Tales Of The Gurrier

He stumbled away from his quarry eyes burning, blood streaming from the wounds to his face. His clothes were filthy, his beloved writers jacket a foul rag, stained and torn beyond redemption. His breath stank of whiskey and he staggered forward on ragged knees. Raising the bloody stumps of his typing fingers he gazed into the beasts eyes as it breathed its last. It’s hairy pig flanks heaved once and then its mighty heart gave out. As the death rattle left its lungs, he leaned in close to its bitten stump of an ear. “Feel that, you bastard. That’s what fifty thousand words of crap feels like.” Then he began to cry, it was over, the Nannoggoth beast was dead.

In a nearby tree Kesey, The Gurrier and Heinous sat glumly watching the proceedings. ‘Jesus would you look at the state of him,’ said Kesey, ‘crying for his mammy like the whinging bollix he is.’
‘What do you think he’ll do now?’ said The Gurrier a querulous look in his eyes.
‘Ah that’s it. It’s all over now lads. He’s gone soft,’ said Heinous hefting a brick in the palm of his hand. ‘We should have killed him when we had the chance. Look at him dancing away like a ponce. He writes a big story we’re not in and he thinks he’s great. Lets kill ‘em now Kesey. Teach him a lesson. The rot started ages ago anyway. Sure look he’s even letting girls in now.’ Heinous cast an evil glance down at a lower branch where The Gin Lady was feeding Murray mints to a passing squirrel.
‘Shut up Ingoldsby or I’ll have my attack squirrels gnaw off your testicles in your sleep,’ said the Gin Lady taking a nip from the day bottle. The Squirrel bared its sharp teeth at the three on the branch and they all shifted a few feet over eyeing the little beast uncomfortably.

‘It’s too late for that’ said Kesey darkly. ‘The bastards gone meta on us. We’re doomed.’
‘Meta?’ said The Gurrier, ‘what’s meta?’
‘Meta’ replied Kesey stroking his evil beard ‘is when an author disappears so far up his own arse he meets himself coming in the other direction. It is the only explanation for all of us being here in a tree.’
‘What do we do?’ said The Gurrier who looked thoroughly bereft.
‘We do the only thing we can do under the circumstances’ said Kesey.
‘Whats that then?’
‘We do what we do best, violence.’

‘Now you’re talking’ said Heinous gnawing off a large protruding branch and hefting it in his other hand. Fifty thousand words eh? I’ll give him fifty thousand bleeding smacks in the head so I will. Teach him to be meta.’

‘Yes indeed’ said Kesey drawing the Voodoo cannon from beneath his jacket. ‘Gentlemen prepare yourselves, we go to meet our maker.’ With that they descended from the tree in a wave of ultra-violence.

When they were finished Kesey wiped the sweat from his brow and surveyed the troops. The attack squirrels had done their job well distracting Him until the main force could move into position. Heinous hefted the sack containing Him onto his broad shoulders and grinned at them. ‘Where to then?’ he said.
‘I know a place’ said The Gurrier hopefully.
‘Shut up you’ said Kesey jamming the butt of the gun into The Gurriers mush. ‘You can’t be trusted, you’re just him dressed up like an eejit. I’ve been on to you for years.’ The Gurrier shrank back from Kesey’s rage.
‘I know a place, a place he’s never even thought of,’ said Kesey viciously pistol whipping the figure in the sack. ‘Let’s take him to the hut. Then we’ll get the bastard writing proper stuff again.’ Keseys eyes gleamed in the moonlight. ‘Stuff with machines and hate!’
‘And guns!’ said Heinous licking his lips.
‘And gin!’ said The Gin Lady brandishing the night bottle.
‘And ferrets’ said The Gurrier hopefully.
‘Shut up you!’ they all shouted in unison.

Leaving the bodies of the attack squirrels where they fell, the strange band of characters disappeared into the gathering darkness dragging their victim off to The Hut.

This entry was posted on Monday, November 28th, 2005 at 3:39 pm and is filed under Bloggery, Tales of the Gurrier. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.