St Muckymuck - Episode 22 - The Thirty One Days of Kristmas....

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.

Episode 22 - The Thirty One Days of Kristmas

Damian rang the bell on the door to the presbytery. While waiting for one of the priests to answer, he pruned the small lavender bush sitting on the porch.

Finally, Father Gabriel answered, clutching a glass of water and a soggy poppadom in his left hand.

“Come in Damian” he said. “We’re a bit disorganised today...or is it night....” his voice trailed off.

“Yes” said Damian. “Everything’s a bit odd just now. In fact, have you seen today’s paper?” he began.

“No” interrupted Gabriel. “Has Knickers Knicking Nick been finally caught?”

“No.” said Damian. “Not that. No, the headline in The Daily Blether says that Kilcathclyde.....” Damian’s voice trailed off as he noticed a large crack on the hallway ceiling. “Oooh, I’ll have to fix that”.

“Kilcathclyde what?” Gabriel was getting impatient now.

Before Damian could answer a high pitched scream came from the kitchen, followed by a sickening thud.

Racing into the kitchen, pausing only to oil the door hinge,  Damian found Father Eric sprawled out in the middle of the kitchen floor, tv remote control clutched in his left hand. He was out cold. He was wearing his favourite green winceyette pyjamas embroidered with images of Blessed Martha McArthur, especially made for him by the Little Sisters of the Scissors. He had obviously just gotten out of bed.

Blaring on the television was Kilcathclyde Today, the evening regional news programme, with its well loved presenter Kenny McKiltie at the helm.  Breaking news was flashing across the bottom of the screen.

It read “Scotland’s real-life Brigadoon.  Kilcathclyde awakens after 30 days in a coma.  Statement expected from Home Secretary, Alan McPilchard on his return from his holiday in Thailand”.

“We’ll return to that story later” said Kenny, looking serious. “Now for other matters. There have been reported sightings of UFOs in the night skies over Kilcathclyde, hovering particularly over St Mocheomoc’s Metropolitan Cathedral and the adjacent St Bunnicula Square.....”

Gabriel tutted loudly and turned the tv off impatiently.

“So what’s this about?” he said, stepping casually over Father Eric. He looked at Damian who was mixing up some plaster, preparing to repair the ceiling crack.

“Well,” said Damian, matter of factly.  “Turns out we’ve all been asleep since 9^th December.”

Gabriel frowned.  “So, we slept through Christmas....and New Year?”

“Looks like it!” said Damian.

“So where’s all our food then? said Gabriel, puzzled.  “We had a donation of five turkeys, four hams, three french hens, two turtle doves and a parcel of cakes and buns for our Christmas dinner....and it’s all gone! I’m starving and there’s nothing to eat!” He looked at his poppadum contemptuously.

“Aliens....” groaned Father Eric, emerging from his faint.

“Oh don’t start that again” snapped Gabriel.

“Nettie....where’s Nettie?” said Eric, sitting up.

“Oh, who bloody cares! More to the point – where’s my haggis and pistachio flavoured Pot Noodle?” Gabriel was starting to become uncharacteristically agitated.

Damian came back into the kitchen. “I’ve plastered the crack in the ceiling Fathers. But, there’s a problem.....”

“What now?” said Gabriel.

“Well, while I was plastering, I could hear a lot of scrabbling and scratching coming from the room above the crack....”

“Oh no!” Eric looked sick. “Not more poltergeists....not another exorcism!”

“Sit there Eric” soothed Gabriel. “Put your head between your legs. Take deep breaths. Don’t worry. Damian will go upstairs and investigate.....won’t you Damian?” he said pointedly.

Damian knew that was an order and not a request.

“Yes Father” he replied obediently.

As Damian ascended the dark staircase to the upper landing, he became aware of a strange smell.  The scrabbling noise was getting louder. A faint orange light, fading to green, to blue, to red, back to orange was visible through the edge of the door at the top of the stairs.

Damian took a deep breath, placed his left hand on the door knob and opened the door slowly.  The scrabbling and scratching stopped suddenly.

Twenty two pairs of beady eyes of varying colours and sizes stared out of the dim room at him.

“Sweet Jesus!” he gasped at the sight before him.

“Father! Father!” he cried......

©2010 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.