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Solomon Birch
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 Posted: Thu Feb 23, 2006 3:51 pm Post subject: |
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Darn, didn't notice the 'be a gentleman' choice.... Ah well 
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"Humankind cannot stand too much reality" - T.S. Elliot
Thesopholis - A Noir Sci-Fi Story - Chapter 8 is up! Read it here
The End of the Voyage - Chapter 9
Shady the Furry Goblin! [Demon's, Satan and Slobadan Milosevic!] - Chapter 3
The Quest for the Legendary Rubber-Duckie! - Chapter 3
One Last Bullet.... Chapter 3
Green Eyes - Chapter 5
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Shady Stoat
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| Posted: Sat Feb 25, 2006 8:43 am Post subject: |
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Vote's over. They're going dungeonwards and having a nice cuppa while they're there.
*starts scribbling...*
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DukeReg
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| Posted: Mon Feb 27, 2006 12:04 am Post subject: |
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I missed participating in Round 1 and almost missed Round 2!
I really like your amusing descriptions, Stoat, you do it really well well. I'd even dare to say that your writing reminds me of Terry Pratchett's, which is a big compliment in my book.
Keep it up... 
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Duke Reg
Completed SGs:
Tempting Fate
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Shady Stoat
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| Posted: Mon Feb 27, 2006 12:14 am Post subject: |
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Thanks DukeReg. Glad you found your way to the humor section at last. Even gladder that you like my funny stories
Now go and vote in SGotM 
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Chinaren
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Smee
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| Posted: Mon Feb 27, 2006 4:26 am Post subject: |
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Have some shame Chinaren.
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The path of my life is strewn with cowpats from the Devil's own Satanic Herd!
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Chinaren
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ethereal_fauna
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| Posted: Mon Feb 27, 2006 7:05 am Post subject: |
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| chinaren wrote: | | Sorry, I don't do shame. |
We noticed 
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The maker of a sentence launches out into the infinite and builds a road into Chaos and old Night, and is followed by those who hear him with something of wild, creative delight. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Shady Stoat
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| Posted: Tue Feb 28, 2006 8:28 am Post subject: |
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Remote Access…
Lenny looked through the options with mounting trepidation.
He thought of inviting Alia to go upstairs with him. Perhaps a little forward, considering that they’d only been introduced to each other an hour or two ago. He could also see it being a tad off-putting when some ghost started moaning about them scuffing up the bed-linen.
The Venomous Arboretum, then? Whilst a walk in the gardens was potentially romantic, Lenny couldn’t see that the possibility of snakes and stingers and poisonous thorns would add much to that atmosphere. Anyway, car-parks were almost as bad as bedrooms as a destination for a first date!
He looked quickly past the option of Hell’s Kitchens and the Insane Laboratories. Mad inventors and rooms full of sharp implements were a particularly bad combination, in his opinion.
All that left was…
Lenny sighed. “Shall we start from the bottom?” he said, pointing to the sign which pointed both to the dungeons and the tea-shoppe.
Alia blinked her long eyelashes as she considered. “Well, I could do with something to drink,” she nodded, at last.
“Right then. It’s decided.” Lenny hesitated, then spoke again. “Umm… how exactly do you suppose we go straight down from here?”
“There’s a staircase at the back of the hall,” replied the girl without hesitation. “It’s just behind that door over there. The one that says ‘to the Dungeons’.”
He squinted. There was definitely a sign on the door, but he could barely make out the fact that there were words, never mind what they were!
“How did you know that?” he demanded.
“The show used this place as an Activity location, two years ago,” she said, slipping her small hand into his. “My sister came here on one of her dates. Shall we go?”
Her fingers felt warm and delicate, intertwined in his own. He was torn between worrying about what the date would hold and wondering whether he should read anything into her small gesture of affection.
“Your sister?” he asked, to take his mind off both subjects. “She was on ‘Blind Date’ too?”
They headed towards the door behind the marble staircase. As they neared it, Lenny indeed saw that it had the expected message marked on it. Exactly what it said on the signpost:
Dungeons of Extreme Torture. Pits of the Forgotten. Crypts and Caverns. Tea-Shoppe.
That was just typical of the show, he thought, wearily. You might get eaten, but you wouldn’t get lost!
Alia looked resigned, as she answered his question. “My three sisters and my brother too. Ever since my parents met on the show, they’ve become convinced that it’s the only way to find true love. Especially my father – he’s very definite on the subject.”
Lenny hesitated at the doorway, wondering if he was making the right choice. Then he mentally surrendered. In a place like this, there were only wrong choices to make. He might as well get it over with.
“And…uhh… has it worked for them?” he asked, gazing down at the torch-lit stairway before them.
Alia stepped forward, tugging at Lenny’s hand. He followed unwillingly.
“Oh yes,” she said. “Well, mostly, anyway. Two of my sisters are married now. The other one got eaten by a giant leech, but they managed to cut her out before the digestive juices did too much damage. She spent some time in Post-Show Rehabilitation and started up a thing with her therapist. My brother’s been dating the same contestant for a few years now. The thing is, though, that she’s from a world where the wedding ceremony consists of cutting off the Groom’s Mother’s head as a symbolic gesture. I doubt they’ll be getting married any time soon.”
“Oh,” he said, stupidly. The staircase was not wide and Alia was brushing up against him as they descended together. It was distracting, to say the least. As was the faint musk of her perfume, the way her hair shone in the torchlight and, to be blunt, the amount of jiggling that was going on in the upper portion of her bodice.
Even if, contrary to his past experiences, she was romantically interested in him, she was simply too good to be true. There had to be a catch, he thought, anxiously. Or did there?
He would never know unless he asked. He tried to phrase a tactful question, skirting around the edges of his concerns.
“Umm… so… how many shows have you been on?”
‘Let it be one, let it be one, let it be one,’ he chanted to himself, unaware that he was squeezing down on her fingers. She uttered a little whimper of protest and he blushed in the near-darkness.
“Eight,” she sighed, dashing his fondest hopes. “So far.”
They reached the bottom step. A musty-smelling tunnel lay before them, leading in a single direction. The atmosphere was slightly spoiled by the neon sign flashing up at ceiling-level, saying:
Dungeons of EXTREME Torture
“Subtle,” murmured Lenny as they set off down the passage. He halted suddenly as he heard a distant scream. It sounded like someone’s intestines were being dragged out through their ears – and not in a good way!
Now it was Alia’s turn to tighten her fingers around his. He swallowed his own fear and tried to look reassuring as he turned to her.
“We could go back if you like?”
She turned to him. Her breath was shallow and very, very visible, straining against the lace-up bodice. Suddenly, he found himself wondering whether eight appearances was that much, and whether she could really be all that bad. And whether his trousers had always been this tight or uncomfortable.
“Where else would we go?” she asked, softly.
“I guess you’re right,” he said, trying to sound sympathetic instead of just plain scared. He ventured an arm around her waist and was delighted when she pressed against him in obvious gratitude.
Whatever was coming up, extreme torture or not, it would almost be worth it, for this moment alone!
They made their way through the tunnel, keeping close as the screams and shrieks grew louder. It sounded terrible. Their imaginations huddled, frightened to venture into the pictures that those appalling howls conjured.
Hence, it was rather a shock when they turned a dank corner, only to find a long line of creatures queued up against the left-hand side of the corridor. They talked amongst themselves in low voices, apparently oblivious to the suffering that was so audible to the two newcomers. More than anything else, it reminded Lenny of a theme-park, with a row of hopefuls waiting to test out the new ride.
