October 2023: The Castle Of Blattodea - Kathy George
He is comatose on the pantry floor, his thorax flat to the flaky flagstones, when the box arrives in the kitchen. Wedged between the onion basket and the rough mortar, he peers blearily into the light. Charlie, standing at the counter and whistling some mindless riff, is reaching into a drawer.
Cardboard rips and the woody aromas of paper fill the air. He flickers his antennae, detects something akin to the antediluvian landscape of his ancestors: swampy leaf litter, sludge, rotten and decaying timber ...
When he wakes again night has fallen. Outside, it’s raining heavily, the sky shrouded in cloud like a corpse. He flexes a dry and spiny front leg, arches it over his head and wipes his feelers. He’s smelling something he hasn’t smelt here before. Something rich and earthy. Rustling his horny hind legs together in anticipation, he shoves aside a disembowelled fly and ventures out.
High above his head, a monstrosity looms on the countertop. The thing is black and sleek. Otherworldly. But he scuttles up the counter’s drawers in fits and starts and halts at its base. Hesitates. Waves his feelers. Senses it’s eerie. But he’s overwhelmed by the addictive aroma, and when a dagger of lightning flicks the kitchen into brilliance, he takes action.
He discovers mysterious vibrations, a labyrinth of chambers, water in a tower, and a damp dungeon squatting beneath a metal grille. Drawn on by his antennae he follows a trail of brown fragments but without warning stumbles into a chasm. Teeters precariously at its lip. Lying in wait in the murk below, are monstrous silvery blades with glistening honed edges. He scrabbles at the smooth and shiny walls and manages, just, to save himself.
He retraces his steps. Is more careful, but before long he’s seduced by the heady fragrance again and giddy with craving. He eases through a cranny. Staggers, finally, into silky warmth. Into velvety darkness. Into bliss. Faint with intoxication, he nestles down, pillows his dizzy head.
He is jolted awake. His new home is ticking. Humming like it’s alive. Rigid with alarm, he whips his antennae to and fro, digs into the uneven surface. With a shudder he’s lurched forwards. He jerks about with terror, writhes and threshes. But he’s moved on. Clawing helplessly, he’s swept forward, swallowed up and folded into a vortex of sooty shards.
The rain has gone, and Charlie is grinding coffee beans. He places his mug on the drip tray, presses the two cup button, and waits. Tilts the steaming mug towards the light. Observes an oily film, a yellowy scum. He sniffs. Musty, too. Hmm. Must be the Robusta beans. He froths the milk, pours it into the mug, and whistling another mindless ditty takes his coffee and the paper out onto the patio. The sun is out. All is well with the world. He sighs deeply. Sips.
Kathy George
Right Left Write’s October genre prompt was Gothic.
Find out more about Right Left Write and submit to the November competition (prompt: Excerpt) at www.queenslandwriters.org.au/rightleftwrite.
Right Left Write’s October genre prompt was Gothic.