Vinyl Destination

by Millard, Adam

  “Look, if you really loved me,” Clarence said, knowing that she didn’t but using it against her anyway, “then you’d go down there with Ted and save the fucking day!”

  “I would do anything for love,” she said, nodding her affirmation. “Even that.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Ted said, bravely stepping up to the edge of the pit. Visions of not-quite-Bill passed through his mind; it seemed so long ago, and yet two hours back he’d still been alive. Not right, but alive. “I’m going to end this, with or without your help.”

  With that, he started down into the hole, a fat man in a tight leather suit with nothing left to lose.

  “I’ll prove my love to you,” Marcia said, pulling Clarence close to her. “In everything I say and in all I do.”

  “Better get a move on then,” he replied, giving her a not-so-gentle nudge. “You don’t want to be on your own down there.” She flailed her arms in a vain attempt to keep her balance, but it was no use. “I’ll see you when you make it back up,” he said, waving goodbye.

  She waved back to him as she fell down into the pit.

  “For you, my loooooooooooooo…”

  “What a fucking nightmare…” Clarence mumbled, but Goth Girl was too preoccupied painting her nails to reply.

  50

  “This isn’t the way to the studio,” Clive the Cameraman said, taking in their unfamiliar surroundings. “Where are we going, and why are those people dressed as animals?”

  He was right. They were nowhere near Channel 5; in fact, they were going in the total opposite direction. He was also right about the people that had fallen in with the bus in the meantime, lumbering along on all fours, hemming them in on either side. They weren’t just dressed as animals, though…

  Somehow they had morphed into something between animal and human. Primate faces peeked out from within lush lions’ manes. Pairs of human legs bore along giraffes and zebras, looking like something out of a parade. A fat lady was swinging a skinny lady from her face; it was the most rudimentary impression of an elephant any one of them had ever seen, and yet so convincing…

  “Listen!” Kavannah said, cupping an ear as he slid down one of the windows. “Is that—”

  “The Lion Sleeps Tonight,” said Sid, the Native American, nodding his head to the rhythm. “I used to love this song when I was a kid.”

  Just then, a hippo – four men joined together by lord knows what – slammed into the side of the bus, knocking its occupants from their seats. From the back, Freddie/Sharon cried, “Where’s Flash? Ahaahhhhhh! Saviour of the universe.”

  “I don’t like this song anymore…” the Native American said, staggering to his feet. “And can someone please watch out for bison, wildebeest, rhinos and other giant creatures on the road?”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Clive said to McLoud. “Why are we driving away from the station? Is there something we should know?”

  “Just sit down,” the cowboy said. “We’ll get you to your precious station soon enough. There’s something down this way needs sorting out first.”

  “And that would be?” Clive asked, grabbing the nearest seat as an entire company of people-parrots collided with one side of the bus, spattering it with blood and feathers. There was a sound – almost a drumroll – as the miniature hybrids bounced off one by one. Several windows cracked, spider-webbing outward from the points of impact, but thankfully none of them were shattered.

  The bus continued to protect them… for now.

  “We have reason to suspect that one of our crew has gotten himself into a spot of bother,” McLoud said, “over at the new landfill site.” And then, in an accent more befitting his attire, he added, “We’re just gonna mosey on down there and rescue our boy.”

  “Fuck’s sake,” Clive said, taking a seat near the front. “If we don’t get butchered by Baloo and his fucking friends out there first…”

  The cowboy simply shrugged, tipped his hat, and began to whistle the theme from Rawhide.

  51

  “Magnificent…” the Pit-Dweller said, awestruck by the madness below.

  The residents of Bellbrook were now transforming into animals, while others remained in human form, becoming prey for the myriad predators on the loose. Croco-people hunted children; bear-men and wolf-women chased terrified townsfolk through the streets, howling and growling to a tune only the moon could fully appreciate.

  “Absolutely magnificent…”

  Down the Pit-Dweller swooped, trawling its tendrils through anyone and anything in its path. People shrieked and squealed as they were eaten alive by man-igators and tiger-ladies, but they shrieked and squealed even louder when the Pit-Dweller gushed through them like a Friday night vindaloo, turning them into the very things they sought to escape.

