SLClimer - Rumours of the Grotesque

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

  Every step deeper into the forest was a burden. I'd never find her, I said to myself. She was the kind of creature that could remain a mystery for as long as she wanted. I was just a boy trying to fight the devil. I thought about stopping and shoving all of the Hershey's Kisses into my mouth, but remembered the pain Nana-boo-shoo caused me. I fought the urge to gorge and continued on. For the first time in my life, I couldn't use food as a crutch. I'd have to find my answers or solace some other way.

  After trudging through the bleak, darkened woods, the beam of my flashlight fell upon familiar territory. I was at the mouth of the gully; I could see spectral shadows of the dead deer in my light. However, my flashlight wasn't the only illumination out in those gloomy trees. In the distance, by the small collection of stones, was a fire. It wasn't the only fire either. Through the trees, I could see a larger fire blazing beneath a willow tree. The tree's weeping branches made a perfect hobbit for the witch. And there she stood, stooped over the fire, chanting and singing. The little bastard within my gut wrenched around, causing me the most intense pains I'd ever known.

  I had to continue; I couldn't let him kill me. I didn't want to die like one of the poor deer decomposing in the gully. Pushing myself against the unbearable discomfort, I entered the thick underbrush surrounding the willow tree. I couldn't find a way to get to her. My pathway to the right was blocked, so I traveled to the left. I made some headway through the brambles, but still couldn't get to her. For some reason, her little encampment was elusive.

  I circled behind her and noticed another small fire in the distance. From my vantage point, I saw there was a fire burning in the North, South, East, and from where I entered, the West. Still moving to the left, the only passable way I could go, I went around her two more times. There had to be a way to get in.

  Then, as I completed the third passage of the western fire, my flashlight went dark. The batteries died. I held onto it as a weapon, but knew it wouldn't be any match for what may be lurking in these woods. All this time, the devil pushed at my innards.

  I paused to catch my breath. Through the heavy, gnarled foliage I could see the Kitchen Witch. She had a broom, and I almost laughed at the stereotype. She also had a whole collection of strange jars and objects that I didn't recognize.

  I started to walk again, hoping I could find a tiny path or something, but I couldn't see without my flashlight. Suddenly, as I stepped forward towards the seemingly impenetrable thorns, they literally parted. Like the tale of Moses, the sea of foreboding forest allowed me to pass unobstructed. Every now and then, a stray thorn scraped my leg, but I was able to pass effortlessly into her inner circle. As I cleared the majority of the scrub, she lifted her head and acknowledged my presence for the first time.

  "Come forward,” she said. “You've made it this far."

  I ran the final yards and nearly fell into her fire from the momentum. I didn't want to get too close for the chocolate in my pocket would melt. I would need it later. She grabbed me by the shirt and shoved me onto an old bale of hay that was half-rotted.

  "Sit, boy."

  She turned from me and whispered some words to the flames. They rose slightly. Then, she took a small brass container that was sitting nearby, pinched some powder from within, and sprinkled it on the snapping coals. A vibrant point of blue color zipped from the fire and spread through her small camp before dissipating just beyond the barrier of scrub.

  "What was that?” I was surprised.

  "It was witchcraft,” she replied. “You've broken my ring by walking Widdershins around my tree. I had to replace it before someone else stumbled along. These aren't ordinary woods, if you haven't noticed by now."

  "No,” I thought of my belly, “they certainly aren't. You're probably wondering what I'm doing..."

  "I know exactly why you're here.” She bit my words off at the stem. “You've gotten more than you bargained for,” she cackled. “So naive. You didn't think dealing with Nana-boo-shoo would be free, did you?” I sat silent as she continued to speak. “There's no going back. It's yours. You're stuck with it."

  "Please, there has to be some way to..."

  Again, she cut me down. “A way to what? Not be who you are? You can't have it all."

  "You don't understand. I hated the way I was treated, and now I'm doing the same thing. I'm ugly—inside.” I touched my chest for effect.

  "Everyone is rotten inside, don't ever forget that.” She shook her spindly digit at me. “I've been around long enough to see it all.” Then, she sat across from me, her foul breath and body odor permeating the space. “Do you want to know how old I am?"

  "How old?” I echoed the question.

  "I'll save you the guess. I'm over 160 years old, but I stopped counting. I came to these woods as a little girl."

  "What's your name?"

  "Ah, I haven't said it in years. It's a wonder I can remember it. My name is Abigail L'Anse. My family came here from Quebec to harvest these great trees.” She made a sweeping gesture to the sheltering canopy. “Only, the forest wanted nothing to do with us.

  "Not long after we arrived, my mother died of pneumonia. We were alone, my father and I. Many of the other loggers moved to other places in the wild territory. Only about twenty of us stayed in these parts. We even made a small, prosperous village on the Au Sable River."

  I was fascinated by her story. “What was it called?"

  "I can't remember. All I really remember are the Indians. Odawa Indians lived near our small village. And unlike many of the loggers, our village had a tender truce with the Indians. We stayed away from them and them away from us. At one point, we were even doing a little business with them.

  "That's when she first came into our lives. They called her Du-moo-ya-quay or the old woman. She wasn't old at all; she was beautiful. Long black hair and eyes as deep as the woods at night. My lonely father took up with her against all the warnings of the Indians.

  "They said she was a bad spirit. She never got old. She used to be married to an Indian prince of the Odawa, but he mysteriously died. They feared her, too much to even turn her from the tribe or kill her. So she remained until my father came along.

  "She cast a spell on him, she did. Made him drunk with love. She took him from me and married him. I hated her for the longest time. They said she was a witch—a medicine woman. And I didn't believe until the day she took me to the forest.

  "I was just a girl when I first tasted the magic. Everything people said about her was true. I stood right there,” she pointed at the altar and fire, “when I first saw Nana-boo-shoo in the forest. There were many of them back then. They were like a pack of wolves, hunting for human souls."

  "Human souls?” I quivered.

  "Oh, yes.” She smiled. “She said I had ‘the gift’ and I learned quickly. The elements came under my control, and it was all so easy and delicious. I could reach into the river and call the fish. I'd grab them for dinner. I could make trees grow fifty feet in a year, and my father grew wealthy.

  "But all was not good. Bad magic begets bad happenings. Du-moo-ya-quay regretted showing me the ways and set about to get rid of me. I found out by listening to the wind as it whispered through the trees. By the time I discovered what she was going to do, I was too late.

  "She had bewitched my father and lured him to the forest. It was under this tree that she crushed his skull with a stone. Fearing her like I never feared another, I watched—cloaked safely in my magic. The willows told me everything. She sacrificed my father to increase her powers of all of the Nana-boo-shoo. They came from the woods, dozens of them to feast on his hot innards. Oh, I can still see it in my mind."

  I watched as a tear rolled from her good eye. “What did you do?"

  "I hid as best I could from her, but she found me. I was part of her plan, too. During our struggle, I lost my eye. One of the ancient devils seized me from behind and pushed his claw right through it. I remember the feeling of it, sticky like an egg yolk on my face.

&n
bsp; "She placed me upon a stone alter and chanted. She anointed me with oils and dressed me with herbs. Then, Nana-boo-shoo came to take me. I was raped by the devil, and that is how I got my child. He lives inside you now. And as long as he lives, I live."

  "Why didn't you kill him?” I dared to speak.

  "Hush, he'll hear you and tear you apart inside and out."

  "Are you afraid of him?"

  The statement brought a cackle that reflected though the dark forest. “Nonsense is what you speak. I made my pact decades ago. I've long since been godless."

  Strangely, I knew what she meant by godless. Godless was living in my gut. I let him in, and in doing so, turned my back on my own soul. It couldn't be too late; there had to be a way. I couldn't be too far down the path to turn back. Surely, it wasn't that easy to fall by the wayside.

  "I know what you're thinking. I've seen it in faces like yours for over a hundred years. The last boy to take Nana-boo-shoo became Godless just as you. Nana-boo-shoo gave him everything he ever wanted, and upon his death, the then-old man brought my child back to me. The old man lay across my altar, and Nana-boo-shoo erupted, sending the poor old soul to the dark region opposite of the great Manitou. The Manitou is all-great and knowing and is the giver of all power."

  "Can the Manitou take this out of me?” I touched my stomach.

  "Even the Manitou can't help you."

  Never tell him you were better off before him, her words of advice suddenly returned to me. Don't say it, I made myself promise. I wanted to live; I wanted to be a child of God again. I had my own demon to fight; I didn't need this one, too.

  "What happens if it wants to leave?"

  "It would never want to leave you."

  I could feel my old familiar urges to eat. Food loved me, and I needed it. I pulled a Hershey's Kiss from my pocket. It was nearly melted from the heat of my leg, and I peeled open the foil easily. Licking it, I savored the rich sweetness. This was what I loved, it was all I wanted, this was the demon I chose to be with. I mashed the chocolate into my mouth, sucking the metal foil clean. My drug of choice filtered down my throat. It coated me from the inside out, blanketing me in forgiveness. I had forsaken it for days, and it reminded me of my treason by issuing a rush of pleasure. I took out another piece of candy.

  "What are you doing?” she quizzed me. “Stop that. Nana-boo-shoo doesn't like that."

  "Really? Why would the devil not like this stuff?” I held out a handful of candy. “It can be just as evil as anything else. Always reliable, never far from my hand."

  "You're talking nonsense.” She stepped to the fire. “I shall cast a spell upon you to stop this foolishness. You made the choice."

  Then, the first wave of my kiss hit my belly. Nana-boo-shoo roared inside my gut, pushed at my stomach to evacuate. I fought the urge; I wouldn't puke it up this time. This was the demon I chose to be with, not Nana-boo-shoo, and I was determined to let them fight it out for control over me. I shoved another piece of candy into my mouth.

  Unable to distinguish pleasure from pain, I doubled over onto the forest floor. The battle inside me raged. I clutched the rotting leaves, rolled in the twigs and soil, anything to keep from vomiting. The struggle was epic. Nana-boo-shoo wanted to keep me, take my soul to hell. But it was already spoken for. Now, they were at it to see who would win.

