Storytime: Baron.

December 28th, 2022

The baron crawled into town around noon.

First came his retainers, shackled in sores; then his long-toothed guardsmen, lurching and leaning on their polearms; then finally him, his candlewax-faced chef and his chef’s-mate, the latter two tending to the giant glutinous cauldron he dragged behind his scabrous bulk.

“He is coming to town,” called the retainers.  “Make way, make way, make way for the baron, whose blessed mass has succumbed to this place!  Make a way away!”

Folks made it away, but a few sickos came to watch and wait and praise his lumpened lesions, hands trembling with joy and palsy and joy and fear and joy. 

“Hurrah!” they cheered as the blisters popped under their palms and anointed them with startlingly clear and watery fluids.  “He blesses us!  The baron blesses us!  HURRAH!”  Their cheers made the baron shudder and cringe until the chef’s-mate could beat them back with his long-handled ladle, patriotic fervor blinding them to the pain.  “Hurrah!”

There was no time for this sort of thing.  The feast was already prepared and boiling fierce.  Mistletoe, deadly and delicious, a humid fog arising from the jellied bowl.  The steam alone could stagger a healthy human; the taste would kill small animals; the colours were unspeakable and unguessable and probably unknowable in general and it poured down the baron’s pleading throat even as he whimpered and cringed at its searing heat. 

“Kiss!” chanted the retainers, slapping their palsied palms together.  “Kiss!  Kiss!  Kiss!” and indeed the baron extended his tongue and lips and uvula into the cauldron and cleaned it clearly from top to bottom and all around the rim until not one drop of the deadly brew remained. 

“Bring the bread!” shouted the chef, eyes perspiring under the weight of his beard.  “Bring the bread!” roared the guards as they bashed in doors and kicked down barricades and crawled through windows and down chimneys.  “We have no bread!” squealed and lied and pled the townsfolk, but they were merely lies for the sake of lies and nobody believed them or heard them as the bread was extracted and carried to the chef’s-mate for sprinkling with the scalding spice and bright gewgaws and grubs before it was held aloft to the baron’s maw for the ceremonial One Big Bite.  One big bite per loaf per household; that was the rule, the truth, the lie that sealed the pact. 

“HE IS OURS!” screamed the retainers. 
“WE ARE HIS!” shouted the patriotic maniac sickos, who were already being handed the bells and chains and bright-eyed illnesses to initiate themselves into his flock.  They had far to travel tonight to reach all towns in his domain, and little left to do.  “BRINGER OF GIFTS!  THE LIE THAT IS REAL!  THE SPIRIT OF THE SEASONS!  HAIL!”

“HAIL!”
“HAIL!”
“HAIL!”

“HAIL!” and with the last repetition a true hail descended from the baron’s mouth, not of vomit but of precious treasure; stones and shells and small dead things from his gut polished and spun and shined by the mistletoe-and-gingered-bread slurry into bright things of beauty that would adorn many a wrist and neck and finger for years.  The retainers brought them door to door, forced them through cracks and hurled them into dwellings, dumped them into drawers and ppoured them into socks. 
“GIFTS!” they shrieked as they swarmed and scurried.  “GIFTS!  GIFTS!” until the ground was clear again but for the muddy and fouled boot-prints of the baron’s groaning and wobbling single leg where it clawed in the slush and snow and muck. 

“Say fare well to the baron Sant Antanta!” screamed the chef atop the cauldron, his eyes alight and the candles on his face melting into a red blaze.  “We bid you farewell, but do not weep!  HE SHALL BE BACK AGAIN ONE DAY!”

And so he would, and so he left for another year, for another long winter’s eve.


Storytime: Toilet.

December 21st, 2022

It is completely normal and not at all unreasonable to be afraid of ghosts when you’re alone in a bathroom in an empty building at night.  I’m pretty sure there was a Stephen King story about that.  It’s nothing to be ashamed of.  It’s a normal human instinct, like saying ‘hi howyadooin?’ to  people when you don’t care about the answer, or being unable to gracefully accept unexpected gifts, or make new friends in your thirties.  This is completely fine and I am not a lesser woman for feeling this sensation.  It’s just instincts, and the way I’m slowly hiking my feet up so anyone entering the bathroom will be unable to see my feet inside the stall is a rational stress response. 

