Mad Town

By Yalmact Swillirs

On opposite ends of the globe, Sophie and Ken both lead miserable lives which nobody deserves.

Ken is the ward of Mad Town’s greedy Archbishop, a creature whose devilish appearance would send a chill down anyone’s spine. The master of Mad Town’s orphanage, the Archbishop ensures that Ken is beaten regularly, although anyone who encounters him is more than happy to lend a hand for this task.

Sophie is married to a Middle Eastern Prince whose insane possessiveness and cruelty are among his best traits. How he came to wed Sophie, forty years his junior, no longer remains in her memory. The feeling of lust and the demand of ownership she casts on whomever she meets, is without doubt what caused her to be put into her current situation.

Through a course of events, Ken and Sophie are brought together in the chaotic and hellish Mad Town, where they begin to uncover secrets they never knew about themselves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Yalmact Swillirs
• Release date: Nov 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310585456

Yalmact Swillirs

Being born and raised in Adelaide, South Australia, demanded Yalmact to develop an overactive imagination in order to tolerate the city's dreary atmosphere. A twisted sense of humor enabled Yalmact to survive a series of dead-end jobs and difficult life events while penning Mad Town, the first novel in the Fynian Fable series.Often escaping reality into a wide variety of written works by remarkable authors such as Stephen King, J. K Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, enabled Swillirs to develop their own unique voice and writing style.Had these elements not been present and Yalmact had not taken up writing, it is in all likelihood that Swillirs would have thrust their head into a cement wall to escape the monotony of their life.

Book preview

Mad Town

Yalmact Swillirs

Copyright Yalmact Swillirs 2013

Smashwords Edition

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For Chevy.

Chapter 1

The Convents

Nestled deep in South Australia thrummed the heart of the small community of Mad Town.

Our story begins here, late one night, in the convents. The Archbishop had just closed the door to his office when he was met by a miniature yellow elephant standing upright on its hind legs.

Boss, I've prepared your dinner for this evening. When you’re ready, come down to the basements. All you need to do is pick up a wine to go with it from the cellar, it squeaked while waving its trunk.

The Archbishop jumped back with surprise into the closed door, finding the glow of admiration radiating from the elephant’s face overwhelming.

The Archbishop cleared his throat. Well, Crawler? he asked, addressing it. What are you waiting for? Do you want me to hold your hand?

As soon as those words escaped his mouth, he regretted them. A look of extreme joy exploded onto Crawler's face as if nothing in the world could make him happier.

Are you some kind of pansy-boy? Huh? Do you like men? Is that it?

The elephant’s face crumbled. Erm, no boss. Of course not! That would be wrong.

The Archbishop tapped his foot impatiently. Well? What is it? Why are you still here then?

Crawler kicked his foot into the ground and avoided his gaze. I don’t know.

The Archbishop sighed. I'm not in the mood for your games tonight, Crawler. Just go down to the basements and I will be there shortly.

The elephant threw him a wounded look before disappearing down the corridor.

The Archbishop shivered as he turned in the direction of the kitchens. His thoughts engulfed him as he shuffled along the dimly lit hallway. He was starting to wonder about Crawler. He would never admit this to anyone, but the way Crawler stared at him sometimes made his stomach churn in disgust.

Focusing his mind on the task at hand and leaving his suspicions in the doorway, the Archbishop pushed open the lime green doors, walked across the kitchen and through a door next to the empty refrigerators. He paused on the landing while his fingers traced the brickwork, searching for the switch.

Once the room was lit by the dirty, yellow light, breaking through the overhanging cobwebs, he descended the creaky wooden staircase. At the bottom of the stairs, the room was full of shelves upon shelves of wine. He trudged alongside the aisles, running his podgy fingers across each dusty bottle label as his mouth wordlessly read each name. He decided on an expensive cognac, shoved it under his arm and climbed the stairs.

He had taken a few paces into the kitchen when a sudden movement in the microwave caught his attention. From the pale moonlight that leaked in through the skylight, he could see the head of a nightmarish creature. Its burgundy skin made its yellow eyes seem more frightening in the darkness. As the creature grinned with its pointed razor sharp teeth, its blue Mohawk swayed from the movement.

The Archbishop didn’t scream at what he saw, his reflection was something that made his heart burn with pride. His burgundy skin was the favourite of his features. He grinned more widely, blew himself a kiss and left the room.

