Aagrah in the Afternoon Supernatural Special
 The theme tune played. The applause prompts lit up so the audience knew to clap and cheer. Given this particular audience the producers hadn’t risked using the actual word ‘Applause’ but had got a red flashing graphic of two hands smacking together. Most of the viewers could manage that with a little coaching.
The lights came up to pick out a fat black woman in a power suit sitting in a reinforced business chair. “Good day folks, and welcome to another Aagrah in the Afternoon,” Aagrah said, smiling at the cameras. “And in a very special edition this afternoon we’ll be asking the question: The Supernatural – Creepy or What?”
“Ack,” winced Vinnie De Soth on the couch next to her. “I need the money. I need the money…”
“With me today are some very special guests. Here to my left is Mystic Morgana, who correctly predicted recently that a horse would win the National Derby, and who in fact has been right about that every single year for the last nine years.”
“Except for that time with the unexpected water-buffalo,” Morgana had to admit. She rubbed her hands nervously on her bright purple headscarf. “But it was horses all the other times. The spirits do not lie.”
“They lie,” muttered the shaved-headed man in the military fatigues next to her. “They lie and cheat and steal your girlfriend. They’re evil, all of them, evil, and they must be stamped out.”
“Sergeant Amidus Rudd of the New Djinn Army,” Aagrah introduced the twitching paramilitary. “Following on the work of famous debunker Desmond Djinn, the NDA continue to debunk supernatural fraud and seek out occult interference.”
“With Uzis,” Rudd promised. “We debunk ‘em at three hundred rounds a minute.”
“I need the money. I need the money…”
“Here on my right, high priestess and senior psychopomp of the Church of the Coming Apostate, Mother Bartok,” pressed on Aagrah.
“Actually, I’ve just been promoted to the rank of Popette,” Mother Bartok revealed to the audience and the folks at home. “Or at least Acting Popette, until the master arrives to sign the proper documentation. And the Apostate is coming, be very sure of that.”
“We’ll need to buy more ammo then,” muttered Rudd.
“But he won’t win the Derby,” sensed Mystic Morgana.
“I never asked for a major ectoplasmic event in my bedroom,” Vinnie told himself. “It’s not like the walls were that well decorated even before Vasto the Wonder Frog exploded in there. But now Alto’s all ‘You owe me seven hundred bucks for the property damage’, like he’s never had an incursion of Brainless Ones from the Dreary Dimension thundering through his shop before…”
“And finally, from the dark alleys of Gothametropolis York, we have dashing occult lifestyle and feng-shui consultant Vincent De Soth,” announced Aagrah. “Give them a big hand.”
“I’m not dashing,” Vinnie objected. “I’m usually pretty prompt. At least when my Ghost Taxi turns up.”
The audience spotted the clapping hands symbols on the monitors and therefore clapped. Some cheered and hooted. They were easily confused. One farted.
“Before we go on, I’d like to make an announcement,” announced Mother Bartok. “Praise be to the glorious Apostate and death to his enemy the blasphemous Visionary.”
“I’m sensing some hostility here,” warned Mystic Morgana, clutching her eyebrows and tinkling her industrial-strength earrings.
“I think you’re confusing your blasphemies,” Vinnie noted to Bartok. “The Shoggoth is blasphemous. Also loathsome, rugose, squamous, and gelid. Vizh is possibly fake.”
“But not bulletproof,” gloated Sergeant Rudd.
“Fine, well that’s cleared up then,” Aaagrah declared. “So moving on to our first question…”
“But Visionary must go,” Mother Bartok insisted. “While he exists our master will not return to bring harmony and order back to the Parodyverse. We have called a holy jihad to expunge the evil that is Visionary from all creation.”
“Jihads are good,” admitted Rudd. “And crusades. And inquisitions. We should have an inquisition.”
“I’m sensing aggression,” warned Mystic Morgana.
“Sense a nutter playing with a Ka-Bar,” suggested Vinnie. “Look, everyone knows that the Church of the Apostate is a tax scam. Most of its members were Parody Master cultists before the PM got his butt whipped. Now they’ve just changed their logo and crossed out the outdated bits on their letterhead.”
“You too blaspheme and must be destroyed!” Mother Bartok declared. “I happen to be Popette you know. At least Acting Popette.”
Vinnie leaned forward to Morgana. “Are you sensing massive swollen egos yet?” he asked her. “Or massive bullshit?”
“So our first question, from the audience,” Aagrah prompted. “Now.”
A young woman from Spokenheim, Ohio rose to random applause. “Is there anything what can be done about that alien what keeps coming into my house and shtupping me?” she demanded.
“I need the money…” Vinnie repeated his mantra.
“I’m sensing great passion,” Mystic Morgana shared. “Passion from beyond the grave.”
“You go girl!” Aagrag supported her sister from the trailer park. “You take all that supernatural extraterrestrial loving you can!”
“Should be possible to set detonation charges all round the bed and trigger them with a laser tag remote,” considered Rudd, checking the sack at his feet. “Maybe fifteen pounds of Semtex…”
“This alien,” Vinnie sighed, questioning the querent, “what does he look like?”
“Well that’s the spooky part,” the young woman in the boob tube replied. “He looks exactly like my neighbour Mervyn.”
“That is spooky,” Morgana agreed. “The dark forces gather!”
“Or,” Vinnie suggested, “and this is just a wild guess, but is there any chance your midnight visitor actually could be your neighbour Mervyn?”
