MCKENNA,
THE TENNER MAN.
(UPDATE 5/2/2018)
It had suddenly happened,
what was it?
Later that day a strange but somehow familiar
smell began to waft through the building. At first it was hardly noticeable,
but soon it was hard not to sense the musty odour slowly spreading through the
old building.
October had started
unseasonably warm with temperatures in the high seventies. However, with recent
news reports explaining the phenomenon of global warming, and the pleasant
feeling of the sun on your back, nobody was complaining.
However the high temperatures could not be
blamed on the unpleasant smell, as past " Indian summers " had not
resulted in strange smells percolating through the antediluvian wooden
warehouse.
The old warehouse had seen
better days, especially early in the nineteenth century when logging was still a major local industry.
The original colonial style
building that used to be attached to the warehouse was long gone. However, the numerous original wooden
outbuildings were still in existence, and had been converted to holiday homes.
They had subsequently become popular with city residents, who appreciated the
cool calm air, which drifted of the lakeside during the incessant heat of high
summer.
It had been the recent heat wave that had
attracted visitors to the small hamlet, boosting the population to an unseasonable
high of approximately one hundred and fifty souls, from the usual total of thirty eight permanent residents.
McKenna, the warehouse caretaker, was tired.
It was the end of a long hard day, made more tiresome by the influx of
outsiders who traipsed through the building all day, pretending to admire the
local architecture and enjoy the local history.
Out of the corner of McKenna's eye something
moved, a sensation of motion that can’t be rationally explained although you
instinctively know there was movement.
The caretaker strained his
bespectacled eyes searching for the confirmation that his eyes were not playing
him tricks, and that it was not yet time to buy an expensive new pair of
spectacles, and worse still, visit the opticians where his " I told you
so!" daughter worked, having completed
four expensive years at university!
Nothing moved and the air was still. He turned
the key and slowly descended the three wooden steps leading away from the now
pitch black edifice behind him, but, what was that smell!!
McKenna moved slowly through
the black still of the night, limping and dragging his left foot behind him.
The limp was due to a hunting accident when he was a young man, and although in
earlier years his disability was hardly noticeable, at the age of sixty-five it
now meant a slow and difficult shuffle home.
The clinging atmosphere began
to close in on the stumbling old man as he fumbled towards his cabin.
A light flickered in the distance, and
beginning to tire he strained his eyes in the direction of the light source.
Staring in to the black abyss McKenna stumbled
to a halt.
A light flashed to the left of the track, or
did it!
He was confused as there was no electric or
gas artificial lighting in the immediate direction the light had flashed from,
and he had not heard the familiar mechanical rumble of a car or motorcycle.
His thoughts quickly returned to food, as he
was famished after missing lunch.
The rain began to fall as it
often did at this time of year, but the old caretaker didn’t notice at first as
he continued to fantasise over the chicken broth waiting on the kitchen stove.
Food had become very important in his old age as most other pleasures now
passed him by. As the rain fell harder
he noticed that his feet were beginning
to get wet as the moisture
passed through the paper inserts blocking the holes in his shoes.
Rivulets of water began to
run down the ineffective spectacles and dripped on to his Knurled top lip. His tongue flicked upward so as to collect
the sour liquid, then returned to his salivating mouth to search out the gaps
between his rotten teeth and blistered gums. Blood started to ooze from the
thin skin surrounding the base of the teeth and mixed with the warm rainwater
to form a familiar mouthwash. False teeth were a luxury that he could not
afford, and he had suffered with dental problems from an early age due to
ill-fitting homemade wooden teeth.
McKenna’s feet were now wet
through, the paper inserts now disintegrating and working there way between the
blistered and bloodied toes. New shoes
were a luxury, but chicken broth was not, and McKenna was almost home. His pace
quickened but a sharp pain brought him to a sudden halt. This was a different
pain, a pain that he had never experienced before. A sharp, high-pitched noise
echoed through his head, reverberating from front to back and side to side. He
shook his head and shut his eyes. Bright light appeared to flash across his
path and the noise in his head got louder. The old man opened his eyes and
noticed that there was movement ahead.
McKenna shut his eyes again and passed out.
Slowly he began to waken, his
hands and feet twitching as the blood began to flow to the ragged and swollen
digits. His eyes opened and shut tight
in one movement. The bright light was penetrating and threatening to blind him
by burning the Retinas at the back of his puffy bloodshot eyes. Tears filled
the sorry eyes and trickled down rough blotchy cheeks. He again tried to prise open the limp folds
of skin covering his eyes, and he thought he could see his childhood home. A small cottage with whitewashed walls and
thatched roof. Smoke whisping from the chimney pot and apple trees in the
garden. He could hear the sound of lambs gambling in the adjacent field, and
the stark cry of crows in the sky and trees surrounding the desolate
cottage.
McKenna’s mouth twitched and
sputum dribbled from his torn and dry lips.
The cottage was deep in the
country, many miles from the nearest settlement of any size. There was however
a small tenement a mile away, hidden from view by the forest and ridge of Hills
known as the “ Devils Backbone. As a
child McKenna would often walk through the thick clinging forest and wind his
way up the ancient track way towards the summit. Although not high, the ridge offered a
commanding view of the surrounding countryside.
The small river winding its way along the escarpment and disappearing in
to the impenetrable forest beyond. The
forest contained a large selection of wild animals, of which the most feared
was the Timber Wolf.
