Saturday, February 14, 2009

Monkey News: Ghost

More monkey news. (c. 2007). For all Monkey News, see the 'monkey news' tag on the left, or click here.


Carl Dilkington here with some spooky Monkey News this week. Got this news with
some cassettes n' all, some recordings n' that, from a bloke I know in the
Paranormal Underground. Can't give you those recordings tho, cos of copyright.
What with the MPAA closin' down n' all. A man has to keep his
cover, even when bringin' the News to the people.

Wasn't going to release this one this week, with it being so Spooky n' all -
don't want to scare anyone, you know, especially kids n' that - but in the end
I figured the News must be let out. So ... let's get down to it, shall we?.

There's this bird, right, Rita. Likes hangin' about in the woods. She's a right
flower girl, yeah, believin' in Nature and all that. Rides her bike to college
instead of drivin' a car like everyone else. Twelve miles. Always turns up with
mud on 'er ankles and that. Doesn't kill the mice in her house - instead she
leaves a bit of cheese out for 'em. Gruyeyeyere or summat. They like that, she
goes, to blokes comin' over to stay for the night n' that, that's the best
flavor. That's the best cheese, accordin' to Rita.

So, turns out, one evenin', Rita's cyclin' back home. Arrives about 7pm, mud all
over her skirt and cakin'. She can't wait to park her bike n' get into a nice
bath with some soothin' dead sea salts, yeah, but there's no lights.

What's goin' on, she wonders. Usually the lights round the shed are turned on
about this time. She looks over to old Mrs. Miggin's house. Strange, she
wonders, ol' biddy's usually in the kitchen 'bout this time. Makin' dinner for
the children. Never mind they've all grown up and moved off, but she usually
still goes into the kitchen. She wonder's if old Mrs. Miggin's alright, but then
she looks at the biddy's shed lights, and those are still on. Strange, thinks
Rita, 'n looks at the Barries' home on the other side. Shed lights on. House
completely dark, but they're usually out at some theater or summat. They don't
come in till about 11.

What's wrong with my bloody lights, thinks Rita, walking her bike up to the
shed. This is right inconvenient - now I'll have to cycle up to the town n' get
some new lights tomorrow. She hopes it's just the shed lights. And what's wrong
with old Mrs. Miggins - why isn't she cookin' tonight? Right about now, you'd
see her silhouette in the window, hobblin' about n' all, prodding around with
her old cane n' pullin' potatoes from the shelves.

She almost up to the shed, yeah, tryin' to find her way in the darkness through
some overgrowin' branches n' that, when something touches her at the back of her
leg. She drops her bicycle and turns quickly, muddy skirts twisting in the wind.

"Who's there?" she calls out, unable to see anything in the darkness.

She hears somethin' scratchin the ground, searchin' around. It touches her leg
again, quickly, then keeps scratchin' away.

"Fuckin' 'ell, who's there?" screams Rita, backin' away from the sound. Then,
the scratchin' stops, yeah, and there's silence. Rita strains a ear in the
darkness, tryin' to peer into it - see what's happening. She takes a step back,
just to pace herself, but there's something behind her, and she trips backwards
over it. As she falls over, she hears a soft creaking sound in front of her.

Like in slow-motion, Rita falls back. She's seein' nothin' but darkness, and
the moon somewhere high above. It's full moon tonight, she thinks to herself
as she goes down. She listens for the creaking sound in front of her, but it's
gone. Then, suddenly, there's a sharp pain at the side of her belly. Crashin'
down, something tears into her left thigh, and her right elbow bangs on a hard
surface, shockin' her. There's a loud crash, like a chainsaw or summat bein'
thrown about. Dazed, Rita looks up and around, but all she can see is the moon.

