3 - Varsity

Arts Editor: George Grist28 VIEWArts arts@varsity.co.ukFriday November 2 2007varsity.co.uk/artsGothicScrapbookVarsity brings together the ghoulish best and worst of gothic and not-so-gothic fiction...FrankenfelineItwas on a quite nice night of November that I beheldthe accomplishment of my toils. With a slightly worryinganxiety that almost, but not quite, amounted to near agony,I collected the subtle instruments of life (tongs, spatulaeand whisks) around me, that I might infuse a spark of beinginto the lifeless thing that was slumped at my knees. Itwas nearly eight in the evening, about the right time for myadjournment to the sitting room for my daily fix of ovaltineand wafer thin mints. The rain pattered dismally againstthe panes, and my novelty lavender and lemon and honeyand marigold scented candle was nearly burnt out, when,by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light of UniversityChallenge, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; itbreathed hard, and a ‘miaow’ motion agitated its limbs.How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, orhow delineate the wretch whom with such infinite painsand care I had endeavored to form? His tabby limbs werein proportion, and I had selected his feline features fromthe cattery. Beautiful! Great God! His tawny fur scarcelycovered the work of muscles and arteries beneath; his tailytail was of a lustrous black, and flappy; his nibbly teeth of apearly whiteness; but these luxuriances only formed a morehorrid contrast with his beady eyes, that seemed almost ofthe same colour as the dun-white sockets in which they wereset, his scratchy little claws and bitey little mouth.The different accidents of life are not so changeable as thefeelings of human nature. I had worked hard for nearly twoyears, changing the cat litter every day and providing newbowls of Burgess Supa Cat Rabbit & Chicken flavour votedthe best independent manufacturer of cat food 2006, for thesole purpose of infusing life into an incredibly lazy body. Iput the creature on a convenient iceberg. What better to do?I slept a long and quite nice sleep, tormented with guiltydreams… Shorteye SnrubCinderellaNoone saw her leave the partythat night. Her absence frommorning lectures provoked littleresponse, and her empty seat atthe seminar was only acknowledgedwith a casual shrug anda few raised eyebrows. She hadprobably overslept – unsurprising,considering the chaotic intensity ofthe previous night’s event. Whenshe didn’t come to dinner thatevening, doubt and concern beganto itch in the students’ minds. Theywondered if someone should ringher, but nobody knew her number.That’s when they decided to knockon her door. No answer. The onlything they could do was to findtheir tutor and fetch a spare key.In the moments before the heavydoor swung open, each of thestudents envisaged what might beon the other side. One imagineda rope hanging from the woodenbeams. Another, a floor saturatedin blood, with the grimacing shell ofa once-upon-a-time person splayedlike a grotesque marionette. Yetthe scene which greeted them wasso unexpected that their forebodinginstantly collapsed into coldpuzzlement. The room, that hadonce been filled with books, clothesand furniture, was empty. Not onlyempty, but almost as if no one hadever lived there. Silence pressedagainst the clean, white walls.There were no hairs in the sink, nosplashes of make-up on the mirror.The room was a void in which noteven the faintest whisper of humanityexisted, or so it appeared.The tutor still cannot understandwhat urged him to open the storagespace in the far wall. The sound ofthe latch clicking back was startling,almost obscene in the stillness.As dust billowed out from thegaping black hole, the students tookJAMES SHEDDENa slow, apprehensive step forward.Through his obscured vision, thetutor could see a strange shape devouredby the shadows. Tentatively,he reached into the dark space,barely daring to breathe. He drewthe object into the light. Clutchedin his white hand was a shoe. Theheels were scuffed and scarred andthe sole had peeled away at oneend, exposing the gut of materialbeneath. The golden glimmer of thestraps was tarnished. She had onlybought the shoes the day before,someone recalled; she wore them tothe party.The forensics teams were mystified.The only thing that remainedof her was the shoe, which had beenwiped clean of even the most infinitesimalstreak of DNA. Rivers weredredged, woods were searched, butthe investigation yielded no results.The room, resonating with the terriblescream of silence, remainedunoccupied. The sceptical, perhapshopeful few maintained that shecleared the room as a final act ofattention before leaving the country.But no one could really explainhow the shy, studious girl, who hadwalked home alone for the last timeyearning that she could disappearinto nothing, was finally grantedher wish.Sophie Sawicka-Sykes