  Suddenly, the pressure against my stomach ceased. It redirected toward the surface of my skin, pushing out between my still-chiseled abdominal muscles. The pain was much different than the slow, tight-fisted squeeze on my organs. This was much different—hot, sharp and stabbing, puncturing. Pulling up my shirt, I could see the first sign of Nana-boo-shoo. He had lost the battle.

  With a bloody burst, his finger shot through my skin. My flesh ripped and tore, and the only pain was at the start. The little devil destroyed my nerve endings as it passed, larger and larger, through the gash in my stomach.

  And he was in a big hurry to get out. His misshapen form still looked like a map of my innards as he spilled onto the ground. Squeezed into lumps and ropy appendages, Nana-boo-shoo shifted. Squirmed. Changed. Stretched. Took on the shape of the little creature I first saw crawling from within the deer carcass.

  The exit wound was surprisingly clean and bloodless, and I could feel my organs repositioning themselves in the now vacant cavity. I held my hand over the opening, praying that I didn't start bleeding uncontrollably.

  "What are you going to do now?” I said to the Kitchen Witch as she stood, open-mouthed, and stared at Nana-boo-shoo.

  The little devil didn't look healthy, and it spat at me. “Terrible tasting child."

  "He left me on his own,” I reminded her.

  I could see she was assessing the gravity of the moment. Her child was naked and on the forest floor. Then, she looked at my bleeding stomach. It was coming on quickly; the blood now forced its way through my tight fingers. I knew I had to get medical attention soon, or I'd bleed to death. If I died here and now, surely the devil would retake my innards as a home.

  "I won,” I said, trying to be as convincing as I could in respect to my condition. “I'm leaving now."

  "No, you mustn't leave!” she wailed. “I'm the one to leave! This bastard child of mine! We are to leave!"

  Confused, I watched as the witch chanted strange things and tossed equally bizarre items into the fire. The flames flickered, raged, and flashed.

  "You haven't won. You've already lost. Your soul was already gone. I should have seen it from the beginning. All fat and round, pleasingly plump, you were already involved.” She motioned for her child to come near. “I am a fool. Tired of little ones like you. Never fresh anymore. When did all the children go sour? Can you tell me that? Every child I've led into the woods only lasts two months at the most these days. I'm getting too old for this. I can't keep it up anymore."

  I couldn't understand what she was babbling about. Then, I got it. There was more to her relationship than mother and child with the bastard devil. For nearly two centuries, her power had come from the stipulation that Nana-boo-shoo lived. I robbed her of refreshment, and however tiny the instant, age was wasting her. The energy in the souls of the children, or whoever inside the devil dwelled, kept age and disease and powerlessness at bay. And here, this minuscule window when Nana-boo-shoo was not in possession of a creature's soul, whether it was a dopey doe or a fat kiddie, was just enough. Like a heat-seeking missile, eternity caught up with the witch.

  The blood was pouring from my wound, and I applied pressure with my shirt. Time was running out; I had to get to a hospital. But I couldn't stop watching what was going on. Like a tornado, she desperately tried to buy time with whatever powers filled her dark soul. Instead of me, they were ready to take her—and her child.

  The bale fire intensified, nearly obstructing my view across the small altar. Skyward stretched the heat, licking the leaves and causing them to curl back.

  "I knew this day would come.” She touched the child that now panted at her heel. “The day when the devil no longer had to claim children, the day when they went bad on their own. Temptation is needed no longer.” Then she began to walk into the flame, her child obediently following. “Don't think you've won, child. Your battle will be life-long. And I suspect I'll see you again."

  Damnation swept up, eating her alive.

  * * * *

  I remember the days and weeks that followed. My wound was dismissed as a fall in the woods. No one would ever believe my tale, so it's mine to keep. Her words always haunted me, especially on days like today. The sun is hot and I walk the beach. All eyes follow my body, chest, arms, legs. Women sigh; men take jealous glances. If they only knew the battles that raged in my soul. I'd beaten the devil once, but I'd battle my own demon the rest of my life. My whore, my addiction, my devil was the jealous kind. It wanted me all to itself.

  Death of a Lovely Wench

  Research Log, 4/30

  Position: 10 miles east-southeast of Tawas Point, Michigan—open
waters of Lake Huron

  Day three of the expedition to measure the effects and infestation of the aggressivelethiferous dorsilliaemussel, commonly known as theBlack Sea Tiger Mussel, into the Great Lakes. Tracking the species has been difficult because of the spring weather on the lake.

  Paul Durban closed the research log and placed it on the corner of the counter near the GPS unit. The converted Hatteras saltwater fishing yacht was nearly 30 feet from stem to stern, but Lake Huron tossed it like a bathtub toy. Dubbed theLovely Wench , the boat pitched in the sloshing water as the wind whipped across the lake. On days like this, the lake was more formidable than any ocean, still bitter cold from the winter ice that had only been clear for a few weeks.

  Paul rubbed the scratchy stubble of his beard. He and Rob had been on the research trip for three days so far. He looked for his friend and fellow researcher and found Rob mulling about on deck, preparing a net designed to gather samples from the lake bottom hundreds of feet below. Rob was a thin man, but was strong for his lanky size.