He Came From Under My Bed

A strange man, whose only friend's an old boot, asks for Angel's (self-insertion) help to drive the loathsome Hell's Hound back to whence it came. My contribution to weird/surreal fiction :]

 

 

 

            I stared into unfamiliar eyes of a strange man sitting at the end of my bed, transfixed as my brain registered the ghostly Nosferatu-like resemblance he had. His black, scraggly hair was sticking straight up as if defying gravity and was even adorned with long black feathers and two little pink bows. There was only enough of it to cover the small center at the back of his head, leaving the rest of the scalp completely exposed. Skin complexion was an awful white and strongly contrasted with the long black coat that hung in tattered and worn ends little ways below his knees. His hands rested in his lap with long and bony fingers curled under the white palms as he returned the stare.
            I flinched when his hand moved, expecting harm coming my way, but he merely pointed one of those long fingers at me and whispered, "You there...did you see it?"
            "See what?" I softly asked after battling the reluctance to speak, my hands pulling the blanket to briefly hide my face when he sneezed a little duckling out from his nose and it waddled across the bed. “Bless you.”
            He nodded in acknowledgment. “I meant seeing the creature. I thought it could only use the portal through the paperclips, but I was wrong--didn’t know the toilet has one--and now the damn thing is loose somewhere in this mansion.”
            I poked the duckling, startled when it suddenly shattered into pieces of glass. The man rolled his eyes and a sheepish smile formed on my lips when shoving the shards under the blanket. “I’ll just…glue it back together…later. So, what’s this creature you’re talking about?”
            “Something that isn’t supposed to be in this world…and it’s roaming free within this building in search of me. It’s your fault anyway, you silly girl, and you're going to help me fix it." He said the first sentence in a rather playful singsong manner, then the latter one in the intended tone of frustration.
            Although there were no eyebrows, I could clearly distinguish a frown that acquainted a sneer expressed on his face. With disbelief I stared in wonder; the audacity to accuse me of such an inane thing was certainly humorous, yet the desire to laugh was ignored after considering the possibility that this man could very well be dangerous and attack if provoked. And between you and me, I’m not looking to be the next face on the back of a milk carton. The rational part of my mind told me to call the police and have my eccentric guest escorted to the nearest mental institute, but I have this fondness for strange things and people, and so couldn't help it when curiosity compelled to humor myself further by playing along.
            “Well, before I ask why it is my fault, allow me to introduce myself.” I held out my hand to him. “Name’s Angel…and you are?”
            “I have no name,” he wailed, those ghoulish white hands covering his eyes as several yellow tears rolled down his cheeks and turned into cute little ducklings about an inch in height that hurriedly waddled off the side and hid under the bed.
            Well, that was...awkward.
            “That’s okay,” I said while reaching over to a small desk near the bed to retrieve a couple tissues for him. “How does Varné sound?”
            Lightly dabbing his eyes dry, he repeated the name quietly to himself and liked how it softly rolled off the tongue, then looked at me with a small smile. I then asked about what he meant when he said it was my fault, soon learning that a portal in my toilet became accessible for a loathsome being known as Hell’s Hound to enter this world from the Other Side--all because the lid was left open after midnight when flushing Nature’s call down. Apparently, Varné is an Ancient, which is, as he explained, an immortal being equipped with infinite knowledge surpassing ours in ways impossible to fathom. He’s considered one of the very few left in existence--the Ancients dwindling in numbers due to unearthly and hellish beings envying them to the point of nearly wiping them out to extinction--and has been living in a hole under my bed. The latter made me raise a brow in disbelief and found myself glancing and leaning over the side of the bed to look underneath. No such hole existed in sight, though Varné then noted it was visible only to him.
            When asking why Hell’s Hound was after him a moment of silence fell upon us before a soft shudder slipped passed his thin lips. “I was a guest in Lucifer’s domain. One morning I needed to use the loo--didn’t know ol’ Luc was taking a shower at the time--and after flushing the toilet the water became scorching hot. It was awful--the poor sod was covered in blisters from head to toe. I reckon it’s a nasty way for someone to start the day and wouldn’t wish it on any bloke. But ol’ Luc, you see, now he’s not the type to just sit down and talk things over with a nice cup of tea. So like a big girl’s blouse, I scarpered. Sending that bloody mutt to kill me is his way of getting even."
            “Wait a minute…if the Devil can’t stand hot water, then how is it he rules in Hell? Isn’t it supposed to be some kind of fiery realm?”
            He shook his head. “You silly humans with your artificial concepts and beliefs, there’s no fire in Hell. Contrary to what you may think, it’s quite a lovely place. All that preaching about it being some fiery chasm spewing nightmares and demons is a load of bollocks. Poor Luc may be an evil bugger, but he doesn’t have bad taste.”
            Hell; a wonderful and luxurious place? I frowned at this new idea and tried getting my head around it.
            Varné cleared his throat. “Need I remind you there’s still a monster we need to take care of?”
