L O C H - F U C K I N G - N E S S
I wrote this while on my ruined holiday at Loch Ness, Scotland. From 25th June - 2nd July 2013. It's written in the form of diary entries directly after the events took place.
"A man is not a man until he has accessed his raw, untamed energy and taken pleasure in his capacity to fight and defend himself. Only then can he transform his blind rage into the power to commit himself, to handle tensions and to make difficult decisions. A feeling of inner security also develops; it is based on his realization that, whatever happens to go wrong, he can get help from his inner resources, from the basic energy of his aggression." Guy Corneau.
Here I am staring out
a hotel window at the mountain forest on the west bank of Loch Ness. Staring
outside and brooding bitterly, as I contemplate how to salvage the wreckage
of this fucked holiday that I had the fucking stupidity of actually looking
Let me start by saying this, I had always heard that the waters of Loch Ness were dark, but honestly, they're fucking tar! I arrived this evening at the hotel, and decided to go for a stroll before dinner, when immediately I came across a waterfall beneath that woodland road. Standing on a broken down stone bridge not far from the highway overpass, I glared at the river which looked more like crude oil as it slipped down the valley and around the steep cliffs before it must have poured into the Loch itself (but I couldn't see the water's edge from where I lurked). It was cold, cold looking shit. Not the sort of place that welcomed idiot skinny dippers, yet this gorge seemed hungry for dumped dead bodies and dismembered runaways. This place was fucking decrepit – just like me!
None of this was what I had planned. This was not how I envisioned this trip becoming. This was not my idea. But shit-fucking-happens, doesn't it. So fuck it, this was how the game evolved. But how did I end up here, across those black waters from Boleskine House? Women of course! Fucking women! I'm so fucking disgusted right now, that I don't know if I can even be fucked thinking about females enough to write about this fucking bullshit. Instead, let's be honest, I knew this was coming. For it had been an upbeat couple of months. Girls, girls, girls. But whenever I'm in a good-fucking-mood for long enough, inevitably, the pendulum swings back with a fucking vengeance! And from good times comes the birth of repulsion and sheer fucking hatred! It was unavoidable. Now this wasn't some faggot idea of 'karma', this was just how the tide of emotions work. I have my ups, so in turn, I have my fucking downs, just like everyone! We are all fucking meat! Let's skip the background story and get on with it. Read The Small Hours if you give a shit. What I had planned, was a fucking road-trip through the Fatherland: from Edinburgh, up to the Highlands, and then down the west coast for several days. I had made a four-disk soundtrack of great (and relevant) music to accompany the drive. But what happened to that road-trip? Female self-pity and her claims for the 'right to be jealous', is why I'm alone and sitting in this wood-scented lounge, in an isolated hotel, in that tiny township of Invermoriston.
'She', an ex who I'd brought to the Fatherland once before, was going to do the driving. As for some fucking reason, I've never gotten around to getting a license for myself. But due to her need for being the center of the fucking universe, she returned to Berlin after only two days away. Women: what great embodiments of absolute contradiction. By contradiction I mean, she says one minute, "I want to know these things!" And then the next, "I don't want to see these things!" Well, what the fuck is a cunt like me supposed to do? I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't. So I laughed. But that only pissed benzin on the fire. So fuck her! Fuck off back to Berlin! And she was damned right, I fucking hate her very fucking existence! Yet if I didn't want to spend time with her, I wouldn't have invited the bitch to come along! So it looks like another female has to be crossed off that list of exes that I can't call friends. Ex? 'Stale-meat' was a better term. I used to have a great reputation with my ex-girlfriends. But this had been the year of the purge! And they could all get the fuck out of here!
However, I had awoken on Tuesday 25th June (the very morning that we left for this trip), and found a text message on my phone, "I just want to let you know that I might not stay the whole time with you in Scotland. I will come with you today and stay at your aunty's place, and then I will decide what's next. Just to let you know." It was only the latest of many threats she had made about canceling this trip. So I quickly devised a plan B. We soon met at the airport. Though didn't talk for the whole flight. We eventually eased up on the bus into the Edinburgh city. There, we had out last dinner together on the Royal Mile.
During dinner she demanded I apologize for bringing another girl to a friend's place on Sunday night. Apologize?! That wasn't going to happen! Why? 'Cause I might have gotten jealous over her many toy-boys, but I never complained to her, because she wasn't my fucking girlfriend anymore, so I didn't have the right! Just like she didn't have the right to fucking demand anything from me! This conversation was over!
Nothing like hissed spite into the face of a lover with vicious whispers. Yeah, well, that was due to the the fact that suddenly last Friday I lost my voice for no apparent reason. Was it from fucking this new nineteen-year-old? Yet her cunt tasted like honey. Shouldn't that make my throat better?
My ex immediately booked a flight back to Germany so she could go fuck some new pretty boy dipshit. She had a tendency to fall for male models with the lame personalities of daytime television soaps, and then say things like, "He's so damned good looking, but so fucking boring."
I however, had nothing left to say to her, and won't until six months have past under our burnt bridge. She's not important to me, not anymore, not worth my time. Plenty more fresh meat out there. But I don't care if a girl's boring or not, as long as she swallows!
People ask me why I'm so fucking hateful. It comes naturally. For my hatred is just an equal opposition to how much I once loved her.
27th June, on the train to Inverness, I found myself seated next to a New York mother of three. I placed my brand new copy of the King James Version of the Holy Bible on the seat next to her as I put my bag in the overhead compartment. Yet we didn't get onto the subject of religion until an hour into our conversation. Talking openly about cultures, philosophy, relationships, art, and drugs, I eventually admitted how much I looked forward to going somewhere where no one knew who I was. The anonymity of having no association with my past or present reputation. Isolation without the preconceptions and expectations of others. But then I quickly realized that was unobtainable, once she asked me about the bible in contrast to my tattoos. Yesterday, when I bought the bible at Waterstones on Princes Street, a voice came up behind me saying, "The Holy Bible?" Slowly, I turned and eyeballed some goth chick as I replied with my hoarse voice, "Holy shit, don't you mean." She smiled and ambiguously added, "It's never too late," while she greedily examined me like I was a whore on the curb, before she continued, "I really hope you're a preacher." A preacher? I'm father to none! But we cannot stop the prejudges of everyone else, for it's a human instinct to judge others upon first impressions. We all suffer from superficiality. Yet have you ever read the bible? It's a lovely piece of sadism.
My first impression of the Highlands was of the strangeness of the mountains, I guess they were defined as 'mountains', but they were more like rolling-ranges with smooth curves that faded into low hanging clouds. The Scottish landscape, with its blankets of patchwork shrubs, was nothing like your idealistic, picturesque Swiss Alps with their angular peaks. Yet even at the end of June, spots of snow were still visible amongst those lonely gray mansions dotted about that immense emptiness of a bleak vista. Seriously, where were all the people? The countryside seemed utterly abandoned. Three and a half hours later, the train arrived at Inverness, I was expecting a large city but it was a meek village of pale rock-chiseled churches and moss-coated homes with soulless windows. The hills were deserted. The only thing I really took notice of was the pretty Eastern European girl in the missing-persons poster on the walls of the train station. People go missing under suspicious circumstances whether civilization is there or not. Maybe I'll be on the next poster.
I can't remember the last time I was in a bus driven by a suicidal lunatic. I hadn't even realized how loosely the bus was traveling until just out of Inverness, when we hurtled past a vast graveyard stretched around the feet of some mountainous stone. Heading south, we shot by a blur of trees next to a meadow, before the loch itself suddenly emerged through the forest. I scanned past my left hand that was tightly gripping the seat in front of me, and saw this flat mass of water appear between a dark haze of rushing branches. Sitting up, I glanced out the front of the bus at the narrow street. At the velocity in which we were racing, I wondered if the driver was trying to give us the five minute tour of the entire fucking loch, and make it into the Guinness Book Of Records for driving a bus faster than the speed of terror! I pitied those Swedish mountain-bikers who happened to be on a quiet ride when they found themselves face to face with this charging vehicle. Get ready to shit you fucking pants!
Glaring out at the loch, I soon began to realize that there could have been a Russian nuclear submarine in there, and no one would have ever known. The loch was fucking huge! You'd need a fucking fleet of aircraft-carriers to do any kind of serious search for anything lurking in the depth of this enormous scar left behind from a colossal glacier. But again, I surveyed the desolate woodlands, and asked myself, where the fuck was everyone hiding?! There were almost no houses anywhere. It was a great fucking load of nothing. And then the bus dropped me off at a three-way intersection in the middle of more nothing. Turning on my heels, I found that ten-bedroom hotel sitting quietly across the road, with only three other buildings near by: a craft shop next to the hotel, a general store across the road, and a town hall further down by the waterfall. And that was it. Remote to say the least. I liked it.
So here I am at Invermoriston, on a little retreat for four nights alone, with nothing but a new copy of the bible and my own spiteful devices for entertainment. Fuck peace of mind and tranquility. The monster has only just arrived at Loch-fucking-Ness!
Later, on my first night
at the loch, I went out for a walk. It was 10pm and still light. Not chilly
but cool. I only came here in my dress shoes and wasn't prepared to go hiking,
but there was nowhere to go. The crossroads led in three directions: the road
from Inverness had come inland for about a kilometer to the hotel, then it
turned and followed the river back to the loch and further south; the third
road headed west with the river. I decided to stroll back the way the bus
had come. Back toward the water. There was no footpath, so I just inched along
the side of the road, but if I had thought there was very little traffic earlier,
the place was beyond dead now. To begin with, there was a field to my right
leading to a cozy cluster of large trees on a tiny hill in the midst of the
surrounding forest below the towering mountains. I kept walking, well, actually
aimlessly drifting along with the faint breeze, until I came across a gate
above a modest cemetery. The arching trees looked inviting so I stumbled on
down the path. Old, old gravestones laid behind another gateway made from
uncut slabs of jagged rock. It was a damp and secluded place. There I stood,
scowling up at that looming mountain on the south-side of the river. The woods
seemed much more dense with thick shadows than they had at first appeared
from the edge of the road. Still, I felt nothing.
Moving back to the road, I continued toward the loch. Most other times I'd be walking and listening to my MP3 player, but the only thing I wanted to hear was the steady sound of my leather shoes on the asphalt. Slow and careless. I didn't know if there was anything ahead, or if the road just ran north through the woods for the next thirteen kilometers, back to the next town. But then I came around a slight bend and found a driveway heading askew from the main road. I couldn't tell if it was a private or public road as I stared at those two stone pillars guarding either side of the entrance. But it looked as though it traveled closer to the loch, so down I went.
