Robert Rankin - Necrophenia

‘You thoroughgoing thoroughgoing swine,’ I said.

‘I know,’ said the Homunculus. And he did the blowing onto fingernails and the buffing them on his jacket lapel. ‘So that about rounds it all up, really. You can probably work out any little details that remain for yourself. Although you’ll only have a very few minutes to do so, I regret to say. The end for you is nigh, Tyler. You are the sacrifice that triggers the magical mechanism, the creation of my magical son, Homunculus son of Homunculus, instant bringer of all death-’

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘I was going to ask about that.’

‘Well, now you don’t have to. Goodbye, brother.’

And Papa Crossbar pointed the trusty Smith & Wesson right at my heart and pulled upon the trigger.

And click went the trusty Smith & Wesson.

And Papa Crossbar squeezed the trigger again and again and again. ‘Oh,’ I told him. ‘I forgot to mention it – the trusty Smith & Wesson doesn’t have any bullets in it.’

‘What?’ Papa Crossbar glanced down at the trusty Smith & Wesson and then up again. At my fist, as it sped towards his face and caught him right upon the snout. Very hard.

He went down and I followed on and I punched him and I kicked him. ‘Couldn’t read my mind on that one, could you, sucker?’ I went as biff went my fist. ‘I just wanted you to tell me the whole story so I could stick it all in my best-selling autobiography.’ And clump went my foot. (In his groin.) ‘I didn’t want there to be any loose ends knocking about to disappoint the reader or have them doubting the truth of my tale.’ And whack went my elbow, down deep into his left eye-socket. Nasty.

‘And,’ I continued, ‘I am now going to beat you messily to death as a punishment for all the horrible things that you intended to do. And no one is ever going to think any the less of me for doing it. In fact -’ And clump went my knee in one of those WWF knee-drops on his throat ‘- they’ll probably make a video game about me. And five-year-olds will be pressing handsets, beating you up upon screen. So what do you think about that?’

And then the bloomin’ ninjas had me over.

Freed, I suppose, from the headaches the Homunculus had been inflicting upon them, because he had other things on his mind, like-

And I managed to get one more really decent kick in before they pulled me off him.

‘Okay, okay,’ I went, ‘no need for this. He’s dead now and I’m taking over this place. And you can both have thousand-dollar bonuses and two weeks off. I know a barman who’s giving away fortnight breaks to Butlins.’

But wouldn’t you darn well know it, Papa Crossbar wasn’t dead at all. Bloodied, yes. Broken-nosed, yes. With a big plum bruise growing out of where his left eyeball sat, yes also. Somewhat uncomfortable in the throat and groin regions, also yes, too. But not, very sadly not, dead.

And he rose up before me, and my, didn’t he look angry.

‘You bloodied me,’ he cried. And he spat out some of this blood. ‘You bloodied the Universal Destroyer.’

And I spat in his face once again.

Two face-spittings in a single night! Gross, I know, but justified.

‘I think we’ll burn you up again,’ said Papa Crossbar, spitting blood and spittle. ‘For real this time, rather than for fun.’

‘Shall I fetch the flamethrower?’ asked one of the ninjas.

‘Yes,’ said Papa Crossbar. ‘Do that.’

‘The big one or the small one, sir?’

‘The biggest one you have.’

‘Right, sir.’ The ninja saluted and turned away. And then he stopped and turned back. ‘I’ll need a requisition form then, sir. To sign out the flamethrower from Ordnance Processing.’

‘Just get the flamethrower now!’ boomed Papa Crossbar.

‘But I can’t without a requisition form, sir. You’ll have to sign the authorisation and then it will have to go through Thompson in Ordnance Admin. And he won’t be here at this time of the night, so we’ll have to do it tomorrow. And tomorrow is Saturday, so-’

And the ninja paused. Because there had been a bit of a flourish and a swish from Papa Crossbar. And now the ninja had a big golden ceremonial knife sticking out of his forehead.

‘I’m glad he didn’t pull that on me,’ I said to the other ninja, who was looking on with what was probably a surprised expression. Because it can be quite tricky to tell with ninjas, as they have those bandana things tied around their gobs, don’t they?

‘My brother,’ said the ninja. ‘You’ve killed my brother, Pete.’

‘These things happen,’ said Papa Crossbar, and he withdrew the golden blade from Pete’s forehead, and Pete toppled sideways.

‘He’s a thoroughgoing swine,’ I said to the bereaved ninja. ‘Why don’t you punch his lights out and leave the rest to me?’

‘I have a damn fine mind to, as it ha-’

And then, wouldn’t you just know it-

And down went that ninja also, to lie beside his brother.

‘I really thought he’d have you,’ I said to Papa Crossbar. Backing away as I said it. ‘Seems they were better at blending in and hiding than at the actual fighting side of it, eh?’

‘A piece at a time,’ said Papa Crossbar, golden weapon in his hand, blood dripping from the blade. ‘I will skin you alive. A most painful way to die, I understand. Mr Ishmael certainly put up a right old fuss when I did it to him.’

‘You thoroughgoing-’ And I ran.

Not dignified, I agree. Not noble, not heroic. But come on – I really had given all this my best shot. And if I got away and he couldn’t sacrifice me, then perhaps all the horrible stuff wouldn’t happen.

Well, that’s my story, at least. And I’m sticking to it.

And, ‘Come back, you!’ he cried and gave chase.

And I somehow went out of the wrong door. Not the one that I came in by. And suddenly I found myself outside the conservatory and on the rooftop of the CIA building. In a veritable hurricane, with the thunder booming fit to bust and the lightning forking around and about and much too close for comfort.

And I have to say that once out and upon that storm-swept rooftop, I found myself with few if any places to run to. In fact none at all. So I backed away towards a corner of the roof.

‘Nowhere to hide, Tyler,’ shouted the Homunculus, his voice somehow rising over the storm. ‘Nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. Nothing to do but die.’

‘There always is another option,’ I shouted back, ‘if you are prepared to work at it.’

‘Perhaps the Tyler Technique? Or perhaps you might be a wee bit too distracted up here. Too much input, eh?’ The blade came swishing towards me.

And I backed away just a little bit more. Then had no more away to back to.

And I glanced down. And it was a long way down. Down and down and down. With the roof of Mornington Crescent East (discontinued usage) so very far below.

And rain lashed me and thunder growled in my ears and I was now most scared.

And the blade swished once and then swished twice. And my left ear came off.

‘Oh my God, no!’ I howled and I snatched at that ear as it whirled through the air. And I did manage to catch it. But the blade whirled again and took off my right thumb.

And I howled, ‘No!’ And I howled, ‘Help!’ And then I just howled and howled. And I sank down to my knees on that roof all bloody and wretched and scared.

And the evil villain loomed over me. And he rose upon his toes and he laughed. And he cried, ‘I win, Tyler. I win all.’

And down came the terrible blade.

And in that maelstrom, with the very elements lashing all around me, I knew that I was done. That I was lost, that I had lost. And now all would be gone. All life, all love, all everything.