Day 1
Will Walton walked into a scaly palm and dropped his new iPhone. He flinched, and then winced, as he heard the crack.
A hunched man stood in his path, one scabrous hand signalling ‘stop’. He had a huge head which tilted upward towards Walton, but his eyes were jammed shut. Like an injured dog on the roadside, the stooped stranger was panting, and sweating, inside a stained anorak.
Will glanced down at his shattered phone and then jerked his attention back to the vagrant with the enormous cranium.
Neither moved nor spoke. Walton frowned and shifted to his left. The homeless person shuffled with him, grimacing as his neck strained under its massive load. A mud-crusted shoe crunched on the wrecked device. Will groaned.
Tearing his thoughts away from the newly purchased wreckage at his feet, Walton focused on the old man. “Erm, excuse me.” He paused and swallowed. “Do you want something, mate? You’re blocking my way.” The tramp’s eyelids trembled against the movement beneath, but they remained closed. His chapped lips rippled in silence. His arm stayed raised.
A group of passing teenage girls giggled as one gestured in their direction. Will felt his face grow hot. The busy high street was becoming narrower.
He persevered but his voice sounded shrill. “Listen, mate. I’ve got a train to catch.” He took a longer stride to his left and the bent figure matched his step, head bouncing.
Walton peeked around again. More shoppers had stopped, their stares searing his skin. Sweat droplets slid down his back. He squeaked, “This is bloody stupid.” and shoved the man’s grizzly limb aside.
At that moment, the derelict’s eyelids snapped open revealing a huge pair of bright blue orbs. Two gnarled hands grabbed Will’s Hugo Boss jacket and tugged him off-balance. Startled, Walton staggered level with his assailant’s upturned mouth. Moist cidery breath swamped the air.
The vagabond rasped, “Jesus loves you.” His bulging blue eyeballs bored into Will’s. Inside the pupils, a frantic white flame flickered like a damaged bulb. He breathed, “Feel Jesus within.”
Walton tore free from the knotted fingers and scrambled backwards. He stumbled and blurted, “Jesus! Steady on!”
The hunched would-be prophet closed his eyes, lowered his arms and let his colossal skull drop.
A nervous, excited chatter surrounded the two men. Shopping bags rustled amid a wave of glowing phone screens.
Walton watched as the decrepit Moses retreated through the parting sea of recording onlookers. The vagrant’s eyelids shimmered but his feverish gasps had subsided.
And then Will was alone.
He muttered, “What a freak,” and knelt to scoop up the iPhone fragments.
As he straightened, he felt a muscle twinge in his neck.
Day 2
Will moaned on the Surf sofa.
He had already swallowed four Ibuprofen tablets in two hours but still the pounding persisted. Thud after thud like a mallet on bone. His skull seemed to vibrate and quiver with every heavy blow.
Walton had had migraines but never anything like this. He lurched to his feet and, eyes closed, clawed his way to the stairs. Something crunched under his foot and an enormous TV blared to life. He ignored the screen and the crushed remote control.
Clinging to his cranium, and sobbing, Will dragged himself upstairs and collapsed onto his Yves Saint Laurent bedspread.
As he writhed on the quilt, a small, greasy card slipped from his trouser pocket and flapped to the floor.
On its surface, there was a smudged image of Jesus with a large head clamped inside a crown of thorns.
Day 3
Sunlight stabbed Will’s sore eyes. He touched his forehead. There was a dull ache. Distant hymns were playing somewhere. He frowned and listened. It was his TV. Morning has broken was mounting the stairs and entering the bedroom.
Walton rolled over and mumbled, “Jesus. Give it a break.” He glanced at his bedside lamp with a built-in alarm. 9 AM. He rubbed his eyes and raised his voice. “Siri - Turn off TV!”
The singing stopped.
He shifted to a sitting position and felt a sudden jab in the neck as his head sagged. He gasped, “Shit!” and slumped back onto the pillow. He took a deep breath, braced and lunged upwards.
Once again, a burning pain tore up his nape as the tendons strained under the cranium’s weight. He clamped his hands on either temple to support the load, and the stabbing eased.
Will stood and swayed before the floor-to-ceiling mirror at the foot of his bed. Most evenings, he ogled his latest Tinder conquests as they rocked and jerked upon him. Today, a wide-eyed panic replaced his usual grin. He removed one hand and caught his head as it started to drop. For an instant, blinding pain battered his neck muscles.
Walton blinked back tears and peered at his reflection. His fake tan had adopted a sweaty pallor. On a normal day, this sight alone would have set Will’s heart pounding. But something even worse made the bachelor swoon and plonk back onto the YSL quilt.
Tears pooled in his eyes and, for the first time in months, he wanted to call his mother.
Will’s head had doubled in size.
Day 4
Will eased his head onto the windowsill, closed his eyes and tried to ignore the giggling children, and peeking parents. The surgery waiting room was busy.
“Mr William Walton, please go to Room 4 with Dr Rose.”
The bachelor heaved up his cranium and, hands supporting either side, scuttled past the observers, and elbowed open the GP’s door.
Walton mumbled, “Hello,” and collapsed onto a plastic chair. It made a screech as it skidded across the floor and thumped into the doctor’s desk. He added, “Sorry.”
Dr Rose typed for a moment longer before facing his new arrival. He yawned, pushed up his glasses and asked, “How can I help you, Mr…” He checked his screen. “....Walton?”
Will stared at the GP, took a deep breath, counted to ten and exhaled. He replied, “It’s my head.”
The doctor readjusted his spectacles and projected a smile. “I see. Please expand, Mr Walton.”
