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Austin Macauley Publishers - Peter Vinkil

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41 pages

English

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Three stories of diabolical dentistry, delicious alien delicacies and political demonic desperation. BLACK SHOCKPolitics is a dirty, dirty business and the people who engage in it can quickly descend from their morals and principles to twist things for their own private advantage. Councillor Selkie Denison, as told in her own words, recounts her current predicament and some rather strange supernatural ghostly visions. IT REALLY WAS LOVELY TO MEAT YOUMeat is on the menu. The facility set up to improve food production is the subject of a documentary about the methods used to process manimals into a tasty collection of titbits. MOLARYA plot to exact revenge by the new hygienist, with a dubious past on a disgraced, voluptuous former politician and patient at the practice goes amiss, leading to some unscheduled dental work on old Dr Hesaltine. Suitable reading for people of all political persuasions, anyone in the dental and medical professions, meat lovers and vegans, the general population, and many other people of dubious character.

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Short story

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Publié par	Austin Macauley Publishers
Date de parution	29 mars 2019
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781528951326
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0175€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Titbits of Terror
Peter Vinkil
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-03-29
Titbits of Terror Copyright Information Black Shock It Really Was Lovely to Meat You Molary
Copyright Information
Copyright © Peter Vinkil (2019)
The right of Peter Vinkil to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528931526 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528931533 (Kindle e-book)
ISBN 9781528951326 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Black Shock
‘Sanity is only that which is within the frame of reference of conventional thought.’
Erich Fromm
What is done is done and I do not expect you to believe what I am about to pen, indeed my very senses reject the evidence as I now communicate it to you. I confess my sin and will endeavour to tell my story in as lucid a manner as I can command, ‘but’ I assure you I am not mad and these events are not some terrible demonic dream.
My name is Selkie Denison. Born in the Orkney parish of St Ola, in the town of Kirkwall. From an early age, I had a tenderness for animals which my now dead parents indulged by buying me various creatures like rabbits and chickens, which I would look after and was never so happy as when my attention was directed to tending them.
I married at a relatively early age and was happy to find that my husband, Alex, was of a similar disposition regarding animals to myself, and we soon had several pets, although our first house was small with only a compact little back yard. Alex was not what you would call very bright but he was loyal and generally did what I wanted and what he was told, which I think suited us both.
While my career as a minor council official and then to junior political roles progressed, we moved into a larger detached home on a large and fairly secluded plot. The house, I found out, was a converted building that used to be an old pumping station. I noticed it had a few rather unusual Gothic features on the exterior which, though somewhat chilling, seemed to hold an attraction for me. We were told it originally had a very deep cellar which housed the pump mechanism, but this had been largely boarded over and a wine cellar created above. It was at this time we added a small terrier puppy to our menagerie of creatures. We called this new addition Gordon and he had a totally jet black coat of short shiny hair and bright little eyes.
For many who have cherished an affection for a faithful and canine companion, I need not explain the intensity of the bond and contentment derived from this. There is something substantial in the love of an animal that is in stark contrast to the all too often paltry and superficial or doubtful friendship of many human friends and companions.
We also took on a part time home help around this time. Her name was Morag Phoneutria. She was fairly short and stocky in appearance with wisps of greying hair curls glancing around her face. I believe she came from Central or maybe South America. I had used my position, and somewhat illicitly helped her get a work visa for which she was most appreciative, enabling us to gain a loyal and cheap to employ servant. Mo, as we came to call her, was a pleasant enough individual who in addition to her other tasks took to looking after the welfare of the animals as required. She could speak and understand English well enough to get by, but would generally keep quietly in the background and just uncomplainingly tend to her tasks.
Our contentment did not last however. Over time, my general temperament deteriorated due in no small part to the demon drink. The evil spirit of my intemperance slowly but surely began to darken my personality. At length, I would sometimes display personal violence to Alex, and even the pets were made to suffer by my change of disposition as I consciously neglected and ill-treated them. For Gordon, however, I still seemed to have some affection and regard which prevented me from maltreating the attentive little creature.
I was, however, successful at masking my personality change in my public life, and only Alex and Mo were aware of the dark alter ego in me which could surface. This was, in truth though, only a catalyst for the events leading to my current plight as this account of events will testify to.

