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The Sunnyport Shadow: Chapter 2

“Insufferable, pompous, arrogant, debauched idiot,” muttered Sir John as he sat in the breakfast room of the Shalimar.

“Are you still going on about Lord Hollingbury?” said Marie.

“Well of all the nerve,” said Sir John.

“Can I get you tea or orange juice,” said Mrs Pimplenick, landlady of the bed and breakfast.

“Do you ‘ave any coffee?” asked Marie. Mrs Pimplenick looked aghast.

“We have tea,” she said.

“Can I get tea and orange juice,” asked Sir John.

“It’s one or the other,” said Mrs Pimplenick in exasperation, pointing at a small menu on the table.

“Two teas then,” said Sir John. “For a change.”

Chapter Two“Two teas.”

A man came into the breakfast room wearing overalls. He carried a large box which had the warm odour of smoked mackerel.

“Here you go Mrs P,” said the man. “This month’s delivery.”

Mrs Pimplenick looked put out.

“This should really be delivered via the tradesmens entrance,” she said, suddenly acquiring the diction of a minor royal.

“Its bloomin’ heavy though,” said the man as Mrs Pimplenick rolled her eyes.

“There’s been another one you know,” he said.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” said Mrs Pimplenick, trying to indicate Sir John and Marie by a tilting of her head. The gesture seemed to go unnoticed as the man continued.

“Another disappearance Mrs P,” he said, “another fisherman who didn’t come home. That’s the third this month. Mr Wombly this time.”

The landlady made a snorting noise and her accent descended several social strata.

“We’ll they’ll be mourning that loss in the Cock and Bull,” she said. “He never seemed to be out of there. I’m surprised he lasted this long.”

“That’s not true anymore,” said the delivery man. “He is, well he was, a reformed character. Went to that new church that Rev Phillips runs. He got right off the booze and on the straight and narrow. Tragedy is what it is.”

“Excuse,” said Sir John. “What disappearances are these?”

The delivery man turned round and saw the Jennings for the first time. He face dropped in shock.

“Oh, oh, its nothing,” the delivery man said. “Just some local gossip.”

Mrs Pimplenick walked off shaking her head and carrying the large box of mackerel easily in her large arms.  When she reached the kitchen the man leaned over the Jennings.

“But the gossip is there’s something not right about the water. Ever since they made that promenade, people have been disappearing. Fisherfolk and the like. All locals, never the tourists. Which is just as well as people here don’t want it getting out. Bad for business see. Don’t tell anyone I told you.”

At this the man left, looking about himself as he did.

“That must be what that lunatic was talking about yesterday,” said Sir John. “Something wrong with the water eh, maybe…”

“Mon cher,” said Marie, “we are supposed to be ‘aving a holiday.”

Just then Mrs Pimplenick returned with two cups and a teapot.

“I’m afraid I’m out of milk,” she said, “so you’ll have to have it black. Also the sugar doesn’t come until Tuesday.”

The Sunnyport Shadow: Chapter 3

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Welcome to Sunnyport!

Tatty Seaside Town“Tatty Seaside Town”

So readers have been asking in their droves: where is Sunnyport? Those photographs seem familiar…

A cursory glance at a map of Southern England will reveal no such place. It is of course a fictional location, but as all such places, one rooted in some real experiences. We thought it might be informative and enlightening to list some of the ideas that run behind the town.

Inaptronymic placenames: it is the author’s general experience that the pleasantness of English seaside town-names is indirectly proportional to how agreeable the towns really are. Thus “Claphole-by-Sea” would be perfectly nice, but “Haven Bay” would be a crime-ridden rat-infested nightmare. Incidentally, the same applies to hotels and public houses. Any public house called The Friendship will have an undercurrent of violence, and any hotel called the Bella Vista will face a gasworks.

Sunnydale: which holds a special place in our hearts even twenty years on.

Innsmouth: “you’ll never leave” – a local town for local people.

