The Brentford Chainstore Massacre (21 page)

“No problems,” said the groundsman. “But just one question.”

“What’s that?”

“Would it be all right with you if I stuck my willy in your machine?”

Time moved forwards, as time generally does, and the countdown to the New Millennium became minutes rather than hours.

“No, Cain, no.” Dr Steven Malone stood in his basement laboratory at Kether House. All its horrors had been removed by the police months before, but new horrors now replaced them. “We have been arguing over this for hours. I should not be the one to die. I cannot be the one to die. For what I shall learn will affect all mankind.”

“What will you learn, father?” asked Cain.

“All, Cain, all.”

“No, father, that is the answer you have given before. No man can know all. All can never be known. Only God knows all.”

“I will know more than God,” said Dr Steven Malone. “For I will learn what makes God God. Of what God is composed.”

“And how could you possibly learn this?”

“From the DNA of God. The DNA which is THE BIG IDEA. The first thought. I will possess this and from it I will clone myself.”

“That’s a crock of shit,” said Abel.

“Hold your tongue, boy.”

“Boy? I am now the same age as you.”

“But you can grow no older.”

“This I know. But I do not know how I know this.”

“Because you do not know who you are.”

“Then tell us, father,” said Cain. “Tell us who we are.”

“You are the clones of Jesus Christ.”

“No.” Cain shook his golden head. “This cannot be. This is madness.”

“We should put the bastard out of his misery,” said Abel. “He’s clearly a stone bonker.”

“I am telling you the truth.” Dr Malone thrust his pale white hands into the pockets of his grey tweed trousers. “Cloned from blood taken from the Turin Shroud. I have puzzled long regarding your differences. But then I checked my case notes. You, Abel, the blood from which you were cloned came from scourge marks. While yours, Cain, came from the rib where the spear of Longinus the Centurion pierced you. The Agony of Life and the Ecstasy of Death. But I must take my samples at the next stage. The moment of resurrection.”

Cain stared into the eyes of Dr Steven Malone. “And you do not think that God will strike you dead for this? For surely you seek to commit the ultimate blasphemy.”

“No, Cain, I do not. For God does know all and God exists outside time. God knew, before the dawn of creation, that his son would die upon the cross. So he also knew of the Turin Shroud and of the blood and of twentieth-century science. All this is for a purpose. Ultimately God’s purpose. The difference between myself and others who believe in God is that I deny God’s divinity. I do not believe that God is to be worshipped, I believe that God is THE BIG IDEA. What will come when I clone God is of God’s purpose. I am following his passive will.”

“The man’s a frigging space cadet,” said Abel.

“No,” said Cain, “I don’t think he is.”

Howl, shriek and scream.

Having three lead guitarists who played three different lead guitar solos simultaneously gave the Hollow Chocolate Bunnies a certain edge.

Norman had his earplugs in, so he wasn’t too bothered about edges. He was focused on his rather splendid switchboard. This was covered, as switchboards so often are, with switches. Each of these had a little label above it. On one the words Big Rockets were pencilled, on another Catherine Wheels, on yet another Starfires, and on yet another still, Golden Showers.

Cables led from the switchboard up the scaffolding at the rear of the stage to a gloriously ramshackle framework to which were attached hundreds of Roman candles arranged to spell out WELCOME TO THE YEAR 2000. All at the flick of a switch, of course. Norman did further screwdriver twiddlings, then looked upon all that he had made and found it good. He turned to the groundsman and grinned. “We’re rocking and rolling here,” he said. “Now please take your willy out of my machine.”

“A bull’s heart?” said Clive. “He stuck his willy in a bull’s heart?”

Derek grinned. “That’s what it said in this article I read. He’d wired it up to make it beat. But he’d wired it up to the mains and he was electrocuted to death. When they found him he was fried. Looked like a doner kebab.”

“Or a beefburger,” said Clive. “But I still don’t believe it.”

“It’s true. I read it in Fortean Times”

“Then it must be true. So where is Mr Pooley?”

“Here it comes,” said Fred.

And here Jim came.

