Halloween Special of DOOM 8
Words: 1832
No warnings.
It was a dark and stormy forest, filled with intent. At least that was what Howard thought was setting up the hairs on the back of his neck. Even his very damp moustache felt oddly twitchy.
He didn't like it at all. It felt wrong.
Vince, too, seemed to be in some discomfort, though as Howard watched Vince shift from boot-heel to boot-heel, he came to realize Vince was trying-vainly and not terribly discreetly-to pull the wet spandex jumpsuit away from his pelvis where it had moulded itself in such a way as to highlight his meat and veg. Howard tried not to stare, but found it both provocative and disturbing, seeing what he'd seen before under more mundane circumstances framed in a new light, as it were, partly hidden behind Vince’s hand.
“Klaatu-”
Howard’s attention went back to Naboo and the spell book, which he'd opened and set down on the wet grass. This was serious business, and he didn't like having to trust Naboo to fix what he'd broken.
“Barada-” Naboo’s voice was muted by the hard pouring rain. “Nic-”
“Choo!” Howard sneezed. He waited and, when no “Bless You” was forthcoming, he rubbed his now germ-ridden palm onto his already wet corduroy trousers.
“Harold die now. Save Naboo trouble.”
Howard opened his mouth to point out to Bollo that his dying would do nothing to stop London from drowning, only to sneeze again.
Now, the entire Shamans Council were staring at Howard with expressions ranging from open-mouthed shock (Kirk) to open disdain (Saboo) to outright disgust (Tony Harrison-who, looking like a well-lubricated ballbag himself, ought not to be too snotty over an errant sneeze on a very, very rainy day.)
Howard cleared his throat, feeling a tickle there. “Hmm. Anyone have a lemsip? No?”
“Aiyeechee!”
The mob, as one, turnt its glare on Vince, who blithely blinked and sneezed again.
“Bless you,” Howard offered, feeling warmly. He felt a bit of the old camaraderie set in at the thought of their sharing a virus.
“Da.” Vince sniffed. “You're fauld I'm ill.”
Naboo rolled his eyes. “Shall I call for a matron?”
Howard grumbled. “A hot cuppa’d be alright.”
Vince nodded, rubbing at the tip of his nose with the back of his hand like a child would do. “Alrighd, Naboo, ged on wid id.”
“Alright. Everyone shush. The fate of London is at stake, an’ if this don't work it's on to Plan B.”
Howard didn't like the way Naboo glanced at him as he said it. What was Plan B? And was there a Plan C?
Naboo cleared his throat loudly, took a deep breath, and began the spell again, speaking quickly, as if anticipating another interruption. “KlaatuBaradaNikto!”
And….
Nothing happened.
Naboo scowled and kicked the spell book shut with the toe of his curly trainers. Then he clapped his hands together, rubbed them together, and said, curtly, “Right, Bellumon it is, then.”
And the council, like the chorus of a Greek tragedy, somberly intoned, “Bellumon it is, then.” Their timing was a bit off, with Kirk’s high voice starting and ending first, and the warm, creamy tones of Dennis, ending the round, but it was impressive nonetheless.
Then Bollo murmured, “I got a bad feeling about this.”
“How’s that?” Howard asked.
But Bollo merely shook his head mournfully and looked at the ground.
Naboo frowned at him, but said nothing as he reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out two small things, setting them atop the now closed spell book.
Though it was still raining, the wind had gone still, so the things remained where Naboo set them, looking inconsequential.
Then Naboo spoke. “With these magical items, I call upon a Bellumon to appear. Per the conditions of the Intergalactic Treaty of Normanstein, I hereby offer a sacrifice. Howard Moon. Please step into the magic circle.”
Howard blanched. “Wh-what? Sacrifice what now?”
Vince stepped close and put his hand on Howard’s lower back. It felt nicely reassuring.
Only then Vince pushed and Howard stumbled forward. “He said get in the circle.”
