Digital Ischemia


The Twelve Days of Twistmas part 12/12

The Christmas song twisted into a series of linked short tales, fabricated around tortuous puns. Begins at part 1.

I was fizzing with excitement as I approached Svendsen’s glasshouse. My hand floated to the door handle of its own accord. It was a turner, but so slack as to be redundant. The shiny, worn push-plate above it had survived better. I adored these and the missing paint from the edges. Carried away by the romance, I expected to be greeted like an old friend, a favourite customer or a revered benefactor. No-one made eye-contact.

That is to say all eye-contact was with the near end of assorted binoculars and telescopes. All focus was on the ridge of small hills. Ah, the birds. A party of twitchers? No cakes, then.

I tentatively enquired, “what have you got?” Then a final inspiration struck: “Dunlins?”

Drumhaugh’s dunlins?! I really was too excited. “Twelve?”

“Naw. Drumlins.”

I hadn’t seen that coming. And yet I had seen every single one of them coming. Every single one of the twelve of them, lining the blasted glen, as I came up the road: ‘mounds or small hills in a group.’

We, that is to say, they watched the small hills for a considerable time. I sniffed among the neglected foliage: I was prepared to lick a tropical flower if it tasted of vanilla.

Eventually I pinpointed the rear of Svendsen’s head and casually enquired about the provenance of the nimps.

“They kindae go with the territory.”

“Because it’s such a wonderful wilderness?”

Svendsen turned to look at me like I was half-baked with bodged icing.

“Because you’re living in a hag’s hoose?”

I stuttered, “It’s a fishing hut!”

Another ornithological obsessive cried, “crone’s cottage!”

I continued bleating. “It’s called ‘ha’e grouse’ or something…!?”

“Hag house.”

Obvious now. Rotten, crooked… ‘h’ becomes ‘r’. “I’m leaving tomorrow anyway.”

“Dinnae think so.” I didn’t know which of them said this, or rather mumbled into the recesses of the opticals.

“Who’s going to stop me?! Imaginary creatures twelve centimetres tall?!”

Svendsen quietly muttered, “try them.” At some unseen signal he continued, “but first, try this.”

There followed the smack and shudder of a door over-opening, an angry rustle of foliage, and a small group cheer of self-congratulation at disaster averted. An enormous celebratory meal of a cake, with several courses served in several articulated constructions, lurched into view, borne upon several pairs of very small legs. Woohoo!

On the twelve days of Christmas my new hov-el gave to me…? I’ll get back to you.


For two SPs.

1 Comment »

  1. […] The Twelve Days of Twistmas concludes at part 12… […]

    Pingback by The Twelve Days of Twistmas part 11/12 | Digital Ischemia — 07/01/2019 @ 16:14

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