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| May 2008 | |
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| Topic Started: May 3 2008, 03:34 AM (204 Views) | |
| Steve | May 3 2008, 03:34 AM Post #1 |
Lodger
  ![]](http://209.85.48.22/static/1/pip_r.png)
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It was a beautiful morning and I decided to take a turn in the garden while slurping on a large cup of decidedly strong black coffee while shooting a few grey squirrels; a sport which I take an enormous amount of joy from. As does Trevor. It takes my eyes a long time to un-blur in the mornings which does nothing for my shooting accuracy. Regardless, it was this morning affliction that possibly caused me to react to the ensuing situation a trifle more slowly than I otherwise would have done. I began to catch movement out of the corner of my eyes but whenever I looked in the relevant direction I could discern nothing. Attributing this optical illusion to the aforementioned ocular problem I continued my firing, albeit a trifle more eratically as I kept mistaking this movement for a squirrel. Trevor was less than impressed and chattered disgustedly from his perch upon my shoulder. So I was, shall we say, a little unprepared for what happened next... |
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| Steve | May 6 2008, 02:32 AM Post #2 |
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Lodger
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A series of dark shadows swept across the lawn, passing over the grass and the tree trunks swiftly and suddenly I was in darkness. My hearing was muffled and my limbs were pinned. Breathing was difficult. I could hear twitterings and squeaks which I initially attributed to Trevor but it soon became clear that these sounds were all around. I felt a series of sharp prods at my ribs and opened my eyes; it appeared that I had shut them. I was in a darkly lit cavern, a dank earthy smell pervaded my nostrils and I could make out small flitting shadows. I was strapped to a cold stone altar and it was only my head that could move. As I tried to get my bearing, I turned my head fully to my right side and made an involuntarily squeal. A silhouette of a squirrel with red eyes burning hotly from the appropriate position on its head was inches from my face. It twittered at me and seemed to be waiting for a response. "Ugh?" I managed. It repeated the same squeaks and chatters. And waited. "Um. I don't understand," I said in the loud and slow way that English people address foreigners and the handicapped. "Do you speak Human?" The dark shape screeched a series of commands and I was engulfed by scampering darkness. Sharp burning jabs were directed at various parts of my anatomy and I shrieked like a little girl. I felt my legs lift upwards and my body followed them, dragging across the cold stone until I was suspended above the altar by my feet. "Ahh that's much better," I said. "I can see you all now." A multitude of dark shapes, dotted with red eyes looked up at me with what could only be described as hellish fury. "Now what appears to be the problem?" |
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| Steve | May 7 2008, 03:10 AM Post #3 |
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Lodger
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"The problem," rasped a voice from the dark, "is you." A large figure shuffled out from the shadows, leaning on a cane and wearing a large-brimmed hat; he wore a long tweed coat and had a mid-Atlantic twang to his accent. As his face became illuminated by the low, flickering torches, I could see that he was disturbingly old and his face was a hideous smash of wrinkles and liver spots. His eyes glowed with menace. "Well I'm sure we can come to some arrangement if you'd just ask your little friends here to let me down, Mr....?" "Brocklehurst. T. V. Brocklehurst." he announced, as if it should have some kind of meaning for me. It did. "Ah," I said, "shouldn't you be somewhat...er... dead by now T.V. old boy?" "When one has a mission to complete," he wheezed, "death can be somewhat of a distraction." "Oh couldn't agree more T. I've been putting it off for years. Not as long as you though. You must be pushing, what,?" I did a quick calculation. "A hundred and sixty" "One hundred and eighty five," he creaked somewhat proudly, like most old people who’ve reached beyond a seven decade existence despite no particular effort of their own. "Hmm.... Must be the air down here," I said, sniffing dramatically. "Must bottle some." "Enough! Enough useless chatter. Do you know why you are here?" "Well." I pondered. "If it wasn't for the obligatory pre-torture banter, then yes, yes I believe I do..." |
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| Steve | May 8 2008, 04:40 AM Post #4 |
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Lodger
