And Did Those Tentacles in Ancient Times...

I originally wanted to eliminate Americanisms, but decided it was unnecessary, especially given a certain line and the irony exposed therein. Also, language, sexual content, and bad pun warning. Parts are a little crude, but it seemed mostly necessary to me:



Across the world there are structures, magnificent structures of stone or concrete or marble, often jewel-encrusted with inlaid gold and pearl, arches and traceried windows, and coppered, bronzed, or even ivoried spires--signaling their presence to all and sundry for miles around. Other structures are more austere. Yet they all have one thing in common; they are all there for a reason.

At first this may seem elementary, trivial even. After all, aren't all structures there for a reason? Appearances, however, can be deceiving. Certainly when a man builds a home he surveys the land carefully; he does not desire the proverbial house built on sand. But how carefully? Does he look for stable ground? Yes. Does he look for access to water, transportation, and a nice view? Yes. Does he look for a nice community and environment in which to raise a family? Hopefully. Does he look for a mystical weak spot interconnected with hundreds--maybe thousands--of other such spots across the world by perfectly straight lines? Probably not. Some men do however. And they build massive structures. They build stark megaliths of simple stone, or temples and tombs resplendent. They build them, and then they die. New men come and inhabit these temples, or gaze at the stones in awe. They may convert a pagan temple to a church, or a church to a mosque, but the structure itself remains. As the structures collapse, no matter how Spartan, regardless of how mysterious their purpose or great the cost, men repair them as best they are able.

One such structure is St. Michael's Tower, perched upon the verdant mound known as Glastonbury Tor like a great cork tightly jammed into a giant grass-covered semi-spherical vessel. No, not like, is. Inside that mound, just beneath the surface of human consciousness, is a bubbling champagne of primeval power ready to pop its cork at any moment. If only it had a little nudge, a removal of its seal, it could be be poured gently into the surrounding lowland. Then, after aeons of fermentation, the world would drink its cup. Not yet though. Not quite yet. For now it waited.

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Meanwhile, elsewhere: something was happening. But of course something was always happening, and what in the affairs of men was not concurrent with the entrapment of a being older than the earth itself? Today, however, something of profound importance to this perpetual Promethean imprisonment was happening. Men were erecting new monuments. More towers. To secure their future, and that of their children and children's children, against the hidden horror that lurked beneath? No. Something else. The ancient mind sluggishly took in the doings of the men. The people no longer believed in it or its brothers. They no longer feared it. Their mistake. This boded well for the 'near' future.

A terrible sigh rolled down the Tor and across the surrounding lowland, echoing off rock and wood and home as of many whisperings. Men shivered and the land trembled.

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A new day. The sun shone in the sky. The birds chirped. The bees buzzed. The construction was finished. The wi-fi towers had been erected. The long wait was over... the ancient town of Glastonbury would have free wi-fi at last.

"Huh?" said the man, who had come with his laptop to visit St. Michael's, "the Tor must be a dead zone." Then, "Bloody!!?" A message had popped up on his screen, reading, Are you an organ donor?

He just stared, dumbly.

Then again, Answer the question. Also, are you a virgin? It is important.

The man slammed his laptop shut. Then he stood up. A searing pain struck him between the ears and he almost fell back down. There was a buzzing in his ears and he felt as if his brain was liquifying. He felt hot blood trickle from one ear as a guard came up to him.

"Alright, sir? Oh dear. This has been happening all day. Damn wi-fi is even killing the birds and the bees... er, you know what I mean."

He didn't. He could barely hear, and still was having trouble standing as the buzzing continued.

"Don't worry. You'll be fine. Humans are more hardy than that. Just come along over to the tower and we can give you some ear plugs and aspirin."

"Thank you," he mouthed, not sure if he had actually said it aloud or not.

The guard took him into St. Michael's. No one else was inside.

"Right over here," said the guard, directing the man to stand on a plaque. "That's right. Now all the pain will go away..." the guard flipped a switch and the plaque slid out from underneath the man, whom fell into the dark below. The plaque promptly returned to its place, and the guard smiled at the next person to come up the Tor.

