Doctah Pussay
2005-07-02 03:38:31 UTC
Greeting fellow friends! I am happy to return to the group. I have
written a brand new story, and it will be the first story written for a
new book for which I have just formulated the germ of an idea: a sequel
to my first book, Magic Worlds of Magic. I do not know what to call it
yet. More Magic Worlds of Magic? A Return to the Magic Worlds of Magic?
I will think on this. In the mean while, please enjoy this story.
And now on with the story:
Into the Hands of the Heek
written by Mike Talbot
Concerning the disappearance of Dr. B.D.I. Heeko, very few are ready to
speak. For though it is true that myself, Dean Boyble and proffessors
Jieper and Scrumsochet were the last known to have seen him, they are
queerly reticent. The peasantry of that backwater burg, Luxxyltotenvort
have their own quaint theories, but these are the degenerate ravings of
a bunch of crazy people, and should be treated as a herring. I myself
have seeked and sook as far into the matter as I could, but none of
what I found makes any sense, so I am laying the matter bare, before
you.
It was in the fall of that great Year of Years, 2002 that I begat my
tenure as a professor of the highest rank at the Thurston Academy. Many
of my readers will know the name of that esteemed institution, as it
was the alma mater of many great minds. Why, Charlie O'Farley McBragg,
the celebrated ghost-policeman of Peckinghamshire spent his formative
years there, as did the nefarious Pickerel Exchina. In those days it
had been a school for boys, but during the coed crazy of the swinging
sixties it had converted. That I should hold such a high and mighty
rank was very exciting to me, and I was very happy to be there.
For months the rest of the faculty gave me what you might call the
"pork shoulder" because they resented my young age. True, I was only 26
years of age at the time, but I had been borne on a the 29th day of the
second month of a leap year in 1896. So while my driver's license
stated my age as a mere 26, I had been on this earth for 106 years -
the oldest men on the faculty would have to take their age times 1.5 to
equal my walking time. But as a youth of 26 beginning my first job at
such a prodigious place as the Thurston Academy, it was an honor to be
beginning my first job at such a prodigious place as the Thurston
Academy. None of the other professors would speak to me, thinking me to
be too young and modern for such a place. And when Charlie O'Farley
McBragg himself came to give the First Term Dedication, he singled me
out as a greenhorn. In fact, the only man on the faculty who would talk
to me was one Dr. B.D.I. Heeko, O.B.E.
Dr. Heeko (or The Heek as he was known to the kids on campus) had begun
his tenure much like I did. Now entering his 64th year of life, The
Heek had joined the faculty at the tender age of 11, having
demonstrated preternatural paternity toward the occult sciences, magic
spells, and the alluring lore of the full moon. Hid appointment to Head
of the Department of the Mystical Arts at the age of 14 did little to
endear him to his fello' professors, tho' it did create an unhealthy
rheum of whispered stories of uncouth alliance with Dexter
Mitiochiodio, the headmaster.
The Heek and I hit it off right off the bat. He knew I was feeling down
because no body else would give me the time of day. Oft times we would
sit by the river eating ice cream or walk down Fescata Ln. eating
cheese fries, or stand on the deck of the ferry whilst we chomped chili
dogs, and he would speak to me in his enlightened manner of the
incredulous ideas of the elder peoples of this earth:
"All cultures," he would say to me, "have some concept of monster men.
And all of these monster men do things. Always doing things, these
monster men."
It was turning obvious to me that The Heek had an unhealthy obsession
with monster men, but all things considered, monster men are one of the
less offendable things The Heek could care too much about, so I let it
slide... for now. Besides, Christmastime was coming up, and the world
was enraptured in the spirit of winter celebration. Men were making
merry madrigals, ladies were looking lovely in their liltingly ladylike
lass-clothes. We sang Christmas carols and drank Christmas grog, and
there was a great deal of feasting and celebration. The hearthside was
warm, and the yule-logs burned bright. Snow was falling, and six towns
over the faculty went to visit a Victorian-style celebration, complete
with carriage rides, hot chestnuts, and candy christmas trees of white
chocolate (dyed green) with little cinnamon red-hots for ornaments.
