The Lord of Always

by David Brian

  Chapter 14

  It was some hours later before we made our way along the riverbank, headed back toward civilization. All seemed good in the world. The waters bubbled and chattered, seeming to whisper of the two strangers moving uninvited through this woodland paradise.

  The sun was now sitting lower on the horizon, and driven clouds had formed, then thickened, further dulling the evening. A chorus of birds continued to chirp in failed resistance to the fading day. Unseen woodland creatures rustled and scurried through the undergrowth, the tranquility of their habitat disturbed by the footfalls and laughter of our loving exchanges.

  We had almost cleared the leafy grove when Roz came to an abrupt halt; her grip tightened on my fingers as I took a farther step forward before stopping.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  The alarm on her face was obvious, but she failed to respond to my question. Her eyes remained set firmly on the tree line.

  “What is it?” I repeated, this time following the direction of her gaze. I strained my eyes, attempting to identify the figures moving among the highest branches of the fruit trees. “Bloody hell!” was all I could say.

  Gripping my arm, seeking reassurance, Roz clung to me, never once taking her eyes from the leaping, cajoling, heaving noisy throng above us.

  “They shouldn’t be here,” I said, though with words barely whispered.

  Roz shook her head. “There aren’t any monkeys in England, are there?”

  “Well, seemingly there are. But it’s the first I’ve heard of it. And it’s definitely the first I’ve seen of it.”

  “What sort of monkeys are they?”

  “Not sure.”

  The animals had been high in the trees, but they were far from oblivious to our approach and a series of calls began emanating around us. As the noise grew louder the animals began moving down through the branches and, instinctively, Roz attempted taking a step away. I held onto her, whispering that it might be best to stay still. The movement of the monkeys suggested they were seeking a closer look at us, and I wondered whether they were just curious, or did they view us as trespassers venturing uninvited into their territory?

  Either way, any sudden movement on our part could spark a reaction.

  The creatures had slender bodies and limbs, and although the majority of them were predominantly black, others ranged in colors from red, to golden and buff. Many of them wore white chin whiskers and had flesh colored rings around their eyes.

  “I don’t like this.”

  “It’ll be fine, Tub. They’re just moving in to take a look at us.” I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, or at least it was intended as reassurance.

  “Seriously, Frank, I want to go, now.”

  I forced a smile, though unsure of the monkeys’ intentions, I was both surprised and concerned by the number of these creatures. There must have been upwards of a hundred furry critters bearing down on us, and I knew enough to know this was a far larger grouping of these animals than would be considered normal. I was about to speak, hoping to temper my wife’s concerns, when the first piece of fruit hit me in the temple. As I sought to identify the culprit a half eaten plum struck Roz in the chest.

  “Ouch!” was her shocked protestation.

  “What the fuck?” I wasn’t prone to dropping the ‘F’ bomb – at least not in those days, and certainly not in front of the wife – but to be fair this was an impossible and crazy situation.

  Before another word could escape us, a rotten apple bounced off my head – and it bloody hurt. This was followed by another apple, and then a plum as a barrage of fruity projectiles was loosed from amid the overhead foliage.

  “Frank?” Although I’m sure she was as concerned for my wellbeing as her own, fear had overtaken Roz. Instinctively she pulled free of my embrace, turning to run as the heavens rained half-eaten fruit; a barrage that was swiftly joined by variable sized selections of broken branches and what I guessed was jettisons of expelled urine.

  It took only moments for me to catch up with my spouse. I took hold of her hand, dragging her off the pathway and into the dense undergrowth – I figured the closer set trees and heavy leafage would provide more adequate protection from the concentration of missiles being fired. I wondered just what the hell was happening.

  I had seen plenty of apes and monkeys when I was abroad, and although some could, on occasion be bolshy, I had never seen such wanton aggression. We sheltered beside a giant spruce, which appeared to be a Californian Redwood, although it couldn’t have been because they don’t thrive in England. The torrent of projectiles continued to rain down. Thankfully the majority were failing to find us, instead deflecting harmlessly off the greenery under which we sheltered.

