Resuscitating Nessie

"Well, where is she?"

"She washed up on the shore, just like I told you."

"Oh, she just washed up on shore, did she? — and you’d have me believe that she’s real, that she even exists. Like all those other hallucinations of yours — or what was it that you called them again? Ah yes — portals! — gateways into your fantasy world. All I have to do is follow you down the wormhole, that’s it, isn’t it? You’d think I was born yesterday, too, wouldn’t you now? Why, you know what you could do for me? You could go and write some of that fresh bullsh*t down for me. Chisel a few lines into some stonework, even, or perhaps carve out a sculpture of this whale of yours, as you see fit. No, hold on — better yet: Write a full ream of that fantastical delusion out for me, would you? You can’t even make this stuff up! Listen, kid, when you’re all done writing and you’ve got a copy ready, hand it over on glossy coloured paper — make it out on aqua green — coloured A4, you hear? I want a record of it — a hard copy. I reckon one day — sorry to say, probably when you’re long gone, that’s just the way it goes for the lot of you writers; ain’t it the truth, boy? — maybe it’ll sell for something substantial, you little nincompoop you. All you’d have to do — I’d swear it on Nessie herself — is write some of it down, and maybe date it with your own hand; and just like that, they’d make a Nobel Laureate out of ya. That’s how it’s done, kid. Ten, twenty, fifty — or perhaps a hundred years from now, some sorry soul may be forced to dredge through some of your delusions in a literature class. And during this quest — whether it's the first they've heard of you or not — you may just make the grade as someone's new favourite author; it’s possible, you know? Anything is possible. But, someone — no doubt about it, kid, some ‘cowboy general’ — will finish one of these books with your stories within, and slam the book down on the desk in front of him with one hand, in an emphatic fashion, right in the middle of class, while the teach is going on about allusions and metaphors — and preach that you were mad as a hatter and there’s no sense in reading any of your works, at all. But, of course, you take the piss better than anybody, don’t you? If I were as high as a kite I couldn’t dream up a piece quite like this nonsense — not in the least like you, kid. And, supposing I tried, I’d probably still have a seizure before I even got to the climax of the story, and even then I’d probably fall into some sort of coma, no doubt that I’d never wake from. So, there’s only one explanation for it, kid: you've got a tumour. Yes, that's got to be it! I just often wonder how dangerously big it’s gotten; yet, it doesn't seem to stop you from writing like a magician, does it? If I were you, I’d take a crowbar to it before you start tripping over your feet, but in the meantime, there’s certainly no harm in writing down some of these sensational ‘event horizons’. You keep putting off your next written piece — but boy, I’d say this is it, kid. You know what else they’ll do? I'll bet the real fans, the ones with all your stories on their shelves at home — they’ll take certain quotations from your work and have them framed in their bedrooms, I tell ya, they’ll do it! Go on, now: I want it in writing first before I go on any of these expeditions with you.

"Are you done? You know, I don’t have time for any of your foolish exaggerations, Carl. She’s over there, beyond the ridge — on the other side — spread out like jam. I’m not going to tell you again, so would you put a lid on it and get in the truck — before the crowds show up? You’ll see; turn back now, and it will be all for nothing."

"Before the crowds show up! Ha, you’re not letting up, are you? Not in the least, eh? Boy, you’re off your meds again, ain’t ya now? Tell me."

"I’m leaving…. You've got a choice to either hop in now or not. It’s a simple choice, Carl, nobody is forcing it on you. Don't spill any of that tea whilst getting in — throw that cup out. What I can promise, is that you’ll regret that ‘yapping’ of yours pretty quick."

—————————————————

"There, you see now. Get a load of this! And, it’ll soon be out on footage that simply can’t be refuted... or is it just my tumour doing the talking again, Carl?"

"Well, my god… Monty, I really don’t know what to believe here. But it just isn’t what you'd have me think. It just can’t be! Hell, I might need some of that Thorazine you’ve been popping like PEZ. We ought to get a bit closer. I just want … well, it could be a —"

"You know damn well that it’s not a whale — just look at the length of it! Look — the entire length down, Carl — at least a couple of punt poles down — and the neck — like a giraffe! There’s nothing, absolutely nothing in this world, quite like it."

"It’s a fascinating specimen — whatever it is."

"A specimen! — ha! That’s what you’d call it now — and you’d think that with all the cryptozoology knowledge you’ve amassed over a lifetime, you’d be better equipped to plop that specimen prudently into some logical phylum, rather than staring at it as you are now — as though we’ve just unearthed the damn thing yourself from some ancient strata and blown the entire field of zoology into atoms. You know damn well what it is, and it’s not even a plesiosaur fossil, is it boy? So, tell me, can we revive her — or is it an, ‘it’? Oh hell, what I really want to know, is, if it’s too late to bring this 'lady of the lake' here back to life?"

"Look, we don’t know for sure what it is at the moment. But, to classify it as, well, a sea serpent, is bridging a little too far into that delusional realm of yours. There’s got to be some other explanation."

"Forget your explanations. I brought you along for a reason, Carl. You’re the expert, here, and what I want is simply to revive her. And I know, for a fact, that it'll be a lot easier to do just that than say it would be to extract DNA out of amber — this isn’t Jurassic Park! I want to see the thing move, you hear me? When it wakes — and it better wake soon, Carl — and gasps for air, I want the rights to the recordings. Who would dare say they’d seen her first? These are the ‘assurances’ I want. The film footage is mine. And you’re the scientist that will make it happen for me, aren’t you? So, what should we do with her, should we strap a line to the tail of this beast and winch it with the truck back into the water; will that do? Do you reckon the F-450 has enough tow? Or do we need to call the Legend Cutter? What do ya say, Carl? Submerging her from the shore into the water, alone, ought to do it, no? Or do you wish to hop up on the top of the beast and jump up and down to get her heart going again? We don't have any special DC equipment, but we might be able to get some aboard the Cutter. I can radio that in if you need."

"Well, it certainly does matter. But, yes, let’s think this through. We only have one shot at this. Give me that camera first, so I can roll while I’m postulating; and considering the fact, of course, that, one doesn’t come across a potential goddamn Loch Ness every day. So, suppose we get her back in the water, and the water submersion alone revives her — and she skirts off, into the depths from where she’s been hiding for all these centuries prior. The world would’ve lost something. Who on this earth would believe us? And you can do just about anything with a camera these days, so we would ideally need to get the beast before us, moving, somehow."

Distant voices drawing near, from behind Carl.

"Hey, Alex! Quick, look at that seal! It’s massive!"

"Holy smokes, Jessy! — don’t get too close, it looks like it’s sick."

"Relax, I ain’t gonna touch it. Looks about ready to explode, if you ask me. It’s been beached for a while — you’ve got some birds pecking its eyes out. And the smell is just horrid."

"It’s disgusting, let’s get out of here before we pick up and carry some disease. Go long and I'll toss you the ball!"

Voices of Alex and Jessy begin to fade into the distance.

"You see Carl, it only took a couple hours out of your day, and about 5 grams of psilocybin mixed right in with your tea this morning. But, I’ve taken you right along with me on a psychedelic trip that you’ll probably never forget — you little wanker you."