Besides, it’s not like there’s anyone here to judge me for it.  It’s just me.  Alone.  In a large building.  And that’s fine and normal because I’m the night custodian, that’s something I signed up for and I am an adult in control of myself who can and will do this because my paycheck is riding on it and that’s the only thing that matters when you’re a mature adult: money.  Not the urge to scream and run. 

Not that anyone would judge me if I chose to scream and run, right?  Because I’m alone.  Nobody else around. 

That’s why that creaking out in the hallway is just my imagination, just the plumbing making sounds, just a squirrel running across the roof, and my holding my breath right now is purely out of ironic self-indulgence because the noise is going away soon and then I will relax and breathe again and it will all be a good-natured chuckle or jape. 

See?  It stopped. 

And the door’s just swinging open because it’s broken and I didn’t notice that must be it that must be it that must be it oh fuck who’m I kidding SHIT.

***

You don’t really appreciate how hard it is to keep your feet hoisted off the ground in a sitting position until you’ve held it under the tension of some anonymous ghost/monster/mass murderer/stranger discovering your hidden presence in a bathroom stall.  Muscles that I haven’t heard from in YEARS are singing lamentations at me that grow louder by the second.  Meanwhile I’m sitting here just trying to listen for the sound of departing footsteps.  God, what if I never hear them leave?  What if I just have to sit here holding this position all night until daybreak JUST IN CASE?  I think I’d take hearing them actually walking into the bathroom over thaoh no there they’re doing it I didn’t mean that I didn’t want that shit shit fuck shit piss piss piiiiiiiiiiisSHIT.

They aren’t walking past my stall.  That’s good.  They’re going into the stall next to me.  That’s not so good.  They’re now between me and the exit.  That’s bad.  And I can’t move my hands from the stall wall or it might creak so now I have to hold this pose EVEN HARDER.  That’s hell. 

Shuffling, barely audible over my pulse.  I think that’s clothing.  Ghosts don’t wear clothing – well, not audibly, right?  But some monsters do.  Like Frankenstein.  Or Frankenstein’s monster, Adam.  Everyone knows Frankenstein is the real monster in that story though.  Shitty parent. 

Maybe this unannounced, unasked for, inexplicable presence in this building with me after midnight isn’t a monster or a ghost or a ghoul, just someone’s shitty parent!  And a serial murderer!

Well, that’s killed the desire to get up and run for it.  Not that I’m sure I could at this point.  My legs are numb from lack of blood flow and from experience I know that running like this is a great way to break my nose. 

Porcelain creaks next to me.  My nightmarish hallucination appears to have a bladder and or bowels.  I’m still not in a hurry to find out further details; even this feels a little much.  You never have to worry about this in most horror stories unless they’re written by Clive Barker; Dracula doesn’t have any sequences where they find out the bathroom capabilities of vampires; Jason never gets interrupted while he’s tinkling on a tree; pretty sure there’s never been a Godzilla flick where he scent-marks a building. 

Thunk.  What is going thunk? 

A toilet paper roll slides under the stall wall softly, almost shyly.  I’m biting my tongue and don’t know why, and then the hand comes. 

No glove.  Nice nails.  Maybe it isn’t a serial killer, or at least it isn’t a Freddy wannabe.  It clutches, it grasps, and then it reaches out and blindly misses the roll and grabs my ankle and both of us stop moving along with the rest of the universe for three seconds. 

“Hello?”

I’m not moving. 

“Hello?!” this time quivering. 

I’m really not moving at all. 

The scream is louder, piercing, and not at all like you hear in movies because it’s a WORKING scream, it’s the air escaping someone’s lungs while they’re using the rest of it to get somewhere else in a hurry so it’s wobbling up and down and modulating and a lot of other things while its owner leaves as fast as possible, slamming open the bathroom door and heading down the hall with her hair on fire.

I put my legs back down and sign in relief, try to stand up, and fall over.  While I’m trying to get blood back into them, something catches my eye down there – a lost artifact from my erstwhile haunt, a jacket collapsed from its coathook, ID badge still attached. 

SHAUNA MCKENZIE
NIGHT CUSTODIAN

Weird.  I thought I was the night custodian.