“He said sacrifice Howard Moon.”
“It's only a-whatsit.”
“Euphemism?”
“Alright. Yeah. He'll prick your finger or something.”
“No. Most definitely not.”
“Oi, it's you that done this. Least you'll do after what was done to Charlie.”
“Said I was sorry.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“And there is no circle, Vince.”
Though right as he said it, a bright circle of white light defiantly appeared round Naboo and the book, such that Howard found he now was stood just on the edge of it.
He leant back on his heels, about to step back, only he wasn't able to move. He felt frozen from the waist downward.
From behind him, he heard Vince, still sniffling, offer up reassurance, “It's alright, ‘oward. Naboo’s not going to hurt ya.”
Bollo issued a groan.
And Naboo sighed heavily before pointing his finger at Howard, who felt a pull forward and was forced to step over the line and into the circle proper. “It'll all be over soon, Howard. Vince, it might be best if you shut your eyes for this part.”
“He's joking, ‘oward,” Vince called out, now sounding less confident.
“He not joking, Harold,” Bollo rumbled, sounding quite sure of himself.
Howard felt he might sick up. “But-But I've got so much t-”
“To give, yeah yeah, so I've heard. Only Vince here has even more, and I don't like you nearly as well.”
Howard might've taken offense at that, only Naboo again gestured with his hand and a sudden force hit Howard in the gut, nearly knocking him off his feet, though not outside of the magic circle.
Vince cried out and Howard pinwheeled his arms, but it made no difference. He was falling…
…falling but not landing…
He heard Vince shout something, but he couldn't make out what Vince said. He was too far away now.
And he was still falling, and everything had gone silent-even the sound of the rain cut off-keeping him from hearing his own shrieking scream as what felt like every hair on his body was ripped out by the root, all at once.
*****
Vince was on his knees, just outside the circle, with Naboo outside of it, beside him, attempting to console him. “It was the only thing left, Vince.”
“You-he ain't dead.”
“I'm so sorry.”
“You-you wouldn't, so he isn't. It's a trick, innit. Say it's a trick.”
“All of London’ll be drowned if we don't set this right.”
“Not for all of London you wouldn't. Not even to save all of England. Not Howard.”
Naboo got himself down beside Vince. “Not for all of England, no. But for you… I would.”
Vince got up and stood over the remains inside the circle. “No. It's a trick. That ain't him.”
Beside the spell book lay what had first appeared as dry ashes but was now a mound of mud. In the dimming glow of the circle, one could make out a small pile of sodden hair, long strands and short and curlies mixed in together.
Naboo moved to stand beside Vince. “In time, you'll see it's better this way. He wasn't any use to us here.”
Naboo was felled by the first, wild swing.
He was bleeding. Vince’s ring had cut into his cheek.
Naboo touched the wound, wincing, then sat himself up as he heard the thrumming noise begin-something halfway between a cat’s purr and the whirr of a helicopter.
Vince was bent over, hands on his thighs, breathing loudly, and slowly stood up, mouth dropping open.
The Bellumon had come.
*****
Howard came awake and screamed at the large, empty, dead eyes staring into his own.
He squeezed his eyes shut as he thrust his hand towards the thing to push it away, and his fingers touched hair and smooth, cold skin?
Not skin. He opened his eyes. Bisque?
It was a doll. An old, large one-a bisque porcelain the size of a toddler, with glass eyes and what might be human hair. Brown curls. She wore a sepia frock that might've been a pale blue when it was new.
He sat himself up, leaning back on his hands. Under him were yellowed newspapers. It was dusty and he felt another sneeze coming on but then it left as he realized where he was.
He was in the new shop-the old building still with the lights on as they'd left them when Terry first appeared. He shuddered, remembering how Terry’s ugliness had made him long for the lumpy, globular pink wad.
