“What’s done cannot be undone,” she said, lifting the wadded up paper from the floor. She threw it in the fire, which crackled hungrily as it devoured the ancient pages. “The things we’ve done... Our hands are steeped in blood, Mackenzie, and all the perfumes of Paris will not sweeten their foulness.”
“Are you drunk? What are you doing?”
“What Banky should have done. Ridding the world of this.”
“Is that the manuscript? Jesus, that’s the original!”
Even as I said the words, I felt their hollowness. What did it matter if the ancient words of a madman from Stratford were fed to the flames? The world was on the brink of ending, and I was worried about a bloody play? But old habits die hard, and the thought of something precious being burned to ashes struck a long dormant chord within me.
I tried to get out of bed, but my limbs wouldn’t obey me. I couldn’t move a muscle. I could only watch helplessly as my wife, page by page, burned the honest to God, original fucking manuscript of The Tragedy of Macbeth.
“Christ, Imogen! Stop!”
“The things I read,” said Imogen, finally turning towards me. “The things I saw. The things they showed me… I couldn’t...”
My wife wasn’t crying. The puddle wasn’t red because of the firelight.
She’d gouged out her eyes with the broken neck of the whisky bottle.
Horror swept over me like a surge tide. My heart thundered in my chest, but my skin was cold. Crimson tears streaked Imogen’s face and her eye sockets were ruined craters of blood and glutinous matter. Strings of nerves hung down her cheeks like tattered weeds.
“Holy Fucking Christ!” I cried as a knot of sickness made a fist of revulsion in my gut.
“The White God can’t help either of you,” said a sweet, innocent flower of a voice. “The All-Mother devoured him long ago.”
I turned my head and saw all three of the Whenschal Sisters at the door to our bedchamber, hooded in black and wreathed in a haze of yellow fog. The smell of damp, rotten earth and wood emanating from them made me gag. The cackling crone shuffled over to Imogen and bent to lift something from the floor. She placed it my wife’s hand and I saw with mounting terror that it was a dagger-like shard of glass from the broken bottle.
“Imogen, no!” I cried, desperate to stop her doing any more harm to herself. “Please, don’t. Whatever drugs they’ve given you, listen to me! It’s Mackenzie, your husband! Your husband! Stop this, just put the glass down, please!”
Nothing I was saying was having any effect.
Typical. The one time I needed the truth to really matter in my delivery of a line and it fell flat. I wondered if Duncan Pryor would have managed to sell that line. Probably, but it was too late for regrets now.
“This needs to end,” she said.
“No, Imogen, no! Don’t do it, stop, please, no!”
But I could only watch, impotent, as Imogen lifted the shard to her skin. I screamed as she drove it in. She twisted the glass, digging deeper into the meat and gristle of her neck. Finally she hit an artery and blood squirted from the wound in arcing jets. It sprayed the wall like a fucking sprinkler that just kept going. Jesus, who knew she had so much blood in her?
I called her name over and over as she fell forwards onto the floor, unable to look away until every last drop of blood had spilled out. The Whenschal Sisters circled her like bullies ready to taunt a kid with buck teeth, their bare feet slapping the bloody flagstones.
“Get away from her, damn you!” I shouted.
They turned to me, and I saw that, beneath their hoods, their faces were no longer recognisable as anything human. Instead, each skull was a writhing mass of worms and scuttling insects. Millipede mouths and cockroach eyes; carrion feasters ready to devour the corpse scabs of the old world in readiness for the arrival of its new masters.
Disgust overcame terror and my limbs were mine to command once again. I scrambled backwards, thankful I was still fully clothed as the three hideous things I’d once thought were women moved towards me. I screamed in gut-wrenching terror, a scream I didn’t know my throat was capable of making.
I ran into the corridor, not knowing where the hell I was going, but just needing to be away from those heralds of the apocalypse. Fog filled the passageway entirely, and I could barely make out anything to give me a sense of direction. Just ghostly outlines of suits of armour, paintings that seemed to be slithering free of their frames, and heavy shields on the walls. I wrenched a sword from one of the armoured figures, not that I knew how to use one nor expected to face anything I might actually be able to harm with it. But it felt better having something in my hand. I staggered down the corridor, feeling a warm wetness spilling down my thighs in a pulsing stream. It soaked my trousers, and I felt my strength ebbing with every lurching step, but I didn’t dare look to see what it was.
I knew I couldn’t escape, but that didn’t matter. I didn’t know if whatever the Magna Mater needed from me had already been taken, but I sure as hell wasn’t hanging around to find out. More by luck than any knack for spatial awareness, I found the door to the stairs. Fully expecting it to be locked, I laughed hysterically when the handle turned in my hand.
The same obscuring fog filled the spiral stairs, clawing up from below in filthy yellow streams. More of the idiot piping skirled up from below, and the floor heaved with the motion of millions of worms and burrowing things. No way down, so I ran up the stairs, bouncing from the walls and scraping my flesh raw until I emerged onto the roof. The cool night air was a balm on my skin and my soul.
