There used to be an old toymaker. He built a house in the middle of a wood, beside a beautiful birch tree and a tiny stream that twinkled by. He was alone in the world and he carved a family of wooden toys and dropped one of his tears in each of their hearts, and at night time they came alive, and talked to him, and sang him songs and kept him company.
Just down the stream, and not very far away, two trolls lived. They built a rundown shack, and they were poor and mean fellows, and hunted rabbits in the wood, and were hungry and lean. They were ugly, bony men, with long arms and groping fingers, and their hair was red and tatty, and their eyes large and black.
They spent all day grumbling over their lot in life, until one struck up an idea on how to enrich their pitiable way of life.
‘Now our lives are miserable as you well know,’ said the troll. ‘We’ve had a meagre way of life for a long time; but here’s a plan I’ve had, and I’ve been thinking it through all night.
‘-NOW! There’s the toymaker,’ he started. ‘You know the one I mean. The really odd fellow who lives up from us, just a little way along the stream. Now he’s a strange one, as I’ve said before now, however, it is said he sleeps on a great box of gold! He’s as rich as kings, they say. Now he won’t share any of that with the likes of us so I say we go and take it from him!’
‘Do we ask him for it first?’ asked the second troll, but the first troll shook his head. ‘I say we kill him. I say we knock him out while he sleeps. And the best part is no one knows about him, except us of course. No one will ever know we did the deed! And the gold will be ours afterwards!’
‘I says I like that!’ said the second troll - ‘Sneak into his house!’ he said, ‘knock him over the head! Yes! Good idea!’
They both jingled with excitement.
They waited till nightfall, and with their blood pumping ready for the hunt, they followed the tingling stream, to the house where the toymaker lived.
The trolls, with their clubs in their hands, waited for the lights in the windows to dim, and then the leader nudged his friends and said, ‘Right! He’s gone to bed! Follow my lead!’
The door was locked, but they were able to snap open the window. It was an old house, and not strong enough to keep the heavy handed trolls at bay, and so the two easily pulled themselves in, and they crept along the kitchen floor, along the passageways, to the dark room where the toymaker presently slept.
The two trolls stood either side the bed, and after a One! Two! Three! They clobbered him to death! They bashed him till the bed beneath him broke in pieces! Feathers in the sheets swam peacefully and lithely around the air. The moon leaned out of the clouds, and turned the room silver, and red, where the blood lay.
They rummaged about the mess and after seconds the trolls found their quarry. It was the box beneath the bed, the treasure trove the toymaker slept on! The troll leader held it up triumphantly in the moonlight, and he nudged his friend and said, ‘Let’s get out back home, lad. We’ve done good this day!’
But in the sunshine of the following day the two trolls sat miserably around the box with their heads bowed in their hands. They had spent all night and all morning trying to open it. But they couldn’t, not for anything! Neither had been expecting this. The troll leader bashed the box over his head. ‘Curse this thing!’ he shouted. ‘What a nasty trick to play on us! But know this, brother!’ and he made a pledge, ‘I will open this box whether it kills me!’
In the house where the toymaker used to live, there were no lights, no songs, no cheery talk, just dust and gloom, and an unhappy quiet.
His old toys were sat on the shelf, one beside the other in a row, looking on their dead master, and each one shed a tear, but they would never bring him to life, as he had done with them. They whispered, and whistled, and waiting and watched, and when the sun dragged the light away, and the sky was darkness and stars, the toys helped each other down from the desktop, and together, in single file, set out into the wood. They followed the ways of the stream, to the shack where the trolls lived. They were sleeping now around a campfire, and the leader was resting his head on the box.
With a cautious care not known to those of humankind, they slipped the box from under the sleeping trolls’ head, and then they opened the lid, for the box was made for them by the toymaker in person, and only the toys knew the special way it opened. Inside the box was a pouch of ground dust produced from the seeds of a deadly flower. They sprinkled the dust on each of the trolls; putting the dust in their mouths and ears and eyes, and that night both trolls died.
Like the toymaker, they would never see another dawn.
Before the sun rose the toys put wood around the dead trolls and put a fire on the bodies. They waited till the early hours of the morning, till the trolls were turned to cinder and dust, and then they worked with such subtle haste, taking every single fragment of the trolls with their tiny hands, till they had bundled the remains into the box, and then closed the lid down over them.
They returned back to the toymakers house, carrying the box over their tiny wooden shoulders, and they did not stop till they reached home. They put the box under the broken bed where the toymaker slept, and there the trolls remain, to this very day.
Welcome travellers to SWW Productions... Enjoy your stay!
Monday, 29 August 2011
Saturday, 27 August 2011
Hell of the Monkey
New story begins below...
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It was only a week after the successful operation when my doctor surprised me in the street, calling my name out, and slapping me on the shoulder. ‘And how are you feeling?’ he asked, and I replied, ‘Never better. ‘Ha!’ he laughed, ‘you are a fine species of animal!’
I was his first patient to participate in a new line of transplant procedure known in France as “animal-viscera”, where defunct internal organs are replaced by genetically enhanced animal replicas. I told him the operation had worked a spell and I was feeling rather active than usual.
He smiled at me, but it was more a curious smile, if I have ever known one, than the type of smile one likes to see in reaction to a cheerful word. He put his fingers on the side of my face, as if to examine me, and after gazing into my eyes he shook his head. ‘Not yet ready,’ I heard him mumble in a voice that was otherwise inaudible. As he muttered to himself he began stroking his thin grey goatee beard. His eyes were great and dark, I had noticed this before, and for awhile I seemed to stand hypnotised before him. Noting my rigid state I saw his hand move into his pocket and then he said suddenly, ‘This might help!’
