You let out an amused sigh and say, "That's what my father always says. 'All tha' bollocks about mysterious creatures is jes a bunch o' misunderstandings by primitive minds and scam-artists lookin' t' make a shilling. Look at ow' Alex Campbell back in the thirties, that's a right git, sendin' all them anonymous letters t' the newspapers about seein' Nessie, claimin' he was close enough to gi' her a pat on the nose. For what? T' spark up the tourist trade, an' here we are all these years later still lookin' fer the bloody thing. Bunch a soft minded fantasists an' scammers exploitin' the public, is what.'" You clear you throat and look down, worried you might have embarrassed your guide even by the mere repeating of your father's prejudices. "It's just that he's been having a rough time of it since the accident, is all. He doesn't mean what he says sometimes."
The man looks back out into the fog, stroking one of his long beard braids with his metal fingers and says, "The trouble with searching for the unknown is that there is just so little of it left. The magnificent and strange turns brittle under the harsh light of scientific inquiry. Once we've put it in a cage and studied what it eats and how it mates. Once we've cut it open and weighed its innards and stuffed it full of sawdust to put on display. There is increasingly less room for the wondrous in this world, my dear."
"My granddad was worried I'd become like him. That's why he sent me to you. That's why he told me about the coins and what to bring." You laugh bitterly and shake your head, "If my old man had any idea I'd come. Well, I can't imagine what would happen."
The man looks down at you, "I'm not so sure. It seems only yesterday he stood in that exact spot. As I recall, he reacted quite differently to the taste of the squid."
You look down at the black gravel in amazement, "My father? Right here?"
"Perhaps a little to the left. Anyway, come along. We haven't much time and there's more to see."
7. Oh My Darling of the Deep Blue Sea - Doug Glassford
While on land, his rolling gait made him look like a toddling dwarf or a large primate in a people suit. It brought giggles to those who did not know how well it served him for his many years on lake and sea. His craggy, saggy face, whose eyelids drooped below bushy brows sloping out into deep laugh lines and down his high cheeks, mirrored by his whiskered jowls and chin edged by a bristling white beard. Decades spent on sturdy legs bent out in surrender to gravity and time added to his dwarf-like appearance. The fire of life sparkled in his deep-set blue-gray eyes, softening the hard, grim design of his face, their kindness attractive to all whom they caressed.
He’d spent a portion of his youth in the British Royal Navy but his sailor's manner and presence had come from spending a lifetime in much smaller boats upon both lakes and seas.
Like his father and his father's father before him on back to the beginning of his clan, Colin McMullen loved deep waters and the creatures that dwelt below him. He had been fishing since he was old enough to hold a pole in his wee hands nestled in the lap of his father.
He was not a commercial fisherman with a large vessel churning the waters of his beloved Lake Michigan with deep furrows belching up diesel. He was a sportsman who fished for the thrill of the challenge upon the wide expanse of an unpredictable great lake with the attitude of the open sea.
He thought of how he missed the quiet and the distinct salty spray of the old loch that had blessed his family for generations as he walked down the dock into the familiar fog that hid his boat moored at its far end, Nessie. The comforting, distinctive squeak of the planks passing beneath him brought both cherished memories of how his boat came to be named and tears to his eyes.
It was christened by his only child dangling in the arms of his wife with a bottle of Yoo-Hoo. Gerard, now many years dead, fell in a terrible firefight in some Vietnamese village Colin could not even pronounce or find in his World Atlas. The intense fighting and high body count on both sides took not only his life and the lives of his squad, but made the recovery of their physical remains impossible at the time. Nothing sent home to bury, just a plaque with some colorful, meaningless medals along with the obligatory condolence telegram from some faceless officer of the government.
He could never fully express how empty, how powerless, he felt; his only heir was gone and his place in his clan's family tree now limbless. As he slid his rough thick hand down the smooth top rail of Nessie's gunwale letting its cool wetness mix with the warmth of his palm, he thought of his Edna, now almost forty years gone. She did not take Gerard's passing well. Her health failed; she could not be consoled, not even by me, Colin thought as we wiped away the tears with his other hand.