Seaside holidays in the nineteen seventies: for many reasons the author does not wish to relate his experience of holidaying in B&Bs of various kinds, nor expand on the manner of hospitality extended in such places. To our readers who visited the English seaside in decades past, I am sure the reasons are clear.  To those who missed such an experience, the first chapter of Bill Bryson’s “Notes from a Small island” should serve as an introduction.

And one thing that is not an influence on the fictional town of Sunnyport…

London-by-Sea: The self confessed “tatty seaside town” of Brighton (and Hove) will quite often be the “location shots” for Sunnyport. As a previous resident of this wonderful and unique town I can wholeheartedly state that Sunnyport is not Brighton. Brighton is much, much weirder.

Don’t forget – the first four Jennings and Jennings stories can now be purchased from Amazon…

UK https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B071V9PP6F

US https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071V9PP6F

 

 

Posted on by paulmichael

The Benthic Week?

Ah! You noticed our little teaser … and the prolonged gap between posts. Let me furnish you with an explanation for all of the above.

First, The Benthic Week…

We here at the Benthic Times are tickled pink to announce the commencement of our latest venture, The Benthic Press. We are now in the business of publishing, and our initial publication will be the much anticipated collection of the first four Jennings and Jennings stories. This is working its way through the behemoth called Amazon even as we speak.

We are also thinking to produce an anthology of other writers’ stories, offer some editing/proofing services, build a small artificial island with a giant laser on it and so forth. In short, we have big dreams.

Yes, yes, that’s all very well, I hear you mutter, but what’s this Benthic Week malarkey? Well, to celebrate the creation of the press and the immanent release of the book, we have decided to have one whole week of daily posts. Now, we see you gasp in amazement! Yes, it’s true. We have already started with the epilogue for The Cornish Curse and will start, from tomorrow, our latest story: The Sunnyport Shadow.

welcome to sunnyport

This new story is inspired by two sources of existential dread and horror, by two elements which cause one to question one’s meaning in a cruel universe, one’s significance in the face of total indifference, and even one’s sanity. I refer to firstly, the writings of HP Lovecraft and secondly, a British seaside holiday in inclement weather.

Ah, now everything is clear, you say. Of course, the pause in posts was merely to create anticipation for this schmorgasbord of Benthic delights. Sadly, there we must hang our heads and confess. For in truth, the Benthic Times has relocated home once again and whilst we try to prevent personal obstacles from blocking our posting habits, this time it got the better of us. We trust that the Benthic Week, culminating in the release of the book, will suffice as apology and recompense.

Yours

Paul Michael and Josephine Pichette

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The Paris Awakening: Prologue Part 1

“Chef has prepared an amused bush,” said the maid and placed the two small plates in front of Sir John and Marie Jennings. She looked dubiously at the small piece of cheese and sauce on the plate.

“I have taken the liberty of informing chef that in this house it is customary to have bigger portions,” Miss Henderson added, “and that you sometime have seconds even then, Sir John.”

“Thank you Miss Henderson,”  said Sir John. “I’m sure that’s very helpful.”

pap1“Amused Bush”

The maid left, and Sir John looked across the elaborately laid out table to his wife who smiled back at him. Their dining room was lit by candles and the glow of the fire, crackling gently.

“It is so nice to have a taste of ‘ome at Christmas mon cher,” said Marie. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he said, “I’m just glad I managed to keep it a secret.”

Marie’s head dropped. Sir John didn’t see as he was eating the food.

“Hmm, she has a point,” he said. “It’s very tasty but not terribly filling.”

Sir John looked up and saw a tear running down Marie’s face.

“I’m sure we can get some more,” he said.

“No,” she said, “it’s not that … it’s when you mentioned secrets I thought of…”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Sir John. “I didn’t mean…”

“No, I know, but we ‘ave to ‘ave a conversation,” she said, “I ‘ave to tell you about my past.”

“My dear, it’s Christmas Eve,” said Sir John. “It’s a special day, perhaps some other time.”