Soon I came across more open fields to my right, and then a large white stone manor stood out from all that gloom. Ignoring the building, I finally saw the water's edge further down. So on I went, and found another road with a closed gate to my right. I ducked under the warning sign and followed a little trickling creek on my left. And then there I was, standing on the shore of Loch Ness with the wide open mouth of the river to my right. Mist clung to the summits of the ridge on the east-side of the loch, and not a single sign of another human's presence was anywhere to be seen. There was just me and those fucking insects.
The water was wide and still. Gently lapping ripples stroked my fingers as I crouched down and touched that brownish surface. Funny how we humans always have to touch something just to know that it's really there. Got to have that tangible experience along with the visual input. But right then, as I stood up, I heard a SPLASH! I know what you're thinking, fuck off Bruce, no fuck is going to believe any bullshit I-saw-the-monster-story. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Shut the fuck up! I fucking saw something, a splash of water way out there where the river spilled into the loch. But I paused. Of course I didn't think that some forgotten dinosaur might suddenly raise its ugly head and give old Uncle Bruce a cheesy wink while I fumbled with my camera. No, but I absolutely saw a splash in the middle of those otherwise dead calm waters. So I remained still. Just watching. Then for some fucking reason, I had a vision of a killer-whale leaping onto the shore for a giant mouthful of my ass. Now, I was literally a foot from the water, so gently took a step back. And then logic came to mind, and I recalled the salmon that I'd seen leaping up the waterfall back by the hotel. A salmon. There you go. Thank you rational brain.
Suddenly I was being attacked by a swarm of angry fucking dragonflies, or mosquitoes, or some fucking shit! So I instantly turned and walked the fuck away. While I made my way up the thin drive, I noticed how much darker everything had become – just like my mood. From bitter to worse, I was alone! This wasn't how I fucking wanted this holiday to be! I hate this fucking place! I absolutely fucking hate it! I hate her! I wanted her to be here with me! I didn't want her to simply abandon me here! Fucking cunt! Yeah, okay, perhaps she was right. I fucked this all up. I did this. It was my fucking fault. But then I became acutely aware that I wasn't even thinking about her – it was all about me! Looking around the forest with growing anger, I sneered at the blackened fucking depth and at all those shrouding trees. And I remembered fear. Remembered it, but couldn't feel it. I remembered as a child having the fear of such places like this. In fact, this whole situation would have driven me to tears as a sniveling insecure brat. But now, here I stood on the main road in that echoing silence. Utterly alone. And I felt only anger! No fear, no intimidation, no fucking importance!
They say 'anger' and 'sadness' are different forms of the same energy.
But it was all so fucking meaningless!
Everything was empty!
"So this is Scotland!" I hissed with my mangled voice at that all encompassing forest of vacant worthlessness. This was the essence of fucking disappointed.
No fear of any-fucking-thing at all!
Yet all that disappointment only pissed me off even more as I marched up the center of that dead fucking road. Fuming with intolerance and self-hatred, it then occurred to me I was going through withdrawals. Been here before. I was in resistance. Dwelling on my own misfortune. But I've always known that I've always been alone. So remember who the fuck you are! Let go of these fucking delusions of female pretension, and know that I have always kept the myself company!
Let it go!
Yet I still took it all so fucking personally!
This was that constant conflict between the emotional and rational processes. Why did it bother me so? 'Cause there's a weakness about myself that's being exposed. The ego felt insulted, therefore it demanded defense. But wherever you find yourself most uncomfortable, there is room for growth.
Strolling up to the hotel, I sat on the porch lingering on how fear used to haunt me. When I used to be a fucking child. But just as I no longer had nightmares, I no longer cared for the approval of even my own lovers. And like all females, from my mother to my ex-fiancée, they're the only ones who have ever truly disappointed me. I myself however, have never let me down!
Women, I could tell you a thing or fucking two about fucking women and their back-stabbing, whining little fucking ways. How does that Tom Waits song go, "There are a few things I never could believe. A woman when she weeps. A merchant when he swears. A thief who says he'll pay. A lawyer when he cares. A snake when he is sleeping. A drunkard when he prays. I don't believe you go to heaven when you're good. Everything goes to hell, anyway." If there's one absolute rule you can always stand by: a crying female is a lying female! Whenever I see a girl start to tear-up, I just start to smile. Partly 'cause I enjoy watching females miserable, but mostly 'cause I fucking know they're faking it! I absolutely believe that no female human being has ever cried for any other reason than to fucking manipulate another person. People rant on about how females are the empathetic-gender, and that males are dumbass tools. Wrong! Females are conniving, unscrupulous traitors! While males are overly gullible mommies-boys! I say, fuck this unquestionable worship of the unjustified yet self-appointed 'goddess'! I say, see these fucking whores for what they fucking are: devious, attention-seeking fucking parasites! Females will betray you the very fucking instant a better fucking deal comes along! Do you see what I'm fucking saying here? Do you understand? I say, if you study women closely, you'll learn how to think like the devil! And then beat these cunts at their own fucking game! Show them no fucking quarter!
Always remember: a crying female is a lying female!
Women = meat.
Woke up late on Friday
morning after my first night at Loch Ness. I had plenty of those dreams I
usually have, people trying to kill me, same old shit. As I was lying in my
antique-fashioned hotel room, I considered my troubled thoughts from last
night. About who was at fault. Though ultimately only I'm to blame. No one
could make me feel anything, only I could. It was me who allowed myself to
become disappointed. Therefore, my ex has no affect on me. No one else has
any power over me. One person alone is responsible for my actions, emotions,
and state of mind, and that motherfucker is me!
Laying there in bed with my hands behind my head, I thought of other girls back in Germany. There was always more meat in the market. No one was special. Not any of them. They were all just fleeting images over my retina, and temporary sensations upon my flesh. Yet how I loved the skin on skin. The danger however, was in letting the stimulation and debauchery form delusions of my own external importance. For as you are for me, I am for you: u-n-i-m-p-o-r-t-a-n-t!
We are all alone. No one sees anything from anyone else's point of view. For you can't see these trees outside my window right now, and you'll never understand exactly how the leaves are falling in the breeze. These words are like everything I've ever said, here to be misconstrued and reinterpreted by whoever the fuck reads this and applies their own fucking agenda to, unconsciously or otherwise. Do you see what I'm saying? No, of course not. I could never articulate the complete intricacy of any visceral situation or abstract thought through the mere communication of words. Some shit just needs to be dealt with first-hand. And yet cunts still wonder why I care little for their biased concepts of 'truth'.
It's evening now. Spent
the day performing blasphemy and self-indulgences. Started with a walk down
the south-side of the river and ended up on the edge of the loch directly
across the mouth of the river from where I stood last night.
It had been a rather warm morning, that was until I stepped onto the rugged shoreline where the wind struck hard. I didn't mind though. Buttoned up my jacket and took a seat on a large rock where I watched the waves come quivering in. The wind was frosty and the sky was thickly overcast – except for a perpetual hole in the clouds where the sun beamed straight down on me and I tried to relax.
I was becoming Bark again. My frame of mind wasn't exactly pleasant, to say the least. I hoped that once I left the water's edge, I might witness a truck crash head-first into a school bus, just so I could sit back and watch all those screaming little bastards burn the fuck alive!
But when I returned to the road, no such sight presented its awesome glory for my eyes to behold. I hate this fucking place.
I had a pot of Earl Grey on the porch of the hotel, and sat glaring bitterly at the random fucking meat that happened to pass on by. Looking up at that mountain facing the hotel, I recalled the tourist guide in lounge stating that it was called: Sron Na Muic ('Nose Of The Pig' in Gaelic). How could I not want to climb it with a fucking brilliant name like that? That should be Sunday evening's activities, to go and pay homage to the pig in all of us.
But first things first. I collected my black copy of the Holy Bible, along with a ballpoint pen, before quietly making my way over to that local graveyard. Jumping a moss-laden stone wall, I tread over yellow flowers and the churned-up dirt up of that large paddock while all the highland cattle shuffled about the far end. There I scaled that tiny yet steep hillside crowned with a cluster of tall trees, and found my instincts had been correct, this was the perfect spot to begin my desecration.
Sitting on the grass with the wind at my back, I opened the first page of the Holy Bible and wrote my full name. Reading and underlining vile and curious passages as I came across them, I proceeded to scrawl 'FUCK GOD' upon each and every page! I am Bruce Stirling John Knox, the great Desecrationist!
As I sat there in the shade of those broken trees, violating that so-called sacred scripture, the sun came out again and all seemed right with this degenerate fucking world. But beauty is only perfect when it's forced to suffer something truly fucking awful. Yet did the clouds part and the angels come down to confront my cursing of Moses? No! No one fucking cared. 'Cause no one fucking knew exactly what I was doing out there. All those happy fucking families way down in the parking lot licking their fattening fucking ice cream and snorting like swollen cunts in the sunshine had no clue as to what that guy in black on the hilltop was really up to. Give me what you hold dear, and I will contaminate your daughters. Trust me. I'm fucking charming. And they're all whores anyway!
By the time I reached Leviticus, those creeping winds had chilled through to my bones, so I walked away Scot-free as if I had just murdered a sleeping infant in some third-world slum where law was a myth afforded by none.
There was more exploring that needed to be done tonight. The ridge behind the hotel was calling me. I could smell the sacrilege burning in my veins. God's hatred for mankind lives through me! There is nothing precious! I shit on your fear of god!
When I got back to my room, I was shivering. Not from the cold but from withdrawal. Not for my ex abandoning me, no. Withdrawal from sex. It was Friday and I hadn't fornicated since Sunday. I was getting the shakes! Finding some photos on my laptop of the nineteen-year-old Hamburg slut, I then masturbated while staring hard into her adoring eyes. She wanted it. They all did. They couldn't help it. Just like I couldn't. And then I smiled. Viciously. Thinking of her. How we had fucked. I already called her 'mine'. And yet she was just like every other lover, not mine and never was! Value is merely what I fucking make it. You are mine only if I want you. But that didn't mean she would ever submit fully. Even though she already had. I love fresh meat.
Off I went downstairs for dinner, and soon discovered that the hotel had come to life. It was a safe bet that the hotel's tavern was the only the venue for miles where any old prick could get a hot meal and something cold to drink. One of the Eastern European waitresses with a cute smile took me straight to one of the few available tables left. I noticed a new girl behind the bar. She was smaller, petite, shy-looking with mousey brown hair in a pony tail. After dinner I ordered another pot of Earl Grey, and the new girl brought it into the lounge for me. She placed it on the coffee table with a mischievous smirk as she looked straight in my eye. Guess I wasn't like the usual guests they had around these parts. Yet glancing at the trophy horns mounted on the walls, I knew without a doubt that I wasn't so different from the locals after all. Trophies are trophies.