And it’s around then that I notice I haven’t actually stopped holding my breath since I heard that first noise and I don’t actually feel uncomfortable about it.   

***

It’s completely normal and not at all unreasonable to be a ghost in a bathroom in an empty building at night.  I’m pretty sure the Harry Potter lady wrote about that sort of thing before she became a fascist.   


Storytime: Salt.

December 14th, 2022

The scale tipped, then it teetered, then it shattered.

“Piss and blast,” said Richard unhappily. “That was the last one in the house.”

“And the most expensive, begging sir’s pardon,” said Manfred, his manservant, already hard at work gingerly prising Richard’s feet free from the scale’s rubble.

“Obviously not worth the price if it’s so flimsy,” frowned Richard. “Well! If I am to be beset by such inconvenience and nonsense, there’s nothing to be done but fix the matter.”

“Howso, sir?”

“I shall go on a diet.”

“Which one, sir?”

“The very best one,” said Richard. “One I shall create myself.”

“Hasn’t sir often remarked – as a matter of pride – that he has never created anything of value in his entire existence?” inquired Manfred, the question rising up from the depths of his soul and brushing aside his tact and training like insubstantial insects.

“Oh Manfred, Manfred, Manfred,” chided Richard. “That just means I’ve saved it all up for this moment. Forty-eight years is enough preparation for anyone, don’t you think?”

***

The most difficult part lay ahead.

“All the good ideas are taken,” mourned Richard as Manfred used his mouse for him. “All-meat?”
“Already done, sir.”

“Loads of olive oil and such?”

“’Mediterranean,’ sir.”
“Caveman-style?”
“They call it ‘paleo,’ sir.”
“Rot and drivel,” growled Richard, “how can they possibly find mammoth to consume?”

“They do their best, sir.”

“Fat lot of use the museum was when I asked them for some; I can’t see their best being better than that. See if I ever donate to that waste of bricks again.”

“It would be a shock, sir.”

“Sylvia!” called Richard in his most piercing voice. “More popcorn!”
The maid in question was already holding a bowl next to him, but Richard was a respecter of Tradition and so wasn’t about to acknowledge someone when he could summon them instead.

“Needs more salt,” mused Richard. “Oh! That’s it!”
“Sir?” inquired Manfred.

“I shall create the world’s first salt-based diet. Nothing but salt, with salt, and salt.”

“That’s nuts, sir,” interjected Manfred’s sanity without the approval of his brain.

“Oh quite a lot of them, yes, but only if they’re roasted and seasoned, and there’ll be plenty more to round out the menus. Sylvia! Get down to the kitchen and set things up with the chefs, or do I have to do everything myself?!”

***

“I should’ve made this menu myself,” complained Richard.

“I could summon the chefs to sir’s presence for a proper dictation of-”

“Are you MAD?” inquired Richard with all the agog incredulity he could fit on his face. “Honestly Manfred, if I go concerning myself with coming up with little things like menus how will I have the creativity left over to come up with this diet? Salt demands my ABSOLUTE attention!”

“Quite so, sir. My apologies, sir.”

“Of course, of course, of course. Now get started on redeeming yourself and send back this jerky to be deep-fried and triple-salted again. He didn’t get enough breading on it.” Richard sighed and shook his head.

“Would sir like a beverage with his meal?”
“No,” said Richard thoughtfully. He scratched at his wrist and admired the shower of skin particles. “Look, see how I’m already starting to shed weight now that I’m sweating less? That’s the salt at work, that surely is. I can’t go dissolving the salt when it’s just getting started! No drink, no. None.”

***

“I need a drink,” moaned Richard, as he roiled in bed with the faint crunching sounds that his skin made these days, leaving a trail of almost-translucent fragments through his sheets. “God, Christ, god’s piss, christ’s piss, jesus’s piss in a pitcher, I need a drink so badly oh god Sylvia why do I not have a drink?”

Sylvia gently raised a glass to his hand, which he inspected, raised to his lips, and hurled across the bedroom through the window.

“Are you MAD?” he demanded. “There’s WATER in that! No, get me a drink of SALT, damn you and your mother and your mother’s mother!”
“There is salt in sir’s drink,” said Manfred, who’d just come through the door with a plate of twice-smoked duck breast.

