The Komondor

01/06/06 - MONDAY

I hate this horrible, grey cubicle. I hate this horrible, grey job. I hate the horrible, dull, stupid, bitchy people who I have to work with.
I hate having to phone unsuspecting people, drag them away from their nice warm baths and their dinner tables, just to hound them into buying something that they don’t want and may never need.

I’m particularly good at hounding people, the way a hunting dog is good at sniffing out and chasing a terrified rabbit to its death but I get no satisfaction from ripping people off. I just get an empty, guilty feeling growling in my stomach.

If it weren’t for you, dear diary, then I think
that I would definitely be going mad.

I discovered this marvellous shop, yesterday; full of cool things like ouija boards and shrunken heads and stuff. I bought a genuine Haitian voodoo doll, covered in real human skin, which I have dressed up in a little grey suit and tie and have given a little briefcase to carry.

According to the blurb on the box, the
voodoo doll was “cursed by genuine Haitian
Voodoo witch doctors” and it even comes with skull headed drawing pins.

All I require to work mischief is a lock of hair or fingernail clippings from the person I intend to put the voodoo on.

02/06/06 - TUESDAY

Today, I managed to get close to my office manager, M, and snatch a couple of long white hairs from the back of his jacket without him, or anyone else, noticing.

Strange hairs. M’s hair IS white but these hairs look more like strands of wool.

03/06/06 - WEDNESDAY

Oh my god! It worked! My authentic Haitian voodoo doll actually worked but, sadly, not in the way that I had hoped.

M’s fat, red face was streaming with tears today and he was so distraught that he had to go home early. It turns out that the white hairs upon his jacket did not come from his head but from the coat of his beloved dog; a giant, eyeless, living mop called a Komondor.

Apparently, his dog somehow managed to escape from its kennel and ran out onto a busy road and smack into a double-decker bus.

It was never my intention to kill anyone or anything. As soon as I get home, I’m sticking Mr Voodoo right in the bin.

04/06/06 - THURSDAY

M didn’t show up for work today and so T is filling in for him and there is a rumour going around that the body of M’s pet dog has gone missing from its grave.

T said, “What kind of sick person would want to steal the body of a dead dog”. T has such a whiny voice. I wanted to say, “Bark and Hare”, but I didn’t. I started to laugh uncontrollably. I feel terrible.

05/06/06 - FRIDAY

Some sick person has let their dog sh*t on my doorstep. What kind of person would do such a nasty, dirty thing! Today, I missed the bus and was late for work because I had to clean dog mess off of my shoes. I am really angry and dog faeces really stinks. I gagged so much, as I was cleaning it off, that I almost puked over my tie. I just hope that no-one at work detects the smell of dog poo on me.

Bloody hell! I just saw it in my garden! I just saw the dog.

I’ve been out with my mates (not work mates, ‘real’ mates; old friends from Uni) and my head is doing cartwheels from lager but I swear that I saw the dog standing in my garden.

It’s dark and raining outside, so I couldn’t see it too clearly ( remember to put new bulb in security light next to door) and, at first, I thought that it was a bush moving in the wind but then it started growling and snarling and I thought that I saw it bearing its fangs through all those tangles of blood and mud soaked hair. Thank god, I managed to make it to my door, although it felt like an eternity trying to fit the key in the lock but I’m still alive.

I just phoned mum and dad but I couldn’t tell them about the dog.

They’d just think I was having a breakdown again and then they’d drive all the way up here and the dog might get them. I told them I had a pest problem and they told me to phone Rentokill but what I really need is an exorcist.

I looked for the doll in the bin but it wasn’t
there, not even the little briefcase that I made for it.

I tipped the whole bag out onto the floor and
now there is a pile of stinking rubbish on
my carpet but I can’t be bothered cleaning it
up, not with that thing outside.

I’m going to die soon. I don’t have to worry about Global Warming or Global Financial Crisis or anything because the dog is going to get me. I haven’t prayed since I left primary school, I don’t know if I remember the words. I hope that there is some kind of heaven and that I go there.

06/06/06 – SATURDAY
Googled voodoo on my laptop, alot of nonsense about religion, nothing about undead dogs.

It’s Saturday Morning, usually my favourite time but I haven’t slept all night because I could hear Dougal’s evil twin howling and barking
and clawing at my front door.

I thought I could see it from my window in the moonlight, moving about my garden, trying to find a way into the house but my head was reeling, maybe I imagined the whole thing.

That’s right! I don’t believe in Voodoo!
This is the 21st Century! I believe in Richard
Dawkins! This is a Dog delusion, that’s all.

I can’t believe that I spent the night hiding under my bed.

I can’t see anything from my window now but it may still be out there, waiting for me. What am I going to do? What?

Can I afford to hole up here indefinitely like the 4th little pig? What about the paper boy and the postman? Dogs have a legendary dislike for postmen. Can I live with their two deaths on my conscience?

I’m going to go downstairs and open the door and face it. If there’s no diary entry tomorrow then you can presume that I’m dog food.

07/06/06 - SUNDAY