I walk past a couple in the dark. The man turns to me, eyes filled with a foreboding sadness, and I shiver against the chill I suddenly have. I almost can’t recall how I got here until I feel the rough skin of my father’s hand in mine and remember him jumping out from behind the safety of a parked car, grasping for a handhold, thumbs making contact with Sophie’s eyes. Watching helplessly, my feet nailed to the asphalt, I knew I needed to go back inside the apartment and get my mom, even knowing in my heart it was too late.
That morning, after yet another fight about who was supposed to pick up the eggs for breakfast, we’re locked out of our apartment. Searching around in the pocket of her jeans for the third time, my mom gropes for keys that still aren’t there. Walt and I are behind her, tugging impatiently at her belt. We, of course, have to pee again. She looks around at the numbered doors and decides to knock on Sophie’s; I figure she chooses our waster neighbour because her loo is usually pretty clean and she thinks we don’t understand what her vibrators are. After what seems like a hundred knuckle-burning raps, Sophie opens the door, bleary-eyed and covered in a sheet. She motions us inside, and as we pass her living room a hard crack at the base of my mother’s skull renders her still, a lifeless heap on the worn shag carpet. Soon after, everything goes black.
Dazed and disoriented, I wake and frantically scan the room looking for anything familiar. My gaze locks on Sophie’s dark shape in the corner; she is huddled close to a short man with a pointy nose and bad teeth and is whispering and gesturing wildly. Small snippets of their conversation are audible over the pounding in my head. “.....not what we discussed...,” “....only other payment for what you owe me........“....you promised not to hurt th.....,” “......you knew what I wanted them for when you......” None of it makes any real sense, but I know I’m in trouble. Big trouble. My mind races, trying to put the pieces together.
Confused, I sweep the room again; I see my mom, but Walt is nowhere to be found. Paralysed, I watch the figure behind my mom as he teases the tip of a serrated kitchen knife against her scalp. Slumped pathetically over the mahogany barstool, mouth agape, a long strand of drool approaches the cold tile floor and finally makes contact. The metal blade glints in the light of the lamp in a nearby corner, and I catch a glimpse of the window in its reflection. Two eyes appear in the gloom on the other side of the double-pane glass. Looming large he surveys the room, catching my gaze and smirking as he taps a ragged fingernail against the windowpane. Then, just as suddenly as he appeared, he vanishes, dragging my brother behind him towards his parked Chevy.
***************
Opening the passenger door of his ‘66 Chevelle SS Convertible, he pulls the boy out by his neck. He doesn’t struggle anymore; evidence of his first attempt at escape splashed across his Oshkosh. Dragging the boy behind him, his feet crunching on bone and gravel, he slings a stuffed garbage bag over his left shoulder. Next to an unused pool, waters slimy and fetid, is his pile. It’s about 40 or 50 deep now. Sometimes he poses them, amused by the way their straw-stuffed and leathery bodies rustle in opposition. He had so much fun with the elderly Mormon woman who came preaching a few evenings before. He fondly eyes the way her long gray hair forms a pool around her, as she poses beneath the exposed, garishly red lips of his neighbor’s vagina.
Walt begins to stir in the killer’s thick hands and reaches into the pocket of his damp overalls, feeling the cold metal of his pocket knife. Just last week, he and Terry and his dad used it to cut the fishing line he tangled in the tent when he cast overhead. His dad had given him that all too familiar “Oh Walt” look and chuckled as he righted both tent and line for his younger son. Suddenly, he can smell his dad’s Aqua Velva, and he’s startled back to the reality he is facing. He struggles and swings up at the madman’s face, small knuckles clutched around his knife, in what seems a pathetically impotent fist. Amazingly, he makes contact on the third swing and the monster’s firm grip on the child slips, just long enough for Walt to make a break for it. Running as quickly as his small legs can take him, he scurries into the woods, dodging tree trunks and fallen limbs. He is thinking only of his family, his home, and his warm bed. Stumbling, he gains momentum and sees the dim lights of a passing car. Looking frantically back over his left shoulder, expecting at any moment to see his captor, he rushes onto the potholed surface of the country road and flags down the oncoming car.
Once inside, Walt curls into a ball, whimpering for his mother. The perplexed driver, a retired school teacher, soothes his fears with kind words and promises of a reunion with his family. Breaking quickly, he does a u-turn in the middle of the lonely road and heads towards the local police station. As they pull into the parking lot, Walt suddenly remembers seeing Terry and his mom through the window of that first-floor apartment building. Pushing and pulling wildly on the door handle, he manages once again to break free and tears off in the direction of the dilapidated low rise on Fleet Street; he’s sure it’s the one because of the rusted Huffy bike he saw chained to the bus stop sign. Five days out of every week, he passes that bike on Fleet, wondering how anyone could neglect and abandon anything so wonderful; always imagining the freedom that came with a bike like that, always wishing he could get off the bus, cut the chain, and ride off into the cool morning.
