Unnatural Tales Of The Jackalope

by Jeff Strand

  Lindsay unfurled herself. ″Where are you off to Harold? Don′t leave me!″

  He paused, stared at her, his hand on his hip, his head titled back. He flicked his hair. ″Woman, I am about to enter battle, to do to it what it is obviously wanting to do to us. There will be pain and misery but I will emerge triumphant, victorious!″

  She shook her head. ″But with what Harold?″

  ″With this.″ He waved the newspaper about. ″In my hands this is a lethal weapon, I can do wonders with it and this pencil, albeit it′s a stubby one. Do not doubt me, I saw it once on a TV-show. Take that insipid look off your face, it′s not the size you know, it′s how you use it.″

  Lindsay roared with laughter, he curled his lips, a look of utter disdain crept over him. Who was she to laugh at him? ″A newspaper and pencil? What are you going to do Harold, beat it in a game of hangman?″

  Harold spat on the floor, held up his palm. ″I have said it before and I′ll say it again, hush your noise you slag.″

  Lindsay licked her lips. ″I love it when you talk dirty to me. You make me feel moist.″

  A third crash from outside. Harold literally shook with rage. ″Doesn′t this trespasser know that it′s messing with Harold Aloysius Crump?″

  He waited for Lindsay to answer but gave up after it was obvious she wasn′t going to reply. He grabbed the door handle and stepped out into the darkness, the cold and wet of the night. For one moment in his life, he had grown some cojones.

  * * *

  With an open mouth and wide eyes, Lindsay waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  She fathomed something was happening out there. Movement at the window. Harold′s greasy curly hair, the dim light glinting off those bottle-end glasses, those buck teeth.

  But something else, something that Harold had in his hands, something big and white, something that looked like...

  ...the door came flying open, crashing against the wall. Her husband hurtled in. Still the newspaper in his hand, but now it was ripped, shredded.

  He was covered in blood. This time, some of it not his own.

  Harold was huffing and puffing, he slammed the door shut behind him.

  ″TOADS!″ He exclaimed. ″That was damn close. But I was its master, even if it dared show its sweeeeeet tooth at me.″

  Lindsay clapped her hands together, slapped her forehead. ″Did you get it Harold, did you get it?″

  He looked this way and that (not that he could actually see anything, his lenses had steamed up), wiped the spittle from his moustache and beard.

  ″Yes woman, I did indeed get it.″ He breathed in hard. ″What is that stench? Don′t bother, I′ll tell you....it′s the scent of victory!″

  Lindsay eyed him up and down. She pointed. ″What′s that?″

  Harold, high as a kite due to his exaltation, thought that she was talking about the shredded newspaper. ″This my wife, as you full know, is a copy of the....″

  His words trailed off as she shook her head. ″I′m not talking about that, I′m talking about that!″

  As was often the case during their courtship, he had absolutely no idea was she was droning on about and even went some way to tell her that. ″I have absolutely no idea....″ But then his jaw slackened, realization dawned upon him. He threw the newspaper to the sofa, looked at the end of his hand.

  There, amongst the blood and dirt, a feather sat, glued to his digit.

  It was pure, brilliant, white.

  ″What is it?″ Lindsay asked.

  And to be honest, there was more than one. They were stuck to his brown chord flared slacks, the bottom of his once-suede shoes, his too tight paisley shirt — there were even one or two caught up in his hair.

  Harold turned.The thing with Lindsay that really wound him up was that she really was as thick as a brick. Some would call her a dunce, yet on nights like this, when hot blood pumped around his veins, he would call it...an aphrodisiac. He needed to calm himself though because once Lindsay got her end up, there was no escape for him.

  Just like one of those posh muff-divers from down south, carefully removing a silken glove for a drunken (and often overweight) paramour, Harold made a great meal of trying to retrieve the feather from his hand. He held it between his fingers, squinted as he held it up to the light, turned it over and examined the underside, he cooed, he aahhhed, he sighed, then whistled.

  Lindsay on the other hand was like a rabid dog, chomping at the bit, pawing at herself. ″What is it Harold? What is it?″ She was in heat.

