A Matter of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 1) (4 page)

Ichabod

Punching a Knighted newspaper reporter in the nose is probably not the wisest thing I have ever done.

I sometimes act before I think.

Maybe a walk through an English park, and a tug on my old clay pipe, is what I need to settle back down.

Standing on the curb of ‘BirdCage Walk’, opposite to the entrance of the neatly laid out urban refuge, the sign informs me that this manicured meadow is Saint James Park.

“What’s this?”

A terrible cry is disturbing the frenzy of traffic filling the busy street.

The source is an old gentleman in the fancy coat of a hotel doorman is in the middle of the road. Horses rear up in fright from the tortured howl. It is the worst sound I have ever heard from a grown man.

He holds the unearthly scream long after he should have run out of breath.

He violently spasms, with severe convulsions.

He slowly rises into the air! ? ! ?

An icy hand grips my heart to see this man suspended in the air. My knees turn to jelly and I almost lose consciousness at the unreality of the sight.

A thick, green, and oily smoke pours from his body, leaving a desiccated corpse to fall to the ground.

Green mist churns in the roiling tumult of a small emerald thunderstorm, localized just above the fellow’s remains. For a fraction of a second, the image congeals into a horrible nightmare. A creature from beyond imagination is briefly glimpsed in reflective silhouette, and then suddenly it is gone.

Or is it? In a trick of the light, or my eyes, I seem to be able to catch partial, and fragmentary glimpses of shadowy movement towards the park.

The horses certainly see it! They are all going out of their minds!

A woman’s scream cuts the night.

My legs have re-solidified and are already running in the direction from which came the scream before I realize what they are doing
.

Persephone

“No!”

A chilopodal worm of enormous size, and moving with alarming speed, makes straight for me.

I dash headlong into a city park that lies before me and across a long bridge in the middle of the erstwhile sanctuary.

A marked and insistent, high speed, mechanical tapping compels me to turn and look back.

The monster's countless legs, working in an unearthly coordination, beat a blood-curdling rhythm, as insectlike appendages propel the centipedal horror. The grotesquely grown grub glides across the masoned bridge to the industrial accompaniment of its cobblestone symphony.

I cannot outrun it! The massive and wrongful form is already upon me.

The Creature strikes!

Ichabod

Swift on my feet, in spite of my heavy boots, I am off like a shot.

I know many of these English dandies kit themselves out with some interesting hardware, but I augment my defenses in the American Style, with a ‘72 Colt .45 revolver.

The farther I run into this park, the further I get from the gaslights that line so many London streets. It is hard to see and I don’t know which direction to search. I fear that I have lost the path of the poor woman that I heard scream and her horrible pursuer.

I have my
‘
Beauties!’

Pulling the goggles off my hat and onto my head, I spin up the generator.

Saint James blooms into an eerie, phosphorescent green meadow. Under the ‘Green Beauties’s’ view, it is impossible
not
to see the hideous monster. What was invisible to me before, now glows with a sickly luminescence. I am very nearly unable to comprehend what I see. Perhaps the size of an overgrown pig, but with hundreds of insect legs, a creature that does not belong in our world is running through this London park.

Flying along at an alarming pace, the monster kicks up a clickety-clackity, clickety-clackity ruckus from the paving like that of an automated typesetting machine. The appearance of the creature and rapidity of its hundreds of legs mesh oddly with the sounds echoing from the passage of the grotesque horror over the long bridge spanning this urban artificial lake.

I pour all my efforts into catching and dispatching this outrageous worm, for even though I dearly love most all of our Earth’s creatures, this disgusting bug definitely does not rate consideration.

No! I am too late! It has overtaken a woman and I won’t be there in time!

There is a blinding flash of light! A sphere of intense energy has burst from the girl. This burns brightly for a moment, expanding out in all directions to swiftly collapse back into a bubble that surrounds the young woman.

With this thin shield she holds the beast at bay.

Whatever the power is that emanates from the victimized girl, her strength wanes as the creature becomes more enraged.

I stop, aim, and put a round through the creature’s head. By head, I mean the end with the mouth: the circular, row upon row, daggertooth lined mouth, that appears equally bitey/suckey. This opening can be found beneath the two large hemispheric protuberances that are as overcrowded by fly-eyes.

My pistol shot has no effect! The monster does not even take notice. The fanged aperture continues to push its way through the protective energy bubble in a persistent effort to bite and devour the girl.

I put five more rounds square into the creature’s head with no result.

This is no time to be disheartened, for the lady can barely keep the creature from latching hold.

Drawing my Bowie knife, I pounce on the monster’s back, going into a frenzy, stabbing the foul, armoured, larva.

Again, my weapon has no effect. The knife passes through the chitinous plate like air.

The paramount parasite is bent on devouring this poor girl, and there ain’t nothing I can do to stop it!

The disgusting, mouth/nozzle of the oversized demon prawn begins to apply a terrible suction towards the poor girl. I stab again and again without effect. In fact, it’s my hand, not the hilt of my Bowie, making contact with the beast. I’m gonna drop the knife and punch him. Ow, that hurt. I’m gonna jump off and give him a kick!

