Skullenia

by Tony Lewis

  There was amongst others, Lumpy ‘I’ll lift everything including, well, everything that’s put in front of me, really’ Truss, Wide Boy Pebble, the aforementioned pig eating demon, Irina Bollokov, an ogress from the Russian steppes who, judging by the size of her boobs, could lift just about anything you’d care to mention, and Thor Finger, an iceman from the frozen North who was the size of a small glacier and the reigning champion.

  Some youngsters were wandering through the crowd, handing out leaflets.

  “Could be interesting,” said Ethan, perusing the timetable. “The first round is the deadlift, then it’s the farmers walk, the piggy back carry and so on. About six events in all from the look of things…”

  The rest of whatever he was going to say was lost, as the remainder of the crowd moved en masse towards the front of one of the cages to their right, and gave a loud cheer. Somehow, Tile had already negotiated his way through the heaving throng and had secured his position out in front to inform everybody of what was about to happen. He was standing in front of a large object that was covered in a tarpaulin sheet. Nobody seemed to be sure what it was, but it certainly seemed to be giving off something of a funky odour.

  “Assembled strength fans,” shouted Tile, “the famous Cornucopian Deadlift.”

  With a flourish worthy of a skinny, heavily eyebrowed, statue disappearing magician, Tile grabbed a corner of the tarpaulin and swept it away to gasps of ‘Ooh’ and ‘Ahh’ from the crowd. Well, except for four of them.

  Ollie, Stitches, Ronnie and Ethan stared wide-eyed at what Tile had revealed, and whether it was in horror, awe, amazement or sheer disbelief, none of them knew. Not that it particularly mattered. It was horrible.

  Ronnie rolled himself a cigarette and smoked it silently whilst Ollie and Ethan shook their heads.

  “At least that explains why they call it the deadlift,” Stitches said without a trace of humour.

  What Tile had revealed was an elephant. Or to clarify, two halves of an elephant. It had been neatly severed into a pair of roughly equal sized bipedal portions. They were spaced about ten feet apart, but were joined by what appeared to be a huge scaffold pole the ends of which were buried in the poor deceased creatures’ spinal column. The flies that hovered around the massive cadaver and the slightly off red tint of the exposed innards explained the smell.

  “At least you know why you never saw any animals here,” said Stitches.

  “I think you might actually be right,” said Ollie, still not quite sure whether what he was seeing was real or not. Half of him was hoping that he was asleep in the back of the hearse and that this was a daymare. Oh for the chance to wake up in a cold sweat and crack his head on the roof of the vehicle.

  “I’m definitely going to contact the authorities when this is all over,” said Ethan. “People can’t go around mistreating dumb animals like that.”

  Stitches considered a passing comment about the similarities between dumb animals and Flug, but even he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was just as appalled as the others at seeing such a magnificent beast being treated this way. It was shocking, unnecessary and ultimately very sad. What made it worse was the apparent apathy of the locals watching. The sight of the butchered animal didn’t seem to bother any of them in the slightest.

  “Let’s just hope this doesn’t drag on for too long,” said Ronnie, determinedly puffing away, for all his lungs were worth on another rollie. He was thinking that if he smoked enough then he could put a thick, cloudy barrier between himself and the view ahead. “As of now this quest has taken a distinctly nasty turn, and I don’t like it.”

  “I know,” said Ollie, “but let’s try to look at the bigger picture. This is one small step in a quest to potentially stop something terrible happening, so while it’s not right, that elephant’s sacrifice will ultimately save lives. Distasteful, I know, but it’ll get us there.”

  “Contestants,” shouted Tile, “will simply lift the bar from the floor as many times as they can.” He didn’t call anyone because the order had already been sorted out. Each of them had a number attached to his chest. Flug was number six, which was eighty seven higher than his IQ.

  “I’ve had an idea,” said Ollie. “It’s obvious that no one is paying any of us four the slightest bit of attention, so why don’t we do what we can to help Flug out and get this thing over with?”

  “How are we going to do that?” asked Stitches. “I think we’re a bit outnumbered to start a protest, peaceful or otherwise.”

