the aberration

chapter one

His name was Master Beef. And he wore a rabbit costume.

Or, at least, so one would surmise from the long, crooked ears, although there was actually little else to suggest that this were the case. The costume was faded, greyed by grime and wear, but there was hint enough to suggest a former ignominious shade of pink. Any startling qualities that the colour now lacked, however, were more than made up for by the sinister reflective visor that covered his face, forbidding any expression or trace of humanity; and the massive, green combat boots that he wore, contributing to a frighteningly formidable overall appearance.

He was sat in a chair the wrong way around, resting his chin in folded arms.

Pie rotated in the microwave. He watched it and, slowly and carefully, he raised his right arm, three extended fingers closing into his fist one by one as he counted down the final seconds.

Beef rolled sideways off the chair as the pie exploded. The aftermath was left rotating on the dish, else splattered across the microwave's inside walls. Beef grabbed a pair of theatrical oven gloves, putting them on and making his way meaningfully towards the kitchen appliance. He opened the door. Steam billowed from within. He took out the unfortunate culinary ruin, discarded the oven gloves, and ate it.

* * *

Winnie was currently driving as slowly as her car would allow her to without stopping altogether. It was almost painful to behold. The silver, black-roofed Mini Cooper turned a corner, cunningly indicating the opposite direction.

She noticed with glee that the traffic behind her was starting to build up, and, judging by the honking horns, was also becoming quite frustrated. She decided she was much too elderly to notice this, and continued happily to crawl along, positioning herself so that any overtaking would be an extremely difficult task.

Eventually, those that hadn't already given up and tried an alternative route to wherever it was they were headed were immensely relieved to see her pull over and park, although they were a little suspicious of the triumphant smirk she gave them all as they passed.

She retrieved her few shopping bags, locked the car and plodded to the gate, up the steps and into her house at almost exactly the same time as Beef. He opened the door for her.

'Hello, love. Cup of tea?' she asked, already on her way to the kettle.

Beef made his way into the cosy little living room, which had worn-out, floral-patterned upholstery surrounding a small table that was used primarily for the tea. There was a modest fire crackling dimly amongst some coals in a hearth, and in the corner stood a small, ancient television.

Beef plonked himself down on the sofa and slid his backside to its depths, wedging himself in such a fashion that it looked like the furniture was eating him alive.

Winnie hobbled in. 'It won't be a moment,' she said.

Beef sank further back into the sofa.

'It's quite chilly today, isn't it?' said Winnie. 'I had to put my bobble hat on to go to the shops.' She hadn't yet taken the hat off.

'I'll just go and make the tea,' she said, wandering off again. 'Milk and two sugars, isn't it?'

Beef didn't reply.

A constant, rhythmic ticking sound filled the room, presumably from a clock, but despite his best efforts Beef had never been able to locate it.

Winnie re-entered the room slowly, carrying a tray with a teapot and some cups, and placed it on the small table. Then she unravelled a fresh packet of her beloved shortbread, which she had carried in with the tray.

Beef reached over and took his cup and a handful of biscuits, while the old lady nibbled thoughtfully on a corner of one of her own. Beef's tea swirled gently in his cup: a translucent, brown liquid with the slightest trace of milk diffusing into nothingness.

'So how's things?' asked Winnie.

'Oh, you know. Same old stuff,' replied Beef.

'Okie doke.'

The incessant ticking once again filled the room.

'Where does that incessant ticking come from?'

'The clock, dear.'

'Yes, but where's the clock?'

'Heaven knows, dear. I think I've lost it.'

Tick, tick, tick...

Beef distractedly scratched his knee.

'Oh, I meant to ask you,' said Winnie, 'are you coming to stand-up night tomorrow?'

'Stand-up night?'

'Yeah. At the Captain's Fall. Apparently they've got a few comedians in. Should be interesting.'

'I may as well,' said Beef. 'Nothing else planned.'

* * *

'Bye, then,' said Winnie.

'Yeah, bye. See you tomorrow night.'

He closed the door behind him and stepped out onto the street. The sun was setting at the far end, and the various parked vehicles and wheelie bins cast long, dramatic shadows. Beef yawned and stretched, and then made his way down the street with his furry hands in his furry pockets.

The world was boring.

