It was a dark and stormy night...

[MystyrMystyry]

This began as an idea and has become a novel in progress, all budding writers and literary types may wish to have a look now and again and see how the various paragraphs evolve (if slowly) over time.

Enjoy and happy reading

MM


Black.
Black everywhere.
The sky was black.
The sea was black.
He went inside and turned on the light. It was no use. He hadn't been able to see since the accident - but he could always hope.
There was a loud knock at the front door. He ran to answer it, taking the occasional table with him, before the footstool took him, and with arms flailing wildly he flew over the sofa, landing square on his chin.
'I must put up a sign telling people not to knock loudly,' he thought to himself, dusting himself down and rubbing his jaw to check it was still intact, which it fortuntely was.
Jacobson made it to the door in time to hear footsteps start to recede back down the path from whence they must have originally came.
'Hello,' he ventured, flinging the door open.' Who's there?'
'Ah Jacobson!' responded a familiar deep female purr. 'Thought you might've been asleep!'
'Phondilily!' his heart skipped a beat. 'I haven't seen you since the accident! Actually there's quite a lot I haven't seen-'
'But I've seen you,' she gritted her teeth. 'And I've heard that joke at least a thousand times...'

[MystyrMystyry]

'Oh,' sighed Jacobson, 'I suppose you have, but not being able to discern anyone I forget who I've whinged at and who I haven't yet. But, no, I wasn't asleep - just listening to the waves, which is the only thing that calms me, and the opposite to their original effect.'
He gestured that she should enter, and also that if she wanted something to drink she should help herself.
'I'll take you up on that,' she smiled that silly smile people smile when no-one's looking, and went on to poke her tongue out at him and cross her eyes.
'Hey,' said Jacobson, 'watch that!'
'Watch what?'
'The silly smile, yes? The crazy face?'
'I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about...'
'No?' he forgot how soft his rug was and lost track of her footsteps, now not quite sure where she was. 'No?' he tried again.
'Not at all,' she didn't bother to shrug.
'Ah!' he unintentionally emitted, being able to place her somewhere between the sofa and the fireplace. 'It's just that... all this time to think... it sends me a little whacky, you know?'
'Whackier,' she corrected him.
'Yeah,' he agreed, because what choice did he have? She'd known him longer than anyone in his current invisible circle. 'Sometimes I imagine how I'd react if, say, it had happened to Brimblesmith instead, say.'
'You'd make faces at him?'
'I'd like to think I would,' Jacobson nodded, recalling Brimblesmith's reaction upon hearing the sad news of his friend's sightlessness:

'So he can't see us, but we can still see him? How is that justice?'

Jacobson would get that bastard back one day, the sooner the better for both, the longer the rumination burn the more diabolical the revenge.

But for now, Phondilily required his immediate attention.

'Phondy?' he began, 'did you see me mime the pouring of something..?'
'No,' she smiled genuinely, now she was relaxing, realising Jacobson couldn't miss anyone's trick. 'Would you like me to pour you something?'
'Only if you pour it,' he blurted, 'I mean and if you're going to have something with me?'
'I forgot,' she lied. 'I forgot how you don't like to pour it yourself because you can't see how much you're pouring.'
Phondilily had heard that line more often than just about any other, and she'd begun to wish she'd been struck deaf at the same time as he'd been struck blind. Even her recitation of the words before he could get them in made her feel dizzy.

[MystyrMystyry]

'Well?'
She glided over to him with his wine, took his hand gently, and led it toward the glass.
'What?' said Jacobson. 'Please don't toy with me - you know how I feel about you-'
'How's that again?' she enquired of the blind fool, unaware of this news until now.
'Oh,' he stammered. 'I've um you've poured it completely silently, haven't you?'
'I did,' she whispered, 'but please return to your previous subject...'
'Um. I'm stuck here all day, batblind. My mind keeps playing games on me inside my head. I'm likely to say strange things I don't even understand and will probably forget else regret. I don't know where these thoughts come from. I wish I could read brail. I wish the accident never happened, and everything...'
He too quickly raised the glass to his lips, and unable to recognise distance splashed himself.
'Oh, this is embarassing,' he groaned.
'Well,' Phondilily had quickly turned away to stilfle a laugh, 'it's good you brought up the accident, because that's really why I'm here.'
'Oh,' Jacobson was wiping his face on his sleeve. 'You want to hear about it again?'
'Not exactly. You see something's come up and- Well, it may be better if you sit down...'

