Byline: Gary Llewellyn
Dateline: May 13th, 2017
Cu Sith, Cu Sith, Cu
To make a long story short, I'm back and salaried. 21.5 a year, no bennies, but the slow nickel and all that. And I get my name in the byline. None of this intern shit. Of course, there's conditions; Mort wants me to drag the new intern around and show her the ropes so she doesn't get herself killed and I have to lay off the hard stuff. You may ask, ‘How is one supposed to drag that kid around without the hard stuff?’ That’s exactly the point I made, but that's the only deal Mort was offering. Take it or leave it. Besides, when Mort starts to get irritated he does that glowing red-eye socket thing and I figure I can get my fill of that bullshit in the field. So here we are.
I ask my new millstone to point out the sticker on her Trapper Keeper of the creature she’d like to see and of course she says fairies because I guess Frankfort never happened. I was hoping she say unicorns. The look of horror on her face when she discovered what those perverts are up to would be delectable. For our destination, I was torn between Scotland or Wales. I figured if I swatted her with a mouthful of Gaelic of Celtic that would be enough to tucker her out and give me a few moments peace. I chose Scotland because I didn't want to have to explain, the whole plane ride over about how ‘w’ was a vowel.
When the plane landed in Scotland, it was it was early morning. I wanted to catch a few z’s, but the girl insisted we head out as soon as possible. She just couldn’t wait to see her fairies. I hot wire a car and tell her it’s a rental. I don’t need her stressing me more than she already is. Not only was it too early, but it was way too bright out for my liking and I had forgotten my shades. We stop the car and she goes running off into the wilderness. Not only does she make me jog after her, she’s pummeling me with questions. This was much easier when this was a solo gig. Thanks, Mort. On the bright side, we were exactly where we needed to be. We only needed to wait. After a spell, or a quiet incantation or two I hit pay dirt. The distinctive call of the legendary Cu Sith. So I set my Cu Sith bait. She didn’t like that very much.
“O.M.G,” she yelled copping her best vocal fry, “What are you doing?”
“This will lure the Cu Sith here and it’ll take you back to the mound of the Daoine Sith. That’s where I need to be.”
“[More incoherent millennial babbling],” she yelled.
“Relax, I fitted you with a GPS chip,” I said.
Of course she didn’t know what that was and had thrown the damn thing away. How am I supposed to secure the future of the human race chained to Debbie Debutante? With all the complaining and explaining I had missed the second howl. Obviously, the one I had just heard was the third, because there was the ugly bastard staring me down. Of course, she tried to run, but you can’t run from the black dog of the moors.
Byline: Stephanie Morgan
Dateline: May 13th, 2017
The True Account of the Unwinding of Gary Llewellyn
Hey, SEG-ers, I’m back from my vacation in India and somehow Sri Lanka, and back to the Page Five Ghoul. Uncle Mort seemed pretty impressed with my rescue of Gary Llewellyn and as some strange form of ‘thank you’ punishment he’s making me follow him to make sure he doesn’t go off the rails again. How am I supposed to tell? First of all, the whole time he’s wrubbing his nose and sniffing, ranting about how ‘Uncle Mort has been planning this the whole time’ and he’s ‘a puppet master, sitting up there pulling strings.’ After he repeated ‘pulling the strings’ about a million times I asked him why Uncle Mort would do that. But, then he just rambled on about a band called ‘Foreigner’. Oh, and then he’s like, ‘we were going to Wales, but the language would blow your mind.’ Excuse me? Great-grammy Morgan taught me Welsh when I was three, Llewellyn. He spent most of the flight getting drunk and explaining to me what a ‘w’ does, interspersed with the same story about the time he made four hundred dollars selling a sandwich bag full of talcum powder. The flight itself was fine.
We arrived in Scotland around noon. Gary insisted we head out immediately. He was babbling about ‘timetables’ and ‘the end of the world as we know it.’ At this point, that sounds good to me. We hop in our rented car and he just drives for what seemed like hours. Finally we stop in the middle of nowhere, what little of the sun I had seen since I got there had disappeared and the sky was a uniform white. He drags me out into the middle of a rocky field. I think this is what they call a moor. And here we just wait. What are we even looking for? Every time I’ve asked since before the flight all he says is ‘them’ or ‘I'll tell you when you need to know.’ And that's when we heard it. A blood chilling howl from an indeterminate direction. That’s when Gary pulled out a spray bottle and started squirting me.
“What are you doing?” I screamed at him.
“Dousing you in pregnancy pheromones,” he said.
Another howl, except this one was closer.
“You hear that?” he asked.
“Yeah. I'm not deaf.”
“It's a Cu Sith. It smells the pheromones and on the third howl it'll appear right here and take you down below the mound of the Daoine Sith, the fairy folk...Where they will attempt to feed on your lactating breasts.”
“You idiot, burnout. I'm not lactating. I'm not even pregnant.”
“They don't know that. The Cu Sith is just responding to the pheromones. Don't worry I gave you a tracker.”
“What tracker? All you've given me so far was shit and stories about how much cocaine you can do.”
“That fairy sticker. I told you to put it on your Trapper Keeper.”
“I don't have a Trapper Keeper and I threw that stupid sticker away.”
The third howl pierced our ears.
“Ah shit,” Gary groaned.
We turned around and behind us was a large, but emaciated black dog, with glowing eyes and curls of smoke drifting from its nostrils.
“Think you can out run that?” Gary whispered.
“Seven years of track and field in high school and college. I only need to outrun you?”