Platypus

By Mark Comstock

A short novel. The book follows the story of Cyrus, a man that finds himself in quite the peculiar predicament. For reasons, and by methods he cannot comprehend, he is repeatedly transported to a disturbing, bizarre location where he is subjected to unspeakable horrors, and where he encounters characters that defy all reason, and where nothing that happens ever makes any sense, at all. Is it all just a bad dream? He sets about uncovering the secrets and solving the mystery as to what it is that is happening. In doing so, he learns that uncovering the truth reveals a far more intricate web of absurd impossibilities than he ever expected and that, sometimes, deciphering what is real and what is not, can be a bewildering and preposterous proposition.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Comstock
• Release date: Oct 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223190035

Mark Comstock

I have written fifteen books, six under the name, Xavier Cockroachal Damon, six under the name, Aaron Aaronson, and three under the name, Mark Comstock. The books consist of novels and collections of stories and all have a lot of dark humor, often very dark. The books could be considered bizarre, outrageous, absurd and audacious. They are uncompromising, unconventional, irreverent and, most definitely, off the beaten path.

Book preview

Cyrus opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling,

looking past his feet. He dangled in the air, suspended a very short distance above the floor. He was upside down. Tendrils descended from the ceiling and wrapped around him, encasing him like a mummy, hooking into his skin so that every inch of his body was shorn of flesh, forever flayed, forever bleeding. Only his head and neck were left exposed, not contained within the tendrils. This was always the state that Cyrus was in when he was here in this place. As one might expect, it was rather painful. But, the pain on Cyrus’s flesh and body was nothing compared to the torment when he was here, of the pain inflicted upon his mind.

Cyrus’s entire body was completely immobile, except for his head and neck which he had full use of. He could rotate his neck and thus look around at the room. The room was dingy, dirty and dank. It was composed of stone, but it was like the open portion of a cave, the various rock formations awkwardly connecting in uneven patterns. The walls and ceiling were caked with some sort of dark green, mold-like ooze, which meant it was not the most aesthetically pleasing of sights. The room was dimly lit, the only light being provided by various torches that were attached to the walls and a chandelier that held twenty candles and was attached to the ceiling, the ceiling being at least fifty feet high. The smell that clung to the room was foul and rancid and there was no ventilation, so the air was stale and oppressive.

Alas, Cyrus had full functionality of his mind. Supposedly, one could postulate that having the use of your mind in such a situation could be a blessing, for it would allow the person the opportunity to try and make sense of the situation and even possibly formulate a plan where they might make their escape. Thing of it was, Cyrus’s escape would indeed be provided for him, no action on Cyrus’s own part required. But, just as certain was that Cyrus would then, at a later point, be brought back again to have to once again endure the horrific ordeal. As for making sense of any of it? Well, that would be an impossibility, for there was not a moment of any aspect of the proceedings that could ever possibly make any sort of sense, at all.

Welcome to the Vomitorium.

There was an extremely abrasive, unpleasant, grating, grinding, screeching sound coming from the wall as a portion of stone that was in between two lit torches, raised, creating an open door.

Oh, wonderful. Cyrus groaned. This always meant one thing, It signaled the arrival of a visitor. This is always so much fun. Cyrus sarcastically commented.

There was the sound of footsteps and then a woman stood in front of Cyrus, staring at him with a maniacal gleam in her eyes. She had long, black hair and wore a long, black robe. She pulled from a very deep pocket on her robe, a large, metal fly swatter. The woman swung the fly swatter, hitting Cyrus in the face with it, Cyrus’s head being a few feet above the ground. She did so again and then again. She stopped and looked into Cyrus’s eyes. The woman spoke, clearly bothered, What’s wrong with you?

Nothing, I’m fine. Cyrus replied, attempting to end the line of questioning before it began.

The woman displayed an annoyed look as she scrunched her face. She grabbed Cyrus and shoved his body through the air and he began swaying back and forth while dangling from the ceiling. As Cyrus swayed back to the woman, she smacked him in the face with the fly swatter. Cyrus reached the end of his arc and swayed back the other way. When Cyrus swayed back toward the woman, she grabbed him and stared intently at him. Harshly emphasizing each word, she asked, What is wrong with you?

Really, nothing. Cyrus simply responded, though, the unfiltered answer would have been, I’m upside down, hanging from the ceiling while being hit with a metal fly swatter.

The woman scrunched her face in a scowl. She pushed Cyrus’s body and he began swaying in the air, again. As he swayed back to the woman, she smacked him in the face with the fly swatter.  Cyrus reached the end of his arc and swayed back the other way. When Cyrus swayed back toward the woman, she grabbed him. She spoke with increased agitation, What is your problem?