When we went to the Victorian Days celebration, The Heek and I rode
together in the back of the van, talking of Christmastide goodies.
"Do you know," he said, "that there is a fabled monster man who comes
out only of Christmas eve?"
"Of course," I said, laughing. "Santa Claus."
"Ah, no!" laughed The Heek. "The johnny I'm about is a monster man. His
name - are you ready for this? His name is 'H'nall-Glyden. But because
he comes out only on Christmas eve, he does sometimes get called Santor
or Santa Claws by those who write science fantasy stories."
I slapped The Heek on the shoulder and said "You're crazy!"
"No boy," he said. "I am not crazy. I have been studying this
'H'nall-Glyden. I know his ways, and I can call him up. WE shall now
truly meet... a monster man." There was a whispered reverance in his
voice that I had not heard before.
"Always with the monster men," I said, "why always with the monster
men? Look here, Heek. It is not my place or intention to pry, but I do
not believe this pursuit of yours to be healthy. Why don't you take a
wife? I know you like girls at least as well as I, and some of the
alumnus are quite comely, and enamored of you I must say."
The Heek was silent. One of the passengers in the front of the van
turned to look at us. And he talked. And this is what he said when he
talked (and his name was Dr. Bersing):
"So the Heek is reticent about his past, eh? Well, if he won't break
his retsina, I will. His full name is Burtleson Daniel Ignatz Heek,
O.B.E., which is the abbreviation for 'Officer of the British Empire.'
He was an officer once, for the BDIPP - the British Department for the
Investigation of Paranormal Phenomena. His wife was one Florence
Clarissa Josephene Heek, formerly Beilcheski, and they worked side by
side. Oh, how they loved each other. One day, while investigating the
hideous reports of a monsterous house near a pit just outside of
Craighton in the west of Ireland, they were attacked by a group of
piggish brutes- monster men, if you will. The horrid things carried her
off and she was never heard from again. Old Heek here swore off love,
vowing never to marry a-"
Heek cut him off, saying "Bahh! Poot! I can tell my own story! My full
name is Burtleson Daniel Ignatz Heek, O.B.E., which is the abbreviation
for 'Officer of the British Empire.' I was an officer once, for the
BDIPP - the British Department for the Investigation of Paranormal
Phenomena. My wife was one Florence Clarissa Josephene Heek, formerly
Beilcheski, and we worked side by side. Oh, how we loved each other.
One day, while investigating the hideous reports of a monsterous house
near a pit just outside of Craighton in the west of Ireland, we were
attacked by a group of piggish brutes- monster men, if you will. The
horrid things carried her off and she was never heard from again. I
swore off love, vowing never to marry again."
I was stunned. Could it be true?
"It's true," said The Heek, which answered my question. So there was my
proof.
So there was the rub of it! The Heek was angry with the monster men and
wanted revenge! And instead of taking it out just on the pig people of
that hellish, devil-designed house, he had vowed to wage war on monster
men of all kids! This was food for thought, and so it ruined my
Christmas season. I thought of it incessantly, asking myself the whys
and the wherefores, which really, when you think about it, are, the
same, thing.
As the days grew closer to Christmas, Heek and I grew further and
furter apart. I saw less of him, and he was always hurrying somewhere,
carrying guns or dynamite or books on setting monster traps. I suppose
his intent was to capture and kill 'H'nall-Glyden. Poor 'H'nall-Glyden!
That poor, poor monster man! I had used the internet and done some
research. Yes, he was a monster man, but he was not evil! And foolish,
diluted Heek was going to kill him!
I became friends with doctors Derek Jieper and Ein Scrumsochet
(pronounced "scrum-socket"), and they agreed: Professor Heek's
condition was terminal. We would have to take him down.