Another anguished cry rent the air. The crowd shuffled and whispered to each other.
Lenny leaned over to Alia, talking in a low but urgent voice.
“What’s going on?”
She looked perplexed. “I don’t know. My sister never came this way. What should we do?”
He gulped, knowing that he had been about to ask her the very same question. His male vanity rebelled against saying ‘I don’t know’. Alia was relying on him, he had better think quickly and think well.
He made up his mind. “Whatever they’re queuing for, it can’t be good,” he whispered, eyeing the tunnel ahead nervously. “I say we go on and see if we can bypass the dungeons and go straight for the tea. Okay?”
Alia nodded, giving him a quick, if rather bleak, smile.
The two of them sidled along, trying not to catch the attention of those who lined the corridor. They needn’t have bothered. None of the individuals in the queue seemed to be at all interested in the passing couple. From time to time, they shuffled forward, looking resigned to a long wait and gossiping as the cries echoed through the cold stone walls. After a while, Lenny stopped taking any notice of them (the line of creatures, not the screams), and started concentrating on not falling over his sword again.
At length, they passed another twist in the corridor and came to a barrier. A putrid stench befouled the air, and it seemed to be coming from the thing that blocked their way. Lenny felt his throat click dryly as he looked at the creature that faced him.
It was just under six feet tall, but it was as wide as a hippopotamus, and about ten times as muscular. It’s skin was mottled white and sickly, and although it barely seemed to have a nose, the hugeness of its mouth and eyes made up for the lack. They were three dark pits of nothingness, yawning grotesquely out of its face. It curled sharp-taloned fingers over the barrier and leaned forward, leaking acidic dribble down the corners of its mouth.
“You want the sssservicccce, Sssssir? Madam? You’ll have to queue, like everyone elssssse.”
Lenny took a step backwards – firstly because this thing was straight out of his nightmare – secondly, because it smelled worse than a group of pensioners after their first curry-night – and thirdly, because he didn’t want to be eaten alive by burning drool.
“I… I…” he stammered. “I mean… can’t we just pass?”
“That would be…”
The thing’s words were interrupted when a tiny bell tinkled from a dark recess above.
“Oh. Excussssse me a moment.” It switched its attention to the tall humanoid in the queue beside them. “Your turn, Sssssir. Will you be requiring sssspeccccial cosssstuming? What number whip did you require? Any hot pokerssss? Pinccccerssss? We have a sssspecccccial deal on sssssspikesssss today. No? Well, off you go then.”
He raised the barrier and the humanoid scuttled through. Before anyone else could think of joining him, the barrier was dropped with a definite ‘thud’.
“Passsss, Sssssir?” Droplets of acid sizzled on the ground. “Going to the Pitsssss, are we? Or the Cryptssss?”
“Actually,” said Alia, her voice steady despite the fact that she was trembling against him, “We wanted to go for a cup of tea.”
“And a scone,” piped up Lenny, and immediately wished he hadn’t.
“Well, I’m sssssure you know what you’re doing, Sssssir. Madam. Although we do a thirty percccccent dissssscount for couplessssss. No? Ah well, you’d better passsss then.”
He raised the barrier with obvious reluctance. Lenny and Alia squeezed past him with a reluctance that was no less obvious. They turned the final corner and came to a wide, metal-reinforced door. Another shriek rent the air and they clutched each other nervously. Still, as there was nowhere else to go, they turned the handle and pushed it open, stepping inside..
The heat hit them like an all-over body punch. They reeled and stared into the dungeon, seeing but not comprehending.
The room was huge, its vast stone walls supported by pillars that sweated in the furnace-like atmosphere. Braziers were lit, pokers were sizzling and hot coals lay in random paths through the room, like obstacles in a hellish version of mini-golf.
There were swinging chains, sturdy-looking ceiling hooks and steel rings everywhere, with people attached to them. Whips and blades, iron maidens and heavy weights were not just there to add atmosphere, it seemed.
Whilst the tortured seemed to be of all races, the torturers were obviously denizens of the house itself. Ghouls raked their poisonous claws down blooded backs. Zombies fed on the flesh of the imprisoned and black-fleshed creatures of the night sharpened their knives as their victims struggled.
A gaunt-faced zombie-girl lumbered up to them as they backed against the door.
“I’m sorry,” she said, in drab tones, “Everyone is busy right now. If you’ll just wait there, someone will shackle you in a moment.
“Uhh… we’re not… what is this place?” Lenny blurted the question out.
“We’re looking for the tea-shoppe,” added Alia, her voice unnaturally high.
“Oh,” the undead-girl seemed to slump even further. “Well, you follow the room around, past the branding irons, turn right at the nooses and you’ll see a door ahead. That should lead you in the right direction.”
She looked out over the scenes of horror before her. “Pathetic, isn’t it?” she droned, conversationally. “Time was when the dungeons were really something! Camaraderie, job satisfaction, the lot. Now look at us! I’d walk right past, too, if I were you. Come to think of it, I’d walk right past if I were me – that is, if I had a choice – which I don’t. Worst luck.”
Lenny was busily edging around the zombie-girl, pulling Alia along with him. A rictus of a grin was fastened firmly to his face as he nodded and smiled and tried to increase the distance between them, so that he could get out of this hellish place.
The girl, it seemed, was intent on having a conversation, even if it was one-sided.
“I mean, what’s the point in victims that pay to come in here?” she lurched after them plaintively. “The screams are…”
She paused, as another scream resounded in their eardrums.
“…all very well,” she continued, drearily, “but afterwards they thank you for it. It’s so humiliating! You get the hottest pincers and the rustiest scissors, and what do you get for it? Some complete pervert asking if you’ve got anything more ‘EXTREME’!”
She sighed and sped up to match their pace (which by now was half-jogging). “I’m not in favour of it myself. I mean, the wages are better than they used to be, but where’s the tradition? That’s what I want to know. Torturing to order, there’s something very wrong, if you ask me.”
Nobody had. Lenny and Alia broke into a full-fledged run as they got to the branding-irons. They dodged past a wailing and broken-looking victim, just in time to hear him moan, “Ooooh, that was good… very professional…” to the dispirited-looking vampire who appeared to be feeding off him.
It was only when they turned right at the gibbets and hurdled a particularly wide flame-pit, though, that the undead clerk seemed to finally give up on them. They heard a final, plaintive drone of:
“You see what I have to put up with?”
Before she turned back. They could see the door ahead. It read: To the Pits of the Forgotten – Abandon Hope All Ye Who Entrée Here!
It seemed that being dead was no guarantee of being able to spell properly. Either that, or they were about to be eaten. At this point, Lenny was quite willing to trade up to some time in the stew-pot. Anything was better than spending another five minutes listening to the zombie-girl’s complaints!
With no further ado, they opened the door and flew through it, clutching each others’ hands in a mutual death-grip. So fast were they going, that they only just managed to avoid falling head-first down a steep flight of steps. Wheeling their arms for balance, they came to a stop with inches to spare.
“Further down?” asked Lenny, unwillingly.
Alia shrugged, looking resigned. “It did say the pits.”
“The Pits of the Forgotten,” he murmured. “Any idea what lies ahead?”
She shook her head, nervously. “We’ll just have to find out the hard way. Let’s go.”
