Posted tagged ‘Gothic music’

This week’s everyday Gothic Horror story (set to music)

November 19, 2014

With visions of Shabbala playing on my mind I lost my way in the night. This was a street I had never dragged my feet down before. The eeriness was augmented with creepy shrieking sounds resonating from an alleyway. And from the darkness emerged a colony of bats swooping around my head. Bats! And Tippi Hedren thought she had it bad. At my feet I saw an estranged wheel trim that had once lived on a Vauxhall Astra. I picked up the cylinder and using it like Captain America’s shield I managed to send the night creatures back to the abyss.

The cobbled road was echoing with my lonely footsteps as I trudged on my, not very, merry way. Then I heard another sound in the deathly air -a scraping noise. I stopped to listen. From the roof of a building was heard the scraping of dead skin with a pumice stone. Scrape, scrape, scrape. Flakes of dandruff fell from above. I could only guess at what part of the anatomy was being sheared. I used the wheel trim as an umbrella and moved along. I dropped the shield with a clang as I saw in a shop glass window all that I desired.

The sign said Helga and Ruprecht’s music store. I opened the door



The shop was barely lighted but I could make out a variety of musical instruments. At the front of the shop was a harp. Its neck reminded me of a Burmese Kayan woman I used to date before she ran rings round me. Cobwebs littered the harp that had more than likely lain in state for years. I brushed the spiderwebs off. There was a stool nearby and I sat and began to strum the strings. It made a gut wrenching tone that brought together Hell, Hades, Halloween and Humpty Dumpty in one horrendous harpsidischord hymn.

From the shadows crept a sad-eyed woman. She was a woman with a difference. She had wings instead of arms. Her feathered form was all Zandra Rhodes. I could not take my eyes off her bingo bat-winged limbs. There’d be more of a tune in them than on the disharmonic harp.

“I am Helga. What do you want?” asked the unhappy Helga the harpy.

“Your harp’s out of tune.” I tried to hide my lack of musicianship by passing the buck. It’s true, a bad musician always blames his instrument. Yet with my musical still at the embryonic stage I needed some instrumentation. And It would be good to have a harp in it. “I’m a southpaw. What I need is a left-handed harp. Have you got one?”

“Just turn it upside down.”

“Good thinking, Helga, good thinking.”

Using Helga’s advice I twirled the device. It perched wobbly on the floor. A topsy-turvy harp. But the strings were now fashioned for a lefty. I wiggled my fingers imitating a maestro’s warm-up then I cracked my knuckles for good measure. Ouch, that was sore. Ready for a rumble I let fly at the machine. It was worse than before. The tumultuous nerve-jangling din could waken the dead. And it did. A sinister voice screamed from the depths of the shop.

“Stop that racket! BRRRRR.”

A shiver ran down my spine. Helga saw my unease as flapping her wings she explained. “That’s Ruprecht. I keep him in the dungeon. He’s insane. Insanity runs in our family. I only let him out on special occasions. When he gets angry he BRRRRR’s.”

“Thanks for that Helga. I must be going. I don’t think I’ll bother with the harp.”

Helga’s wings spread in fury as she twisted the meaning of an old adage used in shops. She commanded.

“You played that harp, you bought it.”

And from the cavern below. “BRRRRR. BRRRRR.”

My problems were mounting. Is this a special occasion for Ruprecht? Have I enough money to buy the instrument? Will I ever be able to play the thing? Will they charge me 5p for a bag? And how on earth will I get the harp on the bus? Thank God I didn’t touch the Bechstein grand piano.