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Post by Batflunkie on Jun 2, 2018 11:38:48 GMT -5
The Black Bayou
Inspired By Valaint's Shadowman
A Comical Tragedy Of Intrigue And Paranoia Set In The Heartland Of America
*The following two chapters reflect an earlier style and sensibility that is by no means reflective of the chapters that follow They are left here to show the progress of an author*
Chapter 1: The Moonster Brigade/The Kids Are Alright
--A Small Play-- *Bruce Lee enters* Bruce Lee: Teacher.... Sensei: Hmmm, I see your talents have gone beyond the mere physical level. Your skills are now at the point of spiritual insight. I have several questions. What is the highest technique you hope to achieve? Bruce Lee: To have no technique Sensei: Very good. What are your thoughts when facing an opponent? Bruce Lee: There is no opponent Sensei: And why is that? Bruce Lee: Because the word "I" does not exist Sensei: So, continue..." Bruce Lee: A good fight should be like a small play, but played seriously. A good martial artist does not become tense, but ready. Not thinking, yet, not dreaming. Ready for whatever may come. When the opponent expands, I contract. When he contracts, I expand. And when there is an opportunity, I do not hit. It hits all by itself....... *sensei nods in agreement* *scene ends* ------------------
Francis Jameson Cuthford feathered the interior of his leather jacket, fishing out a pocket watch. The face was worn and cracked, much like his mirrored reflection. The second hand might as well have been counting down the minutes of his existence in this intangible tapestry of life. But was it worth living? Subsisting on a diet of dread and self-loathing, he was spiritually malnourished and was desperately clinging to anything that could aid in his escape. At least, he thought, for a little while. His veins were steeped with caffeine and sugar, better than speed, better than cocaine. For those were the devil's nectar after all, and his mother forbade him to do anything of the sort.
He did not want much of anything. His was a devoutly catholic lifestyle, but to what extent he wasn't completely sure. The half truth he spake was that God was a fabrication of rigid fascists, too hard set in the old ways of the Reaganomics Americana of the 1980's. The Cold War had ended, the bombs dismantled, and military funding dropped. These were not his concerns and they were many years in the past. The generic hard citrus soda made the well-weathered issue of Shadowman go down easy. Shadowman always got his man, it was concise and to the point. A puzzle to unravel in printed form, and he did so love his puzzles.
Shadowman was, at it's core, a basic Shakespearean three act structure; a setup of the foundation (set pieces both animate and inanimate) an introduction of the antagonist, the protagonists' struggle to overcome. Simple yet solid, like modeling clay that had yet to be finely honed into a work of art. The same deduction could be applied to other things, though mental calculations would have to be made and adjusted on the fly.
The seconds ticked down until a small, technological bleep sounded. Ushering in his playtime. He limberly flung himself out of the clubhouse window with it's old, tattered curtains and onto the roof of the makeshift shanty. At the top of his lungs, he let out a loud, savage howl that seemed to echo into the bowls of hell itself. The moon lazily crept out from behind the dark navy clouds and henceforth transformed the wild child into what he had always been; a feral, amoral animal of wolfen distinction. But the change was not so drastic as the multitudinous array of werewolf centric horror dramas would have led some to believe: 'twas the voodoo that made a man of a boy.
His friends soon arrived clothed in the garb of the shadows. Tilly De Cart, a lithe girl with an insatiable appetite for blood and Harrison De Sade, a clumsy oaf who was almost always tired and in need of medical attention. With friends as vile and vicious as these, who would ever need enemies?
After a brief hop to the nearest pier, the three collectively began discussing their plan. Raid the old icehouse? No, dead bodies were no fun, regardless of what Morgus the Magnificent, Chopsley, and E.R.I.C. would have led some to believe. Steal away some nice hot benets and coca from Cafe Du Moneux? No, too crowded, and they would be too easily caught. These street urchins were all too savy and smart enough to know when not to get caught. What they truly needed was easy game to satiate their collective thirst for mayhem and chaos.
The video palor and book rental outside of the Garrison's supermarket? "Now there, my dear Tilly," Francis muttered slyly,"is a cause worth all fool's gold in the world." The store had just recently gotten in some english subtitled episodes of Kakuranger, a foreign superhero program featuring ninjas, mythical folklore monsters, and giant robots that transformed out of old style japanese houses. It reeked of dumb fun and a good time had by all and that's why they coveted it like a white fire diamond.
But they had to be cautious. There had been some rumors floating around that the shopkeeper, a nasty old haitian voodoo witch, had been embuing the merchandise with a curse. Whether good or bad, they weren't quite sure. But it was worth the risk. "Evenin' y'all, out a bit late ain'tcha?" They all muttered some crock about having a lax curfew at home and floated through the isles like the 'gentlemen thieves of yonder Japan' that they all so admired.