“Okay,” agreed Lenny. Then, when neither of them moved, he sighed and ventured to take her hand again. Together, they started down the dim staircase.
Flames guttered and smoked from the torches in the alcoves. Even so, they were spaced so far apart that there was only a dim glow every so often. The stairs were slightly slippery with moss and there was no handrail. It became a slow ordeal to pick their way down, from step to step. From above, they could still hear the occasional cry of anguish. Below them, though, there was nothing.
It was unnerving. What else could they do, though, but go on? The staircase seemed to go on forever, but at last they hit the point where there were no more.
Lenny and Alia looked out into a wide pit of damp stone. At least, they attempted to. Due to the mist that rose thickly all around, they were unable to see more than a few feet ahead at a time.
“Straight ahead?” whispered Lenny.
Alia nodded, swallowing nervously. They started into the mist.
It began almost immediately. There was a plaintive chittering. It sounded like a small forest-creature, crying for its mother. Although vaguely familiar, Lenny had never heard anything quite like it before. Alia, however, stopped in her tracks.
“Dintsi?” she said, staring incredulously into the mist.
“Huh?” asked Lenny, glancing from the mist to Alia, and back to the mist again.
She didn’t answer him. Instead, she took a step forward and held out her hand, tentatively.
“Dintsi,” she called, still looking at something that Lenny couldn’t see. Worried now, he kept pace with her.
“Alia – what are you staring at?”
“It’s Dintsi,” she explained, explaining nothing.
He frowned and put a hand on her shoulder. “I realise that,” he said, patiently, “but what’s Dintsi?”
Alia never even looked at him. Her face was alight with a kind of childish hope.
“He’s my pet river-gumb,” she said, wriggling to shake free of his restraint. “I haven’t seen him for ages. Not since…”
She trailed off, as if lost in memories.
“There’s nothing there.” Lenny turned her face to his. “I can’t see anything. I think this must be…”
Now it was his turn to go silent. From another direction, there was a shout that sent chills down his spine.
“Yoo-hoo! Lensie! Where’s my little boy?”
His hand fell bonelessly from Alia’s shoulder, while his mind slowly turned to putty.
Granny Cludge! What was she doing here? Monstrous images rose in his mind, of wrinkly skin and the scent of lavender and old-person; a chin so thick with whiskers that it was almost worthy of being called five o’clock shadow and that dreadful croaking voice, demanding:
“Come and give Granny a great big kiss!”
The mist was thickening, but he could still see the shape shuffling towards him. Bent and arthritic, yet still an image full of horror. He half-turned, only to see that Alia was disappearing into the mist behind him. His nerve snapped and he half-stumbled, half-sprinted after her.
“Dintsi – come on, boy – why won’t you come?” Alia talked to the invisible creature in a sing-song voice. She stepped steadily onwards, holding her hand out and making little clucking and chirruping noises of her own.
Lenny struggled to think. His mind was clouded with images of non-existent pets and elderly relatives and…
‘She’s dead.’
“Uhh… Alia…” he began, only the thought had already vanished into the clouds again.
‘Granny Cludge died sixteen years ago.’
The thought wandered through his head, making as much sense as a town-centre Evangelist, and being every bit as persistent. Slowly, Lenny fitted the words together, as if he were doing a particularly difficult jigsaw.
“Uhh… Alia…” he tried again. “When did you last see… umm… Ditsi?”
“Dintsi,” she corrected, absently. “He disappeared when I was seven.”
She stopped as if only now considering the implications.
“Granny’s here. Lensie!”
With a monumental effort of will, Lenny ignored the voice behind him. “So how old do these river-whatsits live to, anyway?”
“I…” Alia’s eyes began to clear a little. Just a little. “Six or seven years? But he’s right there!”
“I don’t see anything.” A shambling form came out of the mist behind them. Lenny pointed. “Do you see her?”
“Who?”
“That’s what I thought.” Lenny pressed his hands against the sides of his head, struggling to make his brain work against the cloudiness. “I think… they’re dead.”
“Dead? He’s just over there.”
Alia turned. Lenny turned her back so forcefully that she stumbled against him. He locked fervent eyes with hers, holding her attention. “They’re dead, Alia. I don’t know how, but they’re just in our heads. Maybe we forgot about them, and the Pits have brought them back. I don’t know. We’ve got to get out of here!”
Something of his words was getting through to her. He only wished it would happen quicker. The old Granny was advancing on him moment by moment.
“But… I loved Dintsi,” she offered, hesitantly. “What’s so wrong about staying here? It’s better than the dungeon, isn’t it? We can get to see all those things that we’ve lost in the past. All the things we miss.”
Granny was too close now. Lenny, somewhere in the depths of his brain, knew that it was irrational to feel this way about her – she was just a kind old lady who wanted to get to know her grandson better. It still followed, though, that the only image he got when he thought of her was of two wrinkled and whiskery lips, pursed and accelerating towards his face in a way that offered no escape.
Heart thudding, he retreated away from her, stopping only when Alia began to make crooning noises at her imaginary pet.
“Quit that,” he said, made irritable by his fear. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“Why?”
“Do you really want to come face-to-face with everything you’ve forgotten?” he demanded. “What about… what about the monster-under-the-bed?” he asked, feeling triumphant until he saw the blank look on her face.
“Okay then – what about…” he floundered. “Have you woken up from a nightmare and not been able to remember it, a couple of minutes later? Do you want to encounter that while you’re down here?”
This time he scored. Her face paled.
“We need to leave,” she said, looking scared.
Lenny nodded. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Trouble is, I don’t know how. We can’t see a thing through this mist!”
“So… something wants to keep us down here?” Alia paused thoughtfully, looking ethereally beautiful in the midst of the fog. “In that case, all we need to do is keep away from the things that tempt us, and move towards the things that are trying to scare us away.”
Lenny’s mouth hung open. It was brilliantly simple. It was also brilliantly awful.
Alia seemed oblivious to his discomfort. “Let’s see if I’m right,” she said, wrapping an arm around his waist and heading directly towards the shuffling spectre of Nana Cludge.
Hanging back in terror would not have been macho. Even so, it was a near thing. Male pride and unreasoning horror picked up their hammers and made war inside his head. The result was that his legs were jelly, his eyes were scrunched tight shut and his stomach was doing its best blender-impersonation as he shuffled forwards, into the horrors of the unthought of and the forgotten.
Granny Cludge got closer and closer, hovering into lip’s range and smelling of mustiness and lavender as she cackled and gibbered and…
…became insubstantial after the mere shadow of one of her horrible kisses.
After that, it was a long and tortuous journey to the exit. None of the nightmares and temptations could touch them, but here in the mist, with their hearts and minds muddied by phantoms, it didn’t seem that way. The spirits of the barely-remembered tugged at them and, when that didn’t work, repelled them with equal ferocity.
Time seemed incalculable and they had no idea how long they had been in the pits when they finally caught sight of the stairs. They struggled up out of the mist, no longer caring whether they were heading back to the dungeons or on to the crypts. Still, as their minds cleared and the next signpost appeared, they felt a profound sense of relief.
This Way to Crypts&Caverns. Take a Break at the Tea-Shoppe.