“Yes, but there’s also water,” said Richard darkly. “New rule: no water. Not even salt water. Salt is the diet; water is the weakness. After all, isn’t fat mostly water? No wonder this is working so well!”
“Sir,” interjected Manfred, with the discreet and quiet cough of someone being paid not to say this sort of thing, “you have gained sixty-nine pounds four ounces, mostly as a result of the strange brittle structures sir is producing instead of sweat.”

“That’s temporary, Manfred,” chuckled Richard. “God, no wonder you’re a butler – not an ounce of imagination or education in you. Soon it’ll all fall away like water off a duck’s back.” Then his eyes alit upon the plate and he frowned once more. “Speaking of, send that back. Just bring me the seasoning next time.”
“There was no seasoning at sir’s request due to his suspicion of ‘watery-tasting’ spices, sir.”
“Oh, it was nothing but salt? Good. Just bring me the salt then.”

“Very good sir, I’ll send for the shaker.”
“A bag, I think.”

***

“Must you make such a RACKET?” complained Richard.

“Apologies, sir, but that is the nature of a hammer.”
“Still there’s no need to go hammering at it like that.”
“I am truly contrite, sir. Almost done.”
“Would be done already if you put some backbone into it.”
“Indeed sir.” Manfred wiped free the sweat from his brow and drove the last nail into the windowsill. “It is done, sir.”
Richard eyed him with greater distaste than was typical, as far as could be detected when his face had sunken into a sort of parched rictus. “Do you really have to do that sort of thing?” he asked.

“Pardon, sir?”
“Secreting liquids,” sneered Richard. He shuddered, producing a funny sort of noise somewhere between a windchime and a rattlesnake. “Like some kind of filthy amphibian. Honestly Manfred, I thought better of you.”
“I am ashamed of my weaknesses and frailties, sir.”
“You’d better be,” said Richard. “Why, imagine if your filthy liquid laid itself against a surface and evaporated, and if that evaporation should later cool and condense itself against my skin? It might break free my precious salt, and the diet would be ruined! A whole lifetime’s-worth of prepared and banked inspiration and creativity, flushed away by a lack of antiperspirant and the slovenly habits of a member of the labouring class! Whose fault would THAT be, Manfred?”

“My own entirely, sir.”

“Correct. Now that the windows are sealed, get to work on installing those dehumidifiers next. My dorsal spires are beginning to flute and bifurcate, but I don’t know if they’ll get above sixteen inches in height if the air doesn’t stop being so damned muggy.”

“It is January, sir, which is traditionally one of the dryer months.”
“Are you MAD?” burst out Richard incredulously. “The ground outside is covered in snow, which is, of course, frozen WATER. My god Manfred, read a fucking book for once. After your shift, on your own time.”

“I shall, sir.”

“In the here and now, fetch me more salt.”
“Sir? May I suggest a funnel? Sir’s mouth is increasingly obstructed by sir’s growths.”
“Those are crystals, Manfred. And your suggestion is considered and discarded: a funnel lacks dignity. Simply pour the salt onto my stomach and it’ll do the rest on its own.”

***

Manfred pulled the switch, examined the readout, confirmed item four through fifteen on the checklist, exchanged a complicated series of hand signs and codes through the airlock porthole, then heaved down on the lever that would initiation the dehydration process.

“I’m hungry,” rumbled Richard. Manfred heard him through vibrations in solid matter these days rather than air, tremors that travelled from body to floor to the surface of his full-body HAZMAT suit, which reminded him of something important.

“Lunch is nearly here, sir. In the meantime, a troubling matter has arisen since last night: sir appears to have become fully embedded into the floorboards. Perhaps we should consult a doctor? Or at least an architect, to ensure sir’s weight doesn’t cause instability in the –”

“Are you MAD?! You want to involve ‘experts’ in this? What do they know about value, about inspiration, about clarity, about the power of forging one’s own path? All of that gets drowned out of them in school, replaced with indolent slopping sloshing gurgling wet thoughts of tepid tedium and damp mediocrity.” A discordant… sound? Feeling? Both?… filled the air, like the running of a titanic fork over a plate. “Ugh. The thought makes me feel sick, and the idea of feeling sick makes me even MORE sick. How do you stand it, Manfred, being so full of…juices? Just walking around pumping and digesting and oozing them all day, all night? How do you not just up and end yourself on the spot?”
“My duty to sir keeps me going.”
“As it should,” said Richard grudgingly. “As it should. But in the meantime can you at least try not to perspire like that? I can feel it congealing on the interior of your faceplate. Uggggh.” The great crystalline salt mass that had consumed Richard’s skull and torso clicked and shrank inwards on itself, presenting an interlocking shield of blades against a perceived threat.