***************
My foot hits something, a broken beer bottle, and I am startled back from my daydream. My father looks back, seeing only me, and grabs my small hand in his dirty one as his tattered sleeve brushes against my arm. I can hear my brother at the base of the underpass, he whines like the air conditioner in our living room window. The rush of traffic over my head is exciting and reminds me of the Steve McQueen movies my dad always used to watch. I wish I was in a really fast car; I would stand up and throw my arms out the window, feeling the warm summer wind on my face.
Moving in tandem, we push forward, looking for the entrance to the tunnels. I can see Walt now, leaning down the stairs, tears streaking clean lines on his dirty cheeks. I hurry down, two steps at a time, and the light from a single bulb is just enough to make out a door. I step though it, into the room, crunching broken tiles and pigeon bones under foot. Holding my breath against the stench of piss, I squint and see peeling green pain and a dirty mattress in the corner by the right wall, near a bed of lockers. On the mattress is my mother. She has the face of an angel; it remains untouched and has a hint of a smile. Her pink, glistening ribcage, prominently centered, catches my eye and around her in a sticky pool of blood, is her skin. My legs give out beneath me and I fall onto the filthy floor in a heap. I try and tell myself it’s not my fault, that I couldn’t have stopped any of this from happening; but all I can think of is the surge of excitement I felt cupping those cool, smooth eggs in my hand and tossing them, one after the other, at our neighbour’s pristine Chevelle.
yoxodo
Quote:
Foundations of Carcosa
I walked past a couple in the dark. The man turned to me with a face that was a mockery of something once human. His nose and mouth were gone, replaced with a conglomerance of blue-green tendrils that flailed like a nest of vipers, lividly trying to smell and taste the air. The deep-set eyes were the only part of his countenance which retained any sort of humanity, and they gazed out of that horrible, throbbing face in wonder and terror. He then turned back to his companion, a thing which had apparently once been a woman, but now shared the same features as her counterpart. Their awful faces met, and a horrendous sucking sound issued forth.
I moved on, keeping to the shadows. There was still electricity in this part of the city, but i found that i could travel unnoticed if i stayed away from the streets, out of the lights. I wasn't worried so much about my physical well-being. As long as i wore the Sign nothing could harm me. It was my sanity that i wished to retain. For i had already seen many terrible things in this ravaged world that no sound being should ever have to witness, and i wasn't sure how much more my feeble mind could stand.
Suddenly a large shadow engulfed me, blocking out the light of the moon. There was a great flapping sound, as of the beating of giant wings, followed by a horrible shriek which pierced my brain and set my ears ringing. I looked up just in time to see a hulking black shape blotting out the sky. Mercifully it was too dark for me to see the thing clearly, but it's mere silhouette against the night sky was maddening enough. Quickly, i broke the chain off from around my neck and lifted the Sign up high. The creature immediately recognized the ancient rune and shrieked in fear of it. Then it's membranous wings began to beat at the air again and it was away faster than anything of it's enormous bulk should be able to move. But now i wondered if the creature's intention had merely been to draw my attention upward; for now i saw that the sky itself was filled with horror.
The moon was full, and in it's bright glow i could see multitudes of winged things soaring through the clouds. Even the clouds themselves were difficult to look upon, as they took on bizarre, unnatural shapes, almost as if the winged creatures were molding the clouds into otherworldly patterns. One particularly foreboding cloud sailed in front of the moon, and i saw that it had a red tinge to it. I wondered then if it would rain blood tonight.
I tore my eyes away from the terrible vista above me and quickened my pace through the city. I now wished to be off the street and under some sort of decent shelter as soon as possible. I made my way through a darkened alley behind a cluster of buildings. I was about to secure one of these buildings and rest until morning when i heard a sound. There were voices coming from further down the alley, human voices. I walked the length of the alley until it opened onto a street, and there, across the street, were two men. One of the men had a crowbar and was attempting to pry open the door of a small bookstore. I was just about to go to them when a large figure stepped out from the side of the building where they stood. I watched the giant form approach them, and i was unable to do anything. If i shouted a warning it would see me too. I got a good glimpse of the thing before the men saw it, and i had just enough time to gasp before they started to scream.
It was a machine, but at the same time it was a beast, a hellish monstrosity that loomed over the men like a leaning tower. There was a moment of hesitation from the creature, when it seemed to be just standing there, gloating, bathing in their fear. I thought the men might try to run, but their terror kept them frozen in place. Suddenly the machine began to drone as in a low growl. Steam shot out of it's numerous appertures, and layers of claws and tentacles unfolded from around it's massive biomechanical body. With one of it's spidery claws it quickly snatched up the man with the crowbar and lifted him towards it's strange, pulsating head. The man raised the crowbar to strike, but the creature shook him furiously until the would-be weapon fell to the ground. The man writhed and screamed in the machine's grasp, and by the cursed moonlight i could see that a sort of hideous smile had erupted over what served as the damned thing's face.
