Posted by Untold Hallowe’en Tales of the Lair Legion: Things That Go Bump In the Night (that aren’t in Lisa’s room) - Hallowe’en Three: The Bit with the Tentacles on November 05, 2000 at 13:40:53:
Untold Hallowe’en Tales of the Lair Legion: Things That Go Bump In the Night (that aren’t in Lisa’s room)
“I doth not understand yon film,” Donar announced to the darkness. “If supernatural felons serving this Blair Witch doth creep up to their camp each night to seek their doom, why not simply prepare an ambush and massacre yon goblins as they approach?” Meanwhen, a hundred and sixty years earlier: “So do you have some kind of explanation as to why we appear to be in the year 1860, occupying bodies of people from this time, at the Hallowe’en dance of the Mayor of Paradopolis?” Dancer (in the body of socialite Marie Murcheson) asked Visionary (in the body of engineer I. Van Risoy), “Or is this just one of those things that happens to superheroes every now and then?” “What is it about villains,” ManMan (currently in the body of Civil war hero and world explored Colonel Blanchford Bertram, of the League of Improbable Gentlemen) asked spiffy (currently in the body of Martin Hoskins, page to the League of Improbable Gentlemen), as they followed the Hooded Hood (currently the same cowled crime-czar as ever albeit present in an atypical time period for him thanks to his Portal or Pretentiousness) into another vast cavernous underground room of Herringcarp Asylum (as remodelled in 1847 by none other than architect Leyland Reed), “that makes them get scale models of cities constructed on tabletops?” “This mind-merging stuff isn’t going to hurt, is it?” Nats (currently in the body of William Reed, brother of Leyland, and the person Marie was travelling to meet on the common) asked. It was clear to the heroes conducting the cover operation that Mr Odran was acting in the traditional position of right-hand-man to the archvillain. That, as Messenger (currently in the body of the holder of his position of this time period, the Greyhound) pointed out, made it worthwhile capturing him and squeezing him till he popped. And back to the future: “Splendid!” Sir Mumphrey Wilton proclaimed as he looked down at his handwork. “A number three rosewood stake does it every time. Old van Harping used to like a number four ash with silver ferrule, but I say you can’t beat your basic rosewood, or whitethorn if you can get it.” “Someone’s at the door,” Flapjack reported to the Lair Legion. And back again to the past: “Ah, Leyland, Marie, how are you enjoying my little soiree?” Wilbur Parody asked the young couple as he had them ushered into his private parlour away from the hustle of the masked ball. The old man in the dusty black suit seemed like a malevolent spider as he sat behind his desk. His hand leaned on a huge hand-written tome, upon which was inscribed, ‘The Laws and Ordinances of New Paradiopolis’. In our concluding episode, Hallowe’en IV: The Gory Bit: We have mad slashers, frothing psychos, howling berserkers – and that’s just on the good guys’ side. We have the battle of the elder beings, the Manga Shoggoth vs Shabba’Dhabba’Dhu. We have the wedding of Marie Murcheson, and a chance to solve her murder. We have the master plan of Wilbur Parody. We have the master plan of the Hooded Hood. We have the master plan of Yo. And we have the charge of the League of Improbable Gentlemen – all twenty-seven of them. Don’t miss it, or you’ll wake up to find yourself in 1860. I'll try and get the thing written next weekend.
Hallowe’en Three: The Bit with the Tentacles
“I’m with you,” Enty agreed. “A simple ectoplasmic wave generator on the perimeter, a few basic vibro-cannons set to specific frequencies…”
“You two are missing the basic point of this film,” Troia warned them, “which is that that girl director should have slaughtered those two feeble attempts at manhood in the first ten minutes.”
“Or, they could have brought a spare map and compass,” Fin Fang Foom suggested reasonably.
“Basic bad planning,” Dark Knight said, which made Ziles shriek since she hadn’t known he was right by her left ear.
There was a thump as she fell off the couch. “A few basic perimeter security precautions wouldn’t be a bad thing round here,” she muttered.
“It would have been helpful earlier as well,” pointed out Cobra. “Who would have thought that spiffy actually had a mind that did something to control his symbiotic fern, and that when his consciousness was sent back in time his plant would go on the rampage?”
“Who would have thought it could make even more mess in the bathroom than spiffy usually does?” Trickshot wondered.
“Ah well, it made an exciting end to the fancy dress party and sent the guest away with something to talk about,” Goldeneyed pointed out.
“Although I’m still not convinced Finny didn’t stage the whole thing just to cut the party short,” Troia suspected.