Then, without warning, and certainly without my permission, he drew out a syringe (filled to the brim with a singular orange liquid), and stabbing my hand plunged the contents into my veins!
He checked my face again, nodded, and stalked away!
I felt the blood flow through my veins again and checked my sore bleeding hand. Why had he done that?
Of course I had to hope it was for the good, he was my doctor after all and I trusted him, and I soon forgot about it because of the important meeting to which my presence was expected. The chancellor of the Head Bench was waiting for me and I needed to be spick-and-span if I wanted to win him over to my cause. Yes! Political matters, I am afraid, but the success of this particular meeting would see me a chair ahead on the bench in parliament, the President of the Elect Council - a position my father held before me.
‘I must say you are looking rather well!’ said the chancellor. ‘And I must agree with the beard! I know you are one to keep your appearance sharp, but this time I agree with the length of bristles on your face! The beard leaves you with a noble air!’
I thanked him, and then reflected on the obscure subject he had touched on because I remember specifically that morning shaving my countenance clean of any hair…
I started to pour the brandy, and my hand jittered when I noticed the fantastic length of black hair growth on my hand, especially across my knuckles, and along the ridges of my fingers. I tipped a portion of the brandy on to the table clothe. The chancellor eyed me inquisitively, raising one of his great bushy brows and he said, ‘I say boy! Are you alright?’
I nodded.
‘It’s just you seem a bit shaky! Not like your usual self! Are you sure you are feeling well enough for this?’
‘Of course I am!’ said I, perhaps a little too harshly. Then I calmed, continued to pour and relaxed myself in my chair. ‘Sorry! You know how it is! Just a little, you know, a little jittery!’
‘Ha!’ and the chancellor patted his mouth with his serviette, ‘I never looked on you as the nervous sort! I remember your father! Never afraid to speak his mind!
Really, what the man said wasn’t really that funny at all, but for some reason I started to laugh uncontrollably! A wild howling laugh, and I could actually feel my mouth grow larger than normal! I will tell you the truth, I don’t know why I started to laugh then in the way I did, but I did; a mad loud hooting laugh like some mad thing. Even though I felt thoroughly embarrassed I couldn’t stop, and when I tried to stop I lost full control and started to throw my hands about. Then for no reason I stood up, jumped onto my chair, and in a crouched position started to jump up and down in the same spot.
The chancellor, who by my unexplainable actions, had been worked into a sweat, mopped fully his howl head with his serviette, and stood abruptly from his chair. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for this!’ he said.
Without another word he stalked away, and this threw me into a rage, and I chased after him, but I found myself unable to say a word, only shout mad noises. Everyone was looking at me, and that was when I noticed my reflection in a glass pane - I was actually running on all fours - using both my arms and legs! I don’t know why I did this, but for a few seconds it seemed to feel right. I grunted, stood aright, straightened my back and adjusted my collar. Ignoring the hundreds of glances that were aimed my way I calmly left the building, and when I was out of eyesight, I picked up speed and just manage to catch the chancellor before he vanished into his taxi.
‘Wait!’ I cried. ‘We haven’t finished!’
‘I’m sorry but I wont be made a fool,’ he said. ‘Unless you regain your temperament we have nothing further to say to one another!’
I don’t know why but I completely lost my temper with him. My hands became separate beings and lashed out at him - and he turned and dodged, and then came about again in a diagonal position with his own fist aimed caught me on the chin and knocked me to the pavement floor.
He drove off and left me there, while I sat up and rubbed the bruise, blinking into the stars and wondering why I had attacked him. Of course I deserved the punishment in the chin, I could live with that; what I couldn’t live with was my irrational, and uncontrollable behaviour. Why had I laughed madly in front of my friend, or ran about on all fours like some animal for hundreds of people to look upon with mocking frowns? It was ridiculous actions for any human being let alone a public figure, and no doubt after the nights high handed conclusion with the chancellor the pages on my political career were slammed too.
What amazed me more than anything, when I got back home, was the beard I had grown. Before I was about to wash I saw my reflection in my bathroom mirror, and the shock I received by what I saw left me starring in wonder for at least five stupefied minutes. Not just a beard, but long black hairs over all the face and the throat. When I touched the hairs I saw my fingers in the mirror, then looked at them closely for the first time to see how long they had grown. Huge long groping fingers! I couldn’t believe it and yet all I could do was make a strange inaudible grunting sound. Then I began hoping around my room, going fourth on all floors, like a proper prince of fools! I began spilling over book cases, turning up furniture, and it seemed to almost give me some sort of crazy but curious pleasure - like I had achieved something profitable or intellectual, even. As a man read books to keep his brain keen, I tilted chairs and gazed under tables.
I shook and quivered with fear. Had I gone mad?
I retired to bed and hoped sleep would cure me.
In the morning a felt a hundred percent myself again. No longer seeing the point in getting changed, I swung out of my bedroom window, and proceeded to dance cheerily along the rooftops. A nearby tree looked a good resting spot and I jumped up into the lower branch and climbed up to the top. I gazed about at the mad town below. I saw someone walking down below, and I felt I could not stand for this. “I found this tree, it was mine!” I leapt out of the branches and growled and threw my fists about at her, and she in turn screamed, and for some reason fell unconscious to the floor. Minutes later men clad in fearsome military attire marched out of a vehicle, and I was netted, drugged and put to sleep.
When I awoke I found iron bars around me, but it wasn’t until the effects of the drug finally wore off when I realised I was inside a cage!
I shook the bars with my long leathery fingers, but could make no other sound except a loud resonant scream.
Then I saw my Doctor! Dr Pretler entered through a door, and standing before my cage leaned down to look at me. He chuckled through his grey goatee beard. ‘Ah! So you are awake again! Good! Good!’