I began to research and think hard about what I could do to get rid of
him.
It was at 9:00p, GMT that I met with Jieper and Scrumsochet at the
discussed meeting place: the abandoned firemill behind Besund's
Hardware. There had been a heavy snow, and Jieper was quite late, but
we three were all assembled there in the end. We disucssed how we was
going to do the dirty deed.
"I brought me blowtorch," said Dr. Scrumsochet.
"I brought my ninja throwing star," said Dr. Jieper.
I produced my collection of broken glass shards, saying "this will be
the night, buck-os. This will be the night."
"And I," said a fourth voice, "have brought the Necronomicon!"
At first we thought it was probably Dr. Heeko. Had he figured out what
we were going to do, and decided to rub us out before we got a chance
to do it yet? No, Scrumsochet said, probably not. Well then, I
suggested, it was probably 'H'nall-Glyden, manifest before us to stop
his would-be stopper.
"No," said the voice, "it's me. Your boss. Dean Boyble. Dean Tucky
Boyble."
And as he stepped forward out the shadows, I saw that it was Dean
Boyble after all. How had he found out about our little lynching party?
"I found out," he said as if you answer my unasked question, "by
reading your e-mails. You should know better than to conduct
correspondence of this nature over your school account."
"But why were you reading our e-mails!" yelled Scrumsochet.
"I read every body's e-mails, because Professor Klottely sends naked
pictures of herself to her husband on her work account."
That made sense.
"What doesn't make sense," quoth I, "is how you have the Necronomicon."
"I am a high priest of Jaba-Negilla'vae'n'sh M'cha, and I am under
instructions from the Edited One himself to stop the one referred to in
the Books of Ee-Zyana as The Heek. This can only mean Dr. Heeko. Or
should I say... Herr Doktor Heeko."
A cold wind blew through the room, and my teeth chattered in their
socket.
"You mean...?" Jieper could not ever find a way to ask out loud.
"Yes," said Dean Boyble, and we understood.
Together we made a pact: that no man would get out alive, unless The
Heek was dead. Then we called The Heek on his cell phone.
"Hello?"
"Hey! Heekster! Good buddy!" I chortled. "Where are you man?"
"I'm going to kill 'H'nall-Glyden, remember?"
"Great! Where can we find you?"
"Why the sudden interest?"
"Oh just, you know, you're my friend and all." I sounded so affable
that I was allmost fooling my self!
"Beat it." he said. "You abandoned me when I told you why I was going
after the monster men, and now I want you to leave me alone."
I told him I wanted to stick at his side like a good friend, but he
just brushed me off. So we argued and finally I got an answer out of
him. He was in a tiny village called Luxxyltotenvort and he gave me the
address. So we all piled into the Dean's 4x4 and drove over to
Luxxyltotenvort.
Luxxyltotenvort turned out to be a strange place indeed. The
townspeople were loathe to help us, but we made them do it so they did.
They took us down to the Great Hall of 'H'nall-Glyden, where a
slant-mouthed lad in bright stockings shewed us into the vestibule.
There we waited until Dr. Heek appeared to us.
"So you finally made it! Well fellows, this has been a hard choice for
me to make, but here it is. 'H'nall-Glyden will not be appearing
tonight. I think we should all go back to Bingham's Bar and soak up a
few Heinekens with beer-sponges, if you know what I mean."
Heinekens? Hang that foolishness! Pabst Blue Ribbon! That is what The
Heek liked to drink, and he knew it! And what was this beer sponge
idea? I asked him to elaborate, and he explained what a beer sponge
was. Can you guess what a beer sponge is? It is one of those big, soft,
hot pretzels. Heek had always called them soft pretzels before.
Dean Boyble was itching for a chance to kill him with the Necronomicon,
and finally said, "Heek, come with me. I need to talk to you AWAY FROM
THE OTHER 3."