“Does anyone else feel kind of guilty about sitting here watching movies while Cheryl’s in the medical bay watching Vizh and the others who got mentally zapped back in time?” Hatman checked.
“No,” everyone said virtually together.
“Will you all shut up?” CSFB! complained. Even though the fancy dress party idea had supposedly been scotched when everyone had seen G-Eyed’s idea of a costume at breakfast that morning, CrazySugarFreakBoy! had invited everyone he knew anyway and the whole thing had gone ahead. Dream insisted on wearing his Flash outfit, which combined the silver age wings and accessories with the contemporary lightning motifs, and that he had described incessantly to everyone for the last three days. “We’re getting to the part where they find the old house, and the monster makes people stand in the corner!.”
“Maybe then they can hold the damn camera straight,” grumbled Banjooooo.
“Yo is hoping that they will find cute-missing-friend and that cute-missing-friend will have prepared nice party for them,” Yo suggested from behind the sofa.
“Unlikely, dude,” G-Eyed warned him/her.
“Unless Yo thinks that’s the best thing to happen, of course,” Lisette reminded the man she was currently coiled round. “Remember what pure thought beings can do.”
“I don’t like this story,” Valeria admitted to Exile. “It reminds me of home.”
“This reminds you of home?” Exile worried.
“Word of advice,” Trickshot said to him, “Don’t visit the in-laws.”
“Don’t be frightened by this, Valeria,” Sorceress comforted Exile’s housekeeper. “If this witch was any good she’d have wiped these mortals out with a few choice elementals long before this.”
“Er. Yes,” Hatman agreed uncomfortably, taking a long pull at his can.
Outside the Lair Mansion, the wind rattled the windows and drove bullets of rain across the barren island.
And deep beneath the Lair Island, something stirred.
Vizh considered this as he danced around the room with the young woman. “Um…” he answered thoughtfully.
“And another thing,” Dancer continued. “There are some really important people here, and I get the idea that they’re here tonight for more than just a good time. There’s the Pierces, the Sheldons, the Hogans, the Clarks, the Cutlers, the Snyders, the Mosmans…. And they all seemed really interested in me, or rather in the girl whose body I’m wearing just now. By the way, she could use more exercise to tone up her wrists and ankles.”
“I don’t suppose you have any access to your host’s memories, do you?” Visionary wondered. “I keep getting little flashes of this von Risoy guy, and it’s very worrying, but I can’t make sense of it. You don’t remember why Marie was out on the common tonight, perhaps?”
Shep concentrated. “To meet someone?” she wondered. “Someone with news for her? Someone she loved?” She tried to dig for more information, but couldn’t make it come. “I hope the guy’s cute,” she concluded.
“Her fiancée, Leyland Reed? Well, his not my type, but…”
Dancer frowned. “No,” she breathed, “I don’t think that was the name…”
Then the dance ended and Leyland came to reclaim his betrothed. “You’re looking especially lovely tonight,” he told Marie.
“Thanks. I like an unexpected night out,” Dancer replied.
spiffy looked at the representation of 1860s Paradiopolis laid out before them. “Perhaps they like to drive trains round them?” he suggested.
“This visual aid is to help you understand what is to happen,” the Hooded Hood declaimed. “There are three futures involved here.”
“This isn’t going to get bafflingly complicated, is it?” ManMan worried.
“I imagine it will be for you,” the cowled crime czar answered. “If Wilbur Parody had never come to this place, the city of Paradopolis would never have been.”
“Because it was named after him,” spiffy said brightly, but shut up as the Hood glowered at him.
“No city would have been here. Gothametropolis would have continued to be the principal seaport on the Eastern seaboard, and the secrets of Parody Island would have gone undiscovered.”
“But he did come,” ManMan pointed out. “I thought you said he was a retired cosmic office-holder, spiffy?”
“The man who called himself Wilbur Parody in this day and age had previously and uniquely been the only person to hold all three of the principal cosmic offices – Shaper of Worlds, Chronicler of Stories, and Destroyer of Tales –at different times. And on each occasion he had found ways to sequester knowledge known only to that office, so that he alone had access to secrets that were never meant to be understood by one person alone.”
“His Book of Prophecy,” spiffy remembered.
“His three books of Prophecy,” the Hood corrected.
“Aw crap!” spiffy commented.
“So he worked out the secrets of the Parodyverse, and he retired to Paradopolis to build railway stations,” ManMan frowned. “That makes no sense at all.”
