First of The Tall Tales of Tiberius O’Donnell
My dear friends, ladies and gentlemen of this fine establishment, next to the Royal Zoological Society in London – I ask for your patience as I tell you my story. I warn those of a weak disposition, especially those of the fairer sex… you may find the need to cover your ears.
But before I begin, I wonder if one of you could get an old man a dram of whiskey to warm the throat? Thank you.
It was in this very bar some three months ago that I first heard of the “Despicable Beast of Marrakech”.
I had been chatting to a rather interesting businessman by the name of Horatio Pippin who had told me of his recent expedition across French Africa. Whilst he amazed not just myself, but others at the bar with his many tales, it was not until he and I were alone in the smoking room that he told us about the beast.
As sunset comes across the city and night begins to fall, this creature comes out. They say it’s seven foot high with teeth like razors and a thick black coat of fur. Its territory is that of the rooftops of the city, only coming down to feed on cattle and small children!
After listening to Pippin’s tale, I decided at once I must go there and capture this travesty of nature, and bring it to the Royal Zoological Society so they can do what ever it is they do best.
The very next morning I booked my passage on the RMS Silvana from Southampton to Casablanca. I knew from the start this would be a most dangerous trip. As most of you are aware, my money is heavily invested in the Zeppelin industry, so I had to make this journey without my manservant. I was alone…
Arriving in Casablanca eight days later, the heat was unbearable. Ladies, you may wish to cover your ears here. I found myself having to remove my collar and tie and, dare I say, unbuttoning my top two buttons in order to have any hope of surviving the heat. The colonists, however, are a delightful bunch, and I was able to arrange transport with little fuss. The natives though… well, the sooner they learn the King’s tongue, the better.
Moving onto Marrakech, I booked myself into the Hotel Bristol and waited for nightfall.
The concierge was a most helpful fellow. For not only did he find me a guide to take me around the city itself, he also sourced a gramophone and a pressing of Scot Joplin. For it is said in the street that the beast is attracted to music.
The guide informed me that some two days previous, some droppings had been found in a street in the Kasbah area. I decided that this was where I would set up base, on the roof of a small shop nearby.
I sat on the rooftop and waited as night came and the moon illuminated the sky. Lighting my pipe, I realised I had made one fateful error in my planning. The wine I had brought with me was an 1878, not a ‘76. How could I have been so careless? I tossed the bottle aside and pulled out my hip flask instead.
A little after 3am I heard the unmistakable sound of an animal breathing. I took from my case the finest Sheffield steel padlocks one can buy, and three metres of chain.
My plan was to calm the beast with Dr. Dean’s Amazing Sleep Remedy. A quart to knock out a man is the usual dose, but here I was not taking any chances. I filled a syringe with a full pint!
The sound of breathing grew louder and nearer. Gordon Bennett! The music seemed to have done its trick! I positioned myself in the corner and readied myself with the syringe.
BANG! It was on the roof with me. In the darkness I could make out its large eyes. It was aware I was there too! I stepped forward and attempted to plunge the syringe in.
Before my arm was out straight, the beast had leapt forward, sending me flying, and unfortunately, the syringe too. I felt around and grabbed the chain – my last chance! I swung at the beast with all my strength. Sadly it resulted in nothing more than the padlock flying off the end.
For a moment we stood perched on this roof, neither of us moving. Silence.
My gaze drifted to the gramophone, which I could just make out in the darkness. From the corner of my eye I could see the beast heading towards the player as the record came to an end. Without the delightful ragtime sounds, I wondered what the beast’s next move would be.
Do please entertain my nonsense here, for I was certain there was a look of sadness on the creature’s face, if indeed such emotions can exist in the animal kingdom. Gathering my courage, I began to move closer, and then whoosh! The creature was gone.
Not before doing me the injustice of breaking the gramophone, I might add.
In the darkness I did my best to retrieve the pieces of the broken player, but alas, could not find the speaker cone. Tired, I headed back to my room at the Bristol. I dreaded having to tell the concierge I would require another player in the morning.
Turned out this most reasonable and helpful fella was now most displeased, and he refused me help in sourcing another.
Without music, I feared I had little chance of catching the creature. Having come so close, I headed back to Casablanca, and then onto the first available ship back to England. Which is why you now find me here.
I have come to ask your assistance in raising funds to take a brass band over with me on my next attempt. Now who is with me?
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Tags: 1900's, 1903, Africa, Beast, Kasbar, Marrakesh, Morocco, Tiberius
