Charles Pendelton
       2008 Marty Langdon
Chapter 24

                            Demons wail in the chapel of Hell

I stood on the tracks exasperated and unable to move. Though a decision had to be made,
I refused to budge. Only a train could move me now, I thought, and it was now or never.

As I began to vacillate, John called out to me from a distance, and I reluctantly began to
advance toward him disregarding the signal from my brain, which was telling me to stop.
Louder and louder it became, this woeful sound which completely blew my head, and that
sound was music. It wasn't olde tyme music with a carnival atmosphere, or a barbershop
quartet performing wayside. Never would I hear such melodies, thrilling my heart and
filling my soul with passion! That ticket was taken from me for the age had long since
passed and the present had descended upon me like a plague. The 1890's were diminishing
at an incredible rate and like an exploding star in the firmament of Heaven, it was gone.

I felt miserable and I felt cheated, for I was now the locust born out of season;
the writer with no hands.

As I wracked my brain to try and make that soul-searing music stop, I found it was
a futile attempt. With each step I took, I grew more and more disparaged. Like being
prodded off the highest of high boards, there was no escape. As the music became
audible to my ears, I was now able to hear some of the words which were being
communicated unto me from the foul fiend. "I'm going off the rails on a crazy train."


Of all the songs in the world, why does this one have to be playing now?
In despair, I asked myself that very question. I didn't understand it, but
realized it had something to do with the chain of events that would follow.

Why couldn't Boeing Duveen and The Beautiful Soup, be allowed to grace the airwaves with
that insidious Lewis Carroll poem of utter madness entitled,

Or better still, Faine Jade, serenade us with their untouchable classic, Introspection?

Then not only would I be able to relate to it, but I would be in psychedelic heaven as well!

Also I might add, Lollipop minds by Wimple Winch! That song has enough acid in it to send even the
most advanced hippies into a love induced coma, but I simply adore it.
It's who I am.

My mind was now full of bitterness and loathing. The evil had set in and the devil
worshipers were out in droves, whilst I, just wanted to get past this station intact.

How many of them were there, and what was going to happen to us? Were they going
to pelt us with bottles? Shout names at us? Spit on us? Throw awful bags of shit on us?
I honestly did not know what to expect! As we slowly drifted pass the Annadale station,
it seems I had created the whole scenario in my mind. I was anticipating a scene like the
Turnbull AC's packing the station with pipes in hand, ready to begin the unthinkable,
but instead, it turned out to be just the opposite!

                                                                               Pg 114

There was an old man standing next to a raggy teenager who was rather demure in stature.
What a relief, I thought as I approached the station where the straggly haired teen held the
massive boombox. Roughly five feet away stood the old gent, and judging by his personal
appearance, he looked like he might have been a retired plumber! I watched as he inhaled
that cigarette, and the was his face crinkled as the smoke singed his eyes, made it look like
he was in Heaven! There was less than a puff left, but this old fellow smoked that beloved
cigarette right down to the very cough! It appeared to me as though he were trying to
invoke lung cancer, as he sucked on that crackling filter which emitted those crude toxins
that made his eyes all runny. God I thought, that must be like smoking insulation!

I was relieved in a sense, that we weren't going to get jumped and clubbed to death like three
poor defenseless seals, but yet, there was still a part of me wading in despair. I saw the metal
sign bearing the name of the stations stop, and noticed it had been defaced by vandals using
thick black magic markers. The sign read in close approximating letters, "BANANNADALE,"
and be perfectly honest, it looked like a legitimate sign posted by Staten Island Rapid Transit!
For the life of me, I could not differentiate between the two! It seems you can't escape the
degradation of a certain town, for it is within its own infrastructure, that it is the way it is.

I then cast my mind to moments earlier and wondered, if I was still back in happy-time
mode. Had my train not been derailed by Ozzy Ozbourne and the orchestra from Hell.
If I was still beaming and filled with good cheer, the words on the sign post might have
been interpreted quite differently; but now, all was ruined with no way of ever returning,
for everything pure and perfect that I felt deep within my spirit was suddenly ravaged.

In a clear perceptive mind, I had actually begun to see myself as a turn of the century
gentleman. Walking down the tracks of my abandoned dreams, like I'd just been spun
from a black and white Twilight Zone episode. With a certain flair and distinction I
projected myself in thought, until I began to feel and experience those very emotions, as
though they were somehow relevant. In that moment of my disillusionment, these feelings
were thought to be the very backbone of life itself, and if all had gone well, the rest of the
night would have been as jam. I smiled to myself and disregarded the whole mess, for I
truly believed in the confines of my own heart that it was an unforeseeable disaster.

