The Spitting Post

by Jason R. Barden

  “So I finally found you!” I shouted, trying to raise my voice above the howling winds. “I assure you, this time will be our final meeting!”

  “I am glad we can agree on one thing,” said the insane maestro. “However, I will be the one who leaves here alive.”

  “The last time we met, you said The Green Maiden was yours. What did you mean by that?” I asked with anger burning in my eyes.

  “You really are clueless, aren’t you?” he said while issuing a wicked chuckle. “She left you and came to me. She desires me and only me. I can give her the things she needs, the things she wants. All this is hers. All that I want I take, and I will share with her alone.”

  “Then why did she petition me to meet here at The Spitting Post?” I inquired even angrier.

  “That would be for you to find out. But you will have to make it beyond me to solve that enigma. And I can guarantee you that will never happen!” the violinist screamed as he began to cry tears of blood. “I will continue my reign of terror and invade the other side of the canyon. I will find the residents of The Town of Diminished Desire and destroy them. There is nothing you can do to stop me. Your resistance ends now!”

  “Tell me about the great war in the woods! I suppose that was the product of your reign?” I shouted to the mad maestro.

  “I will award you no more answers, only grief,” he announced, and he drew his violin to begin his symphony of death. He played his song violently, thrashing away at the violin strings with his bow of madness. I raised my gun and was prepared for the worst. Then I heard the roar of trains. At that moment, the beast leapt from inside the castle and sprang into the open meadow just in front of the violinist. It charged with teeth flashing ready to devour all in its path. I knew I had to end this once and for all: for me; for The Green Maiden; and for the people the beast desired to consume.

  I waited until the beast was in range before I fired my silver shot. But the beast was so quick that it was able to leap and evade the bullet. I quickly tucked my pistol into my belt and drew my black sword. The beast landed directly in front of me. I swung as hard and as quickly as I could, but the giant jackal sidestepped my blade. I managed to remove a small patch of fur, but I failed to deliver a fatal blow. The beast lunged forward, and I darted to the left while swinging my blade at its face, grazing its snout. The beast fell back and winced in shock and pain. I could only assume that no one had wounded it before.

  The violinist played faster and faster, his hand almost becoming one with his instrument so that his movements were only a blur. The monster jackal lurched toward me more determined than ever. I pushed forward to meet it. My sword was too long for the close-range attack, and its teeth sank deep into my left arm just above the elbow. I dropped my sword and fell backward with the beast landing on me. Its jaws were crushing into my arm, and the pressure was excruciating. I placed my other thumb into the monster’s left eye socket and with a massive pull, I removed its eyeball. Blood sprayed everywhere, and the beast jumped back and howled in agony. My left arm was as stiff as a statue. I could tell it was broken. I drew my pistol from my belt and started the painful process of reloading. I poured the gunpowder and inserted another silver ball into the barrel. Then I packed them down with the ramrod attached to the underside of the barrel. I managed this grueling task while crouched and resting my fractured arm on my left knee. The undertaking had been both painful and difficult with one arm almost entirely out of commission.

  The violinist played even faster and harder than before. The beast came forward as though it had never been hurt. It was under a deep, horrible trance. I raised my pistol. This was about to be the end. It was either the jackal or me. One of us was not going to walk away from this battle. I fired. The silver ball propelled toward the jackal and struck it between the eyes. The beast fell over dead instantly. Meanwhile, the violinist screamed in dreadful, shrieking defeat. I turned my eyes toward the mad maestro as he agonized over the loss of his horrific pet. He dropped his instrument and gazed at me with envy. Then he began to convulse in a psychotic fit before he burst into ash and was swept away by the driving wind.

  I looked at my arm and realized it was swollen and bleeding profusely. If I didn’t make it to a doctor soon, I knew my wound would prove fatal and my victories would be for naught. I forced myself to stand, although my legs were wobbly and I felt faint. My arm throbbed without any support, so I held it tight to my body with my good hand. I hobbled to the silver door of The Black Castle and was greeted by a tall, thin man who looked nearly as eerie as the violinist. He was wearing a tuxedo and with his hair standing straight up, he looked as though he had just escaped from a mental institution.