Black Bears also wondered the
wooded acres, and Mountain Lions or Cougars were frequent visitors from the
higher Mountains beyond. However, it was the Timber Wolf that had buried its
self in the consciousness of the human inhabitants ever since man first set foot
in the primeval forest.
McKenna again opened his eyes
and the vision of his childhood home vanished as a sharp jolt brought him to
his senses.
“ What your game then? “ .
The caretaker strained to
recognise the nasal tone of the high-pitched voice filling his Waxy partially
blocked eardrums.
“ When will you learn, you stupid old git! “.
McKenna
strained and opened
his eyes fully, turning his emaciated neck towards the source of the
loud
uncouth speech ringing in his ears. At
first he was at a loss as to who the tall thin figure was. Slowly he
began to
recognise the features of Bill Fletcher, and more to the point, the
sickly smell of his foul fermenting breath. Bill had been a friend
of
McKenna’s for as long as he could remember, possibly 45 years!
Bill was now the supervisor at the modern
Holiday complex built on the site of the old Warehouse outbuildings. But 45
years ago he was just an unemployed bum, like McKenna, looking for work in the
local Logging yards.
Bill had grown up in Kent in
England, spent a few years in South Africa, and came across to the USA with his
parents at the age of 15. Not long after arriving in the USA, both his parents
were killed in unexplained circumstances.
He was staying with a neighbour whilst his
parents hitch hiked in to the hill country looking to enjoy a couple of days
away from his constant bad behaviour.
After 3 days, and their non-return, Bills neighbour began to worry about
their whereabouts, and alerted the local police. Five days a local farmer found later there
corpses beside a road. They had both been strangled, and the skin removed from
there necks. Furthermore, their kidneys had been ripped from their torsos and
inserted in split stomach of a young Wolf found next to their prone
bodies.
“Bill “ whispered McKenna,
what are you doing here!.
“ I found you outside, face
down in the mud “ exclaimed Bill. “ I thought you were dead, and for real this
time “.
“ Where am I “ he groaned, “
home “ came the gruff response.
Bill had found McKenna in the
roadway outside his house, and dragged him in to the relative comfort of his
home.
McKenna rolled his ahead
across his shoulders and looked towards the stove in the corner of the room.
The chicken broth was still there, and Bill had had the foresight to light the
stove. The broth bubbled and soon McKenna was spooning the steaming liquid in
to his blistered mouth and down his thin stringy neck. Bread from the pantry
soon found its way to his mouth, and although covered in thick green blue
mould, was devoured as if nectar. Bill thought the penicillin in the mould
could only improve the frail caretaker’s precarious state of health.
McKenna’s digestive system did not take long
to respond to the sticky fluid and mouldy bread entering his stomach. A build up of methane gas soon began its slow
but steady exit from his sickly body. If McKenna’s underwear had been
unexpectedly clean, it was now stained with a pungent residue. The air was now thick with the revolting
exhaust bellowing from his anal orifice.
Bill ran to the nearest
window and fumbled with the fastening.
It was stuck.
A swift blow from the heel of
his hand soon freed the latch, and the sweet smell of fresh air pervaded the
otherwise stale atmosphere in the dank dingy room.
The old mans mind turned to
his childhood in Kent, and in particular the many times he explored the dark
caves hidden amongst the chalk hills near his home.
A smell often reminds someone of a particular
time and place, and he thought the stench in the room reminded him of the old
corpse he once uncovered whilst playing with friends in an old flint quarry. An old tramp had drunk one to many and passed
away in his sleep. He remained undiscovered for many months prior to his
rotting flesh being uncovered by the excited schoolboys.
Bill then realised that the smell in his thin
nostrils was not the product of McKenna’s colon, but a smell from somewhere
beyond the now open window and enticed him to leave the warmth of the Cabin to
investigate.
Suddenly, and with a loud
crash, the old window suddenly slammed
shut and juddered in the flaking frame . Bill recoiled and stumbled backwoods,
falling in to table where McKenna continued to fill his now bloated gut.
“ What the hell was that! “
shouted Bill.
A cold blast of air rushed past him and the
crackling fire flickered as the glowing flames devoured the icy torrent.
“I don’t know “ was
the whispered response, “ but it often happens these days, Sit down and have a drink “. Bill opened his mouth to respond when
something moved in the corner of his eye. His neck swivelled 45 degrees,
stretching the skin round his swollen red neck.
Nothing.
But Bill knew there had been
something, and he also knew that the screeching sound ringing in his ears was
not a product of his imagination. The
eerie sound had now passed, and the pain in his leg, due to fallen backwards in
to the table, began to burn in to his consciousness. It was no more than a
twist, but enough to hinder his walk back to his flat at the old Quayside. No more than a bed-sit, it was sufficient for
the supervisor’s simple needs.
Attached to the Holiday complex, the bed-sit
was one of the more modern buildings in the town, and Bill realised that his
old body was now in need of the modern comfort its interior offered him. He
also knew that the windows were double glazed and lockable. No smell or noise
would bother his sleep that night.
Bidding good night, he moved
towards McKenna’s front door and turned the latch, but it was stuck. Stooping
to clutch his strained leg, he soon had both hands on the latch and with a
strong tug the door was open. Looking back over his shoulder, it was clear that
his companion was drifting back in to oblivion, and he shut the door behind
him.
Although the damaged leg
hindered him, Bill was soon at the lakeside and walking along the old
waterfront towards his front door. The lake was dark and menacing and a shiver
passed down his back as he glanced across the water towards the small island
known as “Indian Eyelet “. There was nothing on the island now, but in
the past a clearing to the south of the island had been a sacred place for the
indigenous natives.
