Master Scutcheon Bugleblower of Hopeless Maine has recently released a new beverage from his coffee concoctionary (otherwise known as his cellar). Master Scutcheon is well known for his Brown Lining coffee shop, where he has sold many strange and very brown coffees to the unfortunate souls who were lured in by the promise of ‘Genuine Coffee Liquid in A Cup’.
This new beverage has been named by Master Scutcheon as ‘Hairy Coffee’. After having left a cup of coffee lying about for several weeks and accidentally sprinkling exotic fungi spores into it, Scutcheon found himself confronted one morning by a large cup coated with hair, underneath which when he had managed to summon up enough gumption, he found lurking some coffee whose taste sent him into an ‘exquisite reverie’ that made him fall in love with coffee again and renew his vows to the Goddess Kafeteria.
Scutcheon then proceeded to find out how he had created this hairy coffee and having spent several months obsessively perfecting the right amount of fungi spores needed to create the ideal coating of hair, he finally announced from his shop door the dawn of a new age in coffee culture. Scutcheon has strong views about what constitutes real coffee, which he proudly tells anyone who asks, were passed down from his grandmother. Real coffee as he believes is all about the Brown Lining. This he will not elaborate on, so zealous is he about keeping his coffee recipes secret, but as drinkers of his coffee will tell you: ‘Brown and more brown, combining into a strata of solid brownness upon which you can rotate your finger for up to a minute without anything giving way’ often is what you find Scutcheon making and serving you.
A Hairy Coffee public trial day was held last week at the Brown Lining, where Scutcheon appeared apparelled unfailingly in his brown matching breeches, jacket, waistcoat, and tricorn hat. Several individuals participated, whether they were tricked into it or chose out of their own will, is as yet unknown. The Hairy Coffee was reverentially served with several of his stale biscuits from the bottom of the tin. At the time of the drinking Scutcheon gave a libation to the Goddess Kafeteria, and then he began to chew meditatively on one of his finest stale biscuits, enjoying the sound from the kitchen of his huge greasy coffee vat slowly congealing. The Hairy Coffee was particularly hairy that morning.
Hopeless, Maine sits in a particularly cold and damp pocket of Casco bay and is hardly a tropical isle. Thanks to the efforts of two recently discovered residents though, it has just become much, much cooler.
Derek Dubery and Lisa Cunningham-Black have heroically donned Hopeless, Maine attire and done a series of photos for us. We (it hardly needs to be said) are over the mist-enshrouded moon.
So, without further ado, please allow me to introduce you to our new found islanders, they are “Captain” Jerrimiah Thomson Flynn and Bonnie Black. (It’s unknown whether the Captain title is genuine or not) If Bonnie and Clyde were to have been born off the coast of Maine, it likely would have been these two. The Captain has at some point in his “career” led a group of local brigands, but they have disappeared under suspicious circumstances. Not long after this, he was seen in the constant company of the young lady pictured. When asked their feelings regarding the underground residents of the island, they expressed a willingness to go “which ever way the wind blows”.
This reporter is not entirely certain they can be trusted, but they are certainly stimulating company.
LOCAL WOMAN TAKES THE PLUNGE AND OPENS GALLERY OUT ON GEEZO’S BIGHT
Local artist, Fuschia Van Der Hvergulmir, has taken the plunge and opened a gallery out on the small bay known as Geezo’s Bight which is situated on the northern coast of Hopeless.
The designer, who has previously had her work exhibited in the town hall, makes jewelry and ‘objets d’art’ from items that she discovers in the pit near Geezo’s Bight.
‘I’ve been exploring the pit for a few years now’ Mrs Van Der Hvergulmir told Frampton Jones of the Vendetta ‘ I used to beach comb but that became problematic when an albino seal (at least I think it was a seal) got very territorial and took to chasing me away every time I went down to the beach.’
‘Then I discovered the pit when out for a walk with my husband and our dog, Pepper. I still haven’t got to the bottom of it yet!’ She laughs.
Mrs Van Der Hvergulmir said that she and her husband Glenn thought long and hard about opening her own gallery given the current bleak economic outlook, but decided she would regret it if she did not at least try.
