Remarkableman did as the old lady told him; he felt she held all the power despite being a weak and feeble woman. “Look,” she continued, her hand scrambling around for the drawer handle of which she gripped and pulled open. She unravelled the piece of brown paper and opened it up. It was a newspaper that looked 75 years old. Her trembling hands opened the pages, “you remember the superhero that took your place, how you hated them, thinking it was the Sauasgeman? Well,” she giggled, “it was me see!”
“Oh I see, I wouldn’t have hated them if I knew that,” he added.
“You also recall the cartoonist that witnessed the incident, Russell Shamm, well look.”
Remarkableman looked at the comic strip in the newspaper, it was by Russell Shamm and it was called, The Invisible Scarlet O’Neil, “The first ever female superhero….” she filled him in, “I inspired him!”
“Wow, did you continue as a superhero?” he asked.
“No; of course not, I didn’t have any need to. After Scarlet O’Neil the comic book market was flooded with super-heroines; I started the revolution and that was enough satisfaction for me to retire to a woman’s life. It would be many years I had witnessed the growing feminism movement and watched in pride that I played a pivotal role.”
Remarkableman nodded, “ok, what now? I mean what do I do now?”
The old lady looked amused, “you forget, it was only yesterday for you and you are a young man. I am a feeble old lady who for me it was 75 years ago but I remember…. Go out and find yourself Remarkableman, be who you want to be but do not forget, I set you up on a date with Matthew you big gay flump!”
One Man and His Beast
1.
My light summer blouse was saturated with perspiration, hugging the curves of my body as I felt my heart pound through my chest. I grinded that badly hung and warped wooden planked door shut as firmly as I could achieve using my back to insure the job was done. My body felt weak, as if it could take no more of this torture. With my back to the door I scanned the room thinking aloud, “where is that fucking coward?”
This was when I noted a trap door in the kitchenette across the living space slam shut, the dust danced in the air around it and then everything felt silent for a brief moment save my heart beating from within my ribcage. I poked my bum to the door, double checking it was as secure as could be although I knew it would be of little effort for the, the thing, whatever it was, to break through. I had to consider that it may give me a few more seconds.
That is when I heard him, it sounded as if he had fallen and he screamed in pain. Mixed emotions, for want of a better person to help me, he was the only one around. 25 years, 25 years for a marriage to turn sour. This was to be our anniversary, a nice getaway, a holiday just for us, no kids, no bills, no phone calls; a romantic cottage in the forest he said, where we could be alone. We needed it; at least we needed something to rekindle the lost love we once had. How had it come to this? I mean I know I never married a strapping heroic sort, I never married a muscle-bound hulk of a man that would smash a speeding train away from your path but, well, I expected a bit more than this. He ran, he ran away by the sight of my most certain death. I agree whatever is out there in that forest is one scary beast but he left me, just left me there in its path of destruction. He made no attempt to come to my assistance, he made no challenge to at least try rescue me; he just got up and run as fast as he could. 25 years, is that what I get for my love and devotion, every fucking man, or woman for themselves? What a heartless bastard.
I hope he has hurt himself in that cellar; I hope he has broken his leg the callous and thoughtless bastard, I could have been killed, eaten alive out there. On the other hand I need him to open that trapdoor and let me in. I will be sure to save my complaints until after he has let me in. I fly from the door across the old room, sparse of furniture and decoration and land with precision just a hand away from the latch of the trapdoor. I yank it up but it is no good, it will not budge. “Open up, it’s me!” I shout. My voice is horse, trembling and filled with desperation.
No answer, I try again, adding some curse words and raising the volume but still I get no response. I have to consider if he really has hurt himself down there. Perhaps he is unconscious. 25 years plus of programming set in, I am concerned for him; he is my love, my life. It may have gone sour some years ago but there was a time, an amazing time, a boundless period whereby we were happy, so very happy and love, well it filled us from head to toe. But we had grown used to each other, that much is true and some could say this is not so unusual, some might say it’s perfectly normal behaviour after all those years of marriage but, and this is a big but; I expected slightly more of him than to chicken shit out and leave me to the hands of that fucking great big hairy monster! I banged harder on the trapdoor until my fist felt numb; screaming my demands that he opened it up but still all was silent from those floorboards.
I could hear rustles in the trees just outside the window; it could have just been the wind but, well, probably not. The beast had tracked me here; that was unsurprising, it was never far from my heels during the whole terrible race through that darkened wood.
I scanned the room for somewhere else to hide, for the chance to discover a suitable weapon; I came up with nothing as the fear ripped through me with another round of increasing terror. The rustling sound reverberated around the perimeter of the structure. The walls of the wooden cottage would be a feeble protective barrier from a beast of such stamina and rage. Not that I saw much of it, it was dark; I saw teeth, sharp, I felt whiskers brush my cheek as its foul breath purred into my face. It was something, not human, but perhaps, like one, not feline, but tiger-like too. I don’t know what the hell it was all I do know is it was after us, it hungered for us and natural senses could tell me this; I did not wait around for it to strike.
