Mighty Boosh Halloween Special of DOOM 2017 part 1
I'm so excited to be kicking off this year's Halloween round robin. Here's the first chapter, featuring a dark and stormy night, Howard's inner angst, and the disappearance of an old friend...
Title: Halloween Special of DOOM 2017, part 1
Word Count: ~1,600
Warnings: none
"It's going to be a dark and stormy night," Howard told Vince, tapping at the ornate barometer he kept above the fireplace. The action made him feel suave. Howard had always felt that tapping at a barometer was the weather forecasting equivalent of a snifter of brandy. Sophisticated, with a hint of daring, like a man about to settle down with a thick book but ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. Yes sir, that was Howard T.J. Moon.
"I don't need your broken clock to tell me that," Vince scoffed. He was curled in the corner of the couch, flipping idly through one of his glossy magazines. "Sky's been rumblin' all day."
"It's not a broken clock, it's a barometer. It measures air pressure."
Vince lowered his magazine just far enough to eye Howard skeptically. "If it's not a clock, why does it look like one?"
"Well..." Howard glanced back at the stately instrument as if it might answer the question for him. It didn't. "I suppose because both tools have a round face and two hands?"
Vince snorted. "Round face, two hands? I know another tool like that."
The magazine lowered another inch to reveal an affectionate smile. Howard tried to smile in response, but it probably came out a grimace. He knew Vince didn't mean anything by it, but Howard couldn't help it; he didn't like being insulted, especially when he was trying to be helpful.
But he’d learned ages ago that he’d just get grief if he protested the jib. Vince would call him “sensitive,” perhaps liken him to a flower of limited fortitude. It didn’t make it easier that, deep down, Howard knew he was sensitive. Somehow that made it worse.
So with forced mildness, Howard replied, “None of that, now, Little Man.” He sat down on the couch. Vince instantly rearranged himself so that he could stick the ends of his bare feet underneath Howard’s corduroy-clad thigh. Outside, the rain started pouring in earnest.
Howard was in the middle of debating what to read when the toes wiggled. Vince had put down his magazine and was looking at him expectantly. “Do you think it’ll be raining tomorrow?”
Howard shrugged. “I hope not, but we’ll just have to put up with it if it is. Are you excited about the new shop?”
Vince grinned. “Yeah! It’s genius, ain’t it? The Nabootique opening a new branch. And I had no idea that Naboo was even looking to expand!”
Naboo and Bollo had sprung quite the surprise on them at supper. Naboo felt that the Nabootique was doing well enough to warrant a second location, and he’d found a perfect vacant building on the outskirts of the city. Tomorrow they were going to go scout it out.
Naboo rarely showed much emotion, but Howard had thought Naboo had seemed pleased as he described the place to them. “It’s actually an old house, but the bottom floor’s been converted to a storefront. There are rooms upstairs, and plenty of storage in the basement. If either of you want to move out there…” He’d shrugged. “That’d be fine.”
Howard had thought that Vince would scoff at the idea of moving out of their trendy neighborhood, but instead Vince had grabbed Howard’s arm. “Oooh, let’s look tomorrow. Maybe there’ll be a huge bedroom, or - or window seats, or fancy staircases, or a dumbwaiter!”
Chuckling at the memory, Howard asked, “Is your heart still set on a dumbwaiter?”
“Of course! It is the most chic accessory an old house can have.”
Howard rested a hand on Vince’s ankles, where they were slowly sinking further under Howard’s leg. “Vince, are you sure you’d want to move out? You’d be further away from most of your friends.”
Vince lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “I mean… a lot of them I only see at parties, and really, I bet this place would be perfect for parties. But I don’t need to see them all that often.” The toes wiggled again. “I’m going to go where you go, aren’t I?”
Howard felt his heart swell. He turned to face Vince. Was this the moment he’d been waiting for? Vince was staring up at him, hair freshly washed and face clean and ready for bed. The shadows of the raindrops running down the windowpane were cast upon Vince’s face like an otherworldly replacement of his usual makeup, ghostly and kinetic.
He opened his mouth to tell Vince the innermost secrets of his heart, but the words died in his throat. Hadn’t he practiced this in front of a mirror? Why wasn’t his tongue working? Now Vince was looking at him strangely, and now Vince was looking at him with a sort of amused resignation. And now Vince was glancing out the window at the storm.
