Run the Beast Down

Titas Halder, Titus Halder

• Publisher: Oberon Books
• Year: 2017
• Print ISBN: 9781786821010
• eBook ISBN: 9781786821027
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

Charlie has stopped sleeping. His neighbour's cat has been dismembered. And worse, he's being haunted by an urban fox. In a haze of neon-soaked insomnia, lines blur between reality and fantasy. A wild hallucinogenic mystery, Run The Beast Down is an exhilarating monologue play, combining elements of storytelling, dark comedy and magical realism.

1. PETER IS DEAD

A young man onstage.

A simple set.

I didn’t need it anymore.

He regards the audience.

Because I could see.

Pause.

Troubled sleep.

It’s okay in the dark.

Pause.

I pushed through the glass doors with my cardboard box.

I should have thrown it away – what was I going to do with headed paper and staples?

Mousepads.

The important stuff was on the computer and they had hold of all that already.

They froze me out of my emails on Monday.

The building was fucked.

Maybe if I was looking I would have seen it coming but then who did?

I walked all the way home – didn’t want to cram in on the sweaty tube.

When I got to my road there was this bin just turned over in the middle of the pavement.

Pizza boxes and eggshells, rotting food spilling out the ripped bag.

Why hadn’t it been cleaned up?

The fucking council.

My flat is on an ex-council estate – well, I mean half of the people there are still council tenants, you can obviously tell who – but then the other half have bought. They’re actually really big inside, even though the blocks look how you know they look.

I opened the door and dropped my box.

I had been robbed.

My drawers were pulled out

Clothes tossed everywhere, furniture…

The place was bare.

I mean…

I did feel concern.

So I called her.

I think we’ve been robbed.

Are you okay?

We haven’t been robbed.

I left.

I’ve just lost my job.

Yes but you’re a dick.

I walked over to the window and looked out.

She’d taken the curtains.

I had always hated them. They were horrible.

I tried to hang up a sheet in my bedroom to block out the sun.

The light still came through, even when it got dark.

Who makes sheets which are see through?

I wasn’t tired, and I wasn’t hungry.

Without her body beside me, I didn’t know what shape to make.

So I sat on our bed until the morning.

I put on my dressing gown and I went down into the courtyard with a steaming mug of tea.

It was colder than the day before.

I could see my neighbour Mrs Winter down the corridor.

Wrapped up in a cardigan and a shawl, smoking.

I was desperate for her not to talk to me.

But her eyes lit up when she saw me.

I suppose all young people must be a delight to all old people because their lives must be so boring.

She gave me a wave and started talking about the birds in the shared garden and about how she’d put up a new bird feeder but it wasn’t as good as the old one which was a shame.

I suppose if you’re old it’s good to keep active.

I couldn’t bear talking to her, because all you can do is just smile and chuckle – you know – be as polite as you can be without saying anything that might engage them further in conversation.

Luckily, she was distracted by her cat, and started calling out for Peter to come in.

Maybe two days later – I felt a pang of hunger.

I don’t know what I had done to deserve it, but Alex had bagged up a whole bunch of my clothes.

She put them in piles, maybe they were for the laundry.

In an old tracksuit I went down to the Falafel King on Seven

Sisters road where I’d been a million times.

The kebab guy Hassan started laughing straight away

Hey mate you joining a gang?

I suppose that’s a racist voice.

I don’t really know where he’s actually from – Turkey or…

Hey you know Ali’s cousin?

He got stabbed in the arse – no reason.

Round here?

No – not round here.

Hey Ali – where your cousin get stabbed?

I took my chicken shish wrapped.

But as I came back onto the estate, I could see Mrs Winter standing out in the courtyard.

I tried to put my head down but she swooped in like a

Victorian ghost or something

Peter hasn’t come in.

Excuse me?

I’m afraid he’s been taken by a fox.

He’s your cat…?

I’m thinking about calling an exterminator because that’s what they are – pests.

They want to cull them, that’s what they want to do.

I’ll keep an eye out.

I mean I just said it to end the conversation really and hurried inside.

My kebab was getting cold and I couldn’t even really remember what her cat looked like.

She looked worried though, she did look worried.

Maybe the next morning, or a couple of mornings later I was having my tea in the courtyard.

This football rolled up to me.

I had no idea where it had come from – and then this tiny kid a...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• 1. Peter is Dead