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Written by the CEO in conjunction with Jessica Lightfoot-Toye

“Father!” it called piteously; the voice seemed to blend seamlessly with the blue light “I am not yet ready, seal the egg, keep me warm and come back for me in one week’s time.” Aniello blinked. This was quite astonishing, however given that he was quite used to astonishing things, he took it quite in his stride. “Ah my child, with what shall I seal the egg?” “With the tallow of the table candle father; but be quick be quick, for when the blue light is spent, I shall perish.” 

So Aniello lit the candle and carefully dripped the wax over the crack, which, whilst wide was not fragmented at the edge but clean. The tallow cooled and slowly the blue light was prevented from emitting further from the ovum. 

Aniello now considered the problem of warmth. He thought about secreting it somewhere near some kind of warm water device, but he could imagine he would forget and the egg would perish from cold. He thought about having it about his person but then he feared he would forget and crack it. He thought about putting it near the fire, but feared the fire would be made too hot and the egg would be cooked. Lastly, he thought about the most traditional of all methods and considered he would give it to Rachel to sit on to incubate, presuming she would know how to sit gently enough not to destroy it. 

He did not particularly like this idea, and partially hoped she would devise a more cunning method of keeping it warm away from themselves. For, no matter how avian she became Aniello still wanted to indulge his desires for his wife (possibly it occurred to him, the more avian she became the more he desired her (but then repressed this again)). So the thought of her immobile upon this tallow fixed egg for a whole week seemed nearly more that he could imagine. 

On the other hand, one had to think of the children. Parenthood is no light matter and sacrifices must be made. Thus, with dutiful heart he went to his wife and said “My wife, this egg contains our child which I nearly cooked for my breakfast, yet it stilled my hand and told me to wait for a week. The child lives though the egg is cracked, but the egg must be kept warm. What’s to do?” and he looked at her with her an expression of such paltry intelligence that she —with considerable irony- fancied he looked as stupid as a chicken can look (albeit a handsome one). Rachel considered the matter cooly for a second and then with an alacrity that stunned Aniello, she snatched the egg from him with her claw-like hand and flung it out of a nearby open window. 

“There,” she said “that’s what’s to do with it. Let’s see if the lazy wretch can fly shall we!”

The egg, now hurtling through the air at many miles an hour, whistled as its trajectory was directed out of the open window and toward the palace grounds below. Aniello raced to the window, half-throwing himself out of it but alas, his breakfast-child had vanished from his sight. His heart lurched from his chest as he contemplated his loss and anger burnt ferociously within him. Aniello turned, preparing himself to beat his pesky poultry-wife but then he heard a strange noise.

Above him, the egg bobbed frantically. It seemed impossible for it to be doing so but Aniello acknowledged that this was simply the most recent of many impossible things that had occurred during his short life. Brushing this apparently obvious thought aside, he squinted his eyes in an attempt to observe how his egg-child achieved the gravity-defying feat.

From within the greenish shell (the colour of which was not previously noted), a pair of leathery wings emerged through the formerly-tallowed crack, and beat furiously to suspend the bulbous form high up above them. 

Turning rapidly on his heels, Aniello ran back within his palace and searched all 159 rooms for the tool he knew he would imminently require. Rachel, who did not follow him, meanwhile sat on the windowsill throwing small rocks, some of which were diamonds, at the egg child in an attempt to dislodge it from its airy position. Much to her frustration, she was unsuccessful . 

Within ten minutes, Aniello had returned and proudly displayed his much-sought possession.

“Behold, witch! My ergonomic, hydrophobic, rheumatic butterfly-and-occasional-moth-catching net!”. 

Rachel didn’t know what most of those words meant but she remained nonplussed, turling her tawny locks with her forefinger/-claws.

Balancing precariously on the window ledge, Aniello leaned forward on the tips of his toes as he teetered towards the egg which seemed to be just out of reach. With one fell swoop, he captured his prize, or so he had initially thought…

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CEO and Jessica Lightfoot-Toye

Now you must know of the subterfuge that the young man Aniello created in order to disguise his desire to copulate with his chicken. This bird looked after Aniello whilst he was a beggar, right into its dotage, laying him an egg everyday for him to consume (or at least that he consumed). Aniello loved this bird and hence in this loving respect repressed his desire. Upon its death he retrieved a
marvellous red stone from within its skull, which could grant all wishes.
His first wish of course was to resurrect the cathectic object. Upon reanimation, the fowl could speak and in doing so it offered good advice to Aniello about how he might enjoy life. Presumably
because the chicken never suggested it, Aniello did not wish for his true desire and hence applied a glamour of handsomeness to himself, magicked up a castle and married a spoiled princess. Two wizards who wanted the stone, then tricked it out of his spouse and undid all that Aniello had done —though the chicken remained alive but no longer capable of speech. Eventually Aniello regained the stone, turned the wizards to donkeys, rebuilt his castle but no longer wanted the spoiled
princess. He then re-considered his repressed issue and in an ingenious, yet obvious, solution, he wished that the hen could be a beautiful maiden that he could marry, which he did.
It will be clear from this that Aniello succeeded in largely fulfilling (not resolving) his Oedipus complex (insofar as such a thing is real). The egg laying chicken, (his symbolic mother), became desirable to him and yet was prohibited. This was so partially owing to his loving respect for it and partially through its lack of speech —these two points are of course related. The wizards are his father that sought the stone for themselves and hence to deprive him of the chicken. They of course
failed and Aniello (as mentioned) transformed the chicken into the maiden. Of course, after all this Aniello had to marry the chicken/maiden/mother. For he still felt the same love for her as when she was a chicken and hence did not simply want to fuck her. But what then
for Aniello? He had a marvellous red stone to grant them all things and a chicken/maiden/mother for a wife. When he fucks her, she makes a bit of a strange noise and admittedly she has strange line in conversation (making dinner guests awkward) but apart from that all is good.