I just got back to the
hotel. It's after midnight. And pissing with rain. I think I'm beginning to
like it here.
After dinner, I grabbed my desecrated bible, and hiked up a steep zig-zagging trail behind the hotel. Following the path that led me upward in a north-eastern direction, I left the beaten track and crossed the line with its warnings not to venture this far into the woods.
The woodland got fucking intense. Some of the places between the trunks were blacker than pitch, and so I stared into every abyss with welcoming fucking eyes. It was the fallen trees with their up-torn roots that seems to harbor the darkest nooks. Dead trees had these disgraced tendrils that hung over ugly orifices in that moss-saturated earth. Moss was common place, for it was clearly too damp and grim for any grass to grow.
However, after a decent trek, once upon the exposed peck of the ridge, I found the view all so splendid and photogenic. It had casually taken me an hour to reach that summit, and the view over the loch was undoubtedly worth the climb.
Up there, I watched the sunset at 10pm. Not another human being was anywhere to hear a scapegoat scream. I haven't been this isolated since I got lost in the forest north of Berlin, eight years ago. Maybe I've never been this alone. The wind was cool on my face. And I wanted nothing more than to stay right where I was.
But like they say, what goes up must get his fucking ass back down the mountain before it gets so dark that he gets lost, and then stumbles off a fucking cliff, never to be seen again.
On my way back down that overgrown trail, I was annoyed that there were no public benches anywhere that I might sit upon and continue my violation of the Holy Bible. But soon I discovered how dark those shaded stretches of the woods could really become at this time of night. Black and foreboding as fuck! Yet I walked on with a psychotic grin across my manic teeth. How at home in that emptiness I found myself. Alive with spite, I tempted fate while I spat in the face of devils lurking in the unseen absence of illumination. Yet I could see them all! 'Cause they were part me! I was surrounded by myself and my own imprisoning hostility. And I fucking hated them all for not ripping my head off my fucking shoulders!
But then I suddenly saw something! Something further down that twisted path. A weird shape. An erect form. Maybe a tree stump? I didn't remember passing any such thing on the way up. What the fuck was it? I continued moving closer. Then I recognized that I was confronting little more than a small woodland dear. That creature then darted back a few yards at the sight of this man smiling through his off-colored teeth. You got be fucking kidding me, was this the worst that this fucking forest could conjure up? Seriously? Then that little thing shot up the hillside and was instantly lost in the swollen insidious shadows that enshrouded everything around me.
I'd been listening to my headphones playing Tool the whole way up the ridge, and just as the song Opiate came on, I felt the first droplets of rain upon my forehead. I had been growing my hair for last two weeks, and now it was soft on my palm as I ran my hand over my head and down my face – when a figure appeared on the path. Oh, you've got to be fucking shitting me. It was that new bar-girl from the hotel. Sweet fucking temptation had once again come to lead me astray. She walked straight toward me just as we both reached a narrow path that headed to my left, back toward the loch. Good timing or fate? Who gives a fuck!
"You lost?" she asked with that sexy fucking Scottish accent – that I wish I could fake.
"Do I look it?"
"You're the tea-drinker. Everyone's surprised that you haven't touched the single malt yet."
"The girls were talking about you in the kitchen just before I left this evening... I like your tattoos." And then she paused, taking half a step to her side, "Oh. I see. You're a man of god. Since when did priests not drink? Oh, gosh! I'm sorry father. I didn't mean nothing by it."
I guess being dressed all in black, with polished shoes, scarf, suit jacket, and holding a bible really did make me seem somewhat type-cast.
"You better watch your step, father. Once it starts to rain this track can be the death of you."
"Please... Don't call me that."
And then, just like that, the rain came! Son of a bitch!
I hunched and began walking off without another word from my raspy throat. My fucking voice still hadn't returned. It had been over a fucking week by now!
"Wait, father!" The girl glanced at the bible in my left tattooed hand. She hesitated for another moment, and then smiled warmly (did I mention her teeth had braces). "Come on. Come with me. I'm staying just a few minutes away. It's safer than risking getting washed away, father."
She hurried off down that private footpath as the rain hammered through the canopy of pines and whatever the fuck those enormous trees were.
"It's set in for the night!" she called back."Come on, father, quickly!"
I hate being called 'father' on so many levels. But then I heard the last lines of Opiate as I tucked my headphones into my jacket pocket: "My god's will becomes me. When he speaks, he speaks through me. He has needs, like I do. We both want to rape you."
So the little waitress led me down and around the hillside, past plenty more dead trees, though I couldn't help focusing her tight ass in black jeans as she marched ahead. My loathing toward women is only matched by my fucking attraction for them. And then I looked up as a pale monolith appeared through those prison-bars of the woods. Putting it simply, there was a small fucking castle on that steep valley wall. Well, no, it wasn't exactly a castle, just a three-story mansion fashioned with towers, spires, and battlements. There were grand bay-windows topped by countless fucking chimneys upon every morbid roof. The place looked like it had been forgotten since the Second World War. Its gardens had pretty much been absorbed by the forest. Vines choked the entire backside of the house as if they were slowly pulling the very building into the guts of hill. A sharp granite cliff dropped off at the edge of the narrow front garden, giving a killer view over the glen and that spilled ink of the loch itself. Even though I had been higher on the summit, it wasn't until here that I really appreciated how far up I had really traveled. That sheer drop made me stay to the backside of the leaf-clogged gravel path, but then I nearly tripped over a strewn statue of some defaced Greek beauty. The little waitress laughed at me and skipped up the stone steps to the front balcony and entrance. The key she used looked like a small medieval weapon, yet the solid oak door swung open like it weighed nothing without a fucking whisper. Just before I stepped inside I noticed that above the doorway was a speckled slab of rock with the statement, The Old Grahams. Huh, and I thought of what my aunty had told me about my grandmother's side of the family.
I was still staring at the name of the house with a sense of strange unease, and ignored the little waitress. Turning, I slowly glared down at the loch. Huge clouds were drowning the cradling mountains as misty curtains of rain swept in slow motion across the sleet surface of that mat-black body of water. Ah, this was the Scotland that I had anticipated: dismal!
"My name... Is Bruce," I sneered coldly, yet found that the girl had vanished somewhere within that gloomy interior. Only her jacket lay dumped in the middle of the wooden floor. A light flickered. I remained on the doorstep, watching as the little waitress returned with a lit candle. Candles? For fuck's sake! She moved to a corner in that open space and fiddled with a fuse box on the wall, and then, let there be light! We had electricity again. Thank fuck! Stepping inside, I shut the front door, when I was suddenly struck by how much I was going to miss my ex in these next six months. Six months is the period of time that it takes for any feelings of attachment to suffocate and die – just like leaving mice in an airtight jar, all you have to do is neglect them. It's worked with all my other ex-lovers. I just have to remember my fucking conviction and stay true to myself. And in six months from now, she will mean little more than holes I used to fuck. "So what's your name, kid?" I asked, wiping the rain off my face, but again that little waitress had disappeared. I stood still examining the reddish color of the floor's woodwork. It was varnished with a dirty-honey texture. The wallpaper was black-green with gold details. Black and white etchings and photographs were framed amongst old rifles and animal-head trophies. Nice place.
"Would you like a tea?"
"Sure," I slyly replied, turning left where I saw the girl sticking her head around a doorway. Stepping closer, I stared right back into her pretty eyes – until she glanced at my bible again, and then ducked behind the wall. Fucking kids.
The next room was two-levels-high with a library that took up the far end. A grand piano stood next to several leather sofas, so naturally I sat at the piano. Lush scarlet drapes were tided back yet still obscured half the view out over the loch. I placed my bible face-down on the lid of the piano, as cups clattered from another corridor. Scanning that dusty furniture, I eventually glazed without focus at the batteries of rain clawing at those tall windows.
Shortly, the little waitress and I sat at the piano sipping on pipping hot black tea – without any fucking milk or fucking sugar! I hid my frustration well. So her name was Rachel. Twenty-two. From somewhere I can't remember and didn't care to. She was just baby-sitting this house during her holidays while she also worked at the hotel and wrote a paper for her studies on the relocation of wind-farms in Great Britain. Maybe it was her braces but she looked half the age she claimed to be in this dimly lit library. A leopard skin covered a portion of the piano where thick gold-framed paintings of hunters with dead animals made me feel at ease, so I asked her about this place. She didn't have much to say: an historical house kept in some Trust. I soon spotted a row of old scars on Rachel's left forearm. Nothing new. Just another of these troubled females who had slashed themselves up in their teens. If only I had a dollar for every girl I've seen with these exact same scars.
"So what happened to your voice, father?" she asked. "Too much yelling at your sinful congregation?"
I looked away as if she had just slapped me across the face. Staring at a dead grandfather clock, I wondered how long its pendulum could swing before it needed winding. There's no such thing as perpetual motion. Everything decays. But I've always liked those big fuckers, yet I didn't hear a single tick-tock, just like the fucks I gave about her questions.
"You're not the kind of preacher I've ever met before," Rachel pushed. "Maybe they do things differently in Berlin. You like it there? Got a large folk under your wing?"
"Kid, no one ever listens."
"Just like you don't answer any direct questions."
Rolling my jaw, I lifted the lid off the piano. I can't play any musical instruments, but I still softly pressed the odd random key to listen to its timid tone purr within that empty space around us. Notes fading into the echos of the rain.
"So? Have you had a crisis of faith?"
Even though I was facing the piano, I could feel her eyes stroking my right ear. "No, not at all. The polar opposite in fact."
"Ah, so you're refreshing your convictions." She leaned her elbow upon the edge of the black wood, resting her head while she watched me. Glancing at her, I listened as she continued talking, "What's it like? Being you? I mean, with your take on how the world works, despite most everyone having modern technology and information, with science free for all to see. How do you maintain your belief system at all?"
"How old is the human species?" I interjected.
"Oh, I don't know. A few million years, at a guess."
"Why don't you know exactly? The information is out there. But of course, why should you care to know anything in detail beyond your everyday life," I sneered, when I heard a creaking noise coming from another doorway...
"So you admit taking advantage of people's ignorance."
"We're all being played by someone." I glared at that door as the creaking became louder. "It's all a fucking game."
"That's a funny attitude for a holy man."
"When the fuck did I ever say that I was holy?"
"Ah, see. You are having a crisis of faith. You don't think you're good enough."
