, this time feeling confident and in control with the nozzle of the high pressure hose under his arm. He paused for a moment to observe the scene. Things had changed since he was last in the living room. For a start, another table had been overturned in the midst of the fight, and the pile of smashed chairs was higher than last time, with more of them having been used as either shields or battering rams. He arrived just in time to see yet another table go down, and was horrified to see one of its legs being wrenched off and hurled into the middle of the crowd. For an instant, he feared for whoever had been hit by the leg, but before he had time to think about this, there was an almighty crash as the leg came flying back out from the crowd and sailed through the window, shattering the glass to smithereens. Someone now emerged from the crowd and began to hack at the other legs of the table with a large piece of wood. At first, John thought that he was trying to arm himself, but he soon discovered that this, in fact, must have been the victim of the last plank landing in the crowd, and was now furiously attempting to get rid of the others before they, too, became dangerous. As John watched, the crook of an umbrella came out of nowhere and hooked his leg, pulling him back into the crowd. He held on with all his might and wrenched the third leg free from the table, having just sent the second out the window to join the first. As he disappeared into the confusion, followed by the leg he was grasping, a sudden clamour of chaotic yells and shrieks could be heard from the general area he had been pulled into - John could only assume that the massive block of wood he had acquired was now being put to good use. Seeing it occasionally swinging above the heads of the rioters finally brought John back to Earth, and he realised that if they didn't act now, blood, literally, would be shed. "Pete! Now!" he shouted, carefully aiming the nozzle at the side of the crowd in which the plank was being used. With any luck, he reasoned, he'd be able to blast it out of its wielder's hands before it did any serious damage. Bracing himself for the force of the water, he grasped the nozzle with both hands and dug his feet into the carpet, waiting for the surge which was sure to end this riot once and for all.

No such blast arrived. The hose did not suddenly vibrate with unbelievable force, and an incredibly powerful jet of water did not erupt from the end of it. As a result of this, the crowd did not get utterly drenched and stunned by the water, and the riot did not, therefore, come to an abrupt halt. John waited expectantly for several seconds, his mind insisting that the water was just building up a massive surge before it was finally unleashed on the crowd. "Any second now", he thought, "an epic flood will be unleashed." (As it turned out, this thought turned out to be extremely accurate - though events did not quite play out as John would have hoped). After several more seconds had passed, he began to realize that something was amiss. Surely, no matter how much charge the pump needed, it should have been churning out water long before now? He gave the hose a quick tug - perhaps Pete simply hadn't heard him over the racket of the riot. This thought was quickly disproven by the arrival of Pete himself, with Jack not far behind him. He had come in to see the devastating effects of the hose on the riot. Judging from the force with which the pump had begun to vibrate, he was certain that he would not be disappointed.
His shock, therefore, at seeing the riot still in full swing and John standing at the door with the hose, looking completely bewildered, was extreme. John turned around and looked at Pete in utter confusion. "Turn on the pump!!!" he roared, struggling to make himself heard over the din of the riot. "Quickly, this is getting desperate..." "But... But... It IS on!" Pete shouted back at him. "I pulled the lever as soon as you called, at least 5 minutes ago..." John's eyes widened in confusion, but before he had time to explain, he heard a loug crash followed by another series of roars and curses, and turned to see a huge lamp hit the floor. He quickly realized that something had to be done, and fast. "Here, take this" he said, frantically thrusting the nozzle into Jack's hands. "I'll go and see what's wrong" he called, dashing out the door. He ran for the front door to check on the pump, but a loud hissing sound from upstairs stopped him dead in his tracks. He turned around and peered up the stairs. Far above the floor, the mains water pipe ran along the ceiling, and it was at a corner of this that he noticed the first leak. Water was hissing out of it with incredible force, drenching everything nearby. As he watched, a bolt flew off the pipe's joint and a second leak erupted from the hole, bigger than the first. While the water was seeping out of it, the pipe creaked and began to sag. Before he could fully take in the implications of what was happening, he heard a loud MEOW - and thus another mstery was solved. The cat which had started the lethal charge of the dogs had taken refuge at the top of the stairs, and was intending to stay up there until it deemed that it was safe to venture back down.
Cats, it is well known, detest water. No one is quite sure why, but it's reasonable to say that, to a cat, water is the one thing which is considered worse than death. It was no surprise, therefore, that the cat was eyeing the leaking pipes with an expression of pure hatred. It sat, menacingly, on the top step, staring at the water in the apparent hope that it would be frightened away and back off. The water, however, did not seem at all put off by the menacing presence of the cat, and as John watched, horrified, the pipe sprung yet another leak. As more and more of the pipe was worn away by the pressure, it became clear that it could not withstand much more. As John watched this unfolding situation, his mind dimly registered the urgency of doing something, but this was quickly followed by the realization that there was, actually in fact, nothing he could do.