Jim had his head down, a flat cap like Fred’s pulled low over his face. He walked in a curious manner as of one tiptoeing along. As of one who is very drunk, doing his best to pretend that he’s sober, perhaps? The Car was parked across the street from Professor Slocombe’s house. Pooley tiptoed up against it and knelt down. The electrically operated window on Fred’s side swished down into the door.

“You’d best get a move on,” said Fred.

Pooley leaned into The Car. “Are you all right, Suzy?” he asked. “Have they done anything to you?”

“I’m fine, Jim. Just get me out of here, please.”

“I love you, Suzy.”

“I love you, Jim.”

Fred pressed the button and the window rose.

“Just do what I told you,” said Fred. “Take the bag into the Professor’s circle. I’ll know if you don’t.”

Professor Slocombe stood within the sacred circle, performing the Ritual of the Star Sapphire.

Bowing to the East, he said, “Pater et Mater unus deusArarita.” To the South, “Mater et Filius unus deusArarita.” To the West, “Filius et Filia unus deusArarita.” To the North, “Filia et Pater unus deusArarita.”

Jim Pooley stumbled across the street towards the Professor’s garden door.

“He’s going for it,” said Derek.

Fred pulled up the aerial on the little black box device and watched the little red blip that was Pooley move across the screen. “He’d better,” said Fred. “Or I’ll blow his frigging hat off.”

“This is going to blow their socks off” Norman flicked the switch labelled Big Rockets and the first of the big rockets shot into the sky. Starbursts and great chrysanthemum flares crackled over Brentford.

“Oooooooooo,” went the stadium crowd. Even above the roar of the Hollow Chocolate Bunnies.

“Oooooooooo,” went Clive, peering out through the tinted windscreen. “Fireworks.”

“There very soon will be,” said Fred.

And not fifty yards away in the basement of Kether House, Dr Steven stood in profile, pointing. “Go Father and Mother one god Ararita. Mother and Son one god Ararita. Son and Daughter one god Ararita. Daughter and Father one god Ararita.
^*
”

“Into the chamber, Cain,” he said.

Cain glanced at the chamber. It had the look of a large glass shower cubicle. There were two chairs in it. These were bolted to the floor. On one wall of the cubicle was a canister with a tiny stopcock. The canister was marked POISON.

“Death chamber,” said Cain. “You would really kill us, father?”

“I must do what has to be done.”

“I understand. I myself did what had to be done.”

“You? What did you do?”

“I helped a man called Pooley. A man who is in love. I helped him so that something wonderful could happen. Something I could feel in the air.”

“Enough of this nonsense, Cain. Get into the chamber. I order you to do it. Obey my command.”

“You really think we’re going in there?” sneered Abel. “Get real, you twat.”

“You are powerless to resist. I have programmed your minds. Put you into deep trance again and again. I now command you to enter the chamber.”

Cain walked slowly across the basement floor and entered the chamber. Abel twitched and shook, but he too, with faltering steps, followed Cain.

With faltering steps Jim Pooley approached the Professor’s French windows. From within came the sound of the magician’s voice rising higher, calling out the Latin phrases that would herald the new dawn. Bringing the ceremony to its climax. For the most part, though, these were drowned by the screams and whistles and bangs of Norman’s firework display.

Jim reached into his pocket and pulled out the wriggling bag and then he pressed his fingers to the blackly daubed French windows.

“No, Jim.” A hand grasped his wrist.

Jim turned. “John?”

“Don’t do it, Jim. Whatever it is, don’t do it.”

“I have to, John. What are you doing here?”

“I heard about you being thrown from the limo. Suzy’s gone missing. I put two and two together. They’ve got her, haven’t they? They’re blackmailing you to destroy the ceremony.”

“Let me do it my way, John. I have it under control.”

“Oh no you don’t, Jim. A man in love is never in control.”

“I know what I’m doing. Leave it, John.”

“No, Jim. I won’t let you.”

Jim swung round and hit John in the face with something hard. Omally went down and Jim pushed open the French windows.

“He’s going inside,” said Fred, watching Jim’s little blip. “He’s going to do it.”

“And now you are inside,” said Dr Steven Malone. “And now I must do what must be done.”

“Don’t do it, father, please.”