He stood in the middle of the well-maintained deck and looked longingly into the fog. The moon lit up broad circles of shimmering lake as it poked through like spotlights from above.
"Tonight is perfect. I think I can smell the sea." He sighed, the thin smoke of his breath blending with the fog about him. The strong steady breeze off the lake was brisk and felt just above freezing.
Colin heard the footsteps of at least two other men on the dock. He hurried and unleashed Nessie from its mooring and launched. He heard their calling voices and meant to ignore them, but they had been dear mates for many a year, he sighed at the concern in their voices and called back, "I'll be fine lads; just going for a little ride."
"Tis' a fine night for a ride to the sea," Colin whispered to himself. A smile of deep satisfaction, one that had not graced his face in such a long time, spread warm in the cool damp of the fog. He delighted in the slight burn of his cracked lips as his smile widened. It felt like the burn of the briny spray from the old loch he longed to enjoy once again, back home in the Highlands of his youth.
Colin did not bother to consult his compass and turned off his radio and GPS beacon. He had no need of them. He wanted to enjoy true freedom this fine night.
He closed his eyes. They did little good in the deepening fog. And, he remembered being with his father and his grandfather as they would brave the fog on the loch to get to the open sea and a night filled with fishing, fellowship, and song.
Deep from the old man's sea of memories floated up his father's favorite sailing song:
"Oh, my darling of the deep blue sea,
Won't you come and take a ride with me.
Beyond the fog where the wind blows free.
Just you and me darling and the deep blue sea."
The old man sang it repeatedly to himself, aloud, and into the fog. It lifted his heart and brought to him imaginings of memory that he had longed to experience.
It is time, but could this really be happening?
He sensed a figure in the mist, just beyond recognition; a shape mostly, accompanied by the sweetest singing voice. She sang to him in words he did not recognize; yet did not fear. They whirled and swirled within him as warm and welcome to his heart as his heavy woolen snorkel and bottle of Scotch whisky were to his chilled body. He remembered the tales of sirens, mermaids, waterhorses, and the like told in pubs and over roaring fires up in the hills. Though, he had not thought of these stories or the creatures featured in them since he left the Highlands for America many years before, he somehow knew them to be true. In his heart, he had always believed them. He was even sure that his father and grandfather believed them because at their mention they would get silent but give him a knowing twinkle in their eyes. He thought once again of how strange but right that his son should name their boat, Nessie. The lad had never been to Scotland or been raised on the tales of the loch. But, somehow he managed to choose the name of the legendary magical creature. I knew I was stuck with it when Edna laughed, picked Gerard up, and dubbed the boat Nessie sealing it with a foaming spray from his bottle of chocolate milk.
Colin leaned into the breeze created by his boat's movement, to listen more closely. He shut off the motor and left the wheel to stand in silence in the center of the deck hoping to grasp more of the vision that sought to embrace him.
His physical actions silenced the voice in his head,
but not the longing in his heart. He walked to the back of his boat and sat on the bench, the plastic covered cushion offering little comfort as his old bones moaned upon contact with the hard wood beneath. Colin took a long pull on his bottled warmth. He did so several more times, as he sat listening for her song and wondered, “Was it her song that brought the fog and beckons me to seek her?”
The compelling sensation that had started as a chill when he’d heard whispers of a lake monster sighting just one lake over gripped him as strongly as his final embrace with his son before he shipped out and with his wife in her final moments. He felt a renewed longing to be home, to be back on the loch with his father and grandfather. It brought fresh tears to his blood-shot eyes.
He sat sobbing softly, bobbing in the fog that filtered the strong moonlight allowing him to see just a few puddles in the dark water surrounding him as staccato-like icy breezes slapped at the warm autumn waters of the lake.
Colin thought about his Nessie. She was well built and well able to handle the finicky moods of the lake; made for slow night rides and fast days of dancing upon the waves in his chase for the Coho salmon.
The warmth of the whisky and gentle rocking of his boat lulled him into that state where whimsy and thoughts meet, melt, and make sense, and he heard her. She is coming for me, and from the size of her rippling wake, she will be here soon.