* * *

Back in the living room, Pete and Jack were frantically trying to figure out what had gone wrong. "Maybe the mains is turned off" Jack suggested, "there's probably a tap somewhere in the basement..." Without pausing to think, Jack raced out of the living room. Pete took one last look at the riot before throwing down the hose in frustration and following him. Jack went around the corner and into a smaller room filled with boxes and cobwebs. "I think the basement must be through that door" he said, pointing to a small door which was half hidden, at the end of a small staircase in the corner. Racing down the steps, Jack fumbled for a lightswitch. "Ah, the key's still in the lock" he said, sounding relieved that something was working out for a change. When he unlocked the door, however, Pete could have sworn he heard a sort of heavy fluttering sound behind it, and even as his mind dismissed this as pure imagination, he heard a distinct squeak. Jack hadn't noticed any of this, too busy concentrating on trying to unlock the rusty door. "Ah, there we go" he said, as the lock gave a little click, and he reached out to open the door.

"I wouldn't do that..." Pete cautioned. It was, however, too late, as Jack turned the handle. "There might be...AARRGGHH!!!!!" Pete shouted in alarm as a massive swarm of rampaging bats came hurtling out of the darkness, joining the melee in the room behind. Almost immedietely Jack heard the shrieks of terrified rioters from the living room as the bats descended on the crowd. Then, a flood of crashes, bangs, shouts, and cursing could be heard above the din of the still barking dogs and wing-flapping bats.

"I KNEW IT" Pete bellowed, and without hesitation, he raced around the corner and into the living room. Just as they turned the corner, a melon flew over their heads and into the kitchen. This was followed by a loud thud, and Jack turned just in time to see, out of the corner of his eye, the old dresser come tumbling down as the waiter was buried in an endless flood of pots, pans, cups, and fruit. He didn't have time to even consider trying to help, as a plate flew past his head like a frisbee. This was followed by an earth shattering crash as the plate collided with the huge glass china cabinet on the wall. "JACK!!! JACK!!!!" Pete yelled from the other side of the room. Jack wheeled around and saw Pete caught underneath a sideboard which was just about to collapse. Jack lunged across the room, pushing past several members of the angry mob who attempted to pull him into the general pandemonium. He snatched a chair from the nearest of these and used it to delay the sideboard's collapse for a fraction of a second, whih was just enough time for Pete to pull himself out before chair buckled under the weight and the sideboard fell to the ground, spilling a huge number of plates which had been lying on top of it. "Thanks" Pete gasped, struggling to get his breath back. He looked around wildly, noting the mayhem which surrounded them. Everywhere Pete turned, he saw destruction, violence, and anarchy. He desperately wanted to intervene, but was overwhelmed by the scale of the riot and mesmerized as to which incident was most in need of intervention. In the end he stood there with Jack, open mouthed and speechless, stunned by the sheer momentum of it all.

As they watched solemnly, their attention was diverted yet again by a roar and a hideous vision appearing in the doorway; The waiter, having freed himself from the wreckage of the kitchen, had emerged covered in spaghetti, sauce, and bolognaise. Worse, he still hadn't managed to get the saucepan off this head, so he couldn't actually see where he was going - and charged headfirst into the rioting mob. Jack, tearing his eyes away from the chaos, intervened, pushing the waiter backwards by the saucepan. This only served to enrage him, owever, so Jack resorted to desperate measures, grabbing the handle of the saucepan and using it to drive the bewildered and angry waiter from the room.

Pete blinked. Staring at the carnage, he blinkerd once again, his mind not quite comprehending what he was seeing. He simply couldn't imagine how, in the space of a few minutes, a perfectly calm and civilised event had turned into such an unspeakable commotion. As he stood pondering this, he heard an almighty clatter from the kitchen, folowed by a series of shouts and shrieks. He forced himself to turn towards the door, although this was extremely difficult - in reality, he just didn't want to know.

