Howard drove maniacally to Granny Grail's house.
His mind dwelt hyperactively on the things he
planned to say to his evil ancestor. In the
midst of picturesque hills and copses he navigated
down increasingly narrow roads until he was
steering down a secluded lane barely wide enough
to allow his bulky car to pass. Twisted oaks
spied on him. Overhead a hawk hunted. At the
end of the track loomed Granny Grail's forbidding
dwelling. He abandoned the car and crept through
the gate that gaped like a maw in the surrounding
walls.
The late afternoon light was waning.
A
feeling of foreboding assailed him as he peered
about the unctuous garth.
Seeing that dark curtains were drawn across
the windows, he crept round the side of the
ancient dwelling. At the back, jutting from
the leaning brickwork was a rickety wooden conservatory
lit by candlelight. In the flame-light within
he saw the twisted figure of Granny Grail hunched
over a dark oak table. She was not alone. Howard's
eyes widened in astonishment: a figure in a
baseball cap was with her. She was with that vile creature Steve!
He cursed.
Steve held a small silver plate over
a candle while Granny Grail watched with a foul
grin playing across her cracked face. Howard
retreated into the darkening shadows. Steve
sniffed at some herbs and nodded his head agreeably.
He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke downwards.
Granny Grail began measuring out herbs into
a wooden bowl and placed them onto a set of
scales. Her bony fingers manipulated counter
weights until a balance was realised.
The hated Steve held a small silver plate over
a candle while Granny Grail watched with a foul
grin playing across her cracked face. Howard
retreated into the darkening shadows. Steve
sniffed at some herbs and nodded his head agreeably.
He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke downwards.
Granny Grail began measuring out herbs into
a wooden bowl and placed them onto a set of
scales. Her bony fingers manipulated counter
weights until a balance was realised.
Howard turned away and walked to the front of
the house. He was furious at the thought that
Steve and Granny Grail had joined forces and
had plotted to poison him with the potion. He
was sickened that they could be taking such
unallayed pleasure in their current activity
whilst doubtless presuming him freshly dead
by their own foul hand. Their treachery would
be repaid in full for he was about to kill them!
He tentatively turned the large black iron knob
that dominated the front door. It was stuck
fast. He whispered curses. He applied more pressure.
The door was locked! In despair he yanked at
the handle. It yielded with a loud clunk. He
braced himself for someone to open the door
from within. Nothing happened. He nudged the
door. It shifted an inch with a creak and with
each successive inch the door fashioned a clarion
call of wooden groans. As soon as the gap was
just wide enough to allow his girth to pass
he slid into the hallway, his mind briefly disorientated
by the overpowering scents of herbs. The darkness
was absolute. He knew his way from unhappy memories
of childhood visits but in his excitement he
forgot one crucial detail and cracked his head
against one of the beams of the low ceiling.
The jarring pain spiced his mood with extra
incense.
He knew the closed door that led to the conservatory
was at the far end of the hall and that the
last door on the right before the conservatory
door led into the kitchen. Outside he thought
he heard the sound of an engine. He frowned
and crept down the hall and ducked into the
kitchen, the window of which faced out into
the conservatory where he had seen Granny Grail
and Steve. The candlelight from the conservatory
faintly illuminated the dark kitchen with casts
of unsettling, flickering shadows on the far
wall. Howard, crouching, peered above the level
of the window that lay between the kitchen and
the conservatory. He picked up a hefty knife
that lay on a chopping board. A couple of arm
lengths away his enemies unhurriedly smoked
and fiddled with the paraphernalia and oddments
of their trade. He was going to give them the
shock of their lives. He mused at how his confrontation
would shock them. Granny Grail would believe
she was being terrorised by a spectre and Steve
would curse the day he committed his treachery.
They would regret their evil as they bled to
death. For a moment he wished he believed in
Hell so that he could think that their torments
would outlive their mortal frames. His grip
hardened on the handle of the knife as he slashed
the cold air.
His eyes adjusted to the gloom. In search of
a yet larger knife he glanced at ancient cupboards
clinging doggedly to the uneven kitchen walls;
old crocks that adorned sagging shelves; dead
wild fowl that hung from the ceiling and countless,
strangely shaped jars. Above all he was aware
of the pungent reeks of herbs. Beside the cast
iron cooker his eyed depicted the shapes of
three bulky gas cylinders. He looked out of
the window. Granny Grail was saying something
while Steve inhaled on a rollup. Howard couldn't
discern their words.
As he stepped back from the window his elbow
clipped a saucepan. It bounced along the floor,
clattering with a cacophony that was all the
more deafening because silence and darkness
were the norm. Panicking, he ducked under the
level of the window onto the conservatory.