No problem. No problem, at all. Cyrus declared, hoping that saying this would wrap up her inquiry.

The woman scrunched her face even more. She growled then again shoved Cyrus’s body through the air and he began swaying back and forth while dangling from the ceiling. As Cyrus swayed back to the woman, she smacked him in the face with the fly swatter. Cyrus reached the end of his arc and swayed back the other way. When Cyrus swayed back toward her, she smacked him in the face again with the fly swatter. Cyrus reached the end of his arc and again swayed back to the woman. When he reached her, she again smacked Cyrus in the face with the fly swatter. Cyrus swung and reached the end of his arc and then he approached her again. When he did, the woman grabbed Cyrus and looked into his eyes with a serious stare. She spoke methodically, Tell me, what of the platypus?

What? Cyrus responded, confused.

The woman impatiently tapped her foot on the floor. Tell me about the platypus.

What? Cyrus responded again, having no clue what to make or her questions.

The woman spoke with an angrier, more agitated voice, What did the platypus tell you?

What do you mean? Cyrus asked, entirely confounded.

The woman, more incensed, shouted, What is it that you were told by the Platypus?!

Feeling exasperated by these odd questions, Cyrus blurted out, Nothing. I wasn’t told anything by any platypus.

The woman displayed a very perturbed look on her face. She put the fly swatter back in the pocket of her robe and pulled a hammer from another pocket on her robe. She began swinging the hammer, striking Cyrus in the face and on the head, while screaming, What did the platypus tell you?! What did the platypus say to you?! That’s all I’m asking?! All you have to do is answer my question! The woman stopped hitting Cyrus with the hammer. She spoke with a calmer voice, Now then, what did the platypus tell you?

I don’t know what you’re talking about. Cyrus replied, feeling beleaguered, having no idea what the answer she was looking for could possibly be.

"You know exactly what I’m talking about! I would’ve thought you could be a bit more cooperative. Maybe next time, you’ll be better behaved." The woman then, with a powerful swing, hit Cyrus in the face with the hammer. The woman turned and began walking away. She exited through the open door in the wall. There was then the grating, grinding, screeching sound as the door closed down shut.

Cyrus just dangled above the floor.

The blows Cyrus would sustain to his face and head, actually a regular occurrence around here. When he was struck, he would feel the impact, and the beatings could get quite brutal, and he always felt all of it. Painful, indeed, it definitely was, but the pain only lasted as long as the immediate blow, and then it was gone, until the next blow struck. But, the moment the strikes had finished, the pain was completely gone, so it was an odd sort of torment to have to endure. And, yes, the blows could get quite vicious, to the extent that Cyrus’s flesh should be torn from his face and his bones should be left battered and broken, but the beatings never did any physical damage. When Cyrus would depart the Vomitorium, there wouldn’t be a mark on him.

There was then a grating, grinding, screeching sound of stone moving, coming from the ceiling above. Cyrus knew what this meant.

The place on the ceiling directly above Cyrus opened and there spilled from it, a river of actual shit that poured down, completely covering Cyrus, to the point of suffocation. It stopped and the grating, grinding, screeching sound of the hole in the ceiling above Cyrus closing could be heard as he dangled above the floor, erupting with hacking coughs and vomiting uncontrollably. The vomiting and coughing subsided and eventually stopped and there, Cyrus just dangled, hanging from the ceiling.

The grating, grinding, screeching sound of the door opening in the wall could then be heard. Cyrus heard footsteps approaching. He then saw a man standing in front of him. The man had short, white hair and wore a long, black robe. The man spoke, Very well, then. Your time here is at an end. I hope you’ve learned something that you can put to use, the next time you are here.

________________________

Cyrus opened his eyes. He was sitting on a bench. He pulled out and lit a cigarette. He looked around the scene. There was a red, brick wall in front of him. There were people walking along the path behind him. There was grass, there were trees, some birds, a few squirrels. There were some clouds up in the sky, but mostly it was sunny. Cyrus took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled with a snort. He sighed. He was thinking on many topics, but, really he had one major question that he really was seeking the answer to. That question was, ‘What the fuck was going on?’

Cyrus had visited the Vomitorium. This event had actually occurred many times before. There were numerous occasions when he found himself opening his eyes to the scene, the specifics of the events would differ but the setting was always the same. He would always be hanging, suspended above the floor by tendrils that were attached to him and wrapped around him and he was always hanging from the ceiling of the Vomitorium.