Lenny gasped as Alia flung herself into his arms and hugged him tightly. He wrapped his arms around her as awkwardly as if she had been Granny Cludge – but with a lot less reluctance. He wondered – for the umpteenth time – whether she had any real interest in him, or whether she was just relieved at having survived this long in a haunted house. He wondered if his curse was finally broken and whether one Blind Date would be enough to get him the girl of his dreams. Then he wondered what it was that had made the Producer so happy with his choice of Alia. He had the bleak suspicion that, far from having his cake and eating it, he would end up tripping on it, doing a double-somersault, putting his back out and landing face-first in the cream!
Finally, she disengaged herself, slightly red-eyed but with a weak smile.
“Sorry,” she said, looking a little embarrassed.
“Don’t be,” he answered, and meant it. He smiled back in return. “What you need… is a nice cup of tea.”
“You’re a good friend,” was her slightly disturbing response. Just as his heart was sinking to the pit of his stomach, she leaned in and pressed her lips against his in a kiss.
To his lasting regret, it was over before he had a chance to get over his amazement. There had been none of the full-on passion of the shapeshifter, a few hours before. Then again, it had seemed, even in its brevity, to hold the promise of something more than the platonic. Compared to his recent experiences with Granny-kisses, it was the sublime and the ridiculous! But what had she meant by it?
Before Lenny could ask, Alia was tugging him forward by the hand again, and the moment was gone. They were breathless by the time they got to the top of the steps, but it was only a short walk until they came to a junction in the passageway. To the left, there was a sign, reading:
Crypts&Caverns. Advanced, Five Hundred and Sixteenth Edition!
To the right, the sign read:
Tea-Shoppe – Rest, Weary Traveller.
As they hesitated, they heard faint voices coming from the left. It blended with the clash of metal upon metal.
“Hey, watch what you’re doing with that thing. It’s a plus-five sword – you could take someone’s head off with that!”
<tzing><clash>
“That’s the idea!”
<crash><clash>
“Wait! I want a ref’s decision on this one. Hey, Ref! Does a 3 save?” <smack><squelch!> “ARRRGHHHhhhhhhhh!”
<pause>
“Apparently not.”
Lenny looked at Alia. “Let’s go get some tea?”
She nodded. “Let’s.”
They went right, into a rock corridor that ended at a door. Experience had taught them to look before they leapt, and so they pushed the door open and peered inside first.
Considering what they had dealt with so far, this seemed fairly innocent. The theme was Sweet-Grisly, but that was the worst that could be said about it.
The rock walls had been painted pink and speckled with pinkprick dots of red. The overall impression was of being inside someone’s stomach-lining. Various skulls hung from the ceiling, with candles embedded behind the eye-sockets for illumination. Four drudge-zombies were engaged in menial tasks; fetching and carrying, sweeping the floor and rubbing a rag over the table tops. There were three customers of varying species, all looking relaxed and comfortable, with a variety of mouth (and eye) watering drinks and dishes in front of them. Each of them was sitting at a different, yet identical, table. The tablecloths were of a recurring ghost-in-a-waistcoat motif that wasn’t even cute the first time you looked at it. The crockery and cutlery carried on the same motif ad nauseam.
At the far end of the room, there was a wide counter, filled with surprisingly appetising dainties. The caterer looked old and wizened but definitely alive, which was a relief. A dumbwaiter descended rapidly as they watched, delivering a plate of hot something, before disappearing upward again.
They ventured carefully between the tables and went to look at the menu-board. It read:
Dishes of the Day
Eyeball Stew
Sticky Ribs
Corpse-fingers
Entrails on a bed of wild hellgrass
Pot of tea and a cream bun
Bile-duct Soup (with a roll)
Diced rodent on toast
Selection of sweet cakes
Selection of blood cakes
Hot chocolate – with live marshmallows
If you do not see what you require, please ask
“I might have had more appetite if I hadn’t read the menu,” murmured Lenny under his breath. Then, to Alia. “Fancy anything?”
To his relief, she looked as unenthused by the selection as he did. Whatever was wrong with her, at least her tastes didn’t run to yumming-up on eyeballs and diced rodent!
“I’ll just have a pot of tea,” she ventured, at last. She raised her voice a little and addressed the old woman behind the counter. “What sort of tea is it, please?”
The crone rattled off a list of completely incomprehensible names, in a bored voice. Lenny was lost at the first, but Alia seemed to understand what she was talking about, and seemed relieved at the answers she was getting.
“I’ll have the Licerain blend,” she said, raising her hand to cut off the litany. When she saw the bemused look on her date’s face, she added, “It’s nice. You’ll like it.”
“Uhh… okay.” Lenny gave her an uncertain smile. “Do you want to grab a table?”
She smiled back at him – the first genuinely happy expression he had seen on her face so far. It transformed her from being merely beautiful to breathtaking. With difficulty, he prised his eyes away from her and set his mind to the task of ordering some tea.
“One pot of… of what she just said.” Lenny pointed at his date who was busy settling herself at a corner table. “And… umm… what’s in that cake?”
“Cream, Sir,” wheezed the crone.
“And?” he prompted.
“Sugar, Sir. Eggs, flour, a touch of cinnamon, water…” She addressed him patiently, as if she were talking to a small child.
“No blood then?” he interrupted, feeling foolish.
“The blood cakes are over there, sir.”
“Right then. I’ll have two of those.” He gave a sigh of relief.
“Complementary, Sir. Always happy to oblige contestants from the show.”
It was only then that it occurred to Lenny that he hadn’t brought any money with him – especially not the kind that a place like this would accept. He doubted his cheque guarantee card would hold much sway here, although these creatures might make a nice snack out of it if the menu was anything to go by.
He had got lucky for once. He turned around to offer a reassuring smile to Alia, only to find that she was nowhere to be seen. Scanning the room again, he found that it made no difference at all. His date was well and truly gone!
“What’s happened to Alia?” he demanded, his voice unnaturally loud in the pinkness of the tea-room.
“Alia, Sir? Oh, you mean your date?” The woman clucked her tongue. “Oh no. It’s happened again. Luuuunston!”
One of the lantern-skulls detached itself from the hook and came floating down to hover between Lenny and the counter-woman.
As he gaped, the crone addressed the floating head.
“The young lady who came in with this gentleman. What happened to her, Lunston?”
The jaw yawned open. It turned to face a corner table. “Swiiiing,” it said, in rusty tones.
“Oh dear.” She turned back to Lenny and grimaced apologetically at him. “It looks like one side or another has pulled the revolving table trick on her, Sir. She’s gone now, won’t be back.”
“Gone?!” Lenny pulled his voice down an octave or two, then repeated, “Gone? What do you mean? Who’s taken her? What’s happened to her? Where is she? How do I…”
“Please, sit down,” interrupted the woman, gesturing to one of the tables. “I’ll pour, shall I? Then I’ll see if I can explain.”
Lenny hovered, tempted to start breaking things, to start screaming and grabbing this woman by the throat until she spilled the truth… or… or… until he felt better, anyhow! Then he looked at the undead cleaners and wondered how his inadequate sword-play would test against those creatures. Unwillingly, he sat and allowed the woman to pour him some tea. He left it untouched and stared accusingly at her.
She sat down with a creak and a groan. “Now, my lad, you want to know where your girl has got to? Well, it’s hard to say. Either side may have taken her. There’s the Lady’s forces and then there’s the Sister of Mercy and her minions. Either way, you won’t get her back without a fight.”
“But what would anyone want with Alia?” demanded Lenny, helplessly.
“Both sides want the same thing. The one thing that’s been driving this war for nearly two years now.”