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That night Ed Mann, a forty-four year old baker in Glastonbury, dreamed what no mortal ever dared before. In his sleep he saw a barren landscape, dusty and strewn with rock and starved shrubs. As the sun set he saw two figures struggling on a cliff. Finding his feet on solid ground, Ed Mann, walking up to see them better, gasped as a club struck surreal as a bolt of lightening and one of the two figures lie limp. The limp figure was heaved upon a flat stone slab and a jagged rock rammed through his chest. The standing man dipped a hand in the blood and put his now bloody thumb to his own forehead, muttering something. Then he turned around--his uneven, stone-cut, long dirty black hair hanging about his eyes and high cheekbones--and seemed to stare animalistically at Ed, whom awoke to a popping sound.

Sparkling lights could be seen outside his bedroom window. Pop. Pop. Pop, went the noise. Just firecrackers. Ed went back to sleep.

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"Well, why not?" asked the Councilman, scolding disappointedly in his musical and rather high-pitched voice.

"People have been complaining..."

"Which people?"

"Many."

"Anyone important?"

"'Important,' sir?"

"Tell me their names."

"Um... let me get the list."

"They must not be very important then," he chirped gaily, grinning. Then, seriously, "Don't bother."

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"Councilman?" a tall, bald, black man entered the room.

"What now?"

"I have the latest report."

"And?"

The man unfurled a map of Glastonbury, setting it on the Councilman's desk.

"There have been reports of illnesses all over Glastonbury."

"How does that concern me?"

"Sir..."

"Go on."

"While there have been reports from all over, most of them center around this region," he traced his index finger over an area of the map. "Right next to the Tor."

The Councilman smiled. "So the project was a success. I have to admit I was a little worried for a while there. Tell me, is there any explanation for why it took so long?"

"Well," the man explained, "we believe it's not enough for the wi-fi towers, that is, to disrupt the ley line energy. That is only the lock. You have to turn the knob and pull to open the door."

"Are you suggesting we destroy the tower? They will never let us."

"No. The keepers are too strong for us. Our Dread Master, however..."

"What about him?"

"He can be awoken."

"How?"

"A sacrifice."

"Obviously. You haven't been doing this very long, have you? What kind of sacrifice? Virgins, goats, babies, a thousand bottles of the finest Dom Perignon? Are we unleashing an unspeakable evil or launching a ship?" he chuckled boyishly, then with a hint of menace, "Because I really want to know."

"Uh, sorry. Teenagers, sir."

"Virgins?"

"Doesn't matter. We need a sexual frenzy followed by a feeding."

"An orgy followed by a light snack. And maybe some of that Dom Perignon I mentioned earlier. Couldn't have said it better myself. Oh, you mean the sacrifice. Well, if that's what we need, get it done."

"W-we will, sir. Tonight. We tried last night, but the, um, 'festivities' were of insufficient..."

"Your party sucked, I believe is what you're trying to say. Did you provide music? Snacks? Alcohol? Drugs?"

"The teenagers brought their own."

"You have the nearly limitless resources of the Deep Ones available to you and you didn't even buy the drugs?" he said, incredulous. "You're a disgrace to your people."

"Sir?"

"Americans, I mean. I'm evil, that doesn't make me a racist. I'm an equal-opportunity misanthrope."

"No, I mean what should we do now?"

"Oh, well, throw a party like the devil himself is coming to town. Come to think of it, I'll take over the party prep, you deal with everything else. Boy, in my younger days I was quite the hell-raiser. Still am, I suppose..."

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"So, after school..." the Twelfth year boy began.

"No." she replied weakly.

"C'mon, it'll be fun."

"James, I don't want to. Besides, my mom would kill me if I did, she's really religious."

"She doesn't have to know," he gently stroked her white-blonde hair.

"I said 'no.'" she replied curtly, looking away.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean... I thought you'd want. I really like you..."

She looked back into his eyes searchingly.

"It's just that," he continued, "you're so cool, and all the other girls are doing it..."

"And that means I should too?" she snapped.