For three years Aniello and Rachel, whom he’d at last given a human name, cohabited in relative peace. Thanks to Aniello’s (or rather, Rachel’s) magic red stone, the couple never wanted for anything as everything they desired appearedbefore them as soon as Aniello rubbed the precious jewel. It wasn’t long before verdant green gardens, vibrant courtyards and high walls flanked the borders of their grand estate and their palace continued to grow in size as Aniello continued to wish for excess wealth and luxury. But while he was now the richest, handsomest and most revered m.an in all of the kingdom, he could not shake a sense of unease which grew within him.

Aniello continued to obtain carnal satisfaction twice daily (thrice if you count the additional weekly session on a Tuesday evening). One day after completing this particular ritual for the second time, Aniello, while sweeping up the ever-growing pile of feathers expelled from their pillows during love-making, began to contemplate matters. He looked toward his bride and began to observe her in an altogether different manner. His gaze was first cast over her tawny plumage and he considered how it occasionally sprouted the odd feather which she plucked serendipitously when she thought he wasn’t looking. It was then he began noticing other remnants of her former self. Her nose which he once considered noble took on a more beak-like quality, her round chest puffed forward like an avian breast and her long fingers (of which there were only three on each hand) reminded him of the elongated toes which once extended from each foot. But what unsettled Aniello most about his gradual realisations was that his bride’s daily offerings of eggs had failed to cease after her dramatic physical transformation. While he had not seen his bride produce these eggs which she assured him were still her own, Aniello decided that he’d rather not give this conundrum too much thought.

As he sat one morning in their magnificent dining room, laden with an exotic array of fruits, confectionery and sweet meats, he cracked his daily egg on the edge of the oak table when he heard an unexpected sound. Lifting the egg to eye-level, he noticed a refraction of blue light gleaming from within the thin, membranous layer. Cautiously, Aniello began peeling it in precise segments when all of a sudden, a shrill, watery voice cried out from behind the ghostly veil.

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“It’s not possible what you say Steepleton! It’s too monstrous!”

Harris was distraught clearly as the apothecary regarded him with a cool eye. “I don’t know why you think it monstrous Austin, it is simply the world as science describes it.”

“But this is not science Edward, this is, this is sorcery!” He discharged the word, with no venom, something in that region but more muted. There was anger, disgust, pity and fear in his tone.

“You could call it sorcery I suppose Austin but this would be to lapse back into a primitive mode of thought. Your problem is that you perceive science only to extend in directions of the world as it commonly appears. However when one pays attention to certain other facets of existence, lines open up that describe directions not commonly entertained.”

“You mean all that Rosicrucian nonsense and the rest.”

“Yes and no. There is some truth to the order but much of their efforts are lost in the paradox of the matter.”

“Which is?’

“That very stuff of concepts is living, meaning concepts may appear luminous when given that as part of their conceptuality when in fact this is true of all concepts.”

“You talk in riddles Steepleton. You say this is science, but science requires proof. You have no proof of this, it is your insane conjecture alone.”

“If you require proof I can readily supply it, though it will be easier if you smoke this with me first.”

Edward Steepleton brought out a hashish pipe and some of the finest Moroccan resin that it was possible to obtain.

“You would intoxicate me, then insist my intoxication acted as proof?”

“This is a primitive science and we cannot yet easily manipulate the levels of awareness, hence we must do so with the aid of our friends the plants. I have much stronger substances than this at my disposal but they would be too much for you. Come smoke with me and observe, I can assure you the results will be quite objective.”

Austin continued to eye Steepleton like something of a lunatic, yet the truth was he knew otherwise. Edward Steepleton was a widely respected apothecary of generally brilliant intelligence. Austin Harris was more than an acquaintance; the two men had struck up something for a friendship after Edward cured his wife of a strange fever that no doctor had been able to touch. Harris though had alway put Steepleton’s skill down to rational genius and thorough knowledge of the plants and the human organism, rather than anything supernatural.

