Posted tagged ‘Monsters’

Lovecraft’s Chin

January 7, 2013

hp-lovecraftRand woke from a tormented sleep. Slowly, his senses awakened. His eyes told him that he was inside an unexplored cave. His mind became a book with pages  being flicked from cover to cover, the shuffling stopped when he recalled Shabbala, sweet Shabbala. His love for Shabbala was the one thing that gave him a will to live.

For days he had been lost in this wild cavern of shadows and cobwebs, wet ditches and inclines, crystal walls that could not be scaled, scents that burned his nostrils and, inevitably, strange creatures. Being chased by a territorial unicorn in such a confined space was a terrifying experience. Only a jump from a cliff into a, thankfully, just deep enough ravine saved him from the horn of antiquity. The water was full of leeches but Rand was happy for small mercies.

Markings on the cave wall were in a language that was undecipherable. Rand’s voluminous library at home, with its manuscripts from the six sides of the world, might have in one of the dusty, long forgotten alcoves a text that could translate the drawings and scribbled words that were fading on the rocky substance. Could the horoscope tomes of Eden or the theological treatise of Van Banner decipher this gibberish? He could not check as he was a long way from home. The signs and logos could only be the traces of an undiscovered species.

Dragging his feet through the bat guano that muddied the floor in a sickening puddle of thick black mucous, Rand scanned the ceiling expecting to see a bat colony. Licking his parched lips that were encrusted with sores a cup of bat blood would be refreshing. Yet the bats seemed to have deserted this sinking ship. Was this portentous? Craving Shabbala he hoped this was a good omen.

Rand saw an opening as a chink of daylight glared like a beacon in one of the upper levels of the cave. Using what was left of his drained strength he pulled himself up the crumbling plaster wall and breathed the air of the outside. The intoxication was short-lived as cries of despair were howling in the valley below. Cries that were inhuman in nature. Rand squeezed through the gap and saw for himself what was the cause of this sonic nightmare.

Below him in the undergrowth were some of the most monstrous creations that a grand designer could ever make. Half-human creatures with anatomies that could not be described shrieked at one another, yet they did not seem to have any mouths. The sounds were coming from within. There were no portals on any part of their bodies. Tentatively, Rand closed in on the inhabitants of this weird plain. To his surprise the devilish beings moved away from him. Something caused them to take flight as they kicked up the dust in a mad stampede to put distance between themselves and Rand.

The gentle flow of a stream was a gift from the gods to Rand. He filled his dry throat. His drinking stopped when he saw his reflection in the pool. He quickly turned away with his hands over his face hoping it was his mind playing games but a second look confirmed the worst. There, staring back at him was the ugliest form that a man could take. His features were completely asymmetrical. Rand’s tears dropped onto the surface of the water. Shabbala? His flower, Shabbala. What would Shabbala think of the monstrosity that was Rand?


The Battle of Corsock Bridge

August 21, 2012

NBC executives, smarting from a drop in ratings, had held emergency talks about broadcasting a new one-off live reality show. Historical war documentaries had always had segments of actual footage, if available, with some scenes of actors re-playing crucial events. This would be different as the whole show would be re-enacted exactly the way the battle happened. It was decided that a voiceover would only speak a few times during hostilities.

Using the American Civil War re-enactment society as an inspiration living historians from the British city of Glasburgh re-created The Battle of Corsock Bridge. At the top of Corsock Bridge was an unused railway line that had all its track stolen. Underneath the arch shaped bridge was the graffiti-ridden dividing line, the border, between the warring housing schemes- Carntown and Dennistyne.

Many skirmishes had taken place between gangs at Corsock Bridge- verbal baiting, rock throwing, the odd punch. For the most part an uneasy peace had ensued until the fateful day in 1980 that one of the commanders of Dennistyne gave the order to invade. This was the famous battle that keen re-enactment gangland enthusiasts accurately portray. NBC were going to film the scripted fight.

The venue of Corsock Bridge had changed little. It was the same dump it always was. With the battlefield set all the actors needed was to get into uniform of the time. This meant wearing Adidas Kick and three-button T-shirts. The weapons used were sticks, broken bottles and sharp implements, home-made chibs as they were called. A cordon was put up keeping spectators out of the way of the cameras. Ice-cream vendors did a roaring trade as the crowd was sizable; the sweet tooth option was the staple diet of Glasburgh. A mobile memorabilia shop sold scarves and pennants of the protagonists. Preparations were complete. Authentic onlookers that were present that day were in position as were the two armies. NBC started to roll.

“Who you lookin’ at?” an all too familiar call to arms was uttered by a foot soldier of Carntown.

“You” answered the monosyllabic Dennistynian.

Young children, cadets from the academy, aiming to make a name for themselves began to throw rocks at one another. A very young trainee did not have much strength and his rock hit one of his comrades on the front line. The victim, not happy with this friendly fire incident, slapped the errant thrower in the face who ran away saying.

“I’m going to tell my mammy.” Internecine warfare was a regular occurrence.

The Dennistyne gang advanced into enemy territory. They chased the young team away. One of these youngsters who was eating a Marathon bar raced to the headquarters (an old pigeon coop) of the Carntown general to warn him of the raid.

