© Chris Port, 15th March 2011
As an example of intertextuality and pastiche, Marty Gull thinks that Stephen King should write a short 'Revenge Musical' story and set it in Southend. This little town has more secrets than Salem's Lot. So I'm writing a pastiche for him. I'll send it to the King of Horror for his approval. There Are Monsters… And Then There Are Us… It's good fun delaying the description of the antagonist... ;)
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It was a dead Friday happy hour when Cherno Molek first walked into Murphy’s. My usual stool was taken by a looker (skirt has its privileges) so I was sat with my back to the door. To the casual observer, I looked alone. But I’m never alone with a pint. That’s why lookers avoid my hopeful eye. They think I’m two-timing a beautiful moment.
I felt Molek before I saw him. Cold grit blew on my neck and the rush hour traffic gusted in. There’s something unclean about February. It was as though a fridge had opened and exhaled rancid milk. Perhaps it was a psychic whiff. My nose wrinkled and my hackles did the dog-thing, but I didn’t turn around. I had no worries with hitmen, and looking over your shoulder makes you look weak. Not good in my line of work.
The looker looked over my shoulder instead. It was a camouflage glance. No more than a hair toss. But I saw her eyes. Those pupils were moist black holes. Her hands fluttered to her thighs and she tugged her miniskirt down a few eye-watering millimetres. Oh women are books. I wouldn’t bother to read them. The title and blurb are all you need to know.
I felt Molek before I saw him. Cold grit blew on my neck and the rush hour traffic gusted in. There’s something unclean about February. It was as though a fridge had opened and exhaled rancid milk. Perhaps it was a psychic whiff. My nose wrinkled and my hackles did the dog-thing, but I didn’t turn around. I had no worries with hitmen, and looking over your shoulder makes you look weak. Not good in my line of work.
The looker looked over my shoulder instead. It was a camouflage glance. No more than a hair toss. But I saw her eyes. Those pupils were moist black holes. Her hands fluttered to her thighs and she tugged her miniskirt down a few eye-watering millimetres. Oh women are books. I wouldn’t bother to read them. The title and blurb are all you need to know.
Her companion wasn’t the bookish type. Big Rick. Plasterer by day, dealer by night. Harmless enough - so long as you didn’t talk at him. As far as Big Rick was concerned, he was the life and soul of the bar. All he asked in return was your polite rapture. It didn’t do to have opinions of your own. He was lost in a joke (something to do with raping a headless woman) and trying to get the punchline right. He started to laugh so we guessed that was the end of the joke and humoured him. The looker laughed too loudly. It sounded like someone strafing a seal.
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Obviously I'm going to wend my own cheerfully sinister way with this now. But please feel free to post your own developments of the story. Black comedy horror. Like that Drama game "Fortunately / Unfortunately..."
There Are Monsters... And Then There Are Us is also available on 3 Way Split Writer Group Forum.
There Are Monsters... And Then There Are Us is also available on 3 Way Split Writer Group Forum.
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