Latura in "Sick Things"

The Beginning; Burial

Dedicated to AngusEcrivain for several reasons;   A) Toleration of my drunken ramblings on more than one occasion, B) Like me, his mind seems to be interred firmly in the gutter, C) Correction of my misspelling of 'monocle', D) Terminal 'Potty Mouth' aka isn't fuckin' ashamed to swear, E) Because he writes wicked Sci-Fi (check it out) and F) Raging Speedhorn.

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    Eegor shuffled his feet, which really was quite a sight to be seen.  Although when you did, you’d want to scrub your eyes out with bleach and a brillo pad just to get rid of the disturbing image. His left leg was a good few inches shorter than his right, encapsulated in a metal calliper, turning his shuffle into a twisted jig.

    Doctor Death was in two minds as he stared at Eegor’s regulation hunchback shoes clattering against the floorboards.  He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry until another bit of his brain chipped in.  It told him to vomit.  Copiously, voraciously and in a fashion akin to a certain girl who made ‘friends’ with Captain Howdy all those years ago.

    He took a deep breath - through his mouth, as he had never particularly favoured the stench of Formaldehyde - in this corridor, it was everywhere.  The gills either side of his neck fluttered in annoyance.  They couldn’t block out the noxious gasses which lingered in the air like freezing chemical fog.

    Eegor turned his hunch and began to lurch awkwardly along the hallway as Doctor Death slowly followed, taking great care not to trip over his newly acquired tentacles.  He marvelled at his surroundings, not for the first time either.  He could hardly believe it had actually worked.  All that time spent sweating an assortment of lethal chemicals in front of the furnace with a sheet of brass and a hammer.  He had painstakingly crafted every container lining the walls; glass tubes topped with brass curvatures, riveted at the seams before merging at each end into conjoining glass piping.

    Formaldehyde in, Formaldehyde out.  The ‘Things in Jars’ lined the hallway, emitting a curious iridescent neon glow of an indescribable colour which only served to highlight the creatures within.  They were worm-like in their appearance, and had begun as an experiment which was purely a product of boredom.  They had turned out rather well, all things considered.

    A mixture of Earthworm DNA, human brain tissue (for intelligence) and a smidge of Postie blood.  Doctor Death got the feeling that there was possibly a bit of sock fluff in there too, as they sported vivid black and white stripes all over.  During the early stages of their incubation, he had been forced to stitch their bulbous eyes shut.  He didn’t like the way they looked at him.  They looked hungry.

    Eegor halted his disjointed shuffle in front of a large metal door and reached towards the handle with trembling fingers.  He was incredibly afraid of Doctor Death’s reaction to his mistake, and any subsequent reactions which were likely to be positively explosive if Doctor Death discovered what else he had done...  He cringed as the door swung open, creaking on its hinges and Doctor Death shlopped into the stark, sterile(ish) room.

    “For feck’s sake Eegor, you are completely and utterly fecking useless.” He fumed after having a quick gander at the scene before him.

    “But... Marthhter...”  Eegor froze under the pendulous and overbearing weight of Doctor Death’s glare.

    “I told you five pints.  Five.  Not to just leave it there, leaking all over the fugging floor.”

    Eegor wrung his mismatched hands together, although technically speaking they weren’t his hands, at one point they had belonged to two completely different people. It’s okay though, they were dead at the time, they didn’t know a thing about it.