"No." he was emphatic. "I didn't mean that at all. Just that I thought you'd want to. But if you don't, we can always go to a movie or something." He surveyed her cute, porcelain features tenderly. The silky-soft milky-white skin, large, sparkling, bright-blue eyes, tiny ears, delicate chin, small ski-slope nose, and curves, not fully-developed, leading to other nice features. "'Sides," he added, smiling, "you know you'd look good."

She returned the smile, her nose crinkling, and a little blue vein subtly revealed itself on her pale forehead. Then she pursed her small lips.

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James had convinced his girlfriend, Sabrina, to at least come over after school and take a look. If she didn't want to go, that was fine, he told her, but at least have a peek before deciding. She liked it. A lot. But...

"I can't."

"What?" he said, flabbergasted. "Why not?"

"What would everyone say? Me wearing that."

"I thought you liked it."

"I do. But it's kind of... revealing."

"It will be dark. And there's this," he held up white lace.

"That's see-through."

"It will be dark."

"I heard that. I don't want to."

"Alright," he sighed. "What should I do with all this then?"

She opened her mouth, then shut it again. She couldn't ask for it. Not now. She looked at the gold-embroidered black and scarlet topless corset.

"How did you afford this?" she asked.

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"Councilman, there really is something fishy going on," the woman caught him in the hallway.

"Yes?" he turned around, smiling that devilishly handsome smile of his.

"Last night a group of about a dozen teenagers went to the Tor, and even more are planning on going tonight. Also, a man disappeared there this morning."

"Poof? Up in smoke?" he asked.

"No, just... his wife called..."

"I'm sure he'll turn up."

"What about the teenagers?"

"Did they disappear too?"

"No."

"Keep me posted, then," he strode off.

"Sir?"

"You know what I meant, darling," he called back. He then resumed his party preparations, muttering to himself, "pepperoni or sausage? Ah heck, both."

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"Mr. Snow?"

"Yes?"

"Mr. Lucien Snow?"

Irritated, "Yes?"

"Councilman Snow?"

"Again, yes. Are you now going to ask me for my address and shoe size?"

"That won't be necessary."

"Thirteen and a half, men's, in case you change your mind."

"Mr. Snow, I represent the Queen,"

"Which one?"

"Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland..."

"...And of Her other Realms and Territories Queen?" Councilman Snow interjected.

"Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith," the representative finished.

"And it is in this last capacity, I suspect," said Mr. Snow, "that you are intruding upon me?"

"Yes."

"Say no more. You are interested in the desecration of one of your faith's holiest sites?"

"Yes."

"And yet you probably voted for Gordan Brown's Labour Party in the last election?"

"I fail to see..."

"Answer the question. It is important."

"Fine. Yes. Now can we proceed?"

"Not yet. Why settle for the lesser evil?" Mr. Snow massaged his temples.

"I suppose it's only human. The concern is that the greater evil will be too great."

"I think you mean 'fear.' That's what it all comes down to. Me, I was born without adrenal glands. But that's another story entirely. For now, just let me say I'd be more worried about the superlative than the comparative if I were you."

"Now, let me ask you a few questions, Mr. Snow."

"No. No. No. And no. Not yet. I have one more question for you, and then I will cooperate fully with your investigation." He walked over to a closet and opened wide the door.

"...Which of these," he held up a white suit and a red and blue tie each, "would go better with this for a party?"

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"So they tell me you're a councilman?" she nearly fell over as she approached him. She was a little older than the others, university age. A little bit drunker too. Pretty though. "Ha!" she laughed, regaining her footing. Then, apparently regaining her line of thought as well, "What's that like?"

"Not really interesting at all. Mostly meetings and formality. I do get this cool, shiny medal though..."

She oohed and aahed at its gleaming under the torchlight, then began to lose interest.

"Want to see something really cool?" he asked.

"What's that?" she eyed him suspiciously, managing some degree of lucidity, even if only for a moment.

"Well, I shouldn't. Top secret," he winked, "now how about a cigarette?" He extended his hand and she took the thin white cylinder and put it to her lips. She bent forward and he lit it for her.

"Can you keep a secret?" he asked. "You look like a good girl." Another girl nearby scoffed. "And who is this lovely little lady? A friend of yours?"

