Estranged Reflections VIII
She pouted for the camera and apologised for the sound as a bunch of extras wearing artificial heads –men, women, angels, stags, hawks and peacocks – dragged the twitching, broken, tortured body of evil Baron Rudolf across the bloodstained floor.
Meanwhile… in a dark recess in the Bishopsgate Institute, Vince had finally managed to decode the real meaning of The Screaming Skulls. He sat back, aghast, gobsmacked by the revelations of the celeb’s palm- reader… it was like, well, Johnny T., Ron, and Old Face-Ache were not quite what they seemed. Were they eldritch, celestial entities from misty Giant-Time epochs? Quasi-megalithic semi-demons from pre-Albionic ages?
Across all those splintered aeons – the moment – the memory – the distorting mirror.
Young, free and shy, Vince found it difficult to come to terms with it all. A relationship expert was needed. Memories of Ron kept coming back. Well perhaps, perhaps not. Just who is Ron? Ask the question and everyone but everyone in Mad Andy’s Martian Games Station goes into terminal meltdown. Gizza break my son.
Anyhow things are pretty plummy for his off-screen alter ego.
Our fresh-faced researcher stared at the rotten yellowing pages. The manuscript crumbled.
Even so, Face-Ache homed-in on our Rogue Astronomer; Cytherean sensors locked-on to her pheromones and, as always, her go-go boots. So we uncovered the quantum signature of her electronic far out locale: the estranged interior of an alien library. It was all very odd, very odd indeed
Disembodied zebra-stripes billowed across the road.
UV light flooded the tower block. Karen cried out in fear. Brad gave her the runes. You need a quick mind and a sharp eye in this game. All over the office lids flipped, marbles were lost and boats rocked as a crater suddenly appeared in the high street.
Enveloped in a lethal cloud of time-lapse photography Flapper began his hellish metamorphosis. Evil Rudolf’s piercing Dark Age screams fueled the morbid procedure. Dumbstruck, Sister Marie dived for the wardrobe just to be on the safe side. I have difficulty walking, I’m partially deaf and I’m losing my sight in a hail of special effects.
“Thick as thieves those two,” muttered Brad, thinking of Beryl and Ron.
Elge, Wixna, Gerne and Faerpinga, acolytes of Mommo, consummated an act of piecemeal grinding incineration. No gunk no junk was the watchword.
It had been a hard day. I kicked off my shoes and asked “Fancy a cuppa?”
Too late.
The Lord of the Dark Face materialized; but for only an instant. He lost his marbles, just like that.
Back at the office forensic pathologist Dr. Thomas Bewlay subjected the photograph to a minute and detailed examination. The old, crumpled picture merged into the strange reflections but – just as he thought – there was an unusual metallic gleam in Beryl’s left eye. Come to think of it Dean, Toby and Fabian looked like cardboard cutouts, totally bizarre. Have a care-worker round to the house before you can say ‘Shukkoth’.
At about the same time, down the corridor in the same building, revered colleague Dr. Walsh was examining the recluse. Not a pretty sight. Her words swam round my head. I’d breezed through other cases but this one made me sick. In the outer office a tyrannical French lawyer tore up copies of the Mental Health Act and demonstrated some truly remarkable footwork.
“I just want her alive.” she spat.
“Welcome to planet earth, scumbag,” snapped the receptionist.
The Outlier Girl moaned in her sleep “Mommo, Mommo, Mommo, Mommo, Oooh, Mommo…Aaaaah” in a German accent as Father Alt belched, shuddered, crossed himself and reached for a plain chocolate Bounty Bar.
The picture on the wall is a souvenir of my life with Ron. In actual fact we rarely spoke, but this is a cheeky snap taken in a Chinese brothel by Mr. Justice Thesiger in one of his wilder moments. And here’s one on me with Hans and Gerda – the black uniforms don’t mean anything.
“You’ll have to watch her closely,” observed Dr Walsh, “She’s a great one for flushing her pills down the loo.” With that Karen chortled and said “Especially now you’ve got your U-Bend to think about”
Everybody laughed. My heart blipped. The phones went berserk. It was the strange case of the consecrated wafers going critical, but no-one gave a damn about that.
The fog closed in.
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A.C Evans
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