I had questions, but I could ask them no more than I could open the door to my cage. I just couldn’t shape words like I wanted to, and every time I put my voice into action I just made mad jumbled sounds. This eventually infuriated me to such a state I just stopped talking altogether, and sat there like a fool.
My tormenter just laughed. ‘Good! Good!’ he kept on saying. ‘A fine specimen! You have worked out admirably.’ And again he drew fourth a syringe, containing the same orange liquid as before, and aimed it for my veins - but I scratched him off and the syringe smashed! He retreated cursing angrily.
I hugged my short hairy legs to my chest and pondered, ‘Why I am I in such a small place? I want to be out in the world - I want to be free!’
Someone was laughing at my side. I turned about, and in the cage opposite me was a chimpanzee! The most bizarre thing was, I could understand what he was saying! It was the most singular experience in my life, and then it also seemed to feel just right - like it was meant to be.
‘Got you as well, has he?’ he said, and again he laughed. ‘You aren’t the first, mate. You probably wont be the last!’
‘What are you going on about?’ I found myself able speak now, and the monkey understood me completely and he replied, ‘You don’t know, do you?’
I said, ‘Know what?’
He said, ‘Imagine there was a mirror between us, and I was your reflection. That’s right my friend. You are like me. You are a monkey.’
What was my reaction to this? Did I wail and shout with anger and despair. No, I was quite calm. When I saw the long hair on my arms, and looked down at my large leather feet, it all made sense.
‘But why?’ I said to him, and he shook his head and said, ‘I don’t know! But I have been trapped here for days. I don’t know what Pretler is planning, but I know what I’d do if I got my hands on him!’
‘So do I,’ said I, with a growl.
‘He’s ruined my life,’ said my friend, and I nodded, and muttered a mirror answer, ‘And mine,’ I said.
I cannot say how long my imprisonment lasted, for I was never allowed to see the light of day, and every now and then Dr Pretler entered the room, deposited food through iron bars of my cage, and then left again through door, chortling. One day he came and took the cage away containing my friend, the only person I had to keep me company. It made it easier having someone to share the burden of my misfortune with, a fellow sufferer who carried the same hardship. When he was gone I went mad, and wailed for hours, but when my energy was spent I recoiled to the corner of my cage, and turned grim and silent. My eyes must have glazed with fury. I began to plot and plan… My life had been destroyed but it had one last thing to live for…revenge…
And so I remained patient, and waited, and as I hoped the good doctor rewarded my good behaviour, and removed me from the cage and brought me out to the laboratory that lay outside the door beyond. ‘It has worked perfectly,’ he said. ‘It,’ and at this point the was referring to me! ‘has absolutely no knowledge of its former life. Ha! I have succeeded where others have failed! Those doubters will now eat their words when they see my latest triumph!’
Now at this point I wasted no more time. I attacked with only the veracity an animal has. I clawed him with my hands, I gnawed him with my teeth. I vented my days of fury upon him fully, ripped him to shreds, and scattered him across the room. I tore up his books, his papers, tipped over his vials of chemicals, and drained out every last ebb of that putrid orange liquid till it seeped into the cracks in the floor.
When the deed was done I sought the nearest window, snapped it clean open and swung out into the open air.
I have been on the run ever since, chased hither and thither by those of my former kind. I found my way back to my old apartment, and there I shall stay, till I am found. I do not know my fate, but I do not think I will be looked upon as anything other than a savage animal.
And so I have decided to discharge my final thoughts in this analogue, for others to wonder on, and perhaps, with hope, prevent such events that have distressed me from ever occurring again. For now though I leave you with a misty far well. I do not know if my fate would have been different had I not attacked the doctor in the way I did, or if my mind had not started to turn more and more animal…
The one thing I did know, and that was the number of my days…
Just because monkeys seem the same doesn’t mean to say we are the same.
The End
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It was only a week after the successful operation when my doctor surprised me in the street, calling my name out, and slapping me on the shoulder. ‘And how are you feeling?’ he asked, and I replied, ‘Never better. ‘Ha!’ he laughed, ‘you are a fine species of animal!’
I was his first patient to participate in a new line of transplant procedure known in France as “animal-viscera”, where defunct internal organs are replaced by genetically enhanced animal replicas. I told him the operation had worked a spell and I was feeling rather active than usual.
He smiled at me, but it was more a curious smile, if I have ever known one, than the type of smile one likes to see in reaction to a cheerful word. He put his fingers on the side of my face, as if to examine me, and after gazing into my eyes he shook his head. ‘Not yet ready,’ I heard him mumble in a voice that was otherwise inaudible. As he muttered to himself he began stroking his thin grey goatee beard. His eyes were great and dark, I had noticed this before, and for awhile I seemed to stand hypnotised before him. Noting my rigid state I saw his hand move into his pocket and then he said suddenly, ‘This might help!’
Then, without warning, and certainly without my permission, he drew out a syringe (filled to the brim with a singular orange liquid), and stabbing my hand plunged the contents into my veins!
He checked my face again, nodded, and stalked away!
I felt the blood flow through my veins again and checked my sore bleeding hand. Why had he done that?
Of course I had to hope it was for the good, he was my doctor after all and I trusted him, and I soon forgot about it because of the important meeting to which my presence was expected. The chancellor of the Head Bench was waiting for me and I needed to be spick-and-span if I wanted to win him over to my cause. Yes! Political matters, I am afraid, but the success of this particular meeting would see me a chair ahead on the bench in parliament, the President of the Elect Council - a position my father held before me.
‘I must say you are looking rather well!’ said the chancellor. ‘And I must agree with the beard! I know you are one to keep your appearance sharp, but this time I agree with the length of bristles on your face! The beard leaves you with a noble air!’