[MystyrMystyry]

'Sit? Why so? Has something come up?'
'Just sit,' she said, 'and I'll tell you.'
He manoevered himself around to the other side of the settee, feeling along the back to the arm indicating an access point, and sat.
'Comfortable?' she asked and he nodded. 'Well I won't lie to you but the insurance company are suspecting foul play-'
'The insurance company?' he blustered. 'Why should I care about the insurance company?'
'Uh,' she waved a finger whose point was lost, 'the fraud squad suspect foul play-'
'Fraud squad? What?'
'The Fire Department suspect arson-'
'Fire Department now?'
'-and all the rigging inspectors agree that the rigging was intact and functional-'
'Rigging inspectors!'
'-at 4 pm,' she took a brief sip of the wine, 'and don't get too excited about them - it's their job to inspect the rigging five times every day.'
'I suppose it is,' Jacobson flashed an apologetic grin. 'What do they want with me? I only worked there - it's not and none of my business.'
'Actually it may very well have something to do with you,' she took another sip, and reached for the bottle to refill their glasses, this time permitting herself a clink against her own to indicate what he could expect in a few seconds.
'How so?' he held his glass out roughly toward her voice.
'Well tomorrow you have to go to the station for questioning, and later the inspectors want a word-'
'The rigging inspectors want to speak to me?'
'Not rigging inspectors - insurance inspectors.'
'Ah insurance of course,' he mumbled off. 'Hang on - about what?'
'Well the fraud squad will want to know if you recall seeing, hearing, or otherwise anything or anyone out of the ordinary before the explosion, and so will the insurance inspectors - both for different reasons.'
'Oh, like those blokes who drove up in the black mercedes, got out, broader than they were tall, blackjacked the foreman, loosened the rigging, planted the dynamite-'
'What!' Phondilily squawked. 'You never mentioned-'
'I'm just pissin' around,' he said. 'There weren't any black mercedes.'

[MystyrMystyry]

'Well,' she started, 'please don't piss them around - this is serious.'
'What! Serious! That isn't serious!' Jacobson paused to wiggle his fingers at his eyes. 'This is serious!'
'Yeah,' she exhaled slowly. 'But you blind and in prison for withholding evidence is even more serious!'
'How can I be withholding evidence if no evidence have I got to withhold or otherwise do with what my black heart may desire?'
'Go with that then. Don't mention black mercedes.'
'Why would I mention black mercedes?'
'Listen,' Phondilily sighed, 'cops come in two pre-drawn stereotypes: caffeinated and decaffeinated. The more games you try to play with them the more games shall they actually play with you. Cappice?'
'Yes, but right now I'm talking to you - not them.'
'Good point, but I don't trust you, which is why I've volunteered to brief you tonight-'
'It's night!' he mockjumped. 'Already? I had no idea!'
'-and drive you there tomorrow,' she continued obliviously, 'so please don't stuff it up for yourself.'
He pretended to look around the room as in deep thought, abruptly spouting: 'Ah!' and proffering his glass to her.

[MystyrMystyry]

'A storm's brewing,' said Phondilily ominously, reaching for a new bottle, unscrewing the cap with distaste. She preferred cork.
'Literally or figuratively?'
'Both,' she said distantly, pouring. 'There's a darkness over the horizon, and the full moon's glinting in and out through the tumultuous clouds.'
'A full moon and a storm and I'm going to miss it!' he felt the blackness within himself, a blackness that appeared at the slightest nudge. 'Could you keep describing it for me? Please? I mean we can keep talking, but intermittently just splash a little colourful paint on the canvas...'
'Oh yeah, sure thing pops.'
'Unusual expression to use?'
"I know, I think I-' she suddenly broke off.
'What is it?' asked Jacobson, believing he'd done something, or failed to - like checking his fly. He checked his fly.
'Lightning,' she reappeared from her trance, now by the glass back doors. 'Oh, sorry - beautiful lightning strikes out across the sea - thousands of them...'
'Really? When you say thousands, you don't mean ah thousands?'
'Actually I do - it's incredible - these magnificent preternatural blue streaks hopping and popping all over, like an alien world, Something's happening-'
Jacobson couldn't stand these infuriating breaks in transmission. 'What now, please!'
'It's weird,' she sipped the final sip from her glass, absently placed it on the sidetable behind her without looking. 'Hear that..?'
'Hear what? What am I listening for?'
'The thunder...'
'I don't hear any thunder! What are you talking about!'
'That's just it. The thunder. There should be tons of it in a deafening roar - but nothing.'
'Right!' spat Jacobson. 'I know when I'm being taken for a ride. Well. okay, actually I obviously don't-'
'You'll be taken on a ride tomorrow,' she said, far more distantly than before, 'but right now you're not being taken on any rides, no...'