Once the saucepan had stilled and ceased reverberating
the silence returned, more extreme than before.
The silence lasted for several seconds, which
seemed an excessive lapse to Howard. It was
broken by the faintest of sounds. Steve had
mumbled something to Granny Grail. The warm
light from the window intensified and the shadows
jostled like bats. Somebody was holding a light
to the window into the kitchen. From the shadow
against the wall he recognised the shape of
the peak of a baseball cap. The kitchen door
handle lowered. He saw the hideous silhouette
of Granny Grail. He felt as if he was looking
at evil incarnate: evil represented in a vile
shape. His flesh tingled. His nerves squirmed.
He heard his heart thump. His fist clenched
hard on the handle of the knife. He prepared
to attack. He heard Steve's voice at the window.
'Nah! It's
them cats.'
Granny Grail growled what sounded like a reprimand.
The door handle was released. Howard exhaled
his held breath with relief. His wits were shredded.
He didn't know if he could go through with the
knife assault. He ran his hands over the gas
cylinders that lay by the cast iron cooker.
An idea came to him that burgeoned into impulse
and he acted upon it unhesitatingly. There was
more than one way to skin a cat. He unfastened
the pipe that connected one of the gas canisters
to the oven. Slowly he turned the valve handle.
The valve hissed and the air filled with the
noxious smell of the escaping vapours that was
noticeable even over the reek of the herbs.
Howard tampered with the valves of the remaining
two canisters until those too gushed gas into
the air. He made for the doorway of the kitchen.
Then he paused. He sniffed as the odour of
the gas intensified. Even in his berserk state
of mind he began to doubt his idea and was stilled
by indecision, as if paralysed in a dream.
He threw his arms in the air in a despairing
gesture. What was he doing? What was he
thinking?
Resolution came to him: he must turn off the
gas. As he stepped towards the emptying cylinders
he trod on something. A deafening screech cracked
through the darkness. A frantic scrabbling sound
ensured. The reaction of the distressed black
cat was so vigorous and Howard's emotions so
taut that he recoiled at full tilt into the
window. His heart pounded with such vigour that
he thought he could hear its force against his
ribcage. The hiss of the escaping gas seemed
to get louder, the caustic odour swelled to
the denseness of fog. He raised his head and
peered through the window. With a jolt he saw
a face staring back from the other side of the
glass pane. Howard gasped in utter surprise.
The person at the window was neither Steve
nor
Granny Grail.
'
Sodom and Gomorrah! One of your cats
is in there,' boomed Greg's visceral voice.
Greg seemed oblivious to Howard, who cowered
low in the darkness. 'Bloody cats! Can't stand
cats! We've got a stupid cat back at the ranch
in Redater, you know. One of these days I'll
stew the beast in a pot of chilli. It would
repay it's debt to humanity for all the cat
food it scoffs.'
Granny Grail
uttered disapproving grunts.
'What the
Hell is Greg doing here?' Howard
mouthed the words to himself as if they would
help to summon an explanation to his addled
mind.
Greg's large face - which was within an arm's
length of Howard's - brightened. His features
looked hideously distorted by the oil lamp he
had suddenly raised to the window. The lamp
illuminated the underside of one side of his
face and cast ominous shadows across the other.
A sudden change of emotion crossed his face,
that of sheer astonishment as he looked at Howard.
The two stared eye to eye until Greg broke the
silence.
'Sodom
and Gomorrah! What... what the frig are you
doing here?'
Greg turned away from the window to make for
the door leading from the conservatory into
the house. Howard envisioned Greg striding
into the gas-saturated kitchen with a lit cigarette
in one hand and an oil lamp clasped in the other.
Howard felt akin to how a mouse might feel trapped
in the cage of a venomous asp.
Howard fled. Leaving the kitchen, he raced
through the darkness down the hall. He struck
his head against the low ceiling beams and fell
to the ground. Stunned, he tried to recover,
rubbing his head frantically. Every millisecond
became tangible. Every fleeting moment he could
save was insulation against cold death. He pulled
himself up and staggered towards the door, hurting
his muscles and his tendons as he did so in
the pursuit of survival. He lunged for the
front door. He heard Greg open the conservatory
door.
Instead
of leaping to safety, he hesitated. At that
moment a strange desire overcame his instinct
to escape. He stood quite still and looked at
Greg. Greg stood in the hallway passage holding
out an oil lamp. The lamp flickered and glowed
- an incandescent detonator. To Howard the flame
within seemed to lick and taste the gas that
was filling the house. Greg finally broke his
gaze at Howard and sniffed.
'Howard,
can you smell - fuck!'
Howard ran
towards Greg screaming at him to get out of
the house. Greg turned and collided with the
conservatory door. The oil lamp span out of
his hand and broke upon hitting the stone floor.