Seeing that Harris had not left the room and calmed himself somewhat, Edward loaded the pipe to capacity and lit it. Aromatic hashish odour drifted around the glow of the dim room, Edward drew deeply several times before passing the pipe to Austin. In subdued acquiescence Austin took the pipe and drew on it. The resin glowed fiercely as he did so and he felt the hot smoke soak into his lungs. The pipe returned to Edward who reloaded it, drew again and once more passed it back to Harris.

Feeling the rising alteration in his mind already, Austin was half reluctant to take a second draw and yet did so anyway. He had committed and well, Edward was the apothecary, so he ought to know the dose. The room how had something of a quality of vividness to it and Austin’s mind was awash with that ineffable sensation, variable amongst folk, often referred to as high. He became aware of a certain lack of control in his demeanour but wished to contain this. He looked across at Edward who looked as implacable as ever. Austin fancied there was almost a curious glow emitting from him but suppressed the notion.

“I see your awareness has shifted sufficiently, if you are comfortable we can proceed?”

Harris was somewhat surprised to find a good deal of anxiety pulsing through him and felt he was losing further control of his expression.

“What are you going to do?” Was all he could manage in the end.

“Wait here” instructed Steepleton, at which he arose and left the room for his study.

Harris began to wonder if Edward would come back in some strange get up and attempt to frighten him. He then went down the road in which a strange apparition walked into the room which Harris clearly took too be Edward but that Edward then walked in simultaneously to the apparition. The thought was so vivid and sinister that Harris found he had thoroughly frightened himself and now longed for the simple reappearance of Edward.

He did not have long to wait. Edward reappeared from his study carrying what appeared to be a doll. He sat down and held to doll upright so that Austin could see it fully. It was made of a loosely stuffed cloth. The doll was maybe a foot and a half in height. The face was round with a smiling expression and button eyes. Red wool like string hung from its head as hair. It had a kind of top sewn into its upper half of some pale coloured material (one could not tell exactly in the gloom). The arms were bare, or at least slightly paler in colour than the top. It had a floppy knee length skirt of some darker material, though not as dark as black; his mind filled the colour in as a kind of purple. The legs were made of a kind of material as if the doll wore tights with broad hoops of colour alternating with white and it had no discernible footwear.

“This is Moppet. Austin, say hello to Moppet.’’

Steepleton’s sudden introduction and instruction caught Harris off guard. He looked baffled at Steepleton and then at the doll. Though on his return glance to the doll he noticed that that Edward had bent himself down in his chair so that he could place his hand subtly behind the doll’s back and hold it in such a way that it’s feet touched the floor and its head was propped upright -presumably by his finger.

Austin looked again at Edward and saw the face was as serious as ever. “Won’t you say hello to Moppet?”

Almost laughing now at the absurdity, Austin capitulated.

“Hello Moppet.” He said, though with little feeling except anxiety driven derision.

“Good” said Edward. “Moppet is not alive, do we agree?”

“Of course not.” Agreed Harris.

“Watch her now.” Instructed Edward.

Austin’s altered mind latched onto the doll, which Edward still skilfully held upright. He then began to manoeuvre her in such way that she had a strong sense of animation. She walked along the floor in front of Edward, then she cocked her head up and looked at Austin.

As Austin watched he felt a curious thing. He could see literally the doll as alive. It moved in such an animate uncanny way that he felt fascinated and horrified in equal measure. The doll did not look sinister. It did not need to. The sheer reality of seeing the life of the dolls shook him and yet he could not look away. A curious intensity intensity built in him, an unbearable strangeness grew and grew in his mind.

Then the light flickered out momentarily, came back on, then flickered out again. Austin started with fright.

“Stop it!” He cried. Then regained his senses as a rational embarrassment kicked in.

Edward stopped animating the doll and looked at Austin.

“Do you see?”

“See what?” Austin was almost annoyed.

“You projected the concept of life onto the doll. It began to take on this accretion of pneuma, as I call it. The result was a psychic disruption which resulted in a loss of physical energy from the surrounding system and the the light flickered.”

“Nonsense.” Austin managed, though was clearly shaken.

“Then what happened?!”

“You got me half out of my mind on your infernal hashish and played some hideous trick on me is what happened. No one would deny that things can look strange in this state.”

“And the light?”

“Coincidence.”

“Shall I animate her again?”

Austin had no choice but to say he must. His argument rested on Edwards failure to repeat.

“Watch Moppet” came the instruction.

So Harris watched Moppet and soon she became as entrancing as before. She curtsied prettily for him and walked across the rug most elegantly. Edward’s arm was hardly visible yet Austin did not even consider how he did it. Moppet, walked and peered under the armchair as if she looked for something. As the display went on, so the sensation of intensity began to build once more. Moppet look stranger and stranger, more and more alive and in doing so once the feeling built in Austin’s being such that he thought he would break from the impossibility of what he actually saw.

Then the light flickered once more and there was a loud report that sounded like it came from within the walls.

“Stop it!” Cried Harris, shaken pale and sweating.

Steepleton ceased animating the doll. The light returned and normality was restored.

“You see.” He said “Science.”