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Subject: Neighbor of the Beast: A Private Joke
Date: Tue, Jun 9, 1998 01:13 EDT
From: BloodRdRse
Message-id: <1998060905130600.BAA12787@ladder01.news.aol.com>
Shambling, shuffling footsteps grate along the walkway, with the occasional clop of a stumble, followed, like clockwork, by the slap of an open palm catching the flat of a glass pane...
Hovering just inside the foyer, her dark eyes winking mischief, Rose listens for the sound, tracing its journey up the Gallica Path and rejoicing every time it is punctuated with a groan of agony. The subtle undercurrent of her hiss is a tranquil rejoinder, harmonizing with the whisper of leather on lacquered wood as a gloved hand slides down the inside of the door... She resembles nothing so much as a spider laying in wait, her wiry limbs steeled and ready, the tips of her teeth glinting in those moments when moonlight forces its way through the crevices in those ancient walls...
She listens from behind the door for several long moments, bemusement turning the corners of lips the color of a fresh wound, until the steps finally end, replaced by a knock that quickly fades to feeble slapping... Then, and only then, when she can feel the listing pulse of the body beyond, when the flickering of her gaze keeps time with its dying cadence, does she draw the latch...
The hinges squeal their diamonds-on-glass protest, and with a sharp gasp, the figure at the threshold nearly falls inside, catching himself at the last minute and steadying himself on the door frame... His gasping becomes a choked cough, however, as he finds himself staring up into wide, emerald
eyes alight with madness...
"However did you find your way here?" comes her velveteen sigh. No 'May I help you?', not even a 'Please, do come in', from the gracious lady of the manor this night... just an indulgent grin and the expression of greed barely contained behind her porcelain facade...
The delivery boy - for that much he is, there can be no doubt - rights himself and shuffles back a pace or two, fidgeting with a nervous hand to straighten his cap and dust muddy stains from his knees. Clearly, the jungle has gotten the better of him - his uniform collar hangs askew, and for the shreds of fabric where once hung sleeves, there is no hope of salvage...
Most amusing of all, of course, is the package carefully nestled in the crook of his other arm... The lid is lopsided and half-crushed, and tissue hangs haphazardly over the edges, revealing the edges of a muted grey G-string, a pair of jiggling beaded eyes, and a single white felt tusk - what else could it be but a pair of elephant underwear?
Struggling to maintain her composure, Rose claps a leather-clad palm over her mouth to stifle the giggles, and her gaze shifts from the parcel to the fresh-faced enthusiasm of the delivery boy. He hasn't even bothered to straighten the package, his own gaze already straying past her to admire the inside of the foyer, with its vaulted ceiling...
"Nice flying buttresses... heh heh... erm, I'm looking for... erm..."
Suddenly looking as though he'd been caught with his pants down, he blinks, blinks again, and fumbles about in his top coat pocket, finally withdrawing a card that is nearly rumpled as he is...
As Rose reaches to snatch it from his hands, her smile is finally revealed, broad and laced with arsenic. It's all she can do to steel herself against the bubbling laughter inside long enough to get a glimpse at the card... And when she does, that burbling is stopped short... and the curves of her mouth even out to regal tranquility, still somehow maintaining that bite of malice...
"I'm afraid you have the wrong address," she croons, allowing the last syllables to linger like gossamer on the air as she awaits (wait for it, wait for it) the crestfallen expression sure to come.
And come it does... His features fairly crumble, achieving a despair she would not have thought possible in one so young... But, then again, it was a long journey through the jungle, and apparently a torturous one... All that, only to have it come to naught... pity...
"You want the house down the road... that would be 668... the neighbor of the beast..."
@
>--->--->---
There is no gathering the rose without being pricked by the thorns.
- Pilpay - The Two Travellers. Chap. ii. Fable vi. (from Sanskrit, translated into English in 1570)
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