A real Nowheres-ville.
None of the boys have ever gone by their real names, whatever those were. Those facts went down with the town of Liverpond. The leader of the group is Popo, the cheery, playful one, he of the bee-stung lips and big puppy-dog eyes. He came up with the tunes, and was usually the lead singer.
Then there’s Jones—the sensitive, poetic one, with his little round glasses and serious demeanor. He wrote most of the lyrics, and even penned a few books of short stories and poetry on the side. Those who have read his work soon come to realize that Jones, like so many poets, has his dark side.
Mongo the drummer is…well, he’s the ugly one, and the first to admit it. His face is mostly nose, and he has enormous eyebrows—and yet, the girls adored him way-back-when, in the same way a child might cherish a scrawny puppy or a kitten with a missing eye.
Gregor was the intellectual mystic. He was intrigued by esoteric philosophies and religions. Girls called him the smart one, and many fell in love with his brooding good looks.
The boys were always a little chunky, and as the years passed, they gained more and more weight—good living does that to people. Along the way, media wags dubbed them…the Flab Four.
They made a few movies along the way, but eventually stopped. The boys only looked even bigger up on the big screen. When their last movie came out—one with several love scenes—an especially sharp-tongued critic commented, “Who wants to watch a documentary on the mating habits of whales?”
The boys did try to lose weight by various means—in fact, that’s how I met them. Years ago, when I was young and needed the money, I worked at a celebrity spa that offered vitamin-enriched colonic irrigations. The Vittles were regular customers, and I learned about the boys inside and out. Later I went into journalism—a line of work not too different from my days at the spa. The boys kept in touch, and even invited me to some of their legendary Hollywood parties.
Along the way, a mysterious woman from a faraway land entered the lives of the Flab Four. Some say she was the one who encouraged them to study the occult. Certainly their music—and careers—took a turn down a darkened corridor after meeting her.
At one point, an assassin shot at Jones as he was leaving a television studio, and since nobody saw him for some time after that, rumors circulated that he had died. In truth, he had gone into seclusion after the ordeal because he’d required extensive plastic surgery to repair damages to his face. After the surgery, he always wore dark glasses during public appearances.
Then came that fateful concert at Monroe Hexagonal Stadium—a night the world will never forget. Fans were shocked by what transpired at that concert, and afterward, bodyguards quickly spirited The Vittles off-stage. The boys quickly left America for a self-imposed exile upon the Pacific island of Pokaluhu, where I recently visited them at their request. It was to be their first interview in ten years. I was not allowed to bring any cameras or video equipment—only a tape recorder.
It would be the understatement of the millennium to say that things did not go as I had expected.
The following is a transcript of the taped interview.
* * * *
MM: Pokaluhu is a beautiful resort island—a paradise of palm trees and exotic flowers. I spent last night and this morning in a wonderful hotel on the other side of the island. A driver brought me to the mansion of The Vittles this afternoon. An elderly blind woman answered the door—she said she was one of the cooks. She was very friendly and cheerful, and we had a nice chat. I asked her if it was difficult being a blind cook, and she just laughed and said, “Blind people have to cook for themselves. Why would it be any harder to cook for others?” Good point!
I am now seated at a little white table in an enormous garden, with fragrant orchids and blossoming vines in every direction. I am in the shade of a huge, flowering tree, dotted with purple and golden butterflies. In front of me is a white gazebo, surrounded by screens of white fabric.
The Vittles are within that gazebo, having their dinner. I can see only their silhouettes. Fortunately there are some torches behind them, so their shadows on the screen before me are pretty sharp. I can even make out the jutting curve of Mongo’s aquiline nose. It would appear they have four women at their table as well, and there’s a servant standing off to one side. I think there are some big dogs huddled under the table. Or perhaps that’s a trunk? The shape kind of reminds me of a treasure chest.
Boys, why are you hiding behind those screens? I can see your shadows from here—you’ve lost weight. Good for you!
Popo: Yes, we’ve slimmed down. We’ve been fighting the flab for years, and it’s finally gone. Thanks for noticing.