"Got Mortal Kombat here Tilly," Harrison cheekily pointed out, "I know you love you some of that there Johnny Cage." "Oh hush up Harris, I know you've got choo some hots for Sonya Blade and every other kind of woman in that movie. Don't think I don't know what you do with that door closed." The old Haitian was just laughing herself into a fit over these little scamps. "Abraxas?" "Maybe," Francis muttered, distracted. "My box has V.D. if your box has V.D. honey." "Forget the pain, Tilly, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger." "Whole truth;" Francis spake, communing with the energy and wit of the film,"what I wanna know is why is Canada such a 'right of passage holy land' for independent film makers? What do they have that we don't?"
"Count cher blessings chill'd," the old Haitian spoke up, too amused to hold herself back any longer, "At least we got Final Cut aka Dangerous Highway." "Yes ma'am," Tilly said, with a crease in her jeans and hand in her wallet, "but it comes off as pretencious art house nonsense to me. I'm moreso an apprentice of a more east asian literary fare; poetry, action, violence, mysticism, and general Shakespearean drama are my bread and butter. It is blunt and unrelenting, challenging yet gentle as the cool fall's breeze." "Well spoken little one," The Haitian lady spake, firmly clutching the crisp dollar bill, "enjoy your movie for you have taken the pebble from my hand." |
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Post by Batflunkie on Feb 21, 2019 23:18:06 GMT -5
Chapter 2: Living Dead Girl and The Doctor In The Iron Mask/Musclegun
Many miles away in the swamplands of the Black Bayou, far removed from society and the sisters of the rouge morgue cathedral, sits an withered victorian manor. The manor is home to two very distinguished individuals, both exceeding in worldly knowledge and in age. They sit by the fire place, sipping wine of a curious vintage, amused by their many curious children who tend to the fields in their parent's stead. But there is a new child, one plucked out of the primordial soup of hell. And she will be their muse and artist, her canvas will be the world stage. She will bring balance to an otherwise chaotic earth. "Such a burden for one so young," the mother cooed in a whispered tone, cradling her husband's broad steel shoulders. "Aye, but she'll make it," the father replied, letting his wife's tender, plant-like appendages caress his fiery aura of a face. Oh how she loved it, this sentilating searing of lust.
A subtle rap at the door left any further flirtation unfulfilled. With a nod, a young girl with marbled features opened it, ushering in a circus of bewilderment. "Hello, hello my pretties" the voice bellowed, "has daddy fed you well?". With another nod, the woman, slightly tipsy from the wine, brought her beloved a fencing saber."Morgan Chadrick Kilroy," the man scowled beneath his metal visor, unintentionally tearing off the arm rest of the sectional love seat as if it were a hunk of packing pellets, "as if there ever were a man I'd least like to be greeted by. Have at you!"Signalling his ghastly cohort, Kilroy was handed a sizable blade. "Oh Doctor Valquish, I don't make it a habit of it, but what can I say? Your wife moves my soul in ways that would be unbecoming of a gentlemen of my stature to mutter aloud."And the two sparred, knocking over and destroying prized objects centuries old, much to the behest of Valquish's beloved. With single slash, Kilroy beheaded Doctor Johnathan Robert Valquish, or so it would seem. His neck billowed a searing primordial flame of brimstone and ash that effortlessly took shape into a human skull. "Must it always end this way?," Kilroy pleaded, cutting a pentagram into the Egyptian rug. "If it has to," Valquish muttered.
A pillar of fire encircled Valquish and burst through the ceiling. The fire moved the heavens and created the rays of full blood moonlight in the bayou, giving his children more time to till the earth. Exhausted, Valquish slumped onto Kilroy's shoulders and laughed, "Always the performance artist Morgan." His beloved handed him his helmet and their hands met." Miss Mortiem,"Kilroy all to eager steal a moment from Valquish, kissed it, "always a pleasure.""Kilroy the ham lives up to his namesake," she laughed, "what brings you to the moors?" "Oh, great business I'm afraid, I've caught one." "One what?" "Well that's the question isn't it?" Kilroy ushered in his associate, Hutch, who wrangled in a large creature of unearthly origins. Pitch black with glowing yellow irises and incredibly sharp incisors."Believe it or not, this used to be human. Me and Hutch caught it earlier this evening while on our way here." "Whatever did you lure it in with?" Hutch smiled and procured a small sack, pulling out large handful of glisteningly wrapped candies, "Of my own making you see. Usually I give them out to good, well behaved children. I don't know what made me think to use some to bait a night critter with.""Night Critter?" "Hutch's name for them." Regina Mortiem motioned to her husband, "Should we gather up the children?" "Yes, I suppose so. It would be good to test their abilities." Soon the marbled visages of Caleb, Alex, Dina, and Maya were among them with little Lana following closely in toe. "Alright children, you know what to do."