Strange thoughts began to
filter through Bills tired mind as he stared out across the black sheet of
water. The island was just visible and something seemed to move on the rocky
shore.
Suddenly his attention switched to the loud
laughter coming from the bar on the other side of the road. It was Friday night
and “The Woodcutter “ had a full house.
It was only 9.30 p.m. but with little else to amuse the locals after sundown,
the bar was a favourite haunt fore locals and visitors alike. There were other
bars, including one on the Highway just out of town, but “ The Woodcutter “attracted the best crowd on
a Friday night.
Bills thoughts turned to
Drink and crossed the road and entered the Bar. He ordered a double whiskey on
the rocks and stood at the crowded bar. His leg began to twitch, and he
indicated to a younger man sitting on a bar stool that he needed to sit his
tired body down. The youth ignored him and indicated to his friends that the
old man was invading their space. Not wanting trouble, Bill moved across the
Bar and settled against the mantelpiece above the cavernous fireplace. He flicked his eyes towards the heaving
counter and noticed that the boisterous young men had already forgotten him as
they swigged their bottles of beer. His eyes also noted that a number of the
older men were seated around a large table playing cards. His thoughts again
changed as he remembered the many times he had played poker with McKenna,
especially during the 50’s when both men were much younger. He decided that
tomorrow he would suggest to McKenna a hand or two prior to there usual drink
in the waterside bar.
The next day dawned with a
heavy mist draped across the lake and a light drizzle filled the air, which was
considerably cooler than the previous day. Bill looked out his window and
rubbed the sleep from his weeping eyes.
He turned his knurled head back towards the bed and the sweat stained
bedding that lay on the floor next to the bed the result of another restless
night.
His thoughts turned to
McKenna as he bent over and placed the yellowing sheets back on his bed. Bill
shuffled towards the kitchen and placed the kettle on the stove. A dirty mug
with “Fletch” stamped on the side was pulled from a cupboard and a heap of sticky
sugar slid in to the mug. Instant coffee and boiling water soon completed the
procedure and the sickly sweet brown liquid was soon flowing passed Bills adams
apple. A packet of half smoked
cigarettes was grabbed from another draw and soon Bill was drawing on the dry
tobacco and coughing up sticky green phlegm, which was soon ejected in to the
overflowing sink.
When the coffee was drunk and
the tobacco infused, Bill motioned towards the bathroom and splashed his bony
face with cold water. A pair of stained long johns were pulled from a string
hung above the shower and Bill struggled in to them balancing one foot on the
rim of the toilet basin. A checked shirt, corduroy jeans, long socks and dirty
scuffed steel capped boots completed Bills wardrobe.
Meanwhile, McKenna had woken
from his slumber and had completed his morning programme in a similar manner to
Bill. The only difference being a twenty minute visit to the W.C so as to
discharge the usual foul smelling offal from his bowels.
McKenna opened his front door
and gazed up the road towards Bills apartment. As his eyes squinted through the
drizzle he noted that the lake seemed to be gently bubbling pockets of air up
to the surface, creating a broken pattern that was interspersed with the needle
like indentations caused by the falling rain.
As he took the first couple
of steps out of his door a shrill ringing from the telephone caused McKenna to
pause and look back to his door. The phone rang again sending the old man
forward in a spurt that almost sent him sprawling across the doorstep. A
further short ring and the phone was in his trembling hand.
“Hello!“ blurted from the
handset followed by “ is that you dad! “.
McKenna’s daughter, Meg, had
promised to visit him the last time they spoke, and she was now excitingly
telling her dad that she would be in town the coming weekend, and that she
would have her new fiancé in tow. The old fellow acknowledged Megs high pitched
renderings and slowly placed the receiver back to its resting place. He glanced
towards the clock on the mantelpiece and took a sharp intake of breath noticing
that it was time he should be at Bills.
McKenna began a slow trudge
through the light drizzle towards the misty waters of the lake. The lake seemed
to acknowledge his presence by sending a spate of concentric ripples across the
cobalt blue surface.
Far below the surface the
Pike, Bass and other larger fish began to dash through the weeded channels
running along the stone and gravel scattered base of the lake. Above them the smaller, faster fish began to
shoal in increasing numbers, wheeling and diving through the murky depths. As if the recipients of some hidden message,
the fish of the lake were starting to agitate in unison in a rhythmic frenzy.
The fish seemingly moving to the beat of the hollow low pitch rumble emanating
from below the base of the lake.
In the deepest clefts of the
lake the stones and sand began to shift in an eccentric pattern, leaving a
crazy paving effect across the marbled gravels. A spurt of gas erupted from the largest
fissure and this in turn forced a stream of foaming water towards the surface
of the lake. The flume of water ejected across the surface and launched its
self over the Quayside soaking McKenna and the surrounding area.
McKenna stumbled to a halt,
his splattered body turning with his heavy head towards the now foaming waters.
His mind flashed back to his first year in the town, when he had last witnessed
such a phenomenon. At that time a sailing boat had been caught in the maelstrom
and capsized with the loss of all but one on board.
The sole survivor had spoken of strange
happenings as he struggled to stay afloat in the angry waters. He believed that
his legs were being pulled at from below the surface as he kicked to keep afloat,
and that his mind was full of strange thoughts and images that he could not
understand.