  “I was thinking about being a bit more subtle than that,” continued Ollie. “Essentially, it’s going to revolve around you two,” he indicated Ronnie and Ethan. “Ronnie, if you can go invisible, I was thinking maybe you could get amongst the other contestants during the events and cause a bit of unseen havoc.”

  “Liking the sound of that,” he said through the haze.

  “Don’t forget to clear that lot out of your windpipe first, though,” said Stitches. “A wandering column of smoke might raise a few eyebrows.”

  “What about me?” said Ethan.

  “Ah right. If you can find somewhere to change, maybe you could get into Flug’s head and mentally help him out, or at the very least let him know that he’s not on his own, and that we’re doing everything we can to help him.”

  “I do like the idea,” said Ethan enthusiastically, “but where can I go?”

  “How about over there?” said Stitches. He was pointing to a cage directly opposite the deadlift area, and what with the crowd being so engrossed in what was going on (the imp was doing rather well and was currently on his fifty seventh rep) not a single person was looking their way. “The door looks slightly open. You could easily slip in there.”

  “Gotcha.” He quickly and calmly made his way across the green, hopped inside the cage and closed it.

  “Okay. Your turn,” Ollie said to Ronnie, as he turned back round to face thin air and the back of the person in front of him.

  “Already done,” a voice whispered in his ear. “See you soon.”

  “Just one thing slightly off the subject,” said Stitches. “Why is it that when invisible persons go invisible, their clothes do too? It’s a genetic quirk, not a fabric oddity.”

  “Depends if the story is for kids or adults, I suppose,” said Ollie. “But that’s something we can discuss later. I’m sure Ronnie will have a reasonable explanation for you.”

  “Mind you, it shouldn’t really matter. If you’re invisible, then you don’t have to worry about a load of eight year olds seeing your…”

  “Later.”

  “Fair enough. What are we going to do in the meantime?”

  “Let’s just keep an eye on things. Crowd disruption and distraction if it’s needed,” said Ollie.

  Stitches nodded. “Good thinking. Hey, look,” he pointed at Flug, who had suddenly tensed up with eyes wide and a distinct grin on his face. He nodded ever so slightly.

  “Looks like Ethanwolf has made contact,” said Ollie, as Flug leaned towards the ghoul next to him and whispered something in his ear. Obviously they had no idea what Flug had said, but the distraught look on said ghoul’s face and the slump of his shoulders indicated that it couldn’t have been too complimentary. And, as luck would have it, the ghoul was next.

  It dragged itself slowly to the event area and stood behind the bar, psyching itself up for a big lift. Unfortunately, it didn’t get very far. It bent down to grasp the bar but halfway down it stopped, and instead grasped its head in its hands and let out a tremendous wail before fleeing in a flood of tears.

  “Well, I’m not quite sure what happened there or what the problem is,” announced Tile, staring in shock at the quivering, sobbing creature not twenty feet away from him, “so if we could have the next contestant please. The current total to beat is seventy four.”

  “Come on then, mate,” said Ethanwolf in Flug’s head as he approached the bar, “this is easy, a child could lift it. Remember those rocks you shifted for m
e at the back of the werehouse?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Most of those were heavier than this and you chucked them around like they were nothing, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, so grab hold of that thing and pick it up as many times as you can. I’ll tell you when to stop, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  As with most beings of, how shall we put it not to cause offence of a politically incorrect nature, limited intelligence, Flug did as he was told because the person instructing him was someone whom he liked and respected. No distraction, however big, would divert his attention now, and nothing would cause him to deviate from what he had been told to do. He would carry on ad infinitum, until he either collapsed from utter exhaustion, or worked out what ad infinitum meant.

  Flug lifted. And lifted. And lifted. The crowd was cheering, Ethanwolf was encouraging and Flug was smiling. His expression never changed as the bar went up and down rhythmically, the elephant smacking wetly on the ground and splashing the first couple of rows of clapping spectators with reddish gore. Through all this, Flug kept on smiling.