"Now you're confusing me with my ex."
"Ex-girlfriend?" Rachel slowly sat back. "So you're allowed to... You know..."
"Be a sodomite?"
"Well, you know what they say about priests," she smirked, but then put one hand on my shoulder and the other over her mouth in embarrassment, "Oh, I'm so sorry. Really, that's incredibly inappropriate of me. I do apologize."
Leaning in close, I looked her in the eyes and slowly said, "I... Forgive... You..." And I think I genuinely grinned for the first time since I left on this fuck-up of a holiday.
"You're not at all what I was expecting," she whispered, pulling her hair out of the ponytail. That distant groaning noise then turned into rattling, and Rachel finally noticed my distraction. "Oh, don't worry about that, it's nothing. Literally, it's nothing. I couldn't find where it's coming from when I first arrived. Just ignore it."
I'd rather ignore her wet clothes as I focused back on her glistening collar bones. Her throat was slender and milky. I could see it split open to her spine, like a bleeding vagina gushing all over my fingers.
"I'm going to take a shower," she soon announced, standing up as she pulled her shirt out of her jeans. I slowly glared at her exposed belly right in front of me as she unbuttoned her top while still eye-fucking my silence.
"Don't forget to wash out your filthy mouth too," I hissed.
She smiled, then didn't as she came ever so slightly closer, arching over me. I could smell her skin, her perfume, and her breath. Then she spun and strut away. I didn't blink once as I hatefully watched her go.
I sat for a long while just staring out at the rain on the windows. There was nothing else worth my time.
Until that creaking noise came back again. It was drawn out and gradual but fucking persistent. I rose to my feet and went straight toward that sound. Out into a thin dark corridor. Around a bend. Up a few steps. Another corner or three. And suddenly I had lost all orientation. There were doors everywhere, so I grabbed at one. Locked. The next. Locked. All of them were locked. Then that noise again. Fuck it. I kept going. Turning a corner, I came to a large staircase bathed in impenetrable shadows. Wait a fucking second, that fucking noise wasn't getting any louder, it was a constant crackle at a maintained proximity. I studied the stairs with their intricate woodwork carvings, when the noise slipped away. There was a large church-like rosary window on the next landing, stained-glass and rimmed with creepers. The wind was battering the house as trees scratched at the walls. Surveying the area, I took another passageway. Things were either pitch black, or barely silhouettes against dull shades of ebony. But on and on I slowly went. Until I found myself choked in utter darkness. My hands reached cautiously forward. Calm and curious. Then a wall. No, a door. Found a handle. It wasn't locked, but it was jammed. Putting my shoulder into it, I incrementally shoved that cunt open – and found myself back at the main entrance to the house. Bitterly, I glanced about, wondering how I had ended up on this side of the building.
Turning my head to the right, I scowled up the main staircase. I could hear Rachel calling out, saying something muffled. So up I went, but I ran for no one. Up to the first floor landing where I saw a partially open doorway down a three-foot-wide corridor. There, light and steam came spilling out. I tapped on the dark wood of the door. "You okay in there?"
Another shriek, followed by, "Oh, Christ! You scared the shit out of me." Rachel yanked open the bathroom door while holding a massive white towel over her breasts. I summed her up and down as I leaned against the door frame, admiring her still wet thighs and hips. Then she smiled, "The hot water just died on me, that's all. Gave me a terrific fright."
She turned her back on me and started drying her hair. Oh, for the love of fuck, she stood butt naked and I took a good long look.
"Here, hold this." I heard her say, but I was already walking back toward the staircase. Something then caught my eye. Something that moved. There was another door party ajar. Staring at it, I approached, though, heard nothing. Yeah, it was just my fucking imagination. So I went to the library, collected my bible, and was about to leave when Rachel came down the stairs in a long gray pullover and nothing else. "Don't you want another cup of tea?"
I had the front door in my grasp, but I paused. There was something desperate in her voice.
"It's not safe out there," she insisted. "Please, just stay the night."
"Thanks for the tea. You have a good night now," and I walked out.
Well, shit. This is the first time I have ever gone on a holiday with an umbrella, yet the only time I really needed the fucking thing, it's not with me! Cunt! I had one final moment of hesitation as the cold rain sunk into my scarf, and I pictured images of what Rachel's warm body would look like pressed hard against a bed as I fucked her flat – but then something big was in my way! I squinted through the dark rain and stopped still. It was a big black highland cattle. It looked like a great bull with its wide pointed horns hunched low as it slowly exhaled steam through that cold downpour. I have no idea what it was doing up there, but what the fuck do I know, these fucking cattle are probably let loose to roam wherever the fuck they like on the mountains. Maybe these dreadlock-cows were a national treasure or some shit. It stood right in the middle of the footpath glaring at me. I grinned, and held my hands out wide, welcoming it. I've always wanted to go head to head with a fucking bull. Hopefully it might drive one of its massive horns right through my entire fucking ribcage and pin me to a fucking tree. However, all it did was snort, before moving on up into the woods. Fucking chicken shit! I wanted to smash its fucking skull in with a heavy rock, and then smear its blood all over the pages of the bible. Meanwhile, the bull crept off, disappearing like the dear from earlier. Yeah, fuck off then, you fuck!
I made it back to the hotel in one piece. But who would have thought that it was harder coming down a mountain than going up.
Thinking of Rachel and our serendipitous encounter, I needed to remind myself of why I had left her there alone. 'Cause it was pure luck that our paths had crossed! Nothing special, no meaning nor relevance. I just happened to pass on by. A random coincidence. And she just wanted to fuck. I was just human-filler to her. If I was in a better mood, I'd see nothing wrong with a spot of spontaneous fornication. But all she did that evening was fuel my fucking antipathy for human emptiness. We are nothing but meat! The only question however, was how much longer could I tolerate the sublime taste of her external skin before I had to eat her the fuck alive?
Saturday has been the
coldest day so far. Had a pot of Earl Grey for breakfast, and Rachel served
me with a smile as if nothing had happened last night. But then again, nothing
I went for a walk with my bible, back past the graveyard, toward the shores of the loch. I went down a different path into the grounds of a private property where I found a farm house. So I turned and went down the hillside, making my own way to the loch.
Moving past a couple of ponds of murky water, I came to a tiny fishing cabin on the water's edge. I was pleased to find a table made from a large slab of stone right next to the shore where a healthy looking rowboat was chained up and bobbing in the waters. Taking a seat, I continued my desecration of the bible undisturbed.
The wind blew straight off the loch and soon brought light showers. Yet I persisted with my work.
What more could I fucking ask for on my holiday, but the cold wet indifference of the fucking universe. I was like a pig in shit.
Later, I walked further along the side of the loch, heading north. I wasn't going to stroll all the way to the next township in this weak rain, but I just kept going for lack of anything better to do with my fucking time. There was an open area of sloped grass like a slender field with woods to my left below the highway somewhere up there, while a line of trees were to my right on the edge of the loch. That stretch of grass led slowly into welcoming pines. Soon I found that the way had become an overgrown dirt road, and then turned into a muddy foot path, and eventually I was without guide at all and had walked into sheer unadulterated wilderness. Maybe I shouldn't have crossed that broken down stone wall.
Again, I considered that if I simply lay down and died here, would anyone even find my corpse sometime this decade? No one knew exactly where I was. So another stupid fucking tourist gets lost and is soon presumed eaten by the monster. What a shame. Crowd weeps. Camera pans, sees rainbow, and a small child giggles. Boo-fucking-hoo.
I got back to the hotel about 4pm. Had a pot of tea, and was sitting in the lounge when a van of guys pulled into the front parking lot. Then I saw Rachel leaving. Her shift must have been over. One of the young guys grabbed Rachel by the shoulders and they both laughed about something. When he stepped inside, I heard him call back to her, "Yeah, cold hands but I got a warm heart." This kind of approval-seeking romance bullshit always makes the bile burn at the back of my throat. I sipped on my tea and stared out the window as Rachel turned, glancing straight back at me. Her hair wasn't brown, it was actually slightly red. She's a fucking ginger! Soulless whore of Satan! She then jogged up outside the lounge window and said to me, "Come over later. I'll get milk and sugar for your tea this time." I smiled without emotion, and then nodded my head reluctantly, watching Rachel trotted off still wearing her black apron.
Sitting on the floor of my hotel room, I continued ritualistically defacing the Holy Bible. One page at a time. Quote after quote. Violent slaughter after immoral justification. God is only as great as he is abominable!
Later, I went down by the river. In the woods, I questioned the meaninglessness of dying in the wild, yet people die everyday in the city with just as much disregard. Death unnoticed until the stink seeps through the walls. Alone in the country or alone surrounded by millions, it makes no difference. When the end comes it's all about how you fucking perceive it. But fuck this death-obsession. I came here of my own choice, so therefore I know that I'm still alive. However, what the fuck have I learned from this retreat? That I need to focus! Become the worst I can truly fucking be!
After dinner, I did some reading and continued committing sacrilege in the peace and quiet of my room. It's all starting to look much, much fucking better now.
I took a moment to write this, and then I'll put on my jacket and head on up the north ridge to The Old Grahams place, so I can finally find out what Rachel's tongue tastes like.
There were more low hanging
clouds about the glen this evening, and the further up the ridge I tread,
the lower the clouds came down to greet me. Why hadn't I brought my fucking
umbrella this time? Though, soon I made my way down that shaded path splitting
off from the main trail and the rain had nicely held back. The moment I glimpsed
that giant house through the windy pines, I stopped. And turned. That fucking
black bull was standing behind me and growling viciously. I didn't think bulls
could sound like that. But I flicked it the bird and spat in its general fucking
direction. "Come on then, try something you fucking piece of shit!"
But it didn't. So I walked on, wondering where the fuck it had come from so
Just as I rapped my knuckles against that inhospitable front door, the deluge bursts forth from those howling gales, instantly wiping the smile from my cocky fucking face once again. Punching at the door until lights come on, I impatiently held my breath as the clunky bolt is drawn back.
"Oh, you poor thing. Come in, come in, father," Rachel exclaimed, tugging at my arm. "Would you like a towel?"
We moved to the library, where Rachel had a desk set up with a laptop and lamp. She grabbed the tartan blanket that was hanging over her armchair as we sat on a sofa near the windows.
"Do you always carry your bible with you wherever you go?"
"It's a great way to pick up random chicks in the woods."
Rachel faked her shock. "You're very forward, aren't you."
"Is that a question?"
"Well, I don't know. I've never... Not with a priest."
"That makes one of us."
She looked even more horrified. "You mean you were..."
"Well, I don't have a penis."
