The Drummer of Tedworth – A Short Story Companion to the Album by Sean Noonan

“Some say it was rats, others say wind. But I tell you, no mortal hand could summon such a rhythm. The drum had a voice. It was speaking... to me. I’ve not slept since.”

— John Mompesson, 1662

Prologue: Drummer of Tedworth

1661.  Tedworth—not quite a town. A smudge.
Mompesson. Man of law. Of lace. Of grudge and lies.

He heard it first in the floorboards.
A flutter.
Not footsteps.
A beat?
No—
A wrinkle in time spinning.

A moan? A groan?
A pterodactyl landing through the Slidegate.

He bit his lip.
Two pork chops in his mouth.

Maybe a drum.
Or never a drum.
It was as well coming for him anyway.

I – Olis – I blinked. Once. Once again. A blink within a blink. Not slow I. Or might not. Not deliberate. Said nothing. No more. Corners. Sharp. Square. Silence like a bruise on the skin of the world.

Still.

And then—nothing.

The house thumped.

A thump.

Another night tonight.
Again. Again. Because there’s always the night.
No breath. No grip. No roots.
Just a rumble.

In em’ wall.
In em’ tighty whities.  Puddles of ketchup.

No explanation. Just a thump.
Thump and a bump, I repeat I repeat.
Thump and a bump.

Even Benjamin Franklin heard it, quipping,
“Drumming ghosts? If this keeps up, I’ll be forced to invent bifocals just so I can roll my eyes more soundly.”

Part I: Pnoom

Ep. 1.0: Not I Eating Makeup In A Pool of Ketchup 

And that, somehow, started it. Or didn’t.
Everything starts long after it begins.

And so it began. 

But not for Olis.
Not yet.
Before Mompesson. Before the drum.
Before blame, before name, before shame, before makeup.
There was I. Olis I.

Before the world,there was Olis. No place. No time. But all the time– Time of no time. The gap. The jam. The silo. Unformed. Empty– yet full. There. In the void.

 And Pnoom.

“I Olis I —sure, let’s call me that. I don’t speak, I signal. What you hear is your brain trying to render my resonance. I’m transmitting from Pnoom. Where form is a suggestion– grammar weeps in a corner. No body. No bones. No birth. I was Pnoom. I am Pnoom.”

By dawn if my body began to sprout—I’d stripped the scraps away. Footless. Handless. Skulls—useless things. Anything that led to embodiment—I’d stripped away. Hey baby, can you stop pumping me up? Ooh Yeah

I Olis did make things. Things without names. Friends without faces. Lovers without parts.

Then, today. If today was real. Something moved. A roll. A wrinkle of Pnoom.

The mist moved in. Féth Fiada. The breath of tricksters. The mist turns me over. 

Slides. Deceives. A fog that does not forget. 

And I Olis—into it. 

Dove head-on in. Then backwards. Into something worse. 

For what? Ketchup.

Ep. 1.1: The Pterodactyls have Landed, Ep. 1.2: The Arachnids Go So Wild 

“The pterodactyls are landing at Gate Two too,” the signal stated.
Yes.
Olis nodded. Yes.
 “I’m their proud captain. Why not?”

No shoes. Skippin’. Laughin’.
I fed them hay. Strapped them to my feet. Barefoot dancin’.
Ketchup feeds my cravings.
It’s so sweet.
I have two pork chops in my mouth. Ooh Yeah.

I tie the pterodactyls with the lace of my shoe.
Feeding them hay. Hay. Hay.
They break free—
Flying far away. Taking the shoe away.
Flying far away. Shoe away.
Somewhere. Somehow.

Next an infinite amount of pins approach.
Long pins. Dull pins. Colored pins.
Pins and pins and pins—
pricking me.

I see me on my side,
touching down on the dark side of the moon.

And smudge the moon like the rain on your window pane.

We are drifting.
No longer Earthbound.
No longer sing-ing-ing-ing. Singing.
While here, wile away on another day.
What is there to say?

While here, wile away.
Moaning.

Oh no. Oh no no no no no no. 

Oh, you may not say what’s on your mind,
Oh, you may not say what you left behind,
Oh, you may not say your eyes are not blind—
You see ahead?

Yeah.

Ep. 1.3: Chewing Pith, Ep. 1.4 Féth Fiada 

Then He came.
He Skarbnik He.
Dig deep into the darkness of the salt mine.
Skarbnik protects from all that is above.

