26.9.04 | The Horror In The Castle Kitchen
Gather round, gentle readers, while i recount the night of dreadful terror that befell me recently in my own home... My own home, i say!
A storm is coming. I feel it in my blood. In my bones. I shiver, and wrap my long coat around me tighter pulling the collar up to ward off the worst of the fierce chill winds, that even now are pulling my slender form around. Briefly i gaze up into the night sky, seeking a hope of starlight beyond the gloom of these heavy-laden rainclouds.
I step away from the battlements and gatehouse as the first freezing raindrops bite into my face.
Walking swiftly across the courtyard towards the light of the kitchen, my eyes are drawn to something fluttering 'gainst the kitchen window. Why, 'tis a large Deaths-Head moth. An Acherontia Atropos. It is struggling valiantly with the wind and driving rain. It is dying. Unless... in a burst of sudden sympathy for the creature, i quickly catch it in my cupped hands, struggle awkwardly with the kitchen door and release it onto a nearby cupboard. I am not overly fond of insects in my kitchen at the best of times, especially the fluttery kind, so i am surprised at my charity.
It seems to be resting for the moment. I lean in a little, the more easily to study it's beautiful and fragile wings and body. Gerald (for so i have Christened him. Obvioulsy a "him") warily stares back at this giant of me. I do hope he's sufficiently grateful enough for this sanctuary to not trouble me while i prepare my evening meal (or "Tea" as we Sykers call it).
Gerald-Moth barely moves, while i set about preparing myself a yummy salad. Carrots: check. Onions check. Lettuce and other crap: checky-check. I gingerly pull the carrots out of the fridge, and reach for an onion.
The phone rings.
Distracted, i head into the lounge to answer. Not so distracted that i don't shut the kitchen door to prevent Moth wanderage, though.
It's Pumpkin. We have a brief but lively discussion about what should be done with my body once i'm dead. The conversation ends with me regretfully informing her that she'll have to sort out the pulleys and levers with the taxidermist herself, if that's what she really wants... but more on that another time...
I head back into the kitchen, wondering idly how Gerald is doing..perhaps he's peeling the onion in gratitude for my saving his mothy life... Upon opening the kitchen door though, i immediately sense that there is something terribly wrong.
And then a wave of hatred washes over me, so thick and intense that i am left retching and gasping for breath. Brought to my knees by it's sheer ferocity. Aaaa!
I sense their presence, then. Their malevolent aura, reaching out to consume all life. The warm kitchen air must have roused them. Damn my foolishness. I must think quickly. Or all is lost!
What to do? This is a fine pickle i'm in and no mistake. But luck seems to be with me, for the moment. I am not yet under aerial assault, nor a direct mind onslaught so they must not have yet become aware of me. Making a mental note never to underestimate the forces of darkness again, i settle down and calmly assess the situation.
I need a weapon. If i recall, i'd left a very sharp knife on the worktop. That would do the trick. I risk a glance. Yes! But Nooo!- my enemies ares sitting 'tween me and their destruction and my salvation!
Then i remember Gerald.
"Distract them!" i yell enthusiastically to Gerald, and leap into action.
Pirouetting with the grace and skill you'd only find in an Aardvaark, i dance my way along the kitchen shelves, and somersault perfectly, to land in a twisted heap of cracking bones, erupting fountains of blood and twitching ganglia. Ah, i forgot about the kettle.
Oh, well, but my prize is within reach and i set upon my nemesis with vigour, my blade disdainfully smoking with bloody execution. Singing my battle chant; "Caangechewaddamayed..."
No quarter is asked. None given.
At last i am done. I gaze wearily at the heavily mutilated bodies of my foe. It was a long vicious struggle. Could've gone either way, i think, philosophically.
"Bloody carrots! They're always getting ideas above their station. Hey, Gerald- Ya wanna bit o' carrot?" I bloodily wave a small chunk of very dead carrot at Gerald, who has very nobly not moved an inch during the whole confrontation... now there's a moth who likes to stand his ground...
(look, i was bored, ok?!? i thought it would be fun to write about my heroic confrontation with the carrots. It's not like i haven't warned you about how dangerous they are... you'll thank me one day. No really, you will! I deserve a medal!)