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As you approach the rumored haunted mansion along Larks Avenue a chill blast bites deep, sending shivers to the bone. The wind rustles through trees that none have seen green since the old Lidescu Mansion was moved here from Gravelred road. Strange rumors haunt this area like the ghosts of the long passed forebears of the Lidescu, whispering dark promises of vengeance and violence upon the town that betrayed them. "WHAZZAT! ‘ERE you go Shteppin on mah toes..SHOO!" The strangled, startled cry freezes in your throat as you turn to face the assailant beating at you with a gnarled makeshift cane. The broken and bent old hag leers at you, gap toothed and surely rotting from within by the smell. Her lamplight green eyes bare into you with a fevered intensity. |
"Aye, iss youuu..yeesh!" Cheap wine laden breath whistles between broken teeth as she rakes you with a familiar gaze, the way family members size you up at reuinions you just know she is going to say "My, look how you’ve GROWN!" next. "Don’ beee pokin’ yer noshe here child!" she hisses, Eyes narrowed venomously, forcing you a step back. She wavers unsteadily on her feet a moment, then takes a step toward you, leaf strewn whisps of silvered hair blow about her face as the wind buffets the two of you. A faint, powdery and sensuous scent of perfume mixes with the sour odor of stale urine. Blue Waltz you think, the image of two young dancers in one of the new color movies float about in your head for but a moment, banished by the haggardly, almost fawning presence of the bent crone leering closer to your face. For a moment you fear she is going to kiss you, not like a relative, but as a lover. |
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"Treaaaachery,
yes treashon mos’ fowul." A grime covered leathery bark hand cups your
chin in an unsettling familiarity as she studies the features of your face. Her voice
comes as a hoarse whisper, straining to hear them over the rising wind you bend your ear
closer to her rotted mouth. A chill runs down your spine as the stream of casual obscenity
slides from her twisted lips, painting a blasphemous landscape "Medici’s cursh’d creatures mosht foul, b’trayers and corruptorsh, trust ‘em not, ‘at houshe of the maad, dark power bendsh ‘ere hands, whipsh lash at the brok’n backs of the Lidescu but ‘ey do not forget, an’ zh’ Lidescu do not die. Heav’n cashts ‘em all down, shpit from the bowels of God like refushe" |
| You pull back, not wanting to hear anymore, wanting to be away from this place. Iron claws grip you with insane strength as the haggard woman continues to vomit the vile venom from her grey lips. "Run..’esshh run’ere are madmen ‘bout, twishteth creaturesh ‘at the light shunsh to look upon, ‘eartsh darker than the world b’fore lightsh conception, great bowels stir beneath this ground churning an’ rolling, ready ta shpew forsh I’s ‘bominations..revenge, pain, hatred and shpite! Zhe Lideshcu are coming child; the Housesh will not save ya, casht ‘em down an’ may p’raps agony ell be your mershy!" Head thrown back, the hag cackles like the witches in your senior class production of MacBeth. Something Wicked this way comes the line comes unbidden to your mind, rooting your feet like lead anchors in the sea of broken asphalt...... |
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Performance for Madmanse will be done in #COS_Madmanse