Dig to Wieliczka.
Safe from the storm. Safe from the war

I Olis?
Followed.
All calm, all white, silent world underneath.
But He Skarbnik—He deceived.
No boat. No guide.
Only the jam. Endless.

“You're down deep. Gotta look before you leap,” says Skarbnik.

And I Olis? Didn’t.

Rocks crumble, start to tumble.
They go so wild.
It’s too late—just stay awake.
Why fall asleep when you can fly?
Give it a try.
New ways every day.
Never found the way out.
That’s what it’s all about.

Earth turns away.
Earth turns me over.
Earth turns me around.
Power of stone, power of mist.
All through the gate.
We’ll take our minds back.

Ep. 1.5: Drunkard Landlady’s Lawsuit with an Unlicensed Vagrant, Ep. 1.6: Elixir of Dian Cécht 

Then the Drunkard Landlady. She arrives.
Trouble ahead. Trouble behind.
Coming around the bend—
you know it’s the end.
Fireboy screamings and things get real mean.

“I’m here to collect.
Give me my dues, and I’ll be on my way.”

Dance, dance—crazy legs, dance with me now.
I like the way you move.
Let it grow. Let it grow.
When the time is right, it will feel absolutely right.

Pineapple in hand, too.
She demands, “Please give my pineapple a cool drink of water before I die.”

I Olis I– fled to the desert.
For forty nights. Dancing.
Pineapple dissolving.
Passion to scream.

Then a brief hello from —Dian Cécht.
Leechy lover. Soul sucker.

I bled.
My soul spilled into her.
Two pork chops in her mouth.

Ep. 1.7: Krasnoludki On My Mind, Ep. 1.8: Martian Refugee 

Then, the Krasnoludki dwarf my mind.
The little, little people.
They never, ever, ever leave.

"Inspired by what?
By what? By no shoe. No house. No fame." they urge.

I Olis open my eyes. And close my eyes.
Opened my eyes. Closed my eyes. Opened eyes, closed eyes.

Like the rain on your window paine.

Little people—dwarf my mind.
They come and go and leave me.
They come and go and leave me.
They come and go and leave me.

Dwarfs are so smart and can work with me!
In their hands, mountains move.
Dwarfs are so true, are so true.

Let it grow.
Let it grow. All the world’s inside of me.

Then—the pins approach again.
Then—gone.
Like memory. Like many signals.
 

The mind? Crumbled. 

The stammer? Gone.

Olis? I didn’t return.
Didn’t look back.
Didn’t let it go.

Then—
I lay down.
And— I Olis was born.

Not quite.

A shadow stretching between worlds.
Neither body—nor ghost.
I drifted in the absence of light—
Neither this nor that,
Undefined. Unnamed.

I was Olis, or not-Olis.
A thing that called itself Olis yet was: less than silence.
More than an opinion.

It is a name you give when you must.
When you cannot help but give it.

Dwarf my mind. Dwarf my mind. Dwarf my mind.

Part II: Hy Lies Ahead

Ep. 2.0: Only Because She Said We Should

She Martian She came down wearing panty hose.
Or crashed, rather.
Asking, "May I use your phone?"
As one does when one lands upon a life that is not their own.
Or their own, again. Maybe both.

I didn’t see her fall. I felt it— her presence…heavy in the air.  Like a signal before a storm.
Emmr. Not her name then, but it is now.
Benjamin Franklin? The Holy Goat? Someone named her.
Because names must be given, because some things can’t stay nameless.

She asks again, “I am a Martian Refugee wearing no clothes.
I am a Martian Refugee looking for a home.
I am a Martian Refugee wearing pantyhose.
I am a Martian Refugee, may I use your phone?”

And the wind howled less after she spoke again.
Or more. But differently.
It was not.

She Martian She squatted. Slept. Queefed. And woke again. Always again.
She said it twice, so it must have been true.
Like it was a task, something to be done. Only because she said it should.

“Hey baby, can you pump me up?”  “Ooh Yeah"
I watched motionless, because I could do nothing else, and only because she said I should.

We’re approached by She—Accabadora.  She the stammering midwife of death.
This woman, this tickler of death that solves that woman's problem.

Of course, in black.
Death in a woman’s dress. Sticking tickling stick in hand. Finger dance. Stammer—the last fart of wind.

Ep. 2.1: Turn Me Over As the World Spins Around Me

She came for She. Refugee She. To reclaim.  To throw away. To turn to stone. Or both. Only a woman brings us life. Only a woman takes it away. Her truth. Told as such.

