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Below is an extract from 'A MACABRE MYTH OF A MOTH-MAN' by Brad Fear. 'A Macabre Myth of a Moth-man' © Brad Fear 2008. Plagiarism of copyrighted work is an illegal act- do not copy or use without author's permission. Please note the novel is undergoing final editing stages, therefore the finalised version may contain minor alterations to preview extract.
" My antennae give an unexpected flick (breaking my moment of blissful pondering) as they pick up a quiet, yet somewhat irritating noise. It’s a clicking… like the sound of cogs or gears, yet eerily timed to the slow beating of a heart… Tick-tick… Tick-tick… Tick-tick… Tick-tick… The old saying ‘curiosity killed the cat’ suddenly springs to mind. But then, I expect the cat had probably been sat around for an hour reading documents too… being curious that one time probably seemed appealing. I decide to follow suit and merely promise myself I’m not going to get killed like him. I creep out of the office and onto the corridor, keeping myself close to shadow and ensuring the carpet muffles my foot-claws. Tick-tick…Tick-tick…Tick-tick…Tick-tick… There aren’t many doors along the corridor. I’m at the top of a flight of stairs before long and quickly realising the ticking is coming from the floor down. My antennae shift with a slight confusion that matches my own. Whatever is ticking is also moving. This is verified as I come down the steps and onto the new corridor; I can feel footsteps hitting the floor. But, by hitting I mean really hitting. It’s heavy, no doubt about that. Tick-tick…Tick-tick…Tick-tick…Tick-tick… There’s the sound of something smashing as it’s thrown to the floor. I see a flash coming from a doorway about halfway up the hall. Great… so it’s big, ticks and it’s destructive (or clumsy, if I’m lucky). I clench my fist and feel the bristles at the base of my right arm stiffen. I slow my pace, taking careful steps along the corridor and keeping the now ‘armed’ and ready limb concealed behind me. Only a few people have been lucky enough to piss me off and find out what I’m really capable of. I feel a strain of pity for whoever decided to drop by tonight and destroy what I still consider to be evidence. I’m almost level with the door. There’s another much louder crash, and suddenly a computer monitor hurtles out of the office, narrowly missing my face and colliding with the wall. Tick-tick… Tick-tick… Tick-tick… Tick-tick… I work my way around the broken remains of a desk that blocks most of the lower doorway, avoiding placing my foot on the shards of glass and twisted pieces of metal and wood. I’m given a moment to observe the devastation. He made short work of it; rows of computers and cabinets pulled apart in the few moments it took me to get down here… Well, I say he… in truth, I don’t know what the hell it is I’m looking at. It’s on the other side of the long room, its back turned to me. It’s… a machine… A bloody machine… My eyes aren’t lying… it’s actually a bloody robot… a ticking robot… About seven feet tall, its upper torso is a solid orb of grey and black metal, attached to its tiny round abdomen by a polished silver ‘spine’. Its arms end in machete-like digits that scrape against each other like scissors, providing it with a set of claws that bury my own in shame. He’s literally ripping through metal and plastic like a katana through butter. It’s either not seen me or is ignoring me. I keep my right arm, with its stiffened hairs and uncontrollable shakiness, concealed behind me. I’m English, so I’d best do this politely and at least introduce myself first. It doesn’t acknowledge, finishing off the filing cabinet it’s working on. ‘Ahem… excuse me,’ I say louder. The ticking ‘heart’ noise slows and the machine stops what it’s doing, turning around to face me with a whir of mechanisms. Its head is about four-fifths of the way up its body and is shaped somewhere between a skull and a breathing mask, with wide, vacant yellow lenses for eyes and pipes coming from the grilled ‘teeth’ around to the base of the ‘neck’. Why did I come down here again…? ‘Evening,’ I manage to squeak after a three-second pause, ‘Sorry to intrude like this, you’re obviously working on something. See, I’m just from the room upstairs… and, urm, I was just wondering if you might, you know, keep it down… I’ve got quite a lot to get through…’ The machine just stares back vacantly. Who am I trying to impress? It isn’t going to laugh. ‘You… well, seem angry about something. Can you talk?’ I ask, ‘Do you want to explain what happened?’ I look at the ‘torso’ just below the head and the engraved letters across it. C.R.A.B- I? What the hell is a C.R.A.B- I? Tick-tick… Tick-tick… Tick-tick… Tick-tick… The machine turns its back on me; obviously deciding I’m of little priority to it as it pulls apart another computer with one hand. ‘Listen… um… ‘CRAB’…’ I say to it, ‘I’m not up for this bollocks right now. I’ve got a lot of work to do and you’re making it a bagful more… confusing. Now, either you can tell me… or, you know, use sign language or something… what the hell you’re all about or I can de-commission you and find out myself,’ It’s still ignoring me, tearing a drawer out of a battered filing cabinet and tossing it out the window. Now that just isn’t on… someone’s going to get hurt out there. Best make this quick; I’ve obviously got a lot more pondering and contemplating ahead. ‘Okay, be that way,’ I sigh, ‘I bet I’ll be the first moth that ever took down a crab all on its own,’ I pull my right arm forward and my sleeve up, the hairs sharpened to beautifully rigid needles, the whole area around my lower arm going numb for a moment with pain. With a move so elegant it could literally only be pulled off by me, I launch a barrage of the hardened hairs towards CRAB, striking it in the vulnerable looking areas between the limb joints. It jolts and stops what it’s doing. The mechanisms whir louder as it turns to face me a second time, and its ticking has quickened. ‘Good… now that I have your attention…’ My sentence is cut short as the machine launches forward. Oh… bollocks… It’s not so much the impact from its mechanical arm that hurts so much, more the indignity of being smashed through the office wall and back into the corridor. I lie upside-down against the hallway wall next to the broken monitor and take a moment to congratulate myself for completely underestimating the situation. Ow… Don’t think anything’s broken (except my pride)… I stand again, trying to ignore the seizing cramp in my leg and watching as CRAB appears through the gaping hole in the wall. I suddenly wish I’d been a bit more diplomatic and try to implant another round of needles in its face. They bounce away and I feel like an utter dipstick. Luckily, I’ve still got speed to compensate for the obvious ‘he’s made of metal’ disadvantage. I weave around its razor-edged swipes, trying to tear specifically at its limbs with carefully timed kicks. My claws scratch across the surface, but all I get is the feeling that I’m trimming my nails. It seems to be learning from what I’m doing; picking up speed and turning the walls on both sides of the corridor into plaster-dust with every titanic strike that misses. I leap over it, trying to grip to its back and make a go at any wiring behind its head. Unfortunately, it seems to have clocked me. It grabs my leg with a grip that cuts into my flesh. Like an animal with a chew toy, CRAB hurtles me through another bleedin’ wall and I slam against the side of a solid oak desk. Son of a… Oh, wait, here he comes again… I roll to one side just as CRAB’s claws come crashing down and splinter the desk to pieces. We dance all over again, and this time I’m quick enough to land some strikes on the joints between its legs and abdomen. Contrary to what I was hoping, he doesn’t even jolt. It gives me a few seconds to bruise my fists before launching at me again. It snaps me up into its iron embrace, gripping me to its chest so I have nowhere to go except through the window with it… and into the long plummet downwards…" 'A MACABRE MYTH OF A MOTH-MAN' is out now! |
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