The Observations of Patrick Kraker.

Chapter 8

I woke up late. It was 7:45 a.m and I still had to put on my paint. By paint, I mean powder, because it takes less time to put on. I stepped into my suit, at this point just literally dumping handfuls of the sneezy stuff on my head and face. I hadn't even written my reply yet. Oops?

Grabbing a pen and paper off the table I ran outside; running all the way up to the park corner, quickly crossing the road, and writing my note. Note: dress shoes were not made for running. While writing, midway, I felt a tickle. The urge to sneeze. Stupid powder. I didn't really want to sneeze on the paper, because come on, that is disgusting.

Also, I think glittery snot would give away my identity. I signed my name; stuffing it into the crack and jogging back to my position.

Barely five minutes later, Homeless Dude arrived in his so unlackadaisical (not actually a word, but whatever, I'm the next Roald Dahl) manner. He immediately looked for the note, and found it hastily stuffed into the crack.
***
Nope. That's not all I've got. I'm now going to disclose my my highly valuable findings about suspicious people.
a) Mrs. Phinnegan a.k.a the creepy old lady that smiles at only teenagers and children.
Real name: Dorothy Finnegan.
I suspect that she kidnaps and poisons teenagers as well as children for some purpose yet to be discovered. She tries to coax them into taking the hard boiled sweets, that I believe to be poisoned, by grinning. I have declared her to be a faerie because: brown hair at her age? Shaky hands? Always wearing sunglasses? Lumpy back? Just faerie wings waiting to be discovered. A pet dog? Lies. She's trying very hard to protect her identity. Old hag.
b) Witchy old shopkeeper.
Real name: Unknown
Suspicious because: has a warty nose, has a shop with extremely old candy on the front window, and a real bat. Gothic looking version of Mrs. Finnegan. Terrifying.
c) Homeless Dude, a.k.a you
Real name: Unknown
Suspicious because: pretends to be homeless for reasons he refuses to disclose. Been keeping a close eye on him... Believed to be the accomplice of Satan Lady.
P.S I don't give a poop about it being October!
- Patrick.
***
Homeless Dude froze (the irony), and I was just really confused. Had he taken offence to my speculations?

Then he just laughed his head off. Again. Like full on I'm-a-psycho-and-I-just-murdered-someone-kind of laughter. Luckily for him, there wasn't really anyone around to call the police. Except for an ancient Chinese man who owned a flat above the chip shop but didn't look like he owned a phone.

Even after his high died down, Homeless Dude still looked amused.

Then, my nose started acting up. A little sniffle escaped, before my lungs finally projectiled (not really a word either, but I told you, literary genius at work here) out of my nostrils and my eyeballs flew out. There was blood everywhere.

Sorry, I like to make jokes.

Here's what really happened: I was falling over, but then I did a somersault in the air and landed on my toes in two feet of space.

Sorry, I'm feeling particularly humorous today.

I lied.

I just wanted to delay my retelling of what actually happened as much as possible. I try.

Okay, I swear that this is what actually happened: I predictably fell forward, ready to go on my second date with the pavement- we were getting to know each other really well, with flailing arms uselessly flapping around maniacally. Hello pavement, we meet again.

In the background, I heard a shout of surprise and approaching footsteps. At first, I thought it was Mrs. Phinnegan to the rescue, but when worn sneakers and frayed denim bottoms came into view, I wasn't so sure anymore.

Homeless Dude hauled me to my feet, though I was kind of behaving like a drunk person, swaying back and forth precariously. He put an arm around my shoulders and steered me in the direction of a park bench. I wasn't fat really, but apparently I was heavy, because he was a bit sweaty by the end of it. Maybe he was just tired. But I swear, I'm not that heavy. He's just weak.

Yep, keep deluding yourself, Patrick, obviously the muscles in his arm around you are plastic implants or some rubbish like that.

Something warm oozed out my nose and onto the grass, staining it a dark maroon. Hello, nosebleed, it's really nice to meet you again. I want to introduce pavement to you. I have a feeling that both of you are going to be great friends!

Homeless Dude looked at me, his eyes widening at the nosebleed.

He mumbled under his breath, thinking I couldn't hear, "I knew I was attractive, but I didn't know I was that attractive."

I chuckled lightly at his muttered comment. But, he was, you know, kind of very attractive. He was fit. I doubt he had a six pack, like in all the male love interests in those romance books, that Polly reads, mind you. I mean I know how difficult it is to get one. Believe me, I went through that stage. Am never going back to those days of horror. Sleeveless shirts? Yes, been there. Bandanas? Yes, been there as well, unfortunately. Douchey aviators? Check.

We sat down on the bench, and he pulled out a surprisingly clean napkin and began to dab away at the blood that was already beginning to crust. I attempted to take it, but he swatted my hand away.

Once he finished, I thanked him. As I attempted to get up and escape, he stopped me.

"Is your head alright? You hit the ground pretty hard, man."

Cue awkward silence because I was trying to formulate a witty sounding answer, because you know, obviously everybody feels the need to impress strangers that you have been sort of stalking.

Damn, the hamster in my head was lazy. Why couldn't he just run on the wheel already?

So I settled for a simple yet cool answer.

"Yes."

Not.

Then, I proceeded to thank him again, before my nervous sweating gave me away. I speed walked away inconspicuously with my mad ninja skills. I wish. In truth, I sort of did this weird movement that looked akin to a constipated duck attempting the salsa.
***

I went out early the next morning, as not to have an encore of yesterday; immediately picking up his reply.

Okay. Mate, I've got some stuff to say to you.
First off, I think you wrote your name or something by accident, Patrick. Seriously inefficient stalker, I swear. Next, what I've been trying to hint to you until now, is that's it's Halloween! The "manor" on the hill is a haunted house. That old shopkeeper was dressed for Halloween. Watch it, that's my grandma you're calling an old hag. Mrs. Finnegan is my grandma, so I can assure you that she doesn't go around kidnapping children. She's got cataract surgery done so she has to wear sunglasses. There's this thing called hair dye. She does actually have a dog. The lumpy things are back support, you old-lady accusing nitwit. And lastly, me. I can assure you that no cult exists!
What I would give to see your face now.
- Homeless Dude a.k.a Andrew.
P.S I can't believe you wrote your name, but I'm a nice guy, so I'll return the favour.

I just stood there. Totally bewildered. Then, I turned on heel and went home; going straight up into my room. I can't believe I just indirectly called someone's grandma a pedophile. I basically spent my time wallowing in guilt and face palming most of the time. However, only one question remained: How did Andrew's non-homelessness come into the picture?

So I sat down on my desk, and wrote.

A/N: Hope you liked this chapter, and hopefully chapter nine will be up shortly, maybe tomorrow if I have time. Now, ladies and gentlemen, I'm going to go finish my math homework. Please vote and comment if you like it! It really helps!