SLClimer - Rumours of the Grotesque

by Rumours of the Grotesque (v1. 0) [lit]

  "I can't remember.” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand, and sparkling dust flew from them. “What time zone is this?"

  "I'm not sure myself,” Manx replied. “Did you run into the pig?"

  He then noticed a stinking appendage made of goo protruding like a tentacle from the former Colonel Parker. It undulated, long and stringy, hovering in front of Manx's lap. Suddenly, a brilliant blue eye popped up on the end of the limb and looked straight at him.

  "Pardon me,” a mouth formed in the crook in the arm just below the eye, “I had to see what you looked like."

  "Why?” Manx asked uncomfortably.

  "I don't like to eat anything unattractive."

  Instantly, the eye vanished, and the ray of ooze maximized and slathered Manx. The sprite giggled once more, this time with a partner-in-crime tone. Manx disappeared within the mass in spite of his struggles. His claws were ineffective; his hands only grasped the slippery stuff, which shot out between his fingers. The more he struggled, the more entangled he became. He could feel the slime slowly creeping into his mouth, ears, nose, taking over his body. He was real right now and could easily die of suffocation just like any other living thing.

  Frantically, Manx tried to escape, but the thing pulled him completely inside. Manx's head bobbed deeply within the mass, effectively silencing any screams that he could produce. Suddenly, his head came into contact with another hard object. Manx latched onto it, desperate for any weapon to regain his freedom. He felt it, let his hands slide through the muck, trying to figure out what it was. The object was soft, fleshy, and about two feet long. As Manx continued his discovery, he found a hand at one end: it was a severed human arm.

  The invasive body of the creature was robbing Manx of breath and life. Spots filled his eyes. He had to get out soon or he wouldn't live to see another Beltane. He was losing the fight, though. His muscles slackened; the goo flowed in rhythm. As Manx ceased struggling, he felt himself sink deeper into the creature. He held tightly to the severed arm, realizing gravity—even in the Secretary of Dominion's Office—still worked.

  He let his stony mass be pulled through the goo. Frantically, the creature shifted and surrounded the gargoyle, but Manx was too heavy. Finally, he slipped out the bottom, covered in mire, gagging and spewing slime out of his mouth.

  A mouth formed in the goo near where Manx came out. “Shit, you're stone."

  "Sorry about that.” Manx wiped his mouth onto the severed human arm, which still clutched a number slip.

  A loud voice with excessive treble and lack of bass announced: “Number 26."

  Manx looked at the slip. “Hey, that's me.” Grinning, he removed the slip of paper and tossed the arm aside.

  "Lucky break,” the sprite snapped.

  "Too bad for you, sweetheart, I kind of liked you.” Manx turned, flipped some remaining slime onto the sprite, and headed for the open window.

  Behind the counter, a woman with a large arrow sticking out of her head was ready to wait on him. He looked her up and down, letting his mind create stories of how she ended up in this place. She wore a glittering blue leotard, but there were knives sticking out of her body as well as the arrow to her noggin.

  "He wasn't that good of a knife-thrower, okay?” she anticipated Manx's question.

  "Didn't mean to stare,” Manx smiled. “I'd like to renew my license and get a new coupon pack, please."

  "Can I see your old license?"

  Manx dug it out of his pocket. “Here, love."

  She unfolded the tattered document. “This isn't from this hemisphere. You'll have to fill out the foreign renewal form."

  "Could you do that for me? I'm in bit of a rush. You see, it expires at the close of Beltane, and that'll be very, very soon."

  "I can't do that,” she replied. “You'll have to take the form, and another number, and get back in line."

  "What?” He looked back into the waiting area, which was packed beyond capacity.

  Manx thought as only a sly gargoyle could. “Sweetheart, has anyone ever tried to take that arrow out of your head?"

  "Yes, and it didn't work,” she answered defensively.

  "If I can remove that unsightly arrow, will you stamp my renewal and give me my coupon pack?"

  She didn't need to think twice. “Sure, but no one's been able to help me yet."

  Manx thoughtfully sized up the arrow. He placed a finger on the feathered end, carefully examining its impact mark. “It's stuck in your skull, you know.” She nodded. “I think we can fix this rather easily."

  Suddenly, Manx seized the end in a tight grip, rolled his granite fist into a ball, and brought it crashing down on the shaft. The impact was flush with her forehead, and the arrow snapped clean away, leaving a small plug of wood intact.

  Grinning, the worker reached for her renewal stamp. “Thanks!"

  "See, I told you I could help. You needed the touch of a gargoyle.” Manx retrieved his renewed license and his new coupon pack. “By the way, could I get a Shapeshift coupon while I'm here? It's for a friend."

  "I can't give those out."

  "Okay, what can you give me to help, let's say, a stone horse return to his original state?"

  She handed him an orange, official-looking sticker and returned to her former demeanor of eternal clerical worker. “It's a Restoration Permit. Your friend will have thirty days to find a toothless with one eye to complete the restoration. Full restoration is handled by them."

  "Great, I'll tell him."