Colin fought the sleep that sought to claim him ... to rob him of his lucidity. He wanted to remember every embrace, every glint within her deep green eyes made brighter by the halo of her fiery red hair. For in his dream, he was seeing her for the first time. No more veils, no more mist.
She is coming for me now. She is ever faithful and true.
In his reverie a dark concern arose. One he had been avoiding for the past few weeks. People in the area claimed to have seen something large and dark moving just under the surface of the lake. Oh how the news came abuzz with rumors about a sea monster living in the lake. This caused him discomfort when people poked fun at him for naming his boat after the Loch Ness monster.
He could not explain exactly why, but the first person to do so angered him to the point he wanted to scream in his face, "She's not a monster!" He’d kept his mouth shut but something deep within him still stirred and burned and he did not understand why.
Colin thought again about the me-too eyewitnesses doing the same tourist blathering as they did back home in the Highlands, drawing all manner of investigative geeks and skeptics alike.
“Thank God, for the skeptics,” Colin breathed out softly into his chin whiskers, his head tucked into his chest. “They help to keep the real monsters at bay.”
She is coming for me. I need to stay awake, but I feel so heavy... so very heavy.
Colin could no longer move most of his body now sprawled naked on the deck. He knew he did not drink enough whisky to lay him this flat… and where were his clothes? He knew it was cold and yet his only sensations, the twitching of his burly eyebrows and the tickle of his whiskers.
He heard the soft whisper of his name ...
She is here.
* * *
EARLY THIS MORNING THE COAST GUARD RECOVERED A BOAT REGISTERED TO ONE, COLIN McMULLEN THAT WAS REPORTED ADRIFT WHEN IT BUMPED INTO THE SIDE OF AN ORE BOAT BOUND FOR A STEEL MILL IN EAST CHICAGO, INDIANA. ALTHOUGH THERE IS SOME CONCERN OVER FINDING HIS CLOTHING AND AN EMPTY BOTTLE OF SCOTCH, SO FAR, THERE IS NOTHING TO SUGGEST CRIMINAL ACTIVITY IN REGARDS TO THE BOAT AND ITS MISSING OWNER.
ON A FOLLOW-UP NOTE, JUST BEFORE DAWN AND THE DISOLUTION OF THE MODERATE FOG SURROUNDING THE ORE BOAT, THE NIGHT WATCH COMMANDER AND ONE OF HIS CREW SAID THEY HEARD A STRONG SCOTTISH MALE VOICE SINGING WHAT SOUNDED LIKE AN OLD SAILING SONG. IT FADED INTO THE NIGHT UNTIL THEY COULD HEAR IT NO MORE.
ACCORDING TO THE SAILORS, THE SONG WENT SOMETHING LIKE THIS:
"Oh, my darling of the deep blue sea,
Won't you come and take a ride with me.
Beyond the fog where the wind blows free.
Just you and me darling and the deep blue sea."
The Real
"In the early twentieth century, everything seemed possible. People envisioned a brave new world, filled with sky cars and jet-packs. Rightfully so, of course. In a staggeringly short period of time, mankind went from earth-bound creatures that machined by hand-turning cranks to space adventurers who walked on the face of the moon. It was a time of great dreamers."
You look at the parking lot ahead, filled with cars and people milling into a modern building with a massive, brightly-lit sign that displays the words WELCOME TO STUDIO SEVEN, HOLLYWOOD CALIFORNIA. A drunken group of teenagers push and shove one another as they fall into line, forcing everyone else out of their way. Parents tell their children, "It will just be a bit longer" and "We came all this way, now we're here, so stop complaining."
The man hands you a colorful ticket for admittance and taps his own against his chest like a hummingbird flittering its wings. "They assumed all of that glittering technology would transform things. That in the future, the petty and mean realities of existence would fall by the wayside. Pity they couldn't grasp the power of trailer parks and credit card debt and franchised discount department stores. Pity they couldn't perceive how deeply the claws of the status quo are sunk into the heart of this world."
You move through the line until it is time to present your ticket to a uniformed woman who smiles benignly as she tears it in half and hands you back the stub. "Welcome to tonight's performance. Have a wonderful time."