"That makes two of us."
This time she smiled. "You're fucking with me, aren't you."
She pathetically shoved me in the chest. "Maybe I should call you daddy instead of father."
I burst out laughing at that one. "If you get me an Earl Grey with milk and four sugars, you can call me Uncle Fingers for all I care."
In the kitchen, I watched the leaves and rain pound those overgrown windows panes. The kettle had boiled when I turned to Rachel who stood with the blanket over her shoulders. She had her back to me and was staring out one of the two doorways into a blackened corridor. Casually stepping up beside her, I tilted my head and cocked an eye into that absolute darkness. I suddenly thought of that scene from the original Predator movie, when Dutch was standing next to Billy while, unknown to them, they themselves were being watched from the trees. So fuck this. I stepped toward the corridor – Rachel immediately grabbed my wrist with surprising strength. Looking her in the eyes, I saw her smile nervously.
"The water's ready! Cup of tea?" She dropped my wrist, laughing faintly. Glancing down that corridor, I then turned my back on it and all its fucking secrets.
Rachel and I chatted about a fair few things back in the library. Talking about places far from here and subjects that were more entertaining than intelligent. It got on for 11pm when I suggested that I should leave before it got too dark again.
"No. Stay. There are plenty of beds. Please."
"Well, that all depends on if I get the best bed."
"Which one's that then?"
"The bed you're in."
She didn't look impressed.
"The power of Christ compels me," I added and we both laughed anxiously at the lameness of my comment. "Yeah, I should go."
"No! Really, I want you – to stay," she insisted and then suddenly she straddled me on the sofa! Before I knew it, she had her tongue right down my throat. Well, okay then.
One thing led to another, and next thing I was fucking her against those big windows. She stood, legs wide, elbows and face pressed upon the glass as I pounded her from behind. Nice view, if you know what I mean. I'll spare you the juicy details, but she was a screamer, good thing no one else was in the house, or anywhere near by for that matter. So scream, bitch, scream! Louder! Harder! Longer! Oh, fuck yeah!
Just as I came while yanking back on her ponytail, I saw something that I couldn't honestly be sure of. Something outside the window. Okay, my first impression said it was a person, but then logic stated that it was merely the wind in the trees. It was just a distortion of my post-sex blurred vision. Whatever it had been, it clung to my attention despite the naked ass of that little waitress right in my hands. Yeah, forget it. This wasn't a fucking ghost story! Now, I don't mean to sound crass, heaven knows I'm famous for it, but after I took the condom off, Rachel dropped to her knees and sucked my dick clean like a trained professional. With her braces catching the golden lamp light, I couldn't help enjoying that view of perverted innocence. And it was fucking awesome! Tick that fantasy off my list of shit to do before I die. I'm going to hell anyway. I love it how after I've been fucking a girl, no matter how cold it might have been, I then have to open the windows and let in the frosty breeze so I could cool down and catch my fucking breath. Minty!
We both ended up in an upstairs bathroom. While Rachel was showering, I took her eyeliner and looked in the mirror. There I proceeded to draw the Egyptian hieroglyphs for The King Of The North And The South on my forehead. As above so below. Though, I am the imbalance pendulum.
When Rachel stepped out of the shower she must have seen the big black pentagram tattooed across my back for the first time, as she froze dead still. "What kind of priest are you?"
"The unholy kind."
"You... You make no sense whatsoever."
"You're not the first, and you won't be the last, to say so."
"Well, father. You definitely weren't a virgin the way you fucked me. Ouch."
"Tell it to a priest or someone who gives a damn," I hissed with a grin. Turning away from the mirror, I reached out and took Rachel's hand, ignoring her confusion at the symbols on my forehead.
Back in Rachel's small and depressive bedroom, I laid her down on her back, spread her legs wide open, and then used the eyeliner pencil to draw a large sun-disk around her vagina with the wings of a vulture stretching all the way down the inside of both her thighs. I used up the whole pencil filling in the details and black snakes, and then I took her red lipstick and painted her entire genitalia within the sun-dick circle. Here was the one true god worth worshiping. Worship and violate. You cannot have one without the other. The divine contradiction. To hate what you want! What the fuck is wrong with me? I then fucked her brutally again. Paying penance to the holiest of holes. For I am the serpent just as she is the vulture. The red and white crowns worn as one upon the head of the son of Osiris. But I am Bruce Stirling John Knox, so I fucked that pretty little waitress in her asshole just to deny the importance of her cunt! Coat me in your shit and let me smell the fucking waste of your rotten insides!
Rachel passed out almost immediately after I was finished with her tight anus. I however, wasn't tired in the slightest. So I let that sleeping bitch lie. Heading back downstairs, with make-up smeared all over my sweaty flesh, I returned to the darkened library. Grabbing my bible, I selected five candles and sat cross-legged in the middle of a large Persian rug. I lit each candle, placing them in a circle around my person, and there I continued desecrating the bible while the rain stormed throughout that ill-gotten night.
I made it to Psalms by two in the morning. The rain had mostly blown itself out by then, but the wind was relentless. I stumbled back up to Rachel's distant bedroom – only to find the fucking door was locked! Well, don't I feel like the denied whore! Wandering naked, I once again found that all the other doors were also bolted shut. It's interesting how shadows never seem so dark at night as I walked through such darkness that it felt as though my consciousness was floating and disembodied. Unable to see my own feet, it seemed like my vision was drifting through vacuums of neglect. Until the path became disorientated and I was led into the desert of a random room upon the third floor. Splinters of ancient furniture stood hunched in the morbid glow from those slithers of windows. That's if you could even call it a glow. Just a violent night that was only slightly less blackened than it was in there with me. I stepped up to the drapes and rested my head against that musky cloth. The landscape outside was indistinguishable from a world of coal. Everything below had forsaken from the stars of civilization, just as above the restless sky hung utterly hopeless. But that was when I saw them! Down there in the shallow garden next to the edge of the cliff, I saw figures! Individuals standing in a circle. Despite the sheer black, I was very much aware that they were all staring straight back at me. And then I smiled. Statues. Of course they were just statues. No one ever sees me in here.
I twisted... Waiting... Listening... Nothing...
What the fuck was that shit?
It was coming from downstairs!
I moved toward the door – when suddenly a loud snarl rose from behind another door to my left. It then rattled violently as something pounded against it! Unconsciously, I lunged at that shuddering door and slammed both my fucking fists against the wood, yelling as loud as my broken fucking larynx would vent,"Go fuck yourself!" The door went silent. So I grabbed the fucking handle – when what sounded like a dog then began howling wickedly from the other side. The fucking door was locked, but I punched it once more just out of pure fucking intolerance. Being as naked as a sinner, I stood listening to that thing as it clawed at the other side. Stroking the paneling with my hand, I then proceeded to piss on that fucking floor. The puddle soon extended under the barrier between us, clearly marking my fucking territory, and in turn, the growling slowly faded."Yeah. Back off, motherfucker!"
That distant sound was like something really fucking heavy being dropped on something wooden that wasn't handling the stress very well. As if a giant battering ram was trying to free itself from some place rather unpleasant. It echoed all about the house as I marched back the way I thought I had come. I quickly found, however, I was nowhere familiar. That mansion was a fucking labyrinth. You know how old houses often get extensions built onto the original foundations, thereby leaving uneven hallways and strangely low ceilings. Well, this must have been where several different generations of extensions had come together; but honestly, that still didn't explain why this section of the architecture was so utterly fucked! I went down and around this claustrophobic passageway, up a step, over a bump, around a stone pillar, past a crack of a window, ducked under an arch, tripped over my own two feet, and then kissed the fucking floor! Thanks, cunt.
Getting to my knees, I spotted another door down that tunnel that then open of its own accord... Crawling to my feet, I stomped toward that doorway just as it slammed shut right in my fucking face! I grabbed the doorknob and bashed that cunt wide open – only to be licked wet by a freezing fucking wind. There was a broken window sneering at me from where a branch still had long ago penetrated the house. Pissed off, I went to walk away, when a glint of light bounced off something on a wall. I took a moment. It was a dagger. A Sgian-dubh. The kind Scotsmen kept tucked in their sock. My father had a several of those nasty looking knives that he had made for himself. I should have kept them after his death. So I took this one.
Somehow I found the central staircase, and when I made it to the front door I heard that BOOM once more! It was blatantly coming from the library. I unsheathed that short blade and walked calmly back to where my clothes still lay with Rachel's bra and panties. But there was no sign of anything causing such a noise. No, there was something different. The clocks were now all ticking. I stood right next to the grandfather clock as I slowly looked about that darkened space. There must have been half a dozen hand-wound clocks now ticking at different intervals and with various intensities. Maybe I had just never noticed them earlier. Rachel had probably wound the clocks before I arrived this evening. Seemed logical. Fuck it. Who gives a shit about clocks. So I went to get my pants – I swear I had only taken two steps before that 'something' then crashed down right behind me with a deafening explosion! BOOM! It was the fucking grandfather clock! It shattered upon impact with the floor as if it had somehow been dropped from the second level! I cringed and backed the fuck away as that tall coffin-like case splintered apart like a tree struck by invisible lightning. My brain was really straining to come up with any kind of fucking rational explanation for this little motherfucker.
Though ultimately, I knew there was only one fucking culprit.
I went off storming back up the main staircase.
Yeah, you guessed it, Rachel's bedroom door was now wide open.
I stepped impatiently inside where I found her lying 'asleep'.Yeah, right! I ripped her blanket away, and saw her stretched upon her stomach. I loved that ass of hers as I crept up over her. My knees on either side of her warm hips. Glaring damning down at her pale skin, I still had the knife in my right hand. Her face was on its side. Pushing my left palm firmly against her skull, I placing the tip of the blade against her tender throat. Oh, it was so easy. Just apply a fraction more pressure...
But she slept on. Her breathing was slow and deep. REM sleep. I was disgusted. This explains and excuses nothing!
And then I don't know what happened. The room grew even darker. It was as if a black cloud without form had then filled the room. And it felt abominable and wretched and full of rage. And I loved it. Maybe I was just blacking out. Blind with pure hatred. Yet I could feel it breathing upon my skin.
I woke up the next morning and found myself alone in Rachel's bed. To my surprise, there was no blood anywhere, despite the dreams I'd had and the fact that my knife was still in my hand. Dreams the likes of which I will keep secret till the day I die. They were golden with atrocity.
So it's now a couple of hours later on Sunday morning as I type this once again in the hotel lounge. From here I can see Rachel in the dinning room as I sip on my tea. She glanced at me as if I was just any other guest. But of course that's all I am. Just another magician in sheep's clothing, though, I can still smell her cunt on my finger tips.
