Charles Pendelton
      © 2008 Marty Langdon
Chapter 35

                  From the depths of Hades

Upon arriving home, John immediately noticed the bathroom light was on.
There didn't appear to be anyone up there, but he began to act strange. For
some reason, I could not ascertain, he began to worry about the light being
on in that room. “It's never on” he said, “and look at what time it is.” He
then sat at the top of the stoop and began to contemplate the situation.

“Wait a minute,” John says, before entering the house. A few minutes later
he comes out with a nice chunk of blonde hash and his new reefer pipe.

“I was looking this piece of hash before we left tonight.”

“Where was it?”

“It was on the table next to my bed. Thank God my mother didn't go in there.”

“Yeah, I guess that's why they call it dope,”
I said, in a spaced-out voice.

John then put the piece of hash into the pipe, and we began smoking.
I was coughing like I had Tuberculosis, and loving every minute of it.

“This is really good, I declared,” in a nasal tone.
“I think it's really going to intensify the high.”

It's not easy talking to someone when you're holding in a lungful of smoke.

After taking roughly eight deep tokes on the metal pipe, John says,
“I don't feel so good.”

“Just take it easy man.” I reassured him.

“No way, this is wrong.” He then runs to the backyard, and I follow behind.

“Seriously, you gotta calm down.”

He ignored me as he dug his
hands into the garden, and
proceeded to bury the pot pipe. Standing there
I watched, as a glorious piece of hash met its demise.

“Maybe he was right,” I thought. While John walked around in circles,
wondering why he was alive, I, on the other hand, decided to play the game.

It was at this moment where I began to examine the driveway. I gazed down
the mysterious shape with eyes peering and found that a form of serpent
writing had been scrawled inside it. Indelible evidence that evil most
certainly does exist in our plain of time, and now the magic transcript was
glowing with reason. In my heart, I felt as though I were an archaeologist
who had just uncovered a missing artifact from the bowels of Hell itself.

If it were let’s say a lost document from a timeless ledger, or an actual
inscription from the land below, then by the depths of Hades, why was
I allowed to bear witness unto it? As I looked deeply into an enigma,
the murky veil was removed and the scroll came to life.

Like a blind man able to see, the vision was totally unobscured.

Within the lucid fabric of their own genes, they all
bore a distinctive
trait that controlled them and kept
them together as one, though they were

Letters of havoc, written in tide.
*Under pressure, I guess*

The encrypted doctrine was becoming sharper, and I could feel my
heart shifting into new gears. No earthly mortal would be able to crack
the code on this baby, I thought as my mind ran in circles above me. 

This just in:

“A teenager on Staten Island has stumbled upon what appears to be one of Lucifer's
many diabolical manuscripts. Can you tell us something about the baneful image
which appeared to you just hours before dawn on this seemingly quiet street?”

“Certainly Jim. Me and my friend here had just returned from an outing, when I
looked down to find this unusual formation. Honestly, I wasn't sure what to make
of it at first, but as it continued to grow stronger from within, I began to study the
nature of its indecisiveness. Odd as that may seem, I felt like a clairvoyant whose
power had just been summoned.”

“Did you observe it in its earliest stage?”

“Yes, I did Jim. I believe it first started in the form of a helix or a
three-dimensional curve, and from there it progressed into what
can only be described as a menagerie of anatomical heresy.”

“There you have it ladies and gentlemen. The men standing behind me are from
the pentagon, and it seems they've flown a chopper in to pull it out. They're going
to examine it, to make sure it's not a hoax before flying it back to the compound
in Washington. From there it will be moved to an undisclosed location where it will
undergo further observation, and one day in the near future, perhaps they’ll have
an answer they can all share with us. Now, back to you Roger.”

                                                                               Pg 253

But was there a deeper meaning in Miranda's crystal ball?

Could the chemical formula within the elixir of life
prove to be as acrid as an epitaph of mourning?

Or was the Whip-poor-will weeping,
merely singing a tune for thee?

This I pondered near a red maple.

s I gathered and collected thoughts, to be sorted out at a later date,
I made a promise to the wind that I would figure this one out. Not
knowing that the answer to all things was merely the beginning of
more problems. Like Sherlock Holmes, I stood there, so intent on
knowing, but what was I trying to know? This, I thought cunningly,
and it made the whole world seem like one big game of detective.

                                              The Endd - Come on in to my world

I wish I had the pipe right now, I thought. That Peterson briar
was a smoker’s dream. With a pouch full of Middleton’s cherry
and a matchbook or two, I'd be in heaven. Getting down on
both knees, I could see what was starting to happen here.

So subtle and crafty is the shark that lies in wait.
The martyr in the midst of life.
The feral bloody tooth.

As I watched the insidious strands parlay in the white mirror, I
wondered if they were nothing more than the devil’s own greed.

With two fingers, I gently caressed the top of the hardened mortar
pad, held in place by years of intense struggle. Who could have
thought that on this winsome night, I would become literally obsessed
with the underworld and things that moved about in dark places?

Basically, I was trying to descend from my trip in the
most awesome
way possible, and so I convinced myself into accepting it as fact.