I thanked him, and then reflected on the obscure subject he had touched on because I remember specifically that morning shaving my countenance clean of any hair…
I started to pour the brandy, and my hand jittered when I noticed the fantastic length of black hair growth on my hand, especially across my knuckles, and along the ridges of my fingers. I tipped a portion of the brandy on to the table clothe. The chancellor eyed me inquisitively, raising one of his great bushy brows and he said, ‘I say boy! Are you alright?’
I nodded.
‘It’s just you seem a bit shaky! Not like your usual self! Are you sure you are feeling well enough for this?’
‘Of course I am!’ said I, perhaps a little too harshly. Then I calmed, continued to pour and relaxed myself in my chair. ‘Sorry! You know how it is! Just a little, you know, a little jittery!’
‘Ha!’ and the chancellor patted his mouth with his serviette, ‘I never looked on you as the nervous sort! I remember your father! Never afraid to speak his mind!
Really, what the man said wasn’t really that funny at all, but for some reason I started to laugh uncontrollably! A wild howling laugh, and I could actually feel my mouth grow larger than normal! I will tell you the truth, I don’t know why I started to laugh then in the way I did, but I did; a mad loud hooting laugh like some mad thing. Even though I felt thoroughly embarrassed I couldn’t stop, and when I tried to stop I lost full control and started to throw my hands about. Then for no reason I stood up, jumped onto my chair, and in a crouched position started to jump up and down in the same spot.
The chancellor, who by my unexplainable actions, had been worked into a sweat, mopped fully his howl head with his serviette, and stood abruptly from his chair. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for this!’ he said.
Without another word he stalked away, and this threw me into a rage, and I chased after him, but I found myself unable to say a word, only shout mad noises. Everyone was looking at me, and that was when I noticed my reflection in a glass pane - I was actually running on all fours - using both my arms and legs! I don’t know why I did this, but for a few seconds it seemed to feel right. I grunted, stood aright, straightened my back and adjusted my collar. Ignoring the hundreds of glances that were aimed my way I calmly left the building, and when I was out of eyesight, I picked up speed and just manage to catch the chancellor before he vanished into his taxi.
‘Wait!’ I cried. ‘We haven’t finished!’
‘I’m sorry but I wont be made a fool,’ he said. ‘Unless you regain your temperament we have nothing further to say to one another!’
I don’t know why but I completely lost my temper with him. My hands became separate beings and lashed out at him - and he turned and dodged, and then came about again in a diagonal position with his own fist aimed caught me on the chin and knocked me to the pavement floor.
He drove off and left me there, while I sat up and rubbed the bruise, blinking into the stars and wondering why I had attacked him. Of course I deserved the punishment in the chin, I could live with that; what I couldn’t live with was my irrational, and uncontrollable behaviour. Why had I laughed madly in front of my friend, or ran about on all fours like some animal for hundreds of people to look upon with mocking frowns? It was ridiculous actions for any human being let alone a public figure, and no doubt after the nights high handed conclusion with the chancellor the pages on my political career were slammed too.
What amazed me more than anything, when I got back home, was the beard I had grown. Before I was about to wash I saw my reflection in my bathroom mirror, and the shock I received by what I saw left me starring in wonder for at least five stupefied minutes. Not just a beard, but long black hairs over all the face and the throat. When I touched the hairs I saw my fingers in the mirror, then looked at them closely for the first time to see how long they had grown. Huge long groping fingers! I couldn’t believe it and yet all I could do was make a strange inaudible grunting sound. Then I began hoping around my room, going fourth on all floors, like a proper prince of fools! I began spilling over book cases, turning up furniture, and it seemed to almost give me some sort of crazy but curious pleasure - like I had achieved something profitable or intellectual, even. As a man read books to keep his brain keen, I tilted chairs and gazed under tables.
I shook and quivered with fear. Had I gone mad?
I retired to bed and hoped sleep would cure me.
In the morning a felt a hundred percent myself again. No longer seeing the point in getting changed, I swung out of my bedroom window, and proceeded to dance cheerily along the rooftops. A nearby tree looked a good resting spot and I jumped up into the lower branch and climbed up to the top. I gazed about at the mad town below. I saw someone walking down below, and I felt I could not stand for this. “I found this tree, it was mine!” I leapt out of the branches and growled and threw my fists about at her, and she in turn screamed, and for some reason fell unconscious to the floor. Minutes later men clad in fearsome military attire marched out of a vehicle, and I was netted, drugged and put to sleep.
When I awoke I found iron bars around me, but it wasn’t until the effects of the drug finally wore off when I realised I was inside a cage!
I shook the bars with my long leathery fingers, but could make no other sound except a loud resonant scream.
Then I saw my Doctor! Dr Pretler entered through a door, and standing before my cage leaned down to look at me. He chuckled through his grey goatee beard. ‘Ah! So you are awake again! Good! Good!’
I had questions, but I could ask them no more than I could open the door to my cage. I just couldn’t shape words like I wanted to, and every time I put my voice into action I just made mad jumbled sounds. This eventually infuriated me to such a state I just stopped talking altogether, and sat there like a fool.
My tormenter just laughed. ‘Good! Good!’ he kept on saying. ‘A fine specimen! You have worked out admirably.’ And again he drew fourth a syringe, containing the same orange liquid as before, and aimed it for my veins - but I scratched him off and the syringe smashed! He retreated cursing angrily.
I hugged my short hairy legs to my chest and pondered, ‘Why I am I in such a small place? I want to be out in the world - I want to be free!’