Suddenly the four of them contorted and changed into beings of solid metal and began circling around the monstrous being. Little Lana tried, oh how she tried, but she was unsuccessful. She cried for her mother and Regina scooped her up in her arms."Caleb," Valquish said, "try stunning it with your lightning powers. Alex, Dina, Maya, back up your brother." "Yes Father." "Be careful y'all," Kilroy muttered, pointing his powerful claymore blade at the creature,"that varmint has a mean bite, trust me."Caleb began by clapping his hands, summoning a torrent of thunder that ensared the beast, the others soon followed suit with their water, fire, and earth abilities but it only enraged the beast further. It soon broke free and lunged at Caleb but not before Valquish punched it square in the jaw, crippling it.Kilroy just looked on, awestruck, "now why didn't I think of that." Later on the two reclined on the pato with a clear view of the yardwork by Caleb and Alex, Dina and Maya served the two of them coffee in smiling silence. "So, other than the stunt that I pulled in there earlier, do we have any idea how to stop these night critters as you call them?" Kilroy mearly shrugged, sipping his coffee, "Can't say and this doesn't seem like an isolated incident either. There could be more of these lurking around just out of sight. Hutch and I can only hunt so many of them at a time. But those kids of yours...""No, no, they're not that kind of manual labor my friend. They're only children after all, they could get careless." "Valquish they're centuries old demons that you summoned over here to rehabilitate and broaden the minds of." "You don't think I know that? Yes they may be old in the clinical sense, but they're still mentally at the level of budding teenagers. The stone casings can only help so much in hindering their true powers." "And the metal suits?" "And give away my hand so easily? My dear Kilroy, what kind of fool do you take me for?" |
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Post by Batflunkie on Feb 21, 2019 23:27:05 GMT -5
Me and hiatuses, I tell yah, gettin' to be a real problem. "But I'm trying to get better about that", he said, half-lying
Anywho, chapter 2 focuses some characters that have been in my head for a long, long time
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Post by Batflunkie on Jan 15, 2020 17:20:00 GMT -5
In the process of re-writing the first two chapters. My main goal of this story was to reminisce on my childhood growing up in New Orleans as I entered into my 30's. My half cousin and close childhood friend had recently died and I had had a psychotic break and was not acting like myself at all. I had been very big into Goosebumps growing up, like most boys my age, and wanted a young adult story that focused on the "growing pains of youth" coupled with monsters in similar fashion to Big Bad Beetleborgs which I loved the concept of (comics, monsters, and bugs), but not so much the execution
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Post by Batflunkie on Feb 29, 2020 20:25:10 GMT -5
Chapter 1 (Revision)In the half moon light of the hot summer drought, night time had fallen over the Bayou. The waters stilled themselves before the moon’s presence and all the creatures, both deadly and passive, arose to begin their work. Sleep was for the lesser folk and the night had such enticing pleasures. On a derelict and dilapidated houseboat, permanently harbored in the brush of the river, sat the clubhouse with no name. It had once been home to successful business tycoon with strong ties to the Copeland family, now it mainly served as a refuge and playhouse for one Francis Jameson Cuthford and his friends. He had grown distant from his mother and was deep in the frantic mutation of teendom and so most nights, he sought shelter here, armed with books (of both the comic and print variety), pirated tv, a games console, and the mother load; a huge cash of junk food and as much high-octane, hard citrus soda as his bladder could stomach. Lately, the growing pains had been getting to him. He had noticed sudden, unexplained changes, some that went beyond maturing into an adult. His teeth were longer and more wolf like, his appetite for raw meat was unquenchable, and he had hair in places where he shouldn’t.