[MystyrMystyry]

'Do you think that you could perhaps take a few photos for when and if I ever regain my-?'
'I'm doing it now with my cellphone,' she said airily. 'Where's your radio?'
'My radio?' Jacobson quizzed. 'In the car. That's the only radio I have...'
'Oh, how to you keep yourself entertained?'
'Not by listening to the radio. Radio drives me nuts.'
'Nutser,' she corrected him. 'Listening to the television then?' posed Phondilily. 'Didn't you do that before your misfortune?'
'Neither that nor nope,' he replied. 'Drives me nutsest. Ah, I understand what you're doing here - you're cleverly taking my mind off the fact that I'm missing out on something major. Thanks.'
'Actually I was wondering what the boffins,' Phondilily tried to put some perspective on the more important issue, 'what the boffins were thinking was causing the pyrotechnics...'
'Pyrotechnics? Isn't that to do with crackers?'
'Light show then...'
'Hey, you didn't happen to get the picture of the full moon glinting in and out from behind-?'
'No, I didn't,' she said in her thinking voice. 'But that's something...'
'What is?'
There was no reply, and so he waved his empty glass at where he thought she was. 'Yoo hoo? Over here.'
'Phondilily's voice appeared startlingly from behind him:
'I was right!' she snapped. 'I thought- I mean- Oh, you're not going to believe this..!'
'Try me,' he said, 'and... refill?'
Again no reply.
'That's incredible!' she exasperated, now from the back glass doors. 'I mean, I was driving here and the sickle moon was in the East. The sickle moon is still in the East, but a full moon is in the West - meaning two moons!'
'Enough already,' moaned Jacobson.
'Seriously!' she said, handing him the bottle to work it out on his own.
'What?' he asked. 'I might spill it on the carpet...'
'You can't even see the carpet,' her purr trailing off as she went into the hall. 'Where's your television set?'
'In the bathroom,' he called. 'I used to watch it in the bath sometimes.'
'Right!' she cried. 'Got it!'
Jacobson could hear choppy echoing voices and brief snatches of music as she rapidly flipped through the channels in search of a news broadcast.
'Anything?' he enquired. 'You can bring it in here, you know!'
She emerged a few seconds later with the portable television, placing it on the sidetable, plugging it in and turning the volume down to a murmer, wetting a dishcloth to mop up Jacobson's spillage.
'Sorry about that,' she said sincerely. 'Good thing it's white not red.'
He presented her the bottle, tapped his glass to subtlely suggest the refill may still be required, sheepish smile to ensure she took the hint.
'Ah!' she suddenly declared. 'News break!'
The volume went up magically to beyond a comfortable listening level:

'Research scientists at NASA and astronomers from around the world have been on the phone to feverishly field questions, that they have no idea what's happening, where this new moon has come from, precisely what is causing the lightning - though they appear to be related, and how it is that so far the electrical storm has caused no damage, but we here at ICDN are keeping our fingers crossed-...'

'Y-y-y-you mean,' Jacobson somehow stuttered on his ys, 'y-y-y-you were telling the truth?'