He passed the dormitories, where the boys under his care slept, and entered the dining hall. In it, a huge portrait of the Archbishop covered the wall, spanning from floor to ceiling.

He stood in front of it, briefly absorbing its beauty before taking hold of the left side of the painting and swinging it open, revealing two stainless steel doors and an electronic keypad.

He pounded in the code and the doors slid open. Once inside, he pushed the button marked B. The elevator groaned as it made its way down to the basements, landing with a thud. When he stepped out into the dark, musty passage, he was greeted by a repulsive stench of rotten meat. To any normal person this would have caused much discomfort but for the Archbishop, it was as if it were a breath of fresh air that one might take on an early cold morning – revitalising.

As he continued down the corridor, the ground slowly lost its hard cement foundation, and became damp earth.

A single metal door waited at the end of the corridor. It was obvious that this was the source of the repugnant smell. When the Archbishop opened it, the stench escaped in a powerful burst of wind, as if it was desperate to be released from its own odour. From the doorway his eyes scanned around the room and rested on three figures huddled together in a corner.

One turned and spotted him. Your Holiness!

The group rushed over to the door.

Crawler took the cognac and clutched the Archbishop’s arm. Boss! Boss! Guess what? We have a surprise for you! We’ve brought in that pus-bucket Ken!

An elbow jabbed into Crawler’s stomach and knocked him off the Archbishop’s arm.

Your Holiness, it was Dragon’s and my idea that you should have a dinner with a show. We thought you deserved a treat, said a willowy woman wearing a purple silk kimono.

A thick coat of white house paint covered her face and her black, straggly hair was held up by a pair of chopsticks.

At her side, a creature which held a striking likeness to a seahorse hovered above the ground by two small, rapidly beating wings. Its entire body was covered in soft opal coloured hairs which shimmered in the cold artificial light. Despite its physical resemblance to the underwater creature, that was where the similarities ended. This creature lacked the capacity to survive underwater.

They guided the Archbishop over to the corner where they had been.

At their feet, lay the crumpled frame of a boy whose head lulled on the ground. His spindly arms and legs sprawled out from under him. He was so skinny that it was hard to make out that there was even a body beneath his worn out, grimy shorts and t-shirt. His skin was dirty from enduring years of living under squalid conditions and severe neglect. Had it not been for the boy’s blue eyes, his race would have been almost impossible to identify in his present state.

The Archbishop grabbed the boy’s knotted, filthy hair and jerked his head up from the floor.

Ken, you pus-bucket, how did you like your little massage? I hope you didn’t get any pleasure from it, you sick puppy.

He threw the boy back down onto the ground, and being as skinny as he was, the boy bounced up like a rag doll. The room echoed with their laughter at his surprising springiness.

Ken raised his head and watched the four of them through the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut.

The gang’s all here, he noticed, his stomach sinking.

Abruptly the laughter died and was replaced by furious glares.

What the hell do you think you’re staring at? Look down at your superiors, you piece of scum! screamed the woman and kicked him in the face.

Ken could feel a small gust of wind against his bloody face and he knew without looking that it was Dragon.

Look at me, you scumbag, and listen to what I have to say.

Ken reluctantly raised his head to the seahorse-like creature.

Oh, who thinks he matters today? asked Dragon Obviously we have overestimated your intelligence – the amount you have in your tiny brain anyway – otherwise you wouldn’t dare raise your heathen, sinful gaze in the presence, of someone such as the Archbishop. You have absolutely no respect for the man that raised you for most of your pathetic sixteen years!

He brought his tail around from behind him and slapped Ken across the head with it. Each of the soft opal hairs cut into Ken’s flesh, leaving their own distinctive mark.

This action signified the end of the ability for everyone to contain their rage. Within moments the woman, Crawler and the Archbishop were at Dragon’s side, contributing to Ken’s punishment for his disrespectful behaviour.

***

Twenty minutes later, being completely exhausted, the Archbishop broke away from the scuffle and slumped onto a chair seated by a table.

After a few more minutes of waiting, his stomach grumbled and he lost his patience.

Where’s my dinner, Crawler? I’m bloody starving over here! Do you want me to die or to fade away? Look at me, I’m practically skin and bones! he bellowed and violently shook a roll of his enormous stomach.