As he talked with his associates, Tilly Belfore and Harrison Dartine, he noted that his was not alone in such transformations. He consulted with witch doctors, tv psychics, and various books from the Jefferson Parish Public Library, but he had come up with nothing but a single word, “Voodoo”. But where had it come from?, he wondered. Too soon his thoughts were elsewhere as two shadowy figures loomed on his doorstep, a vampiress and a mummy. He felt himself overtaken with sheer bloodlust as the moon peered in from the window. His hair and teeth grew, his stance and posture changed and from within himself came a savage, earth shaking howl. The two were now his prey. He lunged forward, but they side-stepped, launching him into the murky waters. The vampiress cackled with laughter, “ Chill out wolf-boy, you’re among friends.” The mummy, who was utterly indifferent to the situation, merely yawned, “How shall we start this hollowed eve? More mischief?” The wolf-boy shook his fur, “Hardly seems gratifying. Howsoabout an excursion?”. “Aye then, more mischief it is!” The three of them lept upwards and onwards on pockets of air and propelled themselves to the nearest rickety dock. It was here that the true savagery of mankind was on full display glistening beneath the neon signs of old and the crinkling of paper lanterns. They passed gentlemen’s clubs, bars, and seedy little cafes where surely many a backroom deals were being made. They stopped just short of the state line where sat the video palor and book rental shoppe at Garrison’s supermarket. Operated by an old Haitian woman, the shop was known to put hexes on it’s merchandise and if anyone should be overdue, well, somethings are better left unsaid. The whole aroma of the place smelt of hog fat, popcorn, and dust. From beyond the bead curtain, the Haitian welcomed the three youths with a simple nod and returned to her small black and white television behind the desk. She wouldn’t miss an episode of In The Heat Of The Night, not for all the fool’s gold in the world. “So, what are we in the mood for exactly?,” Francis asked slyly eyeballing various Troma films, namely SGT. Kabukiman N.Y.P.D., truly a keen mix of eastern heroism and non-stop violence. “I don’t know,” replied Tilly, thumb and forefinger clasping her chin, passing by the children’s films,”Nothing romantic, like I need another reason to throw up.” Harrison chimed in, browsing through the action movies, “Saw both Last Action Hero and The Last Dragon last week, so that’s out. Was a nice double feature though.” More time passed, and the three slowly came up with three films, Abraxas: Guardian Of The Universe, Breathing Fire, and Final Cut. “Final Cut?,” Francis questioned,”Wasn’t that made in New Orleans?” “Yeah, it’s about a hitchhiking kid who just lost his father who’s trying to discover America through the lens of On The Road by Jack Kerouac.” “Doesn’t sound all that interesting,” Tilly mused. “Oh,” Harrison balked , “well what about yours? Abraxas: Guardian Of The Universe sounds like a train wreck of Canadian mismanagement. Five words: my box has V-D” “Breathing Fire sounded decent. Has that kid from the Goonies who also played Short Round in Indiana Jones.” “Yeah, but is he enough to lead a kung fu movie? I mean sure, Bolo Yeung is in it too, but there’s no way he’s the hero.” “Yes,” the Haitian chimed in,”But at the very least a hero in his own mind. Three dollars for the movies please.” Legal tender was exchanged and the three moved onto the main building. Next door was the main attraction. Converted by the Haitian's husband, Sonny and their foster son, Killian, into a roller rink and general hangout for wayward youths; the two breathed new life into the aged supermarket. As soon as the sliding doors were parted, one was bombarded with a potently acidic mixture of house, dance, rave, and techno music; Killian's doing. The three walked up to the bar, past the strobing lights and numerous arcade machines, and ordered a couple of Abita root beers, and then had a seat to watch the in-progress roller hockey game between the Westside Idolz and the Northend Numans. Competition was fierce. Paul Tartanic was the captain of the Idolz and he damn sure looked the part with a platinum blonde mane and neon tiger stripe face paint. He was lean and well built for his age. Jolie Daisuke was the leader of the Numans and was far more unassuming given the traditional Noh masks and armor padded men's tropical print kimonos her team wore into battle. At stake tonight for the winner was cash prize of hundred bucks, a six pack of the champ's favorite drink, and free play on all the arcade machines. Neither was looking to lose with a fairly even game so far at 30 to 37, the Numans leading. Morris Lemire took the puck for the Idolz, passed it off to Parker Tamrel who zig-zagged in-between two of the Numans, only to be battered into the guard railing by Derrick Nopler, the Numans' lead guard. With the puck loose, it was an utter free-for-all. Five from each team barreled into each other, punching and kicking; teeth loose, eyes blackened. Then, out of nowhere, Copper Keely (the shortest kid around, let alone inline hockey player) dove under the barrage of meat and muscle and snagged the puck for the Idolz. All that was left between him and the goal was Ethan Prestly, who made Derrick look like a smudge of vanilla pudding by comparison. Like any number of golf pros before him, Copper surveyed the area, made adjustments, widened his stance, and took his shot. The puke glided along gracefully at breakneck speed under Ethan's legs. And with a mere six seconds left in the game, Copper scored a more than necessary win for the Idolz. Jolie came over from the player box to congratulate Paul. But as she did so, something went horribly wrong. From out behind her mask came a hoard of locusts that enveloped her entire body and turned her into a shrieking black mass. All that lay behind her piercing yellow eyes was hate. She rushed over towards Paul, but before she could do so, two metal-clad figures descended from the rafters and neutralized Jolie before any serious damage could be done. The two left as suddenly as they came and left the onlookers bothered and bewildered. It was just then that Sonny got a phone call,"Yeah, happened just like you said it would. No, I don't think anyone suspects a thing. It's all going as planned. I'll keep you informed Mr. Corvera."
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