She paused, then said, with a drama that seemed, in the circumstances, overdone. “The remote control!”
“The… what…?”
The old lady looked at him in all seriousness. “There was much rejoicing in the house when two viewing screens were bought, a few years back. One went downstairs, one on the upper floor. Peace and harmony reigned between all spirits and lost souls. Then, disaster. The upstairs remote control went missing and, despite looking down the back of the couch and under the bed and in the old garbage heaps, it was never seen again. Well, there was nothing else to be done. A raid was carried out and the upper floor returned triumphant with the one remaining TV control. Then a counter-strike, and a retaliation and on it went. Now, two years on, we have the War of the Remote Control. Two TVs, one remote control – it’s anarchy waiting to happen! Your girl probably got taken as a hostage. You wait – there’ll be a ransom demand before long. Whichever side took her will try to trade for her safe return.”
Lenny’s throat was dry. “What do they want?”
“Haven’t you been listening, my lad? The remote control. Unless you can give them that, they’ll send your girl in after it herself. They might do that anyway, come to think of it.”
At that moment, the corner table whirled around with an audible clunk. Lenny leapt up, spilling hot droplets of tea on the tablecloth as he sprinted over. There was a note, pinned to the ghostly tablecloth.
We have the female. She is safe – for now. Bring us the remote control or she will not remain that way for long.
Warriors of Our Lady
He sank onto the chair, only to leap up again at the thought of it revolving around into the wall again. Instead, he stumbled back to the table where the old woman still sat.
“Warriors of Our Lady,” he said, fighting the urge to shout. “Who are they? What do I have to do to get the remote control? How can I get Alia back?”
“Well,” began the old crone, doubtfully. “The Lady dwells upstairs, so presumably the remote control is with the ground floor lot at the moment. You could go up the back steps to the upper floor and talk to her, I suppose. She might settle for less – or at least a different trade. Hard to tell with Her Ladyship though. Or you could just go straight after the control. The dumbwaiter leads directly up into the kitchens. It’ll save you the walk through the pits and dungeons, at least. If you want to track your girl directly, just sit at the corner table and we’ll whirl you around, you can chase after her from there, you might catch them yet.”
She paused. “But if I were you, I’d just forget the whole thing. No tourist ever came to good who went after the remote control. You’ll be marching straight into a war zone, sonny. Stay here and have a nice cup of tea and a cake. How about it, eh?”
She gave him a yellow-toothed smile and patted him on the arm. Lenny barely felt it. His thoughts were circling around a single question:
“What am I going to do now?”
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LordoftheNight
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| Posted: Tue Feb 28, 2006 8:58 am Post subject: |
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well, he knows from reading his dads books that if he doesn't get allia back then he'll have to resit the date until he's satisfied, so he'll have to get her somehow
i wouldn't adive using the table - he doesn't know how many of them there are, and bursting in to use his rusty sword skills isn't wise
i wouldn't advise going straight after the remote - who knows where exactly it is, and who else is there
i'd go to see the lady, find out if a different trade can be made instead
_________________
Punishment leads to Fear. Fear leads to Obedience. Obedience leads to Freedom. Therefore, Punishment leads to Freedom.
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Smee
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| Posted: Tue Feb 28, 2006 9:46 am Post subject: |
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Oooh awesome chapter and decision point. 
A lot to take in though.
I'll be back with thoughts.
Happy Writing 
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Key
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| Posted: Tue Feb 28, 2006 10:11 am Post subject: |
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Great chapter.
I agree that he should try to talk to the Lady, arrange a different trade. Take the dumbwaiter up, avoid the pits and dungeons.
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Solomon Birch
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| Posted: Tue Feb 28, 2006 11:31 am Post subject: |
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| Quote: | | There was much rejoicing in the house when two viewing screens were bought |
*Titter* Hilarious chapter your Stoatliness! 
As for how he's going to win back Alia.... *ponders*
I think that he should forget Alia and ask to have a date with the shape-chang..... no, that would just be silly.
I think that he's going to rationalize that a daring rescue attempt would be the best way to win Alia's heart, and he desperately needs all the help he can get if he's going to avoid another 'let's be friends' situation! So I think that despite it's dangers, he should let them use the table to go after her, and if he can catch up with her captors and try and rescue her. Otherwise he can follow them (or their trail) to find where she is being kept and then either try and rescue her or reason with her captors, wheter its for finding the remote or some other task.
If I can come up with another idea that possibly involves mudsharks and yellow-snow, I shall return....
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Thesopholis - A Noir Sci-Fi Story - Chapter 8 is up! Read it here
The End of the Voyage - Chapter 9
Shady the Furry Goblin! [Demon's, Satan and Slobadan Milosevic!] - Chapter 3
The Quest for the Legendary Rubber-Duckie! - Chapter 3
One Last Bullet.... Chapter 3
Green Eyes - Chapter 5
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Solomon Birch
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| Posted: Tue Feb 28, 2006 1:01 pm Post subject: |
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Lordy, you really should just give your posts a once over before you post em'
Then you wouldn't have so many mistakes...
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"Humankind cannot stand too much reality" - T.S. Elliot
Thesopholis - A Noir Sci-Fi Story - Chapter 8 is up! Read it here
The End of the Voyage - Chapter 9
Shady the Furry Goblin! [Demon's, Satan and Slobadan Milosevic!] - Chapter 3
The Quest for the Legendary Rubber-Duckie! - Chapter 3
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Ingrothechundyer
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| Posted: Tue Feb 28, 2006 2:20 pm Post subject: |
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| Hmm negotiating a different trade is starting to sound like the best option right now.
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DukeReg
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| Posted: Tue Feb 28, 2006 2:47 pm Post subject: |
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I'm thinking that he should use the revolving table immediately. Surely he will be able to find the ones who took Alia, and get to the Lady more easily that way.
He should catch the warriors and use them as guides/escorts. He should not, of course, start swinging his sword at them, but if he finds them right away, he wont get lost like he would if he tried to find his way there by a different route on his own.
Once he gets there, he should try to negotiate with the Lady, in such a way as to avoid The Remote Wars as much as possible.
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| Posted: Tue Feb 28, 2006 3:22 pm Post subject: |
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I'm with Duke Reg here, go after her. If you can join her at least you could go after the remote together.
Excellent chapter Stoat.
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| Posted: Wed Mar 01, 2006 1:54 am Post subject: |
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Offering a trade seems a popular idea at the moment.
Maybe Lenny should put some thought into what type of thing he could offer in return for Alia? Obviously the specifics will depend on the situation, but he's much more likely to succeed if he's done a little planning in advance.
Suggestions, anyone?
And thanks for all the gratuitous compliments too. Glad you liked the chapter 
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Smee
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| Posted: Wed Mar 01, 2006 4:29 am Post subject: |
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Yep - Duke has a good point there.
Swing round and get going.
I'm still wondering what the catch is with Alia - there must be something for her to have been on the show so many times. Although saying that the contestants are rarely pleasant so maybe she's just been unlucky.
Happy Writing
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LordoftheNight
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| Posted: Wed Mar 01, 2006 6:34 am Post subject: |
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well, Larry (i think that wsa his name) was on the show for how many times? it's not always that theres something wrong with them - maybe there's just nothing wrong, which becomes a problem
_________________
Punishment leads to Fear. Fear leads to Obedience. Obedience leads to Freedom. Therefore, Punishment leads to Freedom.
