The Hydra
Richard Bunyan was a small man, middle-aged, married and harassed by a million petty problems. His main enjoyment in life was the simple pleasure of jawing over a few pints in his local. Richard was a sales representative, though he preferred to be known as an ambassador of his company. A company currently engaged in cornering the market on non-stick frying-pans, cutlery, pots and a whole range of plastic gadget’s that either splintered in use or didn’t give you the results quite depicted on the package. Living, as he did, in the suburbs of a large northern town, Richard frequently spent his Saturdays cutting his micro-dot lawn, advising his neighbour on how to tune a car engine, a thing he knew nothing about, and, if it was a fine evening, slipping off to his local on some trivial excuse or other. On this particular spring evening, he had told his wife that there was a meeting of the local lapidary society in the smoke-room of the Crown. This wasn’t quite true; however, he felt a smudge of justification in the fact that he had arranged to meet a friend at the bar who was a keen lapidarist. So after crawling into his shorty car-coat, he nonchalantly stepped outside and caught the number 36 down to the Crown. He arrived at the crown at 6. 25 p. m., five seconds before his digital watch started to play a rather irritating jingle. This amused the only other two occupants of the bar, namely the barman and a rather crumpled old man who appeared to be trying to shove the bar even further against the wall. Henry, Richard’s lapidary friend, had not yet arrived. Consequently, Richard ordered two pints of brown ale and started on one while he considered what to do with the other if his friend didn’t arrive. He had just convinced himself that he should despatch this one as well when an elegantly manicured hand pulled it out of reach and a voice said ‘Sorry I’m late old chap, had a job getting away tonight, wife you know,’ Henry had arrived.
Richard pretended he didn’t know what Henry was referring to as he never had such problems and hailed the barman for another two pints asking ‘Had a good day?’ On reflection Richard regretted the question, it was pointless as Henry had always ‘had a good day.’ If Henry had limped in naked with a knife between his shoulder-blades he’d say ‘Sorry I’m late, spot of bother on the way here.’ However it was this quality that had first endeared him to Richard. Richard, the constant pessimist who thought life was an obstacle course and treated it as such, felt happy in the company of this man who breezed through bankruptcy and tittered at the tax-man, but there were times… . Henry said ‘No’ he hadn’t had a good day, this was a surprise. ‘Why?’ ventured Richard cautiously, hoping he wouldn’t have to preside over a marital power struggle. ‘Well,’ said Henry, ‘I didn’t find much and the tide came in an hour before I expected it and cut me off at the point, anyway,’ Henry reflected, ‘Beaches are just a mass of greedy little men with metal detectors now.’ Richard was aware of Henry’s problem as living less than ten miles from the coast he often accompanied him on his sorties for semi-precious stones. On these occasions Henry would select a mere square metre of beach and walk in ever decreasing circles scrutinising every pebble within the area. Frequently, when the metal detector army saw this behaviour they would move in and offer to help, hoping to find the lost valuables before him. Richard was all too familiar with the scene, Henry throwing pebbles and disgruntled hobbyists threatening revenge. After a pause Richard said ‘Pity you can’t get a stone detector’ to which Henry merely scowled and emptied the contents of his pocket onto the bar-top. ‘Two cat’s-eyes a piece of anthracite and this weird thing,’ Henry said, holding up the unknown stone for inspection. The stone was small, oval, white and very ordinary, it looked like a hen’s egg (an observation that did not escape Richard ). ‘ It’s just a piece of granite,’ said Richard, ‘Funny colour, but it’s just granite .’ ’Think so?’said Henry ‘I did too, but it has a certain translucent quality about it, watch.’ Henry placed the stone on the dingy red carpet at their feet, the carpet pattern was clearly discernible through the stone. ’Now ’said Henry picking the stone up and placing it on the bar, at this angle the stone once more became opaque. ‘Wonderful’ said Richard slowly grasping his second pint and thinking how did I ever get mixed up with this eccentric pebble polisher ? ‘Well yes it is,’ said Henry, rather indignantly, ‘It has two distinct facets a translucent one and an opaque one. ’
‘I’m sorry’ said Richard picking the stone up and feigning an interest in it. Standing on the bar not two meters away with his arms akimbo was a small rat-headed man staring at Richard. The manikin wore a black leather kilt and sported a strange triangular badge on one side of it’s leather tunic jacket. It’s skin appeared to have the texture and colour of a well oiled crocodile (if ever anyone tried to oil crocodiles). The manikin was glaring at Richard with a look of evil intent on it’s face. Richard glanced at Henry for a second opinion however Henry seemed completely oblivious of the creature and was continuing to describe the qualities of the stone. Richard decided he too, for sanity’s sake, would ignore the intruder and forced himself to concentrate on the conversation. It was at this point that the rat-headed man lunged toward Richard, Richard stepped back the manikin tried to grab the stone, missed and managed to upset Henry’s beer. ‘Good heavens, what are you doing?’ Henry shouted. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was there ,’ said Richard, somewhat relieved that he wasn’t hallucinating . ‘What do you mean?’ said Henry, ‘You bought me the damn thing .’ ‘Oh,’ said Richard somewhat dejectedly , ‘I just knocked over your beer?’ Henry, standing back from the bar, and looking inquisitively at Richard said, ‘Are you feeling all right ?’ Richard who had gained his composure said, ’Yes I just had a bit of a turn .’In his shock Richard had dropped the stone into his beer and didn’t know where it was. However, he was relieved to note the little rat-headed man had disappeared. ‘I’ll get you another, Barman!’ ‘Look don’t bother,’ Henry sighed, ‘I’ll have to go home, I’m soaked . Besides the wife’s expecting me --told her I had a lapidary meeting at the crown.’ Richard was about to mention the coincidence of alibis, but Henry was already gathering up his stones from the bar. ’Where’s the egg thing gone ?’he asked. They searched the floor for a minute and then Henry gave up and left holding his raincoat strategically in front of himself. ‘Strange,’ reflected Richard’ I never suffered from the D. T’s before but to experience such a sharp visual hallucination after only one pint must indicate the severity of my condition ,’ and like many who contemplate the effects of alcohol proceeded to finish his pint. Having reached the dregs he gulped down the last mouthful only to experience choking on a large egg-shaped stone, it was an horrific experience for at the same instance the D. T’s returned and he was able to observe the struggles of a strange rat-headed man clambering onto the bar. He continued to observe the stumbles of the creature as he removed the stone from his gullet. However when the stone was placed on the bar the creature disappeared. ’Ah!’ thought Richard and proceeded to experiment by touching the stone at intervals . This had the remarkable effect of giving Richard a vision of a rat-headed man moving towards him across the bar. The egg, deduced Richard, was causing this effect. After some thought and another pint of brown ale Richard touched the stone again. The rat-headed man was some five meters away at the other end of the bar inspecting the wizened old man at the other end of the bar. It was a small hideous creature approximately 1 meter high and wearing among other things a gold bracelet and a black leather toga, not unlike some pictures Richard had seen of Egyptian demi-gods. It suddenly turned towards Richard as if kicked from behind and started to move towards him again. Richard put the stone back on the bar. The stone, Richard surmised, obviously had some relation or effect on the little green man and allowed Richard to see it. Moreover, it appeared that the creature couldn’t see him unless he was holding it. Could it see the stone? Richard called the barman over . ‘What do you make of that ?’ he said with a smile indicating the beer-mat where the stone lay. The barman examined the beer mat for some time while nonchalantly drying a brandy glass. He got a lot of strange people in the bar from slightly eccentric to down-right mad. Mr Bunyan-he’d always put down as mildly boring but tonight he was going rapidly up the scale. First he spilled his friends drink, then performed the most peculiar gyrations with his head and now he wanted a second opinion on a beer-mat. ’Very nice sir, not an unusual type, got quite a few of them in the cellar . The last land-lord left them. Didn’t think they were collectors items though. ’ ’What are you keeping them in the cellar for ?’asked Richard growing more and more puzzled by the more than affable attitude of the barman. The barman leaned forward in a rather conspiratorial attitude looked up and down the bar, the old man at the end raised his glass amiable, ’They soak up spillage sir, very useful too. ’Richard realised that the stone while barely visible to him was, to the barman, completely non-existent. ’Will that be all sir ?’inquired the barman, in a somewhat agitated tone. ‘Yes thank you,’ said Richard looking side-ways up and down the bar (this gained him another point on the barman’s scale). The barman moved off to talk in hushed tones to the old man at the end of the bar. Richard picked up the beer-mat carefully and with his pint in one hand and the beer-mat (with the stone on) in the other, walked slowly away from the bar to a corner seat. All this was watched intently by the barman and the old customer in the corner. Having placed the mat on the small round table, Richard proceeded to sink the third pint. He decided that if the creature could see the stone it would now be on it’s way to his table. Once again he picked u the stone. . . the small rat-headed creature was standing on the bar near the old man. It turned it’s head towards Richard and started to climb down the old-man’s coat to the floor. Richard slipped the stone into his pocket and the creature disappeared. Outside, Richard buttoned up his car-coat as a fresh breeze brought raindrops. As was his custom he stopped at the local fish-shop to collect some chips for his wife. The proprietor, a friendly Greek, often hailed Richard in a somewhat boisterous manner and frequently made jovial predictions about his reception at home . Richard regarded the man with a deep suspicion as most of these predictions were true. Tonight the shop was almost empty except for a lone dog-walker, who had brought a much bedraggled Yorkshire Terrier in and completely ignored the sign saying ‘No Pets Please.’ As an avid dog hater Richard was sympathetic to this view but realised that Yorkshire Terriers (especially if named dinky) aren’t considered as pets by their owners. ‘Ah, hello Mister Bunyan. . ’ began the shop owner. That was as far as he got for ‘Dinky’ turned rather viciously on Richard and started to leap at his coat, a feat that surprised even the dog owner. ’Mr Oxten, I would appreciate it if you didn’t bring your dog in here, ’ said the owner jabbing a spatula at the sign above his head. Mr Oxten muttered something about human provocation and dragged the now snarling cur from the shop, spilling half his chips on the way. At his front door Richard collected his thoughts on the evening’s transactions. No less than six dogs, stray and otherwise had snapped barked or chased him from the fish-shop. He had been hallucinating little green men and he still hadn’t sufficient reason for his alcoholic stupor to explain to his wife. ‘Mavis!’ he called when he realised she wasn’t in the front room. Mavis was in the kitchen picking up the pieces of her best china teapot when he found her. ‘Just fell off the shelf’ said Mavis in dismay. ‘Lifted itself in the air and then bang. Can’t understand it. oh! hello dear, have a nice time?’ Richard repeated his story about the lapidarist’s meeting, embellishing it with suitable anecdotes about an imaginary member. ‘Yes I know’ said Mavis. ‘Mr Atkins is in the front room right now, says you’ve taken his notes on quartz or something. Anyway, he’s waiting to see you, would you like some tea?.’