MM: I believe there are some women in there with you. Are they your wives? Girlfriends?
Popo: To my right is my wife, Laura. She’s not having any of the roast this evening.
Laura: I should say not. I keep saying meat is bad for them, but do they listen? I suppose they think they’re going to live forever. I simply can’t stand the thought of eating anything with a face.
Another Woman’s Voice: My, what a sweet little angel you are. ‘Oh, my name is Laura and I am so holy, I only eat tiny apples that have already fallen from the tree.’ Spare us the sermon! We’ve heard it a million times before.
MM: Who was that who just spoke?
Jones: My wife Hekuuna. She is from this island. The people of Pokaluhu have a more nature-based philosophy. They see the food chain as—
Laura: They’re cannibals. Just say it. Disgusting cannibals.
Hekuuna: Who are you to judge my people, bitch-dog woman?
Mongo: Mark didn’t fly out here just to listen to you two argue, you know.
MM: I do want to get back to that whole cannibalism topic at some point. But you still need to answer my first question. Why are you behind that screen? Did you catch some horrible island skin disease or something?
Hekuuna: ‘Island skin disease’? No one is ever sick on Pokaluhu! It is a much healthier place than America, where everyone is a bloated pig!
Gregor: You’ll have to forgive Hekuuna—she’s very excitable. Ain’t that right, Jonesy? Actually, we’re hidden from sight because we’re gods.
MM: Oh? Congratulations, I guess…
Gregor: What I mean is, the locals say we’re divine. They don’t look at us directly, and they don’t want you looking at us, either.
Hekuuna: Your pitiful gaze would defile us.
MM: No offense, but I used to give these guys enemas. I’ve pretty much seen it all. Besides, there’s somebody in with you right now. That guy standing to the side. How come he gets to look at you?
Laura: His name is Ko. He’s blind, the poor thing. All of our servants are blind.
Mongo: But it’s not like we go around poking people’s eyes out. We asked the local islands to send us their blind people. They were happy to oblige.
MM: Hmmm. Back when you were heavier, the whole world was watching you. Now that you’re finally slender, no one gets to see you. Pretty ironic. Laura, if I remember correctly, didn’t you used to be Popo’s dietary consultant?
Laura: He never listened to me. Yet I fell in love with him anyway. He still doesn’t listen. But I still love him.
Popo: Those fancy diets of yours didn’t do me any good. I was just big, plain and simple. We were all big boys growing up. Well-fed from day one.
MM: We’ve heard from Laura and Hekuuna—who are the other two women at your table?
Hekuuna: They are my sisters, Yilla and M’namma.
Yilla: Hello. I am Yilla.
M’namma: I am M’namma. Hello.
Gregor: M’namma is my wife.
Mongo: And Yilla’s my wife.
MM: I’m guessing Hekuuna’s sisters were big fans of The Vittles, so she made the introductions?
Hekuuna: That is wrong. My sisters were not familiar with any form of American entertainment. They were priestesses of Kugappa.
MM: Is that a local deity?
Hekuuna: Local? Stupid man! Kugappa is the great god of all the world.
Laura: But he’s only worshipped on this tiny hellhole of an island.
Hekuuna: But someday—
Mongo: Now, girls. A little decorum.
MM: Jones, how did you meet Hekuuna?
Jones: It’s a long story, so I’ll give you the condensed version. Hekuuna’s father, who passed away a few years back, used to be king of this island. Her mother was a tourist, originally from Chicago, who met and fell in love with the king. Hekuuna was the oldest of the three daughters, destined to take over the throne someday. Her mother sent her to college in America to receive a more cosmopolitan education.
Hekuuna: America is filled with pigs!
Jones: Yes, my dear—but lucky for me you have a fondness for pork. I met Hekuuna at a concert in New York City. She snuck backstage, and—well, she’s just very beautiful. And wise—the wisdom shines in her eyes. I fell in love with her the moment I saw her.
Laura: Evil shines in her eyes. I hate her.