The Hairdresser Appointment
I remember strange and ominous circumstances started to occur on one particular afternoon. I remember I had finished my official council duties, and I was dropped off by Alex to my weekly appointment with my hairstylist.
‘In my job, image is the key to success, and so one must always try to look one’s best when projecting the desired character.’
It had been a fine day but there was a cold wind that had just come up. I noticed this was causing a tree to make a scraping sound as its fingery branches were blown against the shop’s brick wall. I entered the salon and was presently beckoned to come over and sit down by my hairstylist Guido Gaula. Guido started tending to my hair and presently he produced a large can of scented styling mousse. Spraying it onto his palm it foamed up like whipped cream, and he proceeded to quiff up my hair so it looked like a cow’s horns.
I looked in the mirror and for a split second saw a blooded red Lucifer like image of my dead mother’s face staring back at me, her lips curled to a sinister smile, just for a split second, and then almost instantly my true features reappeared on the mirror’s reflection.
What this ghastly mental imagery meant, I confess eluded me and it presently removed itself from my thoughts as Guido proceeded with his combing and styling.
Guido suddenly and out of the blue said, “I think real life is overrated. Why do you suppose we are here?”
Rachael the young trainee with bright pink hair and safety-pin in her nose who was sweeping the floor replied, “I’m here because I had to walk here man. So when are you gonna give me a shoe allowance then?”
Ignoring this, Guido continued, “No, no I mean why are we here on Earth, alive? I mean why are we anywhere, why do we exist?”
Rachael thought for a second and then replied, “Because we wos born and because Earth can support life an all that.”
Guido sniggering, “Well you’re the smart one, ain’t you! Just forget it, I will, and get on with the hair, and you had better get Mrs Mason her cup of tea.” He glanced around at old Mrs Mason, who had bits of silver foil spiking in all directions on her head, and gave her a little wave; to which she responded with a wide grin.
When Guido had nearly finished with the mousse, a smile curling at the edge of his mouth, he remarked, “Mousse, mousse, it’s such a comical word. It’s styling foam but they all call it mousse,” pausing a moment and with an amused grin he continued, “Mickey mousse.” He laughed and said, “There, all done-ski; you look beautiful!”
Rachael yelled from the store cupboard, “Guido can I go at half past as me boyfriend Lloyde wants to take me out later.”
Guido replied back, “Lazy girl! You can go at quarter to five, no earlier. And don’t let him in the shop if he is eating one of those smelly, spicy filled wrap things he likes. Last time the mucky little bugger dropped half of it on the floor, and all the hair you should have cleared up ended up sticking to it. Stank like a blooming Turkish shish kebab in here for hours!”
Turning to his audience of customers, he continued, “You just can’t get the staff nowadays,” he said contemptuously, shaking his head in mock disapproval. With the preening complete, all neatly quaffed, curled, volumised and oiled, credit card out I paid over a suitable financial remuneration for Guido’s hairstyling artistry, plus flattery, and departed the salon.

A Coffee and Cake
I had arranged for Alex to pick me up after my hairdresser’s appointment so we could go to the coffee shop in the town centre. My afternoon was free and I wanted to get some ideas for an important party speech that I needed to pen within the next week or so.
We got to the coffee shop around 4:15pm, it was still light outside but the chill wind felt colder than before, so we decided to retreat inside instead of sitting at one of the little round bistro tables outside.
Alex went up and ordered our coffees with a couple of pieces of spice cake. The barista prepared the drinks and brought them with the cake to our table.
“What does anyone need in life?” I asked.
Alex replied, “Love, my dear!!” with an amused smile, cocking his eyebrow and taking a sip of his frothy cappuccino.
“No! I am serious, what people need is a purpose. For ‘political purposes’ anyway,” I said.
“Why can’t love be a purpose?” Alex asked.
“Because it’s an emotion, stupid boy. Now get serious, this speech is important and I have got to come up with a suitable hook to get their attention,” I said.
I picked up my caffè latte and took a sip, had a nibble of my cake and leaned back in the chair.
‘Politicians are either part of the solution or part of the problem. When they can be both, it’s a secure job for life.’
Alex gobbled down his piece of cake. “Oh! This tastes heavenly… Delicious,” he said between bites. As the crumbs fell down his front, he brushed them off with quick swishes of his hand. We chatted for a while as I assembled thoughts in my mind to include for my forthcoming speech.
‘The sorcery of the politician is to slyly pil