“I shall do my best as always to serve sir.”

“You’d better,” hummed Richard. The air grew that extra step dryer, the airlock hummed open, and Sylvia entered with a wheelbarrow of shining silver particles. “You’d better.”

***

“Sir?” asked Manfred. “Sir? SIR?”
Sylvia shook her head. “Nothing doing. I yelled right in his ear and you know he flips his lid if he so much as hears me whisper in the room next door. ‘Wasting time with feminine gossip.’”

“Fuck. Do you think he’s actually gone?”

“He’s a seven-ton mass of salt crystals and cannibalized fragments of calcium that wasn’t very sane to begin with.”
“Well,” said Manfred, and the rest of that thought was cut off by the explosion of Richard down the center, sending a hail of brittle fragments pelting against the both of them and raising bruises even through HAZMAT. Through the dusty haze a pair of wings stretched; lacy and webbed, like a dragonfly that had fucked a pterosaur three generations back. A head raised, skeletal and elegant, and song flowered that came from vibration of a dozen legs against each other, piercing and harsh and high.

Then it tensed and leapt, and in a blur it was off and through the window in a second shower of much sharper shards.

“There’s one real shock from all this,” said Manfred.

“Oh?” said Sylvia, who was quietly staring down the barrel of her first half-shift in three years.
“Richard actually created something of value.”

Sylvia looked at the distant shining speck on the horizon, then back to her phone. She brought up the weather forecast: afternoon showers followed by heavy rain.

“Well… I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”


Storytime: Exhibition.

December 7th, 2022

An Exhibition of the Life’s Work of G. E. ‘Glamorous’ Quenzelcroft

The quintessential outsider artist, Quenzelcroft’s unique contributions to humanity’s creative efforts have never been properly appreciated, whether in her own time or long after her death.  It is the hope of the curator that this exhibition will correct this historical oversight and bring fresh light into the unique spark of inspiration that lies within each and every one of us. 

1985: Raccoon on My Dad’s Face

This is the earliest known example of Quenzelcroft’s serious artistic effort, although it is clearly the creation of an established artist at age six.  Possibly even older works exist and are waiting to be found – or have been destroyed by time and neglect (a grim thought!). 

This piece exalts the raw, immanent violence of life while dismantling the ephemeral societal constructs that we hold as solid and immovable facts of reality by placing them in sharp contrast: the father, clawed and bitten and noseless; the raccoon, ascendant and enormously puffed-up in screaming fury.  The stark violence of the moment is rendered all the more meaningful by its medium: the attempted sterility of a police report. 

1991: Pasta in the Walls

A recent discovery that is first presented to the public within this exhibition, Pasta in the Walls closes the hitherto-mysterious ‘fourteen-year-gap’ by revealing that Quenzelcroft was not idle, merely subtle.  A renovation of her childhood home’s ventilation ducts uncovered this wonderful example of the message becoming the medium.  As the work had become fused with its substrate, it is presented here along with the furnace components it remains affixed to.  The rich, variegated patterning and artful spray signal the deft hand and spontaneous character that typify Quenzelcroft’s works in general, while the shattered bowl speaks to youthful vigour as yet unchecked by the confidence gained by age.  The precise meaning of the ‘happy hippo’ patterning on the shards remains a subject of hot debate. 

1999: Shooting My Computer with a Shotgun to Get the Demons Out

The lynchpin of the collection – and indeed the smoking gun that led to the discovery of Quenzelcroft upon its chance discovery in an antique landfill.  Unsigned and uncredited, tracking down the original authorship took decades, but now it can be correctly attributed as the opening statement of the artist’s ‘mature’ career: Quenzelcroft’s confidence has now fully blossomed and no longer does she approach learning with the attitude of the student who seeks comprehension, but rather that of the master who chases enlightenment.  The wild shot spread and poor muzzle velocity visible in the shattered hull of the CPU indicate that the tool chosen for this task was clearly makeshift and second-hand (original owner unknown, although the artist was a frequent visitor of Captain Crow’s Pawn & Guns), an attitude of insouciant carelessness further emphasized by the off-centre aim and yet subtly contradicted by the subsequent sixteen shots indicating a thorough and deliberate commitment to the goal.  As pre-post-ironic critiques of Y2K Millenarianism go, you will find none better. 