“Except that he knew the Secret of the Parodyverse, or the key to it at least, was concealed on Parody Island,” answered the cowled crime-czar.
“Don’t remind me,” spiffy shuddered. “The Dreaming Celestian with my cosmic cube. I still get flashbacks.”
“You get flashbacks,” ManMan objected. “I went one-on-one with a Celestian and I was holding a knife!”
“Parody had worked out that the final battle of the Parodyverse, what he termed the Resolution War, the conflict that the Parodyverse was ordained to determine the outcome of, would centre here in Paradopolis,” the Hood continued.
“More good news for house-owners,” spiffy noted.
“He therefore shaped a second future, in which he prepared all of Paradopolis as a big trap.”
“To control the elder thingie guardian Shabba’Dhabba’Dhu that was one of the protectors of the Secret,” spiffy remembered.
“To capture and control every single power that would focus its attention here when the Resolution War began,” the Hooded Hood corrected him. “Chaos, Order, Life, Death, Weirdness, Celestians, Pointless, Gods and Gods of Gods, Time, Space, and Relative Dimensions. Everything. By turning their own power against them he intended to trap them all in Paradopolis where he could command them.”
“That would be… a not good thing,” ManMan admitted.
“But that was the second future,” spiffy remembered. “Something changed that one as well.”
“In the third future, Parody’s gambit was thwarted, and he had to fall back on another plan. A voice in his head led him to probe out the Secret at the Centre of the Parodyverse, and he began his long plotting to gain power by suborning the Dreaming Celestian.”
“Er, wasn’t that voice, well… you, Hood?” spiffy hesitated to ask.
“Of course. I could hardly allow somebody as dangerous as Parody to wander about unsupervised. Anyway, that plan was thwarted by the Lair Legion and Jarvis’ sacrifice. I achieved my long-term objectives but was denied a short-cut to ruling the Parodyverse.”
ManMan sat down, accidentally crushing the Paradiopolis Opera House. “Ooops. Sorry. But since Parody’s big plan in future two got stopped, why are we here in 1860?” he asked.
The Hooded Hood almost smiled.
“We’re still in future two here, aren’t we?” Joe Pepper suddenly knew. “And if we don’t do something to change it to future three, Parody’s gonna win, right? You want us to go and change the future so that we have to fight all those Celestians and stuff? And we have to do it because this is worse.”
In the background spiffy was saying very un-mayoral words.
“Of course not,” Hastings Vernal (currently the HV around in the League of Improbable Gentlemen – don’t ask me about think one, ask Neil Shyminsky if her ever comes back to finish his storyline) assured him. “You have very little mind to merge.”
“Just relax, honey,” Lady Circe d’Aeoea (currently Sersi of the Austernals and always has been) assured him. “All HV’s doing is merging your thoughts with those of your host, your ancestor William Reed, so that you know what he knows. It’s all very simple.”
“Aaaagh!” Nats replied.
“Well, it would be simple,” Vernal complained, “but there’s a big kink in the chap’s destiny right ahead, and it’s making manipulating him really hard. Time for a detour I think.”
“What?” Nats worried, “What do you meeeeeeaaaaaaaannnnn!”
Suddenly it seemed to Bill Reed that he was in a cave, and a shaft of light shone down on an old gnarled walking stick. “Huh?” he analysed the situation.
“DO YOU ACCEPT THE BURDEN?”
“Agh! My ears? Who is that?”
“DO YOU ACCEPT THE BURDEN?”
“What? What burden? Why am I in Thor’s origin?”
“DO YOU ACCEPT THE BURDEN?”
“Yes! Yes I accept! Don’t bust my eardrums, pal!”
As Nats spoke he felt his hand reaching out for the cane. It seemed hauntingly familiar, and he was struck by the impression that somehow this inanimate piece of ancient wood was gloating. His arm felt cold as he picked up the stick; cold and powerful.
“NOW ALL YOU MUST DO IS DIE,” the voice assured him.
“Excuse me? Er, hello? Nobody mentioned the dying part before. Hello?”
“There,” HV assured Circe. “We have sorted out the destiny part, and when he dies shortly it will be manifest. But that doesn’t concern us. Back to the merging with his ancestor.”
“Aaaaaaaaaaaagggggggghhhhhhhh!” Nats contributed to the occasion.
“Colourful turn of expression you future people have,” Lucius Faust (current sorcerer supreme, the fellow who trained Xander the Improbable in the 1960s) noted. “Well, while you go place yourselves in appalling danger I’ll go make some other preparations if you don’t mind, Ms Waltz.”