“Have no fear, Cain. You return to God. You become God once more.”

“I have no fear for myself, father, or for Abel. My fear is for you.”

“Waste not your fear then. Because I have none at all.” Dr Steven Malone bolted the chamber door and turned the stopcock on the canister of poison gas.

“Yes!” cried Fred. “He’s entering the circle. He’s entering the circle.”

John Omally lurched into consciousness, clutched at his jaw and shook his head. The French windows were open, and a bright light shone from within. John dragged himself to his feet and fought to enter the Professor’s study, but the light held him back, pushed him away. “Dear God, no,” cried John. “No.”

“Yes,” cried Fred. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Overhead the fireworks exploded, golden showers, starbursts, great flowers of light. Church bells began to ring. Folk prepared for the Auld-Lang-Syning, clutched each other by the hands. Couples in love prepared for the New Year kissing.

“No!” John fought at the light but the light held him back.

“Yes.” Fred’s finger hovered over the deadly red button on the nasty little black box. “And it’s goodnight to you, Mr Pooley,” said Fred.

“Oh no it’s not.” The rear door flew open on Derek’s side. Something hard came in very fast and struck Derek a devastating blow to the face. As Derek fell sideways, Jim leapt in and snatched the Uzi from his hands.

“You?” Fred’s face contorted. “You? How?” He thumbed the button on the box. “Die, you bastard,” he said.

“No.” Jim ripped the flat cap from his head. A bloody gash yawned in his temple. “I cut it out,” said Jim. “No anaesthetic but vodka. I rolled the implant into the Professor’s study. Oh yes, and you can have this back.” He pulled the heaving bag from his pocket and flung it onto Fred’s lap. “Give it back to your guvnor.” Jim levelled the Uzi at Fred. “Get out, Suzy. Hurry now.”

Suzy scrambled over Derek and Jim dragged her from The Car. “Run with me,” he shouted, “and run fast.”

Omally appeared at the Professor’s garden door. “What the…”

“Duck,” shouted Jim as he and Suzy ran by. “Duck, John.”

“All right, I’m ducking.”

“After them! Step on the bloody gas, Clive.”

“Yes, Fred, OK. OK.”

Clive stepped on the gas. Wheels burned rubber. The Car rushed forward.

The explosion drowned out the noise of the fireworks. The rear of The Car lifted into the air. Somersaulted down to the road in flames and sparks and shrapnel. Smoke and debris. Destruction.

And there would have been silence, if it hadn’t been for the fireworks and the ringing bells and the Auld-Lang-Syning. Quite a big silence there would have been.

John Omally’s head appeared through the garden doorway. “What the…” he said once more.

Jim’s face appeared from behind one of the mighty oak trees. Suzy’s also.

“What did you do, Jim?” asked Omally.

“I stuck a bottle of your two-week-old beer under the back wheel when I knelt down to speak to Fred. I kept one in case of emergencies. Two in fact, just to be on the safe side. I told you I had this under control.”

“Well, hats off to Mr Pooley. You’ve certainly saved the day.”

“Aaaararghooowaaghooow!”

Now, that’s a sound you don’t hear every day. Especially on one that’s just been saved.

Jim turned, John turned and Suzy turned also.

The Car turned. The Car was still intact. And The Car turned back onto its wheels.

“Oh shit!” said Jim.

“Did you say run?” asked John.

“No, but I was about to.”

Jim ran and John ran and Suzy ran.

Run, run, run.

And The Car rolled after them, keeping just behind, its engine growling and its horn going BAA-BA-BA-BAAAAA, just like in the movie.

Glass shattered and stormed and the chamber collapsed.

Abel stepped from the wreckage and stared down at the man now cowering on the floor.

“How?” gasped Dr Steven Malone. “What?”

“There are many differences between Cain and I,” said Abel. “And one of these is that I can read your thoughts. I emptied the gas canister last night. And now I must do what must be done. Cain told you that he feared for your life. His fears were not unfounded.”

“No,” screamed Dr Steven Malone. “Get away from me. No, no, noooooooo.”

“Whoa!” went Derek. “What happened? Ouch, my bloody head!”