There were no cracks in the wood floors. Nothing to indicate it had happened. Though Howard could hear it was still lashing rain outside. That meant the Bellumon-whatever that was-hadn't worked.
Had Naboo gotten the spell wrong or had Howard, being drawn into it, somehow ruined it? Had he been meant to die?
And if he'd lived, did that mean that Vince….
Would he know if Vince were….
No. Vince was alright. Right as rain.
Howard shivered. There was nothing at all right about this rain.
The Nabootique2 was unsettling.
It made the hairs on his arms prickle. Only…he looked down at his arms, pushing up the sleeves of his shirt. The usual hair was gone. Then he remembered the pain he'd felt as he was falling.
Feeling his heart speed up, he brought his hand to his face.
Thank heavens. His moustache was still where it ought to be, as was…yes, the hair on his head seemed alright.
Though the rest of him… He experimentally shifted his stance, then winced at the odd sensation of damp corduroy on denuded skin. He knew even without looking that even his pubes were hairless-his bald, wrinkled bollocks and penis wholly unprotected.
He narrowed his eyes. It would be just like Naboo to do this not because it was necessary but simply because he could.
A bit of Nair in Naboo’s turban ought to do the trick.
Vince would likely find it all entertaining and well-deserved after what had become of Charlie.
On the other hand, Vince might help him exact revenge. They might bond over the idea of Naboo turnt into a stumpy Yul Brynner.
Before all this had gone pear-shaped and bald, he'd planned on suggesting to Vince that they call the shop the Moontique. He liked the sound of that, only he knew Vince’d come back with some clever alternative that put Noir on the awning.
They might've crimped about it. Then, in a moment of warm humor, Howard would confess….
Howard frowned.
The overly large doll was staring at him with a dimpled grin on her face as if mocking him.
He glared back at her. “Yeah, alright, you've made your point.”
With that, she seemed to smile more indulgently.
He thought of turning her to face the wall, or covering her with some paper. Yet the idea of touching her made him feel oddly dizzy and weak. Surely it was the virus and nothing more.
No warnings.
It was a dark and stormy forest, filled with intent. At least that was what Howard thought was setting up the hairs on the back of his neck. Even his very damp moustache felt oddly twitchy.
He didn't like it at all. It felt wrong.
Vince, too, seemed to be in some discomfort, though as Howard watched Vince shift from boot-heel to boot-heel, he came to realize Vince was trying-vainly and not terribly discreetly-to pull the wet spandex jumpsuit away from his pelvis where it had moulded itself in such a way as to highlight his meat and veg. Howard tried not to stare, but found it both provocative and disturbing, seeing what he'd seen before under more mundane circumstances framed in a new light, as it were, partly hidden behind Vince’s hand.
“Klaatu-”
Howard’s attention went back to Naboo and the spell book, which he'd opened and set down on the wet grass. This was serious business, and he didn't like having to trust Naboo to fix what he'd broken.
“Barada-” Naboo’s voice was muted by the hard pouring rain. “Nic-”
“Choo!” Howard sneezed. He waited and, when no “Bless You” was forthcoming, he rubbed his now germ-ridden palm onto his already wet corduroy trousers.
“Harold die now. Save Naboo trouble.”
Howard opened his mouth to point out to Bollo that his dying would do nothing to stop London from drowning, only to sneeze again.
Now, the entire Shamans Council were staring at Howard with expressions ranging from open-mouthed shock (Kirk) to open disdain (Saboo) to outright disgust (Tony Harrison-who, looking like a well-lubricated ballbag himself, ought not to be too snotty over an errant sneeze on a very, very rainy day.)
Howard cleared his throat, feeling a tickle there. “Hmm. Anyone have a lemsip? No?”
“Aiyeechee!”
The mob, as one, turnt its glare on Vince, who blithely blinked and sneezed again.
“Bless you,” Howard offered, feeling warmly. He felt a bit of the old camaraderie set in at the thought of their sharing a virus.