“No,” said Marie, “now is perfect. No-one can bother us, and we have this nice food. Please, let me tell you about my life.”

“All right,” said Sir John. “If you like.”

“I do,” she said. “Can you remind me what you know?”

“Well,” said Sir John, “you grew up in a small village where you lived with your mother. Then you moved in with an aunt and uncle in Paris when you were about nine. You lived there but lost them in the chaos of 71 … taught in schools after that … joined the Société d’Evénements Mystérieux where we met, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

Marie looked thoughtful.

Just then, Miss Henderson arrived with two covered bowls. She was looking rather pleased as she put them on the table.

“I believe that chef has taken my suggestions seriously,” she said as she took lids off the bowls which were quite full of clear soup. “Chef said this a bowl of consumption.”

The maid looked at Marie’s uneaten food and took the plate.

“I didn’t like it much either, Mrs Jennings,” she whispered to Marie and left.

“Well, the facts are all true,” she said, “but that story has some gaps. Let me start at the beginning…”

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Christmas is Cancelled!

krampus“Take the boy, but for G-d’s sake leave the tablecloth!”

Well merely postponed, but oh, dear reader, it is with a heavy heart that we have to explain ourselves…

First and foremost, we hope that you have been enjoying our last marvellous adventure “The Auld Alchemist”. You will have noticed I’m sure that our usual midweek injections of commentary, links and other ephemera have been missing. Given our announcement of a forthcoming story collection and novel, I’m sure you consoled yourself with the knowledge that the good folk of the Benthic Times were beavering away on these projects. If only that were true. Sadly a multitude of events of the most mundane manner overtook us and left us bereft of time and energy.

And so, although we promised electronic stocking fillers, we have no such thing to give, for which we can only hold our caps, look down sadly and apologise. We shall continue to work on the collection though as well as the novel and shall have them with you as soon as the unscheduled busyness of business that has overtaken us has abated to a sensible level.

But, to whet your appetite, we shall be sharing over the next couple of weeks the prologue to the forthcoming (or given the delay, fifth or sixthcoming) Jennings and Jennings novel, starting tomorrow. And on that note, we bid you a pleasant weekend.

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The Auld Alchemist: Epilogue

“And so by the time we had gathered ourselves, pretty much all of the Draco Viridis people were gone,” said Sir John.

He, Marie, Frater Magnificus and Soror Beatitudinum were in the parlour. They were all were sitting and looking grave apart from Sir John, who had been talking and waving his arms about with a biscuit constantly in his hand. Frater Magnificus was brushing off some crumbs that had fallen on him whilst Sir John was talking about the two stones.

“There were a couple left that were still interested in meeting Phlebotomous, but we sent them away. Or rather Miss Henderson did,” finished Sir John, “rather forcibly.”

At that moment, Miss Henderson entered the room with tea and glanced at the diminished biscuit pile and the crumbs on the floor. She pulled a small face. The two members of FOLI looked nervously at the maid.

“Miss Henderson,” said Marie, “how is Morag?”

“I think she is starting to feel a little better,” said Miss Henderson, “although her spirits are understandably low and her nose is a little dry.”

“Thank you,” said Sir John and looked at the biscuit plate. “Perhaps we could get some more for our guests?”

Miss Henderson left then and Sir John continued.

“What happened to the other chap?” he said.

“Frater Lorem Ipsum has decided that he no longer wishes to follow the path of the true seeker,” said Frater Magnificus. “We believe he may have been a trifle overwhelmed by events. He has, though, taken a most severe oath to remain silent and never speak on what he has seen and learnt. But, Sir John, what of the lens of Mac Dubh, was it…”

“Destroyed,” said Sir John. “At least we believe so. The whole area for several feet around the two men was vaporized, including the apparatus to make the Summum Malorum.”

Frater Magnificus nodded.

“We have carried out some research into the building,” he said. “It was built by Lord Anglestone’s grandfather, we believe for the purpose of making the stone. We also believe that Draco Viridis was created primarily to support this aim, the creation of this Green Stone.”

