A Salty Tale
Twas a wild and stormy night when I first happened upon the island of the stone Tiki. I washed up after our fine ship “The Amusing Prose “was broken up and cast us into a swirling torrent of similes. Or maybe metaphors. I’ve never been sure. Or is it shore? I’m a poor Captain with only a humble and wrecked boat and very few writing implements. I write this message on the back of me first mate in the hope that it’ll serve as a warning to all Captains of ships on the sea of words. But listen up and I’ll tells me tale as best I can.
It was (still) a wild and stormy night when we first caught the twinkling of the fabled island of the Tiki. I’d been working for months on me “Pirates Book Of Very Spooky Stories” but had been set adrift on the becalmed sea of block. Me ideas dried up so I called me mateys and decided to set sail for the well-spring of inspiration for all writers of spooky tales: Hammer Horror Isle, and its fabled stone TIKI!!
We set sail with a fair wind behind us, the sun beating down on our weather worn and coriaceous pirate faces. As I stared into that burning sun I spied a bird.
“A bird” I says, and quick as a flash my matey Mr Coleridge shoots him out of the sky. I don’t want to go into the gory details now, but needless to say, it left him with some hair rising tales to tell at weddings…
With the sun still high in the sky we pushed on. Me able seaman Ahab became agitated all of a sudden.
“Thar she blows” he shouts, pointing out into the distant horizon. We wasted far too much time with that, not even a nugget of ambergris to show for our troubles.
As we set course again the sky became grey and full of foreboding. Gathering clouds, gathered aboves us, and I felt a shiver in my timbers. A strange baleful sound filled our ears, growing louder and more unbearable by the minute. We turned with horror to see Hornblower and his trumpet of dread. His freeform jazz was enough to scare even the most salty of sea dogs. Raging sea or no, I didn’t have an option. We scuttled the boat. I grabbed a barrel, stuffed in me first mate and climbed in after him.
As I slowly drifted away from that terrible noise, I watched my beloved sink in to the briny green. The weather worsened until the sea around me looked like raging horses or angry spume or annoyed cappuccino, or like a sink full of very cross Fairy liquid. It was foamy. And rough. I was disorientated and me story became inconsistent.
It was dark and terrible and the rain lashed against me face. I clung on for dear life for what felt like an eternity. The sea continued to resemble things until at last I spied land. A peg leg which was drifting nearby became our paddle and with all my might I headed toward salvation. Or so I thought.
The clouds began to clear and the sun crept out to lighten the way as I hauled my sorry carcass up onto the shore. I began to weep for the joy of it. That was until I heard a rumbling. A chanting of voices. I hauled myself up and headed toward the strange hypnotic noise.
I left the safety of the beach I’d landed on and headed for the thick jungle that surrounded it. Deeper and deeper I travelled. Louder and louder the noise became. I passed spiders the size of dinner plates, rats big enough to ride, and mosquitoes the size of yer fist. It was a terrible place I tells you. The forest suddenly cleared and in the opening I could see it. The great stone Tiki. Around it the worshipers danced, chanting their terrible verse. I can hear it still…
“Roses are read
Violets feel blue
We’re awful at prose
And so are you”
I trembled. They were right. I was. I drew myself forward and the dancers stopped. They looked at me and parted so I could face the Tiki.
“Oh great Tiki” I bellowed, like an old sea lion having trouble passing its turbot, “tells me, where have I gone wrong? Gives me the inspiration I needs to write me story”
The Tiki stared into me eyes and opened its mouth.
“NEVER START A STORY WITH A DESCRIPTION OF THE WEATHER”.