!! MONSTER !!

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just a bug who saw everything!

Submitted: December 07, 2019

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Submitted: December 07, 2019

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. . . owt else to do for now. Must rush but I'll bring back some scran coz yer loookin' clammin'. Best get a move on - it's a bit black over Bill's mother's . . . I'd say it's ah'reet for a good downpour and Baltic too. God, today's doin' me 'ead in proper! Fish, chips and peas - with plenty of pea wet - that do yer Mister Jamais Vu? He supports himself with a Zimmer-frame (who is that looking back at me?) - regretfully studying his features soooooooo advanced in years and well well well past his prime: senesence, hebetude - and his bedroom - framed by the cheval glass standing as tall as him - Howay, wot ya wi? blurtin' 'bout yer sciatica ageeen! Wha'we gonna do with'd yuz? All yer grief is doin' me shed in! Can't wait to finish for the deeey, then I'm gan yem---------Nurse Edelweiss isn't really there. It's just his mind has a habit of playing back conversations he's had. I helicopter around him as he muses about the fear and loathing in the paper-thin mercury of the mirror pane - a skull on which cellophane skin is shrink-wrapped. - No more of this grizzled portrait, he whispers, with bloodshot eyes. The cheval glass reflects fonder things: on a bureau is a canister of Zyklon-B, juxtaposed with a photo of Karl Fritzsh aged with craquelure. The marcasite picture frame rests on a myrrh-scented keepsake, a silk handkerchief from the carnifex herself The Bitch of Buckenwald - who Jamais Vu once danced with on the nielloed parquetry of a grand hall. And Frau Ilse Koch wore a beautiful pavonine dress . . . Jedem de seine . . . Jedem de seine! - I s'pose. There is an Airfix model of an unterseeboot. And three drawers of a chiffonier are filled to the brim with either spectacles, gold teeth or gold amalgams---------Oops-a-daisy, wrong foot Mister Jamais Vu, try agheeen pet, she gatecrashes his whereabouts again, this private moment alone: a heliograph and Aldis lamp return the blue tint of daylight from a bay window . . . Sassoon Jamais Vu sees in Morse code, thinks in Morse code - the sound and its periodic flashes keep in time with his pulse and beat of his tired heart---------Cheeriooo, see yuz on the morrow Mister Jamais Vu, ta-rah! He is OLD - a centenarian - and sequesters what still remains of his life to an armchair (suggesting it had survived a chewing bout with a lion) - and days, weeks, months, years - are spent watching a cathode-ray television set. The rubber soles of his slippers are softened from the heat emitted from three graphite rods. And one bright orange element still bears the leopard spots from when Jamais Vu used to light cigarettes on the electric fire. Nicotine in those days was something he took for granted. That was before a cardiologist told him he needed quintuple bypass surgery - a risky procedure for a man his age. But despite ailing health, he made it through 12 hours on the operating table. One would have thought his dotage and sedentary lifestyle would have been key factors in weakening any resolve - but over ten decades on the planet had given the man an iron will.

His kitchen leads down to a white-washed scullery with a distributor transformer taking centre stage - hummmmmming away with its air break (AB) switch/isolator and overhead bus-bar system. - (WHY? because the power output is enormous!) There is also a plumbing feed supplying HYDROFLUORIC ACID!!! A large carafe on a shelf contains white bone calx. I also see a box of borax and caustic soda. What seems to be a copper and brass diving helmet wrapped in a thick induction coil was probably used to boil the brain inside the victim's cranium. Nurse Edelweiss - a thirtysomething millennial - when discovering the paraphernalia, presumed it was to do with a 'horror hobby' or fixation with all things associated with Frankenstein; appearing with some fresh pyjamas from the scullery tumble dryer and muttering under her breath: Horses for courses, much of a muchness, nowt as queer as folk! She is not responsible for the upkeep of the house. Her duties are just to make sure the old man is washed and dressed, then returning to prep him for bedtime - or as she puts it: Back-in-yer-jim-jams-time Mister Jamais Vu! Ablutions are painful for a hundred year old curmudgeon, especially one whose skeleton has been fused almost rigid by rheumatoid arthritis. And scrubbing his oversized diaphram with loofah and Lifebuoy soap yanks at the loose sallow skin covering his glockenspiel ribcage. Bathing him in his orthopaedic tub is a time of endless apologies. Yet all the attention to his personal hygiene does not stop him infusing the microclimate of his living room with the uric-butyric sweat of his overpowering body odour. - Something nurse Edelweiss is all tooooooo aware of, complaining endlessly: WHOA! I only bath'd yuz in the mornin' an' yer already stinkin' the place out proper. And juz look at all the mildew on them winder frames and rising damp on yer walls. Aaaargh! it's like the bloody tropics in 'ere with that electric fire on all the time. Nah wonder yer catatonic and al'weez noddin' off in that tatteee armchair. She even mocks his wireless and gramophone - Whass all this when it's at 'ome Mister Jamais Vu? And what, he wonders, with increasing distain, is all the business regarding the liberal overuse of his patronymic? On and on and on; the repetition of his name had been reduced to a mere abstract sound - semantic satiation being the inverse of pathetic fallacy. He already struggled with the region's magpie patois. Then on top of that: Mister this and Mister that, losing count - over her two daily visits - Mister . . . Mister . . . Mister - a freight train of blah-blah-blahs and Mister Jamais Vu mentioned hither and thither and every way which way (he surmises maybe one hundred times a day) - and probably the reason for his pterodactyl fingers splintering their nails on the chinoiserie upholstery of his armrests. The internal dialogue with himself is a stuck record: Eighteen months since the five major arteries were scrapped clean . . . an ordeal I will never forget. Everyday he brings the matter up, enraged whenever nurse Edelweiss rolls her eyes, repeating herself: Oh give over will yuz. Arrrhh know, you mention it all the time: you were aware during surgery and yer gonna sue the hospital for malpractice. His thoughts are always the same: I AM NOT SENILE AND MAKING IT UP! He IS telling the truth. Mister Jamais Vu had experienced hours of 'anaesthesia awareness' during which he couldn't move but felt every second of the surgeon's scalpel! Fighting back tears - this was a grievance he would not forgive. After all, he had been one of Ernst Rudin's Aryan stem cell wunderkinds!