McKenna’s mind quickly
switched back to the present and he focused his red itchy eyes on the path
ahead of him. He cleared his throat and spat the thick phlegm to the side of
the track. Bill looked at his watch and
cursed McKenna for being late again.
Twenty minutes later the old
timers were cursing each other as they ambled together towards the row of
wooden shacks adjacent to the lake. They stored their fishing tackle in one of
the sheds and they had agreed to spend a few hours spinning for pike prior to
lunch in the town’s only diner.
Their tackle was old
fashioned and damaged, but the enthusiasm shown by the old boys made up for the
deficiencies of their hard ware. After collecting the tackle, they made the
short way over to a slipway where an old wooden boat awaited them. Like the
tackle, the boat had seen better days and had been patched up many times. They
boarded the vessel with great difficulty as there aged bones creaked as they
lifted tired legs and arms in to the boat.
McKenna farted and he knew strait away that he
had soiled his long johns. He slid on to his seat and the fêted pants slid
across his bum cheeks wedging in his arching crack. After a few weary strokes of the oars, they
cast out in to the dappled water, retrieving their lures at a slow and
artificial manner.
Below the boat a strange
ghostly shape flashed in and out of the vessels shadow.
After an hour both were tired
and disillusioned at catching nothing. However, they continued to cast deep in
to the deep waters of the lake, retrieving there lures in an uneasy fashion as
there wrists ached from a combination of arthritis and old age. McKenna’s mind
wandered to the coming weekend, and his Daughters impending visit. Meg was sure
to moan at the untidy state of his home and remind him that he was to take more
care of him self and lay of the booze. She would not be coming alone, and was
bringing her fiancé John, who McKenna had not hit it of with when they last
met.
Still thinking of the visit
by his daughter, McKenna was shaken from his thoughts by Bills shout that he
had struck in to something. He turned his aching neck towards Bill just in time
to see him tumble out of the boat in to the now calm water. The lake was
suddenly awash with spray as Bill struggled to stay afloat as well as holding
his rod. Within seconds Bill was submerged and spinning silently through the
depths with the air escaping from the corner of his mouth in tinny bubbles.
As the bubbles rose to the surface McKenna
noticed them some twenty feet from the boat and started to panic. Although he
could swim, he was in no state to dive in and attempt a rescue. He quickly
grabbed the oars and started to steer the boat towards the bubbles. He strained
backwards, pulling the old wooden oars with all his strength causing the rusting
rowlocks to creak in unison with each pull.
Below the surface, Bill was
wondering what was happening as he was no longer straining for breath, and he
felt the strength in his body starting to rise with every second. He opened his
eyes and stared towards the bottom of the lake and noticed that a bright light
was emanating from the lake bed.
As he moved nearer to the light source he
notice movement all about him, but he was unable to make out what the fast
moving shimmering shapes were. He knew they were not fish as they were too big,
but every time he focused on a shape it disappeared. Finally he was at the
bottom of the lake and looking up he could make out the shady shape of the boat
being rowed by McKenna.
McKenna was now totally out
of breath having rowed furiously for the last five minutes, his arms were no
longer functioning and his fingers were red and blistered. As he sat in the
boat thinking that his old friend had surely drowned, the waters broke behind
him in an ear shattering crash, making the terrified McKenna swivel his tight
stiff neck ninety degrees, towards the source of the noise.
Bill surfaced at speed,
exploding across the lake surface creating a mini tidal wave that almost shook
McKenna out of the boat. McKenna stared
at Bill with disbelief as he swam towards the still rocking vessel at breakneck
speed.
With one casual heave he pulled himself in to
the unsteady boat and starting laughing. McKenna coughed up a stick mixture of
phlegm and blood as he blurted out a cry of disbelief. Bill shrugged his
shoulders and was soon drawing on a roll up taken from a tin in his jacket
pocket. Bill motioned towards the oars and grabbed both from there stationary
position in the keel, and started to row back to the shore at a rate of
knots. McKenna was speechless as Bill
sang at the top of his voice, pulling violently at the splintered oars, and
rocking backwards and forwards to the rhythm of an old sea shanty.
Bill had still not said a
word as they tied the boat up at the jetty, and collected what remained of
their fishing tackle. Bill then turned to McKenna and nodded towards the
Woodcutter Inn.
After storing there tackle in
the wooden hut they walked towards the Woodcutter Bill finally spoke to say
that there earlier plan to have lunch in the Diner was pants and what they
really needed was a proper drink. As they entered the pub, Bill pushed a local
lad to one side as he headed for a seat at the bar. The youth turned and stared
at Bill muttering under his breath, but before he could take matters further
Bill had shoved the startled youngster so hard that he fell across two tables
and smashed his face on the floor. He swiftly rose and lunged at Bill, who side
stepped him and landed a further crushing blow to the back of his head.
By now the other occupants of
the premises had gathered round the fighting duo and pulled the boy away to
safety, as his face was covered in blood and he was clearly unable to fight on
as Bill stood over him with his fists clenched and ready to deliver further
retribution. Bill turned back to the bar and shouted up two beers and motioned
to McKenna to take a seat and drink his cold beer.
“What happened down there”,
McKenna blurted out as Bill finished his beer and ordered a further couple of
beers with Whiskey chasers. “I don’t know” was the reply. All I know is that as
I struggled towards the lake bed a sudden energy came over me and I no longer
needed to struggle for breath. I saw a light emanating from the lake bed and a
heard a strange buzzing in my ears, and before I knew it t was breaking surface
and climbing in to the boat looking at your stupid face.
