Skullenia

by Tony Lewis

  SHIT, Ronnie thought as he gazed at the body sprawled before him. Brutal didn’t begin to cover it. Gore spread across the ground and formed a bright red pool as the wolf hovered over its kill. Steam rose form the spilt innards as it sniffed the freshly rendered meat. As the creature lowered its head, Ronnie saw to his horror that the man’s heart was still beating. In one bite the wolf tore it from the chest cavity and popped it like an egg yolk between its honed incisors, drenching Ronnie in a shower of warm blood. It was then that he heard a faint thunk, and he would always maintain afterwards that he saw a perplexed look pass over the wolf’s frightening features before it toppled sideways, the chewed brawn of the heart still hanging from its jaw. He stared at the immense body, wondering why it had suddenly died, but then noticed that its flank was still moving up and down and a bubble of blood inflating and deflating in one of its nostrils.

  “Whoever you are, step forward slowly.”

  Ronnie snapped back into real time, suddenly remembering the other members of the team. But who was this one talking to? The sight of a gun barrel aimed at his head answered the question for him. But how was it possible?

  “Step forward now or I WILL open fire.”

  Blood. The blood from the man killed in front of him. It had sprayed towards him when the wolf attacked. He put a hand to his face and felt the sticky ooze on his cheek. When he brought it back down he could see the outline of his fingers and the signet ring that he wore. He clenched his soggy hand into a fist and closed his eyes. To all intense and purposes he was now very, very visible.

  Ronnie had no choice; the man was definitely talking to him. Involuntarily, he raised his hands above his head and stepped from his place of safety into the clearing.

  “That’s far enough.” The soldier looked him up and down but kept his weapon fixed at all times. “What the hell are you?”

  Ronnie was about to conjure up a plausible answer when he felt a scratch on his left arm. He glanced down and saw a small, thin dart protruding from his flesh. “What the…” The rest of the sentence was cut off as his vision clouded over and his sense of balance started to waver. The last thing he remembered was the soldier’s face as he hit the forest floor with a resounding thump, and passed out.

  * * *

  Ollie looked at his watch. “This James is taking his time.”

  Obsidia flicked her hair and raised a crescent shaped eyebrow. “Yes, he is. Maybe he’s discovered something about the disappearances.”

  “Possibly, but we really do need to get on. If he does have any information for us on his return, maybe you could get in touch and enlighten us.” He produced a business card and handed it over. “Any time, day or night.”

  “You can be sure of it,” the female lycanthrope oozed, throwing a lascivious glance in the direction of Stitches, who smiled a grey toothed grin right back at her.

  “Yes, well, we’ll be on our way. Until we meet again.”

  “I can’t wait,” said Obsidia, rising from her place on the sofa and gesturing towards the front door.

  As they got to the exit, Obsidia placed a hand on the zombie’s shoulder and turned him to face her. She planted a sensuous kiss on his cheek and whispered in his ear. “Don’t be a stranger.”

  “I’ll try not to be. I’ve known myself for years.”

  “Rascal. You be safe, I’ll see you soon. Bye.”

  The door closed and once again, the two colleagues found themselves on the edge of the primordial forest.

  “Now that that’s over, maybe we can get some work done,” Ollie said with an indignant sneer.

  “I thought that’s what we’d been doing for the last hour. Asking questions, probing for clues. You know, detective work. Sleuthing.”

  “Well, I was,” Ollie responded with a terse edge to his voice. “You spent most of the time flirting with Morticia Adams in there. And don’t think I didn’t see you playing footsie under the table.”

  “I apologised for that. She pushed too hard and, well, my ankle joints aren’t what they used to be.”

  “You’re lucky you’ve still got that foot. Nine times out of ten she’d run outside and bury it.”

  Stitches frowned. “What’s got into you? You don’t strike me as the jealous type, mate.”

  They reached the spot where Egon had left them.

  “No, it’s nothing like that. I was just hoping to make a go of it, that’s all, but we’ve spent the last hour talking to a horny, female werewolf. I knew taking on this business was a stupid idea. Not that I had much of a choice.”

  Stitches bumped shoulders with his downhearted friend. “Something’ll turn up. You’ll see.”

  A rustle from the trees ahead denoted the return of their erstwhile guide.

  “Ah, gentlemen, greetings once more. You’ve been inside quite a while. I assume your venture proved successful?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” answered Ollie, thinking at the same time that this little toad was as nosey as a very nosey person asking for directions to the latest meeting of the Nosey Buggers Society. “Did you have a nice walk whilst we were gone?”

  “Yes indeed. Nothing like a night time stroll through the woods to blow away the cobwebs and get back to nature.” In fact, he did look a bit less dusty when it came down to it.

  He turned back towards the trees, put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. “PHEEEEEEEEEP. Here boy, come on. One Lump, there’s a good fellah.”