  “We here at the castle are thrilled that you defeated that cruel man. We welcome you as our new master,” the strange man said in a deep monotone. “I am Borloff, the deranged butler, at your service.” I stumbled forward, and he caught me just before I fell to the floor.

  “We have a doctor on staff. I will take you to the infirmary,” he said, and he escorted me toward the left tower. He laid me down on a bed that resembled a table used for autopsies. “I will fetch the doc,” he said, and he hurried from the small room.

  The infirmary was filled with rolling carts covered with various surgical instruments that I hoped had been thoroughly sanitized. Dark green tiles covered the walls, and a white sheet wrapped around from the ceiling covered only half the bed. I supposed this was for privacy, but that hardly seemed necessary because the room was only big enough to care for one patient at a time.

  Borloff soon returned with a gentleman who also looked as if he had recently escaped from a mental asylum. He wore a white coat with a blue mask across his face. His hair was orange like a clown’s and shot sideways from his head extending about six horizontal inches.

  “I am Dr. Butcher,” said the distorted physician.

  “Don’t you mean that you are a butcher?” I asked hesitantly.

  “No. That is my name, Ivan Butcher. Doctor Ivan Butcher.”

  “That’s nice to know,” I whimpered.

  “We are going to fix you right up. Once you are healed, you will never know the difference unless you plan on doing one-armed handstands, then you will certainly have a problem,” chuckled Dr. Butcher.

  Borloff groaned and shook his head.

  The doctor examined my arm, pulling it this way and that without regard to my intense pain and suffering. My torn shirt allowed him easy access to my shredded flesh and bone.

  “What do you see?” I asked, awaiting the bad news.

  “Your arm appears to have been broken in seven places. We will have to cut into the triceps muscle and peel it back to reach the fractured bone. Then we will attach plates and screws to secure the bone together so that it can heal properly. Finally, we will sew you up, and that will be that.” Dr. Butcher issued this entire gruesome statement with a grin while he patted my opposite shoulder. I supposed this was service with a smile.

  “Certainly you will knock me out for this procedure, I hope,” I said feeling absolutely terrified.

  “Certainly,” said the doctor with another inappropriate grin. “Borloff, ready the sedation IV.”

  So I had Dr. Ivan Butcher, the mad scientist, performing my surgery, and Borloff, the deranged butler, assisting him. Borloff placed an IV in my hand, and I started to drift into unconsciousness. The last sound I heard was the doctor muttering. I was in a deep, forced sleep.

  I woke in a much more luxurious room, lying on a canopy bed covered with red velvet blankets. The walls were a glossy black. I looked down at my arm, which was now in a brace and a sling. It began to hurt like nothing I had ever felt before. It was like something heavy was pulverizing my arm into bits of nothingness. Just as I was about to scream for Dr. Butcher, he came bursting into the room like a madman which, of course, he was.

  “Are you in pain?” he asked with the same crazed smile as before.

  “Y-Y-Yes,” I mumbled.

  “It seems you
are still under the influence of the anesthesia and will be for a little while longer. You also seemed malnourished, so along with the medicine I added electrolytes and vitamins to your IV. Now let’s have a look at that arm.”

  Dr. Butcher removed the sling and brace. After he did so, my arm began to feel a different form of agony. I no longer felt the crushing sensation, but without the brace, my arm felt as if it were going to come apart.

  “It seems the swelling made the brace too tight,” said Dr. Butcher while he fumbled with it. “I have adjusted it, giving you a little more room. It should be more comfortable now.” He placed the brace and sling back onto my arm. The brace was moveable with hinges to adjust the range of motion. I felt much better with the brace loosened, and I drifted into a fast sleep and dreamed of words, words locked deep inside my troubled mind. I dreamed of an obscure piece of parchment. There were letters written on it, but I couldn’t make them out. I focused my eyes. The words became clearer. I squinted to read and understand them.