The owner of the premises was
soon at there side and asked Bill to refrain from taking Pensioners rights to
far, and try and not beat the living daylights out of his customers. However,
he was more astonished that Bill was able to fight in such a fashion at his
advanced age, and asked him how he did it. Bill turned to the owner and pointed
towards the lake and whispered that the water in the lake was far more potent
than the weak ale that he was serving them, and that he felt forty years
younger than when he woke up in the morning. The owner gestured to McKenna that
Bill was already pissed and moved away to serve a customer.
After a couple more beers the
still wet Bill turned to McKenna and stared at him blankly, his eyes blood shot
and weeping. “We need to go home and talk. I’m not sure what’s happening but I
feel like shit”. They both moved towards the door and passed in to the street
leaving the still stunned clientele behind them, as they headed towards the
lake and onward to their accommodation and food.
McKenna farted as he turned
his head back towards the lake and noticed that the island known as “Indian
Eyelet” was very prominent, and seemed to shimmer on the horizon. He turned his
head back to Bill and noticed that the new found energy seemed to be spent, as
he puffed his way to his door, turned the lock and slammed the door in
McKenna’s face.
McKenna turned his back on
the slammed door and trudged towards his own home. His head was full of the
recent happenings and the strange events that occurred after Bills tumble in to
the lake. Soon he was home and as he turned the door handle the phone starting
ringing, and he quickly stumbled through the door and reached for the receiver.
“Hello” blurted the old man,
and in response a high pitched squeal emanated from the earpiece, forcing
McKenna to violently remove the hand set from his ear. Having recovered his
momentum, he placed the phone some six inches from his ear and listened. The
high pitch squealing had stopped but now a low hum was making his ear and head
vibrate as the low frequency continued
to vibrate in the still dark room. The uncomfortable noise intensified until it suddenly stopped
causing McKenna to throw the hand set to the floor.
Slowly reaching to pick up the phone , his
back ached as he bent his old back downwards to the floor. Grabbing the phone
and carefully placing it to his ear, it was now silent. McKenna placed the
receiver and moved across the sitting room to flick the light switch and the
room was soon enveloped in light.
McKenna sat with his head in
his hands and started to wonder if he was loosing his sanity. He closed his old
dry eyes and pushed his legs out in front off him, and soon he was asleep.
He was soon dreaming, and
found himself as a young man standing outside his childhood home. The idyllic
white cottage was partially covered in ivy and smoke was rising from the
crooked chimney.
The younger McKenna was
standing in the garden beside a huge apple tree, with wind fallen apples about
his feet. Dark crows swooped above his head in the grey sky, as frightened
sheep huddled in to groups in the adjacent field. Further in the distance, the steep slopes were shrouded in
thick forest, the pine trees stretching far in to the distance, until vanishing
as the horizon merged with the sky.
In his dream he glanced
around the garden towards the cottage well, where an old man dressed in strange
clothing sat whittling a piece of wood.
Back in his chair, McKenna
twitched in his sleep as he dreamt of the strange figure by the well, his
subconscious brain remembering something that scared him, but the reason
temporary being lost to him.
In the dream, McKenna moved towards the well
with an effortless gait that reminded him of his pre injury youth. Reaching the
well, the strangely clothed man put down his knife and the wood he was carving,
and turned to face the approaching figure. As the face of the stranger in his
dream was revealed to the youthful McKenna, the sleeping old man jumped in his
sleep, his old heart racing and his blood pressure reaching near fatal levels.
However, he did not awaken,
and in his dream he was staring in to the old and twisted, blood stained face
of his long dead brother, John !.
John had died as a twelve
year old child when he fell down the very same well that they were now standing
next to. However, the tortured face now staring at McKenna was that of an old
man, whose creased and weathered face stared tearfully in to his eyes.
It was never established
how or why John fell in to the deep well, but when he went missing there
parents frantically searched for him in the local fields,woods and river,finally finding him when the young McKenna noticed a shoe by the well. Their
father soon discovered the body of his son at the bottom of the flooded pit,
and recovered the limp lifeless body, who was then buried in the local
graveyard, two miles from the cottage.
Although never mentioned out
loud, the local community had long suspected that McKenna had pushed his
brother in to the well, as it was well known that they were not the best of
friends. However, there Father had put stop to the rumours by letting it be known
that McKenna had been with him at the time of the incident.
All the same, both McKenna
and his father new this to be a lie, and his father was never sure of his
remaining son’s involvement in the tragedy.
McKenna again twitched in his
chair as he continued to dream. As he dreamt, the doors of his home began to
quietly rattle and the windows started to flow with small rivulets of
condensation. The phone which had earlier been thrown to the flow began to emit
a slow hum, but McKenna did still not wake from his disturbed sleep.
In the corner of the room something moved
across the damp floor, as simultaneously the air in the room began to reek with
the smell of crushed almonds and stale parmesan cheese.
Two hours
passed as McKenna lay lifeless in his now sodden wet living room. His nose
twitched with the strange smell pervaded his flaying nostrils. The condensation
was now
pouring off the windows and collecting in large pools of mildew and microbe
infested water, before spreading across the floor and turning the carpet in to
a sodden mess.
The damp had penetrated McKenna’s socks and they were now hanging off his
spindly legs hanging in a spongy mess about his ankles. The thin skin around
his lower legs was red and puffy and lesions were forming on his shins.