The elephant jumped with a start and faced his beloved leader. I’m sorry, boss, I got so caught up in the moment! he said and departed from the room.

Dragon and the woman hurried over to the Archbishop.

We’re so sorry, your Grace, apologised the woman, kissing his purple hand.

The Archbishop snatched it away. It’s quite all right, Claire. I understand you were all caught up. Cleansing evil does have that affect.

Crawler returned to the room, leading a young boy, no more than ten-years-old, by the hand. The child was crying and he eyed his caretakers with unease.

Claire and Dragon went to him.

It’s okay, darling, there’s no reason to cry, soothed Claire.

Everything is going to be quite alright, said Dragon.

They steered the boy over to a wooden chair that was two feet away from the Archbishop. Claire lifted the boy onto the chair and Dragon gently began to tie each of his wrists to the armrests.

Sensing an impending danger, the boy’s instincts took hold and he began to struggle, during which he slapped Claire across the face.

Angered, she grabbed the boy’s hair and slammed his head against the back of the chair. You little snot, be still, she spat.

The caring Claire and Dragon that the boy had always known were gone. Being so startled by her violent outburst, he no longer fought against his captors.

Once his arms and legs were bound, Claire clamped his head to the backrest of the chair with a belt. Then she, Dragon and Crawler stepped into the shadows.

The Archbishop had since risen to his feet and now moved into the child’s sight.

My son, why do you cry? he asked, concerned. There’s no need to be frightened. Do you know you have a higher purpose in this world?

The child spluttered inaudible words and a string of snot oozed from his left nostril.

An expression of annoyance crossed the Archbishop’s face. I asked you a question, and you refuse to acknowledge me. Very well, you shall serve your purpose—

Pl–please, your Holiness, sobbed the child, le–let me go—

The Archbishop smiled. My child, you have a higher purpose, to serve our father in heaven. It’s quite an honour to be chosen.

The boy continued to plead, but it fell on deaf ears. The Archbishop returned to the table and poured himself a glass of cognac.

After taking a gulp and picking up a hacksaw in place of the glass, he moved himself behind the boy and ran a free hand through the child’s hair.

Oh, my dear boy, you have such lovely hair. It’s a pity that this is going to ruin it. Now you might feel a pinch.

He aligned the hacksaw’s blade along the crown of the sobbing boy’s head. The Archbishop licked his lips with concentration and began to saw.

The piercing, horrific screams of the boy ripped through the room. The observers in the shadows flinched at the sound but the Archbishop continued, completely undisturbed.

The moment he reached the other side, he threw the hacksaw carelessly to the ground. By this time, the boy had become unconscious and his breathing was slow and deep. Blood oozed down the boy’s pale, clammy face. The Archbishop cracked his fingers before tentatively grasping the top of the skull and lifting the detached piece. He grinned at the weakly pulsating brain. A final strange gurgling came from the young boy’s throat and his eyes opened one last time before they remained glazed open forever.

The Archbishop picked up a knife and fork from the table, and unable to contain himself any longer, he plunged the utensils into the child’s brain. The Archbishop tore out a huge chunk and shoved it into his mouth. As he devoured each piece with a euphoric smirk, the spectators in the room watched in silent revulsion. However, Dragon, Crawler and Claire had seen this occurrence far too many times to throw up.

The Archbishop was halfway through the brain, his initial hunger now satiated, when he pointed his fork in the direction of Ken.

Someone bring that pus-bucket over here so he can see what his evil has inflicted upon me!

Claire went over to Ken and dragged him in front of the lifeless corpse of the child.

Sit up straight, and listen to what the Archbishop has to say, commanded Dragon from the darkness. Claire gave Ken a threatening shove and returned to her position near Dragon.

Ken sat on his knees, clutching his stomach as he wheezed in pain. Every bone in his body screamed out in agony, his leg burned and blood had started to slowly trickle from his nose. Although he didn’t want to, he looked up at the Archbishop through his good eye.

The Archbishop grinned at him; this sight always pleased him. He moved directly in front of Ken.

Do you see what your evilness has unleashed upon the world? How it makes good people do bad things? This child died tonight because of you and your horrendous ways. You have killed an innocent child, you monster! He screamed and punched Ken in the face. Now, you’re going to sit there and watch the consequences of your evil ways!