"She's nobody," the first girl replied.

"Nonsense! The more the merrier, I always say. Well actually, that's the first time I've ever said that, but what's your name, miss?" he said genially.

The girl, younger but prettier than the first, said sheepishly, "Sabrina."

"Are you enjoying the party?"

"I guess so."

"You 'guess' so? Why don't you grab your boyfriend over there and come along with us?" The first girl had a sour look on her face now.

"How did you know my boyfriend?" Sabrina asked.

"Met him earlier. He pointed you out when I asked if he had come with anyone. I told him you two made a cute couple, both very stylishly dressed. But my dear, why the modification to the top?"

"How did you know?" she asked, more suspicious than before.

"Darling, I don't mean to brag, but if there's one thing I know, it's style. And that kind of gown didn't come with a t-shirt underneath. But of course, you still make it look good."

"Style..." she said the word slowly, as if in thought. "Oh, you're gay?"

"Fag?" he replied.

"Huh?"

"Cigarette," he stretched out his hand.

"No thanks," she said quickly.

"Well, why don't you grab... Jack, is it? And I'll show you three..." he looked around, the other girl had gone, "...you two something wonderful."

"I don't know..."

"Why don't you go and talk with him about it? If you decide you want to, you know where to find me. I'm the tall man with silver hair wearing a white suit. In the meantime I'll see if I can find that other girl and her boyfriend."

"She has a boyfriend?"

"I believe she mentioned something to that affect, yes. And I thought you knew her."

"Only by reputation. I thought you were, um, you know," she said shyly.

"Oh. I see," he said coldly. Then, beaming, "I'm married," he held up his hand to show her the gold band with black onyx stone. "Now please," he pleaded in a tender fatherly tone, "don't wear that t-shirt any longer!"

"Um, I can't. There isn't anything here," she put one hand over her chest, "but the lace."

"It's pretty dark out here, but I understand."

"That's what he said," Sabrina looked down, nervously pivoting one foot.

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"Mmmm," Sabrina felt the vibrations in her bones. "It feels like drugs."

"Or like... *hiccup*" the older girl, Tabitha, began.

They were lying, one on her stomach, the other on her back, against one side of the Tor.

"It's warm," said Sabrina.

"It's hott!" exclaimed Tabitha.

"I don't know about this..." said James, he had been standing at the foot of the Tor. Lucien was busy doing something with the altar, a flat stone slab just over half way up the Tor.

"Come on James, the earth is shaking. But not like a tremor. It feels like there's something inside."

"That's what I'm afraid of," he retorted under his breath.

"Yeah, c'mon Jamie boy," said Tabitha. "Your girl wants you to lay down with her. Come and join us."

"Where's your date?" he asked.

"Shhh!" she replied, as if it was some big secret, then giggled.

"Forget this, I'm leaving."

"No!" Sabrina cried.

"Then stop playing around out here in the dark. I don't like this hill."

"It was your idea," Sabrina whined.

"I thought it would be a fun party, with a little ceremony. But..."

"Too real for you?" Councilman Snow was suddenly and surprisingly near the bottom of the Tor now. "You wanted to play sorcerer, but now that the earth is thrumming hotly beneath your feet they've suddenly gone cold?"

"Y-yes," James admitted with an odd mixture of pride and shame.

"Flesh is prickling?"

"..."

"I don't know about him, but mine sure is," said Tabitha.

Sabrina actually let out a little laugh before covering her mouth with her hand. "That's bad," she said.

"I suppose we'll just have to cancel the whole thing then," said the Councilman calmly.

"No!" the two girls cried in unison.

"Fine. I'm leaving."

"James... wait."

"Yes?" he stared Sabrina in the eyes.

"I-I'll wear it without the tee now. Just stay."

He paused. He bit his lip in thought, then, "And we'll go back to the party with everyone else?"

"But..." she protested.

Before everything got out of hand the Councilman said, "Doesn't matter. The party is here. The others will join us shortly.

"Goodbye," it was final. James walked off. As he did so the cold prickling that had hung around his arms and neck like a stubborn coat abated.