Howard and Greg scrambled into the conservatory.
Greg picked up the flabbergasted-looking Granny
Grail and carried her out into the garden.
'Be thee
possessed? Put me down! Put me down,
ye wretched man!' she protested.
Greg did
not heed her demand. It was dark outside. Howard
could just perceive the jagged boundary walls.
These he knew from unwilling previous visits
to his granny in childhood times to be encrusted
with wild plants creeping over them. He also
recalled the gnarled, tortured trees nearby
which now were silhouetted ominously against
the navy sky. They came to a rest in the overgrown
lawn of the back garden about twenty paces from
the house. Greg set Granny Grail to her feet.
'Ye be accursed
to God!' Granny Grail snapped. 'What accursed
spirit has got into ye?'
Howard's
head span. He didn't know how much more crisis
he could endure. He and Greg breathed heavily.
They gazed at the house. Through the conservatory
windows they could see the ancient interior
lit with the welcoming yellow glow of oil lamps
and candles.
'What madness
has taken thee?' raged Granny Grail. She looked
at Howard and quizzically furrowed her brow.
'What are ye doing here boy?' she uttered faintly.
She turned to Greg with wrath in her eyes. Her
voice grew increasingly high pitched and tremulous
like a raucous pipe. 'Gregory, what's the matter
with thee? I'm not giving thee thy herb now.
Lazy, good-for-nothing scoundrels get nowt!'
'Very sorry
Madam G but I'm afraid you mustn't go back inside,'
said Greg.
'Don't thee
be telling what to do and not to do, scoundrel!'
hissed Granny Grail.
'It's a
sticky wicket: there's a gas leak Madam G. Where's
the nearest phone to this place?'
'There is
a phone in the county I presume,' said Howard
sarcastically. 'Besides-'
'What boy?
Gas?' interrupted Granny Grail. She pursed her
white lips irately.
'It's not
safe Madam G, your house is like a Zeppelin,'
said Greg in his deep, laid back voice.
'Don't tell
me about Zeppelins young
man! During the War they bombed... Pray! Faith!
My poor
cats!' cried Granny Grail in
distressed strains.
She bolted for the house with the velocity of
a whippet. Greg got up to try to stop her but
she was too fleet footed. He bellowed after
her in chagrin. Howard didn't attempt to prevent
her rescue mission. He watched her descending
silhouette dart into the conservatory. His heart
was thumping. He peered through the gloom as
she called her cats from within. She vanished
into the kitchen through the doorway where Greg
had dropped his oil lamp.
'Greg, maybe-'
A deafening
boom ripped through the air. Howard and Greg
covered their heads and tried to shield themselves
from the flying shards of glass and other shrapnel.
Howard felt nauseous. Gradually he regained
lucidity. Coughing and wheezing he sat up and
gazed at the house. As the cloud of dust began
to settle he could see the fire: a yellow-orange
light that scintillated and flickered like a
demon on the loose from Hell. The left side
of the house, the side that contained the kitchen,
was ablaze. The ground floor windows billowed
black smoke: black vapours that rose up to greet
the dark sky in an unhurried exodus.
'Christ!'
gasped Howard, 'My Granny!'
'Christ!'
groaned Greg, 'My dealer!'
Howard forced
himself to his feet, he felt dazed. The adrenaline
was tearing him apart. He felt shock, but no
remorse.
'Shit.'
'Sodom
and fucking Gomorrah!'
'Yeah,'
agreed Howard semi-consciously.
'Well mate,
I'm off before the fuzz pitches up.'
'The fuzz?'
'That's
right. Blowing up yer Granny is very naughty.
Blowing up my drug dealer is unforgivable. Lets
split!'
Greg glared
at Howard disapprovingly - almost threateningly.
He strode over to the side of the burning cottage
and hauled his bike away from the wall, bestrode
it and, with a stamp of his foot, he sped away.
The wall collapsed.
In the darkness
Howard staggered through the garden. He threw
up. As he retched and spat the foul tasting
vomit he doubled up with the duel agony of pain
and anguish. He was barely able to think.
He limped to the Maxi. Slowly he turned it around
at a spot where the track widened and drove
away, peering in the rear view mirror to see
another explosion tear through Granny Grail's
ancient house. The ire that had taken hold
of him so absolutely was extinguished. He felt
sapped of strength. Driving was difficult.
He knew he had done something ultra-insane but
he was unable to take it all in. He felt as
if he was floating in icy acid.
 | | | | |
| From: |
Knoeier | Subject: | 2002-09-09 11:24:30 |
| | | | |
| From: |
Knoeier | Subject: | 2002-10-08 10:16:35 |
| | | | |
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