A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
The following story is a rewrite of the original Wester Drumlins Log, which I released circa 2018 under the username A Sea Devil Called Bob. The original story was deleted. This version is a combination of my memories of the original plus some entirely new stuff thrown in.
THE WESTER DRUMLINS LOG
2005
So, I've got a journal to go with the new house. It just seemed like a good time to start keeping one. We'll see how it goes.
As for the house, it's quite nice, apart from it being completely derelict. There's a lot of room and the garden is great. The main downside is, it being all abandoned and dilapidated, we'll have to go out into town whenever we get peckish. I brought this up with Phyllis, but she just scoffed and said we'd have nothing to worry about on that front and that we'll get our fair share of food right here. Personally, I don't see what in this whole giant safety hazard of a building will entice people over, but I'm giving Phyllis's suggestion credit for now and just waiting for someone to come walking right in.
Sometimes humans do things like that. It's totally inexplicable.
I'm back. What do you know, Phyllis was right. Do you know how irritating that is? I'll be able to hear her smirking for the rest of the day.
A few minutes ago, a man came in. He just pulled over outside the house, then came in and starting looking around. So to be perfectly honest, he deserved what he got. Phyllis was the first one to get at him, of course. Sneaky bugger. But, I did point out to her afterwards, it's not the sort of thing you can count on happening again.
It's been a week since I last wrote. To be fair though, nothing's actually happened in that time. Well, except two more people just walking into the house. As I said, totally inexplicable.
That and a few games of scrabble. You know, I'm not entirely sure how much I'm going to be able to put into this thing, other than bitching about Phyllis and occassionally giving updates on the status of Stephanie and Alice's stupid relationship. (Currently it is infuriatingtly ideal. How do they manage it?)
One day, I'll attack another game shop and get us a different board game. Then I'll really have something to write about.
2006
Right. It's been more than a year since I last wrote in this thing. Over that time, nothing of interest has happened. At all. We have just been standing around and eating. Feeding. Whatever you call it. People just keep pulling up outside the house in their cars and come wandering right in for us to take. After a while, some police officers came over to look at the dozen or so empty cars dumped outside our house, then took them all away. Then, in a few weeks' time, the cars had started to pile up again.
Totally inexplicable.
Likewise, there has been absolutely no new development in Stephanie and Alice's whole lovey-dovey relationship, demonstrating that they haven't got a clue about the sort of compelling conflict and character development I, their roommate, would actually be interested to watch. Inconsiderate bastards.
In fact, the only reason I'm writing a new entry here at all is because it's Christmas Eve, which, I don't know, might be worth mentioning, even though I didn't mention it last year. Anyway, I decided that this year I'd get a present for the others, because then they'll all owe me something. And so that's why I went into the city in the evening and spent a few hours stalking people in the dark to see if any of them had bought interesting board games for tomorrow before eventually finding someone creeping alone through a dark alley with a Monopoly set. It was too much trouble to get some wrapping paper as well, so I'm not going to be wrapping it up.
The others really owe me for this.
Christmas day! Of course, in this house, as I forgot to mention about last year's Christmas, we're a little too far out of the countryside to fulfil our old tradition of appearing before some shepherd and miming out the birth of Christ to them every time they blink, which is a pity, because that was unfailingly hilarious. On the bright side, Phyllis has shown her rarely seen generous side with the present of alcohol. Lots of it. We may only be be able to sustain ourselves with potential energy, but we can still drink purely for enjoyment, so that's something to look forward to.
Oh, yeah. There was also a bloody great spaceship hovering over the city for a while this morning, but as far as we could see from here, it did absolutely nothing of interest before starting to leave in the afternoon then getting blown up by some giant laser things the humans apparently have at their disposal, which raises the question of why they didn't use them earlier.
Totally inexplicable.
2007
First day of the new year! We got through just about all of Phyllis's drinks last night, and it's all a bit of a blur after that. Something involving us, some garden gnomes and several small tears in the fabric of the universe. Kind of kinky really. When it comes to the birds, the bees and the Weeping Angels, only two rules apply; the lights need to be off and everyone involved needs to be pulling their weight. Aside from that, there aren't really any limits, not even those usually imposed by the fundamentals of reality.
Moving swiftly on, let's hope that this coming year holds something genuinely interesting to write about in the Wester Drumlins Log! (Yes, I'm calling it that now.)
Alright, it's been a few months since I last wrote in this thing, and not much has happened in that time. People keep on stopping outside and coming in to poke around. I still have no idea why they do it. I mean, the house is nice enough, but it's not that interesting. We had two more turn up today, a man and a woman, I think. I got them both before Phyllis, which gave me some petty satisfaction, which is generally my favourite kind.
I bring this up is for two reasons. One, the man had more potential energy than I expected. Like, thousands, or maybe millions or even billions of years' worth, which was very very weird. I have no idea what was going on there, but it meant I spent the rest of the afternoon in the bathroom, heaving up temporal chunks, which wasn't nice. And two, we think it was those two people who left the police telephone box in our front yard. We all came out to have a look at the thing after Stephanie noticed it. And it seemed to be radiating temporal energy or whatever the hell you call it. Whatever it was, it smelled good and edible (though I personally didn't have much of an appetite at that point).
Phyllis immediately began theorising and said that the box must be a TARDIS and that guy with all the potential energy who I sent back must be a Time Lord, one of those stuck-up idiots with huge collars who everyone seems to think we're descended from, on the grounds that some of them once put their heads in their hands. I mean, really. That is not a solid backup for this wild evolutionary claim. But it made sense that that guy who came wandering into our house was a Time Lord.
In any case, the box was locked and we couldn't force it open, so we just left it out in the front yard. There's not much else we can do with it for now, unless we want to make some prank phone calls. You know what, that's actually not such a bad idea.
It's the next morning. The box is gone. Apparently some police officers showed up on their routine duty to pick up all the empty cars outside our house, and they took the box as well. Phyllis seems pretty pissed off about it, but I don't really care. I mean, without a key, we couldn't have fed on any of that whatsit energy, could we?
It is now evening and something very weird has happened. Some young amateur photographer showed up and started taking pictures of things. None of us were particularly hungry, so we just let her wander around until she went into the drawing room. I think it's a drawing room. The one with the little ceramic rabbit. She began peeling away the loose wallpaper with her bare hands which is frankly A) very unhygienic and B) vandalism, so Phyllis, veritable Angel that she is, thought it would be a good idea to throw a rock at her. Fortunately, she ducked just in time.
STORY IN PROGRESS