  He softened the rumples on his shirt. ″There is no doubt about it woman, this is a feather.″

  ″A feather?″ She sounded completely bewildered.

  Harold nodded. ″Indeed it is, and if I′m not mistaken, it is from one of those strange creatures I′ve heard discussed in the local saloons and taverns.″ He took a deep breath, cleared his throat for added campiness.

  Lindsay hung on his every word. ″Tell me Harold, tell me.″

  ″It is known as the jackalope!″ He whispered in hushed tones.

  She frowned. He let his words sink in. That look of utter confusion chiseled into her features.

  He shrugged. ″Have you not heard of this creature, woman?″

  She dropped her head in shame. ″Don′t be angry with me Harold.″

  His eyes narrowed. ″I′m not angry...I′M FURIOUS!″ He screamed, looking about for something to kick, to punch, to make an example of his displeasure. But he couldn′t find anything so instead he jumped up and down on the spot. He was like a whirling dervish, if indeed he knew, what a whirling dervish actually was.

  Calming slightly, he wagged his finger in the general direction of his displeasure: Lindsay.

  You see, if there was something Harold hated above all other things (well, that was probably a slight exaggeration as there was in fact, a great number of things that Harold hated) then that was a feeling of untidiness, of unkemptness and right now he was thinking his wife something that should be tidied away and instantly forgotten.

  Momentarily he was distracted by a groan which emanated from the thing on the floor. Instinctively Harold kicked out but cursed as he grabbed his foot and began to hop and skip around the room. He had missed the blasted thing completely and had stubbed his toe on the corner of the glass coffee table.

  ″OOOOOOPPPPPAAAAA!″ He exclaimed between gritted teeth.

  Lindsay touched herself.

  ″I love it when you get all hot and bothered, Harold.″ She licked her lips, she was frothing. ″It turns me on in ways you can′t imagine.″

  Harold held out his hand. ″Unfortunately woman, I can imagine many things and right now you are making my blood curdle.″ His whole body slackened, his eyes widened. At first Lindsay thought it was because he too was scared about what had been lurking around outside in the darkness, but she knew her husband better than that, he was never frightened (well, there was that one time....). He started bouncing around, holding his groin in quite a suggestive manner.

  ″Have I excited you Harold? You want to come over here and snuffle my truffle and...″

  ″Woman!″ Harold hissed. ″I am very far from excited, it′s my damned hernia. It′s popped.″ He grimaced. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He did appear to be in a great deal of pain.

  The door banged open.

  Harold jumped back. Lindsay looked up, her lank hair fell in front of her eyes. She screamed.

  ″What is it wife? Now what has happened to you?″

  ″I′m blind Harold, I′m blind! Something crept in here when I wasn′t looking and cut of my eyes...my beautiful eyes Harold! Those eyes you love to caress with the underside of your tongue!″ She went to stand up but didn′t get very far. The chains that shackled her to the table were expertly tied.

  ″Stop crying bitch.″ Harold ordered. He puffed out his chest. ″I am lord and master of this cabin, pathetic as it is and now my very being, my masculinity, is being threatened by
whatever lurks out there, a devilish creature from the deep dark pits of hell itself. The oft-feared jackalope!″

  Lindsay, who eventually realized she wasn′t blind once she′d removed the strands of hair from her face, was smitten.

  ″That′s what I like to see, a real man!″ She muttered, then added something about cheesy bits and bemules (whatever a bemule was). ″Has your thermocouple genked Harold?!″

  He stared on, ignored her utterances (he wondered where she got some of these words at times), but she didn′t realize that he was actually staring right through her. He couldn′t look at her. He was disgusted.

  ″I will deal with you anon.″ He stated, trying to get a grip of a situation which was rapidly overwhelming him. ″For now, I have more important fish to fry.″

  He marched towards the door, banged his chest like a silverback gorilla and then strolled into the darkness.

  Lindsay searched around on the floor, hoping to find the key which would undo the shackles around her neck. Try as she might however, she just couldn′t locate it. The truth eventually dawned upon the silly moo that Harold probably had it about his person, as was his want — after all, he never easily gave up something that was precious to him and whilst he often shouted, screamed, beat, spat and swore at her, at the end of the day he really did love her. It was all for her own good.