As we walked further past the station, the music soon diminished and was gone. Pete wanted
no part of anyone or anything as he continued to walk thirty feet ahead of us, as if he were
encased in his own world. Moving ever forward in a tenaciously diligent manner, that stark figure
looked as though he would consume the night. Looking back only to study our advancement,
he switched to an even faster pace, while grimacing like Beelzebub burning with rage!

Happiness for sadness Peter would not barter, and so
he fed the fires of rage with a glowing red shovel of coal
and a cantankerous spirit that irked with grief.

Ay Pete, John called out! "See Charles, Pete don't care about us. Why is he doing this?"
Just ignore him, I said. Peter's blatant lack of decorum was no shock to my senses for he
needed to be high too. As we continued on, John was becoming exceedingly loquacious
and all this commotion was beginning to gnaw at me. He was now putting his hand on my
shoulder, slowing me down. So languid was I in this state that I bellowed aloud!!!

                                                                               Pg 115

It felt as though we were walking on a treadmill, and the anxiety I was currently
experiencing was very similar to that of walking in a dream. A dream where
instead of going forward, I was being pulled slowly in reverse. No matter
focused I was or how optimistic I became, it just felt like I wasn't getting
anywhere. At this point in time, my mind and body have become effete,
as if every ounce of energy had been drained from me. Like a partial paralysis
was threatening my over-accelerated metabolism! I was so hot, and now, oh so
weak. I felt as though I had not eaten in almost a year, and within my stomach
lay a starving child. I knew then and there how it felt to be hungry. Where the
tormented cries become a yearning that no one, nor nothing can satisfy. To be so
withdrawn and exhausted from stress that anything offered, could not placate my
needs nor pacify my insatiable groans. How we can take advantage of something
as dire as a piece of bread or a grain of rice was now astounding to me. Where
one person starves to death and dies, another throws food out the window.

I thought of all this as I continued moving toward an unknown destination.
I was beginning to feel very much like that hardened plasticine head in my
doctor's office! The one with all the emotions unfurled like a spherical map
of the states. In dotted co-ordinance, you can trace the path of emotion to fear,
and to the point where pain meets pleasure. I also found these drawings to be
quite fascinating as well. Drawings as stated in Ferrier's experiments of 1876,
or anything pertaining to Dr. Alesha Sivartha. Right about now, all these little
areas in my brain must have been flashing around like police sirens! I was so
tired of listening to other people. Their ideas and what they deemed right for
me! Everything was school, but school was a prison of the infirmed. No, the
erudite wisdom of fools would not be imputed unto me. Turn your head when
I need a hand and teach me what I cannot learn. Spit upon me when I fail and
then cast me in the river. I'll take my chances with the nomads and the dogs.


In the beginning, I had more than anyone. I never took it for granted,
and I always gave thanks for it. After losing everything, I hardened
my heart to the world. In fact, I became quite bitter. No longer would
I demonstrate a propensity to excel at anything, and no matter how
hard I tried, when I did feel like trying, I could not concentrate on
things I put my mind to. It was almost as if I was drifting off into
space, even in pleasant conversation. I tried to study on my own time,
but there were too many distractions around me, for I had developed
a compulsion disorder. If I had to look one word up in the dictionary,
then I was in it for hours learning and studying new words. I only
went to school because it was required of me, and because I needed
to obtain a high school diploma. In my family, not having one was
simply insupportable, and I did not want to carry another burden.

                                                                               Pg 116

So here I am once again, analyzing the winds of time in a bad dream, while trying to gain a higher
understanding of a world I am unsure of. I needed to get in touch with my emotions to find out
what it was that I was, so hopped on the roller coaster with no rails and began my ascent toward
Heaven. Why is it that not only I, but the rest of today's impaired society refuses to comprehend the
deleterious effect a drug can have on them, until they're halfway in the blender? Then it becomes a
desperate struggle not to lose what we so carelessly and haphazardly threw into the wind.

It's funny how you don't think of it until it's too late, and by that time you're plummeting hopelessly
toward the ground. Then the only one who can save you is the one who seems to exist solely on paper,
and even then, we can't make time for him on a Sunday. Why do you put up with us heathens, oh Lord?
I thought to myself silently, as I walked the endless stretch of horizontal ladder without reason or being.

