Observations… by Roz White

Mark Hayes

Oct 13

As is my want in October I have opened up the blog to guest posts, in part to encourage those shy retiring beasts writers to leave there shells and case a little light on the thoughts that pass for what we shall laughingly called sanity, in there minds. Sometimes this leads to strange and wonderful places as authors are a strange lot as a whole... Occasionally they just write a piece of fiction but we let them off as its an entertaining bit of fiction. Also I do this all the time so who am I to argue...

What follows therefore is a story by Roz White, from the perspective of one of her creations Professor Prudence Weatherpenny, whom is the principal character of one Roz's series. And not entire true to her name as she does seem a little imprudent at times*

*yes you have heard that joke before, its in my Play 'The Drag king in Yellow' and no it wasn't particularly funny then either...

Observations on the Potential Arising of Demons or other Apparitions in Unexpected Places such as Food: (by Roz White)

From the Notebooks and Journals of Professor Prudence Weatherpenny

A knife can be a very dangerous thing, it appears. Now, I appreciate that this might appear to be a totally obvious and indeed superfluous statement: knives on the whole are intended to be dangerous, it is the very point of them (forgive the pun).

But on this occasion, the knives and other implements I and some of my associates carry on a day-to-day basis are not the subject of my musings, oh no. This time, it has been brought home to me rather forcefully that even allowing for its serrations, a bread-knife can be a bringer of doom, destruction and danger.

I had better explain, perhaps. It was a fairly ordinary day - well, actually, given that I began it in my own bed, in my own house, it was really not that ordinary; being a Professor of the Arcane, the Peculiar and the plain, downright Weird, a night in one's own bed - a night unassailed by demons, ghosts or other supernatural denizens of the night, to boot! - is a rare and wondrous thing indeed. I actually awoke refreshed and bright-eyed - relishing the feeling of a soft mattress and a warm blanket over me, if I am being frank. There have been too many instances just lately of attempting to sleep on park-benches, railway-platforms, the floors of various hostelries…

But to resume: I awoke, I rose from my bed and, clad in a dressing-gown over my night-wear and a warm pair of slippers, proceeded downstairs. Sadly the marvel of a regular night's sleep had not extended to the roiling Realm of Chaos that is my kitchen, and the mess of the last… er… well, as I have explained already, I am not often at home these days. I really should advertise for a housekeeper, except that I doubt I could persuade any of quality to suffer the surprises and peculiarities my house tends to extend to visitors. For similar reasons, I rather think getting a maid is also out of the question.

I eventually found the kettle, however, and after a little further exploration discovered the range to be lit and ready for me. The tea-caddy appears largely immune to the insanity that often surrounds it, thankfully, and my cups are kept (usually) in a securely locked cupboard in an attempt to curb their more adventurous natures. So there was every likelihood of tea in due course; what, I wondered, did I wish to have with it? Another look towards the range suggested that attempting to fry anything might not be appreciated just then, and there was no guarantee that the bacon was still edible, nor that any leftover eggs had not hatched into… something. Perhaps some toast-and-honey?

My honey generally comes from a reliable source, and after a thousand or two years in a dry, underground environment does not appear to have suffered unduly. But did I have bread? I made a cautious way through the kitchen, around the table and the laundry-rack (which has a habit of lying in ambush for me if I am unwary), towards the pantry where the bread-bin resides. Yes, there was bread! It wasn't even showing signs of changing colour or growing a fur-coat yet, so toast could well be on the menu.

And now, Esteemed Colleagues, we come back to the bread-knife, with my apologies for what might appear to be interminable rambling - but I do feel it important to set the scene, as it were. I took up the aforementioned implement - it acquiesced readily enough - and cut into the bread; but! Imagine my shock and surprise when, instead of the well-baked and even-coloured image of bread I might have expected, I found holes - holes in the form of a face!

Not a very happy face, either, I have to say: two apertures resided just below the crust, as if using it as eyebrows, and a larger one where a mouth might be imagined, its corners turned down as if howling, or perhaps simply enraged at being disturbed. In fairness, I do wonder how I might react if my own head were suddenly cut into; conversely, I had spent good pennies on this loaf and I wanted toast! So I made another cut, thereby isolating this potentially demonic slice, skewered it with my toasting-fork and proceeded back to the range in order to brown it sufficiently for my honey to melt. I rather hastily put the rest of the loaf back into the bread-bin, and I have not found the fortitude to examine it since.

That is also a matter of some concern, if I am being totally honest. I ate the toast, it was very good, and I am not aware of any after-effects in my physiology. But what of the loaf from which it came? Is it still angry with me? Is it, even now, hatching plans for some worrying and demonic form of vengeance? Just whose face have I eaten?

Moreover, what if mine was not the only such loaf? What if the very Bakery itself was the target of this otherworldly infestation and we now face an attack from the very hearts of all our kitchens and pantries? I think what concerns me most of all about such an occurrence is that in all probability I will have to venture out from my fireside to unearth and then deal with such an event, and I was already rather getting fond of sleeping in my own soft bed!

Respectfully Submitted to The Society,

Prudence Weatherpenny (Professor) (Independent)