  ″And what have you got to say for yourself?″ She questioned that thing on the floor. The way it was wrapped in what appeared to be a black sack, made it look like a large black beetle.

  Yet Lindsay didn′t have an opportunity for further berating as the door was yanked open with such force that the damn thing just about came off its hinges.

  Harold stood there in a heightened state. He was covered in more of the red stuff and several dirty feathers were stuck to his face. His shirt had been torn open, revealing the pasty torso underneath. His glasses were steamed up but his eyes darted this way and that, insanity ruled. There was also the smell of burnt cork but Lindsay wasn′t going to dare mention that. It wasn′t polite.

  ″I AM RAMPANT!″ Harold shrieked. ″Where are you woman? By god, you′re going to get yours. Let me see you, I demand to see your face!″

  Lindsay creaked, scratched at herself, pulled at her clothes, her skin. She was hot for it too. She rolled onto her back.

  ″I′m here Harold, I′m here.″

  Harold looked this way and that. ″I can′t see you, you brazen hussy. Tempting me with your slutty ways. Making me drink the devil′s wee-wee.″

  ″Quick Harold, I′m dripping!″

  Of what she meant by that, Harold no idea, nor her further comment about bananas and boats.

  Something had indeed turned him on, that was evident by the tightness in his trousers — although if truth be told, the telltale bulge there had more to do with the slipping of his truss than anything erotic.

  Yet, he wasn′t going to let that get the better of him tonight, both he and Lindsay were up for some tomfoolery. No doubt about it.

  ″Where woman? Where?!″

  She rattled her chain, Harold′s tongue extended. His head fell back, he breathed in the musky pong.

  ″I can smell you woman, you′re ripe.″

  Lindsay purred. ″That I am Harold, that I am.″ The snot was running. And not just from her nose.

  ″Your growler must be tamed.″ Harold commanded.

  He headed towards the kitchen door, Lindsay′s eyes followed him.

  ″Harold? Where are you going? I′m over here.″

  As he cast a cursory glance in her direction, she started to unbutton her cardigan, lift up her blouse. That clammy stomach revealed.

  Harold shivered, which did not go unnoticed.

  ″What′s wrong Harold? I thought you wanted....″ She rubbed at her own bloated, scaly, bruised flesh.

  His raised hand stopped her in her tracks. ″You can never know what I want or what I think, that′s why I am the paterfamilias. A mystery wrapped inside an enigma don′t you agree? Anyways, I have decided that I am feeling a little peckish and as such, I am going to consume something that will satiate my hunger, quench my thirst. As you know full well, I have battled and bested a wild creature of these hereabouts. I would like to wash the remnants of that hideous demon from my pores, from my hair, from my skin woman, from my skin! Do you understand? No, I can see that you don′t. Lindsay, it′s like pulling teeth talking to you when you′re in one of these moods.″

  She barked, coughed up something dark which when it hit the floor made a dash for it, scampering away into the darkness. ″Don′t go Harold, I like it when you′re dirty. Now, come on, stick it to me before I dry up.″

  Luckily she didn′t see the face her husband pulled as she was too busy pampering her inner folds. That divine rose of gestation.

  Harold sighed, he knew he was done for, he′d said too much, made a rod for his own back. His head fell in defeat, he couldn′t get out of what was about to happen. ″Okay, okay, five minutes.″

  Lindsay′s bark became a gargle, she lifted her legs in the air. Grabbed the back of her feet.

  Harold approached her, kicking the beetle for good measure, didn′t want it getting any ideas. He stood over her, fiddled with his belt, leant forward, but then, still in motion, he froze. As still as a statue.

  ″Harold? Harold? What′s the matter?″

  That icy look of twisted agony written upon his face, spoke volumes. He couldn′t speak — damn it, he couldn′t move a muscle. The pupils of his eyes had enlarged, threatening to drown the whole of his whites. He also began to froth at the mouth. Yes, that old trick again.