How long before they overflowed into the next pad, spreading their pestilence
within dense realms of containment while formulating an inimitable strategy
for escape. Should the virile progeny emerge to besmirch the evening air, let
us then pray they may eschew the rays of sunlight. Heaven help us, should
they come crawling out of my altered reality to find their way up a pant cuff
or an embroidered skirt. In which case, they may find the narrow opening
of a tubular urethra, and decide to spawn within the soft lining of man's
awaiting bladder; like the vampire fish of the Amazon river basin.

Society as we currently know would then be doomed to extinction, forcing us
all to live life from out of the horrifying pages of a crazed H.P. Lovecraft novel.

Hereunto we have arisen triumphantly.
Tomorrow, we trade our salubrious smiles for impassioned tears.

When the psychical world of shadows attempts to invade the quiet
space that resides within the sanctity of your own apperception, they
lead you to believe it is a welcoming party; it is not. In reality, it is
a search and rescue mission that eventually uncovers a multitude
of corpses, and once you let them in, they begin to breed despair.

Effortlessly and without care they instinctively swarm the enclosure.

Like a million boa constrictors in an enormous vat of quicksand
they scatter, as would leeches in a stagnant swamp, if human
bait had suddenly been lowered. Slow moving with a hint of
apprehension, but it was growing. They were growing. Such as
the worm pulled apart would grow anew, similar in this nature
was the intrepid creature who slithered like a virus in its quadrel
cage of stone. Procuring their sanctions were they of their own
volition, to ensure their defenses would not be breached.

These herpetoid dwellers, if given the chance could paralyze the
world of science and bring down with it a host of quantum laws.

                                                                               Pg 254

In a vain attempt to keep righteous order in their own world, they
thrust forward and pull back. Calculating equations without error and
tenuously excreting themselves to form their own supreme dynasty.

*There is no need to fight over territorial demesne*

Still, they manage to incorporate a fluent but graceful air about
themselves. It is one of the things that make them truly unique.

Without further analysis, the scornful image reflected a magnitude of
contempt by continuing to disseminate throughout the entire

Like a hoard of mad dictators, they weaseled their
way in
and took over that block, as Hitler would
have taken over America
and destroyed us.

With no one to stop them, it was theirs for the

As my awkward shadow touched the perimeter of their
communal nest,
they went into a mad frenzy. Eventually, they
would go on to become
the earth's bile, but not before I got
a chance to take some final notes.

Every man is equal to himself in power. Not to abuse his gift, but to uplift even
the penurious man in rags. The same way no man wishes to be enslaved by the
ignorance of others, no man desires to live in poverty. All men should wish to fight
for what they believe in, providing it earns them respect. It is a sad truth, but you
will find the color of a man’s skin becomes irrelevant, only in the trifles of war.

Thousands upon thousands of venomous designs fashioned in concrete would create
a calligraphic maze. Jet black and semi curly with a moray eel edge. Like a lock of
Medusa’s hair, they were everywhere. Spawning and reproducing within the confines
of their own elaborate scheme, was their domain in my elusive mind.

Twirling down ev’r so brilliantly, they contracted and darted, like a chain of myosin
coming free from itself to spin madly. Filthy yet beautiful was the stunning inlay
of this hoary tablet that seemed to support a brimming continent of weight.

Elapid patterns conceived in whimsy by the devil's own hand were illustrious portraits
of the centuries lost in decay. Like ashes to ashes or dust to dust, there
was no remorse.
A superior being perhaps, but one still vulnerable to the autumnal
hymn of motion.

Time is the enemy of man, but who is the enemy of time?

Who should be afraid of the murderer of 1846?
Stand tall for the enemy is dead!

And how can the man standing accused in 1412 repent?
If he is going to repent, then let him do so quickly, for the next second is now.

What I saw from the design is that there is no time. There is nothing left.

I, may very well lift up my glass and toast to your health, while you, may
very well see my great-grandchildren walking with canes. Everything that
will come to be has done so, for we are merely remnants of a bygone day.

                                                                               Pg 255


Reviews for chapter 35

Jake Knowles - This has to be the best ending to single chapter ever!

Marina Petrovicova - The words of you make heart of mine beat faster.
So much poet. I amazed

Alfred Dauman - Your writing is like heroin and that is a good thing

Anthony Besa - In all my books, I have never seen anything like this!
Your style cannot be improved upon because it has been so polished
up for us to read. Great - :)

Jimmy Radcliff - Where the fuck do you study?

Toby Goldin - Your words are like poetry that fell to the ground
and landed perfectly! Any chance I could learn to write like that?

Mark Shales - It is fantastic, your stories. I like the way you write

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PG 253) Telephone by Chris Mars

PG 253)
Pride of the province by Rafal Olbinski -

PG 254) Seer's crystal ball
by Aude Laurent -

PG 254)
Illustration for Sherlock Holmes by Jim Warren -

PG 254)
The shuttered room by H.P. Lovecraft, 1959 -

PG 255) All to Hell
by Brian Smith -

PG 255) Medusa
by Ilene Meyer -

PG 255) The walking lesson
by Jacek Yerka - 

PG 255) Deadtown guard
by Dominik Broniek -

PG 255)
Rebonjour by Roland Topor -