So now, Rita's like, shit, pull y'self together luv, pull yerself together. She
feels around n' sits herself up by her hands. Eventually, she sighs, and gives
herself a bit of a smile. My bicycle, she says to herself. Fuckin' tripped over
the soddin' bike. In the darkness, she smiles, glad that no one else was witness
to her bein' a right daft cow. She gives herself a breather, feelin' around her
body and massaging the side of her belly. Nasty cut - the chains must've grazed
me there. There's some pieces of glass around her bleeding thigh - ah - the
bicycle light was shattered in the fall.

Rita laughs to herself, n' tries to pull herself up, but then falls down again,
exhausted. She laughs some more, and decides she'll just have a good lie down
for a bit. Bit of a bad fall there, but that's ok. She closes her eyes n'
listens to the crickets. There's a nice, warm buzz accompanying their chirpin',
the sort of sound of - like - summer. In the distance, she hears a soothing owl.
She perks her ears to listen for the sound of the road, wonderin' if she may
be able to hear the children playin' far away in the other houses down the

Hmmph, smiles Rita - strange. No kids playin' about tonight. Just crickets, n'
flyin' insects. And everythin' else about the summer that's so lovely, if you
closed your eyes - and just listened. And soft footsteps in the grass. Wot? Rita
sits up, straining on her hands, straining her ears. There they are
again. Footsteps! In the darkness in front of her - coming at her!

"Who's there?" she calls, into the night. There's no answer. The footsteps get
closer. "Who's there?" screams Rita again, yeah, and there's no answer - just the
steppin' getting closer. She tries to get herself up, but, the wound on the
side of her belly won't let her. She collapses back upon her bike. "Help!"
screams Rita into the darkness. "Help! God, someone, please help me!"

There's no reply. Then, there's a loud bangin' from somewhere on her right. Like
hands bangin' on wood - like drums, even. Rita, turns, squinting, and realizes
the banging is comin' from old Mrs. Miggins' house. Like, from her basement.
Like some angry, desperate fiend wailing to be let out. Like something deeply
wronged and tortured, that wants break out and seek sweet revenge on someone -
anyone! She turns from the bangin' and looks ahead of her. The footsteps are
louder now - gettin' louder as they come. "Someone please help me!" screams
Rita, lost, and unable to see a thing in the darkness of the shed.

"Alright?" says a voice.

"Help me!" screams Rita again, pleadin' to God one of the neighbors was around.

"Rita?" says the voice.

Rita tries to get a hold of her breath. "Charles?" she gasps.

"What's wrong?" says the voice. "I just parked my bike here, and you started
screamin'". A hand comes out of the darkness and picks Rita up.

"Oh, Charles!" says Rita, grabbin' a hold of him, "Oh, Charles, I thought..."


"I thought ... " Then she pulls herself together. "My God Charles, I have been
such a buffoon!". Rita laughs out, hysterically.

"Alright luv, calm down, calm down," says Charles. "What's goin' on?"

"The darkness - the - the - I fell - and - the - f-footsteps - Charles - oh,
Charles - I have been so stupid! I thought you were a ghost!"

"A ghost?" asks Charles.

"I - I heard a creaking - a scratchin' - like - like old Mrs. Miggins -"

"Yeah, I was tryin' to get me motorcycle's stand down" says Charles.

Rita bursts out laughing. "Your motorcycle's stand? Oh my god, Charles - and
here I - haaa haa - I thought Mrs. Miggins was dead, and was come to haunt me!"

"Mrs. Miggins?" asks Charles, incredulously, enjoying the feeling of Rita's
breasts against him. "Now there, Rita - a little too much cyclin' perhaps, eh?"

"Sod off," laughs Rita, pushing him affectionately. "You tellin' me it took you
that long to catch up?"

"I was ridin' really, really slow. So's to let you bike happily," goes Charles.

"I love you, Charles," says Rita.

"You love a lot of blokes, Rita," replies Charles, laughin'. "Ah well. Let's
pick your bike up, 'n get in, shall we? You won't guess what I have in my
pocket here..."

"Dead Sea Salts?" says Rita, eyes brightenin' up like clovers.