“I felt it! That was a good lick! All right, big boy, there’s more where that came from! Un, unh, unh! How do you like them apples?! Uh oh, I guess I got what I wanted. You have turned from the girl to me.”

My blood runs cold and an icy hand of fear clutches my heart filling it with a nameless dread as thousands of fractal eyes focus upon me. I can feel an inhuman intelligence push itself into my mind and I almost lose heart.

It springs! Either I am lucky, or just blessed with good self-preservation instincts, but I am able to roll out of the way of the leech’s launch. The creature twists after me as quickly as I can scramble away. Scrabbling to stay ahead, I get to my feet and run. It is on my heels. Zig-zag, jump, dodge, bounding over deck chairs, the filthy, leggy larva is just at the back of my calves. Vaulting into a gazebo at full tilt the monster is my shadow. I aim low diving under the rail and the 500 pound leech passes over my head. I barely get to my feet when the monster has already turned on me. I leapfrog the charging beast in a grotesque version of the way children play. I grab hold of something growing from the beast’s back as is passes between my legs mid-leap. Could it be hair, or a prehensile horn? I don’t know what I have a hold of, but despite the flip following the leap, I hang on tight.

It is a dang sight safer riding on this monster’s back than having it nipping at my fanny.

This monster is mad and full of fight. It’s twisting and turning in a full on frenzy! Now it’s chasing its tail like a dog, but it can’t get to me on its back. It tries to squish me with a ‘gator roll, but I ain’t having it. I’m sticking to this Hellish armadillo like a Tennessee tick.

Now it's making a break. Man, oh man, does this buggy have some busy legs. I put him at somewhere abouts halfway to qualifying as a millipede. I can't help but watch in fascination as waves seemingly pass through the coordinated centipede stampede.

After a tour around the park we hit upon a lane towards the entrance of St. James. We are causing quite a stir at this point. Some boys take up a pursuit. They can almost keep up. Hey, they cannot see the creature, just me floating over the ground by about five feet and traveling faster than they can run. They must think I am flying!

My invisible stallion carries me out of St. James Park and into the crowded street, Birdcage Walk. The traffic consists of many fancy carriages carrying fashionable folks to evening dinners and sophisticated theater. Every horse on the ridiculously named thoroughfare begins to scream and panic. No driver can control his terrified horse for even if they cannot see it, every animal knows there is an abomination on that street. Nothing will keep them there. After several indecisive spins, my own horrid mount turns toward the river. All the carriages, carts, four-wheelers and hansoms are backed up at Great George Street. My worm and I smash full tilt into a gorgeous hansom, exploding the two wheeled carriage into splinters. I fall from my steed and my goggles are knocked loose. I can no longer see the monster! I scramble for my ‘Beauties’, getting them back on in time to see the creature rise up and leap upon me. I barely get my hands to its ugly face to keep that disgusting sucker/mouth from clamping on my head.

My legs are outnumbered. As I try to kick them away, the many legs of my fiendish foe catch my own pair. The legs seem to ripple, as each leg begins to move just after the previous one did, with machine-like efficiency, and in this manner, the knitting appendages propel me towards the intake chute.

I cannot allow it to bite me!

I kick and fight for all I am worth but cannot release my grip lest I feel those awful teeth. I catch and isolate the last of the creature’s forelegs with my feet. I get it locked out against its own joint, and then kick. One insect leg does not work with mechanical efficiency anymore, since it is at a right angle to the others. The mammoth roly poly shrieks in an unspeakable rage. Risking the release of one hand from the creature’s face, I tear the stricken limb from this hungry HellSpawn. With all the strength of a man who would not be a meal, I plunge the serrated, chitinous limb as far into the alien cranium as my arm will reach.

Succumbing to a violent series of tremors, the beast shudders with a few last death throes, before expiring with insectile ignominy.

Persephone

Blind with tears and half out of my wits, I stumble away from the ravenous horror. I have to get away from the repulsive segmented worm. I fear for the gallant cavalier that came to my rescue, but I am too done in to help the man. I feel a craven sense of cowardice for the relief I feel when that horrible consciousness is turned from myself to that unwitting victim.

Though blinded by fear and emotion, I manage to stagger out the North end of St. James.

My heart breaks again as I hear scores of horses go mad with terror on the far side of the Park. The hands of kind strangers catch me as I slump to the ground.

Helpful young gentlemen assist me in gaining conveyance back to the Queen’s Hotel. The streets are congested with onlookers trying to discover the source of the troubles wrought by the brain-fevered horses. General confusion and disarray make for a slow and tedious ride through a crowded throng. Many carriages are damaged, and the horses still nervous, but the disturbances seem to have subsided. I catch snatches of conversation moving through the crowded street. No one knows why, but every horse on BirdCage Walk, for a few moments, went mad with terror.

I overhear snatches of rumour that some claim to have seen, momentarily, a monster of some kind. Two young boys claim to have seen a flying man, wearing goggles that “glowed like two, small, green lanterns.”

