The Freezer of N'ga-Rabarroth!
The Never Ending Quest - Episode 64541
|
As you stand straddled across the freezer, your footless left leg thrust
into the cooling interior, the pain gradually subsides to a sufficient
level to enable you to entertain thoughts other than "Aaaaaaaaaargh I
can't stand the agony!". What you notice is, not unreasonably, the
contents of the freezer, some of which you have removed and placed on the
kitchen floor to make room for your bleeding leg-stump. And what you
notice in the contents of the
freezer chills you to the bone. (Of course that could just be your
standing in the freezer which is doing that, but you have a feeling that
were you to observe a similar collection of contents while standing with
one leg in, say, your oven, you would have felt similarly chilled.
That's "chilled" as in scared by the way, not as in "relaxed"). What you see before you brings back a sudden jarring memory of the day you first acquired the freezer. It had been back in '97, when you had been a junior at Miskatonic Metropolitan University (formerly Miskatonic Tertiary College). One of your Theosophy tutors had died unaccountably and, in order to free up his study for use by another academic, the faculty had organised a jumble sale of his possessions. You remember walking across the main courtyard of the campus towards a small grassy embankment upon which had been strewn the cumulation of a lifetime's devotion to the study of the arcane and the terrible: books, tomes and parchments of unknown provenance; terrible codices encrusted with stones of an alien appearance; exquisite engravings and sketches of horrors yet to be given a name in any language still remembered by Man; skulls and bones of beasts hideously disfigured; and assorted orbs, amulets, scarabs, jewels and other ceremonial objects which at first sight appeared to possess a dazzling beauty, but which under closer examination spoke of a purpose so dark as to be beyond human reckoning... And then there was the freezer. What had posessed you to buy it you did not now know; nor did you then, other than perhaps an idle curiosity. Your thesis on "The Horror of the Mundane", which was subsequently to lead to your headlong flight into the welcoming arms of madness (but which was at this stage a growing interest rather than an all-consuming obsession) suggested to you that in its (relatively) modern and incongruous banality, it represented something more exotic and more uncanny than all of the papers and baubles which constituted the remainder of the late professor's legacy. Also it was by some way the least expensive item on sale, and, as it came ready-filled, you reckoned that its contents might save you the bother of having to undertake any trips to the grocery store for a while. However you well remember what happened just after you had handed over your $s to the sub-Dean in charge of the sale and had arranged for the freezer to be delivered to your apartment. A mysterious woman dressed as an attractive cheerleader had called you a "fatso". This, you now realise, must have been a curse for, although the freezer remained in your possession all these years later, you had yet to eat (or until this moment, even examine) the content thereof. Now, as if a veil had been removed from what had appeared to be a beautiful dancer, to reveal in its place the actuality of a hideous crone with Tourette's Syndrome, you find yourself staring into the abyss of the benighted deep-refrigeration unit. Your eyes meet what on the surface appear to be your typical plastic bags of frozen comestibles. However upon closer inspection you now realise that all of the bags are enscribed in a kind of alphabet which to you seems strange, ancient and (if such a thing can be countenanced) inhuman. Yet, as if blessed, or, more likely, cursed, with some hitherto undiscovered faculty for translation, you are easily able to decipher the various legends: "Chthulu Burgers", "Noodles of Shuma-Gorath", "Zaha Doóm Faggots (they are tasty)" "Please to be eating the King Prawn Chow Mein of the Hordes of Abbadon". In addition to the aforementioned inscriptions on the packages themselves, you also notice that upon each item has been appended a label of unknown origin. Each bears the chilling warning (in the same alien text as the packages) "Property of N'ga-Rabarroth - DON'T TAKE MY FOOD, DUDE!" Suddenly you hear
|
eric kantona
9/25/2008 6:49:59 AM
25004811 episodes viewed since 9/30/2002 1:22:06 PM.