(Originally written for a contest for the Surreal Grotesque Podcast, writing this story, set in the world of my recent novel Time Pimp from Eraserhead Press helped me flesh out the universe. Because of the mythos content, I thought it would make a nice Halloween week treat. Contains characters from the world of Time Pimp, but no spoilers.)
They gathered at the Cathedral of Malkuth, from throughout reality, from the secret inner planets of the Sefirot to the Big Rock Candy Mountain to the Black Saloon, the finest school of the Dark Arts the Wild West had to offer. They gathered at the Cathedral of Malkuth, a once golden building changed over to more practical lead to prevent indiscretions with x ray vision. They gathered at the Cathedral of Malkuth because they were tired of Doubt and fabulous could be purchased to support the cause of eradicating doubt.
Represented in the front row, bored by most everything that was up for sale were the lionheads, a race of lionheaded and quilled space reptiles who snatched up worlds and drained their resources out of sheer gluttony and impatience. They had no need for a six day meditation retreat with Saint Cyprian of Antioch, nor for the location of the Pumpkin Planet where Franz the monkey forged jokes at his jokeforge. Nor did they need a talking rainbox or a bag of fertilizer from the Archelon Ranch. The lionhead, psilinked to the Impatience, supreme leader of his race, was already plotting to conquer Malkuth, mine it into devastation and abandon it as was their way.
Beside the lionhead, Doc Faustus, The Tartarus Kid had purchased the retreat with Cyprian but was hoping against hope that his bank plunder would be sufficient to purchase what he’d heard from the ghost of Belle Starr would be on sale today. He wanted to put an end to Doubt for certain, as anyone would, but he had a more substantial stake in all of this.
Beside them were a dozen representatives of the Morality Front, clad in head to toe body condoms, the typical garb of Our Lady of Perpetual Latex. They were unsure about eradicating Doubt since the Chronopope of the Morality Front had recently come out in favor of Doubt. They were there for the real prize. As was the gigantic being behind them.
Squelatinous Quub, the hiphop mogul and gangster took up almost half the cathedral, cutting the potential attendance of the auction into ribbons. The great gooey blob would not be refused attendance, however. And he was the sort of man who had bits of his enemies floating around in his transparent innards. In fact, at this point, his transparent innards were so clogged up with bits of his enemies that he was more or less completely made out of them.
The rest of the room was more or less the usual suspects for these sorts of charity auctions, the Wealthy Dowagers Supper Club of Binah, the Clitoral Empress of Netzach, The Grilled Cheese Consortium and Ken Shifatsu, Grand Sumo of Yesod. They had all come to eradicate Doubt, but were nonetheless eager to leave with fabulous treasures and grand opportunities. Their eyes seldom drifted away from the seraph running the auction, except to look upon two figures.
One:the Pharaoh Nyarlathotep, The Crawling Chaos, dark, resplendent and perpetually amused. The other: a red haired, blue eyed alabaster angel of a leather nun from the convent at Geburah seated beside the infamous Time Pimp, who the seraph was calling up to the podium.
Time Pimp went to the podium with swagger, performing a series of dramatic kicks that served to show off his platform shoes. In each shoe a tiny psychic octopus was floating in absinthe. He was handsome and tan in his red velvet suit, and his purple velvet hat with a feather of ever shifting colors looked jaunty.
“Next up for bid,” said the three winged fire eyed angelic auctioneer, “dinner and dancing with Time Pimp!”
“Five thousand space bucks!” cried a supper club matron who looked quite smart in her plaid coat and tam o’ shanter.
The leather nun stood up.
“FIVE MILLION SPACEBUCKS!”
“Heavens!” cried the supper club, fainting in tandem.
“Sold,” said the angelic auctioneer.
And Time Pimp sat back down beside the leather nun, glaring at her under his shades.
“I have never been dancing,” she declared, “also, I need to borrow five million space bucks.”
Time Pimp was about to respond to this with anger and frustration, but the angel produced from mid air a stinking repugnant tome bound in human flesh.
“Next up for bid, the Necronomicon. Bound in human flesh. Authored by Abd Al Hazred…well, you all know the score.”
“ONE MILLION SPACEBUCKS!” shouted Doc Faustus, the Tartarus Kid.
“TWO MILLION!” shouted the lionhead.
“ONE BILLION!” cried Squelatinous Quub.
“TWO BILLION!” replied The Grilled Cheese Consortium.
“TWENTY BILLION!” growled Ken Shifatsu ferociously.
Squelatinous Quub briefly contemplated eating the sumo but decided it would be more rewarding to outdo him.
“One quadrillion spacebucks,” the blob gurgled. The supper club regained their footing only to faint again. Time Pimp relaxed his machismo to cling to the nun’s arm. She clung back. The Clitoral Empress vanished in disgust. The lionhead stormed out. The Tartarus Kid quietly prayed to Hades under his breath.
“Sold,” said the angelic auctioneer, “to Squelatinous Quub.”
Nyarlathotep, the Dark Pharaoh stood up with sarcastic applause.
“Well done, Squelatinous Quub. But you cannot buy that for it is mine and always has been.”
The room was filled with whispers. The blob choked back tears of halfdigested foeflesh. The Seraph reached for the flaming sword at his side. Ken Shifatsu drew a tanto and contemplated seppuku. But worst of all, the room was filled with laughter, the laughter of the shadow that eclipses the sun, the laughter of the Dear John letter, the laughter of the bus driving off right as you reach the stop. It sodomized souls, then concluded.
“Keep your goddamned book,” said The Crawling Chaos, “this is why you will never defeat doubt.”
Nyarlathotep left the cathedral. Nobody learned anything.
[This is just a sampling of the potential strangenesses and exotic characters of the world of Time Pimp. To see how many of these characters connect and the adventures Time Pimp and his leather nun companion have, buy Time Pimp HERE. Happy Halloween, you jiveass turkeys.]
Chainsaw Noir 