"Wonderful. Just wonderful. Now who will be my Second in performing the ceremony?" Mr. Snow said forlornly.

"I will!" the girls shouted in unison once more.

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Music played. Flickering lights and shouts came from the foot of the Tor. Meanwhile Sabrina found herself sitting on the flat stone altar, bowlegged, her head backwards, staring at the sky, and her bare breasts--exposed through ripped lace--thrust forward. Tabitha sat opposite her, but otherwise identical. Lucien, moving reverently like a priest, brought a large, jagged rock before them. There was a popping sound and a dark wine issued forth, which he poured upon Sabrina's small, though pushed up, pale breasts. This lasted for a good ten seconds, then moving over to Tabitha, he repeated the process. When this was complete, he shouted in a stentorian voice, "...Let's get this party started!" Dozens of teenagers suddenly rushed up the Tor in a wild frenzy, and upon reaching the altar, proceeded even more frenzied, tearing their clothes off; the women were veritable Maenads and the men Silenoi. Tabitha was quickly swept up in the fray--to her delight, and Sabrina stared at her reddened breasts, whispering, "this isn't wine," while the councilman attended to other matters.

Lucien confronted the lone figure marching toward the Tor. "Come back for the fun?"

"No. I've come back to stop you."

"That so?" Mr. Snow let out a bark. "It's a little late for that. I'm leaving. I wanted to enjoy the party a little, but things are progressing so quickly... I don't want to be here when our Dread Master is awoken."

"You're staying right here."

"No. I'm not. Now if you want to try to convince them to stop having fun--if you want to kill the buzz--then by all means have at it."

James gritted his teeth angrily, but said nothing.

"This is really all your fault, anyhow," Councilman Snow whimsied.

"My fault?"

"You brought her here, didn't you? You convinced her to wear the corset and gown I gave you, or was that just a coincidence that she had them on?"

"If she wasn't here you'd have found someone else to do it."

"Not someone so fine--and I do mean fine--but that isn't the point, dear boy. You aren't here to save the world, but just one little girl. And I'm sure your reasons are entirely altruistic," he winked.

James fumed. "And what are your reasons?" he shouted. "Just felt like a party?"

"Yes. And this," Lucien lifted both hands--palms up--in pseudo-spiritual ecstasy as he twirled completely around, "is just the beginning."

"You're sick," James' eyes narrowed.

"But I feel so healthy, doctor!" Lucien mocked.

"I'm going to rescue Sabrina."

"I wouldn't try to stop you even if I could," Lucien told him, adding to himself as James marched up the Tor, "which, come to think of it, I could. What the heck is a sixteen year-old boy thinking when he confronts a giant of a man with demonic connections? I mean really. What do they teach kids in schools these days. No, I blame those bloody Americans and their media. Corrupting influence on today's youth. No two ways about it," he added gruffly. "Oh my, they're getting to me now too. Gods below!"

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James dodged several harpies--actually fairly attractive girls, but they were not behaving attractively--who had lunged at him. He briefly wondered whether they wanted him for a snack or... er, that was pretty much both sides of it. Ever since he first confronted the rather large councilman he had wished he'd brought protection. He quickly abandoned the train of thought, deciding it wasn't going anywhere pretty, and then looked for his half-naked girlfriend. Wow, realization dawned on him, he had really gotten himself into a sticky situation. Ugh. Why was he trying to protect her anyway, she was probably betraying his trust right now. If only he could find her... so he could tell her off. But was that really reason to risk life and limb--ah!--not that limb! A naked long-haired brunette had just grabbed his crotch.

"Leggo!" he shouted.

"Gimme," she shouted back with glee.

"No. That's mine!"

"Duh."

"No!" another girl yelled. "You can't own anything. Frrreeeeeeeee looooovve!" She grabbed his butt and then unfastened his belt while the first girl continued to hold him. He twisted and fell to the ground, briefly getting free, but they were quickly on top of him. Despite their berserker-style intoxication he was unwilling to hurt them, which made it difficult to get free. One of them grabbed the button on his jeans...