My only regret from this holiday is that this is the only photograph I have of Rachel the little waitress. You can barely make her out in the restaurant where she was writing the day's specials on a framed blackboard. I wish I had taken pictures of her where I could see her braces as she licked my erection while staring longingly into my fucking eyes.
It's after 9pm this Sunday
evening. I'm sitting in the hotel lounge while two Russian-sounding girls
chat on Skype as a third girl browses Ebay. There has always been Wi-fi available
at the hotel, but I've had no interest in connecting with the outside world
with any of its past associations. Only when in complete isolation from all
reputations and illusions of external expectations can you walk with your
own true-will. Or as another wise man once said, "Be yourself, by
yourself." I am vile and loathsome and repugnant to the core. And
I find it all quite superb. Patience and social politeness are lies. Truth
is ugly in it's smothering entirety. So I delight in the lies, but relish
the underlining obscenities kept hidden. Kept safe. Kept tucked away. Kept
I spent the day focused on defiling the Holy Bible. Sitting on the broken down bridge over the waterfalls, I busied my scornful little self. A few random tourists and the odd pensioner happened by, but how could they know what I was really doing there in the broad daylight.
It began to rain at one point, so I moved under the cover of trees and continued my violations. Whether you stand face to face, or alone in the woods, your demons are your own to deal with. But who ultimately reigns over whom? This was not what I had hoped this holiday would become, but capricious experiences are always intriguing with the curiosity to discover how I'll deal with new situations. Left to myself, I saw all others as hosts to victimize. For they always will, and always have, left me alone to rot.
I had some shortbread for lunch with my tea, and then continued with my disciplined desecration of the Holy Bible in my peaceful hotel room without intrusion.
At just after 6pm, I reached the New Testament, so took a break.
Rachel served me dinner in the restaurant. After which, I skimmed through the photos in my smartphone. Ah, all those pretty girls I've had fun with. Glancing out the window at the mountain forest, I only then realized that I would have no time to scale the south-side of the valley tonight. I had other plans once the tainting the bible was complete. But it wasn't finished yet. There's always more to do. And then I noticed one of the other waitresses: blonde with big tits. See, there's always more.
While sitting comfortably in the lounge, I listened to Nick Cave And The Bad Seeds, And No More Shall We Part, and slowly I came to appreciate how appropriate that song was to my time at the loch. Yet how many times have I felt this empty sensation in my chest brought on by someone I had once loved. Loved and lost. But then again, I must remind myself that she never made me feel anything, only I affect myself! We were always apart and never together, even when I was inside of her.
Anger is a better construct than sadness!
I had no time and no use for sadness, so I returned to my room to spite Matthew, Mark, Luke, and fucking John. Fuck you all! Fucking pieces of shit!
Ten minutes before midnight
on that last Sunday of June 2013, I finished The Great Indignation –
of the Holy Bible.
I got dressed and walked straight out of the hotel into the deep end of an indigo night. The street was wet while the sky was overcast but nowhere near as black as the woods. I passed the graveyard with a sneer of growing belligerence, and reached that last lamplight glowing golden upon the crest of the road. It was all down hill from there. Down hill to the endarkened loch. I couldn't wait to see the surface of the water with the absence of sunlight. Onward I marched with the bible firm in hand.
The further I went down that road, the more my contempt boiled in my chest. Memories of when I was seventeen and walking home in the small hours with absolutely nothing to look forward to, filled my thoughts. It was quiet all around. No birds, no bugs, just the wind rustling in those fucking trees that loomed everywhere about me. And soon I marched down that driveway leading off from the road, past that white mansion of stone, and onward with devils whispering in my ear – when suddenly something lurched within the bushes only ten feet to my left! Instinctively I snapped sideways, snarling with flared teeth and clenched fists as I slammed both feet hard onto the gravel! Glaring savagely into that impenetrable forest, I madly snorted through gnashed teeth as I heard that thing then run off through the dry leaves and up the hill. Though it didn't go far. I wanted to fucking kill it! I didn't know what it was but I wanted it dead by my own two bloody hands and my precious fucking knife! Disappointed, I was fucking enraged that that thing, that threat, that physical-metaphor had just run the fuck away. So I continued stomping down the driveway until I came to that other dirt road leading directly to the water's edge.
And there she lay pale and shimmering. Loch Ness by night. I had to see her with my own two eyes. With no one else to keep us company, I knew she was all mine. For these things I must do by myself. See for myself. In order to make them mine. Make her mine!
I opened the Holy Bible and flicked through all those pages that I had tainted. There I witnessed my handy work in the meek light. Worthless acts of sacrilege that had been performed once I had been left to my own device. Left on my own for my whole fucking life! Or was it I who had gone to be alone? Yet these acts were not worthless if value is made meaningful through the very act of desecration. It was important to none other than myself. Crouching on the hushed shoreline of the loch, I cupped the water in my right hand, and then held that indignant bible upside-down in my left. Thus I baptized it with bitterness!
These things I do to myself! And once it's done, I am still here! Why do you climb a mountain? To see the view, but mostly to see what you've done with yourself! An out-of-body experience. But looking out over the loch, I saw things in my head. Things I knew weren't there. Things not of this world. Devils of my own invoking. There may have been no Loch Ness monster, but there were undeniably worse things that swam within myself! I then whispered through clenched teeth, "Does this change me? Does this change me? Does this change me?!"
I knew I would never see this place again, so turned my back on the water's edge with hatred saturating my every breath! Marching back up the driveway, I glared at those blackened woods and listen for unknown things hidden in their depth. But nothing came. And I knew, I knew it in my fucking bones, that it is they who were now afraid of me! "I am the son of man! I am the son of man! I am the son of man!" I kept repeating unconsciously over and over with venom. My hands were tight fists gripping that corrupted bible so hard that I wanted to fucking beat a saint to death with it! Slowly scanning about the tree trunks, I wanted something to challenge me! I wanted some-terrible-fucking-thing to try and rip me limb from limb! Any-fucking-thing at all! But in my lucid mind I knew that there was absolutely nothing threatening out there for me. For I am the son of man, and nature is timid! I was the worst thing in that fucking glen – a human-fucking-being! That only infuriated me no end! "This is not my home! I don't have a fucking home!" I spat resentfully. Returning to the main road, I continued muttering incessantly, "I am the son of man! I am the son of man! I am the son of man! I am the son of man! I am the son of man! I am the son of man! I am the son of man! I am the son of man! I am the son of man! I am the son of man! I am the son of man! I am the son of man! I am the son of man! I am the son of man! I am the son of man! I am the son of man! I am the son of man! I am the son of man! I am the son of man! Man: god's one true regret!"
And as for hope, where the fuck had you crawled off to when I fucking needed you most?!
Eventually, I reached that lamppost next to the graveyard. My body was shaking with a rage, and I realized that tears were running down my cheeks. I guess they're right about anger being the same as sadness. I left them be. I owed honesty only to myself. And I felt sorry for no one! I was so fucking pissed off, that I couldn't even fucking walk straight! Stumbling up the parking lot, I took a seat on the front porch of the dead calm hotel, and caught my breath. Collecting my thought, I was fucking livid! Irate! Why hadn't god struck me down? Why hadn't I just walked into the fucking loch and never turned back? 'Cause there was always more to do! So... So what else could I do to my piece of shit soul? What other troubles could I put myself through? And I spoke aloud again, "Does this change me? Yes! 'Cause there is nothing else beyond me! There is nothing beyond me! There is nothing beyond what I fucking perceive!" For there is nothing out there that is not just a projection of my mind! There is no sin that I deem offensive! No virtue that I see exempt from reproach! I am after all: the fucking son of man! Just like all of you – wickedness born of flesh! Innocence and purity were put here to be abashed! Dignity was a porcelain mask worn by a Chloë-Grace-Moretz-child-whore after her plump lips had been cut off and then stapled around her anus so that we could all make-believe with our hearts and souls that sodomy with her was just as glorious as ejaculating down her primed pubescent peach fuz! Everyday lies were what everyone of us told ourselves in order to rationalize the sheer enormity of our immoral fucking existence! You say, 'lies'. I say, 'lip gloss'.
Returning to my room, I typed up these recollections while my eyes dried out. And then my phone rang – who the fuck? It was Rachel. She sounded as if she was crying as she begged me to pick her up from The Old Grahams house. It was 1:32am. If this was a booty call, she didn't exactly sound horny. However, after my fuming midnight pilgrimage, I had no inclination for sleep. Women: my worst weakness!
It's just gone 11am on
Monday morning. I have already checked-out of my room and I'm sitting in the
hotel lounge typing this up. Outside there are brief moments of sunshine that
continually fade behind those ever returning clouds. There are two hours until
I catch the bus bound for Inverness, where I'll travel by the train back to
Edinburgh. But all I can think about, is what exactly happened last night.
After my midnight stroll to the loch with my ruined bible, I arrived back at the hotel in a real foul fucking mood. And then Rachel phoned sounding all frantic and desperate. However, remember: a crying female is a lying female! Yet still, I went up to see what the fucking problem was, out of sheer curiosity and insomnia. I'd become quite familiar with that steep path up the mountainside in the pitch black. No rain this time, but windy as fuck. Though, it seemed as though The Old Grahams place was constantly being battered by gales, no matter what the hour. And there I found Rachel dressed in little more than a singlet, panties, and socks, huddled outside the house next to a drooping tree.
"Cold enough for you?" I asked, as she ran into my arms, trembling and sobbing. I stood unresponsive to her insecurities. Slowly I pulled my jacket off and put it over her shivering shoulders as she clung to me for dear life. She was fucking petrified. I then had one of those relative moments of reflection: I remembered as a kid how I'd always admired my father for being a rock of fearless certainty. Whenever I was frightened out of mind, I knew that he was boldly laughing at my terror. Now here I was, finally stepping into his shoes.
"Please, take me away," Rachel whispered,"I can't go back in there. Please!"
I glanced up at that lightless building of daunting grievances.
"Please! Let's just go. Now! Please!"
Looking at Rachel's socks, and knowing the murderous path I had just scaled, I replied, "Do I look like I'm going to carry your fat ass all the way back down there? Where are your shoes, for fuck's sake? And for that matter, where the fuck are your pants? What the fuck are you doing out here?"
"Please!" she strained to keep her voice down.
"Fine, you stay out here. I'll get your stinking shoes – but I'm going to take it out of your ass later–"
"No!" And she grabbed me tighter.
Impatiently clenching my jaw, I glared at the loch far below. Exhaling harshly, I recalled how much fucking walking I'd already done this evening.