‘I’m really excited’ she said.
“I’ve had a really positive response – fellow businesses have been particularly supportive – and so far we have had five customers since we opened our doors three months ago.’
Mrs Van Der Hvergulmir has built a workshop at the back of the gallery so she can make jewelery while being on hand for customers.
The jewelry and ‘pieces’ themselves are somewhat hard to describe given the strange quality of the materials used. This reporter particularly liked a crouching figure made from a sort of crumbly pumice stone entitled ‘Lier-in-wait’ and also a necklace made of a dark viscous substance that gives off a dull brown radiance.
The Van Der Hvergulmir Gallery produces one-off commissions, including engagement rings and is open to the public on Saturday between the hours of 1.00pm to 3.00pm.
(This Vendetta contribution was written by Charles Cutting, of http://charlescutting.com/ author and illustrator of the most excellent graphic novel – Kadath. Art on this piece by Tom Brown.)
Last week’s thunderstorms and wild seas cast a great many fish onto the bridge, and our platform out on the Devil’s Fingers. Amongst the more usual residents of the ocean, was a mermaid. Once the storm abated, her enthralling singing drew many folks towards the bridge. Those of us who remember the last such experience stuffed our ears with wax and fabric to keep the singing out, and mounted a barrier on the bridge to keep people at a safe distance. Some of our younger men (my unfortunate nephew included) made efforts to get out to the mermaid, but we were able to keep them safe.
Our venerable Doc Willoughby, who really should know better, was completely overwhelmed, and, unable to gain the bridge, threw himself into the sea. He was fortunate, his clothing prevented swimming, and the mermaid herself was unable to get down from the platform, or else he would surely have been drowned and eaten. Jed Grimes had to knock him unconscious before the good Doctor could safely be returned to dry land.
When Doc Willoughby regained consciousness, and had his ears blocked, he was all for a few of us going down the bridge and ‘killing the ghastly creature’. There was much support for this and some folks went so far as to arm themselves. However, Sophie Davies made a plea for compassion. She asked if anyone had the decency to return the mermaid to the water. Not a single man offered to help. (In my defence, I was preoccupied with keeping the bridge closed). Annamarie Nightshade stepped forward however. We were treated to the unlikely sight of the Reverend’s wife and the resident witch assisting the mermaid back into the water. Despite their fierce reputations, the creature did not attack either woman, and made a rapid exit. It is said to be tremendously bad luck to kill one, but worse luck still to be lured by their fatal music.
I am pleased to announce that the repair of our church organ has been an almost complete success. Testimony Albatross’s fabulous device has been repaired by Balthazar Lemon, with some curious additions. The repaired organ was played this Sunday by Mrs Sophie Davies, and the music delighted everyone. Some doubts remain however, over the smells the organ now releases. The original Testimony Albatross design included a large tank, the purpose of which no one had truly understood. It is now full of fish (see photograph). I suspect it is no coincidence that, when played, the organ now fills the church with a distinctly fishy smell.
Questioned on the matter, Balthazar Lemon said, “It’s obvious this is how the organ was designed. It sounds better now.” He has a point. Filling the tank seems necessary. Lemon continued, “The organ is a thing of beauty, designed to bring us closer to God, through sound, scent and visual impact.” I asked him why he had filled the tank with fish, and not, for example with flowers, fruit or some other more appealing thing. He responded by saying, “What do you think God smells like?”
I delayed the Vendetta this week so that we could use it to celebrate a most historic moment. I am proud to present an image of The Hopeless Civic Band performing at the grand opening of the bridge. It is now possible for people to walk all the way out to The Devil’s Fingers, where platforms have been built, allowing visitors to view the sea. This crowning achievement of modern technology, engineering and determination was greeted with great enthusiasm and a party that lasted well into the night.
A rather unfortunate fight between Malcolm Atilla, and Jim ‘Lardbucket’ Smote, caused several sections of balustrade around the centre of the bridge to collapse under the shock. Repairs begin on Monday, but despite Jim ‘Lardbucket’ Smote being cast into the sea, the bridge is entirely safe to use. It provides some excellent and new views of the sea, and the fishing from here is very good, by all accounts. Most importantly, this completed first stage will enable us to strike out further, and eventually reach the mainland.