Ave Dominus Nox
A Fronte Praecipitium a Tergo Lupi
Blood Bowl
Scraping the Barrel
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Passion
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ethereal_fauna
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| Posted: Wed Mar 01, 2006 6:57 am Post subject: |
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*giggles* Granny kisses 
Don't go after her by way of the spinning table. Obviously you aren't going to be able to catch up that way...otherwise they wouldn't keep using the damn thing to kidnap people. This has been done before, so you're dealing with pros.
I like Key's idea of taking the dumbwaiter, but rather than heading up to the Lady, he should go down to where the remote is. Just ask to look at the thing. If he's any good at slight-of-hand then try to liberate the remote and trade it for Alia. Otherwise, think up something clever.
Maybe an elaborate time-share system, complete with a catchy slogan about turning off the television and getting outdoors to enjoy life (somewhat like those cheesy public service announcements they play during children's programming these days, in an effort to combat the problem of childhood obesity). Find out when whoever watches whatever show...it's doubtful that the same programs are preferred downstairs as upstairs, and possible that the favorites air at different times.
He's always been good at listening. Just get in that dreaded friend zone with the Sister of Mercy and her minions, and then see if you can't do the same with the Lady upstairs (who might be more inclined to accept you if you've actually touched the remote that she covets).
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| Posted: Wed Mar 01, 2006 3:11 pm Post subject: |
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Go get the remote by any means necessary, then sit in front of the TV and forget about Alia. Channel surf 
And remember, no matter what she looks like, some man some where is tired of putting up with her crap.
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And the story goes The Orc and The Not so Fat Fat Fairy
The Orc says....
The Twisty Stoat says....
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| Posted: Wed Mar 01, 2006 4:09 pm Post subject: |
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| Quote: | | And remember, no matter what she looks like, some man some where is tired of putting up with her crap. |
Hehe! I have seen that one before, and I liked it then too!
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| Posted: Thu Mar 02, 2006 9:56 pm Post subject: |
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Our man is a listener, let him use his talents.
And I'm wondering, with Alia - maybe she's jinxed? She always looks so sad, so maybe her dates keep dying Look at what happened to the snowman. Heh, look at where he is now. Death seems to be a possibility (though of course not a desireable one).
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| Posted: Fri Mar 03, 2006 12:29 pm Post subject: |
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Great Chapter!
I think he should go straight for the remote. Battle plan?
"Quick, eveybody abandon everything, there's a team of Ghost Busters at the door!"
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| Posted: Fri Mar 03, 2006 1:47 pm Post subject: |
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| D-Lotus wrote: | Battle plan?
"Quick, eveybody abandon everything, there's a team of Ghost Busters at the door!" |
I like this.
I still think they should take the table, but this would be a good backup if he gets into strife at any time...
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| Posted: Fri Mar 03, 2006 1:49 pm Post subject: |
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| Would there be any possibility of finding another remote in this world? Maybe he could offer to go on a quest for one if the Lady will allow Alia to go with him to help.
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| Posted: Mon Mar 06, 2006 3:52 am Post subject: |
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| OK, I'm putting the poll up tomorrow. Thanks for the great responses, guys. I'll try to live up to all the effort you've put in
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Shady Stoat
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| Posted: Tue Mar 07, 2006 11:03 am Post subject: |
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| Poll's up for 3 days. Vote now now now
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ethereal_fauna
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| Posted: Tue Mar 07, 2006 11:19 am Post subject: |
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Sticking by the time-share idea. I want to hear him talk the Lady and the Sister into something agreeable.
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The maker of a sentence launches out into the infinite and builds a road into Chaos and old Night, and is followed by those who hear him with something of wild, creative delight. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Smee
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| Posted: Tue Mar 07, 2006 12:51 pm Post subject: |
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I like the idea of the great quest for a second remote.
Does this planet have an Argos?
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Solomon Birch
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| Posted: Tue Mar 07, 2006 12:53 pm Post subject: |
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For once I'm going to have to F5 someone. I agree with Smee; a second reomte quest sounds fun. Though I was tempted by the 'put the kettle on' idea. But that would be a little anti-climatic don't you think?
*holds breath*
_________________
"Humankind cannot stand too much reality" - T.S. Elliot
Thesopholis - A Noir Sci-Fi Story - Chapter 8 is up! Read it here
The End of the Voyage - Chapter 9
Shady the Furry Goblin! [Demon's, Satan and Slobadan Milosevic!] - Chapter 3
The Quest for the Legendary Rubber-Duckie! - Chapter 3
One Last Bullet.... Chapter 3
Green Eyes - Chapter 5
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| Posted: Wed Mar 08, 2006 12:43 pm Post subject: |
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I'm going for the second remote. There's gotta be another one on this planet somewhere, right?
~sunny
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| Posted: Fri Mar 10, 2006 11:00 am Post subject: |
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| The quest for the 2nd remote seems destined to get underway. To the lady for a negotiation then. Thanks everyone
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Shady Stoat
Elder
Joined: 02 Oct 2005
Topics: 76
Posts: 2950
Location: England
Items
Legends
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Strata-gems
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| Posted: Sat Mar 11, 2006 7:47 am Post subject: |
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CHAPTER NINETEEN: Pushing Buttons
Lenny was desperately aware of the seconds ticking by as he pondered.
He could give up on Alia, of course. His conscience squirmed at the prospect (and he silently damned his be-a-good-friend instincts to the deepest levels of hell!), but the fact remained that he could, theoretically, sit back down and have another pot of tea and…
…and what? Wait for this date to end – and the next one to begin? They wouldn’t let him off the show until he had got himself hooked up with some female or other. The next one might be a fire-breathing locust-beast, and he would still have to try and make it work, rather than return to the clutches of the Producer again!
Shrugging off that thought with a shudder, he considered taking the revolving table and giving chase to the kidnappers. He wouldn’t stand a chance against them in a fight, but maybe they could escort two people to the same destination as one?
Except that he already knew where they were heading – and had been given a shortcut to the destination. He had no reason to go running off after a set of undead thugs when he could just climb the back stairs and be there when Alia arrived. It was cowardly, true – but Lenny consoled himself with the fact that it was also practical.
Then again, if he was going to have to go after the remote anyway, maybe he had better just get it over with and take the dumbwaiter directly up to the ground floor. Then he could…
… get killed due to his complete incompetence with a weapon of any type and end up haunting this place along with all the other freaks and monsters! Not the best-thought-out plan he had ever hatched!
All that left was the Lady. The tea-shopped woman had said she might deal. So be it.
“Where are the back stairs?” he said, at last.
The crone pointed to another alcove. “Over there, sonny. You see the patterns of corniced flowers on the wall? Well, count sixteen up and seven from the left, then give the centre of the flower a good, firm press. That’ll get you to the secret stair.”
Lenny was already rushing over to the alcove. He called out a quick, but fervent, “Thanks!” before centring his attention on the task before him.
It seemed, all in all, a waste of perfectly good attention. Somewhere in the centre of the wall was a carnation-like flower, eight times as big as all of its neighbours, coloured in bright orange (by what looked like a child’s felt-tip), with a neon sign perched just over it. The sign read:
Press here for the SECRET PASSAGE!!!!!
Lenny rolled his eyes. This house may be many things, but subtle was not one of them! He pushed the flower into the wall with the heel of his hand and was rewarded by a set of flashing lights and victorious sounding bell-chimes. He stepped back hurriedly as the wall slid to one side, revealing a stone corridor behind it. A large signpost pointed right and upward, with the words:
CONGRATULATIONS!! You have found the SECRET PASSAGE!!!!!