Sitting on a ravaged bench at the edge of Carntown two winos were finishing off another bottle of super strength wine. The two drunks were an inebriated version Of Statler and Waldorf. The Dennistyne ranks approached them. One of the sots said.

“Awright boys, have you any change?”

The Carntown gang made their appearance and an ugly stand-off developed. There were lots of shouting and swearing, bluster and bravado being meted out. At last someone from Dennistyne took the initiative and swung his stick at an opponent. He ducked and the stick wielder twirled round. Nonetheless this lit the toilet paper and both sides engaged in conflict.

There didn’t seem to be any military tactics in the battle. The free for all was freestyle fighting that was not very fierce. If you said Clausewitz to any of the soldiers that day they would have guessed, does he play with Bayern Munich? The battle continued with a series of forays and backtracks until a woman passed by with a pram. She spotted someone in the melee.

“Johnny MacGregor. Is that you?” Both sides backed off and Johnny MacGregor sheepishly stepped aside. “You wait ‘til I get you home.” The mother moved on with Johnny in tow. The re-enactment began again with a war of words.

The watching crowd, off camera, were unhappy with the fare that was being dished up. Some had came miles to see this. A loud chorus of “We want our money back, We want our money back” was screamed from the terraces until someone pointed out that today’s proceedings was free. NBC tried to hush the hullabalooists. The unforeseen interruption broke the concentration of the re-enactors and they had lost the plot. Dennistyne soldiers were beside Carntown soldiers as everyone was out of position. Lines and cues were forgotten in the mix-up.

“Cut, Cut.” shouted the NBC director.

“That’s not right,” said a Dennistynian corporal “nobody got cut that day.”

Giro di Italia

July 21, 2010

Before I’m past it I have started to eat pasta and jog -not at the same time I might add. The varied pasta dishes makes for a healthy diet. If there’s none handy a cannavaro of beans will do instead; also good for running.

With fresh air in my head I pound the streets and parks early in the morning. A local fruit merchant, Luca Brasi’s, is on my way and old Luca throws me an apple every day.
“Graziano.” I say to him.
But old Luca is a wise guy. Invariably the apple is rotten to the core and I throw it in the nearest pond. Luca Brasi’s apple sleeps with the fishes.

Another regular on my run is my wee pesky pal Joe who is returning from a night out in the club. Wearing new scars he tells me his latest joke. What does the Human Torch say before a game of snooker? Frame on. You’re a funny guy; I say to him and scarper before he pulls out his gun.

In all my time of running I’ve never came across the big stairway. This is every jogger’s dream. A sizeable crowd joins you on the road, everyman and his dog, spurring you on to greater heights culminating in a roar as you reach the top of a concrete Gran Paradiso. Me and Fausto have to make do with piccoli passi.

I have lost lots of pounds because every day I go an extra mile and therefore it costs more for the taxi back. My biggest worry while in the cab is talking to the driver. I dread he will make eye contact with me in the rear view window and say.
“You talkin’ to me? You talkin’ to me? You talkin’ to me? Then who the hell else are you talking… you talking to me? Well I’m the only one here.”

The Insect Strikes back

March 13, 2010

Billy Firth and Two-can Thomson are not very bright students. Their contemporaries jest they can’t count to seven.  After a day at college on their way homeward Billy sees a moth fluttering in front of him. Wildly he helicopters his arms to try to rotor this nuisance away to no avail. The moth expands its wingspan and continues to annoy the young man. With a lucky punch Billy catches the moth and it spins in a circular arc like Darth Vader’s TIE ship at the end of Star Wars 1 or was it Star Wars 4? It’s confusing the way Lucas jumbled the series up. Anyway the moth is off to fight another day.

“You shouldn’t have done that. He might have a big brother or a nasty dad.” said Two-can.

“Get real, TC. You’ve been reading too much pulp fiction again.” said Billy. “Besides it’s not as if the moth will have an elephantine dad.” (more…)

From Alba to Ahab

December 24, 2009

He laughed out loud. Luxuriating in the soapy bath his big feet dangled over the taps and had suds of froth on the toes, he laughed again. The perfumed aroma of his bubble bath was instilling feelings of pure bliss. Cleanliness as well as being next to Godliness is also next to happiness.

With thoughts of delight pouring through his mind, an image of Jessica Alba surfaced in his brain. Alba, now there’s a name. In Gaelic it means Scotland and in Latin it means white. In Southern Mediterranean countries it is a place name. A good bath does get you thinking but the trivia was abandoned and lusty visions of Miss Alba in Sin City submerged into his consciousness.

Lost in this desirable daydream he drifted below the waterline and into the depths. Far down the water was clear and swimming towards him was a gargantuan Sea Serpent. This creature from Scandinavian mythology began to encircle his neck and he grabbed it with both hands. The serpentine monster was very strong and pulsed with excited energy. The more he struggled with the snake and the tighter he squeezed it the more pain he felt.

Almost out of breath but strangely close to pleasure he broke free from the Leviathan and crashed through the bubbling waves. Taking in large gulps of air he felt his intelligent self again. Still his feet protruded at the bottom of the bath lathered in cream and he laughed. Well you know what they say about men with big feet…or is it big hands…or is it a big nose or is it…? Ad infinitum.