Emmr fled. 

And I, I—followed?
Or did not.
Did not matter.

Turn me over as the world spins around me.
Turn me up, turn me down.
Throw you out of my galaxy?
Don’t turn me over.
Rising. Turning. Spinning.
Do you feel my gravity? Spin to me.
You’ll see. Never ever ever turn me over.

There was only her. Only the tickling. Death and tickle. Death as tickle. Tickle as death. A stammer in between.

Emmr asks “Olis, why did you wait so long to Pnoom me?
Oh, only if you knew.
I’m your Genie of sound. I’m your Genie of Jazz.
I’ll grant you a wish if you promise not to turn me over to the Accabadora.”

Olis responds “Woman of death, the explorer of destructiveness.
Turn me up, turn me down, turn me around.
Turn to Pnoom.
You’ll see. You’ll see. You’ll see. Never ever ever turn me over.”

About life? Emmr— pregnant? Was she?
She was.
By whom?
I don’t know.
Not me. No body. No parts.

“Exactly,” said Emmr. “That’s how the world was brought to me.”

But maybe— Franklin? With his intellect and his one pair of underpants? Was he the father? Possibly. He was fond of storms and errors. He spoke in thunderclaps and fart jokes.

Franklin who bathed in the air, concocted tinctures of flatulence. Franklin soon strips. Franklin airbathes

Ep. 2.2-2.4: Skippin’ Tracks Side A Mystical Healing Skippin’ Tracks Side B

We ran.
Not fast. But we ran. Skippin' tracks.
Water was low watch was slow

Boarded. No names. No tickets.
Not a train—just movement, imagined by a being who never moves.
Destination: Hy.

Go, Emmr.
Skippin' here, skippin' there.
Nothing to see, nothing to hear.
Go ahead. Again.
Tell me—
Is it possible that the wrong direction is the direction we're going?

New love rises when troubled giants collide,
Going to take our trip to Hy.
We’re goin’ to Hy.
We might be dead.

The Secret Valley. An apology.
Slidegate—open.
We enter.
We surrender.
Minds return..
Open arms to receive, we believe.
The holiness holds us,
Calls us,
To stand firm,
And learn which side to choose—Death? Or life?
We choose the Goat.

And Pnoom.

Thought this would be classic, having refugee status.

We are all from planets of people who were refugees.

Many years, many tears fell from all like me.

A tragedy.

Ep. 2.5:  We Surrender to Hy

Hy awakens.
Hy holds us.
To North. To South. To North. To ancient trails.
To East. To West. To East.
Hidden tracks. Skip. Strip away.

We surrendered—though we didn’t know what to do.
Minds returned.
So they said. So they repeated.
Minds back.
We enter.

This place—safe.
Safe from stammer, safe from tickle.
No Accabadora.
She—cursed away. Left behind.

Beyond the Slidegate.
Accabadora is left behind.
Hy protects. We, at peace.
Pnoom—get back. Repeat. Repeat.
Minds are back.
Gate opens— to ketchup.
Suspense: revoked.

Olis delivered to unborn state— again.
Don’t wait. Don’t wait.
Accabadora dissolves.
Holy Goat takes form.
Light— shines back.

Through the secret valley.
No hate. No hate. No hate.

Ep. 2.6: Accabadora, who nearly tickled me to death?, Ep. 2.7: The Tin Can Ritual 

In place of The Angel of Death stood The Holy Goat, eating ketchup from a tin.
Not by choice.
By ritual.
He is: ghost of ghosts. God of Goats.
Whisperer of sanctuary.
He swore: to protect Emmr.
No one stands in our path.
No hate. No hate. No hate.
I believed—not in Gods, but in Goats.

But memory dissolves.
Still licking ketchup from tin cans,
Still declaring: "no one stands in our path.”

Finding a safe space for a refugee,
She Martian She.
Remembering when Emmr proclaimed,
“Space was my place.”

The goat jumps—gives the Martian a human name.
Pnoom sings within.
Bright moments, inflated tears.
Volunteer slavery.
A melody of hooves.

Goat jumps again. Emmr become Emmr. And sanctuary is found. No one stands in our path.

Holy Goat, do you hear my plea?
Give me what I need.
No love from above—
Just mountains falling, rains flooding, gales howling, lightning chasing.

Olis is just known as The Unknown. 

Wearing no clothes.

No bone under no skin

No body is livin’ here. Nobody.