We glanced nervously about, but when The Heek consented, they went off
behind a crypt and we could hear quiet whisperings coming for like, an
hour and a half.
Then Dean Boyble came out of the crypt with The Heek behind him!
"I thought you were going to kill The Heek," I said.
"Yes," said Dean Boyble, "but it was all a big misunderstanding. It is
o.k., my friend."
Welp Scrumsochet, Jieper and I did not like the sound of that at all,
so when The Heek was in front of us, we all ook aim and tried to kill
him! The Heek just turned around, broken glass and throwing stars
protruding from his burning and bloodied clothing.
"You coming?" he said.
We went back to the academy, spent an uneasy Christmas, and when New
Year's Day came around, The Heek was nowhere to be found.
We looked in the parlour.
We looked underneath the stairs.
We checked all the closets and under the bed in the Master Bedroom.
We looked under the sink and in the storage area.
Hips, the gardener, opend up the tool shed, but he wasn't in there and
he also wasn't in the cafeteria.
Soon we got so desperate that we were looking in stupid places like in
ladies purses and between the pages of books and also in jars in the
'frigerator, even tho' the jars were transparent and their contents
clearly visible.
I went back to Luxxyltotenvort to question the peasantry there, but
their degenerate ravings are those of a crazy people. Oddly they match
the story told by Dean Boyble when I ask him about it, but it is too
crazy to be believed.
They say that of the five bodies that left the crypt that night, only
four were those of men. They say that the fifth body - the body that
once had belonged to The Heek - was now inhabited by a spirit: The
spirit of 'H'nall-Glyden. And they say that 'H'nall-Glyden killed The
Heek, and took his body. When you ask Dean Boyble, he says that the
body of the Heek is roaming around the Americas somewhere, maybe coming
to your town. Iä! Iä! The body of the Heek! Iä! Iä! The brain of
'H'nall-Glyden! Iä! Iä! Those hands, and what they might do!
Personally, I do not believe a word of it. Do you?
If so, why?
If not, why not?
http://www.geocities.com/doctahpussay
written a brand new story, and it will be the first story written for a
new book for which I have just formulated the germ of an idea: a sequel
to my first book, Magic Worlds of Magic. I do not know what to call it
yet. More Magic Worlds of Magic? A Return to the Magic Worlds of Magic?
I will think on this. In the mean while, please enjoy this story.
And now on with the story:
Into the Hands of the Heek
written by Mike Talbot
Concerning the disappearance of Dr. B.D.I. Heeko, very few are ready to
speak. For though it is true that myself, Dean Boyble and proffessors
Jieper and Scrumsochet were the last known to have seen him, they are
queerly reticent. The peasantry of that backwater burg, Luxxyltotenvort
have their own quaint theories, but these are the degenerate ravings of
a bunch of crazy people, and should be treated as a herring. I myself
have seeked and sook as far into the matter as I could, but none of
what I found makes any sense, so I am laying the matter bare, before
you.
It was in the fall of that great Year of Years, 2002 that I begat my
tenure as a professor of the highest rank at the Thurston Academy. Many
of my readers will know the name of that esteemed institution, as it
was the alma mater of many great minds. Why, Charlie O'Farley McBragg,
the celebrated ghost-policeman of Peckinghamshire spent his formative
years there, as did the nefarious Pickerel Exchina. In those days it
had been a school for boys, but during the coed crazy of the swinging
sixties it had converted. That I should hold such a high and mighty
rank was very exciting to me, and I was very happy to be there.
For months the rest of the faculty gave me what you might call the
"pork shoulder" because they resented my young age. True, I was only 26
years of age at the time, but I had been borne on a the 29th day of the
second month of a leap year in 1896. So while my driver's license
stated my age as a mere 26, I had been on this earth for 106 years -
the oldest men on the faculty would have to take their age times 1.5 to
equal my walking time. But as a youth of 26 beginning my first job at
such a prodigious place as the Thurston Academy, it was an honor to be
beginning my first job at such a prodigious place as the Thurston
Academy. None of the other professors would speak to me, thinking me to
be too young and modern for such a place. And when Charlie O'Farley
McBragg himself came to give the First Term Dedication, he singled me
out as a greenhorn. In fact, the only man on the faculty who would talk
to me was one Dr. B.D.I. Heeko, O.B.E.