“You really are a master of the mystic crafts, aren’t you?” observed Lisa (currently in the body of Dr Christopher Waltz, Marie’s guardian).
Faust was gone before Messenger reappeared carrying a struggling figure inside his cloak. He joined Lisa in the secretary’s office within the Town Hall, which Messenger had broken into with alarming ease. “I have a visitor who might want to talk to us,” the postman told the first lady of the Lair Legion (currently the League of Regulars).
“What would he like to say?” Lisa wondered. She drew back the cloak from Odran’s face and was surprised that the man evinced neither fear nor rage.
“Well well,” Mr Odran sneered, looking at his two captors. “A pair of walk-in spirits from the future. I thought Waltz wasn’t smart enough to have seen through our charade, and that the Greyhound was too smart to interfere in our business.”
Lisa and Messenger exchanged worried glances. Informed villains were never a good sign.
“You have no idea whom you are facing, do you?” Odran chuckled, as if he wasn’t pinned to the wall by a psychopathic postman. “I’m only here to help Wilbur because he got me my job. Paying off an old debt, so to speak. But I’m sure you will have heard of me even in your future.”
“Never mind the mind-games, perp,” Messenger told him. “You’d better tell us what Parody wants with Marie Murcheson or else we’ll show you how we deal with slime like you in the year 2000.”
“Tell him what he wants,” Lisa advised. “I don’t know how much longer I can restrain him.” In this case the good-cop/bad-cop routine wasn’t really a bluff.
“Let’s start with introductions, then,” Odran suggested. With a casual flip he picked up Messenger and flung him into the opposite wall. Then he backhanded Lisa over the desk. “My proper title is the Great and Glorious Destroyer of Tales, Doom of Narratives, Slayer of Worlds, the End of All That Is.” He picked up the stunned Messenger and hurled him into the next wall. “But you can call me Samhain!”
“Damn,” muttered Lisa, “I was really hoping to get out of this body before I needed to go to the lavatory.”
Asil Ashling looked around the deconsecrated church at the steaming vampire corpses. “And you do this every Hallowe’en?” she checked.
“Haven’t been out for years,” Mumph told her, “but then, I though Count Chompula had been dealt with once and for all back in ’49. I’m running out of ways to make sure the blighter stays dead, what? I mean, we’ve chopped his head off, stuffed him with garlic, nailed his hands together, burned him to ashes, dissolved them in holy water, dropped them in the ocean, and confiscated his credit cards. What more can we do?”
“Oh well. It’s a good form of exercise,” Lisa’s innocent clone shrugged.
“Hmm. Was most impressed with those flippy things you did and how you hurled stakes into undead. Most commendable, young Asil. Well, we’d best get these kidnapped kiddies home of their mums and dads’ll be worryin’ I expect.”
“The children seem to be alright,” Asil noted. “They seem very happy playing with their… bunnies?”
“Hmmm,” hmmmed Mumphrey. “Whloe scene does seem to have a suddenly lapine theme, doesn’t it?”
“Is to be alright,” the Zorro-outfitted newcomer assured the vampire slayers. “Is to be me, Yo. Yo is bringing bunnies to help children be in Happy Place and not to be frightened while you are fighting uncute blood-drinkingers.”
“Yo!” beamed Asil, running over to hug the pure thought being. “What brings you here?”
“Is League of Legion watching nasty film which Yo not to be happy in, so Yo be coming to see other friends and to be asking for help with tentacles that be to come to get Legion of Abandoned Regulars.”
“You were scared by a horror film, so you zapped yourself to England to see us?” Asil translated.
“No! Yo is not liking film, but is really to be not liking tentacles that is creeping up on house and be getting Yo-friends while film is being horrid. So Yo come see cute-Asil and Mumphrey-friend and to be sorting out time anomaly that is to be destroying Lair Legion,” Yo explained. “Hokay?”
Mumphrey shrugged. “Lead us to the trouble, old chap, er, or chapess, whichever the case may be.”
“Aren’t you paid to answer it and stuff like that?” Goldeneyed objected from the comfort of Lisette’s lap.
“Not on Hallowe’en,” the hunchbacked assistant answered. “Back home that was considered a religious holiday. Oh, and my uncle Mort got ripped to pieced by ravening werewolves when he answered the door on Hallowe’en. We had to send pieces of him out to people to warn them, and they had to pass them on to other folks they knew so that they wouldn’t get ripped to pieces by werewolves.”
