Wednesday, 15 October 2014

All Discordians Must Die

P   R   E   V   I   O   U   S   L   Y      I    N 
S   P   I   D   E   R   F   I   N   G   E   R   S

  A loud crash of wood and glass blasted from downstairs.

    ‘It’s here, c’mon,’ said Alice holding out her small hand, ‘Stay close – don’t let go. I’ll show you how having a crazed hunting minion chase you can double as an express ticket to the old country…’

    The front door and part of the walls that used to support it all crash down before the creature, and although blind, the monster is hungry. The monster obeys the voice of its jackal divinity throbbing endlessly and insistently throughout its mind.

All Discordians must die.

 The scent of fleeing Discordians fill its smelling cavity absolutely and this canine hunter, it follows the little feet creaking on the floor above, to its left, something small...

    The beast tracks the noise of its prey consumed by the primal desire to seek and destroy - it takes to the carpeted wooden steps, it's paws clawing and cracking them, such a load descending upon their weakening structure. Pounding forwards, skywards, until its shaggy build reaches a landing, the creature’s snout detects a gross amount of dead...Oma dwellers that have fallen in battle but these decaying fumes are mere distractions. So, another flight of stairs and into a room it bursts.

    The creature hears its prey shout, ‘Over here!’

    Anubis’ minion turns to its extreme left charging at the source of the command, squeezing through the shiny portrait that its ruined yellow eyes will never see. Spears thrust into the beasts' legs. It snarls, howling as it enters a room identical to the one it leaves behind on earth, the world on the other side of the mirror-like door. The ensuing battle between it and the equally large Dilf warriors posted there is bloody, savage. Its claws cleave open the arms and bellies of Aronson's un-dead army; the shaggy beast, completely obsessed with fighting, following its nose for the scent of blood. It longs to see the prey it followed in here. If only its eyes hadn't been scratched out.

    ‘Arrrrggghhhh!’ a girl screams and the smell of her blood pulls the dog monster toward it…

    There it shoots! The target artfully and stealthily dashing through warriors, evading axes and spears, dragging a taller mark behind her and into an adjacent portal. The monster charges with inhuman speed, on course for the girl’s voice that goads him on and through another mirror. No amount of injury will dissuade its hunting. The blood it loses is just blood. No expense is too high for the completion of its default mission.

    All Discordians must die.
She has been a model resident, beyond suspicion, buttocks planted firmly within the lilac white sofa. There Hara perches, back straight, eyes like that of an eagle, dilated pupils the hue of oak, they flick from left and right searching for the mainstays of this morning’s vision.

    The Ceremony of Knives has been and gone. Now we roll within The time of tides, decides Hara, Gods choices have risen to drown out those that don't see him.

    She sits there waiting for the signs: The woman with rainbows in her hair; the ghost with the white Mohican. And there they are...there they step - two players from an impossible dream, they arrive at the desk in Hara’s mental home. Both moving along in the shoals of a passing that Hara can't help but feel. The Time of Tides.

    Hara Carroll doesn’t get up for she must approach them alone – her news is for their ears only. Quite a curious couple - both black, one albino, both young and the male, he fidgets with his trilby hat self-consciously revealing the strip of white afro underneath. The female’s rainbow bright multi-coloured braid’s swishing at hip height behind her...

    Julie Broadshaw, two hundred pounds of uncompromising ten hour desk duty greets the visitors with her plastic smile. As Hara suspects, nurse Broadshaw puts on an air of reinforced professionalism, battling against the lure of the T.V behind her. Live footage shot by the news crew outside. A voiceover states Stephanie Tent’s name, a distracting announcement for the albino who keeps glancing at the television to the entrance and back again.

    ‘Did you hear that Sarah? It’s Stephanie Tent that’s escaped!’

    ‘Huh?’ replies Sarah with a stern tired looking face, the look of an insomniac.

    Hara watches as the woman called Sarah converses with Julie on reception when really (for Hara has exceptional observational skills), Sarah is intently listening to the report on the T.V.

    ‘I’m sorry, but client information is confidential.’ says Nurse Broadshaw.

    ‘Look, I’m not family,’ says Sarah, ‘I know, I realise what I’m asking here – but I do work for her. If you go to the website I can show you the pictures I took of my brother, my twin brother…he’s basically me without the long hair.’

    From her lobby seat Hara witnesses the stoicism of Bellevue’s finest: Julie Broadshaw, the receptionist that won't budge an inch.

    ‘As I said Miss Edwards, we have procedure to follow.’

    ‘Come on B,’ says Sarah pulling Bimpe's hand down from waving at the camera men outside, ‘…I don’t know what we’re doing here.’

    ‘I have to speak to you,’ says Hara sidling up to Sarah, ‘I used to live opposite Stephanie.’

    ‘Hara, leave them alone,' says Nurse Broadshaw, 'sit down, I’ll get Nurse Michaels to – '

    ‘Steph was my neighbour,’ continues Hara wildly gesticulating, ‘so come on, say you’re here to visit me. I can tell you where she is.’

    ‘How?’ Bimpe splutters pulling Sarah away from the hag.

    ‘Mrs Carroll please leave the visitors alone, now.' says Nurse Broadshaw moving from behind her desk, 'It’s a fresh day outside, how about a lovely walk?’

    ‘I’ve just been out!’ says Hara, ‘Sarah you’ve come all this way, what harm will it do to hear me out?’

    An orderly shoves themselves between Hara, Bimpe and Sarah,

    ‘Come along Hara, you’ve been so good these last few months.’

    ‘I know of the algebra-killer,’ pleads Hara as she is led away, ‘I know when it's done with your brother it'll seek to ruin you. Please, you and Bimpe are in terrible danger!’

    Sarah says something to the orderly that makes Hara smile. The orderly grudgingly unhands her,

    ‘Thank you!’ says Hara, ‘Thank you so much! You won’t be sorry!’

    ‘What are you doing dude? She’s crazy?’ whispers Bimpe into Sarah’s ear.

    ‘She knew our names Bimpe,’ Sarah says looking ahead and away from the camera they walk past, ‘She knew our names.’

N   E   X   T      T   I   M   E      I    N
S   P   I   D   E   R   F   I   N   G   E   R   S

    Sarah Edwards dashes back into her flat with the umbrella from the downstairs pail. She takes a few precious seconds to acclimatise to the horror she couldn’t leave behind. The horror has escalated. In the short moments since her brief exit the warped event has taken a quick turn into a stark depravity.

    Bimpe chained to the radiator.

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