To add to the soaking misery that had overcome the old man as he sat in his old
hard armchair, McKenna has also wet himself, and the warm urine had overcome
the defences of his already soiled and matted underwear, and was running down
his legs to mingle with the already sodden socks creating a putrid mess about
his sore aching feet.
Every so often a shadow would move from a corner of the room, as if a rat or
mouse had suddenly scampered in to room and quickly turned to hide in a dark
corner. However, these shadows were far larger than even the greatest Black or
Brown Rat, and in deed no member of the Rattus Norvegicus family had ever
reached such a size, even hanging around down in the sewer gorging on peaches
and impersonating an ugly princess of the streets.
The shadow moved silently and without interruption. However there was not just
one shadow but numerous dark shapes flitting around in every corner and recess
of the damp stinking room. Soon the room was almost one continuous moving shadow encircling the prostate body slumped asleep on the chair.
McKenna suddenly twitched and opened his eyes.
McKenna
squealed in horror as standing in front of him was his long dead brother. In a
state of severe shock McKenna pushed his old and withered arms down on to the
arm rests of his chair so as to lever his body on to his feet. The first
attempt failed as his sodden feet and ankles collapsed under his body weight. He
again strained against the arm rests and this time successfully levered his
aching body to his feet. There in front of him was his deceased brother, no
older then the tender age that he had fallen, or been pushed, down the well all
those years earlier.
A
trickle of urine ran down the old mans leg as he lurched forward in an attempt
to embrace his sibling. However, this attempt failed as he grasped at the
figure some three feet in front of him. Regaining his composure he took a
couple of stumbling steps towards his target and throwing himself forward
landed face first on the damp carpet. As he lay in a crumpled mass of urine,
sweat and stinking mildew, his ears strained to a faint cry emanating from
behind him. Pushing one hand in front of the other, the old man struggled to
turn his prostrate head towards the faint speech. His boil covered neck creaked
as the thin skin twisted and cracked with the movement of his head.
Once he had
managed to turn and face his deceased brother, he recoiled with horror to note
that the room was completely empty, and that there no sign of the source of the
faint speech. His head ached with pain as he strained his swollen and blood
shot eyes around his living room.
Not
a sound and not a movement.
He slowly pushed his tired body to a standing
position, and slowly trudged towards the locked door. Opening the door he stared up and down the
street hoping to catch a glimpse of his brother. Alas, there was no one in
sight, and trying to reflect on the recent happenings, turned back in to his
premises locking and bolting the door behind him. Feeling sad and bewildered, McKenna went
strait to his bed and without undressing threw his body on to the soled sheets,
and within five minutes was again asleep.
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Unknown
to McKenna, located approximately fifty feet below his home was a labyrinth of
dark tunnels excavated centuries earlier by Irish monks who had settled in the
area after crossing the Atlantic in their hand crafted vessels years before
Columbus’s supposed discovery of the new world !. These tunnels were used by the monks to evade
the local native Indians who had objected to there presence, and had set about
exterminating them by raiding their settlements and murdering all they could
capture with the tomahawk or arrow. The
monks who had arrived on the coast of the new world were fleeing from
persecution in Ireland and had been joined by fellow Welsh monks who were
suffering from the same predicament.
After one particularly fierce attack by the
natives, a strong albino monk who was known simply by the Greek letter “Theta”
had discovered an entrance to a small cave that appeared to lead in to a series
of other caverns. Theta quickly advised the other Monks of his discovery. And
soon they were excavating the lose soil in the cave to try and get to the other
caverns. They quickly noticed that the soil was easy to remove, but was still
of a solid consistency that would be ideal for tunneling. Thus, over a number
of months an elaborate series of tunnels were excavated by the surviving
brethren.
Before
long, the network of tunnels was of sufficient scale for the monks to evade
their attackers on a regular basis, and prevent their numbers from decreasing.
After a period if three years a major chamber had been excavated so that
religious festivals and ceremonies could be held underground away from the
prying eyes of the savages above.
As the years past, the
community of subterranean monks continued to flourish with no further contact
with the old world.
However, occasional visits to
the surface were accompanied by savage encounters with the native indigenous
people, who were relentless in their continued attacks upon the pious Irish and
Welsh monks.
As back in their homelands,
the religious community was under relentless and continued attack, which led
over time to a gradual change in the DNA and Mitochondrial DNA of the unsettled
Monks.
Due to the unconventional
nature of their existence, the Monks had altered their vows of celibacy, so as
to enable the community to grow. In this respect, regular raiding parties were
released to the surface so as to capture and enslave local Indian woman as
breeding stock.
The resulting mixture of
blood, chromosomes and DNA, together with the evolutionary changes enforced upon
them by their subterranean life style, resulted in a new sub classification of
Homo Sapiens, which in effect was a throwback to the muscular structure and
brain size of the long extinct Neanderthal’s that roamed Europe and the near
east before and during the ice age.
After many centuries, the
religious community residing beneath the sleepy town and lake, had morphed in
to oversize Neanderthal like zealots, whose only reason for existence was to
raid the surface for new breeding stock, and worship at their monolithic
shrine, located at the centre of their community, in the huge open space hewn
from the rocks and soil centuries earlier.
The monolithic shrine was
constructed of a huge hollowed out granite megalith, covered with layers of
gold, silver and filled with mercury.
The construction of this
object of worship had been undertaken by the original subterranean residents after
consulting documents that an Irish monk had obtained on a visit to Egypt and
Babylon whilst seeking religious enlightenment and secretes of the ancients.