The other man tried to run then, but a long black appendage shot out and wrapped around him, rooting him in place so that he had no choice but to remain and watch his friend die. The creature lifted the first man closer to it's gaping maw, from which three long tendrils shot out and writhed snake-like towards the man's face. He screamed, but his screams were cut short as the tendrils plunged into his eyes and mouth. The creature then emitted the most noxious retching sounds, and through it's tendril tongues it began pumping him full of some sort of thick, gangrenous ichor. Some of this ichor could be seen oozing from the punctured orifices of the man's devastated face, and it steamed and hissed as it dripped to the ground.
Then the creature withdrew it's tendrils and tossed the poor man aside. It's tongue-like appendages coiled back into it's mouth, still shooting that steaming liquid like wild jism. It then turned it's attention to the second man, who still struggled helplessly within the monster's tentacled embrace. Suddenly, the creature lunged forward, and with a loud snap of it's metallic jaws it bit the man's head off, swallowing it in one tumultuous gulp. Then, with it's great black tentacle still wrapped around it, it raised the decapitated body up and inserted it into it's mouth, stump first, and proceeded to suck the body's contents out through the open wound. When it was finished, the creature tossed the empty shell of a corpse aside, with the ease of discarding a piece of trash. It then let out the most terrible cry, with all it's arms and tentacles outstretched, and as it did this i could see right through the thing, for it's torso was transparent. Inside there were organs digesting organs.
I was turning to flee then, having witnessed more than enough horrors for one night, when i heard a low growl nearby. I looked, and there behind me was an abomination straight from Hell. It was some sort of beast, amorphous, as it's flesh was still molding to bone, still shaping itself into some final, hideous form, and i realised this was the machine's first victim, the man with the crowbar who was now something other than human after being subjected to the machine's foul deposits. I pulled the Sign from my pocket, but before i could hold it aloft the beast pounced on me. The Sign fell from my grasp and i screamed as i saw it fall to the ground and shatter. It was in that moment that the blissful darkness of unconsciousness pulled me under, and i slipped willingly into that painless void.
******************************
I awoke to a swirling daze of madness. My brain was swimming in a miasma of pain and shock, and i only partialy realised that i was detached from my senses. The terrifying events of this night had finally broken my mind, but i was still conscious enough to comprehend that life as i understood it was about to end for me. These last few moments happened very fast for me, and they played out almost like bizarre visions from an opium dream, but i will try to relay them justly.
I was being carried through the streets by a procession of creatures so foreign to human sight that it hurt my eyes to look upon them. They carried me to a theater which was all lit up, as if it were open for business. The marquee on the front of the building read:
THE KING IN YELLOW
Now Playing
The strange procession ushered me inside, where i was placed on a seat in front of a large movie screen. Darkness filled this vast arena, then the screen blazed to life. Suddenly i was bombarded with blinding visions of wonder and terror, of ecstacy and horror, love and hate. An abstract kaleidoscope of phantasmagorical illusions played out before my eyes, while inexplicable sounds filled my ears. I looked upon distant Carcosa in the Hyades and once again knew it's grandeur. I saw the Lake of Hali and felt the caress of it's troubled waves. I witnessed the coming of the Pallid Mask, and heard tell of He-Who-Is-Not-To-Be-Named. And then i saw a ghastly figure, perched upon an onyx throne, wearing a yellow robe and presiding over a land of cobalt and cinder, and i knew i looked upon myself, in another place and time. For i was king then, and i would be king now.
Suddenly the screen went dark. I raised my arm to wipe the sweat from my brow, and what came up was a tentacle that wiped a viscous ichor from my porous, pulsating dome. The procession of creatures which had ushered me into this place appeared before me, brandishing a patchwork robe made of the tattered skins from many conquered worlds. It was an ancient piece of cloth that had yellowed with age, all except for the newest addition which i recognised as a fresh patch of white human skin. I allowed them to place the robe upon my transmuted flesh, and then i followed them out of the theater, back out into the night, so that i could look upon the conquered world, and so that my minions could see the King In Yellow, and beware.
Still liking H.P. Lovecraft/King in Yellow, things from beyond better then the horrific home invasion-ish terrorizing of the kids
__________________
My life fades. The vision dims. All that remains are memories. I remember a time of chaos. Ruined dreams. This wasted land. But most of all, I remember the cow. The cow we called "Bessie" To understand who she was, you have to go back to another time.
Location: In Saturday detention with a dude that raided Barry Manilow's wardrobe.
Posts: 10,247
yoxodo
Pretty damn good, man.
__________________ This is the end of your rotten life, you DOPE PUSHER!
Quote:
Originally Posted by The Revalator
i'm pretty sure The Reverend Horton Heat is one of the best bands that has ever lived. Psychobilly is the shit, and Rev. puts on one of the best live shows in existence.
And even though I thought that if I lost, I'd want to lose to the winner, I've got to go with lunakk's story. It gave me serious chills and made me squirm a bit.
09-30-2009, 10:47 AM
BD Write-off Final: lunakk vs yoxodo
Linear Mode