“And we have traced the Anglestone tree,” said Soror Beatitudinum glumly. “The first Lord Anglestone achieved his peerage around 300 years ago, by paying the crown a large sum of money. The source of the money was unknown. We believe he may have been an associate of Mac Dubh who had taken some of the Red Stone for this purpose.”

“And so,” continued Frater Magnificus, “whilst you have not been able to recover the lens, we believe you have done a most excellent job. For you have certainly thwarted a most powerful foe and robbed it of its purpose and leader.”

Sir John sighed.

“I imagine now you’ll be giving us an honorary rank within your organization,” he said. “Something fitting for a servant of the seekers of the truth.”

Frater Magnificus and Soror Beatitudinum glanced at each other.

“Or some amulet that reflects your admiration of our deeds or possibly even a hand-carved wooden plate depicting the destruction of the Stones.”

Frater Magnificus looked nervous.

“I am embarrassed to say that we have nothing so spiritual,” said Frater Magnificus. “We are a humble order and we strive for such virtues, but in truth some of our power comes from the more earthly realm. We had intended to give you this, but if you would prefer these other things…”

Frater Magnificus indicated to a wooden chest which Sir John opened and peered in. His eyes widened and he looked in shock at his wife. He turned the chest so she could see the contents and she smiled warmly at him.

“Under the circumstances,” said Sir John, in a thin voice, “this will be more than acceptable.”

Frater Magnificus and Soror Beatitudinum both relaxed at those words. Just then Miss Henderson came in with a tray of biscuits. Sir John opened the chest filled with sparkling treasure to show her.

“Look at that, Miss Henderson!” he said.

“Bloody Nora!” said Miss Henderson and dropped the tray of biscuits on the floor.

aaepi“Bloody Nora!”

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The Auld Alchemist: Chapter 4

aa-ch-4“Remain Anonymous”

Marie and Sir John sat one side of a large ornate desk. Behind the desk was large chair and behind that were drapes and a large picture of an austere man. The real life man appeared from behind the drapes and smiled at the Jennings.

“Good afternoon, Sir John, Marie,” he said, “how may I be of service? I was intrigued by your communication.”

“Good afternoon, Lord Anglestone,” said Sir John and Marie nodded. “We were most interested in your knowledge about Diarmuid Mac Dubh. We are conducting, ah, an investigation regarding some artefacts of his.”

“Aha!” said Lord Anglestone. “You were at the British Museum, yes? Well, at least one mystery is solved. I have retained some investigators to look for the missing artefacts. They mentioned that there had been a mix up. May I ask who you are investigating for?”

“I believe our employer wishes to … remain anonymous,” said Sir John, mildly embarrassed.

“No matter,” chuckled Lord Anglestone, “I was merely curious. I can’t keep old Diarmuid to myself can I? He is something of a family obsession. I inherited it from my father, rather like my title. You know of course I have written a book on the fellow”

“Why is he so interesting?” asked Marie, “And why would someone steal these artefacts.”

“Well,” said Lord Anglestone, “he is an intriguing chap. Seemingly self taught, although there are rumours of contact with Robert Fludd, another alchemist. Worked all his life at this alchemy business, which is really just a fancy word for chemistry. In that regard he was years ahead of his time. He invented a large amount of laboratory apparatus that was revolutionary at the time, and is now commonplace. Of course, doing all these experiments at home had certain risks, which he fell foul to. There was a fire at his home, and he was killed along with his daughter. The wife had died years before, I believe.

“As for the artefacts, they have attracted a certain macabre fascination with those who believe in ghosts and other such hocus pocus. Because he was an alchemist, you see, they believe they can use them to create what they call the Summum Bonum, the sum of all good. It is known more commonly as the Philosopher’s Stone. It is rumoured to be able to turn lead into gold and extend life. All nonsense of course, but intriguing that a man of Mac Dubh’s intelligence was taken in.

“And now, tragically, the artefacts have been stolen, as you know. I have some men on the case, the very best. You’re welcome to help of course, and we could share what we know.”

