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I Never Knew The Muffin Man.
#1
Ginger Morris chewed on his kippers and I unenthusiastically spooned my porridge, it was another Wednesday morning
at the Five Elms Care Home and all was well. Lilly Marblehead wiped her fingers of the fake butter from her toast onto
one of her sagging breasts and leaned slightly to relieve her aging body of silent gas.

"Eh Silas, I hear from Carol that there's a young man coming today to do an interview on how we old bastards see today's
world" Lily mumbled to nobody in particular and gathered her margarine-stained cardigan about her ample frame.
Carol was one of those rare carers who didn't rummage through your private stuff whilst you were downstairs watching
some tedious soap-opera in the TV lounge.

Ginger looked up from gormandising his smoked herring and gave me a look to acknowledge that our garrulous table-guest
was a nosy quidnunc, but I merely reciprocated the watery-eyed communique with a grey gaze of someone who didn't fully
appreciate the grading of fellow retirement-home residents.
Although, I did it myself.

The bowl of wallpaper-glue that feigned at being a morning meal portrayed my spirit at that moment and I could only give
silent prayers of gratitude as I saw from the main window, the kid called Myles waving my newspaper from his shortcut
across the Care Home's freshly-mowed lawn.

"Excuse me, my friends" I said softly and left the coven of peripheral prattle to seek the latest news on the murders.
.......................

"One of yours?" I caustically asked Demon as I theatrically shook out the wrinkles from the daily broadsheet. I took it that the
phantasmal fiend that had accompanied my life had already read the headline. The newspaper was local and even though
most of the mainstream press had capitulated to the tabloid format, The Hexham Herald had dutifully hung onto the size of
its original creation.
Not unlike Demon's resolute manner of being my escort.

The smoky body glided from the bijou wardrobe and into the compact room that Matron Holiway had designated my final
home, the late-summer temperature excused itself as Demon arrived. "Yer' a funny guy" my albatross of a partner barked
in a gruff blue-collar accent and then asked if I'd enjoyed kippers for breakfast.
Knowing that the deliberate error was to distract me from my primary query, I ignored the barb and repeated my catechism.

Demon swirled in his battle to maintain a bodily-form I guessed it had something to do with his emotional state.
Resisting his unsaid demands that I had to somehow relieve him of his current troubles, I turned my attention to my newspaper.

A young man called Greerly had been found two days ago and from what the formulaic article declared, the state of the
twenty-six year-old's lifeless body told the authorities that it was another murder from the serial-killer named 'The Collector".
The second paragraph repeated the previous four murders and the manner of their deaths, even down the specific organs
taken post-mortem.

Moving my interest from tomorrow's weather forecast and towards the bane of my existence, I noticed the malevolent assistant
to friendless slaughterers could only manage a vague sketch of a humanoid. A ghost next to a self-assembled Formica table.
This inability to conjure-up a mortal-like appearance usually meant he was short of the strange nourishment he acquired through
the killings and I refused to wonder why his visit here would provide him with such fervent fare.

"He's a keen artisan, this one" Demon said proudly as he pretended to study a rural print on the wall near my bed and for only
a moment, I couldn't help but feel a pang of envy for some reason.
Demon -of course, knew this and his form became more solid.

"Wouldn't it be wiser for you to be with your current... helper?" I said with a light tone of boredom, my own days of destroying my
fellow-man were far behind me and now I was just a shuffling senior citizen who rose at two in the morning to take a piss.

Demon had used me until I was emotionally sapped dry from the murdering of those he deemed 'fodder' and the appellative of
Doctor Cold -the name given to me by Detective Higgins-Tate, was nothing more than faded type in a forgotten file.
By the way, Higgins-Tate had sadly died four years ago when he ran himself off the road during a heart attack. Tragic really.

"We all have our jigsaws, Mr Ditch..." Demon answered as he idly perused the editorial of the now-folded newspaper on
my console table. "You have the one displaying a poor rendering of the Household Cavalry down in your Recreation Room
and I have mine". The tone in the words from the diablo of my life gave me pause for a moment, but I robustly steeled myself
from asking a further question.

