Chorus of the Dead

Food For Thought

he mood in the air suited the typical Yorkshire weather at that time of the year, or in fact any time of the year; miserable, wet and uncalculated. The moors were predictably evil as hell

itself; dank, dark and flowing with shadows. The moon was full and cloud gnawed at its edges. A great night for the wolfbane to bloom, and for a horror story to begin.

The road ahead was pitch black apart from the focused blur that the headlights slowly surveyed. Water sped elegantly backwards from the tyres as they glided sleekly across the layer between the black rubber and sodden tar. Willows bent ashamed in the darkness, afraid of what lurked behind the steering wheel of the German-made BMW 525i. It’s metallic silver beauty penetrated the night like a vampire headed for an erotic evening of sadomasochism. It’s leather interior confirmed the notion. Quaint villages combining thatched roofing and Tudor-style housing passed by. Yet the rain still pelted down threatening to smash the windshield and drench the occupants, the droplets almost freezing as they fell.

You stupid bitch, we’re going to be late now, you know that this was important to me!

I’m sorry, okay.

Shut up stupid! If my meal spoils because of you I’ll smash your face in!

Honey...

"Don’t honey me bitch, I should never have married you.

You’re a waste of life and a waste of my time."

The night seemed to tremble under the booming voice of Henry Stride, managing director and general wife beater.

You’re a leech. A fucking leech, he growled in his standard throaty uncouth voice before he slammed his fist rigidly into her right cheek.

In the recoil her head banged hard against the passenger window, but this wasn’t the first time and certainly not the last. She had suffered years of abuse, both physically and mentally. She blamed herself partly for not seeing the darker side of him before it was too late, and so did he. She started to cry as her cheek swelled outward throbbing as if she had been hit with a sledgehammer. Luckily this time she had not bruised, only pain coursed through her veins. If you don’t stop crying and start dolling yourself up slut, I’m going to really lose my temper!

He had not always been verbally repulsive in this manner; in his younger days when he was carefree he had been romantic and had held a grasp of gentler words. Now though with running a major international company like Steelwell, Stride had become the enigma of evil itself. He was a legend in business circles crushing all opposition before they  could even  think  about  becoming a contender. His ruthless nature had led to Steelwell becoming one of the five major companies in the world.

Stride had begun his career at rock bottom while the company was still in its childhood. After his apprenticeship had been served with the company he started to soar through the ranks as the company began to flourish. Now after twenty-one years with Steelwell he had reached the top of the hierarchy and was making his presence felt. He had either retired or retrenched anyone who had tried to slow down his progress over the years, which in turn frightened and disciplined all employees. His biggest adversary for the position of managing director had strangely disappeared before the position was filled. Foul play had still not been ruled out. It was obvious he ran the business as a personal vendetta against society.

The radio buzzed with interference as if the moors were holding back any vital evidence of its horror. Unbeknown to Stride and his wife many years of secrets passed by the silver BMW. In fact, murderers’ spirits and werewolves’ souls still roamed freely beneath the branches of the ancient trees lining the road. The miles of travel had ended. The tears had dried. Stride had reached the beginning of his demise. Once a month for ten years he had returned to this place to indulge in a lavish banquet of sorts. He had paid top money to eat strange and without a doubt, creative foods. The chef, Stride insisted had to be the best in Europe. His palate had been tantalized frequently with assortments of the world’s delicacies. Tonight was no exception; after all it was his tenth anniversary of travel to the restaurant.

Cheer up right now, I want this to be just like old times... just like old times.

He gazed back in time to his lost youth, to the first time that he had tasted North American wolverine. He clicked back to sanity when Sara sniffed for one last time and dabbed away the last signs of abuse with a ball of cotton wool. The spring loaded oak door creaked open as if on the arrival of a witch to Salem’s gathering.

Aaah, Mr. Stride so nice to see you again! the maître d’ greeted him, lying through his teeth.

Less of the bull Simon, we both know we hate each other so let’s just get on with it.

Tonight Henry Stride and his wife were the only guests, a privilege extended only to them, but well paid for.

So Simon, what will my expensively spent money be getting me tonight? Stride smugly sneered.

Well since you’ve show us your thriving loyalty for ten years, we thought for starters we’d let you experience Australian Platypus soup, his sarcastic tone was more than obvious.

That doesn’t sound so adventurous, plain old soup, he jeered further.

Oh but it is, it’s somehow created from the bill and the tail, mixed to perfection and brought to a boil not a minute too soon.

Sarah’s face creased up in a frown, but both she and Simon knew somehow that she would appreciate tonight more than she had expected.

Don’t worry madam, tonight will also be your night, Simon smiled comfortingly, we have your favorite veal in store and the finest quality escargot Europe has to offer.

Stride glared malevolently at her, with such intensity it felt as if he was looking straight through her low-cut black velvet dress.

Why don’t you have what I’m having? he began to growl loathingly, standing up slowly.