I turned and slammed the door behind me, pushing the dead-bolt home and backing away. I heard slithering things moving behind it, testing the wood, perhaps gnawing on it. I was under no illusions that something as prosaic as a door would halt things that could end worlds, but I’m only human and such small things comfort us mortals in our times of need.
Moving to the centre of the roof, I threw back my head and howled at the stars. Many years ago, I’d loved to look up at them, filling my notebook with their names and drawing each constellation with painstaking care. These were not those stars. These were not the twinkling lights that once brought comfort to a frightened child, these were baleful eyes leering down with ancient hunger. My stomach heaved and I vomited, feeling all moorings with this world and my sanity slipping away.
Laughter bubbled up inside me. Ridiculous, I know, but you tell me what the sane response is to the end of the world.
I stumbled like a drunk to the edge of the roof, resting my hands on the cold stone of the parapet. The air was thick with the reek of corruption, but from that corruption another world awaited its birth. I looked out over the landscape, and wasn’t surprised to see a thousand of the black trees moving through the darkness towards Dunsinane House like an advancing army. Looking beyond them, I saw the lights of mankind go out, one by one.
It was never a play, was it, Shakespeare, you mad bastard?
No, it was prophecy. I felt the last vestiges of sanity crumble and knew I didn’t have long before my every faculty was gone. I reached into my shirt pocket and took out my phone. I giggled stupidly, thinking I might call my mother, but then quickly quashed that idea. After all, what would I tell her?
Hi mum, it’s me, sorry the world’s ending. Just thought I’d tell you I’m sorry for all the shitty things I did. Bye!
No, in my last moments, I decided that I would record a eulogy for the world. A clue for anyone who might live to see the new one rise from the mulch of the dead. Something that might let them know who ushered in the return of Earth’s first masters.
So there you have it. We’ve come full circle.
I hope my tale has brought you some measure of illumination, whoever you are. Or whatever you are. I’m stepping onto the parapet now, and the ground is so very far below me. I feel hot winds billow as the timbers of the roof door begin to crack. They’re coming for me. They want to feed me to the Magna Mater.
I look dow
n into the host of writhing tentacles and suppurating maws of the shambling black forest. Behind me, the door shatters into splinters, and words to greet the end of the world rise within me.
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury.
Signifying nothing.
I’ll speak them as I fall.
Curtain
“The play’s the thing.”
Hamlet, Act II, Scene II.
#tempest
@Siegel_Jan
@StageDirections
Massive storm, ship wrecked in rocky cove.
Clouds withdraw to reveal Greek-style desert island.
Enter @BeardieWeirdie and @GeekGirl.
@BeardieWeirdie
I did elucidate
how that my evil brother drove us forth
and is in his own vessel now bewrecked
by my enchanted skills. Markst thou not?
@GeekGirl
Father, I mark’t. I merely wisht to scan
my twitterfeed to see if aught could holp
and if my gentle tweets could soothe their screams
@BeardieWeirdie
Doubtest thou me? Thinkst thou I would kill
these minor characters thus randomly?
Have I not pow’rs beyond that crude device?
Am I not>
@BeardieWeirdie
>a veritable Gandalf in my strength
and yet a hobbit in my kindly heart?
All shall survive. E’en my accursèd kin
my brother and his son>
@BeardieWeirdie
>a likely lad
who may yet heal this deadly fam’ly rift
when his keen gaze doth pierce thy untouched heart.
@GeekGirl
He little knows I have no heart for boys
but I have met online one Sycorax,
a single-parent Goth girl, supercool,
whose witchy orbs>
@GeekGirl
>did sear my soul
and in whose arms I would fulfilment find.
Alack, upon this lonely desert isle
I can but masturbate and dream.
@BeardieWeirdie
Go forth, my child. ‘Tis time to meet thy fate.
Instant romance must end our tale of hate.
@GeekGirl
Ah, wtf. He thinks I’ll love this twat.
To ‘scape this doom, I’d eat his wizard’s hat.
@StageDirections
Exit @GeekGirl.
@BeardieWeirdie
When fair Miranda sees this noble youth
rising thus Bond-like from the churning waves,
his six-pack beaded with the curdled foam,>
@BeardieWeirdie
>his dripping breeches like to clingfilm mould
all the fine details of his manly form –
Ah then her maiden innocence will melt>
@BeardieWeirdie
>and in the union of their new desires
past treacheries will all dissolvèd be.
@BeardieWeirdie
And now, with wizard’s sight, let me observe
how Ariel, my spirit-slave, performs
the several tasks that I have tasked him with.
@BeardieWeirdie
He is a being made of air and light
a soap-bubble that drifts upon the wind,
yet thru such minions greater pow’rs are mine>
@BeardieWeirdie
>than other mortals wield. Howe’er, he is
oft easily diverted from my straight commands.
He hath a tendency to suck with bees>
@BeardieWeirdie
>and sim’lar habits of the herbal kind.
Ariel, come thou hence!
