Pointy Eyes Shine In The Dark
Auntie Masha‘ n the God’s Mistakes / every day on FRINGE -FM! / We will lure them, interview them / fun and tortures never end! "
The radio anchor's words glide over the frantic notes of the jingle like an old rusted Cessna.
"We're still here! I know, my lobotomized listeners, you too are amazed that your beloved auntie is still broadcasting on the frequencies of... "
"Stop with the preambles, old wino!" The voices of the three God's Mistakes recall a misplaced cross between Smeagol and the Chipmunks. In the studio, plastered with purple sound-proofing cones, the three animated puppets stare at Masha with lusty and murderous eyes. In a quick flash, the radio host instinctively thinks about the many crossroads of her life.
"Let's all welcome the most annoying and useless voices in the whole history of radio broadcasting from Edison to nowadays. Don't interrupt me, at least not at the beginning of the program, damn puppets..."
"...Cursed the stoned producer who wanted you," the host adds a quick note in her mind.
"Hey granny, we are co-hosts, not voices.” The felt creatures stand assertively.
"As we said, my bizarre radio listeners, here we are at our usual appointment with Masha's spicey interviews. Today we have an exceptional guest who certainly does not need introductions: directly from Berlin, Kurt Kükenvernichter, the one who returned metal music to the wide public. You know, Kurt, that auntie won't allow you to exit this studio without you having confessed at least some sordid and succulent secret.” The presenter begins to press. "For starters, we want to know how you managed to convert post-millennials around the world to your music."
Meanwhile, it seems that Kurt has decided to ignore the presentation. The round sound of his flask's stopper popping is not even captured by the microphone that already the singer has gulped down a sip of grog, dark and thick like tar. He slowly approaches the loudspeaker and greets his fans - especially the female ones - with a bronze baritone voice.
"Anyway, I never converted anyone. In these shitty times, I saw an empty throne and sat there."
"Aha. Sure. On thrones, photos of you collapsed on a toilet have been leaked from the net in the last few days. It is said to have been an exclusive party in Miami. Not exactly an image in line with the Kurt we all know. Do you want to deny or give us some clarification?” If radio frequencies could take shape, listeners would now see a scythe.
"They are all ... I was saying ... hhhhh ... it's all a pathetic charade!" The shrill voice of a clown who sniffed early-morning helium extrudes from the singer's throat as from an occluded sphincter.
"What the fuck was that?" Auntie Masha leaps in shock from the chair. The God’s Mistake for once are silent, overwhelmed by a more absurd voice than theirs and looking at each other with lost pointy eyes.
Time is strange on radio and silence represents an abomination against nature. Five interminable seconds pass before the host manages to recover and decides to send the advertisement break. Kurt has already thrown himself out of the studio, making shrill desperate blows. In fading out, a coarse puppet's laugh resounds.
In the loft, the thick curtains are still those of the old printing works. The late rays of the sun filter through the large dirty windows together with the sounds of the offices being emptied. A man wrapped in black leather and studs is spread on a padded velvet chaise long while, at the end of the room, another figure sits composed giving him his back.
"You see, Doctor, my voice is everything, why did it start to betray me? I can't understand what's happening to me. I feel violated by a dark and perverse part of myself. Under this thick layer of metal, there is a sensitive heart and I don't think I can stand this anymore."
As he confesses, Kurt hears a little music coming from behind the back of the chair. It looks like something already heard.
"Doctor?"
"Isn't this riff I just invented beautiful?" Asks the therapist to the air with a gloating triumph note in his voice. Kurt pokes his head out and sees him fiddling with a tiny electric ukulele.
"Actually I think it's Smoke On The Water, Doc."
The chair snaps in a flash of lightning.
"Kurt, I have the solution but it won't be easy and requires your blind trust in me." Dr. Machete smiles as a strange light moves through his eyes. Struck by dusty beams of light, he looks like a sly Cheshire Cat.
MY ENDING
word of warning! word count overflow [1004], this is my first entry ever, so i hope to get away with it :)
“Doc, you know you have my trust, you’ve helped me from the beginning.”
“And I am going to help you now Kurt” he said with a grin. “I’m going to ask a few questions, and I expect you’ll reply honestly.”
“Ask away!”
“When did you start having problems with your voice?”
“Doc, you know I hated my voice my entire life, but I managed to fix things four years ago, right before I signed the contract with my record company. Since then I never had any trouble, it was smooth sailing until a couple of days ago. Surely you heard about my Birthday Party in Miami?”
