Today I have a special treat for all of you, if you've been good little girls and boys?
...
I'll take the silence and baleful stares as a yes. So that means today we have a guest post by one of my online friends and a fellow budding writer, the marvellous Robin E.! A talented woman whose inner fire exceeds even this blasted heatwave that has stymied me, still the forecaster predicts a brief break in the next couple of days, hopefully it will be a productive one for me if not I'll see if I can cadge another guest post from someone else to keep you entertained. So without further ado allow me to present this sad tale of warped paternal love and delusions of grandeur.
A
Chance Meeting At Fossil Lake
By
Robin E
Notice of Disclaimer:
All characters and events in this story--even those based on real people--are entirely fictional. I the author of the content can assure you that
any of the opinions expressed here are my own and are a result of the way in
which my mind interprets a particular situation and or concept for the purpose
of parody. I would like to expressly convey to you (the reader) that were I to
accidentally defame, purge, humiliate and or hurt someone's person or feelings
as a result of them reading this story, it is entirely unintentional of me to
do so.
The odds that
the strange man would ever see his son again seemed almost impossible, but he
still held hope that he would be blessed with a miracle. In order to facilitate
the event in case God should ever smile down upon him, the man created a map of
sorts, written within the pages of his various self published books.
It was a dark and stormy night that
Michael was born, and it was an equally dark and stormy night when Michael was
removed from the man's life. Many years had passed but he never forgot the
child he lost.
"Someday I will see you
again." The strange man mumbled to himself as he posted clues to his
location in the body of his stories. "Someday we will meet again, and
you'll be proud of my accomplishments!"
The man was quite insane of course, but
there was a method to his madness. He hoped that his insanity would translate
to the written word, and he would be lauded as the next H.P. Lovecraft or
Richard Matheson. His goal was to become as famous as the authors that the
strange man admired, by any means necessary. Unfortunately for the man his
writing skills were nonexistent, so he was forced to self publish his work
because legitimate publishers wanted nothing to do with him. Self publishing
was the means to getting his work in print, and while the goal of becoming
famous was never realized, the strange man became infamous for lashing out at
successful writers because they could do what he never could, in every single
facet of his life.
The strange man hadn't been able to do
anything right in his life; he was an utter failure at everything he tried. He
barely finished High School, but thanks to the 504 Program pushing him through
he at least had that. It was a different story when he went to college and then
realized that he was in over his head. The man was totally unprepared to be an
adult, thanks to his own mother abandoning him to his grandmother's care. But
you can't exactly fault her for doing that, after all she had caught him
peeking at his own little sister while she bathed.
When the man failed at college he tried
to join the Navy, but he didn't even make it out of Basic Training before they
kicked him out for being a little too playful around the sailors. Upon
returning home he attempted to get a job flipping burgers, but he couldn't even
keep up with that simple task and was fired. It was then that he decided to go
on the government dole under the diagnosis of mental illness. A monthly check
kept him somewhat financially stable, even if he had to leech off from others
in order to make it work for him.
This eventually led him to the mother of
his child. She was a sweet girl, but unprepared to deal with the insanity the
strange man brought to her existence. Whether the man's mental illness was the
cause or he was just an asshole, or both, he began abusing her and the baby boy
they created. It didn't take long before the child was separated from his
father. Steps were taken to ensure that there would be no contact, and the
child's whereabouts and identity were hidden so that the poor kid could have a
normal, happy life.
Ever since then the strange man crashed
in his grandmother's basement, writing books that he hoped would support him,
as well as help lead his son back to him. The man's mother moved completely
across country in order to protect her young teen daughter from him, knowing
what her own son was capable of after his arrest for beating his child, knowing
in her heart of hearts what he was when she caught him spying on his sister.
The whole family knew and avoided being around him, although they still felt
obligated to care for him because of his mental deficiency. Besides, whenever
he was out on his own and got into trouble, the police contacted them in order
for them to come pick him up. Society expected them to be responsible for him,
since he was incapable of taking care of himself and thus their hands were
tied.
How many times had the man exposed
himself for the deviant he truly was? He was always trying to get his family
members to purchase a new computer for him when it crashed due to all of the
porn he downloaded. And they were tired of the phone calls threatening to
contact lawyers because of him stalking young girls on such websites as Vampire
Friends, and Model Maybe. As it was the man had got into some trouble online,
and had his grandparent's internet privileges revoked. Yet they continued to
support him, because they had no choice. He didn't even pay rent half the time,
because he overspent his monthly dole on beer and buying expensive Goth dresses
for underage models to wear under the pretense of a "photo shoot".
