The Trigyalon Complex by R.K. Galvez (reading diary txt) 📕

She felt she had known them all her life. She then realized she had met Bug before. He started turning into some kind of mushroom-pumpkin man, with a watermelon head.

 

“Wow man, I got snakes for arms again,” Bug informed Regor. “I’m mutating right? I am, aren’t I? This can’t be happening again, can it?”

 

Elaine realized she would be unable to make the soul sacrifice; they were living elsewhere. Papus laughed, mockingly, in the back of her mind. She was now destined to abase herself in various realms to satisfy the perverse imagination of a truly masterful occultist.

 

Regor Nocab zipped his fly back up. Elaine was stunned; he had saved her from Papus’ fellatio-doom. Elaine cried bloody tears of joy.

 

“Sorry, it’s one of those nights where I just won’t ejaculate,” said Regor.

 

“Oh, I see,” Elaine mumbled, wiping her bloody tears away.

 

“Don’t cry. You’re good. Technically speaking,” Regor said, rubbing her shoulders.

 

“Don’t start with me, Regor!” Elaine said, in a strop.

 

Regor smirked and said,

 

“You know who you remind me of? You remind me of Zoe. We all call her Zip. She’s a right laugh. You should meet her sometime.”

 

“Maybe another time,” replied Elaine.

 

With that Elaine faded from the realm-space. She needed to seek fresh soul-sacrifices…She needed to take their time. She was turning into a fully-fledged Tyme-Pyre. She sent Regor and Bug another i-telegram-e-mail from 1973.

 

It read:

 

Hi guys!

 

Hope you’re still having a great time. I know you probably want to kick on, being occult superheroes and all. I’m in 1973 now. If you get time, fade in and visit me. I’m really getting around!

 

I’m staying with a groupie who’s obsessed with Matching Mole. She’s actually pretty progressive about music. Maybe we can all go on a date? Maybe we can catch a Woody Allen flick?

 

I hope to see you soon. If I don’t, I’m sure I’ll see you both on Venus. Bring the furs if you want!

Thank you, boys!

 

Love,

 

Elaine.

 

Regor looked at Bug. Bug looked at Regor. They looked confused. Why was a Smeg refrigerator flying?

 

Thankfully, the above telegram was made from some kind of biodegradable carrion that decomposed as soon as they read the message. They prepared themselves for some strange times. They decided to order some more dimensional delicacies and other rarities and kick on to Camelot…

 

P.S. [for our Industry “friends” who need that instant resolution and backstory fix]

Cue: dust people get into Earth realm and then we see them over-run the human population, infecting them causing them to mutate. Easy does it. They win, they wipe us all out. Just like that…

 

 

Pro-Epil-Log…

 

Professor Norkgrub smiled and handed me some strange crystalline device. It was shaped like a pentacle and seemed to be alive. It was possibly an extra-terrestrial biological entity that no-one had discovered yet. I do not know why he had decided to entrust this curio to me.

 

This wily old zoophyte had some queer mission. Why would he be giving me this strange crystal key? As it was alive, it used its tiny crystalline suckers to attach itself to my hand. It was a marvelous achievement of biological design.

 

“Just don’t let it suck you for too long,” said Norkgrub, lighting his little clay pipe.

 

I nodded.

 

“Thanks,” I mumbled and staggered out of the abhorrent public house.

 

It would be some time before I would again locate that Christchild and Vonderpump apothecary; but I always had thoughts of Professor Norkgrub in his little cubbyhole there. Good memories, happy times. There were always good times at that hell hole. The Old Ones always kept it chugging along…

 

As I walked home, to my mother’s flat on the Kilburn High Road, I noticed that I was slowly fading. I was becoming a ghost. Not again. I was not this easily inebriated; electromagnetic particles were nothing new to me…I had been drinking Bristol Cream all night and I only had a couple of Norkgrub’s Alfredo Funghi giant mushrooms. They were very big and looked a bit mouldy; I did not even know that the Christchild and Vonderpump served food, but the pub grub was delicious - spot on, as my uncle Andreas used to say…

 

After walking some way, I noticed that I was becoming invisible. I could not even see my hands, even though it was very dark…Amazing! How can this sudden invisibility be possible? I naturally sought a rational scientific explanation but my mind was blank…What foul play was this?... I looked at the crystalline beast upon me, and noticed how it casually attached itself to my genitals and was sending messages into my hippocampus. My brain was in a strange moment of crystalline pleasure and confusion. My hypothalamus would never know what hit it; as soon as my invisibility kicked in…I do not know if my medulla was on board at the time…

 

[TIME SPECIALLY DEDICATED TO YOU!]

 

Lady Goodpayne looked at the time-slide. It had ripped a hole through some old Constable painting. The small disposable mansion had been in situ since 1924. It was not a popular fast food chain. It was a Ramsey's. It was a good piece of kit. That's why Lady Goodpayne still lived there.

 

Her cleaner, Sybila, stayed around with her trusty pot crystalline pot plant. After the ritual to Phul, they realized they had been conned again. Lady Goodpayne smiled at Sybila.

 

"Don't talk to me about this night ever again," mumbled Lady Goodpayne. Her ninety year old body creaked, as she unstrapped her mega-dildo.

 

"Oh, I won't your ladyship! Rest assured madame, I will respect your time, my dearie!"

 

Lady Goodpayne smiled. She knew Sybila was a bit younger, in her forties maybe. She looked older and had had no surgery. Lady Goodpayne felt her stomach twinge. It was a normal pain and it was easily cured with the ampoules of Dexedrine and amphetamine sulphate. She would use the termaline later…It needed the special format for such experimentations. Her morphine patch needed changing.