            “Oh. Right.” Then a thought puzzled me; how on earth could I be of any help to him--I mean I’m human and have no special powers that would seem necessary to fight against a demon--and if all what Varné said was true about him being some kind of all-knowing being then why couldn’t he take care of himself? With that in mind, I cocked my head to the side and looked at him curiously with my eyes squinting as if trying to read him before asking, “Regardless it’s my fault that this…Hell’s Hound…is now loose on this world, why do you need my help?”
            “Well, it doesn’t hurt to say I’m quite fond of your company, little dove, and it’d be an awful shame to let that wretched hound get you. Besides, I couldn’t really ask Mr. Shmeagh now, could I?” Varné pointed out with no intention of sounding sarcastic on the latter sentence. “I mean he’s not a whole lot of help when it requires being animated.” This was when he crawled off and disappeared under my bed, I decided to look underneath. He wasn’t there--he just vanished--and as baffled as I was, the thought of an invisible hole under my bed no longer tickled my sense of humor but a fear of it being true. Startled when I looked up and found Varné now standing on the other side of the bed while petting an old boot, my eyes gawked and wondered the mystery of this man as he giggled like a child before putting a finger up to his lips and hushing Mr. Shmeagh, though the boot hadn’t said a word.
            A terrible sound produced by some kind of horror bellowed and echoed throughout the wide and long corridors of the mansion. It wasn’t like a beastly roar either, more like the deafening blare from an evil-sounding siren. My gut vibrated the same way it would when playing music that had heavy bass, and Varné whimpered loudly and then beckoned me to follow before scurrying out of the room with Mr. Shmeagh clutched tightly in his ghostly white hands. Scrambling out of bed and feet gliding across the cold floor, I darted down a long and winding hallway after the eccentric Ancient, whose feet hurriedly shuffled along the tiled floor with his face pressed against the boot. He continued to whimper loudly as the strange noise blared again, this time sounding like it was coming from behind us. Glancing over my shoulder, something quick flickered into sight like a flame trying to ignite itself in the darkness, and then found myself slowly coming to a halt as curiosity once again compelled me to see what it was we were running from.
            The hallway shook when thunderous footsteps came close, the lights overhead flickering madly with static buzzing lowly; a haunting ambience setting the mood for an expecting horror. A silence swept through like a messenger bringing the dreaded promise of mortality’s flaw; ambience resolved and then conformed to the silence, the footsteps of some monstrous giant, along with that awful siren-like noise, became a buzzing murmur until embracing an end that birthed and molded the dreadful quietness. This silence was more intimidating than the terrible sounds of some monster lurking in its invisibility, creating an apprehension of what was unknown and unexpected. Though Varné’s cries urging me to follow him hinted the more sensible thing to heed, I couldn’t find my legs when I wanted to run from a horrific sight.
            From behind a corner of the curving hallway’s walls flickered a beast into visibility--Hell’s Hound. There was nothing dog-like about this being in both sound and physical makeup; it towered above the height of twenty feet and was forty feet in length from the tip of its slightly flat snout to the end of the tail, and was terribly emaciated, which only fueled the frightful reaction to this ghastly creature. Long tentacles substituted as ears and the left side of its head was crowned with several horns, while the right was molded into a horrific tumor-like collage comprising a humanoid face expressing agony and misery as it screamed and wailed (this part being at the bottom of the freakish mass of the hound’s right side on the head). What looked to resemble a baby’s head and torso had long, sharp spikes substituting as hands, and the baby’s eyes were white and soulless with the sides of its mouth crudely stitched; it formed at the top of the terrible mass.
            The demon opened its mouth to reveal the deadly fangs; the same evil-sounding siren bellowed from the gaping jaws. Transfixed as I gazed helplessly at the hellish fiend that began to charge towards me, the sound of its siren-like roar drowned Varné’s cries, and soon I was overwhelmed by the strange and terrifying ambience the hound produced. My attention was drawn away from the stampeding horror when my arm was being pulled, and then was dragged away by Varné through a portal invisible to the naked eye of mortals. We ended up stumbling out of the kitchen sink’s cupboards with the clanking and banging of pots and pans following after us.
            “Ah-hah! Just where we needed to be!” Varné exclaimed, his back to me as he worked his way through the mess with Mr. Shmeagh, then snapped two fingers and the lights went on. “Forks, spoons, knives--one or all will work nicely as an alternate force returning the demon whence it came--and if you happen to come across a microwave or toaster, be sure to throw it at the right bloke; wouldn’t want myself to end up being sucked into some nightmarish world far worse than your artificial concept of Hell now.”
            “Varné, I really doubt kitchen utensils are going to benefit us against that thing,” I said, a frown hidden from my face by a big strainer on top of my head.
            It was like watching the Exorcist movie all over again when I looked up and lifted the strainer above my eyes; Varné’s head twisted all the way back, his haughty eyes staring me down, and slowly walked backwards until standing a few inches away, which then his body twisted back so it would face me as well. He cradled the boot, cocking his head to the side, and then brought Mr. Shmeagh close to his ear, “Eh? Say it again, mate. Ah, of course I know about the bloody ceiling--was just about to tell the little dove.”
            “Tell me what?”
            He returned his gaze on me. “Do you like to bark at the ceiling?”
            “I suppose not. Never really found myself compelled to do so.”
            “Well, I do. I like to bark at the ceiling because these holes open up to let tiny baby heads attached to eel-like bodies come out and say ‘squee-squee!’.”
