Autopsy of an Eldritch City: Ten Tales of Strange and Unproductive Thinking by James Champagne Page B
Authors: James Champagne
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whacking it with the provided stick, and though it spun and twirled and danced in the air, they were unable to knock it off.
I began walking down that dead-end road, heading in the direction of Ms. Paddock’s house, and as I walked past the boys I could feel their eyes on me, no doubt checking out my long and exposed legs. A second later and I had reached the front door of the house, and was reassured when I saw the usual grinning jack-o’-lantern in the front window. I rang the doorbell and waited, unsure of what to expect. But nobody answered the door. I waited a minute or two, then tried again. Still nothing. I frowned. Why wasn’t Ms. Paddock answering her door? Did she even live here anymore? The piñata and the jack-o’-lantern were in place, so I figured she had to still be living there. Was she okay? What if she had fallen and hurt herself?
I reached out, gripped the door knob, and turned it. The door, unlocked, swung open. I stuck my head into the foyer and called out, “Ms. Paddock?” The only answer I got back was the echo of my own voice. Concerned for the old witch’s safety, I stepped into the house (closing the door behind me), then began investigating the first floor. I peeked into the living room, made a quick search of the kitchen and bathroom, but Ms. Paddock was nowhere to be found. I then walked upstairs. There were only two rooms on the second floor, these rooms being another bathroom and a bedroom. After I saw that the upstairs bathroom was empty as well, I entered the bedroom.
The bedroom was the largest room of the house, though it was sparsely furnished: there was a bed, a dresser, a vanity bookcase (in that its shelves were lined with various editions and publications of Ms. Paddock’s books, including a number of foreign editions), and, against one wall, a desk, on top of which was an old-fashioned cassette player and a typewriter, with a pile of blank paper next to it. This desk was placed right next to a window that overlooked Ms. Paddock’s front lawn and the tree with the piñata. I didn’t really notice all of this at first, however, because when I first stepped into the room what really captured my attention was the bed, and what was on it.
Resting on the mattress of the bed was a human skeleton. A cassette tape was held in the bony fingers of its left hand. Oddly enough, I was nonplussed by this sight, but as it were, I’ve never been the sort of girl who jumps at things that go bump in the night. Knowing through some sixth sense that this tableaux had been prepared for my delectation, I pried open the skeleton’s left hand and took hold of the cassette tape. A label had been applied to its outer surface, and sure enough, it was labeled “For Alice.” Tape in hand, I walked over to the desk. I placed the cassette tape into that tape player, then hit the PLAY button.
A few seconds later, the tape started playing. It essentially consisted of a long monologue performed by Ms. Paddock in her eerie old lady voice. I wish I could transcribe the monologue in her exact words, but, as one will soon see, that proved to be an impossibility. Instead, I’ll summarize the main points. First off, whilst listening to the tape, I quickly came to the conclusion that my parents had been erroneous when they had claimed that Ms. Paddock was a woman without religion. In her own weird way, she did worship a god, one more obscure than the Judaic-Hebrew one that I was on more familiar terms with. On the tape, Ms. Paddock explained how she was not only a witch, but also a member of a little-known cult known as the Sect of the Fecundating Cauldron. She never explained who had founded this cult, or even how old it was, though she did go into some detail concerning its theological beliefs.
According to Ms. Paddock, the Sect believed that our world (and, indeed, all worlds) was an illusion, and beyond this illusion lay a higher reality they referred to as Tir-Na-Nog, a “land of the dead” oft
I began walking down that dead-end road, heading in the direction of Ms. Paddock’s house, and as I walked past the boys I could feel their eyes on me, no doubt checking out my long and exposed legs. A second later and I had reached the front door of the house, and was reassured when I saw the usual grinning jack-o’-lantern in the front window. I rang the doorbell and waited, unsure of what to expect. But nobody answered the door. I waited a minute or two, then tried again. Still nothing. I frowned. Why wasn’t Ms. Paddock answering her door? Did she even live here anymore? The piñata and the jack-o’-lantern were in place, so I figured she had to still be living there. Was she okay? What if she had fallen and hurt herself?
I reached out, gripped the door knob, and turned it. The door, unlocked, swung open. I stuck my head into the foyer and called out, “Ms. Paddock?” The only answer I got back was the echo of my own voice. Concerned for the old witch’s safety, I stepped into the house (closing the door behind me), then began investigating the first floor. I peeked into the living room, made a quick search of the kitchen and bathroom, but Ms. Paddock was nowhere to be found. I then walked upstairs. There were only two rooms on the second floor, these rooms being another bathroom and a bedroom. After I saw that the upstairs bathroom was empty as well, I entered the bedroom.
The bedroom was the largest room of the house, though it was sparsely furnished: there was a bed, a dresser, a vanity bookcase (in that its shelves were lined with various editions and publications of Ms. Paddock’s books, including a number of foreign editions), and, against one wall, a desk, on top of which was an old-fashioned cassette player and a typewriter, with a pile of blank paper next to it. This desk was placed right next to a window that overlooked Ms. Paddock’s front lawn and the tree with the piñata. I didn’t really notice all of this at first, however, because when I first stepped into the room what really captured my attention was the bed, and what was on it.
Resting on the mattress of the bed was a human skeleton. A cassette tape was held in the bony fingers of its left hand. Oddly enough, I was nonplussed by this sight, but as it were, I’ve never been the sort of girl who jumps at things that go bump in the night. Knowing through some sixth sense that this tableaux had been prepared for my delectation, I pried open the skeleton’s left hand and took hold of the cassette tape. A label had been applied to its outer surface, and sure enough, it was labeled “For Alice.” Tape in hand, I walked over to the desk. I placed the cassette tape into that tape player, then hit the PLAY button.
A few seconds later, the tape started playing. It essentially consisted of a long monologue performed by Ms. Paddock in her eerie old lady voice. I wish I could transcribe the monologue in her exact words, but, as one will soon see, that proved to be an impossibility. Instead, I’ll summarize the main points. First off, whilst listening to the tape, I quickly came to the conclusion that my parents had been erroneous when they had claimed that Ms. Paddock was a woman without religion. In her own weird way, she did worship a god, one more obscure than the Judaic-Hebrew one that I was on more familiar terms with. On the tape, Ms. Paddock explained how she was not only a witch, but also a member of a little-known cult known as the Sect of the Fecundating Cauldron. She never explained who had founded this cult, or even how old it was, though she did go into some detail concerning its theological beliefs.
According to Ms. Paddock, the Sect believed that our world (and, indeed, all worlds) was an illusion, and beyond this illusion lay a higher reality they referred to as Tir-Na-Nog, a “land of the dead” oft
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