 

"Brought my plant with me, ma’am," said Sybil.

 

Lady Goodpayne smiled as Sybil cut its fine leaves and prepared a tea. She looked at the plant again and it appeared to have winked at her.

 

Lady Goodpayne wished they made electric bathrobes, but she had to settle for a woolly kimono from the Himalayas. She was unable to taste them, though.

 

"Don't let the goat urinate on it. We need this zombie goat for the next stage," Sybil mentioned casually.

 

That was the cue for the time-slide to make random noises; it rumbled some more before finally growing silent. It was a bit glittery and the effect only slightly better than early CGI. It was not the desired effect. That was the way the tea was making them see things. The time-slide had started to leak green ectoplasm all over the rug. It was as hot as lava and made short work of the floor. Hopefully the rug will not start mutating again.

 

"Don't make me call the cleaners again, Sybila!" moaned Lady Goodpayne.

 

Sybila smiled, handing her cup of tea. Tiffin was still important and was not reserved for the normal kind of Carry On, of course.

 

After finishing tea, much time had flown by. Over seventy-two hours had elapsed in twenty hyper-minutes. The time-slide had filled the room with ectoplasm. The sofa and chaise-longue were only things that wouldn't burn.

 

 

"They must be charmed," laughed Sybila.

 

Lady Goodpayne was not amused. Sybila looked around for the goat.

"Kasper! Oh, Kasper!"

 

Sybila started to cry. At least her plant was safe, but they lost the zombie-goat.

 

"I may have to ring the estate agents, Mr Goodnow and Mr Goodmann. They seem to be very shady operators but I think they like it that way," Lady Goodpayne remarked.

 

Sybila smiled.

 

"I hope you don't mind ma’am, but I've summoned your first aborted foetus from 1989 and your future descendant from 2567AD."

 

"Oh, how quaint," said Lady Goodpayne, licking the teacup. That was some mighty fine tea, she thought.

 

"They'll appear soon."

 

Sybila put the pot plant and tea set aside. She seemed to be talking to the plant, whispering to it in hushed tones.

"…I knew this would happen, Professor," said Sybil to the plant. It was forming into a little plant-man with a shrub like leaf-fro.

 

Lady Goopayne was unsure if she had heard things right but her eyes were feeling heavy. 

 

"I think she's asleep now," the little plant man said.

 

"We better tell the C.O.G. She can't call Goodnow and Goodmann. They were betraying us all along. Look at the pzi-flow. It can't be crossed with all this pzi-jizz. We need something funky, Norky."

 

"I agree Sybila. It's good to work with you again. Just like the old days with Quagga and Von RapArd."

 

Sybila laughed, zipping up a Buck Rogers-style spacesuit. She still had Wilma Deering’s body; her face looked more like Doc Hauer's, though. She had a rough old life in Stepney. It was a shame she got discovered late as a psychic; she had a great TV presence…

 

Norky moved the chaise-longue to connect with the Sofa-bed. It was forming a primitive sort of tyme-craft. Smokey window-walls developed around the sofa-bed-chaise-longue craft. It was a commercial move, but Norky was not afraid of commercial suicide. He had always been into the labels, though he stuck to White Label more than anything else. Norky sipped some of his own tea and glowed a green fluorescent colour. Sybila laughed surreptitiously fingering her clammy vagina.

 

Norky said, "Don't worry, Sybila, we’re going inter-dimensional!"

 

“I’m coming, Norky!” Sybila screamed.

 

It was quite apparent that our heroine’s juices were flowing…

 

   SHI HIT MY HEROINE!

 

Chapter Forty One

 

The hairs on the back of Tommy Tellman's neck stood up. He was re-living a time fright freak out. It was not too retro. It was something he had learned to get used to. He was a life coach guru after all.

 

Tommy Tellman was also a pulp novelist. He refused to adhere to the the standardized one-hundred and seventy-five page tradition; Tellman feared attention spans were just not what they were. He opts for fifty to seventy pages. He feels a hundred might be pushing it in this day and age. Of course, Tellman has millions of one page stories. There's too many to document. They all blather on about his alter ego, The Midnight Pharmacy Lemonade Drinker and his companion, August-Ham Man.

 

And, according to Tellman, all the best ideas were short stories. 'War and Peace' remains, technically, a collected body of interlocking fragments -- episodes, not proper chapters if you will. Tellman was getting technical with me, but my eyes had already glazed over…I took more meds to get rid of this Tellman dream…

 

However, 'The Shawshank Redemption' as a film adaptation lasts a couple of hours, which has to be seen as quite remarkable considering to this day some people cannot believe it came from a Stephen King short story. It has to be admitted that this realm world has many bizarre oddities that are out of sync with trans-dimensional life.

 

Either way, Tellman was not getting any cash. As the world turned to dust, he needed a quick buck. His pension was close to non-existent. He had a shopping list, too. He should have stuck to the life-coach guru lark. It was easier to peddle his self-help pamphlets and blogs to the easily lead.

 

That was how Tellman made his name as a life-coach guru. Maybe I should take up life-coaching? I do fear this idea that life can be coached with positive energy as opposed to supernatural forces. All the pages Tellman contributed actually came from a rare grimoire not often used by occult adepts. He had always been a fan of Higgins out of Magnum P.I., too. But that is another strand of thought that only the students of the occult might be interested in hearing.

 

Chapter Two

 

Tellman was already dead. That was more convenient. The dust-world had consumed him. It was 2045. That was not the future as it felt like 1910. He was still looking for a decent greasy spoon café. He had to go all the way to Blackhorse Road to find one. That was a shock for many futurologists including myself.

 

The mutated dust particles had spread everywhere. The particles clung to buildings and tress, changing the colour