"It's... I... I just can't... Don't...," she stuttered incoherently.
I pulled away, holding Rachel's shoulders in both hands, "Sorry, I don't speak retard."
"Are you really a priest?"
I turned my back on her and started to walk away. Why had I even fucking bothered coming up here?
"Wait!" Rachel cried out, as she stumbled on the rough track under her soft socks. "Please!"
I heard her trip and fall, but I saw something further down the path that drew my eye. Was it a tree-stump? Another highland cattle? I went to disregard it – until it stood straight up with the clear silhouette of a man. I was half turned to Rachel when I held still and glared at that figure about twenty meters away. He had no feet! No fucking feet at all! I mean he literally faded out. A black torso that went transparent below the knees.
"No!" Rachel screeched, as another figure rose up closer within the garden. It too was blackened, naked, and standing still. I stared fascinated at that second thing. It seemed to be emanating some kind of smoke. I took a moment, examining how impressive my imagination had truly become. This was a full free-standing hallucination! The power of the mind is incredible. Then Rachel shrieked! Seriously, that girl had some fucking issues. She grabbed my arm just as I saw several other figures spontaneously surround us. Now I have to say, these things were just figments of my imagination that I've visualized many times before in my art. However, I admired how rational and calm I was at this unexpected confrontation with my own delusions.
But it turned out they weren't just in my head, for Rachel was shitting herself in their presence! Screaming, crying, and babbling complete hysterical nonsense, she dropped to the ground, clawing at my leg.
Whatever those things were, they then started closing in.
Decision: move! Grabbing Rachel, I dragged her feeble limbs back to that fucking house. She squirmed as those figures came for us, so I picked her up in both arms and carried her up the stairs, and then through the already wide open front door. There I paused, looking back at that gathering of blackened figures with deformed features, when I heard one of them sneer vulgarly with a voice that was not exactly human. I immediately dumped Rachel on the floor and slammed the front door shut! Locking it, I headed toward the fuse box. There was a main switch. I tugged at it. And let there be light... Yeah right... Not tonight, buddy. You son of bitch! I scanned around. Fuck this shit! This was a set-up! Rachel had to be in on it! This was probably some rich faggots idea of a good time: create a fake haunted house to perpetuate the reputation of the loch. There was nothing that can't be faked these days. But then I felt breath on the back of my neck. I slowly took a step and turned face to face with one of them. It was black. Without detail. No eyes or anything. Like a black-hole that smoked about the edges. Yet breathing viciously like a distressed horse in slow motion. I was intrigued. Studying that thing standing only a foot from my person, I found I was only slightly taller as it raised both hands toward me. And I asked in a mock tone, "Are you the devil?"
"Are... You... The... Devil?" that thing replied with a voice best summed up with the fucking word: disturbing! It then reached toward me, But fuck this, I advanced faster, stepping clean through this unclean fucking thing! Wow! That was a fucking experience! Like being dropped head-first into the loch. I felt instantly soaked to the bone, yet I was dry, but frozen through and fucking through! Invigorating, motherfucker! Unfortunately, then the pain came! The cold took a second to seep into my nervous-system before I dropped to my knees and hunched over in agony! You know that feeling when your dentist pokes an exposed nerve with that metal prick-like-thing that they love to use? Yeah, well, it was like that throughout my entire fucking body! Now I've been tattooed over a fair bit of my skin, but getting tattooed was nothing like that sensation, it was absolutely fucking breath-taking! But you know what they say about cold showers, they wake you the fuck up! My eyes bulged as I pressed my forehead hard against the floor. Fuck, let's not do that fucking shit ever again! Jesus fucking Christ, no thanks!
Then footsteps. The floorboards around me creaked and groaned. Struggling to gain control of my faculties, I saw footprints appear on the dust-coated wood. Bare human feet as well as imprints that I simply couldn't fucking recognize. Yet there was nothing there. Not until I looked up from my misery and found myself totally encircled by those silhouetted things. But of course, it was I who held the keys to the bottomless pit, so let us rejoiced at my suffering! I was responsible for this encounter! Though then again, how are any of us responsible for how fate plays out in the end? We provoke, we condition, we invoke, we evolve from all those great giants that had come before us, and we are set on a path laid out by destiny long before we are even conceived.
Then, over the snorting and breathing of that multitude of jinn, I head Rachel's cries of delirium. I couldn't help but smile. The circle broke and those passive-aggressive beasts of the ugliest black parted just so I could witness the torment of that poor little fucking waitress. Rising to my feet, I felt the cold pass from my body as my blood began to course with fucking acid! I was burning! My bones had become brimstone and my fucking flesh was on fire! Stripping naked in a fury, I watched as Rachel was suddenly lifted by other unseen fiends! Held high, as if crucified upon some invisible cross, her own clothes were then torn asunder! More and more of those inhuman things crept out of the very fucking ceiling and corners. Bestial creatures that came with a great hunger. Here they beheld that meat for the sacrifice. All predators were the same. Either alive or abominable, they were carnal carnivores. It was all about the meat. And I moved through those figures as if one of them. Some slithered out of my way as I crept closer to the front door where Rachel was impossibly suspended. All science-taught understand and resistance to the supernature was behind me. I had been left neglected from the trapping of my forefathers. Rachel screamed and lashed out as she was struck and tugged at by demonic hands. Her silky white body was cut and scratched, so that her blood began to rain down. I could see exactly where her extremities were being gripped by those invisible hands. Finger marks upon her skin that was being crushed beneath their clutches. I saw it all consciously. Savoring every discernible detail of her wet hair, of those translucent forms fading in and out of existence, of the cracking noises of Rachel's bones being pulled out of their joints; I paid particular attention to her extreme horror that made it all so much more marvelous! Marvelous to me that is. That gathering soon became even more violent, thrashing and howling. Animalistic sounds filled the room like tortured souls frantic and frustrated that they could no longer remember how to form the very fucking words they needed in order to express their endless fucking anger! Anger! Those things stank of pure fucking hatred! No mercy, no pity, nor any concept of sympathy was felt for that fucking female! Only her fucking anguish gave us any fucking pleasure! And so they all screamed, wanting her guts ripped from her fucking vessel of weakness – but it was her legs that were then pried apart. Wide and exposed to all.
Suddenly there was that same thunderous noise that I had heard the other night! I felt it strike right through my chest like a fucking shotgun blast pointblank in my fucking spine! Rachel dropped to the floor like a dead body. She lay there strewn, no more pretty than little fucking rag doll. I remained on all fours and found myself quite alone. All that darkness had vanished the moment that great collision had filled the two-story-high hall of entrance. It was interesting how bright an empty room can seem at night once the devils choose to hide themselves away. Twisting, I glared up at the staircase balcony overlooking the entrance. A girl stood up there. She had wild hair, and was draped in a pale sheet that was almost transparent to her naked skin. In her right hand she grasped a long staff. Something like a spear. It was about the length of a javelin, with strange beads and ornaments hanging from the top. For some fucked-up reason, she seems fucking familiar, so I rose to my feet. She just stared at me with sheer revulsion, and then began muttering something. I had no clue as to the origin of her language. Now let's make it clear right here, I don't know what the fuck it was about that spear, but I tell you, I fucking wanted like no lover I've ever lusted after before! So I charged up those fucking stairs in a rage as if that treacherous cunt had stolen the spear from me in my sleep! Suddenly there was a stomping at the top of the staircase, and then some creature with great horns and massive shoulders materialized as black as that eclipsed horde. It blocked my path, but I didn't give a flying fuck about its snarling fucking threats, and despite the pain from before, I shoved straight through its lack of physical fucking form! Again I dropped like a stone to my hands and knees in utter shock! But I couldn't stop the unrelenting 'want' for that fucking glorified stick in that woman's grasp. Coughing against my shredded throat, I crawled onward. That self-righteous female however, turned with insult in her eyes at my obnoxious presence. My hand reached greedily toward her. I wasn't thinking. I just wanted! I had to take it! The impulse was simply that fucking basic. But suddenly she held that staff above her head with both hands – and then slammed its end down on the floor!
Doors burst open! Framed pictured fell from the walls! I'm sure a grenade going off in your fucking mouth felt softer that this kick to my guts! As I was blown away, some big black dog leaped out of nowhere onto my fucking back! I grabbed that prick, slamming myself back into a wall! Clutching its paws on my shoulders, I swung it right over the fucking banister and it plummeted to the floor below. For the moment that it flew through the air, I realized that it wasn't any dog. It was the right size for a doberman but it was some mutilated thing with stumps on its back and had a head more like a pig-sized tapeworm.
Pushing away from the balcony, I lunged at the spear in that female's grip – she didn't move an inch. Instead, she thumped me in the chest like I was a fucking loaf of fresh bread! I kid you not, I literally flew back off my useless fucking feet and into another fucking wall! Dropping to my naked ass, I gagged for air. All this crap was really beginning to knock the shit out of me. I just needed to catch my breath, but I was already crawling again. I needed that spear! I needed it beyond belief, and I drove on over that new found threshold for pain. For I wanted what I fucking wanted! But that girl struck me across my back as I came slithering on my belly! I wasn't going anywhere after that. It felt like a ten ton weight upon my shoulder-blades. Yet I still managed to turn my head and scowl up at that fucking bitch, just as she pushed her bare foot right down on my fucking face. Thanks fucker! She was grinding my skull into the floor, and the pressure on my back pressed down harder still. I could hear the fucking floorboards straining below me, or maybe it was my ribs breaking. However, even though she was crushing me into shit, all I kept reaching for was that metal staff. I saw those figures surrounding again, but Christ, that weight upon my back was fucking brutal! I watched those individuals without legs emerge from the very air so that they could stare bitterly down at my own destruction. They came to witnessing my testimony, they wanted to hear my confession of how I had now replaced Rachel.
I had become the sacrifice.
The meat offering.
I am the son of man.
I am the son of man!
I am the fucking son of man!
My skin began to chill. Teeth gnash, not from the pain, but with fucking intolerance!
Fuck acceptance! Fuck passivity! Fuck this shit!
And with both hands, I grabbed that cunt's foot that was pinning my head down, and I took a lavish bite right out of her fucking sole! You should have heard her scream. It was fucking magnificent!