  Chaos Theory

  Separated from formation, detached from the bone

  Under construction, undefined patterns collide

  Watch the assembly, view the fall

  Walls crumble, no materials left inside

  Lethargic it seems, too much energy required

  Listless designs created in turmoil

  Flowing like hair down your shoulders

  Compare, contrast, and brainstorm the ideas of a reunion

  Set the table for mayhem

  Dine with insecurity

  Play host to phlegmatic thoughts

  Trying to understand what cannot be understood

  Hoping to reflect on colorless mirrors

  Everything goes by and repeats itself

  Like ever growing madness

  that perplexes the lost individual

  Sliding down an inclined plane

  Arms grasping for anything to break the fall

  Talking incoherently, speech inaudible

  Observing the warning signs

  Listen, learn, tell

  Tell all to a divided audience

  Bewildered and inflamed

  Turn off your speedometer

  Sit and wait for the light to change

  It is now green

  Go ahead into the intersection with caution

  Look both ways

  Try not to get demolished

  Try to get through another day

  After I read the words in my dream, I began to experience a separation as if I were becoming detached from the bone. Simultaneously I was seated at a table with a man named Mayhem. He was muttering incoherently and holding a small traffic light in his left hand. Meanwhile, another man named Insecurity was sliding up and down a serrated inclined plane and appeared to be having a load of fun doing so. The divided audience applauded him incessantly while reflecting themselves in colorless mirrors. Then the whole grotesque scene repeated itself. This was ever growing madness!

  “Ahhhh!” I shouted, and sat straight up in bed. I was having one bizarre nightmare.

  I looked around the room and realized I was still in the glossy black bedroom where I had been prior to that crazy, vivid dream. It must have been drug-induced from the sedatives the doctor pumped into me. I hoped to have no more such nightmares anytime soon.

  “What is the matter?” asked the doctor in a state of panic as he burst into the room once again.

  “I was just having a nightmare,” I replied, trying to shake the images from my head. “Nothing to be alarmed about.”

  “Well, at least you have finally woken up,” said Borloff as he entered the chamber looking all too concerned.

  “How long was I out?”

  “About three days,” replied the nutty doctor. “While you are awake, I would like to check your arm.”

  The doc removed my support devices and looked at the broken appendage that was once my arm. “It is healing nicely. I believe we can loosen the brace, which will give you more movement, but not too much. You will no longer need the sling,” announced Dr. Butcher.

  He relaxed the brace, which had multiple notches to adjust the tension and allow for some movement.

  “What part of the castle am I in?” I asked, looking at Borloff while the doc made his alterations.

  “We are at the top of the center tower. This was our former master’s room,” responded the deranged butler.

  “The mad musician with the trained jackal?”

  “Yes,” said Borloff. “This was his room.”

  “Well, I believe that will do it,” said the disorderly doctor as he added the finishing touches to the brace. “Now rest, and do not leave this bed. Doctor’s orders.”

  The two left the chamber and against the doctor’s advice, I decided to explore my surroundings. I coaxed myself from bed and stood upright. I felt woozy but stable enough to walk if I moved slowly…very slowly.

  I eased myself to the door and down a short hallway. To my right was an elevator. I supposed this was the method used to deliver me to the bedroom. Next to it was a door marked Stairs. To my left was another room with blue lettering inscribed on the black door spelling out The Abyss. This was interesting enough that I decided to enter and see what trouble I could provoke.

  I opened the door to reveal a dark room barely lit in a faint blue. The chamber held water that pooled from the high ceiling. This indoor pond was upside down, but not a drop of its waters fell to the floor. As I entered the room, blue words descended from the inverted pool, painting sentences in the air. They described heartache and turmoil.

  Deep in the Abyss

  The teardrops fall like broken rain

  Deep inside I feel the pain

  It holds me, it brings me to the point of despair

  It drains me, it bleeds me, it doesn’t care

  It destroys all hope that was inside

  It reveals the laughter that has died

  Deep in the abyss, I am lost forever

  I wish I could conceal the moments of never

  And kiss them away like the moments of yesterday

  It is just another nightmare and I am all alone

  All the sympathy and comfort have surely gone

  To a place far away from me

  To a place I can no longer see

  Forever trapped in this watery grave

  I let go of the promise that I freely gave

  I kiss them all away

  In hope for a better day

  The words then ascended into the water above leaving no evidence of their existence. The literary artwork was as astonishing as it was haunting. I felt nearly intoxicated with the writer’s intention and filled with empathy.