“Yeah. Secret,” muttered Lenny and stepped inside. Instantly the wall slid closed again and he was left alone with only the regular neon signs for illumination.
He sighed and began to trudge along the corridor. His respect for the dangers he faced abruptly returned, as a row of three sharp spikes shot from the left side of the wall, nearly skewering him like so much kebab!
As his nerves were still trilling their alarms, a sign lit up at ceiling height.
You’re doing great!! (Note: Do not read this sign if you fell prey to the sharp spikes). This way to your destination!!!
His heart was doing the samba in his chest. Mingled with the fear was a level of irritation that Lenny had never reached before. This was irritation that had put in the hours of hard work and got its diploma. This was irritation that had slaved double-shifts at MacDonalds in its spare time, just so that it could earn its Irritation Degree. This was Irritation that had gone that one step further and become a Doctor of Irritation. In short, this was the sort of irritation that, in comic-books, would result in bulging muscles, an unsightly shade of green skin and the subsequent need to steal a pair of trousers from a convenient washing-line.
As this was not a comic-book, though, Lenny contented himself with kicking the wall so hard that his toes swelled up. He also said some words that were in danger of turning the air an even more startling shade of blue than the neon signs.
Thereafter, he trod (or rather, limped) somewhat more carefully along the corridor. The first pit trap nearly got him but he avoided the trip wires, the crossbow traps, the poison gas vents and the oh-so-devious bait-traps (a pedestal with a bunch of grapes on it and a sign above saying: Mmmm! I’m so delicious. Eat me!
The various encouraging signposts, he was not so good at avoiding. They popped up at every hazard, telling him that he was getting closer, that ‘he could do it’ and, in one case, that he was the 1000th survivor of this particular trap and he had won a small prize, claimable at the gift-shoppe (and while he was there, why not take advantage of some special souvenir photographs and real zombie-rock). As far as Lenny was concerned, the only prize he was interested in winning was to get out of this damned tunnel!
It was with great relief, therefore, that he saw a rickety wooden staircase at the end of the passageway. He forced himself to slow down and check for those few last traps. Finally, though, he reached the staircase and began to climb it with all the confidence of a paranoid in a firing range.
The stairs were untrapped. Bliss! The neon sign above the top door read only:
You have made it. Congratulations!!!
Lenny turned the handle and peered inside.
The first thing that hit him was the smell of cigar smoke. It pressed upon him like a physical force and he teetered on the top step, wafting away the drifting fume-clouds.
When the smoke cleared, and his eyes had stopped watering, he ventured another look inside and tried to make sense of what he was seeing.
The lighting was dim. There was a round table in a round room, with a dull brown tablecloth and an array of half-finished drinks. Six battered-looking chairs were pushed up around it. Two of them were empty, the other four were taken. The four residents of the room had turned to the door and were staring curiously at their new visitor.
Lenny knew he was in trouble. It was obvious at a glance that all four of the creatures were vampires. Black cloaks, slicked-back raven hair with the traditional widow’s peak. Pale skin and glowing red eyes. Teeth that would make an orthodontist rub his hands with glee – shortly before he got a bad case of anaemia.
What he couldn’t work out, though, was why they all held what looked suspiciously like playing-cards.
One of the vampires rose and moved with frightening swiftness. Before Lenny could react, they were face-to-face.
The vampire sniffed and licked the tip of one pointy fang. His eyebrow arched aristocratically as he spoke.
“Ahh… I believe we have a victim.”
There was an amused murmur from his associates. Lenny felt his adam’s apple bob as he tried to think of something smart to say. Something that would explain his situation and perhaps get him out of this mess.
All he could come up with was, squeak!
“What do you think, boys?” His eyes never left Lenny’s. “Should we bleed him dry?”
There was a chorus of eager assent. Lenny wanted to say that he’d been sent here. He wanted to say that he was here to speak to the Lady. He wanted to draw his sword or call upon the powers of light to rid him of these foul fiends… or to at least be able to beg for his life.
No words would come.
The vampire leaned in a little closer.
“The opening bid,” it hissed, “is five hundred credits. Fastest hand wins, cheating is only permitted during wild rounds and dealer plays blind. Take a seat… sucker.”
“Shouldn’t we be the suckers?” quipped another vampire. The tired laughter that followed suggested that this joke was an old and well-used one. The first creature stepped back and gestured at one of the empty chairs.
Lenny finally found his voice (although, in the sudden relief, he almost lost his leg muscles, not to mention those of his bowels!).
“Uhh… I-I’m here to see… th-the Lady?” he ventured, leaning back against the door for support.
The four players looked at each other in varying levels of bemusement. Then one of them seemed to understand. A shorter and slightly pudgier vampire than the others, he spoke up.
“Oh, I see. My dear boy, you’ve taken the wrong turn. Came in from the tea-shoppe, did you?”
The other vampires nodded with sudden comprehension.
“Err… yes?” Lenny replied, nervously.
“Ah. Understandable, of course. Well, old chap, you’ve taken the secret passage. I believe you’re after the hidden staircase!”
“But… but…” protested Lenny, “it was a great big button, with a sign on it and everything!”
The vampire shook its head, patiently. “It pays to advertise our little sessions here. You never know when a tourist might want to feel the bite… of the gambling bug.”
More forced laughter. “You need the flower sixteen up and seven from the left. It’s much more subtle. After all, nobody ever wants to visit…” he shuddered, slightly, “…her Ladyship.”
Lenny looked at them desperately.
“Does that mean I have to go all the way back?”
“I’m afraid so, my boy. Still, never despair and all that. You’ve survived the route once, I’m sure you can do it again. Unless, that is, you’d like to join the game?” He looked hopeful.
Lenny shook his head and grinned nervously. “No. I’d… err… better be off. People to rescue, you know how it is. I’ll just… umm… I’ll be going then. Goodbye.”
He finally edged out of the room far enough to shut the door behind him. After a few deep breaths, and a few seconds spent beating his head against the rock wall, he began the tortuous journey back.
This time the traps were easier to avoid and the signs were slightly less Air-Hostess Cheerful. They simply read: Leaving Already? and Come Back Soon!!
Still, precious time had been lost by the time that Lenny found his way back into the tea-shoppe. Wasting only a moment on a vehement glare at the crone, he quickly turned his attention to counting sixteen roses up and seven in from the left. He pressed down hard on a flower that looked like every other flower on the panel (bar one!), and the other side of the wall promptly slid back, to reveal a spiralling stone staircase.
This one looked much darker. There were no torches. No convenient luminescent glows. No welcoming neon signs, even.
Lenny sighed in relief. That was something, anyway! He stepped forward, onto the first step, and the wall slammed closed behind him.
Now he was in complete darkness. There was a wet chill to the air and a slight sense of claustrophobia. Reaching his arms out, he touched mossy stone on either side of him. He took a deep breath and started forward. After all, it wasn’t like he could get lost when the only directions were backwards and forwards. Even this house couldn’t mess around with something so simple. Could it?
Remembering the last tunnel, he wasn’t so sure. Nervously, he started to ascend, resting only half his weight on each new step until he was sure it wouldn’t disappear under him, feeling up and down the walls for any signs of tricks or traps.
