DAD: Part II The Balrog

The intensity with which  I spoke had driven fear into the young men.  Terrified, they twisted in their stools desperately searching for an escape from the horrors which would soon be told.  Their eyes begged at the bartender to intervene but the ancient man paid them no notice.  Trembling, one of the men excused himself to the restroom.  As he reached to the bar in an attempt to propel himself out of his seat I slammed my hand down, tightly gripping his wrist.  My hand clawed at his flannel shirt like an eagle to his masters glove.  "Sit Down" I demanded.  They sunk into their seats.  Their faces flushed white as blood ran deep into their hearts.  "You need to listen to what I have to say."  Both men lowered their eyes towards the floor and a strange mist overtook the room as I spoke.  "You speak of evil things but there is a wickedness in this world that cannot not be imagined.  You have heard the stories of the lost city R'lyeh where the elder things dwell?  Well, In the house where I grew up on the street of Rikkard lived a creature so hideous, so vile that the mere pronunciation of his name will leave the taste of vinegar in your mouth."

My eyes searched to meet theirs, but they did not dare look up from the floor.  I could see that they were terrified and I did not want to inflict any more harm on their fragile sense of reality.  I released my grip and he slowly recoiled his hand from the bar.  "Leave" I grunted, my hand cut through the air, motioning their exit.  They scrambled out of their chairs, creating an awful screech as the stools  scraped across the wooden floor.  I watched the two foolish men run for the exit and I felt disgusted by them.  They liked to wear wickedness like it was a coat you could take on and off.  They did not understand what it meant to be an evil man, such as myself.

My body hunched over the bar and my mind wandered away from me.  I lifted my glass and as I brought the whiskey to my mouth my eyes became mesmerized with the wet ring left on the counter from my drink.   All thoughts seemed to melt away as I fell deeper and deeper into the rings spell.  My head snapped back violently and my eyes crawled into my skull.  A White light flashed from within my mind and I lost contact with all of my senses.  Suddenly I was staring at the ring of water from my glass however I was no longer in Chinatown nor a 30 year old man.  My skin was soft and my hair barely passed my jaw.  I was a 13 year old child living at home, having a drink at my father's bar.

I brought the glass of whisky to my lips and let it flow down my throat.  The warm embracing taste of bourbon would become so familiar but for now it was like being touched for the first time by a dark, sensuous woman. I placed the glass down on the counter to pour another drink when the house began to shake.  It sounded like the ground was about to break open the gates to the lower worlds, but I knew it was something much worse.  The terrifying sound which I heard was that of the garage door opening as my dad returned from work.

I put the bottle away, my glass in the sink, and ran for my room.  The door opened and like a Balrog, he entered.  Faster I ran.  I could hear his heavy breaths behind me.  His massive feet beat down on the carpet leaving prints so large that they would have thrilled a sasquatch admirer.  I turned the stairs and slipped on the floor.  I looked on in horror as I saw his red beard erupting from his turtleneck like a volcano.  "I wasn't doing anything" I yelled at the top of my lungs.  His cold stare burned at my eyes and his lips began to part. I waited in complete terror for the venom to leave his lips.   "Wrestling is fake!".   I could not believe what he had said.   I laid on the floor withering in pain "I hate you! I hate you!"  I clenched my fists and launched my strongest verbal attack. "I wish you were dead!" I screamed.  He looked at me so evil, so wickedly,  "Dead!? Take the 'e' out of dead and it spells 'DAD!"  His stare continued even more intensely.  His entire head began to vibrate out of control only to be be interrupted by a fit of laughter  "What!? Dead spells Dad? What does that even MEAN?  Why do you Torment me!?" I laid on the carpet in complete agony as tears rolled down my cheeks.

I stared at my glass as a drop of water rolled down its side.  The ancient hand of the bartender took my drink  and with its other wiped down the ring of water before me.  The old man turned the television off and left me alone with my painful memories.  I reached into my pockets and left a couple of dollars on the counter.  It was getting late, even for me.  I stumbled towards the door swearing under my breath.  That demon I grew up with still had power over me and I hated him for it.  Would I ever be free from his torment?  I left the bar and wandered aimlessly down the city streets, crushing roaches with every step.  It was late but still dark and the night had more to offer me.  My journey continued into some dark corners  but those stories will be told at a later time.    

Dad Part I: The most Wicked man That ever lived!

My hands found warmth in my jacket pockets as I searched for shelter from the cold streets of China town.  I heard the whispers of the many stray cats as I passed and began to quicken my stride when I noticed they were following me.  Their numbers were growing and their whispers turned to shouts.   My walk became a furious jog and I quickly cut the corner under the towering red arches.  I watched with relief as they passed the junction failing to notice my change in direction.    I continued my walk and soon placed my hand on a cold brass door handle and entered my favorite drinking hole. 

The bartenders did not speak English there and I liked it that way.  There was no one there to bother me with idle banter, allowing my mind to sink into a dark, repellant chasm, void of good deeds and pleasant thoughts.  I approached the bar and sat my body down on a familiar red stool.  Its seat reminded of ripped flesh as my weight caused its foam cushion to spill out like oozing guts from its red covering.  I exchanged a quick glance with the bartender and I soon began to pour alcohol down my throat in an effort to drown the desire for female company.   As I sat there wasted, pondering the depths of time, two young men entered the bar and sat across from me.  Their hair was long and the beards patchy in a feeble attempt at masculinity.  They were dressed in black with plaid flannel shirts and wore jewelry around their necks and fingers.  They looked like me but were nothing like me.  A strange sense of anxiety began to plague me and I lowered my head and starred at the counter. 

The young men ordered a couple of PBR’s and handed their credit card over to the ancient palm of their bartender.  They laughed all night and excitement gripped them as they spoke of the history Varg Vikrenes and Mayhem.  I did not feel well, my body trembled and my head began to spin.  I got up from the stool and held on to the counter to keep my balance.  Something was wrong.  There were things there that should not be, and the paradox had smashed my thought.  I walked to the bathroom, unzipped my pants and took a leak that ceased to end.  I felt as if I was on another world.  Still the Earth but a variable Earth like you read in fiction.   A world where Dave Mustaine was never kicked out of Metallica and Blue Grape made shirts that fit human beings and not apes.

I gathered my senses and returned to my seat.  Streams of beer poured down my chin like the once flowing canals of Mars and I gestured to the bar tender to keep them coming.  I listened to more of their conversation as I waited for my drink.  My beer was placed in front of me and I lifted my head in gratitude to the barkeep.  “Aleister Crowley is the most wicked man that ever lived!” one of the men proclaimed and he raised his glass in honor.  My hand squeezed at my beer, crushing the can.  Beer and blood ran down my wrist and dripped to the floor.  My body slowly turned like a crypt keeper until my eyes were upon them.  “You’re wrong” I said.  Both men looked at me.  Their eyes opened so wide that the sides of their lids began to tear.  “Crowley is not the most wicked man that ever lived.  My dad is!”    

To be continued.....