Someone was laughing at my side. I turned about, and in the cage opposite me was a chimpanzee! The most bizarre thing was, I could understand what he was saying! It was the most singular experience in my life, and then it also seemed to feel just right - like it was meant to be.
‘Got you as well, has he?’ he said, and again he laughed. ‘You aren’t the first, mate. You probably wont be the last!’
‘What are you going on about?’ I found myself able speak now, and the monkey understood me completely and he replied, ‘You don’t know, do you?’
I said, ‘Know what?’
He said, ‘Imagine there was a mirror between us, and I was your reflection. That’s right my friend. You are like me. You are a monkey.’
What was my reaction to this? Did I wail and shout with anger and despair. No, I was quite calm. When I saw the long hair on my arms, and looked down at my large leather feet, it all made sense.
‘But why?’ I said to him, and he shook his head and said, ‘I don’t know! But I have been trapped here for days. I don’t know what Pretler is planning, but I know what I’d do if I got my hands on him!’
‘So do I,’ said I, with a growl.
‘He’s ruined my life,’ said my friend, and I nodded, and muttered a mirror answer, ‘And mine,’ I said.
I cannot say how long my imprisonment lasted, for I was never allowed to see the light of day, and every now and then Dr Pretler entered the room, deposited food through iron bars of my cage, and then left again through door, chortling. One day he came and took the cage away containing my friend, the only person I had to keep me company. It made it easier having someone to share the burden of my misfortune with, a fellow sufferer who carried the same hardship. When he was gone I went mad, and wailed for hours, but when my energy was spent I recoiled to the corner of my cage, and turned grim and silent. My eyes must have glazed with fury. I began to plot and plan… My life had been destroyed but it had one last thing to live for…revenge…
And so I remained patient, and waited, and as I hoped the good doctor rewarded my good behaviour, and removed me from the cage and brought me out to the laboratory that lay outside the door beyond. ‘It has worked perfectly,’ he said. ‘It,’ and at this point the was referring to me! ‘has absolutely no knowledge of its former life. Ha! I have succeeded where others have failed! Those doubters will now eat their words when they see my latest triumph!’
Now at this point I wasted no more time. I attacked with only the veracity an animal has. I clawed him with my hands, I gnawed him with my teeth. I vented my days of fury upon him fully, ripped him to shreds, and scattered him across the room. I tore up his books, his papers, tipped over his vials of chemicals, and drained out every last ebb of that putrid orange liquid till it seeped into the cracks in the floor.
When the deed was done I sought the nearest window, snapped it clean open and swung out into the open air.
I have been on the run ever since, chased hither and thither by those of my former kind. I found my way back to my old apartment, and there I shall stay, till I am found. I do not know my fate, but I do not think I will be looked upon as anything other than a savage animal.
And so I have decided to discharge my final thoughts in this analogue, for others to wonder on, and perhaps, with hope, prevent such events that have distressed me from ever occurring again. For now though I leave you with a misty far well. I do not know if my fate would have been different had I not attacked the doctor in the way I did, or if my mind had not started to turn more and more animal…
The one thing I did know, and that was the number of my days…
Just because monkeys seem the same doesn’t mean to say we are the same.
The End
Tuesday, 23 August 2011
The Hell of the Clown
A short story about a man besieged in his house for no reason by a clown...
Story begins below
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The unfortunate circumstances, which I shall now relate, fired up the moment I cast my mad brother out onto the streets…
We were always worried about him when he was young, because of the strange symbols he drew on walls; but when he turned to grave digging father would have no more of it and he was cast out of the house and spent some time in the asylum.
Years later I looked after him on a temporary basis, and on his twenty seventh birthday it seemed he had been cured of his strange ways. He took to reading books, and for awhile worked in the Hales Library. I was pleased for him, and my heart was content and glad!
The one night I awoke, startled from my sleep, to the sound of rattling and clanging below. I ventured downstairs as hastily as my feet would carry me, gazed with my tired eyes to see my brother leaning on the wall, with mud on his hands and feet. I questioned him, and after he caught his breath, for he appeared to be recovering from some exertion, he replied, ‘Walking! That’s all. I fell over. I’m sorry for the noise!’
A day later my nose made me wince with the horrific, nay incomprehensible smell which entered it. Following the direction of this sent to its source found me before the door to my brothers room; I knocked and when there was no response I forced my way through.
And there he was, as of old, sat amid a pile of bones, holding a skull in his hand. With tears in his eyes he said to me, ‘Forgive me brother!’
And so it was I cast him out, because I could not stand no more of this, and I did not see him again.
A day later, and the day before I write this note, the strange events I am about to record took place…
In the afternoon I like to sit in my chair and read, with the sunlight pouring through my French patio it was otherwise a beautiful day. And I sat contentedly pouring over the pages of my book, when for some reason I felt a chill run down my spine, and as if by instinct I lowered the book I was reading to look to look out of the window - to my surprise, and later I must admit, my horror, I saw a clown! He was actually stood in my garden!
I gazed at it, and without doubt, it gazed back at me, with serene green eyes. With a face as white as snow, red smiling lips and blue hair, accompanied by the bright dress he donned I would have described him as an otherwise jolly looking character had he, for example, showed up for a children’s show, and not for some mysterious and unwarranted reason on the doorstep of my own private property.
I opened the window and shouted at him - what do you want! He pointed at me, increased the width of his grin, till his expressions perfected a type of leer, and then he merely walked away without offering by-or-leave or even a simple explanation!
Disturbed I returned to my book - but I couldn’t read it of course, not after that experience. I put it down and thought what the clown could have been about - when placing the book on the dresser, and standing up to make my way for the kitchen, I saw again the face of the clown pressed right against my own window! The condensation of his breath had turned to dew on the open pane!
