Silky’s Lake Pt. 1 by Aramis Zepeda

Hi everyone!

I honestly hope you guys still like me despite my tendency to hop from story to story. I can’t help it. I promise this one will only have two parts though, promise, promise. I hope you enjoy it.

Sincerely,

Aramouz’

P.S.- This story is dedicated to my good friend, Silky Bottlebum.

P.S.S.- Kyara’s early today and I’m late 🙂


Six or so months ago, during the fall, Grall Silky had decided he was tired of the city life. In addition to the fact he didn’t really love people, let alone the crowds present in the city, King Gelasticus VI had recently instituted an addition to the existing code of law, which government experts commonly dubbed ‘Alarm Clock Legislation.’ Thanks to the Alarm Clock Legislation, a new government agency had been created, the WWNNA (Wakey Wakey, Night Night Agency), which at a street level was mostly comprised of special knights with the sole duty of waking up the citizens of New Gelastica at 6 A.M. through the use of trumpet choruses, and special knights chastising citizens who were up past 8 P.M., which was the new, city-wide, bed-time. In extreme cases, the WWNNA knights were allowed to rock-a-bye citizens to sleep- by force. Considering Grall Silky was a night-guard at The Museum for Night Things That Can Only Be Done Between 8 P.M. And 6 P.M., and the King took no regard in his job when writing up the Alarm Clock Legislation, Grall was pretty sick of having to break the law every night, and then being forced to not sleep the next day, at the demand of Soft Cell’s Tainted Love on trumpets. After not sleeping for a week, Silky decided it was time to move, so he gave the museum three week’s notice of his resignation, and two weeks later he was in the hospital from lack of sleep. He recovered after a week of non-stop sleep, and shortly afterward, he packed his bags, and moved to the shore of a lake called Lake Silky’s Den In The Spring. He thought that perhaps he had some relatives there, based on the name, so he might find some place to stay one or two weeks while he found a new job.

Once he arrived, however, he soon found out that the lake and surrounding area was largely abandoned, apart from a crazy older gentleman by the name of Crazius Oldus Gentlemanius.

“Well, well, well,” Crazius snickered when he first met Grall Silky, “if it ain’t ma two-timin’ pancake-lickin’ sugar-flickin’ cookie-frickin’ pretzel-twistin’ sandwich-kneadin’ nose-pickin’ value-packin’ cupcake-nickin’…”

Crazius’ sentence slowed down and slurred into incoherence until he finally stopped and looked sadly at Grall.

“Cupcake-nickin’ what?” Grall asked in confusion.

“Well, well, well,” Crazius snickered, “if it ain’t ma two-timin’ pancake-lickin’ sugar-flickin’-”

And that line was all that Grall ever managed to get out of Crazius. Grall didn’t even know Crazius’ name- only you and me know.

“Well, I know now that you’ve said it,” replied Grall.

No you don’t, I’m the narrator, you can’t hear me.

“Yes I can, I moved to Lake Silky’s Den In The Spring because you said it. It was your idea.”

And suddenly, a falling coconut smacked Grall Silky’s head and he suffered slight amnesia from the injury. Grall fell to floor after the coconut smacked him, and he spoke-

“Where am I? What is this place? Who am I?”

No, no, that’s not right. You didn’t lose ALL your memory, you just forgot about Crazius’ name

“Who’s Crazius? Who are you? Are you God?”

After being replaced by an understudy, the new Grall Silky explored the shore of the lake, until he found an abandoned hut covered with palm-tree leaves, which he decided to make his new home. He was very pleased with his new lifestyle for the first few months of his new residency. He slept for as long as he pleased, and the only sounds to ever meet his ears were that of a pleasant family of barber-shop quartet songbirds which only sang with his permission, the sound of the soft breeze flowing through the trees, and the gently lapping waves against Lake Silky’s Den In The Spring’s shore. He didn’t even have to find a job because the jungle around the hut gave him all he needed. Giant mangoes grew fresh from the giant mango trees every day, bottles of purified water grew from the bottles of purified water tree, indoor plumbing grew from the indoor plumbing tree, and most importantly, late night television grew from the light night television tree. Grall was extremely satisfied with the new, isolated and peaceful living conditions he encountered on Lake Silky’s Den In The Spring. He only wondered why it was called Lake Silky’s Den In The Spring. There was no silk tree. No silk traders. None of his family members lived there. Perhaps it was something related to the lake’s history. He decided not to worry to find out why, as he would most likely find out in the spring.

One morning, six months after moving from the city, Grall was awoken early in the morning, before the sun had even come out, at the sound of something that sounded like a sound, which was similar to what a dangerously obese dog-cat hybrid would sound like if it saw a mail-man.

Grall’s eyes snapped open, sending crusty eye-boogers flying across the room as they did.

“What in the world?” Grall slobbered as he looked around the hut in dismay, and promptly let out a small cry before burying his head under his pillow. The pillow brought little relief from the atrociously early ocks (ocks sounded like the perfect reasonable word for the sounds, but if the onomatopoeia was to be more precise, it would be something like OCK! OCK! OCK! to describe how prevalence of the sound), and after thirty minutes of tortured semi-awakeness, Grall climbed out of bed and to the window, and yelped for the offenders to, “SHUT UP!” as loud as his body allowed. The sound stopped for a few seconds, but then multiplied and increased in volume. Grall shed a few tears, before deciding to confront the offenders head on. He marched from his hut, and marched toward the edge of the lake (where the sound was coming from), ready to give the offenders a peace of his mind.

Rather than drug-crazed teenagers partying until they became purple, or a league of giants choking on a handful of skittles, Grall found something that shocked him to his core, and made his blood run cold. On the lake’s edge, lay a small army of seals, sprawled and yapping incessantly.

To be continued…

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