Ben had to sit down. He thought. Then he thought again. How the hell was he going to tell his boss, Mad Mick, that bloody Santa Claus was delivering their mail now? “Faffy!” he whimpered, holding out his mug. Faffy obliged with a slug of poteen. “Don’t worry Mr Ben sorr. Santa has never let us down with deliveries before although no doubt a few people will be surproized to get mail down their chimneys sorr.”
As Ben took a slug he heard the sound of small explosions. “What the feck!” he cried, looking suspiciously at his coffee mug. “No sorr, it isn’t der coffee. It’s Robert (Not Bob) dealing with the Fook Up Faeries.” Said Faffy.
“Huh?” said Ben.
Ben and Faffy re-entered the warehouse. Ben’s nose prickled as it picked up the smell of … what was it he thought? Ahh yes, gunpowder. The place smelt like a bonfire night party after all the fireworks had been let off.
Robert (not Bob) ambled towards them. At least the smell of explosives masked the smell of zombie thought Ben.
“How are you doing Bob? Chuckled Faffy, it sounded loik you moight have found them?”
“Eeeeee baa gum I did Faffy and stubborn little buggas they was too. Over thirty of them there were. A reet battle it was but I think I got them all.” Robert turned towards Ben.
“ Does tha appen to have a stapler Mr Ben?”
Ben looked confused. “A stapler?”
“Yes lad, a stapler. Ah needs to fix me hand back on.”
Robert held out his hand. He literally held out his hand. It had come off. His other arm just smouldered slowly in the space where the hand should have been.
Ben shrieked and slowly backed away. “Don’t be a pansy lad, laughed Robert, just get me a stapler and it’ll be as good as new.”
Ben got the stapler. He looked away as Robert (not Bob) performed surgery.
“Eeee that’s better lad.” Smiled Robert waving his newly re-attached hand around.
Faffy re-appeared and proffered Robert (not Bob) a large mug of steaming tea and a hot currant bun. “Thanks lad, grinned Robert, food of the gods aye. Has it got …?”
Faffy interceded. “Yessir Robert. A triple measure of poteen and ten sugars. Just how ya loik it.”
Robert (not Bob) slurped contentedly and munched slowly on the bun. “Well lad, Robert looked at Ben, I’ve done my job here. Tha shouldn’t get any more trouble with those little pests again. Everything should be tickety-boo. I’ll just sup oop and I’ll be on my way back to hell.”
Ben grabbed Faffy and took him aside. “Err Faffy, he asked, is that right? Is Robert (not Bob) from hell?”
“To be sure he is Mr Ben sorr and it is a cold dismal place of no hope where poor souls live a life of misery. You know it as Huddersfield.”
Ben sighed and leaving Robert behind he and Faffy returned to the dispatch department. Ben cringed as he heard Mad Mick shouting for him.
“Ben! Ben? Where are ya fella? I need you.”
“I’m here Mick. Shouted Ben sounding happier than he felt.
“Well done young Ben. Smiled Mick. All the deliveries have arrived already although we’ve had a few reports of them dropping down chimneys. Which delivery service did you use?”
Ben swallowed and prepared to explain but Faffy jumped in quickly. “O’im glad you is pleased Mick. We used an old family business to deliver them. SDS is their name and although they can be a wee bit … how should oi say … unorthodox … they get der job done quickly.”
“Well fantastic news Mr … errr Faffy? Although Mr Smith in Devon was so shocked at the packages arrival down his chimney that he has now gone to a better place.”
Ben looked shocked. “You mean…”
“Yes Ben, continued Mad Mick, he has gone to the village pub. The Ferret and Firkin, I think it’s called where he is currently downing large rums and muttering something about reindeer?”
Faffy grinned. “Pay no heed sorr. Oi am sure he will be OK. Now if you are happy oi think oi’ll be on my way. Mrs Faffy will be wondering where oi am.”
Mad Mick agreed and returned to his office.
“Well Mr Ben sorr. Moi work here is done. Every ting seems to be running smoothly. Oi’ll be on me way. If youse needs us again just give us a call.”
Ben was speechless. He ran out through the warehouse. The DeVito’s had gone. Robert (not Bob) also had gone. He ran back into the dispatch department… Faffy had gone. The department seemed to have returned to normal. The Anglo-Irish document centre staff were working away normally preparing the next delivery.
“Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” Muttered Ben.
Ben slept well that night and awoke feeling refreshed. As he drove into work he thought back to the previous day. It all seemed a little vague now. Leprechauns? Zombies? The DeVito’s? Ha!
By the time he arrived at work he was convinced it had all been a dream and his suspicions were confirmed as he entered the Anglo-Irish Document Clearing Centre. All was as normal. His staff were chatting idly as they enjoyed a last swig of coffee before starting their days work.
He grabbed a quick coffee himself from the canteen and settled down at his desk to read his emails.
He sipped the coffee and was disappointed that as usual it tasted of mud with a hint of caffeine. He sat back in his chair and sighed. Just a dream. Oh well let’s start work. Lots to do. He thought sadly. He opened his desk drawer to find a pen. And grinned. Nestling in the drawer was a bottle. The label read. ‘Poteen’. He poured a large slug into his coffee.
THE END … possibly!
Faffy has been expanded and is now available as an ebook here. Only 99 cents too. Begorrah!