‘Get away you scoundrel!’ I cried, ‘I don’t know what game you are playing but I am not laughing at it!’
But my whole constitution changed when I gazed closely at the character that affronted my privacy; for he removed a white glove from his hand - and I saw that beneath the glove was a hand that carried no skin or flesh - and now the death-like bony fingers tapped my window!
I knew now that I wasn’t dealing with some sad lunatic. This was serious. Something deadlier than I could have dreamed.
I prayed that I was dreaming, and if so please let me awake! But no, I was trapped - and even though the leering visage of that creature had moved from my window pane, it did not bring me comfort.
So he had moved from the window, but the question was where had he repositioned himself?
With terror forcing my heart to beat like I had been in a marathon, I checked all the doors, and the windows as well, to ensure they were all sealed and locked. I fell against the wall and started to pant, and tried to regain my breath and likewise remain calm. I would need all my senses in fine tune if I was to deal with this problem sensibly.
Just as I regained my nerve I heard a shrill, and horrible laughter, right outside my front door. Good grief! It was still there, and on my trial!
‘Now look here my good man!’ I shouted at it, ‘I don’t know what your game is! But if it is to scare me you have succeeded. Now be of with you. I want no trouble!’
My words proved useless, for now the clown began fiddling with the door handle.
‘Be off with you!’ I cried, and I began to think “Did I lock the door?” but as the door had not moved
I presumed I must have done. ‘I am a peaceful man!’ I shouted at it. ‘I don’t deserve this!’
That was when paranoia took me, fully, and I rushed about checking all the doors and windows again, when suddenly there was BANG
But it came from above?
Now I realised I hadn’t checked the bedroom window! I rushed up the stairs with all speed, to find that the clown had grabbed my ladder, and had thrown it up to the window. He was at that very moment climbing it and nearing the top! I could have allowed terror to get the better of me, and collapse with sheer fright, but I held fast as always, and when the clowns head was peeping in view of the window seal I reached out, and pushed the blasted fellow back down!
I tipped the ladder back on him, like an old warrior from the dark ages defending a castle turret, and afterwards slammed the window to, locking it firmly at the same time.
Now all areas were sealed, I fell down on the floor and tipped my head into my gibbering hands. What was happening? For no reason my life was falling apart. And now I had something I have never felt before - a feeling of utter doom. The order that I knew was suddenly gone, and minutes seemed like hours there was just no knowing what would happen next.
All I could do was wait, and hope.
Then the door slammed below… But … but it was locked?
I rushed out to the landing, and found the clown, stood there, at the bottom of the stairs, gazing at me with a great grin on his face. As soon as I saw him he began to ascend! With a cry, for that was all I could do, I rushed back into my room and slammed the door to. I threw my work desk against the door, and then put my own weight against it in the hope the clown wouldn’t be able to break through. Now my terror was truly immense. To think that thing was in my house, outside my room, and the only item I had for defence was a thin door jammed too by a cranky old desk. I only hoped I had enough strength to prevent him from entering. I now regretted my folly at pushing the ladder down, if I had thought about it I should have grabbed it, and pulled it in, and now I could have used it to climb down and call for help from one of my neighbours.
Still, I rushed to the window and throwing it open I shouted out several times, “Help me! A mad man is attacking me!”
But when the handle to my door was twitched behind me I had to resume my place by the desk, and with the help of the desk and my weight I was able to prevent him from entering.
These could be the last few lines I ever write in this, possibly the last entry in this unfortunate journal. I have been trapped in my room for a whole day now, and I am weary with fatigue, and hunger, and thirst, but whenever my eyes droop, I hear him scratching at my door, clawing to get in. I swear he is leaning by the door handle, and I heard a little chuckle sound down by the crack of the door.
I secretly hoped, especially after a few hours, the clown would just go away; but indeed he has not moved.
I know sleep will soon take me, and then that fiend will easily be able to enter, and then I will be at his mercy. If only I knew what it was he wanted…
But there is one thing I did now know; the hideous secret that most mankind hope to evade, and yet always fall into - and that was the number of my days…
Story begins below
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The unfortunate circumstances, which I shall now relate, fired up the moment I cast my mad brother out onto the streets…
We were always worried about him when he was young, because of the strange symbols he drew on walls; but when he turned to grave digging father would have no more of it and he was cast out of the house and spent some time in the asylum.
Years later I looked after him on a temporary basis, and on his twenty seventh birthday it seemed he had been cured of his strange ways. He took to reading books, and for awhile worked in the Hales Library. I was pleased for him, and my heart was content and glad!
The one night I awoke, startled from my sleep, to the sound of rattling and clanging below. I ventured downstairs as hastily as my feet would carry me, gazed with my tired eyes to see my brother leaning on the wall, with mud on his hands and feet. I questioned him, and after he caught his breath, for he appeared to be recovering from some exertion, he replied, ‘Walking! That’s all. I fell over. I’m sorry for the noise!’
A day later my nose made me wince with the horrific, nay incomprehensible smell which entered it. Following the direction of this sent to its source found me before the door to my brothers room; I knocked and when there was no response I forced my way through.
And there he was, as of old, sat amid a pile of bones, holding a skull in his hand. With tears in his eyes he said to me, ‘Forgive me brother!’
And so it was I cast him out, because I could not stand no more of this, and I did not see him again.
A day later, and the day before I write this note, the strange events I am about to record took place…
In the afternoon I like to sit in my chair and read, with the sunlight pouring through my French patio it was otherwise a beautiful day. And I sat contentedly pouring over the pages of my book, when for some reason I felt a chill run down my spine, and as if by instinct I lowered the book I was reading to look to look out of the window - to my surprise, and later I must admit, my horror, I saw a clown! He was actually stood in my garden!