  We were far from safe though. The creatures moving quickly into the trees surrounding us had now begun dropping down through the branches, the first of them already within several feet of where we cowered. A predominantly black creature, its prehensile tail secured its hold on the willow branch from which it hung. The animal, should it have been on the ground, would probably have stood less than three-feet tall. But as it screeched its displeasure, pulling back its lips and revealing yellow teeth with formidable two-inch canines, I admit to an icy terror racing the length of my spine. The creature spread out its arms and legs, presumably in an attempt to appear ever more threatening; it resembled a giant black spider dangling from a green silk canopy. The threat posed by those bared canines was ever greater now, and they seemed to grow before my eyes, a glob of spittle hung from the animal’s mouth, resembling dripping arachnid fangs: These are spider monkeys. There are no spider monkeys in Britain. Hell, there are NO monkeys in Britain! What the fuck is happening?

  The group howled its derision, a union of furious cries echoing through the tree line as they moved in support of their alpha. Having picked up the sturdiest stick I could find – the staff seemed highly inadequate given the threat we faced – I moved to place myself in front of Roz. I waved my makeshift weapon in a vain attempt to deter any onrushing assault. The monkeys surrounded us, hissing, spitting, pissing, and pelting us with a barrage of half-eaten and rotting projectiles, while all the time remaining beyond the reach of my staff. Roz was panic stricken, rigid with fear and screaming in terror. I knew it was only a matter of time before the animals became brave enough to launch a full-on attack. We were in trouble…

  And then we heard it.

  It began as a rhythmic hum, at first its volume barely competing with the war cries of the irate monkeys surrounding us. But the tone increased exponentially, both in beat and volume, until the whoops of the animals began to lessen and fade. The monkeys’ attention shifted from us, heads turned toward the depths of the forest. Fur bristled and bodies set with fear as widened eyes scanned the boundary of the farthest tree line. We stood frozen, unsure of the source for the bizarre industrial sound which now encompassed the entirety of the trees. I was also aware that, whatever this noise was, it had succeeded in terrifying the monkeys – though it is also fair to say this self-same contagion of fear seeped into us.

  I dropped the stick and took Roz by the hand, wanting to turn and run, but unsure as to whether this action would reignite the monkeys’ interest. Roz remained rooted. She was either unwilling or unable to speak, though she did manage to lift her arm and point into the woods.

  Eyes narrowing, I peered into the distance in time to see a flash of white light emanate from amid the thickets and trees. It was at this moment I realized the sound – it had started out as a hum, but contained within its rhythm was a pulsing thrump thrump – had now risen in tone. A high-pitched ear-piercing whine engulfed the forest, and this, in turn, was creating a panicked frenzy among the woodland creatures. Overhead, birds took to the skies, cawing and chirping with frantic alarm; in the bushes around us, skittish creatures moved at speed through the undergrowth and then a young gray rabbit broke cover and ran across the toe of my shoe. The monkeys began toing and froing, fidgeting back and forth along
the branches supporting them, calling out noisily for the support and guidance of their leaders in what they perceived as the face of this coming threat.

  I balked as, only several feet above the ground and barely twenty feet in front of us, a translucent egg of rainbow light winked into existence – and then it was gone. I wondered if I experienced a stress induced hallucination, but the look on Roz’s face confirmed the egg – which was just large enough to contain a glowing, seemingly humanoid figure within its shell – had been real.

  And then it returned. Blinking into our world, it pulsed with every color of a storm-rainbow, expanding then contracting with the steady rhythm of a beating heart.

  The first was swiftly followed by a second luminous orb.

  And then another.

  Several more arrived in quick succession.

  It was at this point the first monkey exploded.

  And all about us mayhem ensued.

  One of the lights appeared close to the branches of an apple tree. It struck with the speed of a viper, though with a fluidity reminiscent of a jellyfish in the ocean. Swiftly it encompassed one of the larger brown monkeys. The primate screeched briefly, a frightened unheeded call for assistance as the shape within the egg – no longer resembling anything remotely human, but rather a swirling translucent body of energy engulfing the creature within its fizzing-blistering mass. And then, with a single loud pop the monkey detonated!

