The New Death and others by James Hutchings Page A
Authors: James Hutchings
Tags: Humor, Fiction, Science-Fiction, Gothic, Fantasy fiction, Fantasy, Humour, Short Stories, dark fantasy, Short-Story, Fairy Tale, funny, Anthology, Fairy Tales, dark, goth, bargain, collection, Fairytale, lovecraftian, flash fiction, budget, flash, hp lovecraft, cheap, robert e howard, lord dunsany, collection of flash fiction, clark ashton smith
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praises air that whistled through a
skull.
He rose and sought the wizard Tuzun
Thune
who spoke with demons, who controlled the
dead
who knew the name of every written rune
and how to bring forth gold from common
lead
then trade it for the silver of the moon
and every spell besides, so it was said.
The wizard's house had mirrors for each
wall
for floor and ceiling, every tile and
door
both king and wizard reappeared in all
and Kull felt he would fall into the
floor
and fall again, and infinitely fall
a sailor on a sea without a shore.
"Come gaze into my mirrors and be wise,"
the wizard said. Kull looked as he was
told.
He stared into his own unblinking eyes.
The Kull that met his gaze looked sad and
old.
His lips seemed poised to mutter soothing
lies.
His eyes were wary and his manner cold.
Kull looked into another and he saw
himself. "Look closer, Kull," said Tuzun
Thune.
This Kull was younger than the other, or
less weighted down with restlessness and
gloom
as if he had a kingdom to explore;
a happy land beyond the mirrored room.
No feature differed from his own and yet
Kull saw a glimmer in the other's eye
of treasures to be won and friends unmet
shine like a star new-risen in the sky
while Kull felt like a fish caught in a
net
whose future is to fight in vain and
die.
Kull sat and stared till sunset and he
came
next morning and he sat and stared
again.
His mirrored image always looked the
same
yet more and more they seemed two different
men.
Kull thought he almost knew the other's
name.
He waited like a prisoner condemned.
Kull's stallion stamped, unridden in its
stall.
The business of the palace went undone.
In noble mansion and in humble hall
a hundred voices muttered. Kull heard
none.
No voice cried louder than the mirror's
call
till all things seemed unreal to him but
one.
The mirror's glass, Kull thought, was like a
mist
that showed not half as much as it
concealed.
Beyond it, everything that could exist
yet out of this, just one room was
revealed.
He groaned with longing, hands balled into
fists
his arms outstretched in agonized
appeal.
He felt that he could almost understand.
The road that led beyond was almost
clear.
He touched the glass and felt a living
hand--
but jumped as something whistled by his
ear.
Kull shrieked in horror, fell, and tried to
stand:
His mirror-self was shattered by a
spear.
Kull's soldiers raised him from the floor.
They killed
the wizard and they left him where he
lay.
His dried and withered carcass lies there
still
reflected twenty thousand times. They
say
that death is weaker than the wizard's
will
and his reflections walk on ill-starred
days.
Kull lost himself in ordinary lusts.
His golden throne no longer tarnished
brass
he ruled, and killed, and acted as kings
must
and only in his darkest hours asked
had he been saved from death or was he
just
a shadow-king reflected in a glass?
(back to contents)
++++
The Adventure of
the Murdered Philanthropist
The winter of 18__ was a dark time for
London. The city was racked by the murderous rivalry between two
groups of gangsta tailors (the famous Creased Coast / Vest Coast
feud); the serial rhymer Jack the Rapper terrified all
(particularly sucker MCs); and supporters of Irish Home Rule
undermined the morale of our army, by following them around
giggling at the phrase 'pith helmets'.
The incident that I remember best from that
ill-starred year is the murder of the well-known philanthropist,
Sir Benjamin Evolent. Sir Benjamin had been found lying in his den.
His clothes were soaked in water, although it had not been raining.
He had traces of dirt under his fingernails. His skin was flushed,
as if he had been standing next to a fire, yet no fire was lit in
the fireplace. The cause of death was given as asphyxiation, yet an
autopsy showed no evidence of choking or smothering.
My friend, the famous
consulting detective,
skull.
He rose and sought the wizard Tuzun
Thune
who spoke with demons, who controlled the
dead
who knew the name of every written rune
and how to bring forth gold from common
lead
then trade it for the silver of the moon
and every spell besides, so it was said.
The wizard's house had mirrors for each
wall
for floor and ceiling, every tile and
door
both king and wizard reappeared in all
and Kull felt he would fall into the
floor
and fall again, and infinitely fall
a sailor on a sea without a shore.
"Come gaze into my mirrors and be wise,"
the wizard said. Kull looked as he was
told.
He stared into his own unblinking eyes.
The Kull that met his gaze looked sad and
old.
His lips seemed poised to mutter soothing
lies.
His eyes were wary and his manner cold.
Kull looked into another and he saw
himself. "Look closer, Kull," said Tuzun
Thune.
This Kull was younger than the other, or
less weighted down with restlessness and
gloom
as if he had a kingdom to explore;
a happy land beyond the mirrored room.
No feature differed from his own and yet
Kull saw a glimmer in the other's eye
of treasures to be won and friends unmet
shine like a star new-risen in the sky
while Kull felt like a fish caught in a
net
whose future is to fight in vain and
die.
Kull sat and stared till sunset and he
came
next morning and he sat and stared
again.
His mirrored image always looked the
same
yet more and more they seemed two different
men.
Kull thought he almost knew the other's
name.
He waited like a prisoner condemned.
Kull's stallion stamped, unridden in its
stall.
The business of the palace went undone.
In noble mansion and in humble hall
a hundred voices muttered. Kull heard
none.
No voice cried louder than the mirror's
call
till all things seemed unreal to him but
one.
The mirror's glass, Kull thought, was like a
mist
that showed not half as much as it
concealed.
Beyond it, everything that could exist
yet out of this, just one room was
revealed.
He groaned with longing, hands balled into
fists
his arms outstretched in agonized
appeal.
He felt that he could almost understand.
The road that led beyond was almost
clear.
He touched the glass and felt a living
hand--
but jumped as something whistled by his
ear.
Kull shrieked in horror, fell, and tried to
stand:
His mirror-self was shattered by a
spear.
Kull's soldiers raised him from the floor.
They killed
the wizard and they left him where he
lay.
His dried and withered carcass lies there
still
reflected twenty thousand times. They
say
that death is weaker than the wizard's
will
and his reflections walk on ill-starred
days.
Kull lost himself in ordinary lusts.
His golden throne no longer tarnished
brass
he ruled, and killed, and acted as kings
must
and only in his darkest hours asked
had he been saved from death or was he
just
a shadow-king reflected in a glass?
(back to contents)
++++
The Adventure of
the Murdered Philanthropist
The winter of 18__ was a dark time for
London. The city was racked by the murderous rivalry between two
groups of gangsta tailors (the famous Creased Coast / Vest Coast
feud); the serial rhymer Jack the Rapper terrified all
(particularly sucker MCs); and supporters of Irish Home Rule
undermined the morale of our army, by following them around
giggling at the phrase 'pith helmets'.
The incident that I remember best from that
ill-starred year is the murder of the well-known philanthropist,
Sir Benjamin Evolent. Sir Benjamin had been found lying in his den.
His clothes were soaked in water, although it had not been raining.
He had traces of dirt under his fingernails. His skin was flushed,
as if he had been standing next to a fire, yet no fire was lit in
the fireplace. The cause of death was given as asphyxiation, yet an
autopsy showed no evidence of choking or smothering.
My friend, the famous
consulting detective,
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