“Yes I have, but considering the state you were in, I doubt you remember much, so I won’t press you on that right now. I’m more interested in something else though, you said you managed to fix things… could you elaborate?”
“Why are you even asking me this? You put me in contact with that Producer, right after we met outside that Adelwolf concert, where I told you how much I envy the lead singer, that I’d kill for that kind of fame. We were drunk, but surely you remember? I do. It changed my life.”
“Yes, an important crossroad. How did the meeting with the Producer go?”
“Oh, he arranged an audition, where I failed miserably… but everyone was real kind and helpful, they pointed me in the right direction, an old Polish woman in Spreewald who specializes in cases like me. I headed there as soon as I could. I thought we would be doing voice therapy but she was a different kind of specialist. She lived alone in the woods in a small log cabin for Christ’s sake. Her name was Marzena Dzudzinski I guess. She had large saggy breasts like bagpipes.”
“If not by voice training, then how did she help you fix your voice?”
“Rituals. Just some magic rituals, and chanting.”
“Interesting. Let us delve deeper! What did these rituals entail?
“Doc, I don’t want to, it was the kind of stuff nightmares are made of. Please let it drop.”
“I’m afraid I can’t. You’ll have to face this, it’s important.
“She had me do things, I… I had to offer a sacrifice. Three actually, you know in mockery of the Holy Trinity. She told me I have to find victims of great musical talent, who are uncorrupted. I found the first when you advised me to start visiting Church again, that it could help me. He was there, a singer in the Choir, heavenly voice with a face to match. I thought to myself, such a voice is wasted on him.”
“Go on, I’m listening.”
“You want me to go into details? I sacrificed him, hoisted him up by the legs, cut his throat with a machete and drank his blood… The old woman wanted his heart for herself, so I cut it out. She gave me a flask of the guys blood. I was supposed to have a gulp once in a while if my voice started acting up. I still have the latest batch on me but it no longer works.”
“A most disturbing experience. What did she need the heart for?”
“She sewed it in a sort of a Voodoo Doll, I didn’t stay to watch. I was out of there Doc!”
“I can imagine… You said the ritual involved chanting. Can you recall?”
“I can, but it was in German, I don’t think you’d...”
“Oh I speak German, I’m so interested in hearing it! Would you please?” He smiled with boyish anticipation.
Herrliche Morgenstern,
Nimm meine ärmliche opfer,
Nimm dieses Herz und Sehle,
Höre meine bescheidene Bitte
Ich werde dich ewig dienen
Im tausch für Seine Stimme.
“Ha-ha-ha, that is just… I’m sorry... I have to ask, did it work? The ritual?”
“Yes the ritual was successful, by the last two lines the words came out in a most wonderful bronze baritone voice.”
“You said she demanded three sacrifices.”
“Yes, once every year, I had to repeat it, the last was nearly a year ago.”
“Enough of that. I think I know the rest. The next audition went splendid, you got your contract, and you had your dreams of fame and fortune fulfilled, just like you wanted.”
“Yes, it was everything I hoped for, what I don’t understand is what went wrong? Why did my voice betray me?”
“Oh, we’ll get to that right now! Do you remember your 27th birthday Party in Miami, or anything that happened since?”
“I just remember going to the toilet to iv a speedball.”
“And since?”
“Only the Radio show on Fringe-FM. Why?”
“There were days in between. Do you remember anything? For example, what did you have for breakfast, did you go to the radio in a cab, or how you came to my office for that matter?” His tone shifted to condescending sarcasm.
“Uh. Doc… I don’t… What in damnation is going… And just who the Hell are you anyway?” He sprang from the chaise like he was electrified.
“When we met I told you I helped people, I helped with their desires, the matters of their soul.”
“Your a therapist, just what I need.” Kurt muttered under his nose, remembering.
“That’s exactly what you said back then. A snide remark but I let it slide and played along. So I’ve been your therapist ever since. I’m just so glad you remembered the ritual prayer, it cracked me up, Herrliche Morgenstern… Ha-Ha-Ha” He pulled a flare gun from his desk and shot it at the thick curtains. The room was instantly ablaze, he grabbed his ukulele and started to play that beautiful riff he invented.
“I advise you get ready. You’re appearing on Fringe-FM, then we’ll have another session.”
“What, I already...”
“Shh, this is one of those… as in the beginning, so now, and forever and ever kind of things. A world without end indeed. And Her name was Masha Dzudzinski… not Marzena, though she used to be Michal.”
By soma.unony who does have a machete, and who could use a little help with his singing...