@StageDirections
Enter @AeryFaery, an androgynous youth in tight jeans and a rainbow satin jacket.
@AeryFaery
Come unto these yellow sands
dance all night to dodgy bands
feet it footly there and here
wear a cowslip in your ear.
@BeardieWeirdie
What ditties warblest thou? Are these
th’ enchanted tunes of those thy faery kind,
the latest Club Ibiza and its ilk?
@AeryFaery
Hast hit the spot, my master. Summer next
Full fathom five will be the biggest hit.
@BeardieWeirdie
Enough! Seest thou young Ferdinand
he of the sixpack and the beachboy looks?
@AeryFaery
I mark him well, o master. And methinks
the clinging of his sodden breeks doth steal
the very rhythm from my beating heart.
@BeardieWeirdie
Thus shall his manly limbs inspire
the untried passions of my daughter’s soul.
Bring them together! On this sea-girt isle>
@BeardieWeirdie
>as yellow-beached and palm-tree-fringed as e’er
Ibiza boasted, she can ne’er resist
the triple lures of sun and sea and sex.
@BeardieWeirdie
My long-lost bro will then welcome me back
to la famiglia of Naples fame
and all will be forgiv’n. Or else
an endless feud may then ensue –
@AeryFaery
Alas, the tempest that we called
was wilder e’en than forecast could predict. Your brother
sleeps with the fishes.
@BeardieWeirdie
Bugger me. We have a problem here.
A sentimental bond might well have sealed
all fam’ly discord, but now my other kin>
@BeardieWeirdie
>my uncles, cousins, and an aging aunt –
this desert isle retreat being now revealed –
may yet go to the mattresses. Where do they couch?
@AeryFaery
In yet another cove — this isle
being well provided with a dozen such–
they were benighted. Now do they wring
their clothing and their hands
@BeardieWeirdie
And do no doubt bemoan
the evil fortune that has brought them here. What of Caliban?
My brother’s henchman, and a killer famed>
@BeardieWeirdie
>for murders beyond count. Three garrotted,
one drownèd in his bath, two more
poison’d by their own carbonara sauce,
some sleeping kill’d –
@AeryFaery
My master, say no more! I fear
this Caliban, a beast in human form,
doth yet survive, and in the secret cove
attends upon thy aunt.
@BeardieWeirdie
A pox upon them both! My brother’s death
hath ruined my cunning plan, and sweet romance
will ne’er bring final end to this our feud.
@AeryFaery
I heard in Verona they tried that plan
between the fam’lies Montague and Capulet —
no happy denouement was there,
a suicide pact –
@BeardieWeirdie
Nay, ‘twas a mere divorce.
But piss no more upon my doomed parade!
My pow’rs are all exhausted. The tempest of last night>
@BeardieWeirdie
>has drained me quite. Get thee to Starbuck’s, slave!
Put thy girdle round about the earth
in forty seconds. Bring me a triple shot>
@BeardieWeirdie
>of mocha latte topped with extra cream
and we may yet devise what can be done
to extricate me from these deadly straits.
@StageDirections
Exit @AeryFaery, reentering moments late
r with mocha latte.
@AeryFaery
Master, while standing in the stilly queue
that, barely shifting, as tho petrified
waited implacably their coffee turn>
@AeryFaery
>over the shoulder of one geekish youth
as tho foredoomed, I read a summons dread
to call a creature from the ancient world>
@AeryFaery
>one deadlier than any since devised.
Know’st thou the name, of nunciation grim
and all uncertain?>
@AeryFaery
>Hast thou heard
the rumour of that place where he was spawned
in some dark kingdom fathoms undersea?
These are no pearls that were his eyes
@BeardieWeirdie
Say no more! I know of what you speak
(or whom, the grammar is not clear).
A monster vasty as the ocean deeps
from which he comes, a thing>
@BeardieWeirdie
>of botched-together horrors, dragon-clawed,
lepidote body sprouting flightless wings,
the face a groping mass of tentacles,
the whole>
@BeardieWeirdie
>a nightmare made in playdough by a child
swollen to overgrow Gargantua. Cthulhu!
To conjure him would be idly to ope
Hell’s darkest portal.
@AeryFaery
Even so. He sleeps
in unpronounceable R’lyeh’s halls
dead but dreaming, doomed to wake
at the last trump that hails our end...
@BeardieWeirdie
No that’s the Kraken. Never mind.
To rouse him for my petty trials would be akin
to taking a chainsaw to a sardine tin.
@AeryFaery
Yet Master I have some small skill
in music that can soothe the savage breast –
and breasts come not more savage than this beast.
@BeardieWeirdie
Thinkst thou in truth thy faery airs
could lull him, once roused, back to deathless dream?
@AeryFaery
I know a song
could quench the fire in a dragon’s maw
or still the thunder of the great god Thor>
@AeryFaery
>transform a witch’s brew to harmless whey
and turn the wildest night to limpid day.
@BeardieWeirdie
Shakespeare Vs Cthulhu Page 34