[MystyrMystyry]

'I guess I was,' Phondilily responded, having already begun to re-count her marbles for the third time, which were all there except for maybe the two or three the wine had knocked from their sockets. 'Unless it's national Let's Get Jacobson Week? I'm going to the toilet if you need me, just so you know.'
'Mmm, I think I'll cope on my own for a while,' Jacobson mused mainly to himself. 'I don't want to break the seal just yet...'
After a moment he remembered:
'The dunny needs a new globe!' he yelled, but no answer, so he let it ride.
He got up and walked fairly steadily to the glass back doors, hoping to maybe just maybe catch a glimpse of the event . All he could see was black, all he could hear were the waves, wind and rain - though the waves were considerably more violent than last time he had listened.
'You need a new globe in the dunny,' said Phondilily from behind. 'But at your leisure...'
'I might like it that way,' he said cagily, jokingly, but the effect was lost as he couldn't read her reaction. 'Remind me tomorrow when we're out shopping.'
'I suppose you do need things,' she gave her assent. 'Could be fun. Perhaps we can fix you up with one of them there new-fangled cellphone doodah whatsits? Just so you can be contactable?'
'Ooh, yeah!' he enthused childishly though actually. 'Always wanted one of them things!'
'It did occur to me while I was in the little room that it didn't reek of urea - how so that one? How is it that most blokes can be floodlit and still manage to get it everywhere? Yet alone in the darkness you seem to have developed perfect accuracy? Not some sonar thing goin' on?'
'I'll stop you there and remind you that this magnificent vista is not a photograph, but rather a wonderful natural-'
'Oh,' she said, realising. 'But,' she added quickly, 'what of the other?'
'I like to imagine I'm reading a good book,' he frowned, wanting to change the subject to something uplifting. 'My eyes. Is there any word from the specialists?'
'There was actually,' she said with a little guilt owing to it having completely slipped her mind. 'There's absolutely nothing wrong with your optic nerves. Something somewhere has been dislodged and sorry I can't remember all the scientific jargon for the various pathways and connections.'
'So what - another explosion and hit to the head?'
'Well that's the thing - there was a story - a true story - about this gentleman who had had an accident sixty years ago - a blow to the side of his temple when he'd stepped on a garden rake. Couldn't see for thirty years, and then one day-' without missing a beat she'd been fetching another bottle, opening, filling both glasses, '-and then one day a bucket of water - he was cleaning the windows - fell off the ladder onto his head, and voila!'
'He could see again!'
'That is the crux of the matter,' she grinned. 'Though I wouldn't hurry to tell Brimblesmith, because, well, you know...'
'Because he's a complete-'
'You got it,' Phondilily interrupted. 'But I think he's actually jealous of our friendship. He's very lonely, you know..?'
'Well if he'd behave normal he wouldn't have that problem,' Jacobson said. 'In fact he's not just jealous of us - he's jealous of everything that walks, crawls or slithers.'

[MystyrMystyry]

'I wouldn't care if he was chosen for the first manned mission to Mars!' Phondilily squawked. 'Except he'd become famous beyond his desserts!'
Jacobson didn't find this funny at all, not the least because it had come too quickly after his own comment which she simply couldn't have had time to digest. But because it made him recall their first encounter, and her ability to get exceptionally drunk without appearing so had captivated him up until he had woken on a park bench with her head on his chest - and he couldn't breathe.
So heavy - she slept harder than anyone he'd ever met, and wouldn't budge. He had to call for a parking inspector to help her off of him. They'd laughed about it for weeks afterward.
But at her joke which he found not in the least amusing he just couldn't raise an honest grimmace, leave alone a pretend grin.
'Ssshh!' he hissed suddenly.
'What?' she whispered.
'The new moon and thousands of lightning bolts? Still there?'
'Yeah,' she smiled, 'the same as when I first saw it.'
'And that doesn't phase you?'
'Nnnoo... Should it?'
'Ah, it's just that, the last time you weren't bothered by anything, it eventuated to be way past your bedtime...'
'And your point would be?'
'The things we have to do tomorrow? Remember?'
'Yes, of course. I told you about them...'
'Well, early to bed, early to rise!' he clapped his hands twice. 'Um, I'm attempting to be serious here, because one of us has to be.'
'You? she pulled her head back. 'The serious one?'
'Listen, Phondy, buddy, mate, I've known you for years, and in all that time I've never learnt how to judge until it's too late when you've had enough alcohol...'
'I know when I've had enough.'
'No, you see, you don't. You think you do, but, well, remember the park bench fiasco? You wouldn't, couldn't wake up. I didn't know whether to call an ambulance or what, but I wasn't going to go to a phone box and risk leaving you there.'
'And I appreciate that very much.'
'Three hours, Phondy. I had to wait there for three hours until you finally came to. On the bench we'd both slept for the same time, but you went on for another three! I was starving, and it was cold, and-'
'And you think I should go to bed?'
'I think we both should,' he replied with relief, relief that he was getting through to her.
'Well, thanks for the offer, I guess, but I'm really not that drunk.'
'Not with me!'
'Well,' she smiled, 'I've never been propositioned and rejected so rapidly after each other.'
'Look Phondy, it's bed time for me. You can do whatever you want, but I'm exhausted, so Goodnight and I'll see you tomorrow morning.'
'Not if I see you first...'
'Not even remotely sniggerworthy!' he barked sternly. 'And try to keep the volume down?'