  “Look, up there!” one man screamed, and for a moment the Pit-Dweller thought it had been spotted. Had it not be stealthy enough? Human faces turned to the sky, to where a dragon flapped its mighty wings.

  “It’s PUFF!!!” a delirious woman yelled.

  “How dare you!” the Pit-Dweller roared, before realising they were talking about the giant green dragon soaring towards them. “Oh, yes, that! Yeah, it’s puff…” Whatever the fuck that means…

  The dragon swooped low, spewing fire over anyone foolish enough to remain in the street. As the flames died down, leaving charred human statues in various states of repose, the dragon shot up into the sky and disappeared into its darkness.

  This is just too much fun, the Pit-Dweller thought. Dragons, hybrid beasts, people still singing as if the end of the world (their world, at least) were something to celebrate. And maybe it was something to celebrate; maybe these sad, pathetic souls despised their pointless little lives so much, death would prove a welcome reprieve.

  The Pit-Dweller laughed heartily – like Santa Claus or Brian Blessed – as the chaos continued to unfold. On the far horizon, a creamy glow heralded the coming dawn. No matter; these idiots would be killing one another long into the next day, and the day after, and the—

  Only something wasn’t right.

  It was that feeling you get when you think you’re alone in the house, but something goes bump in the other room. No longer so interested in the carnage on the streets below, the Pit-Dweller knew it was time to return to its sepulchre. Someone was there. Somebody was trying to play the hero by crashing its party.

  Over my dead body, the Pit-Dweller thought, shooting high into the sky and knocking one magic dragon straight into orbit.

  52

  “What does it look like in there?” Marcia asked, keeping her distance. The first thing she’d learnt as a newspaper reporter was: never stick your head into a particle accelerator.

  Of course, this was no particle accelerator, but it was close enough for the rule to still apply. For all they knew, peeking through that door would leave your head trapped within some prehistoric multiverse, while your errant arse-end remained back in the landfill. And who knew what would happen then? Perhaps your head would simply fall off, get gobbled up by a passing pterodactyl, leaving your body stumbling blind in a pit lined with old LPs, wondering what the fuck just happened for the rest of all eternity.

  “Too dark to tell,” Ted said, turning back to face her. Marcia was glad to hear it, not least because he still had a face. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a torch or a lighter, have you?”

  Marcia sighed and patted her pockets. “When I came out this evening, I didn’t expect to be trawling through some ancient crypt with some guy I just met.”

  “Is that a no?”

  Marcia nodded. “That’s a no.” She looked up to the rim of the pit, and was just about to call for Goth Girl – where there’s smoke, there’s fire – when suddenly there came a tiny click from within the structure before them. A great, blinding light spilled out into the landfill, illuminating thousands of garish record sleeves previously hidden in the darkness.

  “Found the switch,” Ted said, his eye
s quickly adjusting. “Who would’ve thought something so old would run on 40 watt screw-ins?”

  “Not me,” Marcia replied, peering in through the door.

  Given the trajectory of their evening thus far, she wasn’t that shocked to find heaps of human bones, lampshades fashioned from face leather, curtains made of stomach lining, and rudimentary clay bowls brimming with all variety of vile offerings. With places like this, these things were to be expected part and parcel. Granted, the property owners would likely struggle to sell it, but when you had a skeleton sofa, upgrading to something more refined – a four-bed semi in Dartford, for instance – was usually the furthest thing from your mind.

  “This looks like the place,” Ted said, stepping over the threshold. “Honks a bit, but that’s to be expected when your carpet is evidently black pudding…”

  “I’d say a demon lives here,” Marcia said, following him in. “Either that, or a teenager with a crap taxidermy hobby.”

  “You believe in demons?” Ted asked, slightly taken aback.

  “After what’s happened here tonight, is it even possible to not believe in demons?”