A muffled sound of piano keys slipped under my door and the tinkering struck a different type of note with me, the Care Home
residents were assembling for their Wednesday morning sing-along. As Matron Holiway had told him when she'd introduced
Five Elms' newest tenant to the fifteen-or-so poe-faced men and women in the recreation room, communal singing brought
-not just a feeling of belonging to a group, the exercise was a healthy way to drumming-up a appetite.

"Well, if you'll excuse me my abominable acquaintance..." I said as I rose from the motorised orthopedic chair that I still haven't
learned to drive properly, "...they're playing my song".  Demon remained close to where I'd been sitting and lifting his cowl-hidden
head, I got the impression that he was listening to the faint tune coming from downstairs.

"Do you know the Muffin Man?" the ravager of souls asked coyly and I could almost hear the inner-laughing Demon contained
in his ethereal body. It seemed my unwanted undulating associate was not only a connoisseur of children's nursery-rhymes, his
trickster ways wished to be tickled too.

"Go on then, tell me who your latest sumpter is..." I said resignedly and straightened my cardigan in a 'not-really-bothered' manner.
"...Whoever the poor soul is, I'll take it you'll be riding him until he drops" I sighed and reined in the need to add 'like me'.

The uninvited visitor moved silently across the industrial-strength carpet and headed back towards the wardrobe, one may assume
that another of the many magical portals that Demon frequents resides behind the veneered chipboard door and among my neatly
hanging sta press trousers.

"He's a collector of memories as well as hearts..." the foul fiend said as he slipped between the atoms of my depository of duds.
"...Maybe he'll even interview you" the fading -but mocking voice, added and the febricity of the room dropped another degree.


Oh God.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe. 
#2
Is this one of your writings?
#3
(09-28-2021, 04:12 PM)ABNARTY Wrote: Is this one of your writings?

Yes Sir.
minusculethumbsup
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe. 
#4
(09-28-2021, 04:27 PM)BIAD Wrote:
(09-28-2021, 04:12 PM)ABNARTY Wrote: Is this one of your writings?

Yes Sir.
minusculethumbsup

Outstanding! I like it.
#5
(09-26-2021, 11:05 PM)BIAD Wrote: Ginger Morris chewed on his kippers and I unenthusiastically spooned my porridge, it was another Wednesday morning
at the Five Elms Care Home and all was well. Lilly Marblehead wiped her fingers of the fake butter from her toast onto
one of her sagging breasts and leaned slightly to relieve her aging body of silent gas.

"Eh Silas, I hear from Carol that there's a young man coming today to do an interview on how we old bastards see today's
world" Lily mumbled to nobody in particular and gathered her margarine-stained cardigan about her ample frame.
Carol was one of those rare carers who didn't rummage through your private stuff whilst you were downstairs watching
some tedious soap-opera in the TV lounge.

Ginger looked up from gormandising his smoked herring and gave me a look to acknowledge that our garrulous table-guest
was a nosy quidnunc, but I merely reciprocated the watery-eyed communique with a grey gaze of someone who didn't fully
appreciate the grading of fellow retirement-home residents.
Although, I did it myself.

The bowl of wallpaper-glue that feigned at being a morning meal portrayed my spirit at that moment and I could only give
silent prayers of gratitude as I saw from the main window, the kid called Myles waving my newspaper from his shortcut
across the Care Home's freshly-mowed lawn.

"Excuse me, my friends" I said softly and left the coven of peripheral prattle to seek the latest news on the murders.
.......................

"One of yours?" I caustically asked Demon as I theatrically shook out the wrinkles from the daily broadsheet. I took it that the
phantasmal fiend that had accompanied my life had already read the headline. The newspaper was local and even though
most of the mainstream press had capitulated to the tabloid format, The Hexham Herald had dutifully hung onto the size of
its original creation.
Not unlike Demon's resolute manner of being my escort.