  Back then I would have struggled with a clear description of exactly what I had witnessed. Years later, and with microwave ovens being as standard in almost every home, I can compare that poor creature’s demise to the fate of a tomato being nuked in a microwave.

  It was messy. And it was definitely surreal.

  The animal had been blown apart by a violent internal pressure, splattering its guts and entrails against the inner membrane of the iridescent, still pulsating egg. As the light-creature blinked out of existence – reappearing, and entrapping another primate, several feet away – the viscera of its first victim plopped to the ground with a sickening, squelching thud, tainting the forest air with an atmosphere reminiscent of burnt pork.

  The primates took flight with panicked cries ringing through the trees, and all around us we heard the Pop, Pop, Pop of exploding monkeys as, with a speed of movement suggesting sentience, and a transience beyond possibility, dozens of these bizarre orbs set about hunting down and culling our former aggressors.

  Several more of the pods crashed onto the ground, spilling out into circular puddles of glimmering, silver oil. Roz screamed at the insanity of what we were seeing, a wildly thrashing tentacle snaking from within one of the pools, its barbed arm lashing upwards to unseat one of the smaller monkeys from where it cowered on a low hanging branch, and then dragging the screaming creature into the silvery mire of the pool. Other tentacles danced from the grounded puddles, coiling skywards in search of suitable prey, and then Roz’s cry alerted me to even more madness.

  Roz was shouting incoherently, pointing at one of the bubbling pools. My eyes widened as I spied further impossibility. Even above and beyond the absurdity of dancing lights inflicting slaughter on unexplainably-misplaced monkeys, what we were now watching was beyond any Twilight Zone inspired nightmare.

  A muscled arm reached forth from the depths of one of the pools, its pink flesh thickly layered with course white hairs. We watched in terrified awe as a second arm appeared, razor clawed fists digging into the dirt as the fiend hoisted itself into view. The creature crawled from its knees to a standing position, revealing the full stoutness of the monster. Standing a foot-or-two taller than any man I have ever seen, its thickset body, muscled and completely covered in a matt of white hair, gave the impression of something as formidable looking as a bear; though the dimensions of the frame weren’t the true horror of this thing standing before us.

  Pink triangular ears sat atop a square, porcine-head, which in turn rested like a block of cinder on thick shoulders; blackened tusks, each curved and formidable looking as a steak knife, protruded from the end of its blunt snout.

  The creature opened its jaws, revealing a row of serrated teeth, and then it emitted an angry, clarion call, the ear-piercing intensity of which caused us to cup our ears. The thing’s shout brought a grimace to our features, and it was a discomfort quickly grew as we realized the call had been a summons. Outright terror overtook us as more of the monsters began climbing free of the turbulent, oily pools. Numbering close to a dozen, the swine-men turned their attention to hunting grounded and low swinging monkeys. Squeals of brutality ripped the forest air, mingling with the terrified howls and discomfort of the hunted.

  The first of the monsters to have climbed from the pool, it did not join the hunt. Instead, it remained motionless, seemingly studying us with its black, dead eyes. It may have been my imagination, but I could have sworn the abomination wore a smirk. I uncoupled myself from Roz’s fearful embrace, and instead took a firm hold of her hand.

  Then we fled.

  Hand in hand, we ran.

  We did not dare to stop, or even look back.

  It seemed we ran for an age, stumbling and tripping our way through the dusk of the forest, hearts pounding in our chests, and always aware of the danger behind us. Finally, though, we reached the farm gate across the lane from Penhale House. As I glanced down the lane, I saw a wheelbarrow discarded in the center of the road. It occurred to me the barrow presented a risk to any oncoming vehicles approaching the bend of the hill; certainly, it would offer a potential for disaster once night settled in. These thoughts seemed oddly inappropriate given our current plight – and so proved only a fleeting distraction. Fear once again overtaking us, I urged Roz in crossing the road.

  Chapter 15

  Fear did not decline as we reached the courtyard fronting Penhale House. Our breathing remained ragged, perhaps as a result of the exertions of our flight, but just as likely inspired by the dread gripping our souls.

  “What the fuckedy fuck is going on?”