* * *

With a loud creaking groan, the water main finally gave way under the strain, unleashing a torrent of murky mud into the landing. John watched in horrified fascination as the cat dug its claws defiantly into the carpet, staring the wave in the face and preparing to bravely stand its ground. It's look of smugness, however, quickly turned to terror as it realised that the wave was not, as expected, backing down. The cat, acknowledging its defeat, now turned its attention to getting out of the way as fast as possible, and with a panicked screech which could undoubtedly be heard several miles away, slid down the bannister in flight. When the unfinished bannister came to an abrupt end half way down the stairs, the cat wailed and launched itself, with unbelievable propulsion, into the air. As it sailed over the pile of smashed furniture, it turned its head to make sure the water had been left far behind. This was far from clever, as the cat discovered when it turned back just in time to see the chandelier before it crashed headfirst into the upper part of the apparatus. The force with which the cat had launched itself off the stairs made the chandelier swing violently from side to side as the cat lay recovering in one of the upper shafts of it.
Chandeliers are not, unfortunately, designed for this type of treatment, and it's fair to say that this particular chandelier, having endured more abuse today than many would encounter in a lifetime, had finally had enough. Large cracks began to appear in the ceiling around the top of the chandelier's holder, and with a creak which seemed to indicate final resignation, the chandelier gave way and began its long, dramatic descent towards the ground.

* * *

Pete stared in disbelief at the kitchen door, listening to the din emanating from it. It sounded almost like the pressure cooker had exploded at last and fired potatoes all over the room, smashing china and hitting anyone unfortunate enough to have been in the room at the time. He shook his head violently, telling himself how ludicrous that thought was. No matter what was going on in there, he thought, it couldn't possibly be as bad as that.
So saying he finally plucked up the resolve, and with a great deal of mental effort, forced himself to reach out and turn the handle, shoving the door violently open. Peering into the kitchen, he stood there, his jaw hanging open in shock. From the looks of things, the pressure cooker had exploded at last and fired potatoes all over the room, smashing china and hitting anyone unfortunate enough to have been in the room at the time. He did not have a chance to fully take in the extent of the devastation, however, as a potato ricocheted off the ceiling and narrowly missed decapitating him. He dove out of the way, and the potato, clearly enraged at having missed its target, embedded itself in the side of the waiter's head as he lay, covered in stew, on the floor. With a loud groan as the potato slammed into his head, he was relieved of his living hell by finally losing consciousness. Pete looked on in sympathy, but quickly realized that there were more urgent matters developing - the pot of stew which, under normal circumstances, should have been taken off the cooker long ago, was beginning to boil over, and the amount of steam emanating from the oven in which the steaks were being cooked told Pete that it, too, would soon explode. A mental image of this explosion, complete with flying shards of steak turned into deadly projectiles, suddenly swam in his mind. As he was thinking this, a huge rumble sounded from the oven, and with a sudden feeling of total panic, he realised it was time to get the hell out of there.

* * *

Things were not going much better for Jack. It had taken him all of about five minutes to realize that he was totally powerless, and desperately in need of backup. "JOHN!!! WHERE THE HELL IS JOHN?" he roared. His despair went unheeded in the midst of the burly brawl still raging in the living room. The bats had done nothing to help matters, as the crowd, momentarily unified, had armed themselves with remarkable speed and used an assortment of brooms, umbrellas, croquet mallets and pokers to attack the bats, before someone realised that these weapons would be put to far better use in the riot itself, at which point the crowd returned to fighting eachother - but this time with the addition of an abundance of weaponry. Jack watched helplessly as the rioters escalated their efforts. Each increase in the level of violence seemed to be accompanied by an increase in the overall volume level, and it was now at a stage where Jack could barely hear himself think. "PETE!!! JOHN!!! ANYONE..." he yelled again in desperation. No such cavalry arrived, and with little other choice, Jack again turned to face the riot, shouting for attention and wearing a fierce look of grim determination on his face. His sense of bravado lasted for around seven seconds, up until he was narrowly missed by a flying projectile. It went by too fast for him to identify it, but the object, whatever it was, produced yet another ear splitting boom. Jack looked around wildly, trying to spot some source of hope in the mayhem, but none was forthcoming. "JOHN!!! PETE..." he called again. Where, he wondered, could they possibly be?

