Robert Rankin - Necrophenia

And I drew hastily back. But Papa Keith Crossbar did not; his eyes were tethered to the pages by invisible bonds. And the words arose to him and entered his brain. And I knew then what these words must be: the words of the most terrible spell that had ever been brought into reality by Man – the spell to create the Homunculus.

And then another revelation came upon me.

That this was the year 2007.

And that we were now in the 21st century.

And so the twentieth-century Homunculus was preparing to use that terrible spell to raise his own magical son. And that had to be super bad because, as far as I knew, that had never been tried before. In all the long history of horrible Homunculus-raising, an actual Homunculus had never done the raising of his next in line. I didn’t know just then exactly what the consequences of this would be. But, instinctively once more, I reasoned that they would be dire.

And outside thunder rolled across the sky. And lightning flashed beyond the frosted windows. And I knew deep down in my Look Back in Anger heart that tonight was going to be the night that he did this evil deed.

And if he succeeded, then it meant-

The End of the World.

Oh dear.

I did hoverings all about and wondered what to do next for the best. Get back into my body at the hurry-up, escape from the floatation tank, make my way up here and crush the life from this monster’s throat before he could invoke the terrible magic and bring his awful horror into this world seemed favourite. No – and I gave this matter some thought – I could not think of anything better than that. Although the Devil, as they say, is in the detail.

But now a door opened and in walked an evil cat’s paw.

I reasoned that he had to be an evil cat’s paw because he was, after all, an employee of the Evil One himself and apparently had permission to enter without knocking.

And the Evil One looked up from his evil book and gazed evilly at the evil cat’s paw who had entered his evil room, evilly.

‘Did you knock?’ he asked.

The cat’s paw shook his head.

‘Did I call “enter”?’

The cat’s paw shook his head once more. I noted that the cat’s paw had a rather nifty haircut, rather retro nineteen-fifties. A bit early-Elvis. And a suit, of course. A black suit. And a black suit is a classic. Unless it’s made out of polyester.

‘Well, can you think of any reason at all why I should not kill you for your insolence?’

‘But for the fact that I’m already dead, sir, no.’

‘I’m trying to learn a spell here. It might look easy, but it’s not.’

‘I never suggested that it was, sir.’

‘No, but you were thinking it. I can hear you thinking it. And don’t think that if you sing a song in your head as you are now doing that I won’t be able to hear what you’re thinking.’

‘Sorry,’ said the evil cat’s paw. ‘Naturally, sir, my only wish is to serve you absolutely.’

‘And have sex with the woman in charge of the Filling Room.’

‘And that too, sir. But everyone in my department wants that. At least, all the men do. And some of the women, too.’

‘She’s a bit of a looker, eh?’

‘I should say so, sir.’

‘Then I wonder, perhaps-’

And I could hear him thinking. And he was thinking about the woman that he wanted to become the mother of the twenty-first-century Homunculus this very night. At midnight. Which seemed about right. As this sort of stuff generally comes to pass during the witching hour. And he was considering the woman who ran the Filling Room because he had extracted a mental image of what she looked like from the mind of the evil cat’s paw. But he was now thinking that no, he wouldn’t do that, he would use the golden girlie that his minions (the ninja fellows I’d seen practising) had kept alive. Having killed off all the rest of the golden Begremites. Whose bodies he had then had incinerated.

Killed off? All the rest? Astral tears now came to my astral eyes. He had simply had all the rest of them killed because he had no use for them. And the one that he had kept alive, he had done so only so that she could be inseminated with a being of absolute and unremitting evil.

I stood and shook in my astral body. ‘I will kill you,’ I said. Though none could hear this but myself.

‘Get the golden woman all prepared,’ said Papa Keith Crossbar to his evil cat’s paw. ‘Get her all scrubbed-up and all loved-up. I don’t care what you pump into her veins as long as she remains conscious and compliant. And I want her here by the stroke of midnight. Do I make myself understood?’

‘Absolutely, sir. But first I have a memo from Accounts that I’d like you to have a look at. It’s regarding a purchase order for stationery that hasn’t been processed properly. Normally I’d have Mr Carapace in Sales Admin give it the once-over, but he’s away at a convention in Florida this week, Corporate Cat’s Paw Con, and I-’

Papa Keith Crossbar raised his hand. ‘Get out of my office,’ said he.

And the evil cat’s paw left the office and I followed on behind him.

And once he had left the office and closed the door behind him, he turned around and he did that thing that in America is known as ‘flipping the bird’, but which we more civilised Englishmen call

‘giving the finger’.

Which made me laugh.

And certain words came loudly through that door. And these words were shouted by Papa Keith Crossbar. And these words were, ‘I heard you thinking that. And I’ll punish you for doing it.’

Which also made me laugh. Though not, perhaps, quite so much.

And I followed the evil cat’s paw as he slouched along a corridor and into an office of his own. A small and poky office, its walls enlivened by photographs of naked women, mostly bound and wearing nothing but shoes. And though I had to applaud his good taste in wall-enlivenment, I didn’t think much of his office as a whole. And when he slumped down into his chair and kicked off his shoes, I was not altogether taken with the smell of his feet. And yes, he was one of the walking dead. But is that really an excuse for poor foot hygiene?

And having kicked off his shoes and got his feet polluting the atmosphere, he picked up the receiver of the telephone on his desk, punched buttons and spoke into it.

‘Barry,’ he said. ‘Dave here. I’ve just been in the old man’s office and he wants that golden tart up there by midnight. What? The purchase order? Yes, I did try to chase that up. Yes, I know Carapace in Sales Admin should deal with it. Yes, it is a pain in the neck, I know. But what can you do? What? The End? What “The End” are you talking about? Oh, the one tonight, I see. Well, yes, that will be the end of Mankind as anyone understands it to be and also the end of everything else living upon the planet. Yes. But what? Will it affect the processing of orders for stationery? I never thought to ask. I’ll ask when I see him later. He’ll probably want me to lend a hand in the ceremony. Sacrifice a cat, or a hippopotamus, or something. What? Trevellian in Corporate Holdings did what? Not with that tall woman from Sales Services? No, really?’

And I just shook my head.

So this was how the world would end. With Dave and Barry discussing what Trevellian in Corporate Holdings had been doing with the tall woman from Sales Services. Although, I supposed, it had probably involved a bang and a whimper.

‘Oh, Barry,’ continued Dave, ‘before I forget, the old man wants the golden tart all loved-up and compliant. So can you ask Kevin in Pharmaceuticals to load her up with some happy juice? What? Oh, you’ll need a green chitty for that? I thought green chitties were strictly interdepartmental. This is Top Priority for the eyes of Mr Crossbar only, surely? Blue chitty? Now don’t be silly, blue chitty is Recreational Services. Well, yes, you’re right, it might come under Recreational Services. I wouldn’t mind servicing that gold tart in a recreational manner myself, would you? What? Yellow chittie? I’ve never even heard of a yellow chitty.’