All was well in the Jinxy household. We'd been to the shops and purchased an assortment of fun and yummy mess-making ingredients. In fact, we got carried away and spent way more than the budget allowed, but hey-ho! These things happen and it was bound to make for a bunch of fun, so I wasn't complaining.

We were both fired up by the idea of doing a shoot that night. Squashums was full of ideas for set-building and camera set up and I was mulling over myriad possibilities for crazy-fun outfits I would enjoy playing around in and would look good on film.

We had a nice relaxing day, and that evening Squashie started to mix up gungy stuff en masse. I remembered there were some suitably bright paints in the cupboard that we could add, to provide the array of vivid colours I continually lust after. I left the Mixmaster to his devices and he spent his usual many hours slaving over a hot (or rather warm-ish) bucket for the perfect combination of textures and consistencies. I was on tenterhooks, waiting to see the inevitably brilliant results.

Later that evening I was summoned to the alchemist's workshop, A.K.A. the kitchen, to lay eyes upon the perfect tableau of colourful gloop, gunk, gunge and gak. I was ecstatic; in my element! Now to pick the perfect costume to compliment such a sublime rainbow.

Appropriate attire selected, we decided to take some time to gather our thoughts and focus on the task at hand, when suddenly Squashie remembered that there was no oil in his mixes. Since they contained a substantial quantity of flour and oatmeal, it seemed prudent to add some in an attempt to somewhat negate the potential wallpaper paste-like effects of said ingredients. Cooking oil had somehow been omitted from our shopping list and, considering the late hour and lack of supermarkets in the vicinity, we settled for some baby oil. Should do the trick, right? Right?...

So, preparations complete, we sit down to chill for a while, have a cuppa and watch some completely unrelated Youtube videos whilst cultivating our wam-zen. However, it very gradually begins to dawn on us that all is not as should be in the immediate vicinity.

There's a noise. A subtle noise, but a definite noise which is not one that has been previously heard in this abode. A kind of a *gurgle-blurp*, the likes of which I do not recognise. As I strain to locate the source of this sound, another ominous sign that all is not well. A smell. A not good smell. I cautiously eye Squashie. I know it's not him, because the only odours he ever emits are roses and orange water. And it's not me, for once. Could it be the cat? She is sitting awfully close, but I'm pretty sure a critter that small cannot possibly be responsible for an stench so...corpulent. Squashie catches my eye, and wordlessly confirms that it is not my imagination and that something truly is amiss.

Gallantly, my knight in shining armour throws open the door to the only place the ominous occurrences can be taking place. There before us stands a bubbling, broiling, sulphurous mass, slowly making a bid for freedom over the lip of its confines and down the cupboard door, forming a pool on the floor, where it continues to bubble defiantly and spit its rotten-egg breath in our general direction. In smaller jugs, its malodorous stunted siblings churn, with slow menace. It seems Squashie and I have given birth to some sort of semi-sentient primordial ooze whose only purpose is to erase the human race from existence, one asphyxiation at a time. Starting with Yours Truly, and dear Squashies.

He slams the door shut. Panic drains both of our faces.
D'you d'you think it's dangerous?
Nah, I'm sure it'll be fine...
What should we do?
We've got to get it out of here.
How?...
.

You could almost hear the cogs grinding. Cobwebs being blown from the deepest recesses of our creative minds as we drew on a lifetime's experience, searching for a magic wand solution

Right, here's the plan: It has to be done quickly and quietly and the execution, flawless. We take a breath, open the door, bag up the buckets and carry them outside. Minimal agitation to avoid releasing the demonic flatulence and absolutely no spillage! We can't afford to let it loose in the communal stair. I'm afraid it may have developed heat seeking abilities and will hunt down the neighbours and take them out. Speaking of neighbours, stealth is essential. On the up side, it's 3am so we are unlikely to be seen. On the down side, it's 3am so any sound will be magnified tenfold by the surrounding silence. Lastly, don't forget that the outside bin is metal and huge, so has a tendency to ring dully like a cracked church bell if you drop things in too hastily. Both the doors will be propped open, so we can be out and back in in 20 seconds. Capiche?.

Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.

Take a second, gather your thoughts and we'll go on three, ok?

Yep, ready. Let's do this shit!

Ok. One.Two.Three!

At this point, hallelujah and praise the gods! The run of rotten (literally!) luck which has be plaguing us turns and the universe decides we deserve a break. The operation goes off without a hitch. To our amazement, we pulled it off like an impeccably choreographed ballet which, anyone who knows us will attest, is a one-in-a-quadrillion chance.

Slightly over 20 seconds later and we sit on the sofa, frazzled, mildly traumatised and still partially incredulous. I'm sure it happened. I see the evidence before me when I finally pluck up the courage to enter the alien birthing chamber i.e. the kitchen. Yet it retains an air of surrealism; like a dream or a memory of a film watched long ago. But it's over, and that's what matters. It's finally over. Sort of

The next morning I check the outdoor bin. Everything seems fine so far. I'm keeping a watch though. I'm terrified the monstrosity will eat through the metal and into the tarmac below, like the blood of the alien, from the acclaimed film of the same name. Either that or it'll just climb out of its own accord. So long as it ends up far from my house, that's fine by me. Incidentally, there are still remnants of the life-form dwelling somewhere within my cooker. All I can smell in there now is hydrogen peroxide. Which makes me think it would probably do a bang-up job of bleaching my hair in exchange for squatter's rights to the floor beneath my appliances.