Everyone knew this was code for him to ogle little girls some more.
Everything the man did was a failure,
and it bothered him a great deal, but what bothered him the most was the fact
that he never got to see his son Michael grow up. So he created the maps hidden
within his books in order for his son to find him. The man considered himself
quite the genius.
"Someday I will see you
again." The strange man mumbled to himself as he posted clues to his
location in the body of his stories. "Someday we will meet again, and
you'll be proud of my accomplishments!"
Although there were no accomplishments
to speak of, the man comforted himself with his delusions of grandeur.
One of the locations on his map was a
nearby body of water known as Fossil Lake. The name of the lake was derived
from the many different fossils that were found along its shores. It was also a
popular destination for Cryptozoologists, because of a local legend about a
monster that lived in the lake similar to the creatures spotted in Loch Ness,
Scotland, and Lake Champlain, Vermont, here in the United States.
It was at Fossil Lake that the strange
man met his destiny. Although he didn't know it at the time, Fate was about to
bestow its blessings upon him. Although the man had deliberately been making
pilgrimages to the lake, hoping his dream would someday come true he had no
inkling of what was to befall him.
So it happened that fine bright day when
the strange man stumbled upon a younger man busily setting up his photography
equipment. The camera and various lenses appeared quite expensive. The strange
man fancied himself a bit of a photographer, although his equipment consisted
of a cheap digital camera from Wally World, an old, hand-me-down Camcorder with a broken
microphone, and his computer's webcam. He couldn't resist wandering up to the
kid and bragging about his own foray into the world of fine art.
The younger man was good natured, and
friendly. He'd made his way there hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious
creature that supposedly dwelled in the lake. In fact, he informed the strange
man that he was there on assignment for National Geostatic Magazine.
"A magazine? National Geostatic
Magazine?" The strange man sputtered.
The young man smiled and offered his
hand, "My name's Michael Porcine, and I'm a writer. I've been working on
this new story about the monster in the lake."
The strange man's body went cold when he
heard the name. It was all he could do to stem the flow of tears that streamed
down his face. Michael Porcine! That was his son's name! And he was a writer
too like himself? The older man's heart filled with pride as he gazed upon his
son standing in front of him.
He watched the kid as he set up the
camera. He was amazed that the day had finally arrived, his son was right
there, just as he'd planned.
The older man couldn't gather his
thoughts he was so overwhelmed, but he stuttered something out in hopes of
impressing his son. His words were garbled because he had a fast accent, but
the younger man was kind, and he took the time to decipher what the strange man
was saying.
"What was that? The cover of Storms
and Earthquakes? The kid replied, vaguely remembering some controversy about
it. "Wasn't that the cover that the publisher stole a photo from the
magazine I work for?"
The strange man grumbled something under
his breath and changed the subject. Already he'd started off poorly, and needed
to save face. Forget about photography, he steered the topic toward writing.
"You know, it seems we have
something else in common." The older one tossed out, hoping to pique his
son's curiosity.
"Yeah? What's that?"
"Have you ever read Tabloid Intentions?"
He asked.
"Never heard of it."
"The Eyes in Shadow Out of
Time?" The older man offered.
"Nope. But it sounds a bit
Lovecraftian." The kid offered, trying to be nice.
The strange man beamed a yellow-toothed
smile. "I was compared to Lovecraft by the late April Derleth!" He
announced.
The younger man shrugged his shoulders.
"Ms. Derleth, from what I understand, was a very nice lady. She was always
trying to say uplifting things to encourage others. But to tell the truth, I'm
not really a fan of H.P. Lovecraft because he wasn't a very good writer, and a
racist too!"
The strange man felt deflated. He tried
again. "What do you think about Poe?"
The kid scratched his chin and pondered
his words. He didn't want to insult the strange man, but he wasn't really into
Gothic horror.
Before he could reply, the older man
proudly declared that he had a book in the Poe Museum.
"I bet you're really proud of
that." The young man soothed the older man's ego. "So you're a writer
too, I take it?"
"Yes, those books I mentioned?
Those are my books. The namesake came from the inspiration that came from a
dream within the waking nightmare that resides in this lake." The strange
man rambled. The namesake is inspired by the tales of something that which
cannot be described that haunt this place."
