Suggested Audio Candy
John Carpenter “Halloween II Theme”
Hospitals have always been my least favorite places. The food there sucks assholes in the biggest way, folk go in and often don’t return and they’re just so clinical and sterilized. Ordinarily I would rather spend an evening being beaten around the head by alloy flip-flops than set foot in one of those places. I’ve managed to avoid them for the most part of my existence thanks to being borne of good stock and having lustrous bones and brackets but I always knew there would be a time when my luck deserted me and my hand became forced. This was one of those instances; I may have escaped my spelunking nightmare but I did so at a cost.
My fractured sternum was the least of my concerns when bidding to flee that cruel cave network but it had become very much my problem by the time Alan’s chopper came to my rescue. Poor fella managed to twist his ankle pretty bad jumping out to assist me so he’s being kept in for observations too but the likeliness is that my stay will be seven days at the very least. I guess I should feel thankful as finally I will receive that downtime I have craved for so long. All wrangling duties can take a back seat and I could catch up on some truly appalling re-runs of shows I never liked the first time around. However, when Haddonfield General is the hospital in question, it adds a whole new level of bother.
After picking the night he came home to earn a few bucks looking after a couple of shit-heel adolescents and almost leaving beneath a zipper I don’t particularly relish the prospect of spending one picosecond here, let alone a full fucking week. I have been meaning to ask Alan “why Haddonfield?” but he is in the next ward along and I’ve been out for the last four hours. I’m marooned in this stuffy pallid chamber with only my dick as company and I need to set that right at once. I can feel twinges in my chest which suggests I have been operated on so I shall have to take shit easy but I have no intention of making friends and influencing people, just getting to the chopper so if needs must then must they shall.
Always searching for the fiber in every turd, I have found one distinct plus. Nurse Jill. It’s not that I have a thing for nurses or anything, actually who am I kidding? I have a thing for nurses and my trip to New York almost ended in coitus of the sweaty growling variety. It would have too but for a happy accident. If Sarah, I think was her name, had stuck around then she would have seen me at my most hairy and I wouldn’t have been able to guarantee she didn’t die painfully with a werewolf’s cock in her eardrum. Thank Jehovah for small mercies. Anyhoots, could this be a trend developing? My belief is that it is as I have just discerned Bonus Balls sleeping upright in the bedside armchair. I just know he’s going to have something to say about it.
First things first, I need to get these tubes out of my wrists and get myself vertical. It’s almost too much for my weary legs and I almost hit the deck like an overfilled bed pan. Passing out is a very real possibility here but something keeps me pushing through the pain, I think it’s my flat refusal not to end up just another notch on a certain someone’s belt. They call him The Shape, The Boogeyman or sometimes simply Michael. He is not just a man, there are darker forces at work here. He represents evil in its purest sense; a soul so black that it can never know reason or empathy. His dead eyes hold no compassion and he certainly sleeps well at night knowing how many lives he has prematurely snuffed out. I must evade him at every cost.
Looks like I have flown under the radar thus far. I manage to drag my leaden pins to the nearby wall and follow it along to the next room. A young boy, clearly no older than ten, sits glued to his television set. I know that jingle. It’s Silver Shamrock! If I had more fatigue in the can then I’d head inside and clip his earlobe for being so impressionable but I have bigger fish in my fryer and if he wishes to watch the magic pumpkin then he sure as shit tubes ain’t gonna listen to a damn word I have to say. Happy Halloween chump, and watch out for those pythons as they slide through your eye sockets.
That nurse has clocked me out of my quarters. She’s making her way over here now and is wearing her stern face. “What are you doing out of your bed? You’re not strong enough and you’ll end up doing yourself a mischief” she says, displeased but ever so slightly flirtatious with it. “Just needed to stretch my legs nurse. I won’t go far I promise” I reply. “You’ll go straight back there now. I’ll even tuck you in if you’re lucky.” That wasn’t me, was it? She clearly just gave me the come on. I can hear Bonus Balls jangling around expectantly back in my chamber, he knows it’s on. I guess I owe him after our first few expeditions flat-lined so spectacularly. “Well as long as you’re tucking me in then I am feeling rather nauseous. Best be safe rather than sorry I suppose.” I’m as smooth as E.T.’s bell-end when I want to be.
She keeps to her word and slides her hand between the sheets to check my catheter. The monster awakens with a start and every millilitre of crimson travels to the one place with an actual mind of its own. Fuck it, Michael Myers can suck my blowhole if he thinks ‘m going to pass up this kind of bedside manner. As quick as she has tucked me in, I’m back out of my bed and nailing her hard against the whitewashed wall. I can hear Bonus Balls rejoicing, finally it is his time to shine. No more red herrings, false starts or love games; he is right in the thick of it and balls deep as he is gifted his long-overdue happy ending. To be fair it’s no less than he deserves after such a catalogue of also-rans and intense disappointment.
Months of pent-up sexual frustration are released in one fell swoop and Jill is lifted a full six inches from the floor as I sow the forgotten seeds. All at once I can banish any lingering memories of Ma Bates and Wendy Torrance as I feed my camel spit through the eye of her needle. For a moment I clean forget any six-foot plus juggernauts with a taste for suffering and focus only on filling her up to her seal with creamy surplus. Job’s a good ‘un; we achieve splash down and the only audio outside of the customary grunts and moans is of her clogs dropping off her clenched toes to the floor below.