Dr. Heeko (or The Heek as he was known to the kids on campus) had begun
his tenure much like I did. Now entering his 64th year of life, The
Heek had joined the faculty at the tender age of 11, having
demonstrated preternatural paternity toward the occult sciences, magic
spells, and the alluring lore of the full moon. Hid appointment to Head
of the Department of the Mystical Arts at the age of 14 did little to
endear him to his fello' professors, tho' it did create an unhealthy
rheum of whispered stories of uncouth alliance with Dexter
Mitiochiodio, the headmaster.
The Heek and I hit it off right off the bat. He knew I was feeling down
because no body else would give me the time of day. Oft times we would
sit by the river eating ice cream or walk down Fescata Ln. eating
cheese fries, or stand on the deck of the ferry whilst we chomped chili
dogs, and he would speak to me in his enlightened manner of the
incredulous ideas of the elder peoples of this earth:
"All cultures," he would say to me, "have some concept of monster men.
And all of these monster men do things. Always doing things, these
monster men."
It was turning obvious to me that The Heek had an unhealthy obsession
with monster men, but all things considered, monster men are one of the
less offendable things The Heek could care too much about, so I let it
slide... for now. Besides, Christmastime was coming up, and the world
was enraptured in the spirit of winter celebration. Men were making
merry madrigals, ladies were looking lovely in their liltingly ladylike
lass-clothes. We sang Christmas carols and drank Christmas grog, and
there was a great deal of feasting and celebration. The hearthside was
warm, and the yule-logs burned bright. Snow was falling, and six towns
over the faculty went to visit a Victorian-style celebration, complete
with carriage rides, hot chestnuts, and candy christmas trees of white
chocolate (dyed green) with little cinnamon red-hots for ornaments.
When we went to the Victorian Days celebration, The Heek and I rode
together in the back of the van, talking of Christmastide goodies.
"Do you know," he said, "that there is a fabled monster man who comes
out only of Christmas eve?"
"Of course," I said, laughing. "Santa Claus."
"Ah, no!" laughed The Heek. "The johnny I'm about is a monster man. His
name - are you ready for this? His name is 'H'nall-Glyden. But because
he comes out only on Christmas eve, he does sometimes get called Santor
or Santa Claws by those who write science fantasy stories."
I slapped The Heek on the shoulder and said "You're crazy!"
"No boy," he said. "I am not crazy. I have been studying this
'H'nall-Glyden. I know his ways, and I can call him up. WE shall now
truly meet... a monster man." There was a whispered reverance in his
voice that I had not heard before.
"Always with the monster men," I said, "why always with the monster
men? Look here, Heek. It is not my place or intention to pry, but I do
not believe this pursuit of yours to be healthy. Why don't you take a
wife? I know you like girls at least as well as I, and some of the
alumnus are quite comely, and enamored of you I must say."
The Heek was silent. One of the passengers in the front of the van
turned to look at us. And he talked. And this is what he said when he
talked (and his name was Dr. Bersing):
"So the Heek is reticent about his past, eh? Well, if he won't break
his retsina, I will. His full name is Burtleson Daniel Ignatz Heek,
O.B.E., which is the abbreviation for 'Officer of the British Empire.'