Somehow, though, he didn’t think there would be any. This seemed like the sort of passage that you didn’t find unless one of the denizens wanted you to find it. If something up here wanted you dead, you would die. It was quite simple.
The stairs continued for a long time. Lenny began to feel spooked. He was almost, but not entirely, certain that something was following him up the steps. Whenever he stopped, though, there was nothing but silence.
It was ridiculous, of course. If the wall had slid open again, there would be a bit of light, at least. There was no way something could be behind him when he would have had to squeeze past it on his way up to this point.
Still, the hairs on the back of his neck and the even blacker shadows further down the stairs told him that there was something there. Since there was not a thing he could do about it, though, he simply gritted his teeth and carried on his slow progress up the stairs.
At last, his foot felt for the next step only to find that he was on a small stone landing. While the rocky walls to either side of him felt very solid indeed, there was the distinct shape of a wooden door in front. A cold metal doorknob turned easily and he found himself squinting as the door opened and light poured into the corridor.
Turning away, he took the opportunity to search for his pursuer while his eyes adjusted to the light. He was just in time to see two rocky shapes melting back into the walls on either side. After only a few seconds, they were gone as if they had never existed. Lenny blinked his eyes and stared, wondering if he had imagined the whole thing. Tentatively, he reached out to one of the walls.
“And who,” a rather husky voice cut in from behind him, “might you be?”
Lenny turned… and almost tumbled down the stairs in alarm. Standing framed in the doorway was something that he could only presume was the Lady.
She was dressed in a variety of black and pink lingerie. Leather, lace, fishnets and feathers, a fur boa and spiked heels. A highly elaborate blonde wig added to the dulcet effect in the way that solid muscles, a definite bulge in the posing pouch and the blond pencil-moustache did not.
“Whaaa…?” Lenny cleared his throat and tried again. “Are you… the Lady?”
She arched her eyebrows. “Want to make something of it?”
“Uhh… no… uhh…”
She stood back from the doorway. “Perhaps you’d like to come in?”
Lenny wasn’t at all sure that he’d like that, any more. Still, he’d come this far. Reluctantly, he squeezed past the Lady and entered her boudoir.
He winced. Everything was pink and satiny. A pink love-seat on one side of the room, a pink chaise longue on the other. Pink wardrobes, pink curtains, pink sheets with crimson hearts on the four-poster bed. Pink teddy-bears, pink carpets, rugs in a slightly deeper pink. A pink coffee-table with a pink-tinted glass, full of pale pink liquid. All in all, it looked like Barbie’s Dream-House!
There were only five things that were not pink, in fact. Two muscular males (clad only in pink loincloths!), the palm leaves they held, and a large, remote-control-less viewing screen.
Lenny was still staring at the TV (anything was better than having to contemplate the oiled men with palm-leaves), when her Ladyship spoke again.
“Now, boy,” she said, leaning back on her chaise longue, “what can I do for you?”
“You kidnapped my gir… my date,” he corrected himself, hastily. “I mean… that’s what the woman in the tea-shoppe said.”
“Your date? Oh, the lovely little lady that my minions brought up earlier? Yes, she’s with us – and safe.”
“What do you want with her?” asked Lenny. “What do I have to do to get her back?”
“Ah. That.” Her Ladyship rose from the chaise longue and put a heavy arm around Lenny’s shoulder. “Well, it all began a couple of years ago. You see… there was much rejoicing in the house when two viewing screens were bought. One went downstairs, one on the upper floor. Peace and harmony reigned between all spirits and…”
“Yes, yes.” Lenny cut her off with an impatient gesture. “I’ve already heard the spiel. You want me to steal back the remote control, right?”
The Lady patted her wig, unperturbed. “It isn’t stealing. It’s merely returning the remote to its rightful owners. We need that remote! Have you any idea how tedious it is to be stuck on the Horror Channel night and day? At least if we could get to the Blind Date re-runs, it would be something!”
“But, if I get the remote control back for you, what will that solve?” argued Lenny. “They’ll just do the same to you and then you’ll be stuck with the Horror Channel again. I mean, where’s the point?”
Her Ladyship frowned, pursing her scarlet-glossed lips. “I’m not sure I follow, Mr…?”
“Just call me Lenny.” He spoke quickly, following up the initiative. “What I mean is, when is it all going to end? They steal the remote, you… err… re-acquire it, they steal it back again. Is that really the way you want to live your life?”
‘Presuming you even have a life,’ he added, silently.
The Lady tapped her stubbly chin with a pointed fingernail. “What else would you suggest then… Lenny?”
He took a deep breath. “Isn’t there any way to get a second remote control? That way you wouldn’t have to fight any more and both sides could go back to haunting this place in peace.”
“A second remote control? Live in peace?” The Lady pondered, then shook her head. “Nonsense. Fairy-tale nonsense. The Quest for the Second Remote is far too perilous to be undertaken. We must accept reality, young man – and you must accept your part of the deal, if you want to get your woman back, unmolested.”
Lenny swallowed, nervously. “But… what if I could get hold of a second remote? Would you be prepared to release Alia on the chance? We could make the attempt together. After all,” he forced a laugh, “two heads are better than one.”
“So I have been told,” responded the Lady. “Mudric the Insane is very definite on the subject. However, his gene-splicing experiments aside, how do I know I could trust you to attempt your journey, if I release my single hold over you?”
Lenny allowed himself a cautious smile. “I give you my solemn word,” he said, crossing his fingers behind his back. Then, “Ow!”
He brought his hand to his mouth, sucking his suddenly bleeding finger. As he watched, a needle flew through the air towards the coffee table. At its point, a single drop of his blood hung, swollen and gravid. It fell with a plop, just as it reached the glass full of pink liquid. Lenny stared, horrified, as the mixture suddenly turned crimson and began to bubble with the consistency of mud.
The Lady smiled and winked at him from beneath her long lashes.
“Your word is good enough for me,” she said, wandering over and swirling the viscous liquid, languidly. “After all, what is life without trust?”
Lenny opened and shut his mouth, but couldn’t find anything appropriate to say. What had he got himself into?
“Very well.” Suddenly, her Ladyship’s voice was brisk and commanding. “There are three tales of the legendary Other Remote Control. Some may be true, all may be false, who can say? I will tell you what I know, then you must decide how to bring this prize to me.
“The first is through the charnel bone-yards and into the lost mausoleum. Don’t worry, it’s well signposted. Once down in the mausoleum, you must find the secret way into the moaning catacombs. There are those that say a second remote lies at the far end of the catacombs – for any that dare to seek it out.
“The second? You must risk the plains of the blasted hedgehog, fight through the bogs of the unmentionable and make your way, at last, to the Ivory Tower of the Mad Scientist. He may be able to work his miracles and produce the mystical artefact we seek. If he even exists, that is.
“Or…” and here, she paused, dramatically, “… you could nip down to the shops and see what you can find. I’ve heard that Arrggghhhs does a good line in electronic supplies.”
She regarded him, sternly. “How choose you, mortal?”
Last edited by Shady Stoat on Sat Mar 11, 2006 8:40 am; edited 1 time in total
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Mother Goose
Respected Citizen
Joined: 09 May 2004
Topics: 2
Posts: 511
Location: Connecticut
Items
Legends
Fables
Strata-gems
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| Posted: Sat Mar 11, 2006 8:28 am Post subject: |
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| Great new chapter! Will have to think about it before making any choices though - something must be wrong with that third option!
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