But they prepared this especially for your anniversary, not mine honey, you’ve been coming here longer than I have. Stride sat back down peacefully in his seat, his adrenalin only simmering again.

After two glasses of Don Perignon ’63 and a good size helping of platypus soup, Stride was in a much better mood of contentment. Outside the rain grew fiercer in intensity; pools of water came alive as if under machine-gun fire. The wind began to shriek and wail and the willows danced and swayed in the moonlight. If it were not for the durably strong Roman built walls they would have been whipped away into the night. The candlelight shimmered and quivered trying to hold off the engulfing darkness of the world.

Finally the main meal arrived. Fish? Stride scowled.

Not just fish Mr. Stride, it’s Bermuda Narcissus, served here for the very first time since it was discovered a month ago. We thought you’d appreciate such a delight. The chef has worked with it all day.

Bloody fish!

Honey, it looks delicious. Anyway, fish is brain food isn’t it? Simon smiled gleefully as his eyes widened, "That’s right

Mr. Stride it’s definitely brain food, perfectly baked for a man of your stature."

The aroma tickled his taste buds, flooding his mouth, as he could almost taste the food. The hint of lemon and serving of garlic sauce with Gaelic mushrooms added to the temptation. He could resist no longer.

Alright Simon you’ve never been wrong before, foodwise that is. Hmmm... brain food you say.

His fork almost quivered with ecstasy as it slid into the fish’s moist flesh. Not surprisingly, the fish fell apart at the slightest touch.

An evil smile twisted itself across Simon’s face as he turned to walk away.

I hope you enjoy your meal Mr. Stride. he said almost sniggering under his own breath.

Later that night, relaxed and bloated, Stride drove the vampire-like BMW back through the winding roads of the moors. The wind had calmed and the rain was all but a memory, Contentment truly ruled the air as if a climax had just come and gone. That night he slept well.

Stride awoke with a hangover, or at least what seemed to be a hangover. Don Perignon can be lethal, but not that lethal. Sarah still slept well, spread-eagled on the king-size bed, hogging the goose down duvet. He had never eaten a bad meal yet so he could not blame the food. His insides felt knotted but most of all he felt as if his head were being smashed up against a brick wall.

So much for my immunity to hangovers.

Slowly he reached his feet, his eyes felt like they were scraping against a rough surface inside of his eyelids. Before he knew it he was already standing in the massively tiled kitchen swallowing two aspirin and gulping down milk like the cows of the world had just become extinct. Two minutes later the taste of fresh vomit disappeared from his throat and his headache dwindled away.

Strange, must be yuppie flu or something, he confessed in his confusion.

He stared at the cedar racks of his walk-in cupboard.

Honey, come back to bed, stay with me today, we haven’t done anything together for years, Stride heard Sarah saying directly behind him.

Piss off, can’t you see I’m busy, he ignorantly spouted in that loathing throaty voice he used so often.

She wanted to cry but somehow a sudden feeling of relaxation tingled through her, comforting her more than a gentleman’s touch. Soon the day of reckoning would arrive. Finally Stride just grabbed the nearest bland grey suit and a pair of brown Italian shoes, and yanked them out of the closet like a yob in a bar fight.

The silver vampire lay resting in the triple garage as Stride climbed inside and stroked the leather seat with his body.

It purred in agreement when the key turned, satisfied to know Stride would suck thousands more companies dry yet again.

As the electric garage doors hummed open Stride never even thought that his world could change so quickly.

Stride was always the first to reach the office in the morning, it was just something he had always reveled in.

He sat lion-like behind his massive managing directors desk and punched up the latest statistics on his personal console, to see just how much richer the company had become since the night before. At that moment Maureen, his loyal secretary stepped into the office.

What are you doing here so early Maureen? he said as a confused expression crept across his face.

I’ve got some bad new Mr. Stride, she said flicking her long blonde hair out of her face.

Oh! he laughed, And what can be so terrible to get up out of bed this early in the morning?

I’m pregnant Mr. Stride.

She expected an explosive reaction, at least a sentence of swearing or two but nothing of the sort exited his lips.

And how is that my problem? he said calmly.

Because it’s yours that’s why! she shouted as her temper flared.

I don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyway you have no witnesses to prove that we were in a comfortable relationship.

You bastard, you total and utter bastard! I can’t believe what you’re saying!

Well believe it bitch! he said as his gravel-like voice began to scrape chillingly.

I’m going to get you for this I really am, you bastard. She turned to walk away with tears flowing heavily. By the way Maureen, I forgot something.

What’s that? she said in a tone of hope.

You’re fired! He began to laugh in such an evil tone that even a banshee would have been proud of him.

As her long early morning shadow slipped out of the room the computer monitor finally caught his eye, blinking away in an erratic rhythm. Steelwell’s shares were plummeting fast.

A sudden shriek of pain flashed across his temple. Stabbing deep into his brain, travelling to the bottom of his spine. The pain became worse as the price of shares decreased point by point. He was almost blind with pain.

Aaah, what the hell is happening to me?