“Thank you,” said Sir John, “perhaps if we find anything of note we’ll update you and vice versa.”

“Of course!” said Lord Anglestone. “I only hope these priceless artefacts are found before they are damaged. But thank you for your time, I look forward to speaking again with some news.”

Lord Anglestone escorted Marie and Sir John out of the room then wandered back to the desk.

“Well, Frater Gravitas Maximas,” he said, “it seems that we are both getting our wishes.”

An obese man with a strange amulet, a sphere in a coil, came out from behind the drapes. He stared obsessively at the door where the Jennings had just left.

“Indeed we are, Frater Princeps,” he said. “Indeed we are.”

The Auld Alchemist: Chapter 5

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Literary News

literary-newsTools of the trade

Dear Reader

We are so excited about current developments here at the Benthic Times that we have had to resort to medicinal liquor to calm our fevered minds. Please, take a seat and let us explain.

As you are most certainly aware, we have just concluded our latest Jennings and Jennings story, with a most disconcerting ending. As night follows day, a new story will start very shortly. In fact, from tomorrow you will thrill to the mercurial machinations and the salty sentiments of our sulphuric story The Auld Alchemist.

Whilst that should be enough to make anyone ecstatic with anticipation, we can also reveal that we intend to collate, tidy and publish the first four Jennings and Jennings stories in one electronic chapbook. This literary wonder should be available for you all by Christmas, at an extremely reasonable price, allowing you to use it fill your electronic socks and stockings.

(In fact Phlebotomous has a pair of electronic socks, but is forbidden from using them. This is following an incident at a ballroom competition, where four dancers were injured and another score required the help of an alienist.)

And as if that were not enough, we can reveal we are signed up to a most intriguing challenge called NaNoWriMo, wherein we hope to write, in one month,  a Jennings and Jennings novel. This aforementioned work of art should be available to all and sundry sometime early next.

So gentle reader, I imagine that, like us, you are presently reaching for the smelling salts as you feel giddy with excitement. On that note, we shall take our leave and wish you the very best sort of weekend.

 

 

 

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It Was A Dark and Stormy Night

Gentle Reader

I feel that we cannot simply pen a line such as “the maid screamed” (on which our present chapter ends) without explaining a little of the literary heritage of this line. It is, in fact, a deliberate quotation from a childhood favourite. The original work is by one Charles Shultz, ventriloquised via a well known canine character, who started a novelette in the following manner:

“It was a dark and stormy night. Suddenly, a shot rang out! A door slammed. The maid screamed.”

This is in itself a literary nod to the famous, or possibly, infamous opening lines to the novel Paul Clifford:

“It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.”

This is the work of one Edward Bulwer-Lytton, who should be very comfortable in these pages, being as he was a Victorian Novelist with a taste for the occult.

edward_bulwer_lyttonEdward Bulwer-Lytton, not Snoopy the Dog

In fact, this gentleman led a most interesting life, working as politician denounced by his own wife at the hustings, being offered (and refusing) the Greek throne and gifting us the phrase “the pen is mightier than the sword”.

Perhaps it is one of those ironies of fate that leads him to be remembered most of all for the clunky and meandering sentence above. He gives his name to an annual competition in its honour whereby literary wags attempt to parody the style of the thing. Those who find themselves at a loss of what to do this Sunday evening may care to peruse it.

The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest

 

 

 

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On the Origins of Admiral Isaac Cadwaddler

victorian-name-generatorA Random Name Generator – as we imagine it to look

During an interesting writing session this week, the Benthic Times found itself uncharacteristically stuck for a name for one of our characters. Whilst a ten-mile walk through the countryside would be the normal cure for this malaise, time was of the essence. As such, we turned to that modern miracle, the internet and found this little gem:

Victorian Name Generator

Amongst the many humorous names that we derived is the one that currently graces the title above.

We wish you a most pleasant weekend.

Hermine Moriarty, Temporary Editor