Zer progenitors were the Derridas — Jack Owing and Jill Glenfidd — from whose names the chimera’s own was formed. The Derridas had long derided their first names, which they were therefore delighted to palm off upon their infant child. From then on, they used their middle names exclusively.
In the weeks after the birth, Owing and Glenfidd had a number of perfunctory discussions about therapeutic or remedial options — surgical and/or pharmacological — to “fix” what they considered to be the hideous monster they had brought into the world. In the end they decided not to do anything. Nor could they have afforded to on Owing’s meagre income as Ticketmaster at the local Dwarf Tossery. Every time they checked their bank statements there seemed to be more owing.
The chimera’s childhood was fraught with anxiety and despair. “Spiderthing”, “Octopussy”, “It” and “Kali” were among the nicknames ze endured from the mouths of the “lesser-limbed” (a term ze would resort to frequently throughout zer life).
Bullied unmercifully at school and at home, JillJack learned to defend zerself, learned to take advantage of the extra firepower of four limbs over two. Zer physical and athletic skills — including kinaesthetic and proprioceptive — developed quickly. Juggling was a beloved hobby from as early as age five. In later life, prostitution and martial arts were areas in which ze excelled, often simultaneously.
With the onset of puberty JackJill was delighted to discover the usages to which two sets of matching genitalia could be put. One minor irritation was that the missionary position was impossible. On the upside, it was a great opportunity — enthusiastically embraced by the quadrupedal JillJack — to become an expert doggy-style practitioner.
In zer fourteenth year, the inevitable happened: pregnancy, in the jillbelly anyway. Owing and Glenfidd, were of course horrified at the “crime against nature” unfolding in their mist.
[The Derridas referred to their home as “our mist”. They didn’t know why, nor did anyone else. Some analysts believe the term is a corrupted abbreviation of “Mister” and/or rotten extension of “Miss”, but they’re not really sure.]
“It’ll have to be tossed out,” was the pronouncement from Ticketmaster Owing, a man of somewhat limited emotional range.
“Daddie’s right, JayJay,” said Glenfidd in her whiny little voice that seemed to scrape squealishly across the very branes of JackJill’s brain.
“But why?” ze wailed, “you didn’t abort me, so why my baby? Could it be any less of a freak than me!?”
“Not for want of trying,” muttered Owing under his breath, referring to an episode in which certain attempts had failed to produce certain desired outcomes, but let’s not go there.
Much as they despised their one-headed double-child, abortion was a big and costly step. Uncertain what to do about the grandthing in the belly of their daughterson, Owing and Glenfidd sought professional advice, the cheapest money could buy, in the form of the first available Whiskey-Priest from the therapy-mall down the road.
Needless to say, Father o’Reilly perceived JillJack as an abomination.
“Canst youse not divine the worksh of Shaitan?” came the addled Priest’s queshun. “Ye canst not shtay the hand of vengeansh that with righteoush wrath musht shlay the unholinesh within thy home, thy heartsh, and hearth,” he slurred aggressively. “It curdles me very guts. It maketh me shix, shix, shix, I tell thee,” concluded o’Reilly.
Owing’s pus-encrusted brow furrowed as he tried to understand the so-called words of the rancid little Priest.
“Father, prithee explaineth thy holiself,” quoth Owing meekly unto the rabble-eyed o’Reilly.
(“I think it’s 666 dear,” whispered Glenfidd into her husband’s ear.)
“Ye must unbelly this teratogenetic trinity of parthenogenetic proportionsh,” pontificated the Priest ambitiously (he would never be named Pope).
“What the Fackk!” expostulated Owing, suddenly apprehending the unacceptable nature of the Priest’s remarks.
Glenfidd, took a softer line: “Forgive me ‘usband’s formaldehyde,” she said meekly, “We be just plain poor simple folk, unschooled and made crude by the blows and scrapes of life...”
“Great gibbering meathooks!” swore Owing, astounded at the sheer weirdness of his so-called wife and her remarkable remarks. He realised he would have to embroider the wifewords writhing in Glenfidd’s mothermouth.
CONTINUES in NIGHTMERRIES: THE LIGHTER SIDE OF DARKNESS out now at Amazon This so-called "book" will chew you up and spit you out on the carpet, frothing and twitching and giggling like a deranged banshee! More than 60 darkly feculent fictions. Copiously illustrated with over 20 grotesque images you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. Includes all the twisted tails in Mastress, Hags to Haggis, and Fiends & Freaks, and THEN SOME (more). WARNING: Immature content! Adults maybe!
NIGHTMERRIES: THE LIGHTER SIDE OF DARKNESS This so-called "book" will chew you up, spit you out, and leave you twitching and frothing on the carpet. More than 60 dark and feculent fictions (read ‘em and weep) copiously illustrated by over 20 grotesque images you wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley.
AWAREWOLF & OTHER CRHYMES AGAINST HUMANITY (Vot could be Verse?) We all hate poetry, right? But we might make an exception for this sick and twisted stuff. This devil's banquet of adults-only offal features more than 50 satanic sonnets, vitriolic verses and odious odes.
MANIC MEMES & OTHER MINDSPACE INVADERS A disturbing repository of quotably quirky quotes, sayings, proverbs, maxims, ponderances, adages and aphorisms. This menagerie holds no fewer than 184 memes from eight meme-species perfectly adapted to their respective environments.
FIENDS & FREAKS Adults-only Tales of Serpents, Dragons, Devils, Lobsters, Anguished Spirits, Gods, Anti-gods and Other Horse-thieves You Wouldn't Want to Meet in a Dark Kosmos: 4th EditionHAGS TO HAGGIS Whiskey-soaked Tails of War-nags, Witches, Manticores and Escapegoats, Debottlenecking and Desilofication, Illustrated