Christmas Special (part four)

©2011 David Jasmin-Green

Ian caught a glimpse of multicoloured light flashing on and off through the dense curtain of snowflakes, and in his excitement he broke into a trot. “Christmas lights!” he yelled. “Bloody Christmas lights! It's a club or a restaurant or something. Thank Heaven above!”
As the structure behind the lights gradually came into view he realised that it was no club or restaurant, and the only building he could liken it to was a cathedral. Whatever he had stumbled upon was huge. It was an odd looking edifice crowned with towers or spires of some sort, but the uppermost sections were lost in the falling snow. The snow and his creeping terror, he told himself, masked the true nature of what he was looking at. That explained a lot. The building had no visible windows, which was unusual to say the least. Oh, and it appeared to be made of ice, Ian added, but maybe that was a clever illusion - maybe that was what he was supposed to think. It was a club after all, his screaming mind insisted, and it was decked out like this for its grand Christmas opening. End of story. The red, green and blue neon sign to the left of the entrance read, simply, 'WELCOME TO THE ICE PALACE'.
Despite his inexorable tendency to clutch at straws Ian knew in his heart that the building didn't belong on the Sugar Loaf or anywhere else in what was, after all, a quiet residential area, and if the truth was known it didn't belong on the planet. He experienced a powerful sense of foreboding. There was an awful fluttering in his stomach, a visceral feeling of wrongness, but his worries failed to stop him from approaching the double doors at the top of a steep flight of steps. He was soaked to the skin and desperately cold, and apart from a dull throbbing he could no longer feel his hands and feet. His face was throbbing too, and he had a feeling that his cock had shrivelled to maggot size and his balls had receded into his pelvis, but his hands were too numb to check. He knew that if he didn't find sanctuary soon he would die.....

When it snows ain't it thrillin',
though your balls get a chillin',
we'll frolic and play
the Eskimo way
walking in a winter wonderland.

There was a buzzer in a narrow alcove to one side of the doors below a little bronze sign that said, ominously, 'Ring For Attention Or Bloody Freeze,' so Ian obediently pressed it. He had been right about the Ice Palace being made of real ice all along, he mused as he touched the wall to make sure, but he tried to put that worrying fact out of his mind. No one answered the buzzer, so after a brief pause he pressed it again. This time he waited for what seemed like an eternity with his aching hands thrust deep in his pockets, but his jacket was cold and completely saturated so it didn't offer much comfort. When he pressed the button a third time he kept his finger on it for quite a while, and eventually an angry female voice answered.
“All right, all right! Keep your bloody knickers on, mate - I was painting me nails! What's your name, and what do you want?”
“My name is Ian James,” he replied. “ Somehow I've lost my way in the blizzard. I'm not exactly dressed for this weather, I'm cold and wet and I need help.”
“My name is Kerry, and I'm the Ice Palace receptionist,” the woman said in a moronic Essex accent. “I'll check if you're on the guest list. Just give me a minute, my love.”
“I don't have a minute,” Ian grumbled, “I'm absolutely freezing!” He might as well have saved his breath, because Kerry had either cut him off or she wasn't listening, and she didn't get back to him for quite a while.
“Hello?” she said eventually. “You still there, me lickle cock sparrer?”
“Yeah, I'm still here,” he said, jogging on the spot in an attempt to generate a little heat. “I'd sooner be on the beach in the Caribbean with a couple of cute Cuban prostitutes or even at home toasting my tootsies by the fire with my dear old mum and dad whom, sadly, I've always taken for granted, but I don't appear to have much choice, do I?
“You're not on the guest list, so I'm afraid I can't let you in,” Kerry replied. “I know you're cold and lost and I'm really sorry about that, m' dear, but it's more than my job's worf. And besides, it's not really our problem, is it? We're not running a charity for waifs and strays, you know.”
“I never said I was on the bloody guest list,” Ian growled. “Look, if someone doesn't help me out pretty soon I'll collapse and die, and you'll be calling the police to chip me out of the ice first thing in the morning.”
“Do I sound bovvered?” Kerry snapped. “Look, I 'ave a set of rules and regulations to follow, and I really can't let you in unless you're on the guest list. There are alternative means of entry – you can come in if you're carryin' a valid VIP pass or a Complementary Visitor's pass or if you've been called, but come to fink of it I might have forgotten to mention those options. Silly me, I'm usually very efficient..... Are you carrying a VIP pass or a Complementary Visitor's pass, Ian?”
“No, I can't say that I am,” he replied.
“You might have been called, then, otherwise you're most unlikely to 'ave found us. Most people 'ave no idea that they've been called; it'd 'elp if the management of this place explained the situation more clearly, but I don't fink that's the way they like to do business – for some unfathomable reason they like to preserve an air of mystery, a certain je ne sais quoi, knoworromean?
If you've been called in any way, shape or form that's an entirely different matter, innit? There's a special list for folk who 'ave or might have been called, and if your name appears on there I'm permitted to let you in.” Ian's stomach turned over as he recalled the ghostly Scotsman's advice. He wanted to turn tail and run blindly back into the blizzard, but if he did that, he told himself, he was as good as dead. At least if he did what seemed to be expected of him he had a chance, even if it was only a slim one.
“Yes, I think I might have been called, though I must admit I'm not at all sure..... Check the called list for me, would you, Kerry?”
“Righty-'o, Ian,” she replied cheerily. “Don't worry about feelin' confused about what's going on, m'love; most of our guests experience some degree of confusion – it's all part of the fun. Ooh, I love this job. Hee-hee-hee! Just give us a tick..... Ian James, did you say your name was? Yep, there's an Ian James on the 'called' list. You'll 'ear a low buzz in a second or two, just push the door and it'll open. See you in a mo, sparrer!”
“Why are you emphasising my Christian name like that?” Ian mumbled. “Are you by any chance taking the piss?” For the second time in a few minutes his comment fell on deaf ears, because Kerry had cut him off.