“The bastard played us false!” Fred’s face was most unpleasant. It was almost as unpleasant as that of the creature that now sat between him and Derek. This creature had a seriously unpleasant face. All scaly it was, with a lolling black tongue and glaring red eyes.

“Oh, shit a brick,” said Derek, staring into this face.

“You’ve grown a bit, haven’t you? I mean, pleased to meet you again, sir, I mean…”

“Shut up, Derek,” Fred roared. And a roar it was. “Keep right up behind them, Clive, don’t let them out of your sight.”

“They’re running into the crowd at the top of the street, sir.”

“Well, there’s nowhere else for them to run, is there? Mow the crowd down, Clive, mow the crowd down.”

“Like that sea shanty,” said Derek. “Mow the crowd down, Clivey, mow the crowd down. Hey, ho, mow the crowd down.”

“Shut it,” said Fred.

“We’ve got to get out of this crowd,” shouted Jim. “He’ll just drive through it and kill people.”

“Into the football stadium,” shouted John.

“Are you jesting? There’s even more people in there.”

“That car will never get through this turnstile, will it?”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

Omally shinned over the turnstile and helped Suzy after him.

Jim glanced back over his shoulder. Screams and shouts and BAA-BA-BA-BAAAAA. Jim leapt over the turnstile.

On stage the Hollow Chocolate Bunnies were giving it the freeform Auld Lang Syne. Behind them the groundsman fed defunct fireworks into the mobile de-entropizer, while Norman prepared to flick the big switch and set off WELCOME TO THE YEAR 2000.

“Any particular place you’d like to go for?” Jim asked John, as they pressed into the assembled throng.

Omally pointed to the stage. “Make for the high ground,” was his suggestion.

BAA-BA-BA-BAAAAA.

“This was a very bad idea.”

“But we’re committed to it now, Jim. Get a move on.”

“I’m with you. Come on, Suzy, come on.”

The Car burst through the turnstile and swept down the walkway into the stadium. The crowd scattered before it. A crowd of laughing, cheering folk, well buoyed up with alcohol and New Year jollity. They skipped aside this way and that, convinced that this must surely be some extra entertainment laid on for their enjoyment.

The crowd swarmed from the pitch up into the stands and then sat down to watch the show.

On stage the Hollow Chocolate Bunnies gaped in awe as The Car rushed towards them in pursuit of three racing figures.

“Now that is one tasty automobile,” said the lead singer.

“Split up!” shouted Omally. “I’ll meet you backstage.”

“You have an idea?” Jim huffed and puffed.

“It’s a long shot.”

“Oh dear.”

And The Car was on them.

Jim dragged Suzy to the right and John dived to the left. The Car smashed into the stage, dislodging Chocolate Bunnies, who tumbled down to the football pitch.

Norman’s finger hit the switch and the Roman candles flared up the rickety scaffolding, spelling COME TO THE EAR 20, which was a start.

The Car reversed then ploughed once more into the stage, buckling scaffolding. Up in the stands the crowd roared applause. A bit like a bullfight was this.

Norman clung to his de-entropizer. The groundsman clung to Norman.

“Was this supposed to happen?” asked the groundsman.

Back and forwards went The Car, growling and smashing and crashing. John Omally was up on the stage now, clawing his way towards Norman. Jim was climbing the scaffolding, pushing Suzy before him.

The stage slewed forwards. Marshall stacks, amps and speakers toppled and fell, mikes and drum kits, all those wonderful guitars that rock musicians rack up to make you jealous, down they came, wires and cables, sparking electrical flares. The Car backed away. Its doors opened.

Fred climbed out. And Clive climbed out. And Derek climbed out. And something really vile sort of slurped out.

“Well well well,” shouted Fred. “It all looks a bit precarious up there. Why don’t you come down for a little chat?”

“Boo,” went the crowd. “Boo and hiss.”

“Stuff you!” shouted Omally.

“Hoorah,” went the crowd, and “Cheer.”

The Bunnies’ lead singer crawled over to Fred. “How much do you want for this mother-crunching motor?” he asked.

Fred kicked him in the head.

“Ouch!” went the lead singer.