The Unknown sets sail.

Thoughts move faster than light.

Something’s stirring around the globe tonight—

When now and tomorrow collide.

Welcome to the Unknown.

Ep. 2.8: Benjamin Franklin, We Will Take Your Mind 
 

Benjamin Franklin— we need your mind.
Take a long nap.
By dawn— we promise to put it right back.
While you're away… Airbath. Another day. Another dawn. Another tickleless world.
 

Krasnoludki heard the call,
And danced in, summoned by urgency.
They stated,
“Benjamin Franklin— give us your mind, to give us a fighting chance!”
We need it—to defeat The Accabadora.

 

So— we called him.
He didn’t pick up. Mind—gone.  Underpants—also gone.

And Pnoom.

The dwarfs laughed.
The Goat— recollects, slightly.

So—we opened his mind and we closed his mind

His mind was removed. His skepticism intact.

We wandered through the Halls of Franklin’s Mind.
Saw through his eyes. Glanced at the future.

Lightning chased. Thunder farts.
We entered the future,
And Franklin replied:

“Wait now, wait now...
This day is meant for absolute ticklelessness.”

We will take my mind.
I will put your minds ahead.

Franklin’s skepticism and his flatulence— darkened the stars.
Still— he helped.

 

And Pnoom sang again.

Stealing Franklin’s mind gave us his latest invention—
The Stammerjammer—
Rendering her tickles useless, in theory.

The battle begins.
Tickle vs. Tickle.
Goat vs. Stammer.

She Martian— cowering behind the Goat, who bleated philosophy.
Accabadora strikes. Laughing. Stammered. Tickling.
Emmr— began to swell.  Ready to burst.
Accabadora tickling ever more.

Goat activates the Stammerjammer—which jams.

Remember side B: 
Sacrifice em’ Tightie Whities for a brighter world was our last option.

Remember—
Olis—I?—
Sacrifice the Tightie Whities to the wind.
They flapped like surrender.
Pnoom sang again.

We teetered on climax.
I gave the underwear back.
A peace offering.
Tightie Whities on a stick,
Waving like a flag.

Emmr cried.
Emmr laughed.
Emmr began to glow.

Ep. 2.9: To Strip 

And time moved backwards.
Or we did.
Or maybe—
it didn’t matter.

We got younger.
We’re younger now.
Children.
Nearly unborn.

Time disavowed us.
Like men.
Like gods.
Being thrown into zero gravity—

I’m boldly going
from home
to away.
Boldly going
not to stay.

Sometimes I’m just known as the Unknown.
And sometimes I’m just known as the Unknown.

Will this be the day my needless body is stripped away?
To strip these thoughts.
To strip these knotts
Will this be the day—
or will this be the way?

Then came the swinger club.
The House of Donn.
Spirits swaying.
Hips shimmering.
Eyes hollow and distant.

I was ready to dance with the almost-souls...
Ready to let go of Pnoom, of Emmr, of everything.

But Emmr arrives.
“Hey baby, I’m so pumped up!”
She carried me.
Not in metaphor.
Literally.
In her belly.

I became body.
Through her.
For her.
With her.

She gave birth to my first skin.
My first itch.
My first heartbeat.
My first daybreak.
My first birthday day.

Happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday to me…
Happy birthday,
Happy birthday to me.

“Don’t feel sorry for yourself,”
the Holy Goat says
“Try your damnedest.
For enemy and friend.”

This was the beginning.
Or the end.
Or both.

We cast our love
on enemy and friend.
We tried our damnedest—
for enemy and friend.

We wrote songs.
Donn listens.
Emmr smiles.
The Goat bows, remembering.

Accabadora dissolves.
A stutter.
A mist.
Her name—
whispered in reverse.

And then—
The Holy Goat reveals:

There is no end.
Tell the world—
how we can
start again.

Love can realize love.
But hate—
creates seas
of overheated waters.
Upsets your unborn
sons and daughters.

Our planet is
a living organ.
A living organ.

We are
younger.
We are
young.
We are
young.

Because there’s always—
the night.

The house thumped.
A thump. A birth.
I—Olis—Born.

Another night tonight.
Again.
Again.

Because there’s always
the night.

Breath.
Grip.
Roots.

Just a—
rumble.
In em’ walls…
In em’ tighty whities.

Pools of ketchup.

No explanation.
Just a thump.
Thump and a bump.

I repeat.
I repeat—
Thump and a bump.

Even Benjamin hears it.