  With all of his proper documents in hand, Manx made his way to the exit. Swiftly, he opened the door. Somewhere, he heard a clock chiming the end of Beltane. He'd made it. Manx found himself outside the bronze door once again.

  The bright moon was still in the sky, and the katydids screamed their strangling cat-like song. He followed the path that led back to Mergatroid. Manx couldn't tell if the horse could see him or not, or even hear him.

  As he approached, Manx called out, “Hey, horse.” He laughed at his own joke. “Get it?"

  "Not funny,” Mergatroid responded. “Well, what happened?"

  Manx sat and thumbed through the coupons. “It's hard to see what's in here with only moonlight."

  "C'mon,” he snapped anxiously.

  "They've really improved the coupons. There's even a complimentary buffet at Cass Elliott's Hambone restaurant."

  "Remember, you were going to help me."

  "I do owe you one. I couldn't get a Shapeshift whatever you wanted. I got this, though. It's a Restoration Permit. Here, we'll just stick it on your ass.” Manx peeled away the backing and slapped it firmly onto Mergatroid's left butt-cheek.

  Like a spider's web, shimmering strands encircled the horse. Threads engulfed Mergatroid, filling his ears, drilling into his mouth, separating the coarse hair of his mane. The air filled with the scent of honeysuckle and vanilla as the light took on a rich, amber ambiance. Stone was turning to flesh in front of Manx's eyes. In a heartbeat, the magic moved beneath the stone statue of Nathan Bedford Forrest, completely separating flesh from granite.

  Suddenly, Mergatroid's freshly-animated face contorted. He struggled against the weight of the stone statue on his back. As a statue himself, it was easy to support the weight, but now he was only hooves and hide and bones. No horse was strong enough to bear nearly a ton of stone.

  "You need some help there?” Manx asked with concern.

  "Thanks, no, I got it. I'm not done yet.” Mergatroid's legs shook as the last stitch of stone vanished and he became full-flesh. “I wasn't a horse to begin with, I was ... I was..."

  Suddenly, his horse-flesh split cleanly down one side, and Manx saw red flesh beneath. A wing pushed forth from one side, then from the other. Mergatroid's head then fractured down the middle, flaking and peeling like old paint.

  His body swelled beneath the flimsy horse hide until it was merely an empty sack hanging off a giant boar with flapping wings. With its balance upset, Nathan Bedford Forrest took a dive off Mergat
roid's back. Headfirst, the statue buried itself deeply into the soft soil; some parts fractured, and others broke off completely. Mergatroid, though, was able to step free from his prison. But not before defecating profusely on the fallen statue.

  "I've had to take a crap for a hundred years,” he said. “Thanks."

  "You're welcome,” Manx replied.

  "I'll take you anywhere you want to go."

  "You do owe me one. Let's go to Beltane, then.” Manx leapt nimbly upon the sturdy creature. “You know, you're much calmer than the pig in the crypt."

  "That's my sister, yeah. She's such a sow.” Mergatroid flapped his mighty wings, and the peculiar duo headed into the sky. “Say, I know a really nice after hours place. Interested?"

  "After tonight, I could use a stiff drink.” Manx gripped tufts of the boar's stringy black mane in his hands. “Remind me to tell you about that sticker on your ass later."

  "Anything important?” Mergatroid adjusted his course as they headed over Memphis, into the face of the full moon.

  "I can't remember. I'm sure it'll come back to me after a beer or two."

  Noel

  Daddy knew they would all be so happy this Christmas. Work was hard, and the kids suffered as much as he did. The days were so bitter and long working construction in Detroit. And now it was getting so cold, and he couldn't afford boots, gloves, or a good coat. He was so far in debt paying his late wife's medical bills. After more than a year, he had hardly made a dent in what was owed.

  How funny, he thought, Christmas was supposed to be a time of goodwill and brotherly love. Where was the goodwill he needed? No one was helping him. He looked upon the faces of his three little children: Jack, 5, Lilly, 4, and baby Noel. In their eyes, he could see his wife's likeness as well as her traits—compassion, love, devotion. The family was everything to her, especially after she got sick. She would never leave her children no matter what. Even beyond death, she vowed to always see the children happy.

  "Daddy,” said Jack. “When will Santa Claus come?"

  "Will he come this year?” Lilly echoed.

  "I promise he will come this year, sweetie,” Daddy replied. Then, he noticed little Noel, not even three, crying. “What's wrong?"

  "I miss Kitty,” she whimpered. “Just like when Mommy went away."

  "I know, I know.” He reached down and picked her up with weary, work-drained arms. “Kitty went to be with Mommy."

  "Why?"

  "Sometimes people and kitties go to heaven.” He tried his best to soothe her worries. “But Kitty will be here with us on Christmas morning, just like Mommy was last year."

  "I can't wait to see her,” Lilly said. She went to her little sister. “You can sleep in my bed tonight, and we'll wait for Santa Claus."

  Her tiny tears slowed. “Okay."

  "Well, it is getting late.” Daddy looked at his watch. “I think you all should go to bed now. Santa won't come unless you are asleep. Remember, he only comes to see good children. And what he brings is so special."

