Shower of Blood

The Story...

The life of a university student as any of those subjected to it would attest is one rollercoaster ride and a half. Albeit one would rather it didn't end half corkscrew as you hurtle through the air mid loop, plummeting towards the earth, screaming in terror as regret consumes you along with the asphalt.

Passive aggressive bitterness aside, until you reach that moment, the whole experience is pretty gnarly. Especially when you're left to provide your own distraction to a dull spring afternoon, and this is where we begin our recollection.

It's a small room with a bed, a sink, a laptop and a student. Of course there is more, but to paint a succinct picture of a student's natural habitat requires a paintbrush and pallet of far more refined colours and strokes than I possess... smells too most likely... There's only so many ways to describe the combined odour of used Kleenex and stale pizza without heaving; best to just open a window.

Within this, I reside, window open. Every day distraction has been exhausted and one must turn to the provocation of co-residents for sustained entertainment. It's the right day of the year for it and with only one room mate currently committed with a life outside of their own four walls, they become the elected victim by proxy. Upon discussion with my most devilish flat mate from the opposite room and our neighbouring island of Ireland; her own twisted nature combined with my own has concocted our recipe for torture.

We were a close knit group which included our neighbours thanks to a convenient door linking both properties. A comfortable group of 7 were the rabble to be summonsed; having excluded our co-residents more suited to successful function within society who distanced themselves from our activities. This of course means that there are plenty of potential victims and when required, accomplices.

We sit within the kitchen, batting ideas, “too much effort”, “too much planning”, “too much jail time”; it occurs that we’re almost as unsuccessful and uncreative in our deviance as we are in our studies. That is until conversation of the potential pranks spirals into the idiotic fantasy, talk of staged abduction or staged murder suddenly spawns the seed of our plan. Whilst we lack the organisation to orchestrate something on a larger scale, the capacity to produce fake blood appears to be at the core of our idea and from this we evolve.

I say we, but it is at this point we have the usual scenario of group work at any level of study. The one tool carrying the group through their own stubbornness and willing for the others to chip in at the end... I’ll grant you all I did was make some fake blood but when you spend nearly 3 hours doing something that should take 20 minutes laughing like a old professor working with mercury, you are keen to take pride and ownership of such an achievement. So with Google at my side along with some food colouring, corn flour and some golden syrup; a sufficient substitute for blood is finally reproduced.

Unfortunately, in this time the spontaneity of the whole incident has fallen out of window. Better that than one of our flat mates I suppose... However, it has given the chance to plan and script proceedings. Now, to the execution...

To shower in this flat, was a dangerous experience and quite possibly the only reason I ever attended the gym in my time at university. Stranger danger in a community shower somehow paled into insignificance when posed with the intrusion and terrorisation you faced here. Only having to recall being floured and egged after having my towel stolen only to be thrown down the stairs after trying to flee wrapped in the shower curtain highlighted the risk... it was a loving household... No hour of the day was safe, all thanks to the simplicity of the lock –a mere butter knife being all that was required to turn the lock from the outside. For once however, this was to play to a distinct advantage.

With me, the knowing casualty of the tragedy about to unfold in front of our poor victim, about to attend the shower, the room was primed with blood, strategically placed in the corner with just enough to incite a modicum of panic as it circled the plug hole, I lay with the door locked, the curtain taken down a slight and the shower on, rather foolishly facing outside of the door.

Our neighbour accomplice had ‘conveniently’ attended for a visit only to find that the entire flat appeared to be tucked away in their rooms. As they ventured forth to raise someone, they noticed the water, gushing from underneath the door, much to the benefit of the plans execution, instigating an inkling of panic into her actions. Banging at the door of the shower,

“Hello? Who’s in there...? *shit*”, muttering under her breath slightly, “There’s water going everywhere here!!”, she screams, most likely at me, but it’s too late, the show must go on!

Incapacitated I lay, hearing the plan unfold as she stampedes up the steps to raise our victim, banging on their door.

“Who’s in the shower?! Waters going everywhere and nobody’s answering!!”

Our victim answers the door and assists in raising the other residents to find who is or isn’t in their room. With myself identified as the culprit, they venture back downstairs.

“JESUS CHRIST!!”, the floor is flooded, a puddle has filled the floor and their feet pap in the water as they bang on the door.

“Turn the shower off, the water is going everywhere!”, still no answer from within... it is quickly concluded that they need to break in.

“We’re coming in!!”, our victim yells as she is given the skeleton key that is the butter knife.

The lock turns and the giggles turn to screams as the body lay before them, sprawled face down, blood circling from the head around the ceramic and into the plug hole.

“Oh my god!!”, she stumbles to her knees, drenched by the showerhead.

Fortunately, not all sense is lost in panic, she turns the shower off and probably saved us from being charged with criminal damage to the flat, lifting me off my face as the ‘blood’ now stains her apparently very white shirt.

Sniggers and laughter is misinterpreted as shock and despair as my accomplices look away to retain composure, feigning a call to the emergency services.

“Hello? I need an ambulance right away!”

She attempts to reassure the others.

“It’s okay guys! There’s not as much blood as it looks!”

I’ve been raised into a seated position; she fumbles her fingers through my hair trying to find the source of the blood. The situation has escalated catastrophically before her eyes as I lay, limp and unresponsive, all ounce of willpower within me refraining from giving up the game just yet.

As she reassures her heartless friends further, the situation becomes too much and I stifle a laugh, a sort of snort comes from the back of my throat.

“He’s choking on his blood!!!”, Terror in her voice, diagnosis becoming more grim by the minute.

It crosses my mind that the end of the prank was never planned and I considered how long this could continue. Could I feign my own death? Or was that a step too far? A good seizure might be the icing on the cake!

Whilst these were valid considerations with varying degrees of merit, the conclusion that I was probably pushing this friendship to its limits scratched the surface and the facade was to be concluded.

“Boo!”, I opened my eyes and she turned.

She glazed over, unable to process the events that had preceded and how I could be conscious. A second passed until a frown appeared.

“You bastard!! We were calling you an ambulance you arse!!”, having not yet seen the funny side she was about to lecture until she noticed that our fellow housemates had been struck with the same fate as myself.

We fell about the place laughing and crying and she managed to string some abuse towards us all through her shaky voice and visible shivers. Clearly gave the girl quite a fright! Needless to say, she eventually composed and all was forgiven. I am told however, that no shower has ever been the same for her since, still being haunted by the whole series of events. Alas, the life and love of the friends you make at university. May she never forget...