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666 Great Junction Street

Part 30

The cause of Ryan's internal itching, Lech Lutha and John F Kennedy, hurtled through his mind in panic, ducking and dodging the spiny tendrils stalking their frenzied flight. As the tip of one tendril tickled the back of Lutha's neck, he let loose a yelp cum titter, strangely aroused by the peculiarly tacky yet also coarse texture of the spindly tentacle. Its initial apparent tenderness, however, soon gave way to extreme force as it smacked Lech face down into the dirt track running through the dust and fluff swirling round Ryan's mind.

The tendrils paused in their frantic pursuit to examine this fallen specimen. JFK, panting, crouched and hands on knees, looked back in wonder at the strange appendages now stooping over Lech, caressing his withered arm and slipping in and out of his crooked fingers like curious worms.

Peering into the distant darkness, JFK could not figure out what these veiny vines were attached to. They merely receded into the void as if hovering of their own accord. Were these the mind boggles Lutha was on about? Perhaps they were just flying worms, thought the president. There are stranger creatures in the world after all. Like coffinfish.

As the port-holes in the president's mind let flood in a random roll call of the planet's bizarre species, the darkened corridors in Ryan's mind continued to play host to the teasing tendrils now busily wrapping themselves round Lech's helpless frame.

'Help me!' yelled Lutha.

The president snapped to and, after momentarily wallowing in the repulsive but intriguing vision before him, sprang into action. Like a man possessed, or at least possessing Indiana Jones videos, the president tore at the tendrils with his bare hands, wrenching them back as they slapped against Lech's body in an effort to regain their eager grasp.

He contemplated biting into the things but rejected the idea swiftly, imagining their taste, if anything like their grotesque appearance, might not be sweet.

So he battled on, but with each tendril he managed to release, another took its place until he too became enmeshed in the thrashing turmoil. The tendrils tightened their grip on both men's bodies which writhed frantically to avoid the spiny whips lashing them mercilessly from all sides.

After an age of flailing, kicking and striking out in vain at the veins, both Lutha and the president were on the verge of giving up. It seemed pointless to struggle further, they decided simultaneously, and so let their muscles relax.

In a last desperate attempt at some kind of positive action before the tendrils squeezed them breathless, Lech carefully worked free his good arm. Casually reaching over to one particularly floppy tendril, wrenched loose in the mle and rendered lifeless by JFK's initial enthusiastic attack, he plugged it into the nearest Knowledge Blockage Socket.

Suddenly, the tendrils loosed their grip, untangling themselves like the automatic flex on Lutha's favourite hoover, and retreated into the darkness, leaving the one severed artery dangling lifelessly from the socket.

Dazed, but relieved, the freed captives quickly covered their ears as Ryan's scream boomed through the surrounding caverns.

Next Week - Seraphema Says Something

 
 
 
 
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