* * *

Pete dived out of the kitchen and fell into the hall, crashing into John. John shoved Pete violently out of the way and shouted "GET OUT OF HERE!!!!!" Pete looekd at him questioningly, but he just pointed, his eyes wide with alarm. Pete looked up to see the chandelier plummeting from the ceiling, the cat standing tall upon it, like a brave captain going down with his ship. Without stopping to think, Pete grabbed hold of John and jumped back into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. He braced himself for the almighty crash which erupted outside in the hall. As the chandelier impacted the pile of smashed wood on the floor, a deep rumbling sound could be heard throughout the building. The rioting crowd stopped dead, finally subdued by the unholy racket outside the door. Jack, who had been about to jump into the crowd to force them apart as a last resort, stood rooted to the spot, listening to the rumbling sound outside the door. As the racket grew louder and louder, the very ground they stood on began to shake. Then, just when panic was almost absolute, the worst possible thing finally happened.

The lights went out.

All of a sudden, panic swept through the crowd like never before, and the great windows of the living room, which had been smashed to smithereens much earlier, became the favored escape route. Jack, forsaking all claims of nobility, was one of the first to jump ship, diving out the window and rolling down the hill outside. Looking back, he saw the guests pouring out of the window, with a humungous plume of dust engulfing the house. On the other side, he saw Pete pulling the unconscious waiter through the window of the kitchen, just as the wave from the water main finally broke down the front door, unleashing the flood onto the very plain that the escapees had landed on. At this point, most people had run out of steam, and thus hardly any effort was made by anyone to get out of the way, and thus the guests were duly drenched to the skin. When the water subsided, some just lay on the ground. Some stood up and wandered the wreckage, presumably looking for their lost property. A low murmuring could be heard filling the air, with no energy left for the shouting of minutes before.

Jack and John set off in search of Pete, finding him eventually lying underneath the window he had dived out of. At first they thought maybe he had been knocked out, but even as they thought this, he cracked open an eye. He clambered unsteadily to his feet and looked wildly around him. After several silent minutes had passed, he did the last thing anyone expected.

He cracked up, laughing so hysterically that he almost fell over again. Jack and John stared, aghast, as he emptied his lungs in a fit of hysterics like no one had ever seen. At length, he turned to Jack and John, who were looking at him as if he had finally cracked, and said, his mouth wide open in a huge grin, "Well, there's one thing for sure - it certainly was the most memorable night ever!"

--The End--

EileenG

I'm sorry, I started reading, but I kept wading through long, long, long paragraphs looking for the story to start. I gave up before there was any action.

Deliverance

Yawn. Sorry read through two bulks of writing and read them outloud as I was reading to try to understand, I stopped reading then and gave up. Sorry.

Although I did like...

The resident cat was perched on a shelf in the far corner of the room, hissing, meowing, and swinging its tail menacingly. The reason for this was immediately clear.

I liked this above piece and amended it to...

The cat as usual , was perched on it's shelf, hissing, and swinging its tail in a menacing mannor . The feeling in this is more clear.

This said just as much as the original sentence and maybe you could do this to the rest of the story to? I'm no expert but I like a good story. I think this might be a good story if it wasn't filled with to much description?

Allow the reader to do some of the work? That is my opinion as a reader, don't take offence, and I hope my critisism is constructive 'as a reader'?

EileenG

The modern trend is to start your story with a bang. The days when readers would wade through pages of introduction or description before they get to the action are gone, and a slow start tends to date your story.

Also, phrases like "It would be fair to say" or "It was a pity they had been so hasty in assuming" just slow the action.

I only discovered there was dialogue when I went back to it. When your characters are talking, give each person a separate paragraph. It makes it a lot easier to follow.

Deliverance

EileenG wrote: »

The modern trend is to start your story with a bang. The days when readers would wade through pages of introduction or description before they get to the action are gone, and a slow start tends to date your story.

Also, phrases like "It would be fair to say" or "It was a pity they had been so hasty in assuming" just slow the action.

I only discovered there was dialogue when I went back to it. When your characters are talking, give each person a separate paragraph. It makes it a lot easier to follow.

It was a hard story to follow despite its merit by volume alone. I often find that some good writers are natural and write a volume of information about inane stuff on several forums.

Most are ranters and like to write but the writing in itself is something and worth reading because of said persons talent for ranting and talking in the written word and amazingly making it palitable. Said persons often rant and don't realise their own gift for the flow of their own writing.

It just goes to show that if you write what you know and what you believe in, then it will in some way actually work. If the story is made up and doesn't work in the initial sense then simply it will not work because the writers don't really realise and believe in their own work despite the potential greatness of the work. End of Rant:)

Ok I'm ranting now but performing a perfect example of how ranting is readable, hopefully.