I gazed at it, and without doubt, it gazed back at me, with serene green eyes. With a face as white as snow, red smiling lips and blue hair, accompanied by the bright dress he donned I would have described him as an otherwise jolly looking character had he, for example, showed up for a children’s show, and not for some mysterious and unwarranted reason on the doorstep of my own private property.
I opened the window and shouted at him - what do you want! He pointed at me, increased the width of his grin, till his expressions perfected a type of leer, and then he merely walked away without offering by-or-leave or even a simple explanation!
Disturbed I returned to my book - but I couldn’t read it of course, not after that experience. I put it down and thought what the clown could have been about - when placing the book on the dresser, and standing up to make my way for the kitchen, I saw again the face of the clown pressed right against my own window! The condensation of his breath had turned to dew on the open pane!
‘Get away you scoundrel!’ I cried, ‘I don’t know what game you are playing but I am not laughing at it!’
But my whole constitution changed when I gazed closely at the character that affronted my privacy; for he removed a white glove from his hand - and I saw that beneath the glove was a hand that carried no skin or flesh - and now the death-like bony fingers tapped my window!
I knew now that I wasn’t dealing with some sad lunatic. This was serious. Something deadlier than I could have dreamed.
I prayed that I was dreaming, and if so please let me awake! But no, I was trapped - and even though the leering visage of that creature had moved from my window pane, it did not bring me comfort.
So he had moved from the window, but the question was where had he repositioned himself?
With terror forcing my heart to beat like I had been in a marathon, I checked all the doors, and the windows as well, to ensure they were all sealed and locked. I fell against the wall and started to pant, and tried to regain my breath and likewise remain calm. I would need all my senses in fine tune if I was to deal with this problem sensibly.
Just as I regained my nerve I heard a shrill, and horrible laughter, right outside my front door. Good grief! It was still there, and on my trial!
‘Now look here my good man!’ I shouted at it, ‘I don’t know what your game is! But if it is to scare me you have succeeded. Now be of with you. I want no trouble!’
My words proved useless, for now the clown began fiddling with the door handle.
‘Be off with you!’ I cried, and I began to think “Did I lock the door?” but as the door had not moved
I presumed I must have done. ‘I am a peaceful man!’ I shouted at it. ‘I don’t deserve this!’
That was when paranoia took me, fully, and I rushed about checking all the doors and windows again, when suddenly there was BANG
But it came from above?
Now I realised I hadn’t checked the bedroom window! I rushed up the stairs with all speed, to find that the clown had grabbed my ladder, and had thrown it up to the window. He was at that very moment climbing it and nearing the top! I could have allowed terror to get the better of me, and collapse with sheer fright, but I held fast as always, and when the clowns head was peeping in view of the window seal I reached out, and pushed the blasted fellow back down!
I tipped the ladder back on him, like an old warrior from the dark ages defending a castle turret, and afterwards slammed the window to, locking it firmly at the same time.
Now all areas were sealed, I fell down on the floor and tipped my head into my gibbering hands. What was happening? For no reason my life was falling apart. And now I had something I have never felt before - a feeling of utter doom. The order that I knew was suddenly gone, and minutes seemed like hours there was just no knowing what would happen next.
All I could do was wait, and hope.
Then the door slammed below… But … but it was locked?
I rushed out to the landing, and found the clown, stood there, at the bottom of the stairs, gazing at me with a great grin on his face. As soon as I saw him he began to ascend! With a cry, for that was all I could do, I rushed back into my room and slammed the door to. I threw my work desk against the door, and then put my own weight against it in the hope the clown wouldn’t be able to break through. Now my terror was truly immense. To think that thing was in my house, outside my room, and the only item I had for defence was a thin door jammed too by a cranky old desk. I only hoped I had enough strength to prevent him from entering. I now regretted my folly at pushing the ladder down, if I had thought about it I should have grabbed it, and pulled it in, and now I could have used it to climb down and call for help from one of my neighbours.
Still, I rushed to the window and throwing it open I shouted out several times, “Help me! A mad man is attacking me!”
But when the handle to my door was twitched behind me I had to resume my place by the desk, and with the help of the desk and my weight I was able to prevent him from entering.
These could be the last few lines I ever write in this, possibly the last entry in this unfortunate journal. I have been trapped in my room for a whole day now, and I am weary with fatigue, and hunger, and thirst, but whenever my eyes droop, I hear him scratching at my door, clawing to get in. I swear he is leaning by the door handle, and I heard a little chuckle sound down by the crack of the door.
I secretly hoped, especially after a few hours, the clown would just go away; but indeed he has not moved.
I know sleep will soon take me, and then that fiend will easily be able to enter, and then I will be at his mercy. If only I knew what it was he wanted…
But there is one thing I did now know; the hideous secret that most mankind hope to evade, and yet always fall into - and that was the number of my days…
Monday, 22 August 2011
I say... What day it is? The Day of the Wisp?
It's Monday, and although I have only just returned to work I feel like I could be cut into the English Dictionary to serve as a metaphor of the tired man.
Only one scene redeemed the day for me. I turned my way about the park, and looked down on the tiny stream that ran by. Now the trees around the stream are dark because of the rich growth of leafage, but somehow sunlight, which was notably bright and clear, made its way through the branches to light up the scene. I can tell you now, with great confidence, with the sunshine glowing on the wings of the little dancing flies, one might imagine they were wisps, caught up in a dance, and with the shadows and the tinkering stream and flickering lights I could let myself be deceived that I was not looking upon England no more, and that my eye was gazing upon some magical sylvan scene, of the sort to inhabit the works of Lord Dunsany.
