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Flytrap

kelson.philo's picture

Oi! You there, with the headphones, yes, you, come oe'r here quick. Try not to look so conspicuous, please and thank you, you'll upset the other patron's and then I’ll never get out of here. Just hang out and pretend you're looking at me all interested-like.

There. Now that they're heading to other parts of the gallery...no don't adjust your set, I might not be able to tune you in again. As I was saying, now that the other guests are gone, I can fill you in on my plan. Of course, 'plan', I’m trying to get out of here, dig? ? I mean you are wondering why a painting on the wall is talking to you aren’t you?

Go ahead, look around. Nobody else is here bucko, nobody cares enough to pull this kind of prank, not in this neighborhood, mate. There's no hidden cameras, no crews waitin’ to jump out and getchyou to sign a waiver.

Just you and me.

Step closer.

Closer.

BOO! Didja like that? How I turned that vermillion to magenta and back again? I thought you might. you look like a fellow of discernable tastes. Reminds me of me, well how i used to be, which is why we've got to hurry.

This gallery used to be Madam Seck-Spaught's home. Yeah, pretty swank, no? I was a regular guest of hers. Oh, now say that got your attention, didn't it. Hahaha..Well, let's just say i performed a certain service for her now and then...no, ya rube, I didn't service her, i serviced my dates in a specially equipped room. Equipped so madam could watch. Didn't know that about her, didja?

Well, it was a dark and stormy night, as they say, and dinner at madam's Seck-Spaught's featured madam at the head of the table, me and my date on one side of the white linen covered rectangle, Jorgson and his peculiar wife on the other.

He, Jorgson, was going on and on about this fantastic discovery he had made and, since a significant portion of madam's money went into the making of it, felt compelled to jabber about it at dinner. Something about unfolding extra dimensions curled up in spacetime all tiny like. Something about making contact with another intelligence. I don't really remember, I as busy playing footsie.

I barely remember a lot of what was going on. But I do remember J's wife. Rather, I remember what she turned into. I haven't the faintest recall if what j looks like, what my date looked like or what madam looked like. Her neck. Good Holy Shitballs, her neck. Look, see, when the lady came to the table she looked just like this Plane Jane type, see? About 5 two, 5 three medium build, not particularly busty or hip worthy, understand? But after Jorgson started yakking about the potential for some sort of “information interchange in fractional dimensions”, I tuned out and concentrated on flirting with me date, getting her primed.

And that’s when I noticed detail was leaving the room, see? The more J talked, the whiter the room seemed to be, right? There was stuff hanging on the walls but it was disappearing, like it had been stuff that was seen out of the corner of your eye, and when you focus on whatever it was, it’s gone, dig? And that’s when I noticed J’s wife starting to transform.

For this exercise, I need you to go over to the gift shop, yes, it's still open, and fork over the cash for a deluxe started paint set, and save yer drink, we'll need it. THE DELUXE, mind you, nothing else will do, and a brush and a tall, clear glass of water. I’ll wait, don't you worry. It's vitally important to the describing of what happened to her, J's wife's neck. Get a move on!! There isn't much time...

Back? Good. More than anything what first caught my attention were her eyes. Keep in mind, mate, J’s wife has three sets of eyes, maybe more. The first set of eyes and head is not so much intelligent as it is distinctive and instinctive. Eyelashes become bushy sausages, the forehead milky white, a pale ghost mist light begins to slide back as the hair fills with egg essence and hardens in punk stalagmites and the mouth is a slit. This first set of eyes eats random tidbits of conversation like a toad eating flies or better still the Venus Flytrap. Time must have sped up or slowed down for this first head started wobbling on the neck oh gods, the neck and started stretching itself up and to one side, my left.

Now, take those water colors and mix up a really good purple and blue and black and get a good pool of the stuff all ready and then use the brush to put a big slobber of it on top of the water, right on the surface and now watch how that purple blue black stream snakes itself to the bottom of the glass, watch how the whiteness of the walls behind it makes the color shine through, watch how it spreads itself out and, if you add more blobs of paint, watch how it conspires to take over the glass. now, imagine you could make all that happen going up, or, easier still, do all this to that glass while standing on your head. That's J's wife neck.