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"If I'm not very much mistaken," I continued, "you will be the very same T. V. Brocklehurst who was idiotic enough to introduce a pair of American grey squirrels to Britain back in 1876, thereby decimating the indigenous and much loved red squirrel population. However, the very fact that you are here in this..." I paused to survey the surroundings, "demonic little dungeon of yours, several generations after the fact, leads me to believe that there may be more to that introduction of tree-rats than Victorian man's wilful and futile efforts of dominion over nature." I had read up on this subject after some previous scrapes with the Greys. "Very good Mr Darrington; succinct and accurate..." "Well you learn a thing or two when you've lived in my house for a few years." "... but of course your knowledge on the subject is vastly lacking." "No doubt. And I would imagine that my ongoing battle against the little bastards has somehow disrupted your dastardly plans and you now plan to dispose of me in a slow and torturous way but not before you've told me your plans." "Partly true." "Well like I said, I've had a bit of exp...ugh" A distressingly short and efficiently time later I found myself standing tiptoe on a thin bar suspended above the ground. Only my hands were bound, behind my back, for there was no need for anything else; I was perfectly helpless. Six long steel needles protruded from the floor and ended pricking the skin at my neck and throat. The slightest movement in any direction caused me to push against one or more of those sharp points and I could already feel blood dribbling down my front and back. "So long Mr Darrington," said Brocklehurst as he exited the cavernous chamber followed by a host of darting squirrel-like shadows. I would have returned a cocky bit of banter if I could have moved my jaw. The chamber fell silent and I struggled to keep my balance on the perch. My legs were already beginning to shake with the effort of remaining still and on my toes. Sweat poured down my face and body. I closed my eyes and tried to think of something else. I felt a stirring in my trousers... |
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| Steve | May 11 2008, 02:25 AM Post #5 |
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Lodger
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I felt my trouser zip open and then something scrawled up my front. Trevor! He twittered in a hushed sort of way and then went over my shoulder and down my back. I could feel him nibbling away at the rope around my wrists and none too soon my hands were released. The relief at being able to steady myself instead of balancing on my toes was immense but my problems were far from over. I was still pinned by the sharp spears. However, it seemed that my faithful furry friend had things in hand or paw, so to speak. He leapt to the floor and scampered across to the far stone wall which he had no trouble in scaling. There, he opened a grey box and before I had a chance to figure out what was happening he pushed a green button. The spears swiveled outwards, taking slivers of my neck with them. With nothing to hold me up I fell the few feet to the floor and lay there for a minute or so in utter exhaustion until Trevor started squeaking in my ear. "Ok, Ok," I croaked and pulled myself to my feet. What to do? Well there was only one way out of the cavern and so, Trevor on my shoulder, we headed quietly towards it. A long and musty corridor greeted us and trailed off into darkness. We followed it, keeping my hand on the wall for guidance until we reached a steel door with a dim emergency light above. There was no handle on the door, but as I stepped closer to inspect it, it opened with a swish and bright light blinded us momentarily. I stepped back hastily and the door swished shut. I looked at Trevor in horror and he trembled in return. |
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| Steve | May 15 2008, 05:10 AM Post #6 |
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Lodger
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I don't possess a photographic memory, or even a rough scribbled-sketch of a memory but I tried to cast my mind over the view that Trevor and I had just witnessed. Firstly there was a LOT of Greys, thousands upon thousands of them scurrying around the vast cavern that we had just glimpsed. And there was machinery and tanks; glass tanks with fluid and little bodies in them. Some of them were full and some of them appeared to be being dismantled. And there were packing cases; hundreds of them which were being filled with various metal and glass parts. Around one part of the ceiling ran a rail from which countless dripping and immobile Greys hung. The rail was conveying these bodies into the distance where we had glimpsed loud and crackling blue flashes of light. I tried to make sense of it all. "Firstly Trevor, it seems that whatever dastardly operation they have been carrying out down here