He was an officer once, for the BDIPP - the British Department for the
Investigation of Paranormal Phenomena. His wife was one Florence
Clarissa Josephene Heek, formerly Beilcheski, and they worked side by
side. Oh, how they loved each other. One day, while investigating the
hideous reports of a monsterous house near a pit just outside of
Craighton in the west of Ireland, they were attacked by a group of
piggish brutes- monster men, if you will. The horrid things carried her
off and she was never heard from again. Old Heek here swore off love,
vowing never to marry a-"
Heek cut him off, saying "Bahh! Poot! I can tell my own story! My full
name is Burtleson Daniel Ignatz Heek, O.B.E., which is the abbreviation
for 'Officer of the British Empire.' I was an officer once, for the
BDIPP - the British Department for the Investigation of Paranormal
Phenomena. My wife was one Florence Clarissa Josephene Heek, formerly
Beilcheski, and we worked side by side. Oh, how we loved each other.
One day, while investigating the hideous reports of a monsterous house
near a pit just outside of Craighton in the west of Ireland, we were
attacked by a group of piggish brutes- monster men, if you will. The
horrid things carried her off and she was never heard from again. I
swore off love, vowing never to marry again."
I was stunned. Could it be true?
"It's true," said The Heek, which answered my question. So there was my
proof.
So there was the rub of it! The Heek was angry with the monster men and
wanted revenge! And instead of taking it out just on the pig people of
that hellish, devil-designed house, he had vowed to wage war on monster
men of all kids! This was food for thought, and so it ruined my
Christmas season. I thought of it incessantly, asking myself the whys
and the wherefores, which really, when you think about it, are, the
same, thing.
As the days grew closer to Christmas, Heek and I grew further and
furter apart. I saw less of him, and he was always hurrying somewhere,
carrying guns or dynamite or books on setting monster traps. I suppose
his intent was to capture and kill 'H'nall-Glyden. Poor 'H'nall-Glyden!
That poor, poor monster man! I had used the internet and done some
research. Yes, he was a monster man, but he was not evil! And foolish,
diluted Heek was going to kill him!
I became friends with doctors Derek Jieper and Ein Scrumsochet
(pronounced "scrum-socket"), and they agreed: Professor Heek's
condition was terminal. We would have to take him down.
I began to research and think hard about what I could do to get rid of
him.
It was at 9:00p, GMT that I met with Jieper and Scrumsochet at the
discussed meeting place: the abandoned firemill behind Besund's
Hardware. There had been a heavy snow, and Jieper was quite late, but
we three were all assembled there in the end. We disucssed how we was
going to do the dirty deed.
"I brought me blowtorch," said Dr. Scrumsochet.
"I brought my ninja throwing star," said Dr. Jieper.
I produced my collection of broken glass shards, saying "this will be
the night, buck-os. This will be the night."
"And I," said a fourth voice, "have brought the Necronomicon!"
At first we thought it was probably Dr. Heeko. Had he figured out what
we were going to do, and decided to rub us out before we got a chance
to do it yet? No, Scrumsochet said, probably not. Well then, I
suggested, it was probably 'H'nall-Glyden, manifest before us to stop
his would-be stopper.
"No," said the voice, "it's me. Your boss. Dean Boyble. Dean Tucky
Boyble."
And as he stepped forward out the shadows, I saw that it was Dean
Boyble after all. How had he found out about our little lynching party?
"I found out," he said as if you answer my unasked question, "by
reading your e-mails. You should know better than to conduct
correspondence of this nature over your school account."
"But why were you reading our e-mails!" yelled Scrumsochet.
"I read every body's e-mails, because Professor Klottely sends naked
pictures of herself to her husband on her work account."
That made sense.
"What doesn't make sense," quoth I, "is how you have the Necronomicon."
"I am a high priest of Jaba-Negilla'vae'n'sh M'cha, and I am under
instructions from the Edited One himself to stop the one referred to in
the Books of Ee-Zyana as The Heek. This can only mean Dr. Heeko. Or
should I say... Herr Doktor Heeko."
A cold wind blew through the room, and my teeth chattered in their
socket.
"You mean...?" Jieper could not ever find a way to ask out loud.
"Yes," said Dean Boyble, and we understood.
