Copy Link
Add to Bookmark
Report
The Hogs of Entropy 0395
'##::::'##:::'#####:::'########: VIVA LA REVOLUCION! CERDO DEL CAPITALISTA!!
##:::: ##::'##.. ##:: ##.....:: ===========================================
##:::: ##:'##:::: ##: ##::::::: THE HELOTS OF ECSTASY PRESS RELEASE #395 !!
#########: ##:::: ##: ######::: ZIEGO VUANTAR SHALL BE MUCH VICTORIOUS! !!
##.... ##: ##:::: ##: ##...:::: ===========================================
##:::: ##:. ##:: ##:: ##::::::: "House of the Rising Sun: !!
##:::: ##::. #####::: ########: Innsmouth, USA" !!
..:::::..::::.....::::........:: by -> Squinky 12/28/98 !!
!!========================================================================!!
We heard about the Innsmouth Special from a trucker we met in the
Haven Brothers' Diner in Providence. At least, he said he was a
trucker, but his huge hog outside forced me to suspect he was just
another doped out biker from Warwick or Smithfield. But he described
the specialty it with such meticulous care that we knew that part of
his tale, at least, must be true.
The tales of Innsmouth filtered in with urban myth. We knew about
the grave of Mercy Brown and Nellie Vaughn, we knew of the Devil's Foot
rock in North Kingstown, we knew of the scared Narragansett Drum Rock,
and we knew of the haunted tower in Warwick Neck. Of Massachusetts we
knew very little, but we always heard of Innsmouth.
But never of the Innsmouth specialty, which our interloper now
related to us, our ears peeled back with interest. "Yuh wanna know
where the good action is?"
"Sure," I said.
"I'll tell yuh where the good action is. Is alla in Innsmouth!"
"Isn't that where those people live?" asked my brother. My
brother actually had seen Innsmouth, once, from a distance.
"Yeah, yeah, thass parta the special, man, thass parta the
special. Yuh see, they got what yew call a Brothel there, a real
fuckin' brothel, inna middle uh town. Yew go there, and yew get a real
specialty act, man, a real fuckin' specialty act. I mean, yew think you
been inside it all?
"You ain't been in shit till yew got the Innsmouth special, man.
It's freakin' crazy."
"What's so special about it?"
"Man, they got this girl there, Eliza, Eliza Marsh, the things
she can do with her body make a man weep. Damn. Yew really need tuh
check it out."
We talked with him a while longer, getting explicit directions to
the Brothel, and the card, so they wouldn't hassle us at the door. My
brother hit him up for concise directions to this house of ill repute,
for he longed desperately to experience something new and unique in
this recycled world of Graeco-Roman antiquity. All we needed now was
transportation.
So we headed back from the Downtown area to our Fox Point
apartment on Williams Street, taking in all the benefits of a stroll
through the old city, changed with modern intrusion, but still ancient
and weird as ever. My brother and I discussed the Brothel, and I
expressed my apprehension, assuming it would only be yet another
unsatisfactory sexual experience in a lifetime of unsatisfactory sexual
experiences.
"We've done it all, mon frre," said I, "all the specialty acts
under the sun that I care to think of. The trans, the bi, the gay, the
black, the asian, the freaks, all of it. And all of it left me feeling
hollow and alone. Am I a beast? Is this why? I am an adequate lover,
no doubt, but, should I really keep doing this? Why will this be any
different?"
"It may not be different," he said, "I won't lie to you. But
we've got to try, because somewhere, I know, somewhere out there,
meaning waits to be discovered. And this is the only possible avenue.
Even if it doesn't succeed, at least we can release some of the awful
tension of being a man.
"Plus, I want to see Innsmouth. Don't you?"
I had to admit that I did, having heard the legends of the
degenerate town. Incest and demon worship. Who could say no?
We went back to our apartment and found our roommate, Jeremy,
asleep from a night of alcoholic splendor. "Let's take his car," said
my brother. I nodded, agreeing. We found a map of all Massachusetts,
and managed to locate the town. We planned the quickest possible route,
and loaded up on caffeine pills and amphetamines, ensuring an optimal
driving performance. Speed.
