Category: Peril

[It has followed me][].

[it has followed me]: http://pete.nu/blog/2003/07/the-beast-of-the-bridge/

The terror that haunted me, through my waking hours and in my darkest nightmares.

I thought that I had escaped it. I thought that 16.6 miles would be enough to throw it off my scent forever. But I was wrong.

It has also developed a hideous new ability: the ability to teleport at will. When you think that you have managed to outrun it and leave it far behind, and your chest is pounding and your legs are aching, somehow it reappears in front of you to terrorise you some more. You cross the road to escape its deadly attack, and this outfoxes it… for now.

Your journey home takes forever. When you finally arrive to the safety of your abode, you barricade the doors and windows, and curl up a darkened corner: quivering, sobbing, shaking. You can not hide forever. You know this.

In the opposite corner of the room, the sodium light defines the edges of your flamethrower. You must destroy the beast.

A gree is a terrifying beast, which lurks and creeps and pounces. It causes girls to whimper and scamper and pull up the duvet cover to their faces to protect them from its threatening call of Greeeee…

What does it look like? Well, if you can imagine me, but having just come out of the shower, and combed my hair backwards so that it sticks up in long spikes, then you’d be pretty close. Don’t forget the intense stare.

The layer of green goo is now about an inch thick, forming a luxurious yet moist carpet. I had to park my car over in that corner yesterday morning. I opened the door and put my fut out, and noticed that the goo had sensed my presence and was collecting itself up into a claw shape. I withdrew my foot and quickly pulled the car door shut, to the slapping sound of the goo-claw impacting on the door. The goo barked in its foiledness.

I climbed over the gear stick to the passenger’s seat and got out on that side, where it was clear. The goo lurked and growled quietly.

Apparently the military have been notified of this threat, but it seems that they are just as terrified of it as we are. One of my co-workers went out at lunchtime and threw some bars of soap at it, but that just seemed to make it more angry.

*Originally posted here*

So it seems that over in the corner of the car park there is an event occurring. To my unprofessional eye, I’d guess that some sort of water pipe under the expansive flower bed has burst, as a steady trickle is coming over the kerb and forming an immense puddle on the tarmac.

And it also seems that no-one knows quite who this should be reported to, as it’s been there a while now. A green algae is forming on the surface of this puddle, and no-one dares park in that corner anymore.

I’m sure that eventually it will rise up and murder us all.

Meh.

*Originally posted here*

I had an awful time of it this morning. Karen called me over to her computer to show me her latest blog post. As I sat down and started to read, I saw that it was quite long. I was a little occupied at the time, so I asked her if I could have a brief summary, but she was insistent that I read it all, there and then. At this point things went a bit strange.

I was suddenly aware that there were two girls sat next to me, and both of them were Karen. How odd, I thought, must be seeing double, so I moved my head a bit closer to her, and blinked and refocused and generally tried to straighten my eyes out. Both Karens disappeared, and didn’t come back.

At this point I panicked a bit, naturally. I stood up and called her name. I then started running round the house, alternating between calling “Karen!” and “I’m hallucinating!”

I eventually bumped into her coming out of the bathroom. Her face looked strange, kinda like she had a face mask on, but weirder than that. It was as if two separate and distinct faces were resolving themself together – clearly I was still hallucinating.

At the point at which she threw her arms around me, reality regained complete control, and I was sitting bolt upright in bed. Karen was holding me, sobbing uncontrollably. I looked around the bedroom, and established that everything looked right. My pulse rate started to return to normal. “It’s okay,” I told her, “it’s better now. We’re okay.”

Then I woke up. I was lying on my back in bed, Karen asleep next to me. She made a small whimper – had I been talking in my sleep? My brain ricocheted around in my head from the two successive impacts of reality, only two seconds apart. “Wow.” I whispered breathlessly.

Immediately the CD player whirred into life. It was 7:30.

*Originally posted here*

Walking home from the gym after sunset fills me with fear, for I know that I will encounter The Beast of the Bridge.

The Beast only comes out at night, when it lurks by the pavement, waiting for weary unsuspecting travellers to pass by. It moves fast in the half-light, so reports of its appearance vary wildly. However, one thing we do know is that it may look a lot like a sparrow-sized dragon.

It has eight wings and red eyes, and teeth the size and shape of a corkscrew. Fresh blood drips from the tips of its sharp talons as it circles threateningly around your head. It will fly within a foot of your face, reducing you to a crumbling mass, quaking before its majestic ominosity.

And then, with the beat of one of its wings against your face, it will skim your neck, causing your hairs to rise up on end and your pulse to quicken to a Happy Hardcore tempo.

Then it is gone. And you, weary traveller, will not sleep well tonight.