I took that road because I needed a little adventure. I wanted to animate my surroundings and
dive in, leaving this troubled world behind. Life was getting a wee bit drab in this humdrum
world of ever the same, but now it's gone ahead of itself, and I am left to play the game alone.
How could doing anything like this help me to become anything at all? I was playing Russian
roulette with my life and every minute that went by seemed to be plunging me deeper and deeper
in despair. I felt like I was at a very critical stage in my consciousness. That every decision made
would not only impact this world, but the world that comes after. Indeed, I had come to a turning
point. I knew that I needed to make certain changes, but I needed to apply them to my world!
Again, I was thinking of how foolish I was for chancing everything and the punishment I was going
to receive from God, should anything go wrong tonight. "There are no more excuses which can
be made for they will not be heard." And now
I am despairing over that quandary!

These conflicting emotions and that terrible burden, all spiraling into a chasm of certain doom.

I thought of that mind bending music I listen to everyday and began to think of myself as an
advocate of drug use. "I am no damn advocate of anything!"
I screamed at this damaged brain,
as though he were attempting to betray me in front of the creator himself! "You are the great
betrayer, not I!!!"
I stood screaming, while pointing my finger at that contemptuous
wall of
thought. "You should be trying to make me feel better, not condemning me to Hell, you immoral
I just enjoy the peacefulness of the music!" I retorted. This silent battle I was having
in my head was beginning to widen in scope. "Yes, you do enjoy the music" said the evil one
stepping forth from the shadows, "but at the expense of how many innocent lives?"

                                                                               Pg 117

God, I am a terrible person, I thought as I turned my back on him, giving me just enough
time to do that which needed to be done. I swiftly unsheathed my sword and swung it with
fervor to sever the evil beast's head! The bloody helmet fell to the ground leaving a trickle
of blood spatter, but not before the arterial spray covered my face and chest. Was I wearing
no clothes? That should hardly matter from where I stood. Victorious in triumph!

"For the Lord God!" I screamed out, like a gladiator while gripping tightly that
severed head by its filthy knotted hair! Just then that black moldy wall was cranked
down into the earth and the meadow came alive with green grass and flowers! Damn-it,
I forgot to get rid of the head! Just then it exploded, where I found myself walking.

I was not a terrible person. . . I was merely a victim of the changing times.

Think positive, said the raspberry leprechaun in the chapel of Hell,
where demons wail. Think positive and we all shall get through this
together! Suddenly, the rails seemed to shimmer strangely in the light of
the moon, and I could almost feel a strange vibration reverberating down
the tracks behind me. I turned around to see a white light shining in my
direction. It was moving frame by frame like that of a projector when its
plug is abruptly pulled. As the train came to rest at the station's platform
and I could see it was taking its time. Like a bull waiting to charge, it
just stayed there, watching me from afar. Then without warning it began
to move; gaining momentum by rolling on its iron wheels toward me!

The light seemed to have more composition to it now, than it did before,
and even began to resemble a rather large glaring eye peering through
the distance at me. We left the tracks to go down a wooded incline where
we waited with eyes closed tight for that transmundane serpent to pass.

The size of a mouse it may have very well been, but it wouldn't be that
small for long! The closer it came, the louder it got, until it was almost
upon us! Then like a massive mechanical monster, it roared by and
seemed to be infuriated by our presence here! "Boy is that thing pissed,"
I said aloud! No one heard me because the sound it made was deafening.

It moved like a steel snake with a stiff neck, that had awoken on a very
bad day. I dared not think about where it was going, for that was too
creepy! I then watched it slither away into the ever brooding darkness.

It was truly man's goodwill to create all these contraptions to take one
hitherto, but he inadvertently forgot one thing whilst on his way to glory.

And that is if you make life a little too easy,
it then becomes more complicated for those who have to live it,
and thus, the very first problem began.

So now we're all stuck in somebody else's problem,
and we can't dwell upon it because we're too high.

                                                                               Pg 118


Reviews for chapter 24

Kenneth Norowitz - Magnificent!

Paola Morales - You have a very vivid imagination!

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PG 114) Airships, locomotives and automobiles by Jarosław Jaśnikowski -

PG 114) The heavy metal violin
by Adrian Borda -

PG 114) Nightwalkers
by David Wright -

PG 115) Lucky Strike cigarette advertisement -
circa 1940's -

PG 115) Heavy metal hero by Rodney Matthews -

PG 116) Don't waste food
by The United States Food Administration -

PG 117) Cryoclasm
by Zoltan Boros & Gabor Szikszai -

PG 118) Viking Kill by Patrick Jones

PG 118) Wheel of Fortune by Heather Watts -

PG 118) Ghost train by
Philip Straub -

PG 118) Dragon's pleasure by Jacek Yerka -

PG 118) Aquarius
by Jacek Yerka -