My brother drove the whole way, refusing to let me drive once he
started, screaming out oaths and curses, damning me to Hell anytime I
suggested taking over. The stimulants kept him in good control of the
wheel, and he averaged about ninety-five miles-per-hour. We made
Innsmouth in two hours, and parked our car just outside the city, near
some woods, and walked the rest of the way like the biker in Haven
Brothers' told us to. Apparently, the citizens of the fair town of
Innsmouth, in this year of our lord, don't drive much and tend to look
down on those who possess the motorized abominations. Innsmouth is so
silent at night that any car echoes into every single quarter of town,
waking and alerting those who might better remain dormant.
We stalked cautiously through the town, seeing vague movements in
the shadows, never directly encountering a resident of the town.
Strange sounds came from boarded up buildings, dilapidated and on the
verge of tumbling over, but we walked on. The directions the biker gave
us seemed to be accurate, and we soon found ourselves in the center of
town, looking directly at something called The Order of Dagon Hall.
"Ok, we're supposed to turn left here, and then head towards the
East Side of town."
"What's Dagon?" I asked my brother who shrugged his shoulders in
response. I peered into the Hall and saw a strange figure in the
doorway float past. It wore a crown on its head, and for a brief
second, looked at me. The smell coming from the Hall left a disquieting
effect on the rest of our journey, because it seemed to follow us
wherever we went. I waited for it subside, to leave me be, but it
followed no matter where we went. I now wonder if it had been there
before we reached the Hall, but remained noticed. Was it the smell of
Innsmouth? Did it really originate in the Hall, or come from somewhere
else?
I could tell my brother laboured under the stench, because his
face lost its calm amphetamine serenity and he began to breathe out of
his mouth, avoiding usage of his nose as much as possible. We walked
fast, I suppose, and soon we found the southern waterfront section of
town, and knew the Brothel couldn't be far away.
My brother began to shake with anticipation. I, on the other
hand, shook with stimulants, not terribly concerned with the coming
experience. I knew it would be the same as all the others I'd gone on
with him, profitless and degrading.
Boarded up buildings, inhabitantless, greeted us on all sides,
showing us the lonely and miserable desolation of the legendary town.
Soon, though, we saw the building which had been described for us. My
brother shambled up to the door, and gently knocked three times (a sign
we had been assured would gain us entry). There was a pause, and the
sound of some rumbling behind the door, and I was filled with the
queerest notion that we were being observed by someone in the building,
even though boards covered all the windows. Someone slid a bolt behind
the door, and it slowly opened.
My brother pushed his way in, and I followed. Before anything
registered with my reeling brain, my brother handed the card to
someone, and the tense air left the room, replaced by a breezy relaxed
one. In the light, I could only see the dimmest outlines of things, but
the girl who took the card seemed to be suffering from a strange malady
in its earliest stages.
Quite frankly, she looked like a fish. I've seen the look before,
with underfed RISD students, but never so advanced. Her coarse grey
face and the bulbous eyes all disgusted me, and I hoped that I would
avoid her at all costs. I only wanted the specialty. My brother, on the
other hand, seemed to take a delight in the idea of bedding this
wretched creature. He grabbed her and kissed her, saying, "We want
love."
I said, "I've heard much of this Eliza Marsh." Then, hoping it
wasn't true, I asked, "You aren't her, are you?"
The girl replied in a slow, thick voice which reminded me of the
sea, "No. No. Yew'll be looking after Eliza, then?"
"If it can be arranged. We've got the funds, if that's an issue."
"I can tell yew gentl'men have funding. I can spot `em, I can."
"Well then, where is she?"
She giggled a little as my brother fondled her, and started
pulling her towards one of the empty rooms surrounding us on all sides.
As he dragged her in, she said, "Yew'll want the last room on the
right. She's there, alone. Waiting, fer yew. Heh heh heh." My brother
pulled her into the room and the door slammed. I wondered how much this
spectacle would cost us, but like any sex addict, dutifully went
towards my prize, regardless of consequences.