When I arrive back at my hotel, I find it a sombre shambles. The front doors are smashed, the lobby is in disarray, and the dining room, along with the kitchens, are nearly destroyed. Yet it is grief over the death of their beloved, gentlemanly old doorman that has overcome the hotel staff. I am simultaneously relieved and ashamed, that no one realizes I am to blame.

Ichabod

I fall back in exhaustion, disentangling myself from the hated legs of the creature. The unnatural glow of the worm subsides, and simultaneously, the shocked faces of those around me show recognition of the dead leech. It’s interesting that, although it was invisible in life, apparently, all can observe it in death.

I remove my goggles, momentarily blind as my eyes adjust to the change in the light conditions, but there lies the horror. The monstrous beast is now visible, but gets noticed by only a few people as Birdcage Walk is a shambles. Every hat, purse, fan, and corsage that was present now blankets the street. The wreckage of smashed carriages and misused citizenry litters the scene. The horses are still trying to climb over one another to vacate the premises.

A steam begins to rise from the worm. Cracks appear in its shell, and then widen. The foul crayfish is dissolving before my eyes. A thought strikes me. Once again, I find myself following my instincts before I have a chance to think about my actions. Spotting a miraculously unbroken bottle of champagne, I pour out its contents. Using the shattered remains of another bottle as a scoop, I quickly gather up some of the evaporating goo that was my former adversary, pouring him into the emptied bottle. This here discarded hanky will have to make do as an improvised cork.

Then I remember the girl, the catalyst of the past few minutes’ events. I fly back to the park, but she is nowhere to be found.

With my bottle of bug goop in hand, I retrieve my hat, revolver and knife. My trusty tinder box ignites my old clay pipe to resume my smoke. The girl, or should I say, young lady, was quite striking. And familiar, somehow... perhaps I have seen her in a photograph...  Miss Persephone Plumtartt! Of course! Her newspaper image does not do her justice! Though I barely got a glimpse of her, I know it was she for this is an amazing woman to behold.

Oh, gosh, I feel ashamed. I was amused at the ‘Ghost’ stories I had read. Now their reality is all too well proven to me. I deserve a double dose of shame for doubting the remarkable Plumtartt family.

I reckon I have a tendency to quick reaction, sometimes. There have been many instances in my life where I have reacted to a situation with blinding speed. If I were being watched, a third party would have witnessed a couple of those episodes tonight.

Some might refer to this as going off half cocked, or shooting from the hip, maybe acting without thinking.

I tend to think it is a willingness to trust in my instincts.

Not good versus bad, or smart as opposed to stupid, I tend to find my gut instinct leads me toward acting in a manner that deals in right and wrong.

I sure did spoil the deal with Sir Henry Stanley tonight, though.

Oh well, I really did not wanna give up my ‘Green Beauties’ anyhow.

Miss Persephone Plumtartt. Wow. I barely got a look at her, but I could see straight away that she is as amazing in her beauty as she is in her character.

It sure was a good thing that I didn’t sell my goggles, and happened to be there in the park, tonight. Miss Plumtartt would’ve been a goner for sure.

I wonder if there is such a thing as ‘fate’ or ‘destiny’?

I have a hunch that I am about to make a meaningful decision.

I feel a stubborn tenacity coming on. A sensation is washing through me, as if I am a fragile teacup, balanced on the knife edge of a high mountain ridge, filled to the rim with a beverage of possibilities.

Was it ‘fate’ that had me bop Sir Henry on the horn?

~ ‘Slish,’ slishes the tart tea of fate.~

Could the hand of ‘destiny’ be at work?

~‘Slosh,’ sloshes the swirling sweetener of destiny.~

“If that jumbo sized satanic shrimp was one of the ghosts that’s a running ‘round here, then maybe this gal ain’t outta the chipper yet.”

~Sloosh!~

I think that last wave sent my teacup over the edge.

“I shall rescue this damsel in distress!”

- - -

Let’s see: the initial disturbance seemed to arise from the South East end of St. James Park. I’ll search that area for a trail to follow. Well, looky there, the Queen’s Hotel front door is damaged, as if some kind of accident happened. I’ll take a look inside and see how things are.

Golly, there sure is a lot of damage here and in the dining room. It looks like there has been a true ‘nough slobberknocker rolled through this fancy hotel. I’ll go check at the desk.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Deliveries are in the rear, young man.”

“Hunh? Oh, nossir, I ain’t here for work related inquiry. Could you tell me if Miss Persephone Plumtartt is staying with y’all?”

“‘Y’all’, sir? One sees. I can confirm Miss Plumtartt’s residence with us; however, one would suggest returning once one has been made oneself more presentable. At that time, we will send for Miss Plumtartt, young man.”

“Oh, yessir. It is kind of late. I reckon you’re right. I’ll be back first thing in the morning with enough hair grooming ointment to waterproof a canoe on my head.”

“Charming.”

- - -

“Gee whiz, I didn’t hardly sleep a wink last night at ‘Uncle Bob’s Bug Free Bunks’, I was so excited about meeting Miss Plumtartt. Do I look all right? You don’t think I am too early, do you?”

“One can only imagine what Miss Plumtartt will think at the sight of you, sir. I suggest writing a note to Miss Plumtartt. I will send it to her and she may decide whether or not to receive you.”