We All Saw It Coming

By Damon L. Wakes

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Damon L. Wakes
• Release date: Dec 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370440122

Damon L. Wakes

Damon L. Wakes was born in 1991 and began to write a few years later. He holds an MA in Creative and Critical Writing from the University of Winchester, and a BA in English Literature from the University of Reading.When he isn’t writing, Damon enjoys weaving chainmail and making jewellery. He produces items made of modern metals such as aluminium, niobium and titanium, but constructed using thousand-year-old techniques.Damon’s other interests are diverse. He has at various times taken up archery, fencing and kayaking, ostensibly as research for books but mostly because it’s something to do.

Book preview

Introduction

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1

Prophecy for Yourself

Challenge #1: Write a story of survival against seemingly insurmountable odds including elements of black comedy and a Screw destiny! moment.

On any other day, the harbour would have seemed bustling with life. In truth, however, the streets were empty, and the bloated hands that manned the vessels at the dock were anything but alive. Shrouded in a cloud of inky vapour, Baal-Sogoth rose from the depths, strode through the surf and began to climb the granite spire that looked out across the shore. The Lord of the Abyss had, as prophecy foretold, come to claim dominion over the people of the earth and sand. In days to come, he would have his drowned servants carry the hills to fill the depths, making all the world even so that no land broke the surface of the sea, and no waves marred its perfect face.

In days to come, Baal-Sogoth would look upon the Earth and see a glassy, fish-like eye no different to his own.

In days to come, the Earth would look back with its new dead life, and see his eye in turn.

One would reflect the other even as the sun died, the cosmos froze, and all spheres stood vitrified in the cold wreckage of the firmament.

At last, Baal-Sogoth reached the peak of the granite spire, and found there the virgin queen, not armed and armoured as the prophecy foretold, but chained by an ankle to the rock and clad in a simple linen robe.

Your Majesty, spoke Baal-Sogoth, well versed in the rhymes of aeons past. Do you despair to know that when I sent my thralls to claim your ancestral sword, it was given willingly? Does it pain you to know that it was not my forces that took you captive, but your own subjects who betrayed you?

Okay, said the woman on the rock. First of all, I am not a virgin. Second, I’m not the queen. I’m just a decoy, yeah? To buy some time?

Baal-Sogoth was taken aback by this turn of events—and the maiden’s somewhat rude manner—but he didn’t let it show. It matters not, he chuckled, with a tone that could freeze whale oil. I am he who holds claim to both the depths of the ocean and the depths of the stars. I hold no fear but that sword of old, and it lies now beneath such a weight of brine it cannot be recovered. The prophecy is broken and your queen can do no more.

See, that’s the thing, said the woman, tugging at something beneath her robe. If you’re saying that the prophecy can be broken and the queen can’t defeat you after all, that means the job is sort of up for grabs, isn’t it?

It means that the last slim hope of humankind has failed and my reign is uncontested.

At this, the assembled crowd of Baal-Sogoth’s servants gave a gurgling cheer.

Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying.

Is that a harpoon gun in your dress?

No.

There was a sudden bang, followed almost immediately by the unmistakable sound of a harpoon sinking into a giant, monstrous eyeball. Baal-Sogoth rushed screaming back to the abyss.

I’m just happy to see you.

2

The One and Only

Captain Caulk stared in amazement at the cache of treasures tucked away in the basement of the Château d’Erfitter. Just like that, the missing Sisley was the least of his concerns. Here were The Scream, The Thinker, The Mona Lisa! The theft of any one of these works could be considered the crime of the century, and yet these acts had gone completely undetected. What mastermind could have executed such a scheme? And what villain would resist taking credit for such a success?

There came a slow clap from the shadows. Félicitations, Captain. A man in an opera cape and a domino mask stepped forth to rest a hand on the buttocks of Michaelangelo’s David. Vraiment, you are the real McCoy. Few others could have uncovered my little enterprise.

Who are you? demanded Captain Caulk, falling for none of this flattery, and what have you done with the Count?

Ohhh. The villain tutted. And just like that you ruin it. For you see, in truth... he removed his mask and shook out his silver curls, the Count d’Erfitter and the soon to be notorious Count Erfitter are one and the same!

That’s a pretty poor secret identity, observed Captain Caulk, who could at a moment’s notice don his heroic Glasses of Obfuscation to become mild mannered reporter Clint Cark.

Is it? asked Count Erfitter, passing behind a pillar. When he emerged, he was wearing the mask once more. Or is it a very convincing copy?

Enough! Captain Caulk whipped his weapon from the holster on his back. My sealant shooter will make short work of you!

I’m sure it will...

He pulled the trigger. It crumbled in his grasp.

Unfortunately for you, however, I took the liberty of replacing it with a perfect replica I carved out of Parmesan earlier this morning.

I see. Captain Caulk discarded the cheesy knockoff, taking an item from his belt. But did you also think to replace my grout grenades? He pulled out the pin and hurled the weapon at Count Erfitter, showering him with quick-setting gunge.

Alas, no, came a voice from right beside him.

Instinctively, Captain Caulk threw a mighty punch. A cardboard face yielded instantly beneath his fist.

I was too busy crafting several cardboard cutouts of myself.

Captain Caulk readied another grout grenade, steely eyes scanning the darkness for the source of the voice.

Now, do be careful what you do with that. Count Erfitter was on the move, stalking between the paintings and sculptures. I don’t think either of us would be very happy if you marred a masterpiece with a thoughtless throw.

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