            “Hmm…sounds like fun,” I nonchalantly said, though wondered why he’d bring this up into conversation and what it had to do with defeating Hell’s Hound.
            “It is,” he said and nodded once. “However, I think if you tried you’d end up adopting those baby critters, giving them the names Eeny, Meeny, Miny, and Moe.” He tapped on four of my fingers when saying the names, and then angrily fanned at the thumb as his face wrinkled to show distaste.
            “What’s wrong?”
            “The thumb’s insignificant. I’d advise you to cut it off. Its only there to slur your judgment and give the sense of a fictitious balance, which is what it is: feigned.”
            “I’m being condescended for doubting a toaster is going to save us?” I scowled as the strainer slipped back down over my face.
            “Not at all, love. On the contrary, I’m merely warning you not to be a ninny.” He removed the strainer and patted me gently on the head. “Also would like to note if we live through this…I’ll show you my pretty butterflies.”
            Although everything he said didn’t make much sense, the last sentence was what really left me looking dumbfounded. I questioned if what was all said had meaning for something else metaphorically and briefly gave him the ‘what-the-hell?’ look before startled by the familiar bellow that boomed throughout the mansion like before. The pots and pans hanging on the rail above the kitchen’s island rattled in response to the heavy footsteps drawing closer and closer, and in each passing second a fear matured slowly like a fetus within its mother’s womb. In an instant, Varné was staring into the ominous eyes of a loathsome demon he once could evade and remain hidden from until now. When turning his head away with eyes shut tightly and hands holding Mr. Shmeagh close--waiting for the savage mutilation once inside that terrible mouth as its long and slithering tongue circled around him--I quickly grabbed whatever I could get my hands on and threw it at Hell’s Hound.
            Before the hound had a chance to react, reality had a hole torn open into another dimension. It whirled into a vortex, sucking the fiend as it desperately clawed at the marble floor to stay put. Its attempt of escape was futile as several long tentacles tipped with claws stretched out of the swirling hole and wrapped around the creature’s body, dragging it into an unknown abyss as its monstrous siren-like roars drew faint, then into a low murmur as the portal closed and then finally silencing forevermore.
            A toaster fell to the ground when the portal was completely sealed and Varné fainted into my arms. I rolled my eyes when spotting a puddle of urine on the floor that formed under Mr. Shmeagh. After wiping up the mess with paper towels, I dragged my pathetic guest up to my room on the second floor--and I’d like to note that the whole process couldn’t be done without cursing. It was too grueling of an effort alone dragging that dead weight up the stairs.
            It was at least an hour before my odd friend awoke, which during that time I occupied myself by drawing the horrific memory of Hell’s Hound on paper. His expression clearly illustrated sudden confusion as his face wrinkled into a sort of frown, and then scanned the area with nervous eyes until finally sighing in relief.
            “I feel them moving inside me--it tickles!” Varné suddenly giggled and lifted the bottom of his long coat up to reveal his white belly that swelled so large that he looked pregnant, and then placed a finger to his lips to hush me. “Shh! Listen now. You can hear the pretties sing.”
            Quietly listening, a soft voice hummed beautifully inside Varné’s swollen gut. I didn’t know what to expect or how to react when a green butterfly crawled out from his bellybutton and flew gracefully in the air as it continued to hum. When he held out a finger, all the while humming with the lovely insect, the butterfly landed on it. Soon a harmonizing chorus followed, hundreds of butterflies--red, blue, green, purple, orange, yellow, pink, white, and black--darted out of the bellybutton and swarmed in a massive and beautiful multicolored cloud; spiraling around Varné and then myself (with the very first butterfly leaving his finger to join the others), and their song enchanting like the mysterious blue aura of the dawning twilight.
            I was left feeling utterly confused as the bedroom floor was thickly covered by the dead butterflies. For it was so sudden when they all died at the end of the song and Varné was nowhere to be found, having already crawled underneath the bed to descend into a world veiled in obscurity. In some peculiar way it seemed somewhat spiritual witnessing the frail bodies and wings crumble and shatter like glass; fading slowly until all trace of existence was gone.
            I found Mr. Shmeagh was left on my bed and figured Varné must’ve forgotten. So, before crawling back into the comfort under the warm blankets, I set the boot down on the ground and watched as the familiar white hand with its long and bony fingers slowly reached out from underneath to retrieve it. Varné’s soft voice thanked me while his hand reached out again to pat my head.
            Yawning and stretching, I settled back comfortably to get ready for sleep. It was then that I felt a sharp pain of something cutting my skin, which made me sit up in bed and pull the blankets back to find the pile of broken glass I forgotten was there. Angered, I shoved it off the bed and watched as the shards scattered onto the floor and then rolled up into yellow marbles before turning into hundreds of ducklings about an inch in height. The tiny pieces of glass in my back also turned into the same little critters, and I felt them pull themselves from my flesh before running off the bed with small trails of bloody prints left on the sheets. All of them waddled towards the walls of the room and chewed little holes to hide in like mice, and the soft patter of little feet scurrying could be heard. It then occurred to me.
            “I need to get a cat.”