Vince sighed softly. Howard felt a flare of hope that Vince was about to declare undying love. Instead, Vince said, “I think Charlie will be visiting tonight.”
It was like being doused in ice water.
Charlie - Vince’s imaginary friend and frequent subject of Vince’s picture books - creeped the hell out of Howard. Not only was he visually upsetting, with a pink, half-melted body, but he also, disturbingly, wasn’t perhaps completely imaginary. A terrible quality for an imaginary friend, Howard thought with a shiver. Vince loved to say that Charlie came at night and watched them both sleep. Inevitably on those nights Howard would wake in the wee hours and lie motionless underneath his blankets, certain that someone besides himself and Vince was in the room.
“Why do you say things like that!” Howard yelped, shooting to his feet.
Vince was laughing. “Sorry, Howard! But he’s really a sweet guy. I don’t know why you hate him so much. Look, I’ll tell him not to linger, all right? But he’s going to want to tell me his latest adventure. I am his official scribe, you know.”
“I don’t need your nightmare imagery,” Howard stated angrily, and retreated to their bedroom, shutting the door sharply.
As expected, he woke in the early hours of morning, the sky still pitch black. Instead of feeling a strange presence, however, he felt a lack of a presence. Cautiously Howard lifted his covers and looked over at Vince’s bed. It was empty.
Howard crept to the bedroom door and peered outside. Vince was asleep on the couch, tucked half under an afghan. Blank paper and crayons were spread on the coffee table, and Howard felt his irritation reignite at the sight.
“Official scribe,” he huffed under his breath, and grabbed the crayons and paper.
He just didn’t understand why Vince kept drawing Charlie when he knew it freaked out Howard. Why he called Howard names when he knew Howard was sensitive about insults.
Sitting at the kitchen table, Howard folded a piece of paper in half as if he were drawing a greeting card. He fished out the pink crayon from the pile and drew his own approximation of Charlie. It resembled a lumpy earthworm rather more so than when Vince drew him, but close enough. Above him, Howard wrote: Charlie Goes Away
This was going to be the best Charlie book.
Howard opened up the paper. On the first half of the spread, he wrote: One day…
And on the second half he wrote: Charlie disappeared for good.
He considered drawing a faint outline of Charlie to get the point across, but the blank space did the trick nicely. Howard smiled in satisfaction down at his book. It was, in fact, the first book he’d ever finished. Howard laughed.
Some accomplishment. A book written out of spite. And if Vince found it…
If Vince found it, it would make him sad.
Howard crumpled up the sheet of paper and threw it in the wastebasket. Vince was still sleeping soundly. Howard quietly returned the paper and crayons to the coffee table and went back to bed, feeling oddly sad himself.
The rain persisted through the morning, cloaking the dawn behind dark clouds. Vince was drinking tea in the kitchen when Howard got up. He looked disheveled, with dark circles under his eyes.
“Couch not very comfortable?” Howard asked sympathetically.
Vince glanced up. “It’s not that,” he said uneasily, and then went back to staring at his tea.
Howard poured himself a cup and sat next to Vince. “What is it?” he prodded.
With wary hesitation, Vince finally said, “Charlie never showed up last night.”
Howard narrowed his eyes, trying to discern if Vince was trying to tease him, but Vince looked genuinely upset. “Did Charlie… did he have an appointment with you?”
The corner of Vince’s mouth quirked into a small smile. “Nothing so formal, but yeah. He always comes when there’s a storm like last night’s.”
“Oh?” Howard had never noticed that pattern. “Why’s that?”
“Well, it’s his job, innit? He’s a roadie for thunderstorms. Loads all the heavy equipment, helps them go on tour. So when they pass through London, Charlie stops by to give me updates.”
“…because you’re his official scribe.”
Vince nodded, his large eyes bright. “Not that many people can really see him, y’know? But I can, and he likes my art.”
“And he never showed up?”
Vince shivered. “No. His replacement showed up instead.” Softly, Vince slid a few folded sheets of paper over to Howard. Trepidation souring his mouth, Howard read the cover: Charlie Gets Replaced. Feeling sick, he opened up the book, only half hearing as Vince added, “He isn’t very nice.”
