Black Destroyer

Coeurl Returns

“And then—
abruptly—it came.”
—A.E. Van Vogt,
Black Destroyer

And then abruptly—it came back.

The memory—his sharp teeth and slavering jaws. Tearing some victim into precious tenderloin tidbits. There in his dark lidless nightmare universe—sweeping through his inhuman remembrance once again.

Coeurl’s disgusting id-creature consciousness—snarling again with only the certainty of death. He snarled louder this time—defiantly in pain with insolent id-cravings twisting deep down in his panther throat.

The snarl quavered on the air—echoing and re-echoing in the dark alleyway. It shuddered down his back along his nerves—making the hair on the back of his neck stand up erect and nervous. His instinctive and hellish will—to live again.

He recognized the growl of rock ‘n roll in the dirty doorway just ahead—across the black id-bridge inside the crummy nightclub full of queer, curling, dancing humans. It was like peering through a tunnel ahead in time over 70 years—seeing the simple-minded, snakelike id-creatures coming forth and dancing in the hole in the wall they called a gay bar.

To bask in real moonlight in a dark alley once again—Coeurl’s first kill was quick. After remembering the absolute necessity of avoiding the savage naked ape id-creatures—organizing their own extermination back then. He licked his lips briefly—gloating how easily it was to root them out again.

The stupid but cunning Terran id-creatures—having actually survived so many incessant world wars. That’s why Coeurl had hidden himself in that yellowing sci-fi pulp magazine—a minor July 1939 issue of Astounding. At the so-called beginning—of the Golden Age of Science Fiction. Only too well did Coeurl know in this ultimate hour—that he’d missed nothing.

There were lots filthy id-creatures now—left to eat. Since his hibernation began in 1939—there’d been hundreds of thousands of square miles totally annihilated by the ruthless monkey id-creatures. They had every right of ruthless conquest—after all it was their planet. That’s why Coeurl had decided to undergo—the painful hibernation process.

These Terran id-creatures were cunning—they didn’t recognize any kind of neighboring sovereignty. They’d destroy each other—until there was no id to feed the otherwise immortal engine that was Coeurl’s body. Cubic foot by cubic foot—he’d gone deep into the earth not knowing if this night would ever come.

Through all those nights of restless sleep—this night had loomed ever nearer, blacker, more frightening. Returning to this inevitable hour—when he’d return to the surface of the planet. Not knowing whether—the world had been blown up and depleted of id-creatures or not.

The exquisite truth struck in waves—like an endless, rhythmic undertow in the tides of his animal soul. Down where the old Krell aches were back again—haunting the id-monsters of his own ancient ego. Down there where "Klaatu barada nikto”—meant shit. When he’d left—there’d been millions of the naked ape id-creatures all over the earth. Getting ready—for a nice big sleazy noir snuff-movie.

For every square mile—now there were many living breathing naked ape nostrils with quivering little nose-hair tendrils nervously twitching frantically, testing every vagrant breeze, every throb in the ether. Especially when they were having sex—their inflared nostrils excruciatingly erect and sensitive.

Coeurl could feel it—the id creatures hadn’t blown themselves to smithereens after all. He could still sense the id-energy smeared all over the planet—swiftly tingling along his intricate nervous system. There wasn’t the faintest suggestion anywhere—that they sensed his presence. The all-necessary id he craved and needed—was still there for the asking. Well, not there just for the asking—more like for the preying game.

Coeurl crouched in the ruins of an old crumbling disco—an enormous catlike figure silhouetted against the dim reddish skylights. The time shift was still somewhat distorted and not complete yet—slowly edging the ‘60s silhouette of his muscular, lithe black panther body toward the restless, more sophisticated shadow world of 2010.

It would take awhile—for Coeurl to de-hibernate into the future. But already Coeurl recognized sullenly— that he was on familiar ground. He stopped short. Tenseness flamed along the nerves of his legs—his loin muscles pressing with a sudden, unrelenting strength against his boner.

Coeurl’s sinewy leg muscles—had twice the strength of his previous id-incarnation. His aching male muscle—slithered like a snake down the side of his leg. It’s good these new humans wore such loose and baggy trousers, Coeurl said to himself. Baggy pants—labeled with strange names like Abercrombie and Fitch.

He’d devoured his first victim in the SouthCenter Mall—in one of the Abercrombie and Twitch undressing rooms. Or rather Abercrombie and Fitch dressing rooms. It was with a quick shuddering movement—that Coeurl had arched his way with razor-sharp claws into the vain young male buzz-cut creature. It had been posing in front of the mirror—admiring a new stylish shirt and pair of pants.
Coeurl had let the thick tentacles that sprouted from his shoulders—quickly do their weaving undulation, as he grew taut with anxious alertness. Utterly appalled, the young id-creature had twisted his spastic head from side to side. It felt exquisite—Coeurl worming his way into the most intimate id-creature’s hidden places and secret anatomy. The cute id-creature all bug-eyed and blushing—as Coeurl savored every spurting id-squirt.

“It feels so down and exquisitely id-dirty, again” Coeurl said to himself. “To be prowling again!!!”

The black, moonless, almost-starless night—yielded a grim film noir reddish dawn creeping slowly into the trashy bar scene materializing around him. A vague, dull light inside him—was giving him a sense of approaching hunger. Without comfort—only a diffuse cold-blooded hunger for succulent id-meat.

The kind of cold, diffuse craving—slowly revealing itself in the new carnivorous, nightmare landscape. Black, jagged skyscrapers—and pale skinny living id-corpses already living dead creatures slinking around in Coeurl’s grotesque cat-like cruising eyes.

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