The smoky body glided from the bijou wardrobe and into the compact room that Matron Holiway had designated my final
home, the late-summer temperature excused itself as Demon arrived. "Yer' a funny guy" my albatross of a partner barked
in a gruff blue-collar accent and then asked if I'd enjoyed kippers for breakfast.
Knowing that the deliberate error was to distract me from my primary query, I ignored the barb and repeated my catechism.

Demon swirled in his battle to maintain a bodily-form I guessed it had something to do with his emotional state.
Resisting his unsaid demands that I had to somehow relieve him of his current troubles, I turned my attention to my newspaper.

A young man called Greerly had been found two days ago and from what the formulaic article declared, the state of the
twenty-six year-old's lifeless body told the authorities that it was another murder from the serial-killer named 'The Collector".
The second paragraph repeated the previous four murders and the manner of their deaths, even down the specific organs
taken post-mortem.

Moving my interest from tomorrow's weather forecast and towards the bane of my existence, I noticed the malevolent assistant
to friendless slaughterers could only manage a vague sketch of a humanoid. A ghost next to a self-assembled Formica table.
This inability to conjure-up a mortal-like appearance usually meant he was short of the strange nourishment he acquired through
the killings and I refused to wonder why his visit here would provide him with such fervent fare.

"He's a keen artisan, this one" Demon said proudly as he pretended to study a rural print on the wall near my bed and for only
a moment, I couldn't help but feel a pang of envy for some reason.
Demon -of course, knew this and his form became more solid.

"Wouldn't it be wiser for you to be with your current... helper?" I said with a light tone of boredom, my own days of destroying my
fellow-man were far behind me and now I was just a shuffling senior citizen who rose at two in the morning to take a piss.

Demon had used me until I was emotionally sapped dry from the murdering of those he deemed 'fodder' and the appellative of
Doctor Cold -the name given to me by Detective Higgins-Tate, was nothing more than faded type in a forgotten file.
By the way, Higgins-Tate had sadly died four years ago when he ran himself off the road during a heart attack. Tragic really.

"We all have our jigsaws, Mr Ditch..." Demon answered as he idly perused the editorial of the now-folded newspaper on
my console table. "You have the one displaying a poor rendering of the Household Cavalry down in your Recreation Room
and I have mine". The tone in the words from the diablo of my life gave me pause for a moment, but I robustly steeled myself
from asking a further question.

A muffled sound of piano keys slipped under my door and the tinkering struck a different type of note with me, the Care Home
residents were assembling for their Wednesday morning sing-along. As Matron Holiway had told him when she'd introduced
Five Elms' newest tenant to the fifteen-or-so poe-faced men and women in the recreation room, communal singing brought
-not just a feeling of belonging to a group, the exercise was a healthy way to drumming-up a appetite.

"Well, if you'll excuse me my abominable acquaintance..." I said as I rose from the motorised orthopedic chair that I still haven't
learned to drive properly, "...they're playing my song".  Demon remained close to where I'd been sitting and lifting his cowl-hidden
head, I got the impression that he was listening to the faint tune coming from downstairs.

"Do you know the Muffin Man?" the ravager of souls asked coyly and I could almost hear the inner-laughing Demon contained
in his ethereal body. It seemed my unwanted undulating associate was not only a connoisseur of children's nursery-rhymes, his
trickster ways wished to be tickled too.

"Go on then, tell me who your latest sumpter is..." I said resignedly and straightened my cardigan in a 'not-really-bothered' manner.
"...Whoever the poor soul is, I'll take it you'll be riding him until he drops" I sighed and reined in the need to add 'like me'.

The uninvited visitor moved silently across the industrial-strength carpet and headed back towards the wardrobe, one may assume
that another of the many magical portals that Demon frequents resides behind the veneered chipboard door and among my neatly
hanging sta press trousers.

"He's a collector of memories as well as hearts..." the foul fiend said as he slipped between the atoms of my depository of duds.
"...Maybe he'll even interview you" the fading -but mocking voice, added and the febricity of the room dropped another degree.


Oh God.

Another fine tale!  minusculeclap minusculegoodjob
#6
Thank you, it was supposed to be the follow-up of this one...