Title: Halloween Special of DOOM 2017, part 1
Word Count: ~1,600
Warnings: none
"It's going to be a dark and stormy night," Howard told Vince, tapping at the ornate barometer he kept above the fireplace. The action made him feel suave. Howard had always felt that tapping at a barometer was the weather forecasting equivalent of a snifter of brandy. Sophisticated, with a hint of daring, like a man about to settle down with a thick book but ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. Yes sir, that was Howard T.J. Moon.
"I don't need your broken clock to tell me that," Vince scoffed. He was curled in the corner of the couch, flipping idly through one of his glossy magazines. "Sky's been rumblin' all day."
"It's not a broken clock, it's a barometer. It measures air pressure."
Vince lowered his magazine just far enough to eye Howard skeptically. "If it's not a clock, why does it look like one?"
"Well..." Howard glanced back at the stately instrument as if it might answer the question for him. It didn't. "I suppose because both tools have a round face and two hands?"
Vince snorted. "Round face, two hands? I know another tool like that."
The magazine lowered another inch to reveal an affectionate smile. Howard tried to smile in response, but it probably came out a grimace. He knew Vince didn't mean anything by it, but Howard couldn't help it; he didn't like being insulted, especially when he was trying to be helpful.
But he’d learned ages ago that he’d just get grief if he protested the jib. Vince would call him “sensitive,” perhaps liken him to a flower of limited fortitude. It didn’t make it easier that, deep down, Howard knew he was sensitive. Somehow that made it worse.
So with forced mildness, Howard replied, “None of that, now, Little Man.” He sat down on the couch. Vince instantly rearranged himself so that he could stick the ends of his bare feet underneath Howard’s corduroy-clad thigh. Outside, the rain started pouring in earnest.
Howard was in the middle of debating what to read when the toes wiggled. Vince had put down his magazine and was looking at him expectantly. “Do you think it’ll be raining tomorrow?”
Howard shrugged. “I hope not, but we’ll just have to put up with it if it is. Are you excited about the new shop?”
Vince grinned. “Yeah! It’s genius, ain’t it? The Nabootique opening a new branch. And I had no idea that Naboo was even looking to expand!”
Naboo and Bollo had sprung quite the surprise on them at supper. Naboo felt that the Nabootique was doing well enough to warrant a second location, and he’d found a perfect vacant building on the outskirts of the city. Tomorrow they were going to go scout it out.
Naboo rarely showed much emotion, but Howard had thought Naboo had seemed pleased as he described the place to them. “It’s actually an old house, but the bottom floor’s been converted to a storefront. There are rooms upstairs, and plenty of storage in the basement. If either of you want to move out there…” He’d shrugged. “That’d be fine.”
Howard had thought that Vince would scoff at the idea of moving out of their trendy neighborhood, but instead Vince had grabbed Howard’s arm. “Oooh, let’s look tomorrow. Maybe there’ll be a huge bedroom, or - or window seats, or fancy staircases, or a dumbwaiter!”
Chuckling at the memory, Howard asked, “Is your heart still set on a dumbwaiter?”
“Of course! It is the most chic accessory an old house can have.”
Howard rested a hand on Vince’s ankles, where they were slowly sinking further under Howard’s leg. “Vince, are you sure you’d want to move out? You’d be further away from most of your friends.”
Vince lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “I mean… a lot of them I only see at parties, and really, I bet this place would be perfect for parties. But I don’t need to see them all that often.” The toes wiggled again. “I’m going to go where you go, aren’t I?”
Howard felt his heart swell. He turned to face Vince. Was this the moment he’d been waiting for? Vince was staring up at him, hair freshly washed and face clean and ready for bed. The shadows of the raindrops running down the windowpane were cast upon Vince’s face like an otherworldly replacement of his usual makeup, ghostly and kinetic.
He opened his mouth to tell Vince the innermost secrets of his heart, but the words died in his throat. Hadn’t he practiced this in front of a mirror? Why wasn’t his tongue working? Now Vince was looking at him strangely, and now Vince was looking at him with a sort of amused resignation. And now Vince was glancing out the window at the storm.