  “Well done, mate. That’s seventy five,” said Ethanwolf. “But just for good measure, let’s get to a hundred.”

  Flug managed that easily to the unending pleasure of the crowd. Tile announced the result and bade everyone follow him to the next event area.

  “He did good, didn’t he,” said Stitches as they followed the jostling mass. “Did you see the look on his face; he was really enjoying himself up there.”

  “Of course he was,” answered Ollie. “It was a simple repetitive task. He could do that all day long. Don’t forget, he’s like a child, always eager to please. And remember, Ethan is in there somewhere as well, tapping into that hidden intelligence he said was in there.”

  “I’ve still got my doubts about that, you know,” admitted Stitches. “Some things are just too deeply buried to be found. That’s if they should be found at all. I’m a bit worried that giving Flug the chance to use brain power is like allowing a fatty a trolley dash round a chocolate factory. It’ll explode at some point because it’s too full.”

  “The next event, ladies and gentlemen, is the straight arm lift. Contestants must hold this one hundred kilo weight straight out in front of themselves for as long as possible.”

  Unfortunately, the weight in question, in keeping with the theme so far, was another former resident of the zoo. It was a wild boar that didn’t look so wild anymore. In fact it looked a bit pissed off, to be honest.

  “This’ll be an easy one,” said Ollie.

  One after another they hoisted the boar, some of them impressively so, which meant that when it came to Flug’s turn he was going to have to hold it up for a considerable amount of time. He reached down and with both massive hands, took hold of the fold of skin on the boars’ neck. He straightened up and held it out in front and relaxed into it. Now, Flug being the knuckle-dragging, single digit IQ and potential Police Community Support Officer recruit that he was, would normally have had trouble holding onto the boar for long due to the length of his arms, but what Tile, the other competitors and the crowd didn’t know was that Ronnie had entered the fray. He positioned his shoulders directly under the carcass and tensed up. The combination of his rigid frame and Flug’s strength was enough to ensure that after fifteen minutes Tile called a halt, declaring Flug the winner.

  Stitches looked around at the crowd and the other athletes. The crowd in particular were showing signs of becoming a little restless and he had no doubt that this was because after the initial enjoyment of the deadlift, the fact that their favourite athletes were being made to look rather ordinary was getting on their nerves. Some of Flug’s opponents were definitely giving off signals of being slightly miffed, as well. Wide Boy Pebble was glaring at Flug with a gaze that could melt lead, and Lumpy ‘I’ll lift everything including, well, everything that’s put in front of me really’ Truss didn’t look too impressed either.

  “Hey, Ollie,” said the zombie, tapping him on the shoulder. “I think it might be an idea to maybe get Flug to lose the next event. This partisan mob would probably appreciate it, and it might be good for our future health.”

  Ollie had noticed a certain amount of discord himself. Not only were people staring at Flug, but some were gazing in their direction. Although not their fault, they would prove to be an easy and accessible target.

  “I concur,” he said. “Let’s find out what the next event is and we’ll sort something out.”

  “Everybody, the next event will be the piggy back carry,” announced Tile.

  The contestants had been lined up at the start of a straight run of about two hundred metres. In front of each of them was a zebra, deceased of course.

  “Look at all those poor, dead corpses just lying there. It’s heartbreaking,” said Ollie.

  “As opposed to a load of live corpses,” replied Stitches sarcastically.

  “Oh, you know what I mean, smart arse.”

  “Hey, if Flug goes out of his lane, will he be disqualified for zebra crossing?”

  “You really are a… Never mind. We need to attract Ronnie’s attention without giving too much away, if at all possible.”

  “RONNIE!” shouted Stitches at the very top (high enough that a flag should be planted in it) of his voice.

  “That was subtle,” said Ollie.

  “Got him here though, didn’t it,” said Stitches in response to the invisible tap on his chest.

  “Hey, what’s up?” said Ronnie’s disembodied voice from somewhere in front of them.

  “We need you to sabotage the next event,” said Ollie in what he thought was Ronnie’s general direction. “Flug can’t be seen to run away with this thing. The natives are becoming decidedly restless.”

