Nowhere Near Milkwood
Page 14
“Guess that’s called déjà vu?”
“Shall I just read it out?”
“Just read it out, will you?”
And I did.
A TALE OF TERROR
Laura was running. She ran.
She ran through the forest. Through the forest she ran. Laura ran.
She was running through the forest. The forest was dark. It was scary. Her name was Laura. She ran.
A monster was chasing her!
(“Awful title,” remarked Hywel.
“Now you’ve interrupted the flow of the story!” I protested. “I’ll have to start again from the beginning.”
“Don’t forget to include the title. For the sake of integrity.”
I didn’t.)
A TALE OF TERROR
Laura was running. She ran.
She ran through the forest. Through the forest she ran. Laura ran.
She was running through the forest. The forest was dark. It was scary. Her name was Laura. She ran.
A monster was chasing her!
She ran from the monster. Laura ran away from the monster. Through the forest.
The forest was large. It was dark.
The monster ran after her!
After Laura ran the monster, through the dark forest. It was running. Laura was running. They both ran.
Through the forest.
She tripped as she ran. She picked herself up and resumed running. She tripped again. She tripped because she was running! Through the dark, creepy forest.
She picked herself up and ran.
The monster was behind her. It ran after her. It wanted to meet Laura some time. Maybe she would like that?
No, she wouldn’t!
But the monster would! The running monster!
Like many running monsters, it ran. After Laura. And she was running too! Through the forest.
The large, dark, creepy forest!
There were trees in the forest. Like most forests, it had trees! Unlike most forests, it had a monster. A monster running through it. After Laura!
Who ran. She was running. Laura was running. She ran.
She tripped. She picked herself up. She ran.
Laura was running. She ran.
She ran through the forest. Through the forest she ran. Laura ran.
She was running through the forest. The forest was dark. It was scary. Her name was Laura. She ran.
A monster was chasing her!
She tripped and fell. There was a note on the ground. She picked it up. She read it. It said:
Dear Laura,
I’M BEHIND YOU! DON’T LOOK BACK!
Signed, The Monster
p.s. Maybe we could meet some time? I’d like that.
Laura read the note. She was scared.
She read the note as she ran. In the forest she read the note. The short note in the large forest.
Not just large. Creepy too! And dark.
Like the note. The note which Laura read. Before she finished it.
She ran. Laura ran. She didn’t look back. She took the monster’s advice! It was good advice.
Good advice from a bad monster!
What are the chances of that happening?
Laura tripped. She picked herself up. She ran.
She was running. Laura ran.
She ran through the forest. Through the forest she ran. The forest was dark. It was scary. Her name was Laura. She ran.
The monster was chasing her!
Or was it? If it had left a note for her, it wasn’t behind her!
It was in front of her!
It was in front of her in the forest!
The large, dark, creepy forest! The forest with trees!
She stopped running. Laura didn’t run. She didn’t run through the forest. She didn’t trip, because she wasn’t running! She didn’t need to pick herself up and resume running.
If she ran, she would run into the monster!
Which was in front of her!
She decided to look for somewhere to hide. Somewhere to hide from the monster. Somewhere in the forest.
She saw a house!
She ran to the house. Laura ran to the house.
The door was shaped like a mouth!
She ran inside.
The door closed and ate her!
The door was a mouth! The house ate her!
The house was the monster!
But if the house was the monster, how did it chase her through the forest? How did it chase Laura?
It wasn’t a house!
It was a caravan!
THE END
“Grief!” exclaimed Hywel. “What a load of rubbish!”
I nodded. “The worst story I’ve ever heard. Almost worthy of this hack. What did you say his name was?”
“Hughes. But which one?”
I spat on the body. “What do you mean?”
“Which Hughes? There are many. He isn’t alone.”
“I guess we’ll never care.”
Hywel sighed and mopped his brow with a sleeve. “Anyway, thank the Bugger Lords the story has finished. Bend over – I mean down – before them! You may keep your trousers on.”
“I suppose we can’t complain too much. After all, it was written by itself. And there were certain odd coincidences in it. The caravan, for instance. Was it tie-dyed? Did it belong to Madame Ligeia? And was the monster a vampire? So many questions!”
“Pity Mondaugen is dead. He could answer them.”
“Yes, he was an expert on monsters. A professional cryptozoologist. But it’s too late to ask him.”
“He died with the others in the explosion.”
“His body ruptured in his favourite nook...”
My estimate of our losses had been too high. There was movement in the shadows. Karl Mondaugen crawled to his feet. I was about to stroll up to him and finish the job with a broken bottle, but then I remembered that this would give me away. As for the mad professor, he had saved himself with his latest invention. He had invented:
Karl Mondaugen.
“But he can’t do that!” I protested.
Hywel squinted. “Why not?”
“Because he has already been invented! It’s plagiarism!”
“No, it’s not. He was never patented.”
“Ah well, maybe we’ll get a proper story out of him instead? I’d like to know about his weirdest cryptozoological case.”
“I’m sure he’ll be only too delighted to tell us. But who will tell us about him? That’s what I want to know. And what’s that spherical object smouldering on that table?”
“What do you mean?”