Will erupted into a bitter laugh. “Expand?!” Spittle specked Rose’s left lens. The GP flinched and leaned back. Walton’s neck ached and his head was throbbing. He coughed and wrestled control. “Sorry, doctor. Let me start again.” He paused. “I’ve got no fu…idea what’s going on but last night I had the worst headache ever. And today I woke up with this…” He gulped and suppressed a sob, “...head.”
Dr Rose sneezed and wiped his nose. His mobile phone bleeped, and he glanced at it, before touching his glasses. He sighed, stood up and inspected Walton’s head. He tapped the crown, back and sides with a chewed pencil, and returned to his seat. He sniffed and peered at the patient. He said, “I’ll arrange an x-ray, Mr….” Will finished the sentence.
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Walton’s eyes flicked across to the door as it opened. His head was lying on raised pillows.
Rose entered the room and flapped a radiograph. He sneezed and some droplets sprayed onto the image. He wiped his wet nose with a soggy tissue. “You’re all clear. No signs of anything - tumours, blood clots, fractures - nothing at all.”
Will gawped at the doctor.
Silence formed a wall between them.
The GP began to hum and peeked at his wall clock.
Walton frowned and asked, “So, is that it? What happens next? How do I ….” He swallowed. “.... get my head to go down?”
Dr Rose glanced again at the time and yawned. He was behind in his appointments and needed to wrap this one up. He sniffed and answered, “It’s not that uncommon for body parts to swell and then go back to normal after a few days.” He leaned over his desk and scribbled on paper.
Will hoisted himself into a sitting position. The mallet was starting to swing once more.
Rose handed the prescription to his patient and muttered, “Antibiotics. Finish the course and come back if the problem persists.” He sat down and started typing.
Walton stared at the slip in his hand and then reverted his attention to the GP who was studying his computer screen. The bachelor blinked back a tear and eased off the gurney. As he reached the door, he said, “Sorry to have taken up your precious time, doctor.”
Dr Rose’s eyes remained on the monitor.
As Will closed the door, he heard the GP mumble, “We all have our cross to bear.”
Day 5
Walton gawked at the oily card and his hands trembled. His palms were clammy.
Reeling from renewed thundering pain, he had lumbered upstairs to inspect his head in the bedroom mirror. Through blurred vision, he had squinted at his enlarged cranium and felt something slide underfoot.
Now he peered at an image of Jesus. In the picture, Christ’s massive head dwarfed his emaciated body and the crown of thorns dangled from the right ear like a broken string. The left ear, and part of the cheek, were hidden beyond the border as if the illustrator had misjudged the card dimensions when drawing the head.
Will slumped onto his unmade bed, dry-swallowed four paracetamol and mumbled, “It’s the homeless guy.”
His reflected skull juddered in agreement.
Day 6
The vagrant was sitting on a grimy sleeping bag in the entrance to a boarded-up shop. At first, Will didn’t recognize him. The old man wore the same smeared anorak, but his head had shrunk. It was in proportion with the torso.
Walton’s heart thumped. He slumped against a wall in the dank alleyway and slid down to his haunches. He breathed, “At last! I can’t believe I’ve found you. What’s going on?!”
The vagabond opened his eyes. They shone a striking blue, but the flaring white light had disappeared from the pupils. He took a long glug from a warm can and then focused on the bachelor. He answered, “Bugger me - it worked.” and belched. Cider dribbled down his chin.
Will felt a sudden overwhelming urge to throttle the tramp. He jerked forward and shrieked as his neck spasmed, and head pulsed. He screamed and collapsed back into the wall. For an instant, he thought he was having a heart attack. He concentrated on breathing. The other man gulped more cider and grinned.
Walton waited for the hammering in his skull to ease. Tiny flames were dancing in the alleyway. Will blinked and they were still there. He groaned, “Oh shit.”
He heard the raspy voice. “You’ve got the fire in your eye. You don’t have long. Maybe a day…”
The bachelor swallowed. He had a permanent taste of paracetamol in his dry mouth. “What do you mean?”
“Judgement Day.” The homeless person rattled a mouldy cup.
Will croaked, “Are you fucking serious?”
The container shook a ‘yes’.
Little white fires dotted the space between them.
Walton reached inside his pocket and slid out a ten-pound note. The Jesus picture also slipped free and dropped into a puddle. As it floated on the surface, the tramp’s eyes widened. Only Christ’s nose and mouth remained in the image. The rest of the head had outgrown the card.
The vagabond swilled more cider before speaking. “You’re further along than I realised so I won’t hang about.” He crushed the can and burped. “On Judgement Day, your head will explode and it’s Goodnight Dierdre. To stop that happening, find an arsehole, give them that card and say, ‘Jesus Loves You’.” He peered inside his cup.
Will grimaced and stuffed his last note inside. The old man beamed yellow teeth. He resumed, “Bob’s your uncle, Fanny’s your aunt - someone else has got a bomb head and you can go back to your tanning salon.”
Walton pincered the wet card and contemplated the tramp through the glimmering lights in his vision. The vagrant chuckled and shook his head. “Won’t work on me, matey. Has to be someone new each time.” His grin became a snarl. “Now piss off and leave me in peace!”
The bachelor staggered to the end of the alleyway and turned back. He had to know. He called, “Why me?”
A loud belch echoed from the shop front. “Easy target. Your head was stuck in your phone.”
Day 7
Will Walton closed Dr Rose’s door, walked out of the surgery and approached the bus stop.
His head throbbed but the fiery white blots were fading from his sight with every step. His phone pinged in his pocket, but he chose to ignore it.
Will stopped, glanced back at the clinic, and then boarded the bus. He mumbled, “We all have our cross to bear.” and ascended to the top deck.
About Mark Humphries: Mark Humphries teaches ESOL in Leeds, England, where he lives with his wife. His stories have appeared in several online publications including Tales from the Moonlit Path and Aphelion. He is currently editing his first novel. You can find links to his other work on Facebook.
