Madhouse

Prologue:

The following is the result of detailed and prolonged investigation by a number of agencies, both governmental and scientific, along with interviews of the two individuals involved in the story. 

Furthermore, the names of the beasts herein were derived from the combined efforts of mediums Sylvia Browne, James Van Praagh, a Vatican priest, an anthropologist, a zoologist, a physicist and a biologist, as well as computer analysis using the latest Outré World software.

Much effort was given to insure the accuracy of this account.  The names of the characters were changed to protect the insane.

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Dan Jeffries and Lionel Sharp approached the Madhouse from the west, moving ever so slowly over the pothole-filled road in the dark of midnight.  A crack in the sky allowed a half moon to dangle feeble light on the rooftops of dilapidated houses in the poverty stricken neighborhood.  Dan turned to Lionel, who was driving:

“You sure we can get Mad Magazine around here?” 

Lionel waved his right hand at Dan:

“I’m sure.  Trust me, my connection knows his stuff!”

The two stopped in Dan’s ‘92 blue Buick Park Avenue in front of dark brown house, gutter hanging loosely across the windows and pieces of brick scattered throughout the unkempt yard. 

There was an annoying cracking as they stepped on plastic near the curb.  Both grunted, yet strode quickly to the front door.

“I don’t know,” said Dan, “This house looks abandoned.”

“No sweat,” replied Lionel, “It’s a Madhouse, I’m sure.”

Lionel knocked on the door, and the door opened slowly, much to the surprise of both Mad Magazine seekers.

“What’s this?”  harumphed Lionel. 

“Should we go in?  Dan wondered.

Just then, there was a rustling and a kind of low guttural growl, and a flurry of gray and white in the shadows of the foyer.  It was a Noil, appearing briefly, enough to shock both Dan and Lionel, before disappearing to the back of the house. 

Dan and Lionel were back in the Park Avenue like a shot, but then there was agreed hesitation, and a mutual want to return despite the Noil.  The addiction to Mad magazine was that great.

So they returned in the dark with the crack in the sky still allowing moonlight to daub the slate roofs and tall oaks.  They again entered the house, Lionel leading the way, Dan on his heels.  Dan tapped Lionel on the shoulder:

“This house is abandoned, nothing here but stray dogs!”

“Hush,” pleaded Lionel as they entered the living room, a smattering of light finding its way through a side window, allowing for slow and careful navigation.

“Dogs my ass! piped Lionel. “I have a bad feeling about this, that crazy beast, whatever it was, something very strange Dan!"

“But it doesn’t matter,” Lionel continued, “we’re here for Mad Magazine, it’s here, I know it.  Doesn’t matter that the publishers are gone, I know that...”

Suddenly, there was a high pitched whine, sorta like a dentist’s drill, and a tall beast moved toward them.  It resembled a totem pole, with a body looking like tires put one on top of another.  And it had five tentacles, which began to wave.  This was a Supytalp, and one tentacle wrapped around Lionel’s neck!

“What the...Dan!” 

Lionel whipped around and fell to his knees, the tentacle sliding from his neck. 

“Lionel!” Dan cried, “Are you all right?”

Dan bent down to help Lionel up, when they heard a rumble from the other room.  It got louder and louder, and both Dan and Lionel began to tremble, beads of sweat on their foreheads.  They stared agape as a Retto entered the room.  Like a large furry centipede, it began making clicking sounds, like the snapping of bubble gum.

“Am I dreaming, or are we in hell?"  Dan leaned against a wall with pealing wallpaper as a this solitary sole but was nevertheless beside himself.  Lionel backed up in a panic, falling backwards over a to a small table, his legs resting on the table as he lay on his back. 

Both the Retto and the Supytalp started toward Lionel, as Dan rolled toward the door, his feet becoming wedged beneath the weight of the Retto.

“Lionel, Lionel! You hurt?”

Tentacles slithered across Lionel’s Reeboks; the Retto bumped the table and knocked it over.

Lionel struggled to get up but could not--his leather belt was caught on the wall register.  He thrashed like a pierced night crawler, but it was in vain. 

“Lionel!” Dan got to his feet, tried to jump over the Retto but miscalculated, and tripped over the beast, falling face-first right at the base of the Supytalp.

“Dan, Dan!,” Lionel cried, “I’m caught on the register!”

“O shit!” Dan blurted in pain, “I think I broke my ankle!”

In all of this flurry, standing in the far doorway was an Adnap.  Big and broad, four arms and a cobalt blue head, it hissed and flashed its red eyes.  Both the Supytalp and the Retto stopped cold, then turned.  The Adnap advanced, and all three beasts met in the middle of the room in a mad scramble, crashing en masse into the far wall, cracking panes of glass and plaster. 

Dan crawled to Lionel with pain shooting through his ankle.  He managed to unhook Lionel’s belt from the register, and the two helped each other to the front door and out of the house.  Inside, a riot of rumble, whine, hiss and unholy screech cracked the predawn silence.

Lionel and Dan helped each other to the car in heavy breathing.  The next day the went to the local university, and from there other agencies were alerted.  The investigation began, and Lionel and Dan were interviewed.

Dan’s ankle wasn’t broken, but merely sprained.  Both were cooperative to a tee, and the Madhouse beasts remain under full study and scrutiny. 

Lionel and Dan lost all interest in Mad Magazine.  They took up playing pool.


1000 Words
Writer’s Cramp
June 18, 2013