  Together they entered the catacomb, Ted leading the way. The smell reminded him of earlier that afternoon, when he’d walked into CARTER & CARTER’S OLDEN DAY BULLSHIT. There was that same tang in the air, of things long untouched, of objects dustier than a politician’s truth-stick, of primal relics unearthed by hapless work crews or dug up in some uppity git’s back garden.

  “Look,” Ted said, pointing to a dark cavern in the far wall. “I’ve got a feeling that whatever we’re looking for… it’s down there.” He self-consciously adjusted his leathers, covering an exposed nipple. Wouldn’t want to look silly, now, would we?

  “After you,” Marcia said. While Ted was busy inspecting the cavern’s entrance, she’d picked up a large bone, taking practice swings like Babe Ruth. “Hey,” she said, allowing the makeshift club to fall to her side. “We’re just like Riggs and Murtaugh. Cagney and Lacey. Batman and Wonder Woman.”

  “More like Thelma and Louise,” Ted added. “Or Bonnie and Clyde, the way we’re heading…”

  Pressing on into the cavern, they soon found themselves lost in a system of narrow, winding tunnels. The light from the entrance chamber only illuminated their path so far, and it wasn’t long before they were walking in near total darkness, Marcia clinging to Ted’s flabby arm to avoid getting separated.

  Ted concentrated on their surroundings, making mental notes as they moved along. Already been down there, been down that one, been there, ooh, this is a new one… oh, no, I remember it now, it’s the one shaped like a question-mark…

  “This place is amazing,” Marcia whispered, wishing she had a camera, or at least a notepad and pen.

  “Yeah,” Ted agreed, “I’ll bet they said the same thing about King Tut’s crypt, just before they all started choking on chicken bones and falling off of scaffolding.”

  “I miss Clarence,” Marcia whined. “I hope he’s okay.”

  “Of course he’s okay,” Ted said. God, leather really does chafe. “He’s up there with the rising sun. Oh, and by the way, you do realise that you’re only having feelings for him because of… well, whatever this is. He doesn’t love you. He told me that you’re actually a lesbian. A muffer, he called it.”

  Marcia sniggered. “I was just putting him on when I told him that; playing hard to get.”

  “Well, it worked,” Ted said. “Trust me, when this is all over, you’ll go right back to despising him. Everything will return to how it was.” But it wouldn’t, would it? Not for him, anyway; his father was dead. Not-quite-Bill wouldn’t be coming back to life, now would he? No, this wasn’t some bedtime fairy-tale, where everything turned out fine in the end. There would be no happily-ever-after, not this time.

  “What’s that?” Marcia gasped, pointing to the faint glimmer of light up ahead.

  Ted grimaced at the thought. “That, m’dear, is probably where we both die horrible deaths. You up for it?”

  I’ll never see Clarence again. I’ll never hold him, touch him, or sniff his hair when he’s not looking. I’ll never be able to grab his ass and then point to someone else as if it were them and not me. I’ll never see his face – oh, such a beautiful face – again, or the way his eyebrows knit together when he frowns. I’ll never…

  “Just answer the fucking question already,” Ted groaned. “We haven’t got all night.”

  “Sure,” she replied, steeling her resolve. “Let’s go.”

  Approaching the mysterious light like two people approaching a wounded tiger, or an off-duty lap-dancer, neither one of them wanted to lead the charge, slowly creeping forward side by side instead. They both knew that whatever lie ahead, it would change their lives forever, that this night would soon be over, and that a lot of people were counting on them to do the right thing, whatever that was.

  Reaching the end of the dark, dingy corridor, they discovered some kind of stone portal, left slightly ajar.

  53

  They’re in my fucking room! the Pit-Dweller thought. Visions of people rifling through its knicker drawer, stumbling upon its collection of ancient pornography – Roman Chicks, Greek on Greek, Fun Times in Bethlehem – caused its ethereal hackles to rise. Gotta get back quick, before they find my dild—

  54

  Candles flickered along a wall made entirely of bones and teeth. The chamber was, Ted thought, exactly what Dorothy Draper might have come up with if her client requested something grotesque, unlivable, and offensive enough to keep even the Nazis away.