“Boo!” went the crowd.

Fred pointed at Pooley. “You are a very dead man,” said he. “You will know such torment as you never knew could be.”

If Jim had had a spare hand free he might have managed a two-fingered salute. But he didn’t so he just climbed higher.

“There’s nowhere to go.” Fred did a bit of the old manic laughing. “Bring him to me, Igor.”

“Igor?” said Derek. “Is its name Igor?”

“Like Dr Frankenstein’s assistant,” said Clive. “And Dr Frankenstein was of course played by Colin Clive. How about that?”

“So who played Igor?”

“Bela Lugosi.”

“Oh yeah, old Bela. His real name was Marion, you know.”

“That was John Wayne.”

“The hell it wa…”

“Shut your bloody mouths!” Fred rose quivering on his toes. Higher than his toes, in fact. An inch or two higher. “Igor, fetch him, bring him to me.”

“Slurp,” went the creature, then “Aaaararghooowaaghooow!” like it did the last time. And then it unfolded hideous membraney sort of wings and took flight.

“Oh shit!” went Jim, as you would.

And “Boo!” went the crowd.

“Get the Irishman,” Fred told Derek and Clive.

“Yes sir!” said Derek.

Igor swept up from the pitch, over the sloping stage and flung itself at Jim, talons clawing, jaws going snap, snap, snap. Jim kicked it away, but it lunged at him, again and again, ripping, tearing, and then it fastened hold and clung right on. The scaffolding shivered. Roman candles, fast giving out on their surreal message, dropped from their sockets. Dropped upon John and Norman and the groundsman.

“Ooh! Ouch! Aaagh!” they went, skipping this way and that.

Rip went a sleeve from Jim’s jacket and the taloned claws bit into his arm. Suzy clung on to him, but the beast pulled and pulled.

Norman’s de-entropizer started to roll down the sloping stage. Omally put his foot against a wheel, and his hand fell upon a very huge firework that was spilling off the conveyor. Above him the beast pried Jim loose from his precarious mooring. “Fetch him down!” shouted Fred. “Boo, boo,” went the crowd.

“I wonder where this is leading?” asked the lady in the straw hat.

“There’ll be a trick ending in it,” said Paul. “There always is.”

“in Duos: Duo in Unum; Unus in Nihil,” Professor Slocombe concluded his rite.

Within the basement at Kether House, Cain and Abel stared down at the broken corpse of Dr Steven Malone.

“All in Two,” said Cain, touching the hands of his brother.

“Two in One,” said Abel, holding tight to his hands.

“One in Nothingness.”

A bright light glowed. Brighter than a summer sun. And All in Two and Two in One, the brothers vanished into nothingness.

A bright light flared on the concert stage, a Zippo lighter it was. As Igor tore Pooley from the scaffolding, John angled up the very huge firework, lit the blue touch paper and did not retire to a safe distance.

“Aaaararghooowaaghooow!” went Igor, victorious.

“Whoosh,” went the very large firework.

“Huh?” went Igor, looking down.

“Whoosh,” went the firework, heading up.

Then Huh?

Then Whoosh!

Then, THUNK!

Now what is that sound? THUNK?

That is the sound of a firework entering the anal cavity of a creature named Igor at about one hundred miles an hour. And then,

All in Two: Two in One: One in Nothingness.

AAAARARGHOOOWAAGHOOOW!

Pooley fell from the creature’s grasp. The creature rocketed into the sky (as well one might) and the very huge firework exploded.

CRIMSON SMOKE. STARBURST FLARE. GOLDEN SHOWERS.

“Oooooooooooooo,” went the crowd, cheering wildly.

“Told you,” said Paul.

“The show’s not over ’til the lady in the straw hat sings,” said the lady in the straw hat.

“That was a good one,” said cowering Norman, and then “Ooow!” he continued as Pooley fell upon him.

“Take them!” ordered Fred.

Clive and Derek were on stage now. Derek was rolling up his sleeves. Clive had his fists up in a rather foolish fashion.

“Just do what I do,” said Derek. “Poke ’em in the eyes and kick ’em in the bollocks.”

“Right,” said Clive. “I’ll try to remember that.”