On this particular morning visit, Mister Jamais Vu leaves her speechless after closing the front door. Already in his armchair? Looks fifty years younger? Clean-shaven? And in a smart suit and pair of buffed shoes? - Mister Jamais Vu . . . yer looookin' canny in all yer clobber . . . what's the occasion? Then she realizes she's not the only person in the room - You never mentioned yer 'ad grandsons!! Two boys in lederhosen stand either side of the old man - welding masks on and bolts of lightning bridging the electrodes of cattle prods they very much intend to use! Edelweiss is laughing, when she says: Soooo that's why yer wearing red goggles Mister Jamais Vu . . . coz yuz all 'bout to play Star Wars! There are pneumatic air hoses and power cables leading out from the scullery, connecting to an army-green compressor. On top is a giant glass bulb and what are those two high-voltage antennas for? - Anyway, some good news to tell yer Mister Jamais Vu, she says, smiling from ear to ear . . . I'm gonna have a babby soon, coz I'm pregnant!!! The wattle under his chin turns puce. Quickly he motions to the boys - who extend their batons, zapping and almost knocking her off her feet. Arms in a crucifix, she takes a direct hit to the face. (Perfect! it's now or never.) She staggers within range. The compressor fires up after Mister Jamais Vu hits a guitar pedal. The noise is overwhelming - fire crackers going off - the room is floodlit. She is paralyzed inside a foudroyant halo. Lots of smoke - her uniform left drifting in confetti-like pieces on to the carpet. She mimes a scream from inside her reinforced prison - then realizes her arms have been sucked into her ears! And what remains of her torso has (from the increasing pressure of the vacuum pump) miniaturized - ending in legs only an inch long! Something is retrieved from a nozzle hissssing out compressed air. Placed into the palm of his hand, Mister Jamais Vu wastes no time and swallows the foetus! Anguish. Panic. Muted protestations - nurse Edelweiss mists up the glass. One of the boys returns from the scullery, pouring a flask of acid into a funnel - vaporizing! Immediately the aqueous humour of two eyeballs sets, the bulging cataracts leaving Edelweiss blind. Her skin turns white and peels. The pate of her skull begins to show through - scalp falling away and dissolving. Her youthful looks are a soft dough sagging under its own weight, breaking off her jawbone and leaving the full length of her eely tongue to thrash about in a pink semolina of collagen and grey matter . . . And a white crystalline powder is all that's left of a once sentient human being.

He pays the boys their usual fee for helping him - instructs them to make it look like an accident when getting rid of the evidence: handbag and mobile phone tossed into a river. In the hallway is an ornamental stand - lots of jars with animal-human stillborns pickled in formaldehyde. Now there is a new addition placed on one of the shelves of the etagere - a phial labelled EDELWEISS! Other small bottles say MOTHER! FATHER! SISTER! SON! WIFE!---------Aaah down't understand, she clocked in this mornin' before startin' her community work. I'll call her phone to see whas up. Someone will be over to help yuz by the end of the day. Sorry for the inconvenience Mister Jamais Vu. He puts the receiver down and finishes an old VHS tape of Prisoner: Cell Block H.

On the inside the sun still shines

And the rain falls down

But the sun and rain are prisoners too

When morning comes around . . .

 

From the walls of his house, I am a deathwatch beetle tellying his story. Generations of my ancestors passed the lore down surrounding this man - my turn now to continue the tradition . . . hypothetically if a bug was cognizant and self-aware, and called Rabe (pronounced Raaahb).

 

THE END!


© Copyright 2020 Jobe Rubens. All rights reserved.

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