  I had heard my wife cuss many times. But fuck was only ever reserved for moments of extreme anger or anxiety; this was definitely the latter of the two.

  “I’ve no idea, honey. But we’re going inside. We’re packing up our bags. And we’re getting the hell out of Dodge. Bollocks to Boscastle. Bollocks to Cornwall. And fuck the West-Country, too. We’re out of here, tonight!”

  Roz nodded. A half-smile of relief flickering across her face, but then just as quickly evaporating as terror returned. “Oh Lord, no,” she barely uttered the words, but they carried on the still dusk air.

  I turned in time to see the fiend – for there is no other way I can truly describe it – passing through the wall beside the main gates. These things are intangible, but how is that possible? They had certainly been solid enough when containing those poor primates.

  The object phased out of view, briefly reappearing several feet closer to us before once again disappearing.

  Our relief proved momentary.

  The pulsing jelly-egg returned, blinking into existence directly in front of us, affirming something unpleasant existed at its core – a face, vaguely androgynous and thrice as long as it was wide, appeared to stare at us through eyeless sockets; a slack jaw, resembling the mouth of a striking snake, issued waspish threats from a toothless maw.

  I grabbed hold of Roz’s arm and pulled her toward the steps of the house, but I knew that the thing was too close for both of us to make it inside. With my free hand I tore the door key from my pocket and stuffed it into my wife’s fist.

  “What are you doing?” she cried.

  “I’m buying us some time. Get inside, Tub. I want a word with this freaky, glowing fuck!”

  “Frank?”

  “Damn it, Rosalind! Just do it! Get inside and close the door. Now!”

  As Roz fumbled the key in the lock, I reached for one of the stone lions. Its rain smoothed figure suggested the statuette had stood as faithful guard out-front of Penhale House for a c
onsiderable period.

  This was likely its first call to arms.

  The figure proved heavier than expected. I needed both hands to lift it: Good!

  Moving swiftly down the steps, I was relieved to hear the front door slam behind me. The knowledge that Tub had made it safely inside, it gave me added impetus. I lifted the lion above my head, intent on smashing whatever this thing was closing on me. At the last moment, whether through fear or some higher power giving me premonition of imminent failure, I instead opted to throw the statuette toward the light-fiend. Covering my face with my hands, expecting an explosion of heat-ruptured stone as the lion impacted the proto-plasmic creature – it occurred to me that these things suggested a certain familiarity – somewhat in appearance, though possibly more in nature – to the white blood cells we carry in our bodies. These monstrous giants, were they just translucent cells, their sole intent being to hunt down and destroy any…any what, exactly? Perceived threats maybe? The thought made no sense – we offered no threat – and so it quickly slipped from my mind.

  The explosion of stone I expected, it did not happen. Instead, the lion passed with unhindered ease through the light-being, with no greater distraction than a waved hand through torchlight. The lion landed with a clatter and a thud, skidding across the gravel of the courtyard.

  The phantasm accelerated, displaying speed beyond anything I expected. Rising as it did until it was almost upon me, at the last moment I threw myself sideways off the steps, landing on my side, jarring my left shoulder. There was a flash of rainbow colored light behind me and my vision blurred to a dull red haze. I rolled onto my back, relief overtaking me as I realized the creature was gone. I guessed its speed caused it to crash into the building. With a sinking feeling I realized what had happened; the creature had passed through the door into the house.

  I hauled myself into a sitting position, briefly noting the garnet colored bedrock beneath my hands. Scrambling to my feet, I charged up the steps to the house and reached for the dragon-head knocker; in the distorted red glow of dusk the cast-iron creature gained the appearance of having real scales, seeming to shimmer and twist like the skin on a slithering reptile. I balked as I reached the top step of the porch. The shadow of its roof half-obscured the dragon’s features and I imagined the iron beast to be laying in wait, grinning at the prospect of any attempted passing. I put out my hand to grasp the knocker, immediately recoiling in surprise and pain. It was irrational and made no sense, but as I touched the dragon I felt its scales moving beneath my hand, and before this initial surprise could be tempered, something bit me: This is insanity. It couldn’t have bitten me. It’s a bleeding door knocker.