“Good day. My name is Jeremiah Arbuthnott Pygott. I co-own, with my esteemed colleague and friend, Mr. Jedidiah Haggard Winklefry Crone, not only this phone number, but also the shop attached to it. The Third Left Tentacle has been trading for longer than you can remember. Left to me originally as a third-rate brothel, filled with hairy whores, by my Great Uncle Xerxes, who was forced to give up the noble trade when even his steadfast spare parts began to wither. I initially tried to continue in his footsteps, succeeding for some years, but not only did I find it tedious sweeping up endless swathes of tart hair every day, it became obvious that the customers were spending more time waiting in the parlour, reading volumes from my extendible library – what with the spare copies fitting nicely inside the iniquitous den - than tramping upstairs to do the horizontal fandango with the attendant shag-piles. And the legendary Mrs. Wilton.
“Upon a chance meeting with a young, enthusiastic, scatter-brained bookseller in need of relief, I put it to him, on more than one occasion, that we ought to consider forming a partnership. Eventually, we spat, shook hands and entered the book trade. The remaining prostitutes turned out to be excellent shelf-stockers and grateful of the chance to remain upright at work for the first time. The new dress code – actual clothing – meant I could scale down hair-bundling duties to only a single weekly stint!
“Unfortunately, we no longer do extras (unless of course, you get particularly friendly with our Penisian scrying expert), but you can be assured of finding the largest range of occult, esoteric, mystical, barking, dangerous, brain-scarring and gelastic books in the known universes. And yes, of course we stock the 'Harry Potter' books. Our service is second to none, though admittedly, less stimulating now our last surviving Madame is beyond pyramid age and no longer even required to look at our books, let alone pick them up and foist them on our customers.
“Neither myself nor Mr. Crone is able to reach the phone at the moment, but if you’d care to leave a message, please don’t bother, as anyone still listening to this monologue is either very sad, lonely and desperate to hear the sound of anyone’s voice – which is your cue to hang up – or urgently requires our services and is praying that we really are listening and might just pick up if you shout your message really loud. This answerphone exists only as excuse not to take calls anyway, as the phone is an instrument of the Devil and shouldn’t be used by anyone. Even this message was recorded for us by a fiendishly convincing mimic, leaving me unsullied by the evil that infests those dancing light beams and crackling copper wires.
“When we're open, we have a particularly noxious ghoul who actually enjoys using this infernal machine and will be overjoyed if you ring during our hours of business, which is something those who aren’t too insane or lazy to get off their arses and come to the shop itself will already know.
“Opening hours are clearly displayed on the door. We have a multitude of security devices to ensure your safety whilst on the premises. Though we accept no liability for loss or damage to limbs, heads, sanity, pets or property.
“We do not have a website!!!
“Thankyou for calling and if you’re still there, please go away!”
Pygott & Crone have sold a copy of the fabled, mythical Necronomicon to a trustworthy, regular customer, Satan. But bizarre portents indicate He may have found a method of reading Abdul Alhazred's insanity inducing text, thus initiating the return of the Elder Gods, the destruction of humanity and possibly reality as we know it. Gulp!
They decide on even more foolhardy action: sneak into one of Hell's 7 Earthly portals, break into Lucifer's inner sanctum and steal back the book...that shouldn't be too hard?