“Which part of my reply does that refer to?”
“What do you mean?”
“Both bits, I take it. I might as well admit that I often suspect that Dr Mondaugen is his own worst enemy.”
“And the spherical object?”
“It’s a bomb! An antique! Probably not worth much when it goes off! Some idiot must have lit the fuse!”
“So the first bomb wasn’t mine?”
“No, it belonged to the Come Again Faction, as I mentioned earlier. You assumed the explosion was your responsibility, but in fact the fuse on yours is longer and slower.”
Dr Mondaugen picked his way to the bar. “So it is a tale you want? I will give you a tale!”
“What’s it about?”
“My weirdest cryptozoological case!”
Hywel nudged me. “I think you should take cover with me behind the bar. If we crouch down, it’ll protect us from the blast. But there’s not enough room for the professor, so don’t tell him!”
I took Hywel’s advice. “Thanks!”
“You know how people’s secrets often come out after their deaths? I reckon it will be the same with Dr Mondaugen. When this other bomb goes off, we should get to learn the truth about him. Let’s hope he manages to finish his own tale first.”
The mad scientist consulted his memory for the oddest case he had dealt with. It di
d indeed concern the monster in the forest which had chased Laura. And yes, it was a vampire. It was dark behind the bar, and creepy, but not large. Dr Mondaugen’s voice stank like garlic as he leaned over, elbows on the surface, and related the events of:
19: The Silver Necks
There was a vampire called Unthank who suffered from a raging thirst. His doctor suspected diabetes but the patient refused to take a test. Unthank drank from all the necks in the village, valley and forest, but he was still unsatisfied. It seemed he might deplete the land of victims, so his doctor took him aside and told him:
“This can’t go on. You’re giving the undead a bad name. The elders are talking about locking you up in a pyramid made from garlic. Luckily there’s a solution. You must travel to Heaven, where you can sup as much as you please from the inhabitants without making them anaemic. They are immortal and have bottomless veins.”
Unthank thought this a splendid idea and asked for directions. The doctor clucked his tongue and cried:
“If I knew how to get there I wouldn’t be working here! You should look for a crossroads guarded by a burnished knight. For a modest fee he will allow you to choose one of the paths. But beware: three lead to a hideous doom. Only the fourth, which looks the same as the others, will take you to Heaven. The knight won’t tell you which is which, though he sometimes drops hints like anvils.”
Unthank, despite his name, was grateful and he wrapped himself in a sunblock shroud. He wondered what hideous dooms lurked at the ends of the three roads. But thirst overcame his anxieties and he flew off into the woods. He flapped for a long time until he came to a river. A canoe was moored to the bank and a knight in rusty armour sat at one end. Unthank controlled his appetite and asked:
“Excuse me, do you know the way to Heaven?”
“No, but I’ll take you to someone who does. A burnished knight who guards a crossroads. It’ll cost you, though.”
Unthank paid him and sat in the canoe. The fellow paddled them with a sword wider than a jump. After a day they reached an estuary and in the middle of the estuary a large island. They disembarked on a wooden jetty and walked inland. Eventually they reached the intersection of four roads and the guide said: “Here we are.”
Unthank squinted. “I can’t see a burnished knight.”
“One moment.” The fellow took a wire brush from a compartment in his knee and scrubbed himself all over. Finally he gleamed like a full moon. He gave the vampire an apologetic look. “Chivalry doesn’t pay much, so I earn a bit on the side.”
“Can you tell me which path leads to Heaven?”
“I’m not permitted. If I try, I’ll be turned inside out: it’s an old curse. However, I’m certain you’ll pick the best road. When pilgrims come here the odds are against them, but in your case I feel confident. Follow your instincts and you’ll do fine.”
Unthank peered at the four paths: they were identical. He stroked a fang. “Allow me to go away and consider it. First thing tomorrow morning I’ll be back to make my choice.”
And so saying, he strolled off and hid among some bushes. When the sun went down, he cast off his shroud and flew into the sky. From above he was able to see where the roads went. Three led to hidden trapdoors, visible as vague outlines: the fourth led to a walled garden with a roof of crystal. Unthank glimpsed beings who wore halos and carried harps. He listened but there was no music.
The next day he approached the knight and said: “I’ve made my choice and now I’m off to sample paradise.”
“You must pay me first. If you refuse, my magic sword will slice you into nearly four thousand pieces.”
Unthank grumbled, but he handed over the coins and walked toward the western path. The knight cried out in alarm:
“What a terribly stony road!”
Unthank winked. “The way to divinity always is...”
“Wouldn’t you rather choose a more comfortable path? The others have all been resurfaced. Look at the gorgeous camber on the northern road! So tasteful and elegant. Consider also the gutters of the beautiful southern road! In absolutely perfect condition.”
“They look just the same to me.”
“A remarkable coincidence, I agree. We must discuss this matter over a pint of ale. There is a tavern halfway along the eastern road. Allow me to escort you there, arm in wing.”
Unthank shook his head. It was obvious the knight was trying to make him change his mind. Did he earn a commission on the number of travellers who fell down the trapdoors? It seemed likely. These crude antics enraged the vampire and he briefly considered leaping on the cheat. But without a tin opener he was at a disadvantage.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll persist with my choice. I’ll send you a postcard written on a cloud...”
