Cthulhu Spawn Burglar Deterrent

Brian Allard awakes as the high flying birds swoop down for the pizza on the roof. Brian had ordered the pizza last night for £35 but the garlic bread had been stale even though it was from Dominos pizza, so he had thrown it out into the Lovecraftian night; greenish, silent and still yet with creeping background. The birds’ minds are spinal and beaky and spy the football in the garden below only dimly. The biggest seagull flies away with a big slice of garlic bread.

There is a new Barratt housing estate built on the hill, rising back away from the back of the dilapidated row of shops that now only consisted of a windowless newsagent on the end and a laundrette that would outlast them all. And if we are talking about living for a thousand, million years, we could mention the seemingly odd man who had last month snapped up the farthest Barrett home the moment they were up for auction, the one that, looking out the back garden, you could think you were in the middle of a nice part of the countryside in an isolated spot with the sheep and tall trees beyond the old stone wall there. This man had been seen in the newsagent with always the same brown trench coat with collar pulled up and unfashionable wide brimmed hat. He speaks not and carries away his tins of all day breakfast and Lucozade early mornings around the times Brian normally wakes up for his day of sitting in his isolation booth playing Fallout (an Xbox video game). The man’s face was viewed by locals only at inconclusive angles, the light never being quite right, even when it should be, to see the eyes that passers by somehow knew were fixed beyond human affairs. His house looks normal from the outside, he opens the curtains in the daytime, unlike Brian, and the pond he had installed swam with common silver goldfish.

Brian has been unemployed for years and as he lies in bed dozing he is remembering that his lousy cousin is coming to stay. This cousin is ten years younger than him and has been in and out of prison and young offenders institutes for robbery and vandalism etc for years. “Oh God, I bet he does something while he’s here and gets me involved.” thought Brian turning over. Brian survives on his dole money by not going out drinking or using taxis and he does not commit crimes. He does not even smoke and only buys used games. The pizza last night had been a rarity and he is not particularly a fatty. He gets up and makes porridge, then sits in his lop sided blue chair and puts on his headphones. He wishes that he could have better internet so that he could play Battlefield online, but broadband is not even in his area yet. Anyway he likes the solitude of single player.

In the evening he takes his headphones off and goes for a cat nap. His window overlooks the route that the man previously mentioned walks by to go for his tea. This evening Brian is feeling lonely. Most of the time he is content to live alone with no friends as he has his games and there are many he has yet to play. But sometimes his lack of socialising with men or women is a physical pain and he sits up alone on dark sad nights reading of sad men smoking lonely cheroots in Jack Higgins novels. This evening he curls up on his bed and turns over to face the curtains. He reaches out a clumsy almost indifferent hand and opens them a bit so that he might glimpse a plane or a cloud. His eyes remain open and he looks out into the road as cars swish by in a hurry. The clouds hurry above. His vision seems to fade around the edges and a familiar point of white like a star he sees in his mind, in his eyes, in his heart, out in the sky. At that moment of frowning romance he sees all the faces of all the women tennis players he loves merge into one and vows to remember this truth. At this juncture the man appears on the path outside and raises his hat towards Brian, and even though this is a bit odd Brian dozes off and something triggers in Brian’s soul and he instinctively screws his eyes up and a sort of excitable terror and feels all the energy channels around inside his chest energise with great electricity and he sees, actually sees with his mind as clear as day, the nethermost truth; it is neither central to him or to the man outside, though it is both. It is simply seven electric headless worms all zooming around each other in a sphere for all eternity in a white hot pit of nuclear confusion. Although not altogether unpleasant it is stark and humbling. Brian snaps out of it as the man outside is exiting stage right, hand lowering back down to his side.


The next day Brian goes to the train station to meet his cousin (who is called Phil). The train is on time but as they are walking back to the bus stop Phil hands pulls out of his pocket around five Twix bars, obviously stolen, and shoves one into Brian’s side then tapping his nose with an evil sneer. Brian looks up and tries to smile. The route to the train station back to Brian’s house can be made shorter by cutting across the farm land and through the new Barratt estate that used to be more farmland. And as it is dry they decide to go that way. If it had been muddy it would be a disaster. They clamber over the old style and head down towards the road. The first house there is the one owned the man in the trench coat and wide brimmed hat, and he is standing at his garden gate with hand raised oddly at a Comet delivery van. As Brian and Phil come closer Brian is feeling somewhat different to Phil as he recognises the man and the man turns towards them his face in darkness – had there been something alien about that man’s hand, thought a disturbed Brian. But Phil is only spying the Panasonic HDTV being hauled out the back of the van by efficient workmen and towards the man’s garden path. Brian and Phil pass the scene on the far side of the road and when a short distance away Phil mutters
“I’m gonna nick that.”
“What!?” replies Brian in a high childish voice. But then he looks away in half anger as he had heard. Phil just taps his nose evilly again. They carry on talking about football but Brian is distracted.


That evening Phil sneaks out of the flat while Brian is having a cat nap. He hurries in the evening light up towards the Barratt estate just as back in the flat Brian wakes up and slowly heads into his living room. But seeing it empty he realises the truth and utters a series of half swear word sounds that only an arguably lazy man who has limited social contacts for weeks on end can muster. He slips on his trainers and slams his front door and sets off walking at a pace in the obvious direction.

Phil is giggling a bit as he sees the house and is not put off by the living room curtains visibly being shut from within. He fingers the blade in his deep pockets.

Into the front garden he sneaks and looks up the side of the house hoping ether will be an easy door up there or round the back. Up the side there is a tall heap of foul smelling bin bags. The smell is so weird that Phil is momentarily taken a back. But he creeps round them and confirms there is no door up the side with a glance. But a moment later, between the bags and the back garden, on the concrete there that he stops dead still, his breath choking him in dawning, dreamlike horror. On the ground is something so unusual that Phil’s face is a stricken sight. This thing, this shape before him is like a brown puddle of spilled gravy with elongated, motionless brown shark fin shapes sticking out from the surface. And rising up from the rear of it is a sort of organic limb like structure with another of the brown spikes, yet longer, hanging down. The mental image of ageless abysms of nightmare surrounding it are horrendous to the point of wild setting free. Phil could carry on to the back door that must be round the back but he decides, nay he must, turn back at all cost!

Just as this is happening, Brian jogs up to the front gate and stops for an instant seeing Phil’s head appearing around the bin bags. Brian does not shout anything, just stands at the gate expecting to see a TV or video in Phil’s arms. But he is empty handed as he stumbles towards Brian only half seeing his older cousin. Just then the front door of the house opens and the man strides out and quickly, immediately towards Phil who raises his arms high around his head in deathly fear. The man is not wearing the hat! He wears only a T-shirt and shorts revealing the skin to be green! And his head has the impossible tentacles at the mouth!! It raises a greenish arm and swipes down (almost slowly) striking Phil with such hideous, impossible force that Brian can only look on in wonder as Phil is smashed fifteen feet across the garden, a bloody pulp. Brian does not wait for the man to turn towards him and sprints away in amazement.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: