They sat there, hundreds of them, there in the dark like dumfounded mushrooms, flinching with every strident scream and cringing with every reverberating roar. The two frightening sounds, one of fear and terror, the other a threatening primordial horror emanated from an unimaginable sight, both coming together and echoing throughout the large dark room to be seared permanently into the psyche of all those present. Sounds so imposing and unnerving and unforgettable they would become famously recognized and fear provoking all around the world.

      “Oh God!” Whispered a woman, looking about at the others as she reached and took her husband’s arm for security.

      The chilling sounds washed over them like the cold wind of a nor’easter storm yet resulted in an agitating hot sweat of expectation and fear. It was like nothing they had ever experienced, nothing they had ever read, ever imagined or ever dreamt. Nothing.

      They all sat there, wide-eyed, looking up at something horrible, bigger than life, seeing it for the first time and they were terrified, consternated.

      Another bone chilling ROAR!

      Another blood curdling SCREAM!

      The flickering light played off their blanched faces and their mouths fell open and dry in astonishment. They squirmed in their seats, feet shuffling, palms sweating, wanting to turn away, but for some reason remaining reluctantly fixed on the spectacle in front of them.

       “Oh my God,” the woman whispered nervously, still clenching the arm of her husband.

      The thing was there now, in front of her, in front of all of them, above them, frightening, larger than life and larger still again.

      “Oh my God!” she repeated with a slight tremble, nearly coming to tears.

      The thing had arrived for all mankind to see, crashing from its world to ours, unconstrained and threatening, towering above all civilized reality without shame, without conscience and without fear, totally without fear.

      “SCREAM!”

      “ROAR!”

      “SCREAM!”

      A small boy curled back into his seat, peeking through his fingers. Next to him sat his little sister, intensely frightened, scared, not just scared but scared senseless with her face buried, hidden in her brother’s shoulder as she jumped and twitched with each shattering scream and roar. She wanted it to go away, to just go away.

      Outside, away from this impending horror, night had already fallen and a dull fog had engulfed the Hudson River and the harbor. Across the river the canyons of 1933 New York were only discernible by the many lights of her towering buildings and other mammoth monuments of progress. High above, the city was topped by a gray reflection off an umbrella of lingering haze created by the heat of life which emanated from the creatures and traffic below. Cars and cabs scurried up and down the avenues, their engines and horns echoing off the urban walls and windows.

      Out there people shuffled along the sidewalks, oblivious of the monstrous revelation taking place in their midst, in that large dark room where hundreds of their fellow citizens were losing their cinematic innocence. Losing it by watching for the first time the biggest, baddest damn monster ever conceived. Where they watched and came to fear… Kong, King Kong, the great ape. Where they saw Kong crashing through the jungle to discover the love of his life, Fay Ray. Where Kong, the great natural mystery and the proclaimed eighth wonder of the world was now crashing through the massive heavy gates of a huge ancient wall and into a native village, destroying, ravaging, killing, snatching and actually eating fleeing natives. Kong would do all this and more for he was seriously pissed off, pissed off at the entire world just because some damn sailor stole his little woman.

      Among the hundreds of spellbound people in the audience sat two young men, one Bartholomew “Bart” Haile and one Stanley Corbit Wellington III.  Bart had easily become wide-eyed and terrified like the rest of the audience in the theater. In fact he was so damn nervous he was even smiling.  Stanley Wellington however was more rational. He knew it was simply another Hollywood flick and he wasn’t about to be sucked into a pseudo psychological moment of anxiety. Always composed, that was Stanley, cool, calm and collected not to mention stinking rich and handsome. Bart on the other hand, well, Bart was Bart and no one else. He wore his heart on his sleeve and his tie in his pocket, a real potluck stew of emotions and more often than not was too honest and outspoken for his own good.

      When the movie drew to its conclusion Kong, the great gorilla, had caused all kinds of mayhem in Manhattan and was now right in up-town New York high atop the tallest building in the world. Kong had taken the beautiful girl and taken the Empire State Building and he was seriously pissed off… again.  Pissed off this time because airplanes were spitting bullets at him and his elusive lady.

      “Scream!”

      “Roar!”

      Rat tat tat tat tat tat.

      It seemed our killer Kong just couldn’t get any respect, typical New York, so he reached out and snatched one of those damn pesky bullet spraying biplanes with one hand and tossed it away like a bad banana. Bart stared at the screen awestruck, amazed, then afforded himself a quick glance at his friend, discovering to his astonishment that Stanley appeared to be almost bored. When he looked back to the big screen Kong had finally been conquered by the planes, falling to the streets far far below where he was quickly surrounded by the curious citizens of Gothem. Jack Armstrong, playing Carl Denham, Kong’s captor, made his way through the crowd to deliver an historic eulogy.

      “Well Denham, the planes got him,” observed a nearby constable.

      “Oh no. Wasn’t the planes that got him,” replied Denham. “It was beauty killed the beast.”

      Yeah right.

      And so there it ended as the music rose and hundreds of hearts in the theater fell. The great terrifying Kong had become just another poor slob who drew the short straw in just another Hollywood love triangle. Yep, that beauty will get you every time just like Kong, relegated to the likes of Bogart and Valentino. For a relieved audience however, justice and humanity had once again prevailed, reinforcing their belief that there is no beast or force on earth, no matter how great, which could conquer the City of New York. Not today. Not in 1933. Not ever. At least that’s what they thought.

      When the theater patrons exited the building, the space and light and reality of the street as well as the crisp air of late fall offered a welcomed relief from the frightening confines of the great gorilla Kong experience. Thelma, the highly agitated woman who nearly squeezed the blood from her husband’s arm during the movie, was more than relieved to be away from the big screen horror. However she continued holding his arm for comfort and support as they made their way through the crowd. When a taxi pulled to the curb her husband was helping her on with her coat and while doing so observed her uneasy glances to the heights of the Empire State Building.

      “Oh really now, Thelma. Be serious,” he chided. “After all, it was only a movie.”

      “Only a movie,” she repeated, hoping her expressed repetition would be reassuring, but it wasn‘t. “Only a movie.”

      He opened the door to the taxi and helped her in. As he donned his hat before entering behind her he too turned and glanced up at the towering skyscraper. A brief chill ran up his spine and he wondered if it were indeed possible. When he entered the cab the high-strung Thelma stated apprehensively, “I could use a drink. I could really use a drink. Now.”

      “Well, my dear, if you insist,” he readily agreed.

      Just as the cab pulled away Stanley and Bart exited the theater. They could easily be taken for what they were, a pair of ivy leaguers, evident by their appearance, age and demeanor. Stanley, the most handsome, was much better dressed, afforded to him by vast sums of money and enterprise acquired by four generations of successful Wellingtons. Bart, to the contrary, was a bit less refined, wearing a letterman’s sweater and worn corduroy slacks under a well seasoned coat with a near homely mismatched but much loved and appreciated scarf made by his grandmother. If he was at all disadvantaged in looks or otherwise as compared to his friend Stanley, it didn’t trouble him in the least for he was never one to be concerned about social impressions or status. He sported a full head of blond hair, a fair share of freckles and a wonderful broad shit-eating smile and disposition that few people could resist. Simply stated, Bart Haile was an agreeable piece of work in spite of himself.

      “Well, that was an interesting distraction,” observed Stanley.      “Distraction? Distraction? Hell, Stanley, any more distractions like that and I’m gonna’ need therapy. Didn’t you see that thing or were you sleeping through the entire show? And that Fay Wray… wooooh, hey, what a dish, huh?  What I wouldn‘t give to be that monkey for a day. Just one day on an island with her and I would…”

      Stanley laughed as he pulled a cigarette from a gold case, stuck it in a silver holder, clamped it between his teeth and popped a match on his fingernail to light up.

      “Listen Bart old man,” he said as he started to light his cigarette. “We’re law students, future levelheaded guardians of fortune and industry. We can’t allow ourselves to be emotionally shaken by the antics of a fictitious Hollywood monkey.”

      Before Stanley could bring the match to meet the cigarette his wrist was gripped and stayed firmly by the rough strong hand of a stranger.

      “Monkey?” said the stranger.

      Stanley turned to discover an old sailor in an aged wool p-coat and a seaman’s cap. The old sailor pulled the burning match to his pipe, drew heavily until the pipe was well lit and then released Stanley’s wrist. The flaring light of the match revealed the leathery aged face of a hard lived and long traveled old man with an imposing scar that crossed through his left eyebrow down to his upper cheek.

      “Monkey?  Fictitious?” he grunted as he drew on his pipe. “What the hell do you know? Thanks for the light kid,” he concluded as he turned and walked away, favoring his left leg with an obvious limp.

      “And I suppose you’re an expert?” said Stanley, tossing the match.

      The old sailor paused and turned, “On monkeys, hell no. Couldn’t rightly give a damn,” he said; then returned to settle close to Bart and Stanley. “But that creature in there…” He near whispered with a nervous chuckle, then looking about, uneasy. “I been places. Seen things. Things you can’t imagine. I knows the truth, boy,” he looked over his shoulder at the theater marquee. “Not that movie shit in there. It’s the truth I be know’n, I say.”

     Bart was immediately fascinated by the mystery of the old man. Stanley remained characteristically indifferent. The old sailor detected Stanley’s doubt and dismissed and shunned him with a grunt and a wave then turned and walked away.

      “Crazy old man,” Stanley mumbled.

      “Stanley my good fellow, where’s your sense of curiosity,” smiled Bart as he perked up and patted Stanley on the back. “Besides, what the hell else have we got to do?”

      Bart quickly caught up to the old sailor while Stanley stood, struck another match and lit his cigarette.  He watched as Bart appeared to reach some sort of agreement with the stranger and when they returned together he simply shook his head thinking he was about to become the victim of another of Bart’s nonsensical high jinks.

      “Stanley, I think we would do well to listen to our new-found friend here. As dear grandma Haile always said, ‘Taking in an old man’s wisdom is far more enlightening than reading all the books ever written by unlived savants’.”

      “Right. Your grandmother said that?”

      “Yeah well, actually it was more like, ‘Shut the hell up and listen to your grandfather or I’ll slap you,’ but does that make it any less relevant?.”

      Bart took both men by the arm and escorted them along the street. “Gentlemen, what say we take some sustenance and talk awhile? Chew the fat as they say back on the farm.”

      “You didn’t grow up on a farm,” observed Stanley. “You’re from Flatbush.”

      “Yeah, but I have an agricultural heritage.”

      “Bart, your father was a dentist and your grandfather was a barber.”

      “Damn it Stanley, you’re always splitting hairs.”

 END CHAPTER 1

Be sure and return next week for Chapter 2.

Don't forget to look for the special free gift to be given with the release and introduction of the Monkey sequel titled,

~ On Still Waters ~