Jacobson fell asleep pretty quickly for him, not that he'd even had time to notice. But somewhere in that sleep, that weird turgid sleep, came 'The Dream'

[MystyrMystyry]

Jacobson woke beneath the two moons, one at its Fullest and the other at its Thinnest, but above all - he could see them.
The electric blue lightning was all around, and the sound of the waves, wind and rain washed distantly into the night.
He stood, and discovered himself in a grassy glade, towering trees keeping sentinel in a circle. The centre-piece was a large altar covered in a fine patina of luminous moss. It had been sculpted from a single piece of finest blood marble in a more intricate and elaborate design than any he had seen.
A candle lantern at each side and corner burned bright all hues of the rainbow, in concert illuminating the ancient strange artifact with a pure white light unlike any other.
He reached toward it to touch, but where he put his hand it became translucent, transparent, ultimately invisible, and could not be felt.
Backing away, he heard what seemed singing: Angels, Sirens, one voice then many, then none, then one, then all.
Entranced he searched for an entrance, as all trace of himself began to merge with the alien night. He could sense a transformation within, and the worry of his sight vanished as he began to see anew, far beyond what mere sight alone allowed, deep into the World of Ancestral Spirits, Spectres Dead for Millennia gathering from afar, Marching in Armour-clad unison toward him.
But afraid? He felt he should be, but could not be amongst the Ghosts of The Brave, The Heroes and Fallen of The Ancient Lost World before rhyme, before song.
And his ears too had tuned into new frequencies, so now the voices spiritual could be discerned as vivid tales of Long Past Battles and Glories forming in his new mind, his re-awoken former self.
He was at one with these visions, he had been part of them, he had been a King, he remembered everything, how he had fought alongside them and led them to victories thousands of generations before.
Now he was transfixed, he needed to remember more, all of it, to drink and feast upon its tasty treasures.
Jacobson would soon be no more.

[MystyrMystyry]

As the Generals, Soldiers, Cavalry stormed thunderously onward and forward toward him, the voices rose in intensity, and the Full Epic of the Final War rented apart the inner lining of his skull with its entire rendition, the metamorphosis became complete.
The questions he had for so long enquired of the heavens had been answered, the weight of the centuries lifted as light as vapor from his back as he released a bellowing roar comparable only to the Twin Gods of War before the Battle of Olsnor.
His eyes now red of the fire of the spilled blood of his Father Rorngludd, who had sacrificed his life that his sole surviving son may reclaim the Stolen Throne
of Gieldrun, and only from the Gods Themselves.
It were to be prophesied that upon the Night the Two Moons Unite, the Dimensions of Separation shall once more Become unto One and all Forces of Death upon Life shall join the Battle of Ultimate Right, the Conquest by Day over Night, as the Elder Gods Themselves had inscribed it in the Sacred Altar of Light.
There appeared at once the Three Generals of Gorre to Hail and Anoint,
being the Bearers of the Seven Gliddern, Yujtherth's Armour, of his Father and Grandfather, and his Father before him his Great Grandfather, and Surely the Greatest of All His Four Forefathers His Great Great Grandfather.
The Electrum of which the plates be spun and hammered and intricately engraved and forged from the Ten Volcanoes of Tuvulu, the which mere nearness enclasped itself to limb, trunk and bonce.
Scrathbolg the Wizard Wise, Milgark the Sorceror Stealth, and Wwrolguberyn the Magician Magnificent, had each upon each cast Enchantment the
Shield of Shog, Spear of Spern, Sword of Swig, and Sling of Slub, the Panoply Of Perplex, the Bow of Bend-

Yujtherth raised his arm unto Desist thy Foul Beasts and Vermin of Din! and Lo! the voices did cease.