  A faint hint of movement, like a mouse scurrying under a blanket, caught their attention. Stitches cast an unbelieving look at Ollie. “I really have seen it all now,” he whispered.

  Egon’s disembodied appendage crawled out from the undergrowth and obediently joined its master. Egon gave it a loving pat, then took a leather lead from his jacket pocket and attached it to the sparkly collar that the pasty, grey chunk of flesh wore around its middle. He reached down and gave it a tickle under what one would presume was its chin. Or at least one would hope that it was its chin.

  “I do hope he’s got the right end,” muttered the zombie.

  “Tell me, Egon,” asked a curious and, if he was honest, a rather disturbed Ollie as they began their return journey, “why do you call him One Lump?”

  Egon became more animated than usual, indicating that talking about his little pet was a subject very close to his heart. That’s just by way of description, by the way. Egon didn’t actually have a heart. His insides resembled what’s swept up and put into a skip at close of business at an abattoir. It smelt about the same as well.

  “Ah, well, you see, I have a couple of these delightful creatures. They’re incredibly loyal and terribly affectionate, but the problem is that they all look the same, so I named this little fellah One Lump, and the other one Two. Quite amusing when I don’t know which is which. I say are you…?”

  “One Lump or Two,” Ollie and Stitches said in unison, sharing a look similar to those that would have been worn by Mr. and Mrs. Beckham Senior on parent’s evening.

  Apart from once again fighting off branches from strangely human looking trees, the rest of the trip back to Jocular’s castle passed off without incident. On their return, Egon took them to the library where they found His Uhholiness poring over a battered copy of a certain novel by one Bram Stoker. As the trio entered, he looked up.

  “Velcom back, gentlemen. Excuse me for reading, but I find zis pretentious drivel amusing. Still, vot can vun expect from a drunken Irishman. Vhen did you ever see me vandering about like a ghoul, dressed like Jack ze Ripper and being generally odd? Did you manage to collect any information on your visit?”

  “Not as such, sir” Ollie answered, thinking that Jocular should take a look in the mirror from time to time. Obviously that would be about as much use as asking someone with St. Vitus Dance to sit still for a portrait, but the idea was sound. “But Obsidia informed us that James, one of the pack members, is out searching the woods as we speak, so we’re hopeful that he can shed some light on the matter for us. We�
�ll speak to him as soon as he returns.”

  “Very good, but do be careful ven you speak to him. Ven a vulf returns to human form after many hours of transformation, ze after effects can remain for qvite some time. As a drunkard may need a small tipple to counteract ze effects of ze hangover, a lycanthrope may sometimes need a flesh based snack to, how you say, clear his head. Hair of ze dog, yes?”

  Stitches nearly burst a seam.

  “To be honest, sir, it wouldn’t do him any good coming near me, as I think he would probably find me a bit unpalatable. As for Stitches, it would be like trying to eat a bowl of potpourri.”

  “Vill you be going back soon?” Jocular added.

  “In a while,” said Ollie. “I don’t want to cause them any undue stress. They’re all feeling it up there.”

  “Yeah,” interrupted Stitches, “we don’t want to hound them. OW.”

  Jocular raised a pointed eyebrow, crossed his arms and stared at Ollie, slowly tapping his lips with an index finger. After musing for a while, he spoke to Ollie with a voice that could have cracked rocks.

  “Vhy are you always striking you colleague, Mr Splint? It seems zat ze entire time ve have spent together this evening, you have been engaged in a relentless attacking spree on Mr Stitches. Vot, may I ask, has he done to incur such wrath?”

  Ollie grappled for an answer whilst Stitches stared at him with a ‘how are you going to get yourself out of this one’ look on his smug face.

  “Well, sir,“ he floundered, “I’m afraid my colleague has the attention span of an autistic halibut, so I give him a little tweak every now and again to keep him on his toes.”

  Jocular nodded in what Ollie hoped was agreement. The last thing he wanted to do was get on the wrong side of a creature that made Jeffrey Dahmer look like a Brownie.

  “I see your point, and must concur zat it can be difficult to keep vuns staff suitably motivated. I usually find zat a few days of rigorous torture accompanied by ze removal of a limb or two vorks vonders.”

  “Really,” said Ollie with as much enthusiasm and interest as he could fake.

  “R…really?” asked Stitches, now wishing that he had never made a sarcastic comment in his life and wondering if Mrs. Ladle had a spell in her repertoire that would turn him into a fish or a pen, or a travel brochure or…let’s face it, he was kakking himself, and his thoughts weren’t making any sense at all.

  “Yes, indeed,” the Dark One continued. “I had a servant here many years ago, chap by ze name of Perry. Very lazy and unable to complete ze simplest of tasks, so I entertained him down in ze dungeon for a veek before amputating his legs.”

  “Interesting,” said Ollie with an evil glint in his eye.