Only one scene redeemed the day for me. I turned my way about the park, and looked down on the tiny stream that ran by. Now the trees around the stream are dark because of the rich growth of leafage, but somehow sunlight, which was notably bright and clear, made its way through the branches to light up the scene. I can tell you now, with great confidence, with the sunshine glowing on the wings of the little dancing flies, one might imagine they were wisps, caught up in a dance, and with the shadows and the tinkering stream and flickering lights I could let myself be deceived that I was not looking upon England no more, and that my eye was gazing upon some magical sylvan scene, of the sort to inhabit the works of Lord Dunsany.
Sunday, 21 August 2011
The Expedition
There is a new story to read The Expedition and it can be found on stories section on the right side of the bar. Even though Rutger Heartly does feature at large in this story, The Expedition is not a true Rutger Heartly adventure.
The Expedition is a ridiculous piece of escapism about three scientists who set out on an adventure to the Nahla Lake in Africa in search of a mythical beast called the Makala. The adventure leads them to a forgotten island, where prehistoric beasts and ancient treasure are to be found.
The Expedition is a ridiculous piece of escapism about three scientists who set out on an adventure to the Nahla Lake in Africa in search of a mythical beast called the Makala. The adventure leads them to a forgotten island, where prehistoric beasts and ancient treasure are to be found.
Friday, 19 August 2011
Is it Friday? Good grief!
Another day, and another good kick from the Australia's by the other side of some wild donkey seeking random adventure in the great outdoors. Well, at least that's how I feel.
Anyway, let's return to something sensible. Here are a few more daily tips to help you lead a healthy and mature life.
1. If you see an oddly shaped sheep walking in an awkward fashion and it looks like its head is about to fall off, call the police at once! It's probably a madman in disguise!
2. If you feel worried you might commit a terrible crime hand yourself into the police and confess before-hand, and the crime will never happen!
3. If you can't cross a busy road because of all the zooming cars, try to climb onto the roof of a building and leap from one roof to the other. It's a brilliant way to move about, and you'll only fall if you think about it too much.
4. If a fat and oddly large seagull accosts you in the street asking for directions please refer to point 1.
5. The best cure for hay fever is to leap head-first into a pollen field and roll about in it all day long into the morning. I have never tried to do this, and that's probably why I am still alive.
6. if you have seen a dinosaur freely walking around in your back garden go check your medication now!!
Anyway, let's return to something sensible. Here are a few more daily tips to help you lead a healthy and mature life.
1. If you see an oddly shaped sheep walking in an awkward fashion and it looks like its head is about to fall off, call the police at once! It's probably a madman in disguise!
2. If you feel worried you might commit a terrible crime hand yourself into the police and confess before-hand, and the crime will never happen!
3. If you can't cross a busy road because of all the zooming cars, try to climb onto the roof of a building and leap from one roof to the other. It's a brilliant way to move about, and you'll only fall if you think about it too much.
4. If a fat and oddly large seagull accosts you in the street asking for directions please refer to point 1.
5. The best cure for hay fever is to leap head-first into a pollen field and roll about in it all day long into the morning. I have never tried to do this, and that's probably why I am still alive.
6. if you have seen a dinosaur freely walking around in your back garden go check your medication now!!
Wednesday, 17 August 2011
My Work 17.8.11
Busy writing another book offline. I will return with something new, eventually, of that you have my word!
Sunday, 14 August 2011
Rutger Heartly has Arrived...
Rutger Heartly is an old character I invented years ago. My main plan is to compile all his stories into one great book. I have post his first ever adventure here and it can be read in the story section on the right side of the page.
Rutger Heartly is a professor of the paranormal. A strange secret trade that only he practices. People often seek him out to aid them in the irradiation of mischievous and baleful spirits. Whenever something strange or evil appears, Rutger is the man to deal with it.
In Chutly Wood a traveller is possessed by the spirit of a wild animal, and he seeks Rutger out to help in driving the possessor away. The task is not as easy as any of them imagined, and the quest to free the man's soul lead them to mysterious Chutly Wood itself...
Rutger Heartly is a professor of the paranormal. A strange secret trade that only he practices. People often seek him out to aid them in the irradiation of mischievous and baleful spirits. Whenever something strange or evil appears, Rutger is the man to deal with it.
In Chutly Wood a traveller is possessed by the spirit of a wild animal, and he seeks Rutger out to help in driving the possessor away. The task is not as easy as any of them imagined, and the quest to free the man's soul lead them to mysterious Chutly Wood itself...
Sean Wadley's Words of Wisdom 14.08.10
Time for your daily enrichment:
1.Never trust a man in top hat - he might hide a gun in it
2.If a grandfather clock starts talking to you go to the doctors - you're going mad
3.Fish live in the sea, because if they lived on land we would be overpopulated and driven out
4.Penguins are intelligent enough to read books - they just can't tell you what they mean because they don't speak our language
5.Never underestimate your own strength - you might knock yourself out while scratching your eye
1.Never trust a man in top hat - he might hide a gun in it
2.If a grandfather clock starts talking to you go to the doctors - you're going mad
3.Fish live in the sea, because if they lived on land we would be overpopulated and driven out
4.Penguins are intelligent enough to read books - they just can't tell you what they mean because they don't speak our language
5.Never underestimate your own strength - you might knock yourself out while scratching your eye
Saturday, 13 August 2011
What the Sun Doesn't Know
I have added a new story. It can be found in the "story" section on the right side of the screen. I would probably describe it more as mad - than strange; but its an experimental piece of fun I enjoyed writing. As before, feel free to comment on it, any feedback is appreciated, good or bad. There will be more stories to follow. As soon as a new idea springs into my head I will place it down without hesitation! Have a brilliant day, and I wish you all the best.
Sean Wadley
Sean Wadley
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