  “No problem,” said Ronnie. “This looks like a straight forward foot race. It shouldn’t be too hard to drop a spanner into the works. See ya.”

  The only sign that Ronnie was making his way back through the crowd were the indignant looks that people gave as they were unceremoniously bumped out of the way, and the strange looks on their faces when they saw the same thing happen to someone in front of them without being touched. One guy thought it was the bloke standing next to him, and their argument ended up in a brief but enthusiastic ding dong that was only cut short when Tile announced “On your marks,” etc.

  A loud bang signified the start of the race, and they were off (both literally and, in some cases, directionally). Each competitor hoisted his or her or its carcass onto either one or both shoulders (or in the case of one shape shifting demon, all three, and in the case of Flug, someone else’s until Ethan reminded him that he had to carry it himself) and set off down the course. On first appearances it seemed that everything would be alright and Ronnie wouldn’t be needed. Flug dropped his load a couple of metres into the race, causing some gelatinous body fluids to splash onto the carcass itself, meaning that Flug had a spot (or a stripe if you like) of trouble getting it back into position. It looked like he was going to lose this one on his own, but unbeknownst to Ollie and Stitches, Ethanwolf had no idea at all about their scheme to get the monster to fail. He was watching the race closely from the confines of the cage and was presently buried deep in Flug’s subconscious mind, urging him on and on. With a massive effort Flug got a grip of the dead zebra and threw it up onto his shoulder as if it were nothing more than a sack of cotton wool, before setting off at a furious pace, rapidly gaining on the others. The crowd, who had been chanting and cheering with renewed vigour and pleasure at Flug’s plight, soon began to boo aggressively when they saw the big stranger rapidly gaining on their favourites.

  “Ronnie better make his move soon,” said Ollie, “otherwise this is going to turn uglier than the athletes.”

  “Mmmm, they’ll tear Flug to pieces if he romps this one as well,” agreed Stitches nervously. “My sewing skills won’t stretch that far.”

  “Neither will my neck.”


  At that point, just as Flug was on the verge of closing the gap between him and the rest of the field, he tripped, stumbled and fell to the ground with all the poise and grace of a Tyrannosaurus Rex trying to put a pair of socks on. With an extremely loud “WAHHHH!” and a BUMP strong enough to knock a spectator off his feet (to be fair to him and his sense of balance, he did only have one ‘feet’ and had, at that precise moment, put his walking stick down to scratch an itchy left elbow, but it was still an impressive feat nonetheless). Flug crashed down in a tangled heap of arms (2), legs (6), heads (2) and forehead bolts stuck in the ground (1).

  The crowd went absolutely wild at the sight and nearly apoplectic when a female ogre crossed the line in first place. She celebrated by eating the zebra that she had been carrying and picking her teeth clean with one if its teeth.

  Stitches stifled a laugh at the pathetic sight of his colleague trying in vain to extricate his head from the ground.

  “Looks like someone pulled the Flug out from under that zebra,” he said.

  “Seems so,” said Ollie. “Come on, let’s go and get him up.”

  It took both of them and a supreme will of effort to prise Flug’s face from the dirt.

  “You alright, big fellah?” asked Stitches as Flug rolled onto his back, a stunned look on his face.

  “Yeah. Wot happened,” he said, spitting a clump of soil out.

  “I think you tripped, is all,” said Ollie, “nothing to worry about. You’ll win the next one, I’m sure.”

  He slipped Flug a handful of Sherbet Kneecaps to take his mind off what had happened and to get rid of what, judging by the amount of suspicious brown mounds all over the place, must be a rather horrible taste.

  “That went better than expected,” came Ronnie’s more than slightly amused voice from out of the ether.

  “I suppose so,” said Ollie. “But did it have to be so blatant?”

  “It did look a bit like a mountain toppling over,” said Stitches. “I suspect somewhere there’s a tsunami gathering speed.”

  “I had to act fast,” said Ronnie defensively, “he was going to win. I had no choice.”