As a result of the elements
used in its construction, it was soon noticed that the monument had strange
powers that can now be described as electro magnetic.
Objects would move without
touch if close to the edifice, and changes to the surface of the lake were
often noticed by those traveling or swimming in the deep cobalt waters.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, McKenna, lay in
his bed and suddenly awoke to the sound of an approaching car and a loud radio
disturbing the peace of the tranquil setting by the shore of the lake.
McKenna strained his eyes,
staring out the grubby window, and immediately noticed that his daughter had
arrived with her boyfriend and a couple of old college friends. He strained his mind and started to remember
her earlier proclamation that she was to visit her father so that she and her
friends could go fishing on the lake.
At that moment he glanced
towards the cold waters and noticed a strange shimmer emanating from the dark
deep waters, particularly resonant adjacent to the shore of the island in the
near distance.
His thoughts twisted to the
recent strange events whilst he was fishing on the lake and a strong feeling of
terror spread through the soft grey matter residing in his cracked cranium as
he thought of his daughter venturing out on to the watery expanse before him.
He grabbed an old pair of
binoculars laying on the bed side table and was soon grimacing as he stared at
the island. As if he knew what to expect, he noticed movement amongst the
bushes surrounding the bank, although he was unable to make out the nature of
the things moving, he was sure that they were malevolent, and a cold sweat run
down the nape of his neck accompanied by a sickly dribble slipping from the
corner of his dry and chapped mouth.
McKenna placed the binoculars
on the coffee table and wiped the sweat from his neck. His concentration was
immediately broken by a large thud on his door as his daughter and friends
gathered outside his house.
The old man slowly moved to the
door and after with drawing the bolt and slipping the catch, gentle pulled the
wooden door open, enabling the youthful ensemble to enter his home.
His athletic daughter Meg,
hugged her father and placed a kiss upon his puffy red cheeks. Her friends shook
hands with the slightly embarrassed old timer, as he gestured for them to be
seated.
The tall and muscular
boyfriend started to ask the usual inane questions when facing an uncomfortable
situation, and blabbered on about the journey to the hamlet and how he was
looking forward to getting to grips with the local pike and bass.
At this suggestion McKenna
stood up abruptly and shakily pushed out his weak arm to grasp the hand of his
daughter’s suitor.
Grabbing his large hand McKenna gripped it with all his strength as he forcefully retorted that they were
not to venture on to the lake at any cost. Quickly gesticulating towards the
lake and screeching that the lake was alive and that it wished to consume those
who were foolish enough to break its dark mesmerising waters.
Meg stared at her father in
disbelief, as she remembered the many happy days spent during her youth fishing
and generally messing about in a boat, on the familiar waters of the lake. She
placed her arms around her father shoulders and asked why he was so upset by their
plans to relax on the lake.
He raised his head so that his
eyes were level with her heavily made up own, and whilst staring wildly in to her eyes, shouted
that things had changed and that the devil himself now resided either in or
under the waters.
The assembled youths looked
in to each others eyes and secretly gestured that the old boy was either
loosing his marbles or intoxicated.
Just as the atmosphere in the
room was becoming unbearable a thump and crash from the direction of the
hallway indicated that Bill Fletcher was at the door.
Bill was also worried about
McKenna, and was also puzzled by the recent events that the two old friends had
encountered over the last few days. Meg hastened to the door letting Bill in to
the house, hoping that his entrance would clear the unsettling atmosphere and
allow everyone to relax.
Bill entered the room and pulled McKenna to one side.
Asking what the young interlopers were doing in his house, Bill soon indicated that they needed to leave the premises and talk privately. Shrugging his shoulders McKenna pulled an old jacket from behind the door and gestured to leave. Saying his goodbyes to his daughter and her friends he again stressed that the lake was off bounds and they were not to venture near its waters.
The old timers were soon in deep discussion as they ambled along the lake side path. After half a mile, they came to an abrupt halt as they faced each other whilst engaged in a heated argument. Within seconds they were wrestling on the ground and minutes later were both waist deep in the waters of the lake. As they struggled to disadvantage each other in their struggle for supremacy, neither noticed the strange contours and patterns forming on the waters surface.
As Mckenna pushed his fingers in to the eyes of his erstwhile friend , he felt a hand grab his left leg for an ever so brief moment, and then felt a strong sensation that his right leg was being entwined by a strong but flexible agent. He pulled his fingers from Bill's blooded eyes and pushed his arms and hands beneath the water, towards whatever was encroaching on his personal space.
Bill pulled his head back and whilst screaming obscenities at McKenna noticed that the waters about them were in turmoil. He sniffed the air and noticed a familiar but strange odour that immediately reminded him of the old warehouse where McKenna was the caretaker.
Whilst the old men were tumbling about the waters of the lake, Meg and here friends were pushing of from the landing stage adjacent to McKenna's premises, with their moderately sized boat loaded with a full array of fishing and camping gear. Crates of bottled beer and an assortment of cold snacks and easy to cook ready meals were also stored aboard.
Meg turned to her boyfriend Mike, and asked if they were doing the right thing. Mike quickly replied that her father was unhinged and that the sooner they crossed the lake and disembarked at the island, the sooner they would begin to enjoy themselves.
McKenna, who had ceased his struggle with Bill, was also noticing the strong aroma and whilst reaching down to establish whether his legs were free from any encumbrance, stumbled over to become completely immersed in the lakes cobalt waters. Just before his head sank below the surface of the cold lake, his tired, bloodshot and streaming eyes noticed three quick flashes of light emanating from the banks of the distant island.