"No less, no less."

"Right. Let's do it." They pick the bike up together and go up to the shed.
"Let's just dump it here, shall we?" says Rita. "I'll fix it up in the mornin'".

"Sounds good to me luv," says Charles, moving her out of the way and slamming
the shed door down.

Immediately, loud banging erupts again. "Wot's that?" asks Charles.

"That wasn't you?" asks Rita. "I thought that was something to do with you!"

"Why would I be bangin' around like that?" asks Charles. He listens to the
sound again. "And gruntin' like that?"

Rita turns towards the sound. "Charles," she goes, "Mrs. Miggin's light - it's
not on tonight!"


"Her light is always on, Charles." She creeps closer to to him, and they both
look at Mrs. Miggin's dark house. "I'm worried about her Charles. We need to
find out if she's okay..."

"Rita - let's just head in n' call the Bill. They'll know how to handle it..."

"Charles - no. Mrs. Miggins was always wonderful to me - we must go check on

"Blast this" says Charles, but Rita's already pulling him along toward Mrs.
Miggin's back door.


"No lights," says Charles, flicking the switch as they walk in. "There's no more
bangin' either. Maybe she was just angry, Rita - cos of our noise n' that,
maybe she's well into bed by now."

"Don't be daft Charles," goes Rita, as they inch into the dark house, "she's
always up around this time, cookin' for her kids."


Rita rolls her eyes. "Yea - they're all up n' gone off now, but she still likes
to pretend."

Charles like, squints his eyes, yeah, seein' summat on the fridge door in the
kitchen. "There's a n-" he goes, and suddenly falls, yelling "Bloody 'ell!"

"Charles, Charles," yells Rita, runnin' after him. Half-blind, she trips over
Charles and crashes onto the kitchen floor in front on him. A fruit bowl on the
counter by her comes crashin' down and breaks upon her head.

"Rita! Rita!" she hears Charles call.

"Hmmphsh" says Rita, rubbin' her head n' that.


"Wot?" asks Rita, gettin' up, woozily. Everythin's a blur now - she can't see
nuffink. She squints, n' sees what looks like Charles pointin' down at the
floor and then pointin' up at the fridge. Then, the loud banging starts again.
Between the bangs, Rita hears a desperate, animal like grunting. She turns and
sees it's comin' from the basement.

"Poor Mrs. Miggins!" she yells. "She's trapped in there!" Dazed, and vision
still blurred, she ambles to the basement door. Suddenly, Charles' arms come
around her.

"Stop, Rita, stop! It's not what you think!"

"Mrs. Miggins!" yells Rita, and the bangin' downstairs gets louder. "We must
save her"

"Rita, look!" says Charles. "Look!"

She follows his hands pointing up and down. "Mrs. Miggins is dead, Rita!"

"No!" screams Rita. "Wot?"

"She's dead, look!" Rita looks where Charles is pointin'. In her blurry vision,
she sees a shabby, furry lookin' figure, sprawled over the kitchen floor.

"You wot?" cries Rita, confused. "Mrs. Miggins? She's a - she's monkey???"

"No, luv," says Charles, running over and taking her in his arms. "No, she's
just wearin' 'er angora ... but look", he says, pointing.

As the banging below gets louder and louder, Rita drunkenly follows Charles'
finger, to the fridge door - to a little note stuck on with a magnet.

"Dear sir or madam," it says.

"In the event of my unexpected demise, please be shore to come here, to this
place, every night..."

"Wot? Wot?" cries Rita, readin' on.

"... and prepare some dinner for my dear Koko wot I keep down in the basement,
and wot has kept me company well into my old years."

Alright. That's this week's news. Spoo-ooo-key! Hope that didn't shake you up
too much. Cheers and have a great weekend, and let me know if you see little
dark shadows messin' about in yer room through the corners of your eyes..

Carl Dilkington,
Dartford, Kent.

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