Wednesday 14 October 2009

CATH...

From a still lake rose the smooth, skin-covered skull of one purple monster. "Hello. My name's Edward. Delighted to meet you all," he roared to the shocked villagers, most of whom were hiding behind trees and bushes. After three hours of bloody battling, thirty-five humans carried the abomination's torn body over mountains to the celebration hall belonging to Master Cwygon. "Well I never," said he. "I do believe this is the first of fifteen such creatures, all of which come in a variety of colours, shapes and sizes. My father always said they were a myth." Drink was drunk, food was eaten and much seed was spilled on that night which legend never forgot.

The next morning, Franklin, the village pharmacist, packed up his belongings in a yellow sack and snuck out of the back door whilst his wife and children slept. "Just imagine the sights and sounds awaiting me outside this village and beyond the church tower at the bottom of the valley. What creatures and ghouls dwell in the city and its streets?" Not being one to read answers in books, he fled on horseback to the shimmering mess of Glockensmound, the region's biggest importer/exporter of shoes, bicycles, steel drums and almonds. Alas, it was all a terrible disappointment. Three years after being promoted to chief waiter in the city's smallest Michelin star restaurant, Franklin disappeared without a trace.

Back in the village, his daughter was now the most respected huntress in the land. Many villagers considered her to have supernatural talents on account of the thirteen monsters she'd brought back silently from the lake. Four black ones, one yellow, another purple one, two orange and five blue. "Witchcraft!" screamed Vicar Morris. "She sold her father to the Devil for this ruinous fame and fortune! I vow to bring him back to this village and expose her truly treacherous nature!"

50 years later and the vicar's rotting, worm-filled corpse lay silently at the bottom of a swamp. Never did he prove the daughter's acts of magic and never did he find, the now presumed dead, Franklin. Indeed, the only winner of this grisly tale was the final, well-fed monster, bright green in colour. He'd devoured the huntress's murderous impulses with a swift snap of his merciful mouth. Never again would she bewitch the villagers with her beautiful flashing lights. Finally, silence. The lonely pharmacist's daughter was dead.