Halloween Part 5: Hubble, Bubble Toil and Trubble

WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ IS:

IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.

THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL.  ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.  

IN FACT, ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ANYTHING AT ALL WILL BE REMARKABLY COINCIDENTAL.

The Overdale East Parish Church Thursday 27^th Oct 10.02pm

Tyres screeching, the Daughters of Darkness van ground to a halt with a shudder at the back door of the Overdale East Frieze Church at 666b Covenloch Street.

The door of the van swung open and the three hags tumbled out, tripping over their long black cloaks.

Once again, the little redhead, who’s human name was Brenda, effortlessly threw the hessian sack containing the still unconscious Emily over her right shoulder and kicked open the huge wooden door leading to the narrow winding staircase.

“Quick!” hissed Myra, “someone’s coming!”

She bundled Senga, the middle size one into the narrow door, who in turn bumped into Brenda who dropped the hessian bag, which bumped all the way to the bottom of the staircase with a loud thud.

The tumble down the stairs undid the knot around the neck of the hessian bag containing Emily, sprawling her unceremoniously over the mosaic medallion.

The evil threesome scrambled down the stairs and rushed towards Emily, who by this time was stirring, moaning and mumbling. Clearly in a state of unconsciousness she muttered “oooh-weee-oooh-weee-oooh-weee-oooh”.

“Ohhhh in the name of Beelzebub” said Brenda, making the sign of the upside down cross “she’s speaking in tongues.”

“No she’s not ya halfwit” said Senga “She’s singing one of Chris Smith’s vocal warm-ups.”

“Don’t call me a halfwit, ya bampot” spat the firey redhead.

“You’re both heidbangers!" roared Myra stepping between them. “Have you forgotten about our special task?” She pointed at Emily who was groggily trying to get on her knees.

“Get her on The Chair” ordered Myra.

Emily was dragged from the floor onto a large ornate mahogany chair which sat underneath the green chandelier. Her head flopped and lolled against the wings of the chair.

Myra swiftly and expertly bound her hands and feet to the chair with a blood loop knot.

“Wow” remarked Senga, clearly impressed. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“In the Brownies of course” snapped Myra dismissively. “Is the brew ready yet?”

“Irn Bru?” chimed Brenda.

The two other women stopped what they were doing at stared at Brenda in disbelief.

“You really are a chump aren’t you?” said Myra.  “I want to poison her, not give her a sugar rush!” she screeched.

Brenda looked puzzled.

“Witches Brew you bint!”

“Oh, course. I knew you meant that.” Brenda was agitated now and went to the cupboard to get the recipe.

After a few minutes, she called out “We’re clean out of rat scabs”.

“No, it’s ok” said Senga, “I got some at Kmark earlier today. They’re on the top shelf”.

Using her pestle and mortar, Brenda stirred together the hydrochloric acid, tincture of iodine, rat scabs and flea pee and poured it into a large bejewelled goblet. It hissed, spluttered and finally settled at the bottom.

Meanwhile, Myra was flicking through her book of spells.

Chapter 1: “Reanimate a zombie”

Chapter 2: “Liberate a poltergeist”

Chapter 3: ”Speak to the undead”

Chapter 4: “Invite the Inanimate”

Chapter 5: “Encourage Ectoplasm”

Chapter 6: “Bespoke Beheaded Banshees”  she flicked further on through the book.

“Ah here we are” she said. “Chapter 13: Summon evil spirits.”

"To call upon an evil spirit” she read aloud. “Into a small beaker, pour equal parts hydrochloric acid, percolated acid and tincture of sulfuric acid. Add a splash of citric acid, a small vial of virgin’s blood and 2oz of dead brain tissue. Stir and feed at exactly midnight to your victim for instant infection of St Odious of Clachlachshire."

St Odious was a 4^th century monk, who was accidentally buried alive in the crypt of the monastery he founded at Clachlachshire on the site of an ancient pictish burial ground.

His fellow monks were unaware that Odious was a practicing necrophiliac who spent many happy hours in the crypt with the corpses of the nuns who were attached to the nearby Clachore Abbey.

It was whilst they were building an extension to the monastery due the vast influx of seminarians, they accidentally bricked him into a wall which contained the cadavers of 48 nuns who had died as a result of a deadly outbreak of a nasal virus in 403AD.

St Odious cried out repeatedly for help, but his fellow monks did not hear him and he put a curse on them from within his gruesome burial plot. Mysteriously, within 16 days, the 389 monks who resided in the monastery had died horrific and violent deaths.

He was originally beatified as a saint in 499AD, owing to his alleged martyrdom, and was known as St Odious, Patron Saint of Bricks, but when his remains and that of the 48 nuns were exhumed in 1861, the extent of his bizarre sexual depravity was discovered and he was swiftly ex-communicated and stripped of his sainthood.

However, he then became a Saint of Darkness, known as Odious The Great, patron saint of vomit.

“Ok” said Myra. “Give her the witches brew now.  That’ll subdue her for a while yet.”

“Senga, you get to work on the Evil Spirit tincture.”

“Yes Priestess” Senga droned.

Once the foul smelling potion had been mixed, Myra watched the clock countdown backwards to midnight and made her way over to the mahogany chair where Emily sat.

Emily sat bolt upright, with a lifeless look on her beautiful face. The Witches’ Brew had taken effect and she was compliant and submissive and very, very quiet.

“Emily, my dear”, gurgled Myra. “I have a little something for you...... Open wide....That’s my girl.”

Emily obediently drank the infected tincture.

Within minutes her beautiful visage was twisted, her eyes wild and staring and her soft voice was gravelly and raspy as she howled and hollered into the night.

The evil trio genuflected piously at the sound of the voice of their master and began to make their way backwards out of the dungeon, all the while bowing and scraping to their idol, who, by now firmly implanted in poor Emily, began his songs of bile and hatred. The songs of The Eye.

“lleps sti ni me sah cigam kcalb dlo taht......” it began to croon.

“Goodnight sweet Emily” cooed Myra. “Don’t worry, my pet, soon you will return to your friends at Muckymuck. You’ll be singing your little heart out on Sunday. I promise” Myra threw back her head and cackled loudly. The horrific cacophony resounded in the dark.

Emily blinked. The Eye blinked back. In perfect synchronicity.

©2010 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.