The knight shrugged and a sigh escaped the holes bored in his helmet like steam from a golem’s kettle. Unthank ignored him and hurried as fast as his bowed legs could manage. The road ran straight to a locked door in the side of the walled garden. He rang the bell and waited. At long last, a voice answered. Unthank was astounded to recognise the icy tones of his doctor. “How did you get here?”
“I took a short cut. Some enraged villagers caught me after you left and drove a stake through my heart. It’s your fault. The vampires and the humans got on well until you started drinking them dry. If I was you, I’d turn right around and go home.”
“Don’t be silly. It was you who advised me to come here in the first place. Open up and show me in!”
The doctor mumbled to himself and turned a key. Unthank stepped over the threshold into brightness. Everything sparkled painfully: he shielded his slitted eyes and struggled to focus his surroundings. Nothing matched what he had seen from above. The garden was made of metal: platinum, gold and copper. Osmium flowers exuded tetroxides and birds in aluminium trees clicked relays and preened magnetic feathers. Zinc fish darted in mercury pools with propellers instead of fins.
Even the halos of the blessed souls were electric. Unthank lifted a hand to touch the sparks looping from the doctor’s antennae and was knocked to the ground. When he rose, he tried to open the door. The doctor shook his head. “It won’t allow you to depart. It only works one way, like a diode. We’re stuck here. Ever since God took a course in electronic engineering, rectification has supplanted redemption.”
“I don’t understand! Last night I saw harps.”
“Bare wires,” the doctor rasped. “Most of us undress before going to bed. We’re immortal now, but the only way to live forever is to be reborn as a machine. You won’t find sustenance here: our blood is molten silver. If only you’d taken a diabetes test!”
Unthank shed a gothic tear. It was plain as a grave that Heaven to a vampire was sheer Hell. “The knight tried to warn me off this path. But I thought he was aiming to mislead me.”
“He’s the one who made us. As I said, he drops hints like anvils. On these anvils he hammers out our bodies. When the Age of Chivalry finished he grew very lonely. He sees robots as kindred casings, advanced versions of the traditional knight. But he’s a likeable enough fellow. I prescribe iron tablets for his metal fatigue. Now I might as well confess I’m not really that sort of doctor; I’m a cryptozoologist. But all the others are at a conference, so I had to step in.”
“Where do the other three roads lead to?”
“Hades, Tartarus and Limbo. They would have been perfect for you. As a matter of fact, I believe the Devil is advertising for vampires to help his demons hassle the damned. You’ve got no-one to blame but yourself. If I was you, I’d attempt to bite my way through the roof. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of million years.”
“Fangs for the advice...”
And so we leave Unthank. This tale about him has finished just in time. The bomb is about to go off. When he escapes, the first thing he intends to do is take revenge on the knight. This is just as impractical as it is unfair: the knight is blameless. He is also quite empty. When Sir Jasper died on top of the tallest m
ountain in the world, his suit of armour left him behind and came down to work for this tale. But now it plans to resign from here too. Well, would you do the job for his pay? When travellers pick the road to Heaven, he gains nothing. And when they choose one that leads to the Hells, he earns a pittance.
Bang!
20: Never Hug an Aardvark
“Well that really takes the biscuit,” said Dr Mondaugen. He was unsure which biscuit he was referring to. His fingers idled over the custard creams and finally settled on a ginger snap.
“But do you believe me?” The visitor leaned forward and gripped the arm of his chair. “After all, I don’t know who else to turn to. I mean, would you confess to such a dark secret? Would you?”
“Hmm.” Dr Mondaugen spat crumbs as hard as gravel and dipped his tongue into a cup of lukewarm tea. “I doubt it. Now if you had said wolf or bear, or even squirrel, I would be inclined to investigate your case. But an aardvark? I don’t think so.”
The visitor sighed and held his tragic head in his massive hands. Then he looked up and indicated the window. Dr Mondaugen peered through the glass, across a dark lawn broken up by a number of haphazard paths, and toward the tall trees of the horizon. Stark branches netted a swollen moon.
“The sun has gone down and the full moon has already risen. Within a short time, the change will come upon me. I will start to tremble and there will be a terrible pain in the centre of my head. My face will elongate into a sharp snout, my ears will stretch upward. My arms will become short legs and I will grow a tail. I will develop an insatiable craving for ants. This is not a laughing matter. You must help me!”
Dr Mondaugen shook his head sadly and wiped his lips with a napkin. “What makes you think that I can help you? Possibly you need to visit a different kind of doctor. A severe blow on the skull perhaps? Eh?”
The visitor pounded his fists on his knees. “You are the only person who is even willing to listen to me! You are Karl Mondaugen, the great cryptozoologist. The man who won a Nobel Prize for documenting a genuine case of lycanthropy and developing an appropriate cure and whistle. The man who spent two years in China tracking down the were-monkey in a banana canoe! The man who tricked a vampire into entering Heaven and then secured a day pass to check on its condition! If you can’t help me then who can?”