By referring to it as the Vomitorium, that’s not because that was its official name. What was the official name of the structure? Cyrus didn’t have a clue. None of the inhabitants had ever bothered  to reveal it to him. Vomitorium was just the name he had coined to describe it, and he did, indeed, feel it was a very fitting name for the place.

But, how and why was it that he was so frequently transported there? The most obvious answer would be that it was just a recurring dream, or rather, nightmare. The first couple of times that Cyrus wound up in the Vomitorium, he concluded that had to be the only viable explanation. The lack of visible wounds on his face would seem a dead giveaway. But, as the frequency of his being transported there increased, he came to realize that, that wasn’t it, at all. He was, against all rational explanation, actually being physically transported to the Vomitorium.

How could that possibly be? Cyrus would be transported there, he would open his eyes and he would physically be there, and all the wretched interactions and all the grotesque events that would occur would actually happen. One could attempt to counter that it was only occurring in Cyrus’s mind, but Cyrus knew the Vomitorium was real. How? That, he couldn’t possibly explain or understand. But, the Vomitorium was real, and that was all that Cyrus knew for sure.

Cyrus would be the first to admit, it was all very bizarre and incredibly inconceivable. He very much wished there was some way for him to unravel the secrets of the Vomitorium, so that he could understand the nature of it. But, any attempts Cyrus made, just left him spinning in circles and as oblivious to its purpose or reason for its being as he was before asking any questions, at all. There were no answers that Cyrus could find, the Vomitorium just was, and as for Cyrus, he was just transported there again and again, though never knowing why this was happening. It was all very strange, indeed.

An elderly woman, walking with a cane, came walking up to where Cyrus was sitting. She gestured to the bench on which Cyrus sat. Cyrus pointed to the space next to him and asked, Do you want to sit? The elderly woman nodded her head. Go right ahead, you can sit if you want. Cyrus invited. The elderly woman, with a groan, sat down on the bench. She turned to Cyrus and nodded her head. Cyrus nodded back at her. The elderly woman pointed her finger at the cigarette Cyrus was smoking. My cigarette, is it bothering you? Cyrus asked. The elderly woman shook her head, no. Do you want one? Cyrus offered. The elderly woman nodded her head, yes. OK, I’ll give you one. Do you need a light? The elderly woman nodded her head. OK. Cyrus handed the elderly woman a cigarette and she put it in her mouth. Cyrus pulled out his lighter and lit the cigarette for her.

The elderly woman took a drag and exhaled a plume of smoke. She took the cigarette from her mouth and said, Thank you.

No problem. Cyrus responded. Cyrus’s cigarette was at its end so he leaned down and put it out on the ground. Cyrus returned to an upright position and he figured, why not have another. He pulled a new cigarette from his pack and lit it and then Cyrus and the elderly woman sat there on the bench, smoking their cigarettes, both just looking straight ahead, not at each other.

The woman spoke, It’s funny, life doesn’t always go the way you expect it to. It certainly can get a little strange, so that you don’t even really know where you are. You try to make sense of it all but none of it ever makes any sense. You look at yourself and can’t even recognize yourself anymore, because, when you look in the mirror, all you see is this wrinkled, shriveled shell of who you used to be. It’s all rather sad when you stop to think about it.

The woman turned to Cyrus with a mournful look. Cyrus turned to her and nodded sympathetically, Yeah, I’m sorry. he said.

Oh, but, back in the day, things sure were different. A different time, indeed it was. And, how my life was so different than it is now. Why, back then, I was a premier porn star. Had a bit of a habit with the drugs that often got me into trouble, and, oh boy, there were some wild nights. Was actually going out with Johnnie Franchelli. He was an enforcer for the mob, and he really did love me. Every time he performed a hit, he would let me tag along to watch, and when he would stand there with his foot pressed on their neck as they were lying on the floor, with his gun pointed at their head, he would always make them look me in the eyes and say, ‘You are the greatest woman who has ever lived.’ Then, Johnny would turn to me and say, ‘Who loves you, baby.’ Then, he would shoot them in the head. And, I would smile and giggle. I always got such a kick out of that. But, The woman raised her index finger and waved it back and forth, a very resolute look on her face, I never actually did any of the killings, not one. No, that’s where I drew the line. I had children, after all, a son and a daughter, names were Pondscum and Diddelyshit, and, well, I did murder them, of course, but, what else was I supposed to do. They were terrible kids. Yeah, those were the days. Now, I’m just a broken down, creaky, old woman, having to bum cigarettes off a loser, such as yourself. Oh, if I could just go back to the glory days.

Cyrus looked at the woman with an uneasy expression then turned and stared straight ahead. There was a somewhat lengthy, uncomfortable silence as Cyrus and the woman