  I exited the room and shut the door behind me, leaving the room to further lamentations. After viewing the blue spectacle I became tired and wandered sluggishly back to bed. I pulled the covers around me so no one would ever know that I had wandered away. I fell asleep from the exhaustion that had resulted from my brief outing down the hall. I awoke the next morning with Borloff standing near my bed. He gave me a sudden fright, which derailed an otherwise pleasant awakening. It was not a good thing to arise from slumber with a deranged butler hovering about your bedroom.

  “Aaaahhh!” I shouted.

  “Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to surprise you,” responded Borloff. “How are you feeling today?”

  “A little better, I suppose,” I said while sitting up.

  “May I ask you a question?”

  “Yes, you may. Ask away.”

  Borloff did have the appearance of a deranged butler, yet there was something cordial and respectable about him. He was polite and concerned with others’ needs. Yet he was still intimidating in his outward appearance.

  “Why did you come here? Did you come to confront our master?” asked Borloff.

  “I came here in search of a place known as The Spitting Post. Your master, the vile violinist, was in my way, and he was tormenting the inhabitants of a nearby provin
ce. That’s why I ended his reign of terror,” I replied while positioning an extra pillow under my healing arm.

  “I see,” responded Borloff. “What is The Spitting Post, and why are you in search of it?”

  “I’m not sure what kind of place it is—if it’s friendly or hostile—but I’m supposed to meet someone there, someone I’ve been seeking for a long time. The location of the post is unknown, but The Purple Swan is said to know the way.”

  “The Purple Swan? I have heard of it.”

  “You have?” I said, and I sat farther up in bed awaiting any clues to this mysterious swan. “Tell me more.”

  “Well, I have never met the swan, but I have heard that it is found at a pond northwest of here and that, to reach it, one must cross a haunted swamp. I have heard that The Purple Swan is as wise as he is devious. Many people have gone to seek his knowledge, but few have returned. The unfortunate who did return are said to have gone completely mad. I supposed The Purple Swan was mere legend, a story to explain otherwise inexplicable disappearances and cases of insanity.”

  “That’s great, Borloff. Thanks.” And then I smiled. I finally had a destination. “Do you know anything else regarding the swan?”

  “No, I am sorry. That is it. But we are in deepest gratitude that you vanquished our master. He was an evil and cruel man, and we sincerely thank you.”

  “Well, you’re very welcome. Now let me ask you a question. How did you and the doc end up working for the violinist?”

  “I can assure you, it was not voluntary employment.”

  “There was a war many years ago between a kingdom in the forest and the army of the mad maestro,” he said looking sad and lethargic as he was conjuring painful memories. “Nearly everyone, including the violinist’s soldiers, were destroyed. All but the doctor and myself were massacred. He saw a need for us—a need for us to remain in perpetual servitude.”

  “This would explain the evidence of war in the forest where I saw thousands of skeletons and remains of warriors lying as sobering relics of a bloody conflict.”

  “The violinist brought an army of blood-thirsty barbarians with him. No one was certain where they came from—some distant lands, I suppose. He was a superb speaker and soon won the hearts and minds of many in the forest kingdom. Once he had amassed an army large enough to devour the land, he waged a depraved war of terror on the kingdom and its inhabitants. Like I said before, the doctor and I were the only humans spared. Soon after the war ended, the violinist found a lone jackal cub. Apparently the mother of the cub had died in the battle. The master trained the jackal with cruelty and forced it to become his new method of terror. He tortured the cub into submission, and it became his obedient pet slave. He also placed a mechanical red knight that he had engineered in the forest to protect the bridge from possible invasion. That man was intent on conquering and destroying the neighboring territories as well,” advised Borloff in a saddened tone. “We are so glad to be rid of him.”