Together we made a pact: that no man would get out alive, unless The
Heek was dead. Then we called The Heek on his cell phone.
"Hello?"
"Hey! Heekster! Good buddy!" I chortled. "Where are you man?"
"I'm going to kill 'H'nall-Glyden, remember?"
"Great! Where can we find you?"
"Why the sudden interest?"
"Oh just, you know, you're my friend and all." I sounded so affable
that I was allmost fooling my self!
"Beat it." he said. "You abandoned me when I told you why I was going
after the monster men, and now I want you to leave me alone."
I told him I wanted to stick at his side like a good friend, but he
just brushed me off. So we argued and finally I got an answer out of
him. He was in a tiny village called Luxxyltotenvort and he gave me the
address. So we all piled into the Dean's 4x4 and drove over to
Luxxyltotenvort.
Luxxyltotenvort turned out to be a strange place indeed. The
townspeople were loathe to help us, but we made them do it so they did.
They took us down to the Great Hall of 'H'nall-Glyden, where a
slant-mouthed lad in bright stockings shewed us into the vestibule.
There we waited until Dr. Heek appeared to us.
"So you finally made it! Well fellows, this has been a hard choice for
me to make, but here it is. 'H'nall-Glyden will not be appearing
tonight. I think we should all go back to Bingham's Bar and soak up a
few Heinekens with beer-sponges, if you know what I mean."
Heinekens? Hang that foolishness! Pabst Blue Ribbon! That is what The
Heek liked to drink, and he knew it! And what was this beer sponge
idea? I asked him to elaborate, and he explained what a beer sponge
was. Can you guess what a beer sponge is? It is one of those big, soft,
hot pretzels. Heek had always called them soft pretzels before.
Dean Boyble was itching for a chance to kill him with the Necronomicon,
and finally said, "Heek, come with me. I need to talk to you AWAY FROM
THE OTHER 3."
We glanced nervously about, but when The Heek consented, they went off
behind a crypt and we could hear quiet whisperings coming for like, an
hour and a half.
Then Dean Boyble came out of the crypt with The Heek behind him!
"I thought you were going to kill The Heek," I said.
"Yes," said Dean Boyble, "but it was all a big misunderstanding. It is
o.k., my friend."
Welp Scrumsochet, Jieper and I did not like the sound of that at all,
so when The Heek was in front of us, we all ook aim and tried to kill
him! The Heek just turned around, broken glass and throwing stars
protruding from his burning and bloodied clothing.
"You coming?" he said.
We went back to the academy, spent an uneasy Christmas, and when New
Year's Day came around, The Heek was nowhere to be found.
We looked in the parlour.
We looked underneath the stairs.
We checked all the closets and under the bed in the Master Bedroom.
We looked under the sink and in the storage area.
Hips, the gardener, opend up the tool shed, but he wasn't in there and
he also wasn't in the cafeteria.
Soon we got so desperate that we were looking in stupid places like in
ladies purses and between the pages of books and also in jars in the
'frigerator, even tho' the jars were transparent and their contents
clearly visible.
I went back to Luxxyltotenvort to question the peasantry there, but
their degenerate ravings are those of a crazy people. Oddly they match
the story told by Dean Boyble when I ask him about it, but it is too
crazy to be believed.
They say that of the five bodies that left the crypt that night, only
four were those of men. They say that the fifth body - the body that
once had belonged to The Heek - was now inhabited by a spirit: The
spirit of 'H'nall-Glyden. And they say that 'H'nall-Glyden killed The
Heek, and took his body. When you ask Dean Boyble, he says that the
body of the Heek is roaming around the Americas somewhere, maybe coming
to your town. Iä! Iä! The body of the Heek! Iä! Iä! The brain of
'H'nall-Glyden! Iä! Iä! Those hands, and what they might do!
Personally, I do not believe a word of it. Do you?
If so, why?
If not, why not?
http://www.geocities.com/doctahpussay