He also had the sensation of movement along the banks of the island in the split seconds between the flashes, and his thoughts immediately turned to the occasion earlier in the summer, when he knew something moved by the warehouse, but was unable to actually see or detect an object.
However, then, as now, the sensation that there was something palpable and malevolent was so strong that his backbone shook with an ice cold chill as he sank below the waters.
As McKenna sank below the
waters, Meg and her companions disembarked from their small vessel and laboriously
transferred their camping gear and fishing tackle to a base camp that had
quickly been established ashore.
Meg’s fiancé, John, had quickly
established leadership of the small group and was enthusiastically supervising
the erection of the tents and pointing to where various seats and bundles of
goods were to be positioned. Their progress was suddenly interrupted by a loud
thud as a medium sized rock fell to the ground amongst them. There was no high ground next to them and the
only origination could have been from someone throwing the projectile towards
them in a deliberate manner.
Meg stared at John and
motioned to the others to keep quiet and remain motionless. After a couple of
seconds John moved towards the rock and picked it up to examine it. It was approximately
the size of a bowling ball, and appeared to have been fashioned from quartz, or
feldspar. It was obvious that this was a manufactured entity, and that it must
have been heaved at them by a very powerful entity due to its weight, and the
velocity that it had been hurled towards them.
Meg’s thoughts quickly turned
to the warning that her father had given her and began to wish that she had
heeded his insistence that they stay away from the lake and Island.
Indian Eyelet had always been
mysterious to Meg, and she remembered many occasions in her childhood when she
thought that something or someone was trying to catch her attention as she
played alone on the lake shore.
Meanwhile back in the cold
waters of the lake, Bill dived below the surface in search of McKenna. Bill
soon noticed an increased vigour as he swept his way towards the string of
small bubbles hopefully emanating from McKenna’s desperate struggles as he was
dragged in to the depths of the lake. As Bills decent quickened due to his
increased strength, he noticed that a series of light sources that appeared to
flicker in a deliberate order, not unlike landing lights at an airport or
airstrip.
Bill followed the ever increasing lights,
there intensity increasing as he moved closure to their source, and was soon at
the base of a steep underwater cliff. His hands searched the vertical wall for
a clue as to where McKenna may have gone, and was relieved to notice a series of
indentations that enabled him to pull his now increasingly powerful body
through a previously unseen gap in the rock face.
On the surface, the waters
were now perfectly still and a crescent moon was glowing in the cloud free evening
sky as the remaining daylight quickly faded. Meg and her companions had decided
that the “rock incident” was a one off, and had continued to make their base camp
in preparation for a nights drinking and fishing. After cracking open a few tins
of beer, John needed to take a leak and marched away from the lake shore so
that he could urinate in peace. Having wandered what he considered a safe distance
from the encampment, he stood readying himself facing a clump of old brushwood
and Pine trees.
As he pulled down his zipper,
momentarily putting himself in a vulnerable position, a pair of giant ape like
hairy hands emerged from the undergrowth and yanked him in to the undergrowth. Without a sound John had vanished and as his
prone body was being carried towards a hidden cave entrance, Meg and the others
giggled to themselves as they sipped wine and beer around the crackling and
snapping fire at their lakeside encampment.
Bill Fletcher was now pulling
his old body from the cold waters concealed within a deep rock chamber that he
had entered through the secrete entrance in the underwater rock face. He
quickly noticed a figure sitting huddled against the caves wall, and on
investigation was pleased to see that it was McKenna. McKenna was looking very
pale and week, and unlike Bill, did not seem to receive a burst of energy when immersed
in the cobalt waters of the lake. McKenna tried to speak, but a bloated tongue prevented
any speech from exuding from his feeble mouth. His split lips were purple and
his eyes bloodshot and dilated.
On the Island, John was now semi conscious and was
aware that he was being manipulated by a number of huge Neanderthal like figures
clothed in monastic habits and chanting in an incomprehensible dialogue of old Latin,
tainted with Celtic and Anglo Saxon undertones. He was also only too aware that he was
completely naked and being violated by a markedly smaller, and possibly effeminate
entity who was milking his member for semen and its inherent DNA.
Indeed
together with Boozy Creed, the Italian Stallion, Chairman Get Karter
and the Big Marty Blainster, the Mosenelle has formed a deep
relationship with the intelligence unit attached to the D.F.C.S, and
previous work on the Big Bobbidy Bob affair and the earlier joint D.F.C.S and Bohemian advance to relieve the Falkland Islands, has meant that deciphering
the codes has been an easy task.
Brownoski
has himself been tasked with creating a spectacular and magnificent
marching rhythm for the group to accompany a swift advance through
occupied Spanish territory if the Special Forces are required to go behind enemy
lines.
Indeed
together with Boozy Creed, the Italian Stallion, Chairman Get Karter
and the Big Marty Blainster, the Mosenelle has formed a deep
relationship with the intelligence unit attached to the D.F.C.S, and
previous work on the Big Bobbidy Bob affair and the earlier joint D.F.C.S and Bohemian advance to relieve the Falkland Islands, has meant that deciphering
the codes has been an easy task.
Brownoski
has himself been tasked with creating a spectacular and magnificent
marching rhythm for the group to accompany a swift advance through
occupied Spanish territory if the Special Forces are required to go behind enemy
lines.