"I don't know what you're talking
about." The kid didn't know anything about some namesake, and thought the
older man was trying too hard to sound spooky. He shielded a smirk as he bent
to pick up the lens he had chosen for his camera.
"The books were a map for you to
find me..." The strange man stated as he stared into his son's eyes.
The young man felt a little uneasy. He
didn't know who this person was, but things were starting to feel a little
weird. This strange man had approached him and started talking to him about
random things he didn't care about, but still, he was raised to have good
manners so he indulged the old guy.
"Heh heh, good one!" he
chuckled. "I see what you did there, you're trying to yank my chain a bit.
You're trying to scare me, but really, I'm not into that sort of thing, but I
did like...what was it...Dorian Gray?"
"What? Why would you like that
faggot story with the homo dead at the end wearing an evening gown? I don't
allow erotic content in my submissions, especially faggot content like that
where one would love to anally rape another of the same sex!" The stranger
seethed. "Or suck each other off while fingering their stinkholes! Or
reaching around and jerking the other off while they get sperm injected into
their Hershey Highway!"
The young man just stood there, still
trying to remain patient with the now obviously insane man. Evening gown... had
the old man latched onto the term "evening dress" in the book and
confuse it for an actual dress?
"Didn't you mean evening dress, and
not evening gown? And did you know that Oscar Wilde wasn't referring to a dress
at all, but instead describing a type of semi-formal suit that gentlemen wore
in those days?" He laughed at the man.
"So, it wasn't a dress, but a suit?"
The strange man asked.
"No, it wasn't a dress. You
completely misunderstood the entire scene!" The kid rolled his eyes. At
this point he tried to busy himself with his equipment hoping the stranger
would get the hint and move on. He did have work to do, and the old man was
distracting him from it.
"Michael," the strange man
spoke again, "my books were a map for you to find me. And now you've come
back home."
Now things were really getting creepy,
and the young man glanced around him, looking for his partner who was setting
up other equipment meant to detect the creature in the lake, if it truly
existed. He should be coming along any time now, he thought to himself.
In order to keep the stranger talking
while he hoped his partner returned soon, the young man repeated that he knew
nothing about the older man's books, nor had he even heard of them.
"You mean you don't know who I
am?" The strange man asked.
"Actually, no." Came the
rather blunt reply. His eyes spotting the familiar sandy blonde hair of his
partner as he climbed along the bank, approaching them.
A sigh of relief escaped from Michael as
his partner walked out of the tall grass. The strange man took in the other
man's attire. He immediately prickled at the length of the man's cut-offs,
although he couldn't take his eyes off the impressive bulge in the crotch
region. While still staring at the other man's package and feeling a sense of
confusion mixed with repulsion, the strange man blurted out, "Michael, I
am your father!"
The two younger men's eyes flashed
toward one another. Could this be? Michael had always known he was adopted, and
even though he had been in contact with his mother, his father remained a
mystery. Or at least his identity was a secret, Michael's mother had explained
the rest and now the one person who had been missing from his life, and for
good reason, stood before him.
Michael had matured to be a successful
artist and a respected journalist. The family he grew up with were Christians
who had taught him mercy and compassion for others. They didn't judge lest they
be judged. With that in mind the young man reached his hand out to his
partner's, signaling for him to join Michael by his side.
"Well father," he began,
"seeing as though we may have a few things in common I figure now is a
good time to introduce you to a special person in my life. We have a lot of
catching up to do, and I'm willing to forgive your sins if you can accept my
relationship. Dad? I'd like you to meet my partner, Lloyd Philip
Campbell."
With that Michael leant in and received a kiss from his lover.
Everything around the old man went black
as a strange mist billowed up from their surroundings. A long, gray,
elephantine column rose from the inky depths of the lake. A loud screech echoed
from what sounded like far away, or was it from far above? Suddenly ruby eyes
and sharp fangs were all the old man saw before everything went dark.
***
Michael Porcine got his evidence. He was
lauded for the discovery of a previously unknown species and headed up his own
team of extreme cryptozoologists that circled the globe in search of things
that cannot be described for National Geostatic Magazine. His articles are well
respected in all the writing, scientific, and gay communities. Michael wrote a
suitably appropriate dedication to his father for his famous Fossil Lake
article, it read: "To my father, in death you did far more for me than you
ever managed in life" posthumously giving him the fame he had always
longed for.