“Best shoot him to make sure,” advised Rudd. “Or napalm. Napalm would work.”
“Mervyn?” shuddered the woman. “It can’t be Mervyn. That would be gross!”
“Whereas shtupping an alien would be better?” Vinnie summarised. “Can we go on to the next question. Please?”
“I sense you will be very happy with Mervyn,” Mystic Morgana assured the stricken Ohian.
“Cheez, his wife won’t like it,” she replied. “And those other three aliens that come round for sex, what look like Clyde, Benny, and Ricky are gonna be really pissed.”
“Our next question for our guests,” prompted Aagrah.
A fat man in an X-Files t-shirt stood up. “Is there, like, this major government conspiracy to, like, cover stuff up? Like when they cancelled Star Trek: Enterprise?”
“I’m sensing that series really sucked,” Mystic Morgana responded. “I’m channelling the spirit of William Shatner. Right. Now.”
“William Shatner’s not dead,” pointed out Vinnie de Soth.
“Damn… straight…” replied Mystic Morgana is a deep, irregularly paced voice. “And if you. Start. My fight. Music. Rightnow. I’ll prove. It.”
“And even now her voice isn’t as deep as Mother Bartok’s,” noted Vinnie.
“Of course there’s a government cover up!” blurted Rudd. “They’re all in league with the forces of the supernatural. They allow demon-worshipping Sorceresses and elder beings into their superhero teams. They spirit away children to feed to hellhounds in secret camps and they ticket your car just to persecute you when you park in a disabled spot outside city hall to picket the Mayor. This is what comes of allowing people to play Dungeons and Dragons! You were all warned!”
“The only true way to peace is to surrender yourself wholly to the Apostate,” advised Mother Bartok. “And to donate to our toll-free number. This week there’s a free calendar on all contributions over $100.”
“Sure, there’s a cover-up,” Vinnie admitted. “Lots of them. But I can’t tell you about it, because then I’d have to kill you. I want to right now.”
“You cannot possess this woman because you are not dead, Captain,” Mystic Morgana told herself with a quirk of her eyebrow. “That would not be logical.”
“Possessed?” growled Sergeant Rudd. The NDA took a dim and usually ballistic view of supernatural possession.
“Can we go to our next question, please?” prompted Aagrah.
A tall man on the front row stood up and threw off his cape. “Do you realise that you are all about to die?” he demanded.
Mystic Morgana paused in mid self-analysis. “What?” she worried. “I’m sensing great… bad things.”
Aagrah half rose from her chair before her weight bore her back down again. “Marvin?” she recognised, frowning. “They said you were dead.”
“Dead?” spat Marvellous Marv, Psychic to the Stars. “Only my career is dead, spat upon by talentless mass media nonentities like you! Here you are, hosting a special on the supernatural, and I was not even invited!”
“Hold on,” Rudd scowled. “Marvellous Marv? We have a file on him.”
“He’s dead, Jim?” questioned Mystic Morgana.
“Psychotic psychic last seen falling to dreadful dimensions,” Vinnie De Soth summarised. “I’d say we’ve got to the enemy attack part of the episode.”
“Attack?” Mother Bartok shook her head. “I happen to be Popette, you know! We did a press release.”
Marvellous Marv gestured, slamming every exit shut with his amplified psionic gifts. “Prepare to meet your dooms,” he demanded. “Here, in front of an afternoon audience of one point two million according to an average of national polling data.”
“One point four million,” snapped Aagrah, “and rich in high target advertising demographics in the B1 and B2 categories, plus…”
“Don’t worry!” Rudd assured them. “I’ve brought hollow-point sniper bullets!” He tried to reach for his bag but found his muscles locked in place. “What?”
Marv held up a small crystal. “The Talisman of All-Dooming!” he crowed. “It amplifies occult energies around it, turning me into a psychic powerhouse! And now I shall destroy Aagrah and her guests, and reign supreme in the world of midweek afternoon live chat programming once again!”
“It doesn’t work like that!” objected Vinnie.
“It really does,” Mystic Morgana warned him. “On-screen live death matches between rival show hosts is a well-established ratings booster by now.”
“Maybe we could get Visionary a show?” speculated Mother Bartok thoughtfully. “If they’d give one to Space Ghost…”
“And now you die!” screeched Marvellous Marv, making sure the cameras got his good side. He channelled his will into the talisman of All-Dooming and commanded it to snuff out the lives of his adversaries.
Vinnie held his hand up. “One point. That Talisman amplifies magics. So you can use it to amp up your psychic energies and do bad things to people. But it’s also amplifying the defensive magics I’m carrying around in my pockets and stuff. And also the anti-perspirant cantrip I worked before I came on camera, which I’m very glad about right now. So we’re really back to square one.”
Marvellous Marv looked a little nonplussed. “Damn.”
“I sense violence coming,” Mystic Morgana warned. “Great violence.”
“Yes. Fear me yet!” announced Marv. “For I have not come unprepared. Although my Amulet of All-Dooming is thwarted for now, I can still…”
Aagrah rose from her chair and thundered towards the rival host as if he was a club sandwich with extra bacon. An animal scream rose from her throat. She defended her territory.
“Ooh, that hurts,” winced Mother Bartok, watching. “I know.”
“We’re still getting paid for this, right?” checked Vinnie de Soth.
Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2008 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2008 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Ian Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. |
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