“Your uncle became a chain letter?” Cap puzzled.
“Mr J. of Tuscon, Arizona didn’t pass Uncle Mort on and his stereo got eaten by iguanas,” Flapjack reported.
“I will deal with whatever interloper threatens your security,” Cobra promised.
“Er, no,” Hatman said hastily. “No, it’s probably just kids trick or treating. Let’s hope the stunner cannons haven’t already played a trick on them. I’ll get it. We don’t want their ringing to disturb our unconscious time-displaced colleagues. Cheryl will shout at us.”
“Wait for me, Hatty!” CSFB! enthused, bouncing off the sofa, snatching a bowl of popcorn from Troia as he went. “Those kids deserve some serious candy for having the guts to come out here on a dark and story night.”
“Wait, Jay…” Sorceress frowned, but Hatman had already gone to answer the door.
“Okay, kiddies…” Hatman called to them, wearing his Mickey Mouse ears. “”Mouseketeer role call!”
“Ia! Cthulhu! Yog Sothoth! Shub Niggurath!” the tentacles that streamed through the door to seize Hatman and CrazySugarFreakBoy! moaned.
“Cubby! Annette!” CSFB! joined in. “This is what we were missing on Hallowe’en. Hentai!”
“Security breech!” Hatman called to the others. “We need backup!”
“Specially the girls!” CSFB! added.
“Elder creatures from the bowels of the earth!” Sorceress warned as her psychic senses finally filled her in on the danger.
“How many?” Finny demanded, shifting to a larger draconic form.
“All of them,” HV estimated.
“It’s very kind of you to invite us, your worship,” Leyland Reed answered his patron.
“Oh, hardly kind,” Parody replied. “Please, sit, my dear Marie. You must be exhausted after all that dancing.”
“Dancing doesn’t tire me,” Marie replied, cautiously taking the seat indicated.
“Ah, the vigour of you young people,” admired the Mayor of Parodiopolis. “Leyland, I need to ask you something. Something about your future.”
Leyland squeezed Marie’s shoulder, gave her an ambitious little smile, and said, “Yes, sir?”
“You have served me – and the city – well, Leyland. Your Cathedral, and the Municipal Library, and the Railway Terminal, and the Opera, even this City Hall, all works of art.”
“Well I have your guidance to thank for that, Mayor Parody,” admitted Leyland. “Your instructions and measurements were very specific. I don’t understand what all the underground chambers were for, or that bit where we diverted the river to run through the Opera basement, or those deep tunnels to nowhere, but the end result was, I have to admit, pretty impressive.”
“Oh, those tunnels go somewhere now,” Parody promised. “And my grand design is very nearly complete. I need only one more thing from you, Leyland, and then I shall reward you for your faithful, loyal service.”
“Of course, sir,” the architect enthused, keen on the idea of more work. “I have some designs to redo the common as a great park…”
“No, it is not that,” Wilbur Parody told him. He glanced at Marie. “I understand you had a bad experience on the common earlier today, my dear?”
“I survived. Thank you for asking.”
“How did you hear about that, sir?” Leyland puzzled.
“I had some… people working for me out on the common. But they were not able to intervene in time to get at Miss Murcheson.”
Marie’s eyes narrowed. “Really?”
“I have something to ask you, Leyland, but before you answer I think you should know why dear Marie was on the common tonight, recklessly risking her life and virtue.”
The architect turned round to Marie. “Why?” he wondered.
“Don’t ask me,” Marie/Shep snorted. “He’s the one with all the answers.”
“She was meeting your brother, William,” the Mayor informed. “He had things to show her, and then intended to elope with her this very evening.”
Leyland staggered. “What? Marie?”
“My agents were unable to stop him, but they did delay him so he never met with your fiancée.”
“Marie, is this true?”
“Er…”
“And so to my question, Leyland. Bearing in mind that Marie Murcheson has betrayed you, that she has cast your love aside and betrayed you, will you now give her to me, to use as I will?”
“What?” Marie gasped.
“What?” Leyland echoed.
“I require a bride,” Wilbur Parody replied. “Tonight.”
“You can’t just take me,” Marie argued, but somehow found herself unable to rise from her chair. “I object.”
“Leyland?” Wilbur continued. “You have a great future ahead of you if only you make the correct choice. Will you surrender this faithless woman up to me?”
The architect glanced once at Marie before turning his back on her. “Yes,” he spat. “Take her.”
“No!” screamed Marie.
“Here comes the bride,” chuckled Wilbur Parody.