Suddenly another boy came and pulled one of the girls off; they tumbled to the ground together and began kissing furiously. Taking advantage of the opportunity--well, rather, electing not to take advantage of the opportunity--he pushed the remaining girl off his thighs and jumped up running. He would have to come in around the back now. He imagined he would later laugh about this--it was like a return to the days of the cooties.

Dodging a few more girls (and one guy) he made it to the altar where Sabrina still sat, staring at her breasts. He pulled her off the slab, simply saying, "We're leaving," and ran. She did not protest. They had barely made it past the bottom of the Tor when Lucien confronted them.

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"Come with me," said the Councilman.

"Not this time," James told him flatly. Sabrina actually seemed to agree.

"I assure you I only want the two of you to join me as witnesses."

"We don't want to witness anything... we've seen plenty already. Right, Sabrina?" She nodded.

"Fine," Mr. Snow acquiesced. "But let me ask you just one question."

"Hurry up."

"See that bench about fifty metres that way," he gestured with his head.

"Yeah?"

"That is the only safe spot for a mile in any direction. I circled salt around it for that purpose. You can join me and watch, or..." he smiled mischievously.

"Damn you."

"Yes, yes. Damn us all."

They walked at a quick pace toward the bench. On the way Lucien offered his jacket to Sabrina to cover up with, saying, "A gentleman has to protect a lady from the cold." James glowered.

When they arrived at the bench Sabrina sat. Peeling Mr. Snow's lent jacket slightly aside like a banana peel to reveal the soft flesh beneath, she peeked at her own breasts, running her fingers over their spattered, drying red coating, saying what she had repeated several times since the 'ceremony' had begun, "This isn't wine, is it, Mr. Snow?"

"Hmm?" he glanced her direction; his eyes had been intensely fixed on the thrumming green bulge. "Oh. That. Yes. It's blood," he said casually.

"Blood?"

"Yes, my dear. And I'm sorry to say it isn't exactly fresh. But mystical forces are very particular."

"Not fresh? What does that mean!!?"

"No reason to get hysterical. It's perfectly hygienic. HIV, for instance, didn't even exist when it was 'bottled.'"

"How 'unfresh' is it!!?" she demanded.

"I can't say for sure. As unfortunately it was some time prior to the written word... but I have it on the best authority--"

"AAHHHHH!" she cried.

"Oh dear. Would it help if I apologized for that and casting a spell on you and all your friends that made you behave in untoward ways? Not to mention all your friends will die... I'm terribly sorry, but some things just can't be helped."

"No, look!" James pointed stiffly, his finger hanging, disbelieving, in the air like some frozen marionette.

St. Michael's Tower had popped off the top of the Tor like a tiny pebble. The Tor ripped down its sides and screams could be heard as the teenagers once atop it--and each other--fell into the horrendous pit that formed in its place. Out of the gaping maw of the earth came a flapping sound. Then a red and yellow--but mostly white--giant arose with a chaotic cacophony accompaniment.

"It's beautiful," Lucien sobbed.

"What is it?" Sabrina asked, horrified.

"It is nothing other than..." he began a drum roll to the creature's giant wing beats. "...The vicious... Chicken of Bristol!" Lucien looked at both of them and said, beaming, "I don't know about you, but tomorrow I'm having giant eggs and Spam for breakfast!"

"Um, so why the orgy exactly?" James asked. "Couldn't you have awoken him with a sunrise or something?"

"No." Lucien answered matter-of-factly. "You see, he's jealous of humans. We are, after all, much more attractive than chickens. But don't take my word for it, why don't you and the 'bird' go over and ask him yourself?"

"I'm sorry, but I am not asking a giant chicken if he is attracted to me," Sabrina cleared her throat.

"But you are the one who aroused... excuse me... awoke him. And you didn't seem to mind his snoring earlier..."

"Snoring? Eww."

"Just think of what it will be like now that he's awake! But you better hurry up--early bird get's the worm!"

"I'd rather not," she wrinkled her nose, "Cock-A-Diddle-Don't."





You wear a disguise to look like human guys, but you're not a man, you're a chicken, Boo!