He decided that a visit to the pub was in order, if only to warm his seat for the following night. The Captain's Fall, as it was called (named so after an amusing drunken incident there over a hundred years earlier), was a place he visited frequently.

Beef listened to his footfalls as he walked. When someone else's much more rapid steps entered audible range and disturbed him from his thoughts, he slowed and looked around.

It was then that a tramp, identifiable as such by the stereotypically frayed, threadbare coat and trousers with aesthetically placed patches and accompanying fingerless gloves, ran past Beef, made a dive and skidded across the road in front of him, on a tophat that completely failed to act as a surfboard. 'Got any spare change, mate?' he asked, a little winded.

Beef stared at him. 'That was quite impressive,' he said.

The tramp got to his feet, placing the hole-filled tophat on his head. 'I like to make the effort.'

* * *

They sat at a small, circular table in a corner of the pub. Beef had been intrigued by the tramp's theatrics, and although this had not lasted, he saw no harm in the company.

The Captain's Fall was slightly different to the average pub in that the landlord seemed to favour the haunting sound of the Gregorian chant rather than the usual sort of background music. It gave the place an odd, almost creepy ambience.

Beef raised his pint to head height, nudged the visor open a crack and tipped the glass.

'My name's Phil, by the way,' said the tramp.

'Hello, Phil.'

'Yeah. And yours?'

'Master Beef.'

'Interesting name.'

Beef nodded.

'And how did you acquire such a name?' he asked.

Beef turned to face him. The tramp could see no expression; only the dark screen that replaced it, an alien exterior in which he saw his own reflection looking back at him in uncomfortable silence. 'Such a question is one of the grave mysteries of the universe,' Beef said.

'Right,' said the tramp. He decided he wouldn't ask about the costume.

'Anyway,' said Beef, squaring his shoulders. 'Right now there are more important things to worry about. For example, this here beer.'

'Indeed,' said Phil, thankful for the return to lighter things. 'Although, I must admit, I find this one here of greater importance.'

'Is that so?' said Beef. 'Then I shall pay close attention to your beer also.'

'Quite,' said Phil. 'Let's stop talking now.'

Beef took another gulp's worth from his glass. 'Yeah.'

* * *

The pair of them stumbled out of the pub and into the night. Beef suddenly found himself with a close and intimate view of the pavement.

Phil chuckled and heaved him up to his feet again. Both now had bottles in their hands, although Beef's stumble had rendered his considerably more empty.

Phil gasped. 'It's dark!'

'Night time does that,' slurred Beef.

'But...' Phil was vaguely aware that this meant something, but he couldn't remember what. He stood there trying to recall, swaying slightly. Then it came to him, and he gasped again, running unsteadily down the street.

Beef stood for a moment, his brain working slowly. He grabbed his long ears for support, but fell down again anyway. He attempted to raise himself, gum from the ground sticking to his fur in several places, and half-crawled after the tramp.

Phil hobbled around a street corner, took a sharp left turn into a dark alleyway and then stopped. The look on his face transformed into one of wide-eyed, open-mouthed awe, which remained staring into the shadows patiently until Beef, now on his belly, had the decency to slide in from the street.

'Behold,' mumbled Phil, vaguely.

'Aren't shadows fun?' said Beef, conversationally, as some more gum hitchhiked his fur. 'I can do the rabbit thing. You know, with the ears...' He made a strange gesture with his hands to clarify his point.

'Behold,' insisted Phil.

Beef finally managed to get himself up, relying heavily on the support of a wall. He squinted and fancied he saw something looking out from the darkness at him.

Moonlight broke through the clouds that had previously concealed it, illuminating the alleyway with a dramatic, silvery light.

The tramp took the opportunity to laugh maniacally; Beef stumbled backwards out of sheer surprise.

Before them floated a figure of porcelain: a woman, suspended nude in mid-air above the rusty metal bins and bulging, black bags of rubbish. Her face was one of still beauty, with a small, slightly pointed nose, lips set in a slight smile, pale blue eyes. The hair, long and black, was painted so that curled strands were positioned perfectly on her shoulders. Her breasts, Beef noted, were considerable.

Phil was reaching out to her, but she seemed to turn, ever so slightly, as if to ignore him.

She had turned to face Beef.

'Hm,' he said.