MM: I’m not sure if I should bring this up, but—well, my readers would want to know, so here goes. Some people say that Hekuuna is ultimately responsible for the downfall and self-imposed exile of The Vittles.
Hekuuna: Yes, that is true. I made them what they are today.
Laura: Whore. Filthy pagan whore.
Mongo: I give up.
Laura: They came here because Hekuuna told them to. And it’s the only place in the world that doesn’t mind cannibalism. It’s the only place that would take them.
MM: Cannibalism. Yes, I wanted to get back to that topic. So that still goes on here at Pokaluhu?
Hekuuna: Food is food. Is that so hard to understand?
MM: Certainly The Vittles sang a lot about food in their early days, with songs like “Submarine Sandwich” and “Captain Bacon’s Hungry Chowhound Band.” But later—after Jones met Hekuuna—they started to releasing singles like “Eight Plates Of Meat,” “I Wanna Eat Your Gland,” and “Luigi In The Pie with Diced Ham.” Their music grew steadily darker—the Filet Of Soul album was awfully grim, but it was positively perky compared to Monstrous Misery Tour.
Hekuuna: Yes, that was my doing. I took them to the next level. That is why I told them to destroy the town where they grew up. They were too fond of their old ways. Their old identities. They had to erase the past, so they could be reborn into a new future of great power. An artist must grow—must evolve!
Yilla: I started listening to the music of The Vittles after I married Mongo. I like the song “Helena Handbasket.”
M’namma: My favorite one is “Buried In Hay Fields Forever.” It is very pretty.
Yilla: You mean ‘handsome’—it was sung by men.
Hekuuna: No, ‘pretty’ is more correct. ‘Handsome’ applies only to the men, never to the music.
Yilla: I see. Forgive my stupidity.
MM: So was it the band’s newfound preoccupation with cannibalism that led to the attack on your fans at Monroe Hexagonal Stadium?
(A moment of silence.)
Popo: That’s right, Mark.
Laura: Oh, God.
Hekuuna: They were following the way of Kugappa.
Yilla: The way.
M’namma: The way.
Mongo: Yes, the way.
MM: So Kugappa is a god of cannibalism? Just out of curiosity, are you all eating human flesh right now?
Gregor: Is the Catholic deity the god of drunks, just because wine is a part of the religion?
Hekuuna: Yes, we are eating human flesh.
Mongo: It’s not that bad, really. It’s saltier than you’d expect. I suppose that’s because people have too much salt in their diets. The taste is somewhere between turkey and fish.
MM: Laura, surely cannibalism doesn’t set well with you. You’re obviously not happy with life on Pokaluhu. Why do you stay here?
Laura: I love my Popo more than life itself. I would do anything for him. I did—what I did—so I could stay by his side. I’m a good wife—not some vicious island whore. I’ll stay by my man through—through thick and thin—
Gregor: Hekuuna told us how we might achieve godship through Kugappa, and so we…um…
Jones: We climbed onboard. And lost weight in the process. Pretty much a win-win sort of deal. Hekuuna had me convinced long before the others agreed.
MM: What does Kugappa look like?
Hekuuna: A mighty octopus. A beautiful sea-god of knowledge and power.
MM: Oh, I saw a lot of octopus statues today. Were those Kugappa?
Hekuuna: What a ridiculous question! Those were merely images of our god.
Gregor: Kugappa is from the same realm beyond the stars as the being known as Cthulhu, daemon-master of madness and dreams, who sleeps in his silent temple on the sunken island of R’lyeh.
Mongo: That’s just a few miles from here.
Hekuuna: According to ancient texts, when Kugappa examined this world, he found it to be most pleasing. So much water! So much meat!
Gregor: Now here’s the really interesting part. There are actually two of Kugappa. One is the great soul that exists beyond time and space, and other is the physical manifestation, the body here on Earth—
Popo: Should you be telling him all that?
Gregor: I don’t see the harm in talking about it.
Hekuuna: Yes, the whole world will know soon enough. We have much information to share with this writer-man.
MM: Hey, are you talking ‘comeback’? Is that why you granted this interview?