  His wife was beside herself. ″Harold?″ She implored. ″What′s wrong?″ But then she had an idea — dangerous, as per. ″Is it your hernia Harold, is it? Is it?″ She was hot for some beastly action.

  Harold, on the other hand, wasn′t. And didn′t have time to answer for there was an explosion of sound from outside the window and everything went dark.

  * * *

  ″Harold?″ Lindsay eventually asked. ″Where are you?″

  How long she′d been lying on the floor she had no clue. Sometimes when she closed her eyes she lost all sense of time and space, her mind expanded infinitely and she began to question life, the universe....she banged her head on the carpet, she wasn′t allowed to have those thoughts. Not with Harold in the room (if indeed he was in the room). She needed some sense knocked into her.

  Lindsay guessed that a great deal of time must have passed because the floor was wet beneath her. What the cause of that (and knowing her, it could have been many many things!) was open to much conjecture.

  Taking a chance, she searched around. There was no sign of him.

  ″Harold?″ She called again.

  ″Over here, bint.″ A voice replied, which she took to be her husband.

  ″Where Harold? I can′t see you.″

  Harold was starting to get irritated. ″Naturally you can′t see me you stupid bitch, the power′s out. The lights no longer function.″

  ″Don′t be angry with me Harold...what′s happening?″

  ″Stop wittering on will you? Something is moving around out there. Keep your voice down.″

  Lindsay started to shake. ″What is it Harold? What is it? I′m scared.″

  ″Stop repeating yourself, I heard you the first time. I′m at the door, I′m trying to see what′s going on.″

  As best as she could, she maneuvered herself so she was able to get onto her knees. She squinted, just in time to see a shadow move off in the distance.

  ″Harold? Is that you?″

  ″Of course it′s me you silly cow.″ Harold said more loudly than planned but then added, ″DAMN!″ Some kind of kerfuffle or other was occurring. Scratching on the walls. Something being castrated, the noise it was making.

  ″Has it got you Harold? Has it got you?″ Was that a hint of excitement in Lindsay′s voice?

  ″No you bleedin′ broad, I′ve hit my knee. I think it′s disl
ocated.″

  Lindsay turned away, her hand over her mouth. It was good he couldn′t see the wide smile planted across her face. She knew it shouldn′t, but for some reason, the situation tickled her.

  But Harold must have sensed it because he quickly turned on her. ″Woman? Are you laughing at me?″

  She tried to hide her mirth. ″Of course not Harold, why would I...″ Her words trailed off.

  The reason? Her attention was diverted by something she could see through the far window. Even though it was the middle of the night and as dark as pitch outside, there was a bright light. Like a pin-prick at first but it was moving, heading towards the cabin!

  ″Harold?″ She questioned, her voice barely audible.

  He totally ignored as rubbed his knee, it damn well smarted, didn′t that inconsiderate bitch understand the pain he was in?

  ″Harold?!″ She cried so loudly that he jumped back, slamming into the door-jamb, hitting his head on the frame.

  ″DAMN AND BLAST!″ He screamed. ″Now what is it?!″

  ″The light Harold, the light!″ Was she having another of her turns (funny, or otherwise)?

  Once he′d rubbed his knee and the back of his head, he saw what she meant because it was true, a bright yellow light shone through the window, illuminating the room, accentuating shadows, everything now had a strange and eerie glow.

  ″Harold?″ Lindsay prompted. ″What do you think it is?″

  ″I have absolutely no idea.″ Which for once, was dead right.

  ″Perhaps, it′s the eyes of that strange creature you thought you′d killed, that Jackadoodoo. Maybe you didn′t kill it after all and it′s come back for revenge. Its eyes have escaped and are threatening us all!″

  ″Jackalope you ignorant moose! But have no fear. It has been dispatched from this world. Quite easily as it happened. Not so cleanly, quite bloody, but dispatched.″

  ″Surely, it must have friends, a family, perhaps they′ve come to seek retribution?!″

  Harold′s breathing was shallow. ″Stop that nonsense, I′ll be seeking some retribution if you′re not careful.″

  Lindsay didn′t reply, the light had her totally captivated.