“Da.” Vince sniffed. “You're fauld I'm ill.”
Naboo rolled his eyes. “Shall I call for a matron?”
Howard grumbled. “A hot cuppa’d be alright.”
Vince nodded, rubbing at the tip of his nose with the back of his hand like a child would do. “Alrighd, Naboo, ged on wid id.”
“Alright. Everyone shush. The fate of London is at stake, an’ if this don't work it's on to Plan B.”
Howard didn't like the way Naboo glanced at him as he said it. What was Plan B? And was there a Plan C?
Naboo cleared his throat loudly, took a deep breath, and began the spell again, speaking quickly, as if anticipating another interruption. “KlaatuBaradaNikto!”
And….
Nothing happened.
Naboo scowled and kicked the spell book shut with the toe of his curly trainers. Then he clapped his hands together, rubbed them together, and said, curtly, “Right, Bellumon it is, then.”
And the council, like the chorus of a Greek tragedy, somberly intoned, “Bellumon it is, then.” Their timing was a bit off, with Kirk’s high voice starting and ending first, and the warm, creamy tones of Dennis, ending the round, but it was impressive nonetheless.
Then Bollo murmured, “I got a bad feeling about this.”
“How’s that?” Howard asked.
But Bollo merely shook his head mournfully and looked at the ground.
Naboo frowned at him, but said nothing as he reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out two small things, setting them atop the now closed spell book.
Though it was still raining, the wind had gone still, so the things remained where Naboo set them, looking inconsequential.
Then Naboo spoke. “With these magical items, I call upon a Bellumon to appear. Per the conditions of the Intergalactic Treaty of Normanstein, I hereby offer a sacrifice. Howard Moon. Please step into the magic circle.”
Howard blanched. “Wh-what? Sacrifice what now?”
Vince stepped close and put his hand on Howard’s lower back. It felt nicely reassuring.
Only then Vince pushed and Howard stumbled forward. “He said get in the circle.”
“He said sacrifice Howard Moon.”
“It's only a-whatsit.”
“Euphemism?”
“Alright. Yeah. He'll prick your finger or something.”
“No. Most definitely not.”
“Oi, it's you that done this. Least you'll do after what was done to Charlie.”
“Said I was sorry.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“And there is no circle, Vince.”
Though right as he said it, a bright circle of white light defiantly appeared round Naboo and the book, such that Howard found he now was stood just on the edge of it.
He leant back on his heels, about to step back, only he wasn't able to move. He felt frozen from the waist downward.
From behind him, he heard Vince, still sniffling, offer up reassurance, “It's alright, ‘oward. Naboo’s not going to hurt ya.”
Bollo issued a groan.
And Naboo sighed heavily before pointing his finger at Howard, who felt a pull forward and was forced to step over the line and into the circle proper. “It'll all be over soon, Howard. Vince, it might be best if you shut your eyes for this part.”
“He's joking, ‘oward,” Vince called out, now sounding less confident.
“He not joking, Harold,” Bollo rumbled, sounding quite sure of himself.
Howard felt he might sick up. “But-But I've got so much t-”
“To give, yeah yeah, so I've heard. Only Vince here has even more, and I don't like you nearly as well.”
Howard might've taken offense at that, only Naboo again gestured with his hand and a sudden force hit Howard in the gut, nearly knocking him off his feet, though not outside of the magic circle.
Vince cried out and Howard pinwheeled his arms, but it made no difference. He was falling…
…falling but not landing…
He heard Vince shout something, but he couldn't make out what Vince said. He was too far away now.
And he was still falling, and everything had gone silent-even the sound of the rain cut off-keeping him from hearing his own shrieking scream as what felt like every hair on his body was ripped out by the root, all at once.
*****
Vince was on his knees, just outside the circle, with Naboo outside of it, beside him, attempting to console him. “It was the only thing left, Vince.”
“You-he ain't dead.”