2007: I Am Very Old

This key work represents three radical innovations: here we see Quenzelcroft’s bold forays into new mediums, her careful toying with the idea of collaboration, and her most baldly-stated musings on both the meaning of her work and her life philosophy.  In this extended conversation, scraped from a discarded cellphone, we have no fewer than three hours of mediations coded in layers of social interaction so profoundly deep as to be nigh-Marianas-level – her sadness over the death of her dog due to peanut ingestion; her wrath over her boyfriend’s refusal to apologize for insulting her car; her long-standing feud with her sister over the proper wallpaper in their youthful bedroom – we even learn here of her ambiguous feelings over her earliest work and her doubts of its lasting significance (and indeed it was this hint that led to the discovery of Raccoon on My Dad’s Face).  The themes of addiction and identity are woven throughout the piece but never spoken aloud, a complex metacommentary on societal rules and regulations observed even when all involved are transparently aware that the artist is crossfaded to the gills on Wiser’s and mushrooms. 

2012: Barbeque for One

Early scholarship on Quenzelcroft’s work sought to typify her as a compulsive introvert, consciously ignorant of the world outside her own explorations of humanity’s consciousness.  This period of scholastic carelessness was abruptly dispelled with the identification of this piece from the auctioning of a private collection, where it had originally (and damningly incorrectly assigned to Peter J. Fullthrough.  Despite sharing Fullthrough’s iconic use of honey-garlic sauce, in the violent crushing of every bone we can see the passion and single-minded focus in pursuit of vision that is unmistakably and inarguably Quenzelcroft, here making perhaps her most naked political commentary on consumption, capitalism, classism, and food poverty: the rank ruins of a five-course junk-food meal, spread among five half-destroyed trash cans that try and fail to contain the overflowing trash spread by the lustful indulgence of a singular elite.  This can also be seen as a knowing and ironic self-commentary on Quenzelcroft’s part, proving that contrary to jealous words, she was neither unaware nor uncritical of her own foibles. 

2016: This is So Much Harder than I’d Thought

Despite accusations of being a compulsive dabbler, the deep and profound collaboration in this work – the first seen since I Am Very Old – typifies Quenzelcroft as more of a distillery of insight; producing careful explorations into a theme or topic and then allowing her feelings and thoughts to mature over the years before sampling the fruits of the initial investment.  While her earlier collaboration was impulsive and bold, here we see the smooth confidence and overwhelmingly focused force of a considered plan: her husband’s phalanges, crushed to near-dust by overwhelming force exerted during Quenzelcroft’s childbirth.  That such beauty can come from such agony is one of the greatest truths of humanity, and in clutching her partner’s hand until the very bones tore themselves apart Quenzelcroft has once again perfectly unseated our assumptions and forced us to confront old truths in new light. 

2022: Big Serrated Teeth Grinding Through My Mother’s Toes

The exhibition’s final work concludes with a somber note of the perils of the future: this is at present time the earliest known example of Quenzelcroft Jr.’s serious artistic effort, although even at age six it is tainted by a derivative imagination.  Possibly older works exist that may reveal a bright and creative mind as yet untouched by the pressure of fame and the temptation to succumb to her mother’s legacy (a tragic thought). 

A profound tunnel vision limits the scope of the piece, Quenzelcroft herself is invisible save for her foot, blood spattered from her maimed appendage; the raccoon is frozen in its least appealing aspect, hideous and wormlike and writhing amidst the trash, its maw seized about her mother’s foot.  In her efforts to capture this instant more completely by the medium of a phone camera Quenzelcroft Jr. has only limited its emotion.  There is still time for this artist to rediscover herself, but whether or not she will break free and soar on her own wings or plummet in the chains of the derivative remains to be seen. 


 
 
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