With that said, he returned to his original stance behind the child, picked up the knife and fork, and ate the brain with such ferociousness that fragments were splattered across the room.

The gruesome sight of the child’s face, coupled with the deplorable eating habits of the Archbishop and the jiggling of the child against the restraints, caused Ken’s stomach to churn. Although he had not eaten for days, thanks to the beating he had just received, he vomited up blood.

The Archbishop shovelled the last fork full of brain into his mouth and glared at Ken.

What the hell are you doing? the Archbishop demanded, swallowing. You caused this to happen and you sit there, vomiting in disgust! He marched over to Ken and brought his face within inches from his own.

You think you’re better than me? Is that it? Well, let me tell you this, you’re not better than me. Want me to tell you why? I was chosen out of all my people to be a missionary and I have become a man of the cloth, dedicating my life to God for it. I’m a loved member of this community and my life matters. You’re a piece of filthy scum that some lowdown dog gave birth too, but she and your father weren’t that stupid to take care of you. Oh no, they saw you for what I see you as – pure maggoty crap. If you were to disappear no one would give a damn or notice. Because I am the kind, good person that I am, I take care of you and force it upon myself to gaze upon your hideous face. He chuckled darkly. See? You’re not better than me. You’re just the filth which pollutes the Earth and causes disease among men. So, don’t you ever look down your nose at me and think you’re high and mighty, you got that?

Ken just sat there, knowing either way that what was to come next could not be avoided.

I asked you a question, boy. Answer me!

Yes, Ken mumbled.

The Archbishop threw him back into his vomit. I think this pus-bucket needs some reminding about who’s the real piece of shit here.

Ken’s eyes widened and he sprang to his knees, desperate to crawl away. No! No more! Please! No more!

Crawler, Dragon and Claire formed a front beside the Archbishop, blocking any chance of escape.

Oh yes, there will always be more. You are the spawn of Satan himself and can only be stopped through the violence which you have unleashed upon the world, explained the Archbishop.

Then they were upon him: kicking, punching, biting, screaming, stomping, doing everything that came into their head, each blow bruising an organ or fracturing a bone. After an hour of a continuous beating, they slumped down, exhausted.

Let’s go upstairs for a brandy to celebrate our success, wheezed the Archbishop, stumbling to his feet.

Crawler jumped up. Yes, sir, I will go upstairs and get it ready, he said and left.

The Archbishop’s gaze fell on Ken’s pitiful, withering frame.

Chain the dead body to that pathetic form of shit so he doesn’t get lonely. Then join me upstairs for a drink, the Archbishop directed before departing.

For a few minutes Dragon and Claire only stared at each other, their chests heaving from breathlessness.

Claire, the way you kicked tonight set a fire inside me— began Dragon.

Claire lunged toward him. It was so horrible, I didn’t think I would be able to go on. The way you whipped your tail almost drove me insane with lust, she cried, throwing her arms around his neck.

They kissed passionately for a few minutes. It was Dragon who broke away. Claire, we have to go upstairs. Our absence will be noticed.

Claire reluctantly removed her arms and her lower lip jutted out like a pouting child.

Dragon brought his tail to her face and tenderly stroked it. But we can continue after lights out.

She turned away, still trying to control herself. The sooner we’re finished, the sooner the lights will go out.

They undid the restraints from the child’s body and placed it beside Ken. Dragon fluttered over to the wall and brought a shackle to Claire, which she attached to the ankles of the boys. Before they left the room and locked the door, they each spat on Ken, their equivalent of a good night kiss.

***

Ken lay silent and motionless in the darkness for a while after he regained consciousness. His body was in the most unbearable pain; his bones screamed in agony, his organs pulsated with torment and he could feel his muscles weeping. Despite all this, he smiled. Finally he was alone and safe. He’d always found solace in the darkness and in solitude.

He moved one ankle that felt strangely heavier than the other. Ignoring his body’s protests, he placed his hand on the chain and followed it until he reached the end. It led to a clammy, small foot.

They’ve left the boy with me, he realised without shock.

He shifted himself so that he lay beside the boy, grasped the small hand and leaned over to where the child’s face would be.

I’m sorry for what happened to you, Ken whispered as he recalled his last memory of the child. I’m sorry you went through so much pain and that I caused you to go through it.

His voice became thick, but he did not cry. At least you’re dead now. You won’t feel anything ever again, no more pain or hurt. I envy you, you know.