I walked past open and closed doors, catching glimpses of
movement and strange moaning. Since it was dark and poorly-lit, the
movement didn't disturb me as much as the sounds. The sounds coming
from men seemed in concordance with the experiences they were
(presumably) undergoing. But the female noises, if I can call them
that, were hideous groans. They sounded like the low groans of the
starving.
I shook as I turned the doorknob to Eliza Marsh's room, fearing
what I would find on the other side. There were no lights on in the
room, and I coughed a little, hoping that the sound would evoke a
response from whomever was in the room. I met with success, for the
room filled with the sound of a strange voice, even thicker and
bubblier than the voice of the "girl" my brother now made love to. "Wut
is yer name?"
I stammered out my name, and she said, "That shore is a nice name
yew got. So do yew want to make love wif me?" I said that I did, and
she said, "Come to the bathtub."
"Bathtub?"
"We make love in the watur."
Sure, I thought, just part of the specialty act. I moved blindly
in the darkness to the bathtub, using the sound of her voice and the
splashing water of the tub to guide me towards my erotic destination.
When I got to the edge of the bathtub, the smell kicked me in the
teeth, and I said, "What the hell is that damned odor?"
"Oder?"
"Yes, can't you smell that?"
"Oh, that's the watur. It's salt watur. We make love in the
salt watur."
More specialty, I guess, so I started taking off my clothes. When
I was naked, I slid into the tub, and moved myself up towards Eliza. I
touched her face, and immediately recoiled. Her skin felt rough like
unfinished wood, and each pore seemed the size of a crater. I couldn't
even be sure of her hair, what it was like, but I thought of seaweed
strangling me. She giggled a thick gurgle, and I gasped.
She moved over me, and even as I protested, even as I screamed,
"No!", I felt myself growing aroused by the idea. I knew with what I
slept, and it appealed to me. She descended.
I met my brother in the lobby. The girl he'd slept with giggled
and played with his hair. I noticed her hands were thick and webbed
like Eliza's. We paid the whore, and left the brothel as quickly as
possible. He seemed worn out and exhausted, speaking little until we
well out of the slum.
As we walked back to our car, he said, "Well, screw it. I'm
never doing this garbage again."
"Me either."
"What a rip-off. What a damned rip-off. She was the lousiest
whore I ever slept with. I think she thought I actually liked her. You
were right, you know. These whores are worthless. This isn't the way
to find that meaning we're looking for. This isn't anything but a good
way to catch something fatal."
I nodded my head and said nothing. I wanted to scream at my
brother, but I didn't. I knew how fruitless it would be. So I shut up
and drove us home, wordlessly. My brother went to his room and I went
to my own. I sat back on my bed and I recollected.
What I had wanted to tell my brother was this: that I had finally
achieved the meaning that he and I had long sought for all these years
in our decadent whoremongering. When that. creature and I consummated
our lust, I had finally seen a way out of the static of modern
antiquity, that yesterday and today could be escaped and the future
could really be embraced.
Her gills moved with passion, breathing, and her eyes stared
unblinkingly, and my mouth filled with nausea and my nose with stench,
and she and I became as one, for a brief splitting moment, I knew who I
really was in the grand chaos of the entire universe. A glimpse into
the universal. Her webbed paws moved up and down my back, trailing
slime, and her thick voice moaned out the sounds of battle. She and I
both saw the truth.
And finally, when it was over, I left the bathtub and I put back
on my clothes, which stuck to my wet body, and moved away without
saying anything. I walked to the edge of the room, to the very door,
and turned on the light. I looked back at what I had just discovered
myself with and saw a creature more frog than human, grey and sick
looking, rolling in the filthy waters of my lust with her nude, scaly
flesh and webbed limbs. She tried to smile at me, to express a similar
discovery of her own meaning, but her facial muscles atrophied over
time, and her fish face made a horrible grimace.
I shut the door behind me. My brother was right, he really was.
We can never go back to whoring. Never.
!!========================================================================!!
!! (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! #395 - WRITTEN BY: SQUINKY - 12/28/98 !!