  "We'll be good,” Jack shouted.

  "Go brush your teeth now and get into bed. I'll come tuck you in soon."

  Following his orders, they rushed from the room of their rented three-room shack. He watched as they innocently went into their bedroom. How could he keep doing it? God, he missed his wife. She could do it, she could pull the ends together. Now, over a year after her death, he could barely hang on. If it wasn't for the reassuring voice of his departed lover in his head, he couldn't do it. More than once, he had hovered over the kids as they slept, shotgun in hand, and contemplated ending all their suffering. She had said no, that she wasn't really gone.

  The children fell silent in the bedroom, and he settled in at the kitchen table. Before him sat a pile of unpaid bills and his meager paycheck. He had to make do, he had to for the children.

  The voices in his head helped him stay focused. He could hear Grampa's voice, he could hear the cat's meow, and he heard his beloved wife. They all said the same thing: we will see you through all of the troubles; we will watch over you and the kids; we will make sure everything is okay.

  He prayed everything would be okay. There was nothing he could do about the bills right now, he said to himself. He rose and went to the kids’ room. All three were huddled by the foot of the bed, saying prayers. He quickly considered the shotgun again, but pushed the thought away. They prayed for Grampa, Mommy, and Kitty. They couldn't wait until morning to see them again.

  He listened to the voices in his head: go to the children; comfort them and put them to bed; we will see it all; we will guide and support you. His wife's voice echoed: I love you so much; please take care of the children; I will always be watching and loving you all.

  "Okay, time for bed,” he said while entering.

  "Will Santa come soon?” Noel asked.

  "As soon as you are asleep.” Daddy smiled. “Now, don't anyone get up. Santa will leave if he knows you are awake."

  "We promise,” Jack said as he settled in on his rickety camping cot.

  Noel climbed into Lilly's bed. “I love you, daddy."

  "I love you, too, honey.” He looked at his dear children surrounded by the signs of poverty. “Santa may leave some gifts for you."

  "As long as he brings Mommy, I don't care,” Noel smiled innocently.

  "He will.” He tucked the covers in tightly around their chins. “Now, everyone go to sleep."

  Stepping to the door, he switched off the light. Beyond the window, outside, he could see the snow gently falling. The twinkling lights of the neighbor's close house illuminated the flakes like stars. The snow made him smile. His wife always loved the snow.

  He closed the door and quietly walked down the shallow hall. Across from the room he claimed as his own was the room the children were forbidden to enter. This, he told them, was the doorway to Santa's workshop. It was a magic portal directly to the North Pole and Heaven. They were one and the same thing.

  Pulling a key from his pocket, he unlocked the thick, heavy-duty padlock. No matter how few rooms he could afford, there always had to be one for his workshop. He had to do the work, the voices said to. Take care of the children; we will watch and guide you.

  As the door swung open, he turned on the light. The room was unremarkable and resembled a storage area in every way. Boxes were stacked against one wall, and an old door rested on saw horses near another. Underneath the door were several small metal drums with lids, and all around were small jars of chemicals, spices, and other strange objects.

  He was after none of this, however; tonight wasn't a time for work. He had to get ready for the children. Christmas morning was coming. Also on the workshop table were several small presents wrapped in festive paper and ribbons. At least he was able to afford a toy car for Jack and a tiny doll for Lilly. As for Noel, though, he had the best present of all.

  He heard the voices instructing him: you've done so well; now is the time to prepare; get into the suit. He reached for a box upon one of the many rickety shelves made of scrap lumber. He opened the tattered cardboard and pulled out a Santa suit. It was the same suit Grampa had worn every year. Even the boots fit.

  He could hear Grampa in his mind, taking him through every buckle and button until it was time for the beard. He pulled the beard and mustache out of the box and secured it with the elastic strap. All that was left was the red felt hat.

  Santa had arrived. He tiptoed through the house and out to the back door. Just outside rested an impressive six foot Douglas fir. Earlier in the day, when the kids were playing, he had stolen away through the back field and cut down the tree. Then he had prepared it by putting it in its stand. He pulled it into the house, taking great care not to wake the children.

  He dragged the tree through the kitchen. He had even had a little money left after getting their small gifts to buy food for a special dinner. That was so exciting for him; his wife's voice praised him. He was taking such good care of the children. She couldn't wait to
see their faces on Christmas morning.

  He chose the perfect spot for the tree. The branches were so lush and full. There were so many perfect spots for the family's special ornaments. The children were going to be so surprised and excited.

  After he was satisfied with the way the tree was turned and how the branches draped, he returned to the workshop. He brought forth four small apple boxes overflowing with ratty garland and strings of lights. With much love, he wrapped the tree. Slowly, the evergreen was taking on the spirit of Christmas. He plugged in the lights and took extra time to make sure every one was in the right spot. Then, he began hanging the glass bulbs and icicles. The tree was perfect and beautiful, and only the final two, most treasured ornaments awaited placement. He rushed back to the workshop and came back with two bowling bags.