After he finished speaking he lay down on his back. He felt no hatred toward his guardians for what they had done. Years of abuse had left him unable to feel anything, except for the physical torture he was subjected to daily. Understandably, he rarely smiled, laughed or had any real powerful emotion. There was one thing in his life that he hoped for, and that was that one day, hopefully in the not too distant future, he would physically be the embodiment of how he felt inside: dead.

Still clutching the boy’s hand, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

***

When he opened them, he found he was in an unfamiliar place. He was in a bedroom full of bright, ghastly colours and bizarre furniture. Ken was certainly not up to date with the latest decorating trends, but even he noticed that gold, vomit green and chocolate brown were colours that shouldn’t be mixed. He’d been sitting with his back against a door and he slowly got to his feet. He walked toward a strange type of glass, which had a weird scribble engraved around the frame that held it. He stood in front of it and received the shock of his life.

He saw a girl. Not just any plain girl either; this one was exquisite. She had beautiful long golden hair and the most incredible, sparkling blue eyes he had ever seen. Everything about her was perfection, her lips were full and luscious, even her height was just right. The clothes that she had on were of beautiful silks, but they did not do her justice. The only problem, if any could be said about her looks, was that she had been crying and her eyes were etched with sadness. Ken stared in amazement.

Why on Earth would a girl, like her, be crying?

The bedroom door flew open and a bare-chested man came in. He slammed the door shut and screamed at Ken in gibberish. To Ken’s own surprise, he somehow answered him. The man became more enraged and hit Ken across the cheek, knocking him to the floor beside the bed.

In an instant the man had picked Ken up by his hair and pushed him onto the mattress. He hit Ken again across the face and leaned in closer. His dark, hard eyes were serious and full of terrifying anger. He whispered something in a nasty tone, reached down and tore at Ken’s clothes.

Uncharacteristically, Ken tried to fight back, but it was useless. Blue silk was torn and flung savagely behind the man, while he showered Ken’s neck and lips with hard kisses. Ken’s eyes darted over to where he’d seen the girl, hoping she had run away but instead he saw the girl staring back at him with a man on her, also tearing at her clothes. He wanted to get the man off and help her. By now, both he and the girl were almost completely naked. He could feel the man’s leathery skin against his own stomach. The only thing that separated Ken and the man was his underwear, which the man’s hand suddenly reached for …

Ken jolted awake. He was in complete darkness and it took a while for him to recognise where he was. He sat gasping for breath, trying to comprehend what had happened. It had seemed so real that it frightened him still.

That poor girl, he thought, remembering her sad eyes, how could I dream of something, as horrible as that, happening to her?

He glanced around and saw the little boy’s dark mound. He was still at the convents. It had been only a dream. He lay down again and his breathing started to slow. Out of all of the things that had happened to him throughout his life, sleep had been his one way to escape. Now it seemed he was starting to have horrible dreams. He closed his eyes.

That poor girl, he kept thinking until he fell asleep.

Chapter 2

The Cruel Prince

In a small country known as Dumact, located in the Middle East, the Prince – and future King of the country – was asleep.

A servant opened the door to his chamber and quietly walked over to where he lay. He paused for a moment, scrutinizing the bed and the three mounds protruding from its covers. Finally, after making a decision he leaned over and gently touched the shoulder of the middle mound.

Your Highness, the servant whispered, it is oh-seven-hundred hours. You have an appointment at nine. Sir, you have to wake up now.

The middle mound sat up, still in the clutches of his dreams. The servant bowed and left the room.

The Prince sat blinking stupidly into the dim room. He glanced at the two mounds that had confused the servant. Each was a girl of about seventeen, both fast asleep and naked in his bed.

The Prince leaned over to the girl on his right and whispered into her ear, Phulan, move out the way. I have to get out of bed. Not all of us have such an easy life as you. Some of us have to work and lead our country to greatness.

The girl moaned softly, Ummud, let me sleep. I’m so tired.

The Prince became rigid and he slapped her across her face. "How dare you tell me what to do! Let you sleep, you say? Listen here, you common whore! I am king of this country and unlike yours, my job involves more than just opening my legs. I must get up early every morning and make important decisions concerning our nation! So, if I tell you to wake up and get out of my way, do you think you can manage that?