I can only apologise for my neglecting of the Vendetta last week and the shoddy excuse for journalism you were forced to endure in my absence. Although it is true that Shrove Tuesday Jones recently gave birth to a horned baby, but the horn is far smaller than the turkey image may have lead you to believe.
The news is that tremendous progress has been made on the bridge. We’ve taken advantage of the warmer weather and calmer seas to get some serious building work done. The bridge itself has been successfully tethered to the Devil’s Fingers, and it won’t be long before it will be possible to walk out to the small island. Plans are afoot for a celebratory party once we reach land. We’ve all learned a lot during this stage, insight that will serve us well as we make the next stage from The Devil’s fingers. Balthazar Lemon has made a spying glass and we are searching for other rock outcrops to work with, or signs of the mainland. I am confident that we will soon be back in touch with civilization!
Frampton Jones is really busy with the bridge, and its going really well, but he’s forgotten what day it is, so yours truly gets to write the news. And the news is that my little sister Shrove Tuesday Jones has given birth to a freak. Seriously people, I have seen it. She won’t let me take any pictures though. But what makes it really weird, is that my cousin Mendip Jones had a turkey born a bit back and it’s got the same freakish problem going on as my nephew. Have you ever seen a forehead horn like that on a turkey before? Mendip’s been getting ones with side horns for years, but this is a whole new kind of strange. Really, you should see the baby though. Go and visit her. It’s well worth a look.
Now, I got to thinking that really this must mean something, having a turkey and a baby turn up about the same time and both of them having a horn growing out of the tops of their heads. That can’t be just coincidence. Shrove Tuesday Jones has not named the father, and our father is on the warpath, I can tell you. I reckon there’s something unnatural going on. I asked Reverend Jones if he thought it meant something, and he said ‘Probably not,’ but he hasn’t seen either of them.
So, if you see a guy who has a horn like this growing out of his head, you’d better keep your daughters and sisters safe from him. And your turkeys. And we should check out anyone with a big hat, in case they are trying to hide a horn under it.
This week I finally captured an image of some creatures. I have not yet decided on names for them, or worked out if they are in fact related to any other creatures known to us. I had been studying tracks for some weeks before I was able to record an image. I am not sure if the beings to right and left of the image are related or not, but wanted to share the discovery.
It continues to amaze me how few people notice the non-human occupants of our island. Many people debated the existence of spoonwalkers with me, despite the overwhelming evidence of their activities. The week before last several people suggested that our peculiar visitor was not a creature at all. Although admittedly both of them dropped the issue after they saw it eat Boris’s dog.
I do still find myself wondering sometimes if I see things that other people do not. During the unfortunate camera business, it became apparent for a while at least, that no one else saw as I did. Based on observation, it is remarkable what ostensibly normal and ordinary persons can fail to perceive. For example, last Thursday at The Crow something climbed out of the cauldron and made a dash across the restaurant floor, escaping when the door was opened. I watched it go, with the peculiar impression that no one else in the premises had noticed. I encourage you all to be vigilant. Sometimes, there are devils in the details, or, as in this instance, the soup course.
There have been ghosts on this island for as long as there have been people. Most residents will have seen one or two in their time, I have no doubt. Most of our departed did not appear to stay on, but every so often some pale echo of a lost citizen would manifest. Tragic and disturbing though they are, these ephemeral echoes of the once living are a familiar part of life.
I have noticed this year that the numbers of ghosts have increased significantly. They have gone from being a rare, uncomfortable occurrence, to being a frequent sight across the island. Some, like Vortigern Frog and Greta Calder retain many of their human qualities and will even converse with the living. However, many of the shades we are now seeing are far less substantial. I can only speculate as to why the dead are no longer departing as they once did. Are these echoes, or are we seeing spirits, doomed to continue here for all eternity? It is a hellish thought.
This week’s photograph shows a trio of the dead. I cannot identify them, they retain so little of their original humanity. I have never before been especially fearful of dying, but the horror and pathos of these figures fills me with dread. I fear we will none of us sleep easily in our graves, nor ascend to some better place.