I, Monster?
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe. 
#7
(03-27-2022, 07:11 PM)BIAD Wrote: Thank ou, it was supposed to be the follow-up of this one...

I, Monster?

Great! So off I go to follow the yellow brick road! Oops, no, the link, follow the link!
#8
(09-26-2021, 11:05 PM)BIAD Wrote: ... Oh God.

Oh God is right. Loved it!!
#9
Thumbs Up 
Wow!   This was a multi-layered tale that I was unprepared for, but greatly enjoyed!   As you carried us slithering through the halls in the dim light, I almost found myself ducking! 

Really well done.   I will have to delve into your prior works!
#10
(03-28-2022, 01:46 AM)argentus Wrote: Wow!   This was a multi-layered tale that I was unprepared for, but greatly enjoyed!   As you carried us slithering through the halls in the dim light, I almost found myself ducking! 

Really well done.   I will have to delve into your prior works!

Hey Argentus! Glad to see ya here! You don't know me, but you do, and therein lies the puzzle.

.
Diogenes was eating bread and lentils for supper. He was seen by the philosopher Aristippus, who lived comfortably by flattering the king.

Said Aristippus, ‘If you would learn to be subservient to the king you would not have to live on lentils.’ Said Diogenes, ‘Learn to live on lentils and you will not have to be subservient to the king.’


#11
(03-28-2022, 02:28 AM)Ninurta Wrote:
(03-28-2022, 01:46 AM)argentus Wrote: Wow!   This was a multi-layered tale that I was unprepared for, but greatly enjoyed!   As you carried us slithering through the halls in the dim light, I almost found myself ducking! 

Really well done.   I will have to delve into your prior works!

Hey Argentus! Glad to see ya here! You don't know me, but you do, and therein lies the puzzle.

.

I have pondered that recently, and feel as if we know each other.    I think both of us are different entities in which we met, so therefore a new beginning.     Which, of course, makes history less relevant.
[Image: oh-Lord-yeah.jpg]

   tinydrroling
#12
(03-28-2022, 08:29 PM)argentus Wrote:
(03-28-2022, 02:28 AM)Ninurta Wrote:
(03-28-2022, 01:46 AM)argentus Wrote: Wow!   This was a multi-layered tale that I was unprepared for, but greatly enjoyed!   As you carried us slithering through the halls in the dim light, I almost found myself ducking! 

Really well done.   I will have to delve into your prior works!

Hey Argentus! Glad to see ya here! You don't know me, but you do, and therein lies the puzzle.

.

I have pondered that recently, and feel as if we know each other.    I think both of us are different entities in which we met, so therefore a new beginning.     Which, of course, makes history less relevant.
[Image: oh-Lord-yeah.jpg]

   tinydrroling

The Artist formerly known as nenothtu, at your service sir!

.
Diogenes was eating bread and lentils for supper. He was seen by the philosopher Aristippus, who lived comfortably by flattering the king.

Said Aristippus, ‘If you would learn to be subservient to the king you would not have to live on lentils.’ Said Diogenes, ‘Learn to live on lentils and you will not have to be subservient to the king.’


#13
(03-29-2022, 04:50 AM)Ninurta Wrote:
(03-28-2022, 08:29 PM)argentus Wrote:
(03-28-2022, 02:28 AM)Ninurta Wrote:
(03-28-2022, 01:46 AM)argentus Wrote: Wow!   This was a multi-layered tale that I was unprepared for, but greatly enjoyed!   As you carried us slithering through the halls in the dim light, I almost found myself ducking! 

Really well done.   I will have to delve into your prior works!

Hey Argentus! Glad to see ya here! You don't know me, but you do, and therein lies the puzzle.

.

I have pondered that recently, and feel as if we know each other.    I think both of us are different entities in which we met, so therefore a new beginning.     Which, of course, makes history less relevant.
[Image: oh-Lord-yeah.jpg]

   tinydrroling

The Artist formerly known as nenothtu, at your service sir!

.

Well met!  And also at yours.   minusculebeercheers


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