THE BASEMENT


THE TWIZ BASEMENT

So, you have decided to visit the Twiz basement.
Are you sure that was wise? After all,
This is where some pretty spooky things
Have taken place over the years.
Oh well,

So be it...

We trust you are not scared of the dark. That would be most unfortunate. Most unfortunate indeed. You see (or maybe not) rumour has it that it was here in the basement back in the winter of 1970 that Twisility-B first burst through into our dimension. Back in those days an old garage stood on this site. An old, old garage, where some say that Henry the VIII once kept his bicycle. Her name, alas, is now lost in the nebulous mists of time. Be that as it all very likely may, the long and the short of it is that some folks believe that Twiz sprung fully formed from out of a cloud of swirling ectoplasm that mysteriously manifested itself one winter's night between the discarded paint pots and assorted oily car parts. Even to this day most of the neighbours are reluctant to talk about what occurred but, by waving five pound notes about like confetti, we have been able to ascertain a few 'facts'. It would appear that that night the old, old garage was bathed in the ghostly light of a full and cliché-ridden moon. A savage wind tore at the tattered silhouettes of the near-by barking trees. A distant Wolf (perhaps a German tourist) was heard to howl. The ivy shivered in nervous antici.... ...pation.

Mrs Elsie Toogood was returning home after taking Sweetie for his evening walk. She noticed the strange glow almost immediately. At first she thought that it might just be another bunch of aliens landing but then something, she wasn't quite sure what, told her that this was altogether another type of spielberg. According to her account, the garage was pulsating like she didn't know wot (sic) and an ungodly vapour licked at its straining walls. It was then that "Sweetie" started to growl in a very fierce manner. The hair behind his collar was standing on end and created a kind of Tudor ruff around his neck. Suddenly the garage door burst open and half blinded this particular witness. The poor woman let go of the lead. She fell to her knees. A large amorphous figure was looming over her. The spooky entity was, she noted, wearing its underpants on the outside of its tuxedo. Sweetie stopped growling and promptly fainted. Mrs Toogood followed suit but the looming eminence came up trumps. Whatever it was caught Mrs T as she fell and swept her up into its arms or tentacles or whatever. When Mrs Toogood regained consciousness she knew it was no good playing possum. She was slumped on a chair in the corner of the garage, Sweetie still comatose at her feet. With a furtive glance she took in her surroundings. A drum kit stood opposite her. To the left and somewhat further back she saw a vintage tape recorder, its microphone sticky-taped to the end of a broom handle. Awakening curiosity prompted the dear lady to scan somewhat further afield and it was then that she noticed the three beings who stood half way into the shadows. Before fear had time to bite one of the characters grabbed the microphone and spoke:

"Un, deux, un deux!"

Mrs T understood only the Queen's English, to her the rest was the devil's lingo. Therefore she thought that she was listening to someone or some thing talking in tongues. She immediately closed both eyes and slumped back into the chair. She'd sit this one out. If her Bert didn't burst in any minute and rescue her she didn't know what she was going to do. Before this train of thought could go much further it was derailed by the sound of the gathered forms breaking into song. Much as other less stable people might break into a fit of hysterical laughter. Mrs T had never heard anything quite like it in all her life. It wasn't exactly bad and it was certainly 'different'. It's not Frank Ifield, she thought. But on the other hand it wasn't Max Bygraves; or, saints preserve us, Des O'Conner!. Ever the optimist, Mrs Toogood decided she would wait till the song had finished before succumbing to incontinence.

As things turned out she had no need to worry. The music played and the time passed. It all sounded very much like Radio Damascus on short wave. After five or six minutes it was over and the strange creatures were paying lip service to a large bottle of whisky. It was, apparently, relatively easy to grab Sweetie to her breast and, unobserved, tip-toe lightly out of the garage.

Later that night Bert was asked if he knew what 'the Twiz lilt' was. His wife wasn't quite sure why she'd asked but Bert just smiled, held out his hand and said that he loved her. This made her feel very strange indeed. But all the same she liked the feeling and said that she and Sweetie loved Bert too. "It's a funny old world", he said.

"Now ain't that the living truth!", thought Mrs T.





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