It finally stops and I’m immobile. The neck is a great Z that is blocking out the blistering white background of the room and I can hear the clank of dinner ware and crystal filled with liquid and my brow is down and pulse is up and I’m watching those huge thick eyelashes gobbling up conversation like a lizard picking at dead flesh. Why the hell doesn’t anyone do anything about J’s goddam wife? I try to yell, but there are no words. Not now.

There are two more sets of eyes to come.

What is this strange amusement?

Sounds from the back of my mind.

I am the Water-color Q-yeen, I can make you damned or king.

Or both? I enquire as the second set of eyes pops out from the last fleshy interface of her neck and shoulders. It's timing must have been perfect, for a witty chuckle rounded the room. These eyes are bright and bushy tailed and definitely human and, unlike the first set, intelligent. They are flicking this way and that, observing instead of merely eating or should I say consuming? they have eyebrows that are like butterfly antennae and are deep and lustrous but brown as mud with infinitely deep pupils. had they been a set of eyes on a 'normal' person, they would be considered beautiful. like the first set, they do not see me seeing them.

There is one set of eyes left.

The third set of eyes is all that remains between then and now. They are the strangest. They are the deepest.

They are not human.

They sprout from beneath the second set. the j-man's wife has been shifting all the while, her torso becoming more squat, like an ostrich, the watercolor neck becoming more and more frenzied, the false head, for i am quite sure it is false now, like a pilot fish's light, with it's hungry eyes snatching up more and more conversation until all that reminds are murmurs, mere ghosts of intelligent conversation and it is in this feeding frenzy that the third set emerges.

How to describe them! Where there should be whites were instead flesh tones, indeed the wallowing flesh that had been the wife's bosom was now a liver spotted fold of taffy, stretched taught. like two small balloons popping, so came on the eyes, first the smaller left one then the much larger right. the iris' were only a shade or two darker than the rest of the fearsome globes which tried to boggle out of the skin and they were not round, the were instead three oblong wedges that circled the very tiny black pupils and they swelled with the wife's irregular breathing.

These eyes were something else, though, they didn't not move swiftly they did not eat words or examine things, they merely boggled as if waiting for something. Slowly and painfully they would arch up and down this way and that all walleyed and constipated seeking something that was not in the room. That was, until they saw me...

They snapped their attention on me immediately. They saw me seeing them...That's when the falling sensation took place, that's when I understood that this set of eyes understood a deeper set of the reality equation and I was being drawn into that fantastic popping, broiling half-life of the ass-end of nowhere, right? Like it had anticipated taking me out of normal time and merely wanted to see if I would hang in there for the climax, dig? I wanted to scream but couldn't.

And I awoke here.

Now, quickly, please! Grab the paint thinner post haste and get me out of here. Quickly!

Oh.

Oh no. You were too slow, kid. Sorry. You see, she can see the ones who can see us. I told you to hurry. Now enjoy your canvas, slowpoke.

And as for you, my newly betrothed, once you're finished munching, would you mind asking the management to adjust the lights in here? I’m trying to show off my best side...

-Fin-

Admirably Lovecraftian! At

Admirably Lovecraftian!

At first, I was going to suggest toning down the modern voice ('Good Holy Shitballs,' etc.), but when I read through it again, I didn't see any particular reason why this couldn't be happening in modern times.

So I'm going to retract that and suggest instead that maybe the narrator just needs to be more menacing? For sure, his playfulness is clearly malevolent, but maybe instead of yelling 'Boo!' for example, he might try to entice his victim to come closer by promising to share some especially desirable (in other words, salacious) secret? Maybe if he slowly draws his victim in that way--despite the man's fears--the horror that's really in this piece will have a greater impact.

Just a thought. Either way, J's wife is quite a creation!

kelson.philo's picture

I like that idea a lot.

I like that idea a lot. I'll have to reexamine the piece in the near future. Thanks!

kelson.philo's picture

So, I'm in the middle of

So, I'm in the middle of Trex World stuff and this thing blips outta the blue and demands that I write it all down in a hurry and get it out there. It's gotta certain charm to it, i think, but could use something. Any idears? Tanx.