'Thanks be for that!' he growled as the Lion Shogorth, and did place the other hand upon the Altar. 'We Fight to Death, For The Life Beyond!' Yujtherth declared. 'Now Onward to The War of Wars! War of All Wars!'

An Eleven Million-Strong Cheer rose above the Clanging Armour of His Warriors, a Sound Together to Behold, and Lo His Steed was led Him, and Him led before, His brief inspect of least import to the Roar of His Eleven Armies who Bore the Standard of Gorre!

[MystyrMystyry]

'The roar of Gorre, maybe, what, he where, is it?' Jacobson muttered as he bleared awake to an actual roar of Gorre - in fact it was a loud snore, a very loud snore indeed - directed directly into his left eardrum.
'Phondy!' he barked, overwhelmed at the shock of her stark naked in his bed, and the throbbing pain in his head more than the fact he could see. 'Not again!'

It is true it had happened before, more than ten times before in fact. For some reason her sleepwalking always led her from the guest room to his, and then straight into the cot.
He'd begun to think she secretly or subconsciously had a thing for him, and that perhaps he was an unwitting pawn in her fantasies.

But he could see - almost If he'd flicked the light switch he would be able to see better, but if he'd opened the curtain he'd be able to see the lightning storm and two moons, but he stumbled toward the switch instead, knowing she'd sleep through it, through anything, but this peculiarity he'd long since been finished burning up braincells over.
He staggered into the kitchen, absently thought, 'lightning, moons', and reached for his glass to fill with water, filled, sculled, repeated.
He went to the fridge, opened, thought 'cheese, yoghurt, grapes', closed fridge, re-opened fridge, took grapes, yoghurt and cheese, went to sit down in his sofa and eat.
'Moons, lightning', he thought, attempting to make sense of the flickering images on the television screen.

'I'm not in the mood to be awake,' he decided after awhile. 'No, I really don't want to be awake at all right now.'
With that he rose, and reeled down the hall to the guest room.

[MystyrMystyry]

'What is the state of affairs?' Yujtherth enquired of the old Wizard. 'What losses?'
'Weren't you watching?' the wizened wizard asked. 'The score is of Three Million Deadward Dead as deadwood...'
'Again you speak in riddles,' Yujtherth exasperated, 'you crazy as a bunch of bananas banana! How many Dead? The number only...'
'Three million,' came the reply.
'Three million including the ah including the deadwood?'
'Forget the deadwood.'
'How many without the deadwood?'
'Why weren't you here to see for yourself?'
'I had attendances Earthward,' he grumbled. 'I assure You I would have far rather been here, considering the quality of the attendances...'
'Oh, I see...'
'No, I don't think you do! It was... horrible..!'
The wizard pointed a finger to the corner. 'New crystal ball - hi def...'
'Uh... huh!' Yujtherth unhappily received this information. 'Does it have replay of the battle?'
'Sorry, no, not yet, um, that will require a further mystical attachment which unfortunately cannot be obtained at this time...'
'Why so?'
'Cut backs-'
'Cut backs!' Yuherth growled. 'Cut backs! Who is responsible for this outrage!'
'Um,' the wizard shrugged, not wishing to dob in his own king.
'Well, I shall be having words,' Yutherth grumbled. 'And of three million - how many were the best?'
'All were the best, Sir.'
'I don't mean politically,' he grunted, 'I mean how many actually were the best?'
'All actually were the best...'
He deep thoughted this a moment.
'And how many of Gods?'
The old wizard held out one crooked index finger only.
'But One God? Of Seven Gods, that would make six-'
'That would make six Gods left,' the wizard interjected wisely.
'We are clearly outnumbered and outskilled, on this front at least...'
'We may have merely been outnumbered in that particular battle, sir,' said the wizard.
'Which you said-...' Yujtherth eyed him quizzically. 'So you seem to also suggest an alternative... tactical strategy?'