The Beastly Red Lurker - Michael Nethercott, ebook
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MICHAEL NETHERCOTTTHE BEASTLY RED LURKERA Gothic ExcessIT WAS SOME THREE YEARS ago that I first became acquainted with Heywood Mudcattof Tattermore. We were both attending a dinner party at the home of D----- andfell into conversation concerning heat boils (a subject of which I possess someknowledge accounted for by my years in the Gobi). For half an hour we amusedourselves with an exchange of boil-lore, then the dinner bell sounded and wetook our places at the table.The meal, as I remember, was a splendid spread, radiating outward from thecentral main dish of wild duck. With much passion, all members of the partyembarked upon the consumption of that drool-inspiring banquet. All, that is,save Mudcatt, who merely folded his arms and smiled. His plate sat unfulfilled,brightly naked and vaguely disturbing.Our hosts seemed unconcerned with Mudcatt's abstinence. I leaned over to D-----and whispered, "Doesn't the man eat?""What? Oh, Mudcatt," D----- shrugged. "No, as a matter of fact he doesn't. Notin public, at any rate. Some gastronomic malady, I believe. He is a queerrotter."Unaware of our whisperings, Mudcatt continued to just sit there and smile andeat nothing.Over the next two years, I crossed paths with Mudcatt on several occasions,usually at dinner parties. Through these random encounters, I grew to actuallylike the fellow. His wit was of an excellent degree and his knowledge was notlimited to boils. Indeed, he could discourse on a sparkling array of subjects --ice cubes, masking tapes, pygmy architecture, nasal hygiene -- the man was anencyclopedia with limbs.And yet...and yet....When the dinner bell pealed and the assemblage sat down to eat, I would lookover at that empty disk of porcelain and at Mudcatt's folded arms and unslumpingsmile, and I would feel my entire being tingle with something unexplainable,something uneasy, something like...was it dread?Still, I enjoyed the maws company and when, last winter, I received a writteninvitation to visit Mudcatt at his estate, I accepted. What struck me assingular about the invitation was that it was for dinner. Dinner! Would I thenget to see a fork lifted to that virgin smile? Would there be food upon thatfork and, if so, of what nature would it be? How, for the Love of God, didHeywood Mudcatt take his nourishment? I was soon to find out.I showed up at Tattermore Estate close to dinnertime. I was received by awizened stick-figure of a butler who led me to a comfortable drawing room, thendeparted to notify his master of my arrival. Mudcatt soon joined me andfurnished me with some praiseworthy brandy, though he himself did not drink any.We chatted for a while about shoe polish and clothespins. As always, Mudcatt'sobservations were dazzling."It seems to me," he remarked, "that 'shoe polish' is an unearned bit ofnomenclature for a substance which, as far as I can tell, does precious littletoward the outcome of a decently polished shoe. Why, if it were not for thegrace of human motivation, the so-called 'polish' would languish uselessly inits tin or, at best, lie caked upon the surface of a shoe like some vile layerof excrement.""Hear, hear!" I cried. The man was, unquestionably, brilliant.The dinner bell rang. The bell. Was it my imagination or did that particularbell ring longer than any dinner bell I had ever heard? In point of fact, it didnot ring -- it tolled. My blood went thin. I was seized by a sense of keenapprehension. What nameless repast awaited me in Mudcatt's mysterious diningchamber?"Come," he said. "It's time to eat."As if in a daze, I followed my host toward destiny.When I set eyes upon the dinner table, an audible sigh gushed out of me. Therewas nothing at all dreadful about the meal awaiting us; on the contrary, it wasa swell spread. Turkey, ham, and fish, encampments of steaming vegetables andmounds of fresh fruit all lay sprawled out tastefully, invitingly, upon a whitelinen tablecloth. Candles in brass holders completed the effect.We were seated by the narrow butler, and I was served wine. Mudcatt said a fewwords, sotto voce, to the old man, who gave a meager bow and left the room. Myhost smiled at me."Well, dig in, my friend."I complied, heaping my plate with healthy portions of each dish. I wasdelighted, not to say amazed, to see Mudcatt doing the same. In fact, by thetime he had finished serving himself, his plate was almost lost beneath apyramid of food.I began to laugh...."My dear Mudcatt! I must say, it is a relief to see such evidence of yourappetite. I was beginning to think...well, who knows what I thought. I'm justglad to see you have a bit of the glutton in you."Mudcatt gave a chuckle. His fork and knife were now in his hands. I was reachingfor my own fork when the butler re-entered.I froze. My eyes widened and my jaw dropped like a meteor. A geyser of terrorcame shooting up from my lower abdomen to the roof of my head. Cradled there inthe spindly arms of the old servant was a monstrously huge bottle filled to thetop with a foul red substance.Mudcatt was grinning demoniacally."You see, I like ketchup...."My heart missed a beat."On everything!" He began to cackle.Staggering under the weight of the bottle, the old scarecrow approached hismaster. Mudcatt screwed off the cap and the servant tipped the lip over thepyramid of food. My mind reeled with inconceivable horror as the loathsome redketchup oozed ravagingly over Mudcatt's plate. Like some reprobate abomination,Mudcatt plunged his knife and fork into the vile, hellish corruption that washis dinner. He plugged his mouth with the hideous food-sludge and, upondevouring the unutterable contents of his plate, he abandoned his cutlery andthrust his arm into the terrible neck of the ungodly bottle. He began feedingdirectly on the ghastly condiment.At this point I bolted.I ran frantically through the house searching for the elusive front door. When Iglanced behind, I saw Mudcatt and the butler, smeared in red, climbing overfurniture in their diabolic pursuit of me. The pair looked far less human now --I saw them for what they were. They were in appearance something like foul,diseased earthworms with huge hell-born mandibles that dripped perversion asthey moved. The whole scene was one of indescribable horror, so indescribablethat I must resort to long, ornate, vague descriptions that, in truth, describenothing, but leave the reader with a fiendish, watery, repulsive impression ofmany hideous syllables.I found the door and made my escape.It has been over a year since that damnable evening. Mudcatt has vanished fromsociety and I, for the most part, am a hermit, shunning the company of myfellows.On occasion, if energetically pressed, I may attend a dinner, but even then,even then, I do not eat. I fold my arms and smile, but I do not eat.
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