Immediately she was torn away, and I was set free. Rolling onto my side, I realized that it was Rachel who had the upper hand. She was using a mounted trophy of stag-horns to beat the living shit out of that other fucking female, and then some! Things happened fast. Rachel was knocked down. I didn't plan on catching her fall, she just happened to land on me as I lunged at the other girl, who moved with insane speed. She was somehow suddenly, with one giant stride, at the far end of the balcony. Rachel and I reached for her, but instantaneously and without using her legs, that unknown female moved around a corner and vanished down the corridor. I was fucking infuriating! This must be how cats feel about laser-pointers. But then as I went to run after that fleeting bitch, Rachel grabbed my arm."Don't!" she begged, trying to hold me back, "It's not worth it! Please! Just leave it!"
I tore my fucking arm loose, and cared nothing for her pleading, as I threw myself further down that fucking shadow of spite! I ran smashing my fists into every-fucking-thing I came across! The ultimate fucking tantrum! Ripping painting off walls, I bashed lampshades to fucking pieces! Regressed to a fucking caveman, I stomped past open doors where more of those blackened figures lurked, and I spat at them! Lifting a small set of drawers, I heaved it straight at the head of this old man with a hunchback of burnt wings! The drawers shattered apart but the figure merely looked away. And I'm pretty fucking sure that was Lucifer himself. I knew it was him intuitively, like I knew my own fucking name. Next thing I knew, the floor became a mass of bloody severed limbs. The walls were the stone of an angular cave with the roots of dead trees growing right out of them. The fucking ceiling went up forever. Dozens of black snakes hissed amongst the rotten arms and legs, trying to sink their fangs into my ankles, but I kept fucking going. Ducking between roots and fighting my way through an entanglement of noose-like tentacles, I found the path forked in three directions: there was an opening straight ahead into a tight darkness, a door to my right, and a stairwell to my left behind a locked iron gate. I chose left. And I vent my lungs as I shook that gate so fucking hard that my fists actually broke that son of a bitch clean off its fucking hinges! A dismembered hand from the floor then grabbed my calf, but I brought the heavy gate right down on those disembodied limbs like the mother of all fucking guillotines!
Down I went. And up came the stench of human piss and shit, till I was knee-deep in that cold wet sewage. A pitch black place with nothing and nowhere to go. Though, it was by no means quiet down there. Constant echoes moved all around, yet my breathing was the louder. I stood there glaring into the void. Fists at my sides. Hoping against hope that a brick would drop onto my fucking head. But nothing came.
Something moved to my right. Something in the liquids of this subterranean swamp. I tilted my head as it slowly swam around me. It was long. Big. There was only a dim, fractured light down there from the stairwell, but I saw that thing smoothly swim ahead of me, and then gradually stop. And rise. Its head was elongated but the body was broad. When it finally turned, I saw its enormous jaws open. The mouth of an alligator. Yet it didn't face me. It just rose up as if to glance back and see if I would follow. Was this Ammit, the Eater Of Souls? I did nothing. Just studied its dripping silhouette. Fuck the Loch Ness monster, I have seen greater evil! And then it looked me in the fucking eye before it went about its business, continuing into the deep. And I was once again absolutely alone.
Then screaming came from my left! I found a faint glow over there. Another staircase. The shriek intensified. It was an aphrodisiac to me. So I dragged my way though that tar-like sludge and up a velvet staircase. The screeching grew more shrill the higher I climbed. It hadn't felt like I had gone down that many steps on the descent to that sewer of human abhorrence, but now it was like scaling the spiral staircase within the Wallace Monument. Up and up and up and up and – I then slammed into a solid door! Shoving it open, I fell awkwardly into an attic that was loud with trampling rain upon its roof. That screaming however, was entirely understandable once I saw that strange female in the sheet being disemboweled while both her arms and both her legs were savagely snapped off from her torso by unseen hands in mid air! Her strained throat was then reduced to an explosive burst of blood that sprayed the windows! Transparent teeth of gnawing jinn finally decapitated her skull that struck the wooden floor with a loud, bowling-ball-like THUMP! I glanced about that circle of blackened devils, but they were transfixed, watching and whispering as blood spread across the floor. I could see where their invisible feet stood as the blood was forced around them. From what I could tell about the situation earlier downstairs, some of those figures merely had the ability of becoming half-visible; yet the demons in that attic possessed a real strength to actually tear living meat to fucking pieces. Some entities were not meant for mortal eyes to behold. For true danger is what you cannot prepare yourself for. As I approached that ungodly circle, I found that the dismembered female's spear was nowhere to be seen. Stepping right into the midst of the circle, those devils clearly weren't happy about my fucking presence, until I crouched and reached into the tattered remains of the dead girl's belly. Mmm, still warm. Her blood was that familiar coarse texture on my fingertips. Foul fucking shit that it is. That circle of fucks then tried to close in on me, but then I heard something else outside. I walked straight through one of those figures, and this time, I hardly felt a fucking thing. rubbing my hot palm across one of the grimy windows in that A-frame attic, I stared down at the thin stretch of garden in front of the house. Rachel was out there. Outside in the rain. She was doing something. She was with something. I spun, disregarding those vicious spirits that were casting contempt at my back. I'm sure I went out the same door I came in, but the staircase was new, yet down I went.
Somehow I reached the front door in record time, only to discover that the entire entrance was utterly alive with insects! I saw my pile of clothes not too far into that overwhelming infestation, so I shuffled my filthy feet through that flood of bugs, and scooped up my jeans and dress shoes. Shaking them clean, I quickly dressed. I lost my shirt to a five-foot-long centipede with the head of a bat and eyes of a giant spider. Nothing was natural about anything anymore. Glad I had my shoes on, I crunched my way across that masses of beetles and other nasty little shits. However, I was only about half way into that large room when I heard a soft voice say, "Father." I kept moving, as those insects had already begun crawling up my legs, though as I twisted, I saw a child no more than three-years-old standing naked in the middle of all those swarming critters. The kid blinked at me with big blackened eyes, when what looked like a barbed tentacle rose out of that mass of insects. A headless serpent that then slid right around that infant's pale body, and before I could react, the tentacle crushed the kid like a rat in a fucking trap! The tiny body splintered and bones punctured through the kid's skin as that dark tentacle squeezed every living drop of blood out of that miniscule body! I smirked and kept going. The wind was blowing hard as fuck, and it took all the strength I had left to force open that fucking door. Glancing back, just at the door slammed shut, I saw that the entire entrance was now full of hundreds of naked, blood-soaked females. Everyone of them was missing their fucking head – it was unequivocally beautiful!
Turning from the sealed front door I looked up just in time as Rachel cried out in ecstasy! She was being lifted high and raped by a cluster of things that I couldn't tell head from tail! They were not humanoid in any sense. Fornicating and stabbing at that meek girl, those devils attacked as myriad of lion-sized leeches. Convulsing, they writhed in a towering pile of black. Talons and long sharp extremities whipped about in a frenzy. My first impression was that Rachel was being eaten alive, but she was loving it. I saw her face flash between those creatures. Again she screamed out – just like she had when it was I who was fucking her. So I stood topless in the rain with my back to the house, watching this infernal pornography as I pondered what the fuck had become of that spear?
"Bruce! Help me! Please!" Rachel called my name, but somehow her voice came from behind me. Turning, I found that the front door was gone, it just didn't exist anymore, and out came those females. Headless and crawling on all fours. Like dogs they came by the dozen and moved past me. Down either side of the two front stairs, they filled the entire garden around those copulating demons. And they kept coming. Endless headless whores. Looking beyond that twenty-foot-tower of inhuman perversion, I scanned the distant loch. The rain moved like vast sheets of mist in the night. Yet the sky here never seemed to ever truly turn black. The forest then spoke to me. I don't mean I became a stinking hippie and gave a fucking tree and hug; I mean the entire fucking valley, mountains, and loch revealed its ultimate natural-self to me. And the abominations were unfathomable! Hell was in the shadow of the Earth! The son of Osiris had failed! Apep had devoured the sun! And I fucked Rachel upon an altar made from the spilled guts of the seven-headed dragon! I was utterly saturated in visions of mutilation and tortured females! Everything was screaming! Screaming hateful lust and envy! Screaming! For the landscape was consumed with an infinite mass those blackened figures! And then beasts so towering that only their knees reached through the storm clouds came closer, yet above and beyond they opened their great jaws and spoke of the most ancient of calamities! I could see it all. The very ground was a diseased flesh, bleeding and crippled with teaming parasites of wicked descent. And I was one of them. One with them!
I am the fucking son of man!
I woke up later in the morning in my hotel room with Rachel in the shower. Sitting on the edge of the bed, coated in mud and other crap, I didn't care to guess at how I had gotten back there in one piece. When Rachel came back from the bathroom, she never said a word as she looked me dead in the eyes. Glaring maliciously back, I too had nothing to say. She dressed and walked out with the devil in her stride. I would most likely never see her face ever again. But her kind of meat is cheap. Fucking human-filler.
While I stood on the
side of the road waiting for the coach to Inverness, I looked back up at the
ridge, behind the hotel, to where The Old Grahams house was hidden in that
steep forest. Somewhere in all those trees and shadows, I had thrown a set
of drawers at old man Satan.
The bus ride was quiet, and I soon spotted Boleskine House on the east coast of the loch. Had Crowley seen these things too?
While I was queuing at the train station at Inverness, I stood next to a cluster of four dustbins where I saw what suddenly made me freeze. I then realized why that strange female's face was so fucking familiar last night. I had seen this same missing-persons poster when I had arrived here four nights ago. So her name had been Yulia Solodyankina. She looked a lot cuter in that poster than when she was trying to grind my face into the fucking floor. But what the fuck was she really doing at The Old Grahams house? Did Rachel even know who she was? Ah, who gives a fuck! She was just another discarded fucking female!
I spent the whole train ride back to Edinburgh watching the scenery go by. This might have been my Fatherland but it wasn't my fucking home! Nowhere was. Yet everything was mine to contaminate. I am Bruce Stirling John Knox!
I stayed one last night with my old aunty. I only ever drink Lady Grey at her place.
Then I flew back to Berlin on Tuesday, where I was met by that nineteen-year-old, who I fucked as soon as we got back to my place.
Later, I lay in my bed, staring at the dark ceiling with that little teenager sleeping on my left arm. They say every single cell in your body is replaced every ten years, therefore, whatever inner child I once had was no longer here. And I was still alive, despite walking freely into the heart of true fucking darkness. That young blonde then moaned in her sleep, and I thought of all those other females and their attraction toward me. Couldn't they find a better man? No! 'Cause... We... Are... All... Evil!
The external world should have stopped me. I was defenseless! But what is the external world but an extension of the internal. Or was it the other way around?
'She' is the devil in me, just as I am the devil fucking her.
I need a fucking holiday.
THE GREAT INDIGNATION
© 2013 BRUCE STIRLING JOHN KNOX