Vince sighed softly. Howard felt a flare of hope that Vince was about to declare undying love. Instead, Vince said, “I think Charlie will be visiting tonight.”
It was like being doused in ice water.
Charlie - Vince’s imaginary friend and frequent subject of Vince’s picture books - creeped the hell out of Howard. Not only was he visually upsetting, with a pink, half-melted body, but he also, disturbingly, wasn’t perhaps completely imaginary. A terrible quality for an imaginary friend, Howard thought with a shiver. Vince loved to say that Charlie came at night and watched them both sleep. Inevitably on those nights Howard would wake in the wee hours and lie motionless underneath his blankets, certain that someone besides himself and Vince was in the room.
“Why do you say things like that!” Howard yelped, shooting to his feet.
Vince was laughing. “Sorry, Howard! But he’s really a sweet guy. I don’t know why you hate him so much. Look, I’ll tell him not to linger, all right? But he’s going to want to tell me his latest adventure. I am his official scribe, you know.”
“I don’t need your nightmare imagery,” Howard stated angrily, and retreated to their bedroom, shutting the door sharply.
As expected, he woke in the early hours of morning, the sky still pitch black. Instead of feeling a strange presence, however, he felt a lack of a presence. Cautiously Howard lifted his covers and looked over at Vince’s bed. It was empty.
Howard crept to the bedroom door and peered outside. Vince was asleep on the couch, tucked half under an afghan. Blank paper and crayons were spread on the coffee table, and Howard felt his irritation reignite at the sight.
“Official scribe,” he huffed under his breath, and grabbed the crayons and paper.
He just didn’t understand why Vince kept drawing Charlie when he knew it freaked out Howard. Why he called Howard names when he knew Howard was sensitive about insults.
Sitting at the kitchen table, Howard folded a piece of paper in half as if he were drawing a greeting card. He fished out the pink crayon from the pile and drew his own approximation of Charlie. It resembled a lumpy earthworm rather more so than when Vince drew him, but close enough. Above him, Howard wrote: Charlie Goes Away
This was going to be the best Charlie book.
Howard opened up the paper. On the first half of the spread, he wrote: One day…
And on the second half he wrote: Charlie disappeared for good.
He considered drawing a faint outline of Charlie to get the point across, but the blank space did the trick nicely. Howard smiled in satisfaction down at his book. It was, in fact, the first book he’d ever finished. Howard laughed.
Some accomplishment. A book written out of spite. And if Vince found it…
If Vince found it, it would make him sad.
Howard crumpled up the sheet of paper and threw it in the wastebasket. Vince was still sleeping soundly. Howard quietly returned the paper and crayons to the coffee table and went back to bed, feeling oddly sad himself.
The rain persisted through the morning, cloaking the dawn behind dark clouds. Vince was drinking tea in the kitchen when Howard got up. He looked disheveled, with dark circles under his eyes.
“Couch not very comfortable?” Howard asked sympathetically.
Vince glanced up. “It’s not that,” he said uneasily, and then went back to staring at his tea.
Howard poured himself a cup and sat next to Vince. “What is it?” he prodded.
With wary hesitation, Vince finally said, “Charlie never showed up last night.”
Howard narrowed his eyes, trying to discern if Vince was trying to tease him, but Vince looked genuinely upset. “Did Charlie… did he have an appointment with you?”
The corner of Vince’s mouth quirked into a small smile. “Nothing so formal, but yeah. He always comes when there’s a storm like last night’s.”
“Oh?” Howard had never noticed that pattern. “Why’s that?”
“Well, it’s his job, innit? He’s a roadie for thunderstorms. Loads all the heavy equipment, helps them go on tour. So when they pass through London, Charlie stops by to give me updates.”
“…because you’re his official scribe.”
Vince nodded, his large eyes bright. “Not that many people can really see him, y’know? But I can, and he likes my art.”
“And he never showed up?”
Vince shivered. “No. His replacement showed up instead.” Softly, Vince slid a few folded sheets of paper over to Howard. Trepidation souring his mouth, Howard read the cover: Charlie Gets Replaced. Feeling sick, he opened up the book, only half hearing as Vince added, “He isn’t very nice.”