 

 

 

 

 

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This is a drawing I did last year of Hell's Hound

 

 

That, kiddies, is why we're suppose to keep the lid of the toilet seat shut after midnight!

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And here's some little doodles I did of Varné on the computer using photoshop 7

And here's a new pic of more doodles I've done somewhat recently:

I wanted to draw him in [a somewhat] anime style.
I especially like the one of him cuddling the old boot he calls Mr. Shmeagh [pronounced Shh-meeg]

=D

 

 

 

The musician, Anna-Varney Cantodea, was a great influence to how I pictured Varné would & should look like:

Author's Note

(PUBLISHED IN MIRACLE E-ZINE OCTOBER ISSUE)


The picture/digital painting at the top of the story is a piece of work I did on Photoshop CS3 of myself with Varné and a random baby-head attached to an eel-like body ^.^

I think what really gave me the push to write this was when a friend of mine on dA asked me where I'd been since my last post (and it was indeed a while ago since I posted some artwork on that site), and I simply went a bit overboard in detail with what happened to me in my "imaginary life", thus this story was my answer to her question. Basically, I'm saying that what you've read is a little insight into my "life" and what I do on a regular basis; save weird drag-queen men that live under my bed from demons and monsters that enter our realm through the loo. I'm NOT crazy...tehehehe...