"Are we seeing a show?" you say.
The man nods as he takes his stub and says, "Not a show, I'm afraid. What you are about to see is what will occur when all of the fantastic things in this world are pinned down to Styrofoam boards and slabbed on microscopic slides. When the dark places are mowed down for fast-food chains and the fields and forests turned into landfills. It is the stench of the real. The stunning, colossal, overwhelming victory of reality over mystery."
8. The Paring Knife - Matt Posner
Bruce
Hello and welcome to The Paring Knife, Reality TV’s #1 rated cooking show. I’m your host, Bruce Lubitch, along with underground cuisine expert Andreas Rathbone. Tonight, three chefs will compete for the grand prize! Each of them believes they have the strategies, the skills, the expert palate to cook the best meal with our unique ingredients. One by one, they'll open the U.I.B’s, that’s Unexpected Ingredient Boxes, and add whatever they find to their first courses, main courses, and desserts. Can each dish pass the sampling tongue of the Official Taster and reach Big Poppa Judge? Which chef will get to cook again? And which will be peeled away by – The Paring Knife? Let’s meet today’s contestants.
She hails from Charlotte, North Carolina where she’s the executive chef at Le Candy Factory. Let’s meet Belinda Spassky!
Belinda (later interview)
Hi, I’m Belinda and I’m the executive chef at a restaurant known for handmade candy. I have a culinary arts degree with a specialization in desserts, but so far as I’m concerned, I feel I’m a world-class chef in every category. I’m competing for pride and fun and for $20,000 so that my girlfriend can go back to college. Her name is Zhenk, she’s from Latvia, and she really is my hope and my support and my dream.
Bruce: Now, let’s meet another competitor. From Mumbai, India, here is veteran restaurateur Chandresh Saxena!
Chandresh (later interview)
I am called Chandresh but my competitors must call me the winner. Thank you very much. I am now cooking professionally for some twenty years with a complete mastery of Indian flavors. In my own restaurant Airavant I am the undisputed king. Here on The Paring Knife I am certain not to be peeled away.
Bruce
Now let’s meet our third competitor. From Los Angeles, here is sous chef David Jenkins.
David (later interview)
My name is David Jenkins and I am a former methamphetamine drug user with ten years in recovery. Cooking saved my life. It’s my pass
ion, it’s my profession that I take pride in. I have seven children and I am going to win for them, and because I beat meth, I know I can face any challenge.
Bruce
Chefs to your stations. Thank you! Knives at the ready! For your first courses, you must use the three ingredients in the U.I.B.s on the giant cutting board in front of you. Okay, open them up. And you find in U.I.B. #1 … bleu cheese dressing! And in U.I.B. #2 – arugula! And in U.I.B. #3 – Mongolian Death Worm fillets!
Chandresh (VO, voice-over)
I have never cooked before with Mongolian Death Worm meat. I open the package to find that it has texture very much like cottage cheese, and very strong odor resembling horsemeat. Then there is another strong ingredient, bleu cheese dressing. This is a difficult flavor profile.
David (VO)
I have no idea how to cook Mongolian Death Worm. Is it a worm; is it a snake; is it a lizard? Man, I never cooked any of those before. So it’s an unknown meat and my #1 priorities are to make sure it’s cooked enough that it’s not toxic, and then to get the taste and the texture right. So I think I’m going to fry it.
Belinda (VO)
I taste the Death Worm and it tastes really bad. I never tasted anything so bad. So I figure the challenge is to transform it. But it’s also really soft, and if I put it in a liquid it will turn messy and lose its integrity. So I will take advantage of that to make a soup.
Andreas
The Mongolian Death Worm lives in the steppe lands of Mongolia where it was a particular dietary favorite of Genghis Khan. According to legend, he made his men and horses eat it to increase their ferocity. Yes, it is a worm, but typically five to six feet long.
Bruce
You know, my little sister's the backup taster today.
Andreas
You should really leave her alone this time.
Carnival of Cryptids (Anthology to Raise Funds for the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children) (Kindle All-Stars Book 2) Page 13