Hekuuna: Ah, you are perceptive—not so stupid after all. Yes, The Vittles have been in rehearsal for the past several months. My sisters and I have written some sacred songs for them. Soon The Vittles will be topping the charts again.
MM: You and your sisters wrote the songs?
Yilla: Pretty songs.
M’namma: Sacred songs.
Hekuuna: Songs to enhance, to multiply the power of Kugappa. Soon the sacred music will play in every land. The whole world will tremble and kneel before Kugappa. For Kugappa is the great god, the all-embracing god, and he is ravenous. Soon the world will be his for the taking!
Laura: Not if I can help it!
Hekuuna: Dog-woman! Blonde bitch! Shut your mouth! I should have killed you the moment you set foot on Pokaluhu. But the men, they told me you would change. Why do you not succumb to the power of Kugappa? I command you—surrender your soul!
Laura: Never!
Mongo: Here we go again!
MM: It would appear that Hekuuna has lunged toward Laura, and the two woman are wrestling. And yet…It seems like all the figures behind the screen are somehow being pulled into the fight—even the dogs, or trunk, or whatever that big lump beneath the table is. The blind servant, Ko, is trying to break up the fight—that’s a mistake! I should warn him. Yo, Ko! Oh, no!
Somebody just punched the poor guy—so now he’s trying to get away—now one of the boys, I can’t tell which one, just—well, roared—then reached out to grab Ko. But whoever it was who reached out…I didn’t see any legs. Just a long, long body. How—? Oh, now they’re really going at it—the servant is screaming and—are they pulling stuff out of him?—he’s kicking at the screen—it’s falling over and—No!—Oh, my God!—
* * * *
At that point, I had grabbed the tape recorder and stepped back away from the table. But in doing so, I’d accidentally switched off the machine.
The Vittles and their wives stood before me. Ko was dead—torn apart, with bite-marks all over his body. Loops of his intestines were strewn about within the gazebo. His head was practically severed, attached to his neck by only a few shreds of skin.
The eight living people in the gazebo did not have any legs. Below the arms, each one of them was simply a muscular, sinuous tentacle—and the eight tentacles were rooted in the rounded shape under the table. I now saw that the shape was in fact the body of a huge black octopus, which glared at me with bulbous eyes, alight with re
ddish-orange fire. In a moment, that fierce glow sprang up in the eyes of seven of its people-limbs.
The eighth one, Laura, fought the horrid power of Kugappa. I watched as she writhed in agony, clutching helplessly at Popo’s arm. Her eyes rolled up in their sockets as she screamed—and when they rolled back, the fire was blazing within them. The creature had won at last. And what Laura did then…I had to look away, because I knew I would vomit if I watched for even a second more.
Hekuuna stared at me with her flaming, almond-shaped eyes. Jones was right: she was a beautiful woman. She had all the cold-blooded beauty of hooded cobra. “Be our messenger,” she whispered. Her snow-white teeth were long and pointed. “Tell the world that the hour of Kugappa is near. Go, writer-man, before I gouge out your filthy mortal eyes!”
“Yes,” said Jones. “Leave us now.” I took a quick look at his blood-streaked face. He had worn dark glasses at the end of his career, so I figured that perhaps there had been some scars from that shooting. But no, the plastic surgeons had taken care of all that years ago. The flesh around his eyes was fine. So he had worn the glasses for another reason. Perhaps his eyes had taken on that glow before the others.
I turned, but I didn’t run, despite Hekuuna’s threat to blind me. I’ve seen cats chase mice—predators just love to pounce upon scurrying prey. I simply walked. One foot in front of the other, slowly, so slowly, I walked out of the shade, out of the garden of the octopus, all the way back to the mansion.
I asked the blind woman to call the hotel and tell them to send their driver. She did so.
She accompanied me to the car when it arrived. As I loaded my bags into the back seat, I said, “Do you want to come with me?”
“To America?” she said with a laugh. “Why would I want to go there? A mother’s place is with her children.”
So the old woman was Hekuuna’s mother—the island’s actual ruler. “You don’t mind what your daughters are doing?” I asked.
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