  “Reminds me of my first bedsit,” Marcia said. “At least I put a few posters up to hide the damp.”

  “I seriously doubt that whatever dwells down here has time for posters,” Ted said. “Where would it get blu-tack from, to start wi—”

  His observation was interrupted by Marcia’s sudden shriek. The noise had been so unexpected, he nearly spun around to strike at its source on reflex. When he saw what she was looking at, however, he nearly shrieked himself.

  In the darkest corner of the room, farthest from the dim glow of the candlelight, there sat a grotesque figure upon a throne. Centuries of snot and drool had solidified on its chin, forming pitch-black stalactites which hung from its gaping maw. Its eyes were distinctly reptilian, as if its Mum had had a thing for serpents, and its large, flared out nostrils were wide enough to stick a fist inside. Its rippling, scaly flesh had been completely mummified, gnarled, black and dry.

  “Is that… is that what’s causing this?” Marcia said, her hand clamped over her mouth.

  “Seems like a pretty good assumption to me,” Ted said, stepping closer to the desiccated beast. “Whatever it is, it’s not of this world, and certainly not of Bellbrook. I haven’t seen anything this ugly since that David Icke sex tape.”

  “But what is it?”

  “It’s a tape in which David Icke got his balls licked by a—”

  “No,” Marcia gasped, raising a tremulous finger to the thing in the corner. “What is that! Was my Clarence right? Is it the aliens after all?”

  “I’ve never seen an alien like this before…”

  “Seen many aliens, have you?” Her sarcasm didn’t go unnoticed.

  “I’ve seen enough YouTube videos to know that this isn’t an alien. It must be some sort of… demon.”

  “Ah, demons,” she said. “Of course it is. How stupid of me. Here I was thinking it was E fucking T.” She fell silent as Ted leaned in closer to the… demon/mutant/alien/thing. “You’re not going to kiss it, are you? Because that would be a little weird for me.”

  Ignoring her, Ted reached for the shiny bauble hanging from the mummy’s sinewy neck. He’d never seen anything like it before, and yet he could sense that it was… important, somehow.

  “This pendant,” Ted said, turning it over in his hand. He could feel the energy within, tingling his fingers. “This is what gives it life.”

  “Well, whip it off, then
,” Marcia said, “and let’s get a wriggle on. I’d rather drink soup from one of Noddy Holder’s platform shoes than spend another minute down here.”

  She was right. Ted too felt the urge to get out, to resurface, to breathe deeply of the dawn air and put this whole debacle behind him. He clenched the strange pendant in his fist and pulled.

  55

  The Pit-Dweller faltered and fell the last few metres to the ground. It was bad enough there were people down in its lair, mucking about with its private belongings, but now they’d gotten a hold of its pendant, and that just wasn’t cricket!

  As it crashed into the earth like a drunken Superman, a great cloud of dirt and debris flew up into the brightening sky. If there had been a loud thump upon its emergency landing, the Pit-Dweller hadn’t heard it. It had been too busy going, fuck me, fuck me, this is going to hurt, to hear much of anything else.

  Clambering up onto its massive, gnarled haunches, the ancient beast dusted itself off as it rose to its full eighteen feet of height. It was then that it realised it was no longer invisible, it astral form swiftly fading from the physical plane.

  “What the fuck?” it said, noticing the two people staring at it from the pit’s rim. It wanted to say something smart – take a picture, it’ll last longer – but nothing came.

  Not quite true.

  A bus came barrelling toward it, sailing over the edge of pit. As it whirled around to face its doom, it was met with seven tonnes of steel and a cowboy behind the wheel. The Pit-Dweller could’ve sworn it heard the driver scream, “Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker,” but when something that heavy slams into your chest at sixty miles per hour, it’s difficult to remember all the details.

  Crushed beneath the weight of the Bellbrook number 15, both of them far off their regular routes by this point, darkness overtook the Pit-Dweller as it uttered its final curse.