Oh! would now like to note about the surrealism present in the story: please, only judge the quality of the weirdness, randomness, and absurdity (especially in parts of dialogue; tell me if you think it falls under those three categories well enough).
I really wasn't focusing on making a bestseller, I just wanted to write something that would flaunt a bit of my absurd humor ;]



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Edit: I added and changed a lot of the dialogue--especially Varné's since I imagined him having a British accent, but never really made it obvious in the story (so there's a few British slang words I added in his dialogue).


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THANKS FOR ALL THE NICE AND HELPFUL REVIEWS, GUYS! IT MEANS A LOT TO ME THAT SOME OF YOU WANT ME TO CONTINUE/EXTEND THE STORY--I MAY JUST DO IT =D

Reviews

[Pax Analog]

Wow! You are VERY good! I don't recall Lovecraftian horror being punctuated with such surreal humor.

Methinks you're an element or two up on the old master, and at such a young age!

This story draws one right in from the start and never lets go, as I say, the poetic Lovecraftian horror being laced with more surreal wonderment and absurdity -- a winning combination!

The whole is quite cinematic, and you maintain a cheeky wit in the dialogue throughout, with the "I need to get a cat" closer being a LOL on par with the first LOL-inducer re the frickin' Hell Hound entering this world through an open toilet seat.

This may be the most thoroughly entertaining and multidimensional (as it were) story I've read on WC.

Excellent work!

[Crimson_Catastrophe]

I dig it. The ducklings were quite unexpected, but it was a fun read.
Keep writing

[L0v3craft]

muwahahaha hah! NO ONE'S ever prepared for the tiny ducklings! I am a Master of Surprise! XD lol

[selkietales]

He sneezed a duckling! That made my night!
This sentence sounded kinda awkward to me and I had to reread it, like it's too wordy or something: In an instant, Varné was staring into the ominous eyes of a loathsome demon he once could evade and remain hidden from until now.
Otherwise this was great- it was funny and kinda creepy at the same time. The second group of Varné pictures was my favorite, especially the bottom middle. That face... priceless :P
So usually I avoid long stories or after reading a long story I think, "Wow, that was nice. Time to find something new!" since I'm satisfied, but I want more! I wish this was longer somehow, or had another chapter. Awesome sauce.

[Bluefire]

wow thats kool :3

[Hello, Goodbye]

love the darkness and the imagery both by narrative and actual visuals..

[L0v3craft]

oh angel it is a very intriguing experience it is to live with you . i adore you -Cynthia

[WayOath]

Just wanted to tell you how awewsome and unique this was. It reminds me of s movie I used to watch on Disney Channel when I was younger, I think it was called Don't Look Under the Bed. But it's so surreal and that is an amazing factor. My favorite thing was the dialogue of Varne. It added a more surreal element. Even though it was British you could tell he was from a different world. Wow, really awesome.

[KATHY SUE SILLS]

VERY DIFFERENT KIND OF STORY FOR ME, BUT IT DREW ME INTO IT AND I COULDN'T STOP READING IT! GOOD STORY!

[Jennifer Pennington]

This is absolutely fantastic! I loved it so much. Keep up the good work love.

[NCPanthersgurl]

I will start by commenting your art, which is really well done. :) I'm glad you included the drawing of the Hell's Hound because I just wasn't putting it together in my head. >.<

Onto the writing. Your vocabulary is superb, it's very rare to find writer's who will venture out of the comfort zone of conventional grammar. I do think your detail is a little extensive, and I did have trouble grasping what you were describing at several points, at least on first read through. I do however think your story is very creative, and I love the humor aspect that you threw into a potentially grave situation. My biggest issue is your dimensions on the Hell's Hound; when you said he came around the wall of the hallway and yet stood twenty feet tall?

Otherwise this was a very good read, very unique. Nice work. :)

[Nansi London]

lol had to read this again and it still works. [sigh]