Memoirs of a Herman - Discovery of the Fred

July 2nd, 189-

My dearest Arthur,

A most strange disturbance at the Club last night. It was quite late; Pettigrew, Chattlewroth and I were discussing, over port,  the last frigging match we had attended (you may recall my fondness for the shaven-cunnied Moslem), when an alarming din began in the entrance hall.

Such a noise it was, a human voice, but one filled with an anger and loathing no longer able to be contained. I turned to Pettigrew and saw that his face was white with fear.

I understood only too well his alarm. He and I had both served under Lord Chelmsford at Isandlwana Mountain during the Zulu war, and the noise brought to mind the jabbering of those dark savages.

“Get a grip of yourself, man,’ I hissed at him, and, arming myself with a billiard cue, burst through the doors of the lounge to confront whatever manner of foul creature had disturbed our evening’s repose.

I confess, dear Arthur, that I would have preferred to have seen an insane sambo, armed with spear and shield and teeth itching for a taste of civilised white flesh, than to have encountered the foulness that stood hunched before me now.

In these days of modern science, with the world entire discovered and becoming enlightened under the guidance of the Empire, I would not have imagined that such a creature could exist.

Hideous, but clearly a man; or at least, it had the shape of a man. It was entirely hairless and unclothed. Upon his chest and belly, 8 engorged nipples swung pendulously with each heaving breath. Between his legs a small prick stood erect, sickly green fluid dribbling from its end. His face… My God, Arthur, I think my mind has expunged the worst of the details. His ears were low at the side of his head, his forehead a sloping expanse of pustules that shaded eyes gleaming with malice and self-loathing. His nose was flat like that of the negro, and his mouth was distended, teeth filed to points, a grey tongue lolling from his mouth.

I studied his appearance in a matter of seconds. My first thought was of the asylum at Croftsbrook, the one we attended for the idiot-baiting; I thought this one of the inmates come to wreak its revenge, and I must confess, Arthur, I was reminded of you and the young boy of Italian origin (whose teeth you had removed to stop him lunching upon your member).

But this was no escaped lunatic. This was a freak, a monster, the product of sexual intercourse between man and demon, born from the arsehole of a cretinous prostitute.

He sat there, glaring, nipple-heavy chest gasping for breath, and I saw that he was wounded. Blood the colour of ochre was pooling on the marbled floor of the entrance hall. The amount of blood lost was copious in the short time the monster had rested there; no creature, no matter what its parentage, could survive for long.

I felt a hand rest upon my shoulder; I turned and saw it was Pettigrew, his skin now more ruddy than it had been in the lounge. ‘What is it, Charles? he asked. I had no answer for him. How could one give a name to a demented, twisted form of man such as this?

‘What are you?’ Pettigrew demanded of the creature.

The creature, his breaths becoming more shallow and irregular, turned its massive deformed head to look at my friend.

‘Frrreeeddd,’ he moaned. Arthur, if you could only have heard his voice! Remember Mr Merrick, the so called Elephant man who was no elephant at all, into whose fell clutches you were drawn when you decided that only the beasts of the Earth were worthy of your buggery? This wretch’s voice held none of Mr Merrick’s base intelligence, although that tumourous receptacle of your fluid is the nearest I can come when ever I think of this poor ‘Fred’.

The beast then collapsed, shuddered and died. Pettigrew and I shared a look, and I approached the Fred.

It was quite dead, Arthur, but it was then that I made a shocking discovery; beneath the creature’s bulk, just behind the still-erect penis, was the wound. However, on closer examination, it was no wound at all, but some kind of birth canal.

This creature was capable of reproduction. I wonder if it had ever attempted to breed, and what manner of man could withstand its rancid embrace; indeed, I doubt that any man, no matter what his colour or creed, would have attempted to have sex with this Fred.

But I cannot dismiss from my mind the possibility of more of these creatures, a lair of them somewhere below the streets, growing and feeding and, indeed, breeding with each other. For if these Freds should ever rise from their subterranean nest… then may God have mercy on us all.

I remain,
Your friend

Lord Charles Herman