This fun little celebration of B-movie sci-fi horror is nearly finished and has grown to be quite long, so I have decided to split it into a couple of posts. Enjoy!
For Science!
In goggles, gloves and coat of white, a balding moustached man
By dim and dreary lantern light unfolds his cunning plan:
A gleaming living man of bronze, a rocket to the moon,
That unprecedented breakthrough that is coming oh so soon.
“I can transform this rancid skin and vats of squirming goo
To twelve-eyed toads to flood the roads from here to Timbuktu!
But that can wait, here on this slab old life will be reborn
Old corpses iced then sliced and spliced into a whole new form!”
With triumph shining in his eyes he cackles like a witch.
He cries with glee “For Science!” and then throws the power switch.
Torrents of pure lightning flow from one globe to the next;
Reanimated limbs are stirred, their muscles stretched and flexed.
An unholy aberration wakes up with an angry roar,
And foul green birthing liquid spills onto the stony floor.
It bursts through doors and fragile walls, repelled by fire and light
Devouring dogs and squealing hogs, it limps into the night.
“It lives!” He cries, and raises to his lips a tepid flask
Of a strange concoction meant for quite another task.
On realizing his mistake, he gasps and grabs his throat,
Collapses to the ground as his whole face begins to bloat.
His arms extend, his teeth grow sharp, black fur sprouts everywhere,
His eyes take on a beastly and most terrifying glare.
Extra limbs and tentacles erupt from his hunched back
His helpless lab assistants are now but a tasty snack.
His stunning nubile daughter watches, truly horrified,
At what her dear dad has become, at how many have died
To satisfy his fevered mind, enact his twisted plans,
How in his wake he leaves a trail of poisoned, battered land.
She jumps from her high balcony down to an grassy slope
And flees pursuing foulness to her last faint ray of hope.
A sturdy square-jawed farm boy stands and maims the creature’s face,
As it retreats the girl faints into his surprised embrace.
Her fragile beauty stirs his heart, his duty to protect
All that is worthy in this world of honour and respect.
He lays her gently down and brings her water from a stream.
When she awakes and sees his face, she asks, “Is this a dream?”
“That creature here was real enough, you see the havoc wrought,
The fences smashed, cattle gouged, the marks of battle fought.
Others will arrive soon to destroy its threat for good;
Together we will hunt it down in that accursed wood.”
Continues in Part Two
The Zwyckyverse 