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Greg Diggle: Chosen One

by Charlie C 3 months ago in Adventure
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Just Act Like You Belong Here

“There weren’t always dragons in the valley…” David Attenborough’s voice floated from the living room.

Sprawled out in the basement, Greg Diggle lifted his throbbing head from the concrete floor. Why had he even come down here?

He twisted his neck. Shards of beer bottles lay around like dead flies. The smell of wasted alcohol still filled the air.

Right. Andy had dared him to go down into the basement. In front of everyone. Bastard.

Looking around at the shadows sneaking toward him from the corners, Greg realised why he’d always got a jittering in his stomach whenever he’d looked down into Aunt Ellie’s basement. And Andy had dared him to go down here. And everyone had laughed at his obvious reluctance, except Aunt Ellie.

Greg sat up, adrenaline spiking. Those shadows really did look like they were moving closer – like they had hands reaching out. He scrambled to his feet, no longer caring what sort of teasing he’d get when he came bolting out into the living room.

He clambered up the stairs toward the reassuring narration of a David Attenborough documentary. A silhouette appeared at the top of the stairs. In his panic, Greg flinched and froze.

“Ah, just you.” He laughed at the cat above him – unmistakeably Aunt Ellie’s Chippy.

“Ah, just you.” The cat scoffed, licked its paw, and turned away. Greg put a hand to the back of his skull. He should probably go to the hospital after taking a fall like that. Concussion messing with him, maybe?


Greg climbed the rest of the way up, and emerged into a hallway he didn’t recognise. Aunt Ellie’s flowery wallpaper had been replaced with plain brick. The carpet was a matted and ugly mess – something Aunt Ellie would’ve never allowed in her house. At least her potted plant remained.

His attention went to the TV in the living room, where David Attenborough pointed to a flock of dragons.

Yeah, they were definitely dragons. You could tell by the flames.

He needed to get himself to hospital.

Rubbing his head, Greg stomped out toward the garden. The potted plant turned to watch him, but he ignored it, alongside a dozen other oddities that demanded a piece of his sanity. Someone cleared their throat.

Greg whipped around. Chippy sat before him, tail flicking lazily. But, no, this wasn’t Chippy. Chippy was a tabby: this imposter had fur as black as ink.

“What’ve you done with Chippy?” said Greg, only understanding how ridiculous he sounded when the words were out.

“I am Chippy.”

Greg’s head ached. “My head aches.”

“Yes, well, we can take you to a wizard soon. I just need you to state your business.”

“Excuse me?”

Chippy frowned. “Why must this always be so difficult?”

“Always? Listen, Chippy, I don’t have to take this from you. I remember feeding you bottled milk when you were a sickly little kitten.”

Chippy’s frown only deepened. He’d always been a stubborn little bastard. Greg looked around for any sign of Aunt Ellie, or even Andy.

“I’ll have you know, sir,” said Chippy, with the forced and patronising politeness of someone with better things to do, “I have never been sick. Now, again, state your business.”

“Uh, I don’t know.” Greg flapped his hands. “See a wizard, I guess.” Better to go along with this weird hallucination.

Chippy nodded. Until now, Greg hadn’t really appreciated how smug the cat could look.

“Follow me, sir,” said Chippy.

The documentary droned on. Greg risked another glance, and this time Attenborough was squatting down beside a mound of dragon dung. He could tell because of the flames. Very distinctive.

Dodging a poke from the potted plant, Greg followed Chippy into what should’ve been the kitchen. Instead, it was a waiting room, filled with strangers. After his conversation with the cat though, Greg just chose to accept it.

One man was covered in metal armour, not an inch of skin visible. Next to him sat a nun with a sharp glare and a wooden chest under her feet. The chest rocked when Greg looked at it. Something that looked like the unholy cross of a man and warthog snorted laughter from one of the other seats.

He’d wake up in a hospital soon, surrounded by his concerned family. Even Andy would be concerned. They’d never tease him after this. He must’ve hit his head pretty hard.

“Wait here,” said Chippy. “Someone will be along to process you soon.”

“Process.” Greg shrugged. “Sure, I’m not busy.”

He took a seat beside a man with two heads who was arguing with himself. When Greg looked at him, the man stared back as if he had two heads.

Interesting experience though. Greg had never considered himself creative enough to hallucinate so well. Drugs didn’t really appeal to him, but maybe he’d consider hitting his head again to see what else his mind conjured.

The nun’s luggage rocked again. Tendrils of mist seeped from cracks in the wood. Warthog-man grunted. The living suit of armour did nothing.

Chippy reappeared with two very bland people – so bland they were featureless. Eyeless, noseless, mouthless, earless, they flanked the cat as it approached Greg.

“The twins will run a test on you since this is your first time here,” said Chippy. “I have a few questions while they work.”

Greg let himself relax. None of this was real anyway.

The twins took a hand each. One jabbed a needle into his palm, sucking blood up into some kind of leech-like bulb. The other splayed out his fingers, and pressed inky pads against them. He smiled at them. They probably would’ve smiled back if they’d had mouths.

The needle and the pads felt so real. Amazing what the mind could do.

“Are you, or have you ever been, a Chosen One?” asked Chippy.

Greg shrugged. He noticed the suit of armour, the nun and the warthog-man were all observing his interrogation intently.

“No, that sounds like something I’d remember.”

One of the twins disappeared through the doorway. The other dripped his blood into its hand, then squeezed its fist closed around it.

“Have you ever been involved in any prophecy, magical or otherwise?”

“My teachers always said I’d get nowhere in life. That turned out right.”

The cat nodded, frowning harder than he’d thought possible for a cat’s features. “And, finally, have you ever partaken in any kind of quest, magical or otherwise?”

The twin in the waiting room went still. It let out a shrill buzz. Chippy dropped low, and bared his fangs at Greg. The other twin burst into the room, waving a sword around blindly, hacking at the walls.

Greg started to laugh at the absurdity.

“He is a Chosen One!” yelled Chippy. “He must be quarantined!”

At the same time, the suit of armour drew a sword, the warthog-man growled, and the nun kicked open the chest.

“Protect the Chosen One!”

Greg kept laughing. He really would have to try hitting his head more often.


About the author

Charlie C

Attempted writer.

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Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

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  1. Compelling and original writing

    Creative use of language & vocab

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    Well-structured & engaging content

  3. Excellent storytelling

    Original narrative & well developed characters

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Comments (3)

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  • Brennah 3 months ago

    I love this! It's so original. Once I started reading I couldn't stop.

  • Corrina Mayall 3 months ago

    Lol, wow, love it, give me more!

  • Kyle Maddox3 months ago

    Great job, I loved the twist with the talking cat, wasn't expecting that.

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