Pooley scrambled up and Omally scrambled up. The groundsman scrambled up (and ran). Norman just lay there moaning.

“Sorry, Norman,” said Pooley.

“Oh, I’m all right,” said Norman. “I’m just faking it in the hope I won’t get a thrashing.”

“Very wise!”

And Clive took a swipe at Pooley.

The crowd now roared further approval. They’d had the rock concert, the fireworks, an automotive bullfight, the Ray Harryhausen special effects flying creature that got a rocket up its arse, and now they were getting Rocky 6, or was it 7? Bloody good value for free of charge.

Pooley ducked and hit Clive in the stomach.

“Ow!” said Clive, stamping on Jim’s foot.

Derek took a swing at John, who side-stepped and kicked him in the nuts.

“Bloody unsporting,” howled Derek.

“You fools,” shouted Fred. “Kill them. Kill them.”

“Boo,” shouted the crowd. “Boo boo boo.”

Fred turned upon the crowd. “No more!” he screamed. “No more. I will destroy you all.”

“Oh no you won’t,” the crowd chanted.

“Oh yes I will.”

“Oh no you…”

There was a bit of hesitation there, prompted no doubt by the look of Fred. It wasn’t so much the look he was giving them. More the look of him. The look of what was happening to him.

Fred rose once more upon his toes. Threw wide his arms.

Joints crackled, clothing tore. His flat cap rose as monstrous horns sprouted from his head. With sickening crunches and hideous bone-snapping reports Fred began to swell and distort.

All semblance of human form was gone. The Beast rose grinning. A medieval monster of depravity. The evil one made flesh.

The fighting came to a standstill on the stage. The bell seemingly called for the end of round one.

“Oh shit,” said Jim. “Are we in trouble now.”

Abaddon, the arch-fiend of the bottomless pit, fallen angel, dweller in Pandemonium, denizen of hell, stood upon the sacred turf of Brentford football ground. Cloven hooves dug into the eighteen-yard line, forked tail curling, brimstone-breathed and hung like a python with the mumps.

“Avert your eyes,” said Paul.

“No way!” said the lady.

“All of you.” The Beast’s voice echoed, rumbled thunder-like and awesome, quivering the scaffolding to which Suzy clung, rattling ten thousand teeth. “All of you will die. All of you.”

And fire belched from the belly of the Beast, and sulphur smoked and people cowered and screamed and made to flee.

And then.

And then.

A golden glow lit up the sky.

A false dawn?

What?

And a sound, far distant, yet close at hand. A sound that filled the air and the substance of the air and all the matter of the planet. The note. The Universal note.

Of Om.

That symbol given with love to be received with love.

An act of love.

And all the people stared. And the Beast turned and glared and breathed his fire and pawed the ground with cloven hooves.

And a man stepped out onto the turf. A golden man shining like the sun. And he walked forward, hands raised.

And the golden light surrounded him and the sound that was Om was everywhere.

“No,” cried the Beast. “Not you. Not you.”

“This is not your time,” said he that was All in Two and Two in One and One in Nothingness. “Return at once to whence you came. Get thee behind me, Satan.”

And the Beast screamed and clawed at the sky and squirmed and writhed and shook and moaned and trembled and was gone.

And the golden man held up his hands, and faded, and he too was gone.

And then there was a silence. And some silence it was.

And then the crowd looked up.

For the heavens seemed to part, the moonlight cleft the clouds and down swept beings, beautiful in white on wings of gossamer. Down and down, circling and swaying. Angels of light.

Derek looked up and Clive looked up.

And the beings swept down upon them.

And kicked them clean off the stage.

“Whoops, pardon,” said Mrs Elronhubbard. “I’m sorry we’re a bit late, but it’s a right old struggle to the top of the gasometer. I had to help my friend Doris here with her Zimmer frame.”

“Hi,” said Doris, waggling her fingers. “I hope we haven’t missed anything.”

And then the crowd really cheered. Cheered and cheered. Gave a standing ovation. Clapped their hands and cheered again.

Oh yes indeed.

And the lady in the straw hat began to sing.

“Amazing Grace,” I think it was.