Serial Saturday – [Horror] Nancy Please #1

It’s been a few weeks since Ive done a Serial Saturday. 6 Word horror seems to have taken its place! Well today I have a new story for you starting today, called Nancy Please. It’s horror (did I need to say that)?

This story may have some more work done to it in the future, but I hope you enjoy it!

Nancy Please


It is difficult to tell where the voice is coming from. The hall I’m standing in is large, and the voice is coming from somewhere overhead. I can see several speakers high up on the walls, ensconced behind pillars, partially hidden by drapes and tapestries. Above that is the ceiling. It’s high; I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere that had ceilings quite so high. Perhaps the station. When I was a girl, the train station near where I lived had high ceilings. I remember pigeons used to get in and would fly around high above all the people buying train tickets and expensive burgers and bottled water. They were not as high as these ceilings, and there are no pigeons. Above me – high above me – I can see the black sky and a smattering of stars through the glass ceiling. It must be curved, because there is a slight warping effect on the stars.

“Nancy,” the voice repeats, which causes me to look around. Once I could pass off as misheard, but saying my name twice was just strange. I’m looking around at everyone else in the hall. There are a lot of people here, but then, it is a big hall. I can hear their shuffling feet and muttered apologies as they walk into one another, which they seem to do with some consistency. I guess that’s because there are so many of us crammed in here.

Perhaps the Nancy that is being called for isn’t me. I can’t be the only Nancy in a room full of hundreds – thousands – of other people, although looking around, no one seems to be taking any notice. Perhaps it’s for a Nancy that is in another part of the building. I can see several corridors that lead off from this main hall. Maybe Nancy is down one of them.

“Nancy.” The voice is definitely coming from above me, probably through one of the speakers, maybe all of the speakers. I’m thinking it must be a public address system of some sort, although I’ve had enough of the public address systems of the world to last a lifetime.

That’s all down to my fucking job. Well, my fucking boss if you want to be exact. See, I work in a factory. Not on the shop floor, you understand. I think I’d kill myself if I had to work on the shop floor. No, I work up in accounts. I just have to encounter the girls on the shop floor when I’m moving around the factory. Some of them are as thick as pig shit. Most of them, if I’m honest. The most exciting thing that ever happens to them, is when Mandy or Rita or Susie or whoever, gets to tell them a story about when Gary from HR finger-fucked them down stock isle six. How do I know this? Well, they aren’t that secretive about it. If my maths is correct – and being that I’m in the accounts department, it bloody well better be – most of the women over in B Section have had their way with good old Gary, in one way or another. Dirty slags. He’s not even that much of a catch, twenty year old, not shaved yet, living at home prick that he is. But still, when your greatest achievement is telling your workmates you sucked a man off behind the filter press, the only way is up I guess.

So, anyway, we’ve got this PA system in the factory, which in and of itself isn’t too bad. What makes it bad is a combination of two, no maybe three shit things. One is the quality. Whenever somebody make a call on the PA, it sounds like the person talking has got a clarinet in their mouth, or one or other of those reed instruments. It buzzes. Two, my boss. If there was ever a bigger prick than Gary and his cock, it was Mark. Mark Belshaw. His voice is usually the one that comes over the PA. Scum-lapping shitbag. If I could have got away with opening up his belly, I would have done it already. And three. The bloody women on the shop floor. Every time my name comes up, ‘Nancy please could you come to reception’, ‘Nancy please could you come to Mr Belshaw’s office’, ‘Nancy please pick up line one’, every time, and I mean every time, they’ll chime in with a chorus of ‘Nancy please’ as I make my way across the shop floor, or across the catwalk from my office to Belshaw’s. Only that isn’t just it. Bad as that is, they pronounce it ‘Narn-See’. Some twisted bit of humour, poking fun at my up-bringing; like I’m someone better than them. If not getting pregnant in my teens and not sleeping around makes me better than them, well I guess I am.

So why would someone even be looking for me? Why would it be me? I’ve never heard my name called before. I’ve heard other names, but not mine. Is there something I should have done? I’m thinking, but honestly, I’m drawing a blank.

It’s not me. That’s the only answer I can come up with. It’s someone else, a different Nancy. I’m wasting my time worrying about this. I need to find out more about this place, and to start, I’m going to go down one of those corridors. I’ve seen people go in; some come out, but not many.

That’s all for part #1. More to come next Saturday.

person thinking

My Question to you:

Have you ever worked in a factory (I have)? Was it anything like I describe?

One thought on “Serial Saturday – [Horror] Nancy Please #1

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