“I'm so sorry.”
“You-you wouldn't, so he isn't. It's a trick, innit. Say it's a trick.”
“All of London’ll be drowned if we don't set this right.”
“Not for all of London you wouldn't. Not even to save all of England. Not Howard.”
Naboo got himself down beside Vince. “Not for all of England, no. But for you… I would.”
Vince got up and stood over the remains inside the circle. “No. It's a trick. That ain't him.”
Beside the spell book lay what had first appeared as dry ashes but was now a mound of mud. In the dimming glow of the circle, one could make out a small pile of sodden hair, long strands and short and curlies mixed in together.
Naboo moved to stand beside Vince. “In time, you'll see it's better this way. He wasn't any use to us here.”
Naboo was felled by the first, wild swing.
He was bleeding. Vince’s ring had cut into his cheek.
Naboo touched the wound, wincing, then sat himself up as he heard the thrumming noise begin-something halfway between a cat’s purr and the whirr of a helicopter.
Vince was bent over, hands on his thighs, breathing loudly, and slowly stood up, mouth dropping open.
The Bellumon had come.
*****
Howard came awake and screamed at the large, empty, dead eyes staring into his own.
He squeezed his eyes shut as he thrust his hand towards the thing to push it away, and his fingers touched hair and smooth, cold skin?
Not skin. He opened his eyes. Bisque?
It was a doll. An old, large one-a bisque porcelain the size of a toddler, with glass eyes and what might be human hair. Brown curls. She wore a sepia frock that might've been a pale blue when it was new.
He sat himself up, leaning back on his hands. Under him were yellowed newspapers. It was dusty and he felt another sneeze coming on but then it left as he realized where he was.
He was in the new shop-the old building still with the lights on as they'd left them when Terry first appeared. He shuddered, remembering how Terry’s ugliness had made him long for the lumpy, globular pink wad.
There were no cracks in the wood floors. Nothing to indicate it had happened. Though Howard could hear it was still lashing rain outside. That meant the Bellumon-whatever that was-hadn't worked.
Had Naboo gotten the spell wrong or had Howard, being drawn into it, somehow ruined it? Had he been meant to die?
And if he'd lived, did that mean that Vince….
Would he know if Vince were….
No. Vince was alright. Right as rain.
Howard shivered. There was nothing at all right about this rain.
The Nabootique2 was unsettling.
It made the hairs on his arms prickle. Only…he looked down at his arms, pushing up the sleeves of his shirt. The usual hair was gone. Then he remembered the pain he'd felt as he was falling.
Feeling his heart speed up, he brought his hand to his face.
Thank heavens. His moustache was still where it ought to be, as was…yes, the hair on his head seemed alright.
Though the rest of him… He experimentally shifted his stance, then winced at the odd sensation of damp corduroy on denuded skin. He knew even without looking that even his pubes were hairless-his bald, wrinkled bollocks and penis wholly unprotected.
He narrowed his eyes. It would be just like Naboo to do this not because it was necessary but simply because he could.
A bit of Nair in Naboo’s turban ought to do the trick.
Vince would likely find it all entertaining and well-deserved after what had become of Charlie.
On the other hand, Vince might help him exact revenge. They might bond over the idea of Naboo turnt into a stumpy Yul Brynner.
Before all this had gone pear-shaped and bald, he'd planned on suggesting to Vince that they call the shop the Moontique. He liked the sound of that, only he knew Vince’d come back with some clever alternative that put Noir on the awning.
They might've crimped about it. Then, in a moment of warm humor, Howard would confess….
Howard frowned.
The overly large doll was staring at him with a dimpled grin on her face as if mocking him.
He glared back at her. “Yeah, alright, you've made your point.”
With that, she seemed to smile more indulgently.
He thought of turning her to face the wall, or covering her with some paper. Yet the idea of touching her made him feel oddly dizzy and weak. Surely it was the virus and nothing more.