“Slurp,” went the creature, then “Aaaararghooowaaghooow!” like it did the last time. And then it unfolded hideous membraney sort of wings and took flight.
“Oh shit!” went Jim, as you would.
And “Boo!” went the crowd.
“Get the Irishman,” Fred told Derek and Clive.
“Yes sir!” said Derek.
Igor swept up from the pitch, over the sloping stage and flung itself at Jim, talons clawing, jaws going snap, snap, snap. Jim kicked it away, but it lunged at him, again and again, ripping, tearing, and then it fastened hold and clung right on. The scaffolding shivered. Roman candles, fast giving out on their surreal message, dropped from their sockets. Dropped upon John and Norman and the groundsman.
“Ooh! Ouch! Aaagh!” they went, skipping this way and that.
Rip went a sleeve from Jim’s jacket and the taloned claws bit into his arm. Suzy clung on to him, but the beast pulled and pulled.
Norman’s de-entropizer started to roll down the sloping stage. Omally put his foot against a wheel, and his hand fell upon a very huge firework that was spilling off the conveyor. Above him the beast pried Jim loose from his precarious mooring. “Fetch him down!” shouted Fred. “Boo, boo,” went the crowd.
“I wonder where this is leading?” asked the lady in the straw hat.
“There’ll be a trick ending in it,” said Paul. “There always is.”
“in Duos: Duo in Unum; Unus in Nihil,” Professor Slocombe concluded his rite.
Within the basement at Kether House, Cain and Abel stared down at the broken corpse of Dr Steven Malone.
“All in Two,” said Cain, touching the hands of his brother.
“Two in One,” said Abel, holding tight to his hands.
“One in Nothingness.”
A bright light glowed. Brighter than a summer sun. And All in Two and Two in One, the brothers vanished into nothingness.
A bright light flared on the concert stage, a Zippo lighter it was. As Igor tore Pooley from the scaffolding, John angled up the very huge firework, lit the blue touch paper and did not retire to a safe distance.
“Aaaararghooowaaghooow!” went Igor, victorious.
“Whoosh,” went the very large firework.
“Huh?” went Igor, looking down.
“Whoosh,” went the firework, heading up.
Then Huh?
Then Whoosh!
Then, THUNK!
Now what is that sound? THUNK?
That is the sound of a firework entering the anal cavity of a creature named Igor at about one hundred miles an hour. And then,
All in Two: Two in One: One in Nothingness.
AAAARARGHOOOWAAGHOOOW!
Pooley fell from the creature’s grasp. The creature rocketed into the sky (as well one might) and the very huge firework exploded.
CRIMSON SMOKE. STARBURST FLARE. GOLDEN SHOWERS.
“Oooooooooooooo,” went the crowd, cheering wildly.
“Told you,” said Paul.
“The show’s not over ’til the lady in the straw hat sings,” said the lady in the straw hat.
“That was a good one,” said cowering Norman, and then “Ooow!” he continued as Pooley fell upon him.
“Take them!” ordered Fred.
Clive and Derek were on stage now. Derek was rolling up his sleeves. Clive had his fists up in a rather foolish fashion.
“Just do what I do,” said Derek. “Poke ’em in the eyes and kick ’em in the bollocks.”
“Right,” said Clive. “I’ll try to remember that.”
Pooley scrambled up and Omally scrambled up. The groundsman scrambled up (and ran). Norman just lay there moaning.
“Sorry, Norman,” said Pooley.
“Oh, I’m all right,” said Norman. “I’m just faking it in the hope I won’t get a thrashing.”
“Very wise!”
And Clive took a swipe at Pooley.
The crowd now roared further approval. They’d had the rock concert, the fireworks, an automotive bullfight, the Ray Harryhausen special effects flying creature that got a rocket up its arse, and now they were getting Rocky 6, or was it 7? Bloody good value for free of charge.
Pooley ducked and hit Clive in the stomach.
“Ow!” said Clive, stamping on Jim’s foot.
Derek took a swing at John, who side-stepped and kicked him in the nuts.
“Bloody unsporting,” howled Derek.
“You fools,” shouted Fred. “Kill them. Kill them.”
“Boo,” shouted the crowd. “Boo boo boo.”
Fred turned upon the crowd. “No more!” he screamed. “No more. I will destroy you all.”
“Oh no you won’t,” the crowd chanted.
“Oh yes I will.”
“Oh no you…”
There was a bit of hesitation there, prompted no doubt by the look of Fred. It wasn’t so much the look he was giving them. More the look of him. The look of what was happening to him.
Fred rose once more upon his toes. Threw wide his arms.
Joints crackled, clothing tore. His flat cap rose as monstrous horns sprouted from his head. With sickening crunches and hideous bone-snapping reports Fred began to swell and distort.
All semblance of human form was gone. The Beast rose grinning. A medieval monster of depravity. The evil one made flesh.
The fighting came to a standstill on the stage. The bell seemingly called for the end of round one.
“Oh shit,” said Jim. “Are we in trouble now.”
Abaddon, the arch-fiend of the bottomless pit, fallen angel, dweller in Pandemonium, denizen of hell, stood upon the sacred turf of Brentford football ground. Cloven hooves dug into the eighteen-yard line, forked tail curling, brimstone-breathed and hung like a python with the mumps.
“Avert your eyes,” said Paul.
“No way!” said the lady.
“All of you.” The Beast’s voice echoed, rumbled thunder-like and awesome, quivering the scaffolding to which Suzy clung, rattling ten thousand teeth. “All of you will die. All of you.”
And fire belched from the belly of the Beast, and sulphur smoked and people cowered and screamed and made to flee.
And then.
And then.
A golden glow lit up the sky.
A false dawn?
What?
And a sound, far distant, yet close at hand. A sound that filled the air and the substance of the air and all the matter of the planet. The note. The Universal note.
Of Om.