My mind tried so desperately to convince me that the sound was the wind in the trees but as it increased tenfold and began to consciously make heed for the door it became obvious my mind was a filthy liar. Then, as I stood helpless in that room, dripping with sweat and dribbling with fear the sound of a solid impact of flesh struck the door and the wooden planks splintered into kindle. I alerted the intruder with an irrepressible scream which only triggered the creature to increase its rigor at hacking through the door.
2.
As it stood there before me, growling an insane snarl I could now make out its features more clearly as the dim bulb swung to and fro from the ceiling at the force of the entry. It stood over six feet even when crouched slightly. Its head close to the top of the cottage roof it scanned the area around it. It was human like, it clearly had two arms and two legs but the legs were bent, like that of a cat. It was furry like a cat too with a design of orange and black stripes not so different from that of a tiger. The feet were paws, white with sharp claws protruding from all limbs; it swung the arms around, lashing out at thin air in its het-up rage.
It turned to face me; its face hairy too with black diamond shaped pupils in its white eyes and its brow frowning like ripples in a whirlpool. It had a snout but its nostrils, although flared looked rather like that of a human nose and this matched its mouth. Although wider than a normal human being its mouth was of a similar shape but it had razor sharp canine teeth which were dribbling salvia onto its cheeks. I noticed those whiskers that stroked my face back in the woods, long white sensory hairs, standing to attention, ready for the kill.
I stood in shock; I could not move nor make any sound from my mouth as much as I tried to repeat my scream. My body went instantly as cold as ice and I could feel the heat of my sweat on my torn, damp clothes burning through to my goose-bumpily flesh. Frozen on the spot I could sense more than see that it was coming towards me, assessing the situation, assessing me. I could tell that it was sizing me up, figuring out its next strategy.
It moved upon me slowly and I found my voice but it was a mere whimper as I backed away. The closer it got the volume of my sob increased until I ma
naged to conjure up some words, “Go away!”
That is when its mood changed, it felt amused by this and then, with a soft and structured tone it whispered, “Where is the man?”
That voice, so lenient and coveted in expression made me just one degree calmer but it only opened a Pandora’s Box; should I tell the creature? Would it cease harassing me and go and harass him instead? Then, if I did, did he really deserve it? I mean his fleeing could have been just a natural response, not one he gave much thought about. I would like to think that any man, married to the woman or not, know the woman or not, would lay their life down to save the girl. Maybe this is the fairy-tale life I had been programed to think and that in meeting with a monster of this calibre would make the hardest of men wet their knickers and run like a little girl. Maybe, I had to consider that I had been too hard on him; the years of laughter and fun, the wonderful times in his arms came flooding back to me, and then, well, then I guess the natural protective response kicked in and I stammered, “he’s in there!” pointing nervously at the trap door.
He perused my bony finger, its knuckle as white as the driven snow and then his triangular pupils so cold and heartless followed the path of its pointing to focus on the trapdoor. In that time I managed to overcome another small degree of horror and constructed another sentence, a two part sentence with a question at its end, “u..u..under the floor, he is. What do you want with him you monster?”
This only increased his dark, soul destroying amusement as he jeered his answer slowly and controlled, “I am not the monster; he is!” He pointed with his sharp claw at the door and then moved his arm inwards as he made progress to the trapdoor and crouched to examine it.
I focussed on the old brass candlestick freestanding in the corner. Have I got time to make a grab for it? Could I muster up the energy to strike him with it? Would it do any good? What other option did I have? I made my move stealthily, swiftly but the creature looked up right at the wrong time and sprung from those muscular hind legs. Its humongous reach slashed the candlestick from my reach before I had even felt its cold brass texture in my palm and my fingers snapped back, driving my whole body to ripple in fear. With a growl its foul breath swamped my neurons, freezing my body again and like a china doll I fell towards the floor.
This is when surprise took on a whole new ball game; the creature caught me mid-fall and swept me back to my feet with a gracefulness no man could ever have matched. No dancer or romantic interlude could equal the electricity which rushed through my body and suddenly I felt a bizarre sensation of safeness in its presence. Its golden gaze looked me over; I quivered as I could tell it was skimming my body, its goose-bumpily skin cold and damp. Its power was so intense I felt overcome, my mind was giddy and black spots danced before my vision. I stumbled out another question, “What are you?”
“I am your husband’s son,” it replied bluntly and shockingly. After a pause in which I continually shook my head until it felt like it would roll off of my neck it managed to continue, convincing me not to fear him, “do not fear me Carol, I have no grief with you. I want him, I want him dead!”
“But……” was the only word I could locate until a second or two later, “why? I mean how, how could you be his….his son?”
With that the creature crouched back down, wedging his claws under the trapdoor. It pulled upwards with ease and tore the metal hinges like they were made of paper. The whole door ripped off the floor boards, taking the splintered ends of the boards with it. There now remained in its place a dark hole which we both instinctively peered down to see the silhouette of a man, his body quivering with fear and his knees held up to his shoulders in a foetal position. Slowly he pulled his head out from his breast and looked up in horror. I looked at him with a pittance, disgust filled my mind. He looked so feeble, so wrong down there that I hardly recognised the man that I married.