There are pressing matters at hand so I plant a parting kiss on her sweet cherry lips and limp off down the corridor, stopping only to wave her off as she stands before the open doorway, intensely satisfied after being on the receiving end of a damn good wrangling. A globe-trotting hero such as myself and a good old-fashioned Haddonfield hot pot would never be workable in the long-term and we work on that understanding as I give a final wave and make my way off to locate Alan. It appears there is an orderly queue for her bedside manner as the last I discern is a shadowy figure advancing behind her, seemingly ready to pick up where I left off.
I follow the signs to the nearest elevator and, wouldn’t you know, it’s on another floor. I need to make my way to the accident room which is where I presume I shall find my pilot friend. Suddenly I hear movements behind me and I swing around expecting that Jill is back for seconds while I await my ticket out of intensive care. However, this time the news fed my peepers is far less encouraging. It’s him, The Shape, unmistakably towering and baring that cold look of sheer lack of reason which I have been made privy to once already. I hang from the elevator gangway devoid of fatigue and he begins to advance, knife exhibited and pointing its intent as he prepares to ventilate. It’s taking forever, if there’s a couple of pesky kids inside pressing every floor button then they shall promptly receive the back of my hand for placing me in such mortal peril.
Just as it is appearing that I am about to be soundly perforated, there’s a welcome ding and my carriage finally awaits. The door opens slowly and I’m astonished and rather relieved to see Alan standing within, gesturing me across the threshold. I stumble in and the door reseals just at the critical moment before the blade makes contact. “What was all that bollocks about?” asks Alan. It takes a moment to recompose myself after my near-death experience. “We have to check out Al. We’re in grave danger” I reply with a wheeze. “You mean that idiot? Just say the word and I’ll go back down there and find the lemon. Reminds me of the time I was at the pub with my boys when this total prat with a fishing rod almost takes my eye out. Knocks the pint right out of my hand. So I jumps up, grabs him by the scruff of the raincoat and head butted the cunt right on his kipper” It appears as though he necked the can of cheap industrial strength lager I stashed in the cockpit, not good considering he has been teetotal for five years. I feel somewhat responsible for unleashing this monster.
“We’ll do nothing of the sort Alan. He isn’t human. You chinning him will only make things worse.” This is no time to be cavalier, pragmatic thinking alone may just get us out of this sorry mess and any gung-ho antics will invariably land us both in body bags. Bonus Balls is harping on too, distressed at me not sticking around with Jill for post-coitus snuggles. “Surely there would be no harm in going back up and giving her your digits.” This, my friends, is why you never let your balls do the thinking for you. “No, I am putting my foot down. It’s my way or the highway folks. You’ll thank me before long.”
We reach the ground floor, bundle out and there’s another figure loitering with intent. It’s Dr. Loomis, I met that dude once already, back at the Doyle house. “Do you want me to give him a bunch of fives?” Alan asks. “No Alan. Keep your guns in their holsters. This guy is here to help us” I respond. With that, Loomis begins his monologue. “I watched him for fifteen years, sitting in a room, staring at a wall, not seeing the wall, looking past the wall – looking at this night, inhumanly patient, waiting for some secret, silent alarm to trigger him off. Death has come to our little town. Now you can either ignore it, or you can help me to stop it.” We have no option right now other than to trust this guy as he clearly understands his subject so we join him and make our way to the exit.
The Shape has taken the stairwell and cuts us off at the pass before we can flee the building, forcing us back into an operating room where it appears there are no alternative exits. Alan clutches my arm, fully aware that he can’t headbutt his way out of this fix and Bonus Balls shrivel up like a brace of sultanas that have been left in the California sun too long. “Here, take this” Loomis passes me his firearm which has two left in the chamber and I instinctively fire them off. Turns out I am quite the marksman as each bullet finds a fleshy home, bursting both of Michael’s testicles in the process. He recoils like an inhuman human piñata and start lunging wildly with his blade. Loomis, who has sustained a mortal injury at this point, struggles to his feet and begins releasing oxygen into the room from the surrounding wall tanks. The place is going to blow.
“Leave NOW!” the doctor cries and the rest of us edge back to the doorway and make our bid for escape. I glance around one last time to thank Loomis for his assistance. He has produced a cigarette lighter from his jacket pocket and is preparing to ignite. “Run!” I scream and we all scatter as the explosion engulfs the room like an inferno. Alan runs ahead to prepare the chopper and takes Bonus Balls with him. They are considerably lighter than they were when I was admitted but too much weight considering I can hardly remain vertical due to the agonizing pain in my sternum. They’re safe with Alan, so long as he doesn’t find another victim to headbutt on his way out. He’s like a totally different person after a can of gut-rot and I just hope he has his shit together enough to fly us out of here.
Lagging behind, I look behind me and, to my immense displeasure, The Shape has emerged from the flames and keeps on coming. He takes a couple of steps and drops to the floor. It’s over, the Boogeyman is finally no more. I gather every last drop of fatigue and make my final dash to the exit doorway but, just as I do, it opens and the sight before me knocks me straight off my feet. I land on my back and my eyes widen to full stretch as I cannot quite believe the sight before me. It is Silent Shadow; I could have sworn he met his maker back in the caverns. I watched him being dragged away to his certain doom. It can’t be. It is. With that, he holds out his hand and delivers the single line “Come with me if you want to live.”
Truly, Clearly, Really, Sincerely,
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2014