is finished and they're packing up." Trevor gave me a withering twitter which sounded suspiciously like "No sh*t Sherlock." "The fact that they're finished would imply that whatever particularly diabolical plan Mr Brocklehurst has in mind is about to be implemented." Trevor nodded impatiently. "We need to find out what it is and stop it before it's too late. Assuming that it's something which needs to be stopped of course. I mean if he's merely setting up a Southern Fried Squirrel outlet or something then we probably needn't get involved as it would probably be quite legitimate but the fact that he brought me down here... ow!" I rubbed my ear where Trevor had bit it. "OK, OK. So. The considerable number of Greys out there would go some way to explaining why we had no guards to keep an eye on us since the only way out is through there." I gestured at the swishy door. "So the question is Trevor: What do we do?" |
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| Steve | May 21 2008, 02:44 AM Post #7 |
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Lodger
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Before we could think of a crafty plan, the doors slid open and we backed hurriedly against the wall. A space-age version of a fork-lift truck carrying a tall packing case motored past us, missing me by millimetres. The driving seat was enclosed and so we were unable to make out what was driving it. "Pound to a penny they're going to finish us off and cart us away, Trevor old boy," I whispered. I ran after the caterpillar-tracked vehicle until it came to a stop next to my previous perch. The door swung open and a dozen or so Greys came tumbling out. There was no time to think, I stamped on the first couple and dived on to the rest, hoping to smother their movements; caught some of them underneath me and groped for the others but it wasn't long before I was being bitten all over. The pain was excruciating and I soon discovered why. Their saliva was acid and it burned into my skin. I'll spare the details but suffice it to say it was bloody and vicious. Trevor took care of a couple and I throttled, stamped and battered the rest. When it was over we took stock of our wounds. Trevor had been bitten only once, on his side and it looked nasty; a large bald patch and burnt flesh but he indicated he was OK. I'd been bitten about seven or eight times all over my body, the worst being on my neck where I could still smell the acid burning away at the flesh. But it appeared that the acid didn't go too deep in any of the bites. The pain would go away. Eventually. "Little fuc*kers," I said surveying the bloody lumps on the floor. Trevor nodded vigorously. I looked into the vehicle’s cab and realised that it was too small for me to fit into and control the tiny instruments. Trevor hopped in and pushed a few buttons; the truck lurched forwards and then backwards. A loud horn parped from the engine. After some experimentation the little fella seemed to get the hang of it. "Ok Trev, you know what you're doing?" He shook his head. "Good man...er... squirrel." I told him and climbed into the packing case. With a crunching of gears we were off. |
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| Steve | May 26 2008, 04:14 AM Post #8 |
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Lodger
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I crouched uncomfortably in the bottom of the packing case, trying to avoid being bashed against the sides as Trevor crunched his way through the gears. We trundled along for a few minutes and I heard the swishing of the door and knew that we were into the lion's den. And then... too soon I was sure...we came to a halt. I waited a few seconds and lifted the lid slightly to have a look where we were. I could see why we had stopped. "Intolerable! Do you hear me?" A familiar voice rasped angrily. Trevor had stopped next to Brocklehurst who was busy admonishing a lackey. I held my breath and listened. "Yes sir." "The Americans will be furious if we're not in place in time!" “Yes sir. I know sir. We've been working flat out and we're sure we can make up the time." "What about Birmingham?" "All other units are in place in all the major cities, sir. The rural divisions have, as you know, been embedded for some time. It's just the London units which have been slow to set up." "Make sure that it happens Lazemby. You know the consequences if this fails." "Yes sir. It will be done sir." "Your father and grandfather would be very disappointed in you, you know that Lazemby?" "I shan't let their work be in vain, Sir!" Lazemby barked resolutely. "Very well. Four hours and," pause to check time, "twenty seven minutes Lazemby. Get to it." Through the crack I saw Lazemby bow and hurry off. Brocklehurst, whose back had been to us until this point began to turn around. I dropped the lid silently and good old Trevor lurched us off. |
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