I don’t know why I trusted the creature so much until then. As it thrust its claws into the shaft and grappled for my husband I admit I felt sorry for him but as I noted his eyes he wore an expression of guilt that I knew he had some wild and crazy skeleton hidden in his closet, he wore the manifestation that he had something important he needed to confess.
Like a ragdoll he was winched up and thrown onto the old brown sofa chair. Dust danced upwards and then settled again and the creature took a step back to examine its find. For that moment I could tell the monster was passive, it wanted, it was yearning for an explanation and I felt the same way. A bond between us had formed, a mutual mistrust of the man before us gave us this connection.
My husband pleaded, “Please…..” was all he could say and say it he did repetitively.
“What is going on?” I demanded, folding my arms and staring at the frail wreck that was my husband.
Finally a cool overcame him, he settled slightly and gave a sigh; “I can tell you, I wanted to tell you before, but, well, it’s a long story……” he mumbled.
My arms were firmly folded over my breast and my right foot was tapping, the creature was poised in quite a similar fashion. “Go on then, we are not going anywhere. This creature tells me that he is your son and I have reason to believe him no matter how bizarre… I think you owe me an explanation Roger.”
3.
Roger requested a drink and so the creature located the sink and poured him some water in a dusty glass. He sipped it as we stood over him, “You should sit down,” he proposed and we did that.
With us seated he began his story, “it was 15 years ago, when I was delivering fruit and veg boxes in Cambridge, you remember Carol?”
“I do,” I replied, recalling how this was the point in our marriage when things went sour. We built on this failure since, I thought we had rekindled some of the passion, not all of it but there was always a suspicion in my mind that something happened to Roger back then. If it was an affair I was annoyed by this; who wouldn’t be? But I got through it. I figured if this was the case that it must only have been a fling and he soon come back to me. We were older now, more mature, we didn’t make love anymore but we still loved each other’s company and we were still quite solid in our relationship. I mean, if he had a fling then we put it behind us. The thought that he might have an offspring from this had never even crossed my mind, a half-cat, half –man creature would have been inconceivable. Here we were though, he had a guilt that no man could hide and the creature that stood before us was here for a reason, whatever it was I tried to prepare, but that wasn’t easy.
He continued his sorrowful story in a low mumble, “well, you see I had this thing, years before we met, with a girl called Hannah. She was a friend with my best friend’s girlfriend and so they thought it would be good for us to go around in a foursome like, you know, double-date and that. Well, his girlfriend told me that she fancied me and I admit I was flattered. The thing was I don’t ever know why we took it any further, she was a wildcard, a bit of a goer and we hit it off quite well. I remember one drunken night at the pub we were getting quite close and when we walked the girls home she held my hand the whole way back, we kissed on her doorstep but that was the end of it. Nothing ever really happened.”
I don’t know if he is dulling the story so he did not offend me but honestly, he sounded sincere. He was opening up; seemingly glad to be getting it off his chest. I was only wondering how on earth all this could amount to the circumstance we found ourselves in, sitting in a holiday cottage in a forest with a monster-cat like thing claiming to be my husband’s bastard son.
And so he went on, “she sent me a friend request on Facebook; I did not see any harm in it as we never really made it to a sexual relationship. I did not tell you Carol through thoughts that it might upset you. Anyway, I mentioned in a chat that I delivered fruit and veg as a job and she was interested in this, telling me that she lived within my catchment area. I received an order one day and when I delivered it imagine my surprise to see her standing on the doorstep wearing just some thin nightdress. Carol I would never h
ave gone there if I knew it was her but she was using a married surname. I was pleased to see her I admit; she invited me in and was inspecting her fruit box. She took out a melon and squeezed it. Then she told me I had nice melons, asking me what I thought of her melons as she squeezed her breasts in the same way. I stumbled my answer, I could not say that they were not nice could I? As much as I wanted to I am only a red-blooded male and you had been distant at the time in bed,” he broke down in tears as he recalled the day, whimpering his apology.
“Ok, ok, you fucking creep, I understand,” I relaxed him, “it was all a long time ago. What happened next, I mean did you shag her cat or something? How on earth did…..”
“I will get to that, I told you it was a long story,” he added, he always went the long around a story bored most people silly with it and I could see that the creature was beginning to get anxious for him to confess more.
“To cut a long story short,” he continued, which was bullshit, “one thing led to another and we ended up having sex on her bed. She said we had unfinished business and at first that is all I thought it was, you know, one quickie and I would be on my way. The next day I went back, the order got mixed up and I had to correct the error. I was determined just to drop the box and go but she pulled me in. She gave me this spill about how sad she was, told me she had made a mistake marrying her husband and that she just needed some more of my time. Yet again we ended up in her bedroom. I felt so guilty and vowed not to do this again. Afterwards she told me about her husband, she said she wanted a baby, that he wanted a baby too and that she had stopped taking the pill without telling him in hope she could give him a child. I was shocked, I mean, where did that leave us? I hadn’t given a thought to contraception.” Roger now held his hands in his head.
Tales of Worrow Volume II Page 9