He leapt up violently smashing the computer clean off of its stand, thousands of chips and pieces of glass littered the carpet. He had to see his doctor right away. This was no normal headache.

Stride’s vampire swayed dangerously along the busying streets, threatening pedestrians with their own meaningless lives.

The world’s markets were rocked this  morning with the unforeseen fall in the price of shares held in Steelwell, the world’s third largest company.... crackled over the radio waves adding to Strides already unbelievable infliction.

He weaved and slid almost taking out a lamppost in his pursuit for relief. He abandoned the steaming BMW halfway up the curb, himself charging straight up the steps into the hospital.

Good-day Mr. Stride and how are... Shut up, where’s Doctor Shaman?

Her astoundment was obvious, her embarrassment even more so.

Never mind, I’ll find him myself! he shouted as he squinted his eyes in desperation.

Dr Shaman sat behind his desk with that oh-so-professional look on his face, which soon changed to fright when he saw Stride. "The pain doctor, it hurts so bad I think my head’s gonna

burst!"

Have you been drinking Mr. Stride?

Listen I pay your salary, he was spouting frantically, so get off your arse and help me, get me cat scanned or something.

At that exact moment a realm of darkness covered him as he felt his temperature soar and his legs give out beneath him. The floor was hard and it felt even harder when his head bounced as it met the surface.

*              *              *

I can’t believe it nurse, strangest case I ever saw. What happened to him Dr Shaman?

Stride could hear the voices in the room, but he felt drowsy and exhausted. His arms and legs felt tied down and as he opened his heavy eyelids he saw that they were. A strong smell of

disinfectant was rampant, ravaging his nostrils as he lay there undefended. The room was well lit and was filled with the shadows of looming doctors monitoring his progress.

It looks as if the Thorazine is wearing off, he heard a strange voice say in the blur in front of him.

Where the hell am I? it felt as if his mouth were stretched open.

Calm down Mr. Stride, he recognised Dr Shaman’s voice, You’ve been asleep for two days, we’ve had to keep you quite heavily sedated.

What do you mean? What’s wrong with me and why am I tied to this bloody bed?

Well we ran a cat scan like you said, you passed out if you remember.

Yes now I remember, the pain.

Well the cat scan has produced some truly fascinating results. So why tie me down, I’m not a psychotic!

"You see Mr. Stride, you’d scare people if we let you wander.

I think I can show you what I mean."

One of the doctors hurriedly left the room and returned promptly, handing Dr Shaman a mirror.

You’re going to be shocked Mr. Stride, we still can’t get over it ourselves.

He held the reflective surface up to Stride’s face giving him an ample look at his own horror. Stride could not believe his eyes. He felt like he was staring at a freak at the local circus, but today he was the freak.

Mr. Stride, the cat scan revealed that your brain has been growing at an alarming rate. In fact, in the last two days as far as we can estimate it has tripled its size, the stranger’s voice came again.

Suddenly he remembered Simon in the restaurant handing him the fish.

That’s right Mr. Stride it’s definitely brain food.

He began to laugh as he stared at his own bloated head in the mirror. He became hysterical, totally out of control. The doctors stared with curiosity.

Brain food...ha, ha, ha, haaaa...

He remembered punching Sarah. He remembered Maureen telling him that she was pregnant and the wicked smile on Simon’s face.

Ha, ha, ha, haaa....

He couldn’t even move his head from side to side in laughter because it had become so huge.

Brain food, ha ha, ha. Good one Simon, ha, ha, ha...

His forehead felt wet. The doctors became restless and horrified. He looked into the mirror again and saw a narrow stream of blood travelling down the bridge of his nose. The headache was splitting him in two, sharp-tearing sensations pulled at the already stretched flesh.

Ha, ha, ha, he was insane, laughter was his only sanctuary, ha, ha, ha, haaa!

Somewhere in the hospital a radio crackled the news of a company called Steelwell finally going bankrupt after two days of plummeting share prices. Stride had finally met his well-deserved end, and if you visit the moors today you will still hear some local folk telling tales of the laughter in the willows. The laughter of a madman.

Sleep Tight Danielle

he upper landing creaked evenly through the invading darkness. The wooden boards aged over the trodden years, bent weakly under the weight above. A female body crept

quietly, saturated in sweat, over the softened grains of a once proud oak tree. Blind in the darkness, as in life, she fumbled about. Her naked beauty exposed to none but the wicked. The smooth skin on her palm slid sensually along the banister towards the main bedroom. The blue light of early morning danced on her innocent nakedness, glowing on the moisture of her silky body. Still in her mind she was eight years old, answering to the beckoning call of her father. She turned the cold brass handle slowly to the left and pushed open the door in revelation.

A groan emanated from the bed as the tired frame rolled onto its bare side. She stood in the doorway, legs apart, surrounded by moonlight. She waited nervously for her name yet again. She moved forward dropping her stuffed teddy bear, tormented in another world. He lay peacefully still beneath the sheets unaware of the angel before him. She looked knowingly down onto the sleeping