  “Qvite. After zat he couldn’t do enough for me, never stopped in fact. Always eager to please me at every available opportunity and constantly rushed off his feet.”

  A deathly silence blanketed the room. Ollie cast a sidewards glance at Stitches. He was rooted to the spot and as still as a corpse, which was logical. Ollie let him suffer for a few more precious seconds before letting him off the giant hook he was dangling from.

  “Although the idea does sound excellent, I think that I have things under control for now. He’s falling to bits as it is, and hoovering up after himself keeps him nice and busy. If he gets to be too much, I’ll be sure to call on you for suitable corporal advice.”

  “Fair enough. I vill bid you goodnight, gentlemen.”

  “Goodnight, sir,” said Ollie.

  “Mmmm,” mumbled Stitches.

  They followed Egon from the library back through the maze of corridors to the front door. As Egon ushered them out he rubbed Stitches on the back in a very friendly fashion. “If you need help sewing anything back on, I’ll be more than glad to help,” and with a wink and a smile he disappeared inside.

  Once outside, Ollie rubbed his hands together and they made their way across the courtyard.

  “I hope Bill gets here soon. It’s getting a bit cold out.”

  Silence.

  “Lucky though, we seem to have come here on the one night that there isn’t any thunder and lightning.”

  Louder silence.

  “That’s really unusual, huh. Kind of like waking up in Tokyo and getting through the whole day without Godzilla stomping your house flat.”

  A silence so loud you could hear it from miles away.

  “Alright, what’s up with you? Cat got your tongue?”

  “No, but you can have my resignation.”

  “That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?”

  “Extreme. You’ve been having a friendly chin wag about removing various parts of my anatomy with a certified nutcase, and you expect me to be happy about it?”

  Ollie smiled and gave Stitches a companionable punch on the arm. Not too hard of course, in case something fell off. “Aw, come on. It was only a bit of fun, and I had to think on my feet, didn’t I?”

  “If you hadn’t, I would have been without feet.”

  “Well, I couldn’t very well tell him it’s because of all the stupid things he comes out with, could I. He’d have our heads on spikes in one of those horrible rooms of his.”

  “Suppose.”

  “I was just pulling your…”

  “Don’t say it!”

  “Sorry. Here, this’ll cheer you up. Did you hear that Jocular and three of his mates got arrested last month for shoplifting some beers?” They were charged with theft on four counts.”

  The clatter of hooves and the rumble of heavy wooden wheels on cobblestones totally obliterated the distinct lack of laughter echoing around the courtyard. It also heralded the arrival of Bill and their lift back to town. The carriage circled the yard and came to rest next to them.

  “Wotcha, me ole muckers ’ow’s tricks an all ’at. Did ya see the Guvna?”

  “Yes, thank you. All sorted.”

  “Nice one. Back to the ole rape and pillage, is it?”

  “I think so,” answered Ollie, wondering when the Viking theme had crept into the conversation.

  “Cushty. I’ll have you there in four slices of a you cow son.”

  Stitches looked up at the driver. “How long is that?”

  “Bout’ forty minutes.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier if…never mind.”

  They climbed in, shut the door and headed off.

  * * *

  It sounded like the tide was coming in. Wave after wave crashing onto the beach as loud as rolling thunder and just as awe inspiring, but strangely distant. It must be a dream, but surely dreams shouldn’t hurt your head as much as this, a constant pounding that was like being persistently battered across the back of the skull with a ten pound mallet. Eventually, and ever so slowly however, the darkness began to lift and with it the throb began to decrease, as if the returning light were driving away the insistent noise and pain. Ronnie’s eyelids flickered briefly and opened, and then immediately closed again. The light seared into his retinas and bored through into this brain like tungsten drill bits, making them stream with water. My God, he thought, did I fall asleep in a lighthouse? Eventually his vision adjusted and acclimatised, and he was able to open his eyes fully once more.

  White ceiling, fluorescent strip lights and the faint strains of Barbers Adagio for Strings playing softly in the background. Strange. Must be concussed, or extremely drunk. Ronnie had woken up in some in some weird and wonderful places in his time, but he was damned sure that he hadn’t fallen asleep in a dentist’s waiting room. Naturally, as one does upon waking, he tried to rise to better gauge his surroundings, but he was more than a little perturbed to find that he could hardly move. His hands and feet were virtually immobile, strapped down and tied to the table he was lying on. He managed to raise his head, the only part of his body that wasn’t restricted, and had a look around. The room was totally and utterly bare apart from one other intriguing item. To his left, about five feet away from him, was another table, seemingly exactly the same as his, and on it was a
man. A very large man, who was tied up in the same manner.

  “Pssst. Hey.”

  There was no reply.

  “Oi, fellah. You awake?”

  “He can’t hear you. We gave him enough tranquilliser to floor a buffalo.”