The Curse of the Scottish Play
Rain drowned the sound of the rehearsal where the actors had met in an empty old shack for extra practice. Things were not going well at all for there performance. It seemed like curse of the Scottish Play was trying to outdo itself. They were hopelessly behind schedule, with little chance of catching up.
A wonderful play, thought the stranger. witchcraft, bloodshed, the good side wins. Like Hell.
He stood in a shadowy corner, watching the actors work. He hated the play, and Shakespear. It was sickening how far someone would twist the facts around to make a good story. Honestly, he thought Macbeth defeating the tyrant Duncan in battle, and fighting the evil, scheming Malcolm's attempts to reclaim the throne before the coward killed him and his stepson Lulach, the rightful heir to the throne, made a perfectly fine story.
But that was just him. He looked at the actors. There were no props or fights going on for the curse to interfere with, so he left. The rain soaked the blue jeans and T-shirt his sister insisted he wore. She said he had to blend in, that if he was too obvious, he'd ruin everything. No kilt for poor Mac.
He hated his name. Not Mac, his full name. Macamfearnachtill. Not only was it a mouthfull, it was a damned mockery of him and his family. It was Gealic for "son of he who will not return." It was a big joke in the demon clan, Tiamhaidh. They named him when he was a seventeen year old demon, ready to march off and fight against Malcolm. Of course after he'd killed the ones who named him, the others didn't find it quite as funny, so now they called him Mac, or used his father's name, Macbeth.
Ironic. The son and daughter of two noble and honorable Scots were demons. Mac and his sister Gruoch weren't sure how it happened themselves. All they knew is that they died before they were born and their souls came back as demons. ( Whatever you're thinking, they had a mother, so it counts as being born of woman. ) They were raised by the Tiamhaidh Clan, who kept their parents' identities a secret, until they were named.
He walked to the empty cabin where he and Grouch were staying. It was probably somebody's summer-home, right on the edge of the woods, but they didn't really care. They had work to do, and needed somewhere to stay, so whoever owned the house could go screw themselves. Besides, they didn't really use any electricity or water, so it would be like they were never there.
Inside, Gruoch was busy with ancient scrolls and books. Magic, of course. Yet more irony. They were using witchcraft to destroy the curse of a play that used witchcraft to make a mockery of their parents. (Sorry to any witches, no offense meant. Malcolm's little English whore used the witch story to make people hate the Macbeths.) He stood in the door until she noticed him.
"You're back already"
"Aye. They're only reading lines, there wasn't much mischief to be done."
"Oh. Go put some dry clothes on, before you make a mess." She looked back to her book, looking for a solution in its yellowed pages. Before long, Mac came up behind her.
"Did you find anything?"
"Nothing yet."
"Not even a hint?"
"Maybe. We'll see." The funny thing about the curse was that it didn't do anything. It was there, of course, but it had already been done with when Shakespeare wrote the play. The playwrite had included real magic spells in the script, their effect being to capture souls. Naturally, the souls in questions were the Macbeths'. Although their spirits got loose every now and then and caused a little mischief, most of the trouble was Mac's and Gruoch's doing. A lot of the spells Gruoch found to break the curse required a sacrifice, anywhere from knocking sets and backdrops over and things to heavy bloodshed. At one play, their spell lead to the death of five or so actors (who all happened to play Macduff).
In truth, there was a spell she was considering. It was the most likely one she'd come across so far. The trouble was, it needed blood. A whole lot of it. A lot of actors would have to die. And she'd been around for too many performances of Macbeth to think that they would just get away with it.
......
Sorry, I'm, aware it might be a bit melodramatic. I don't know.
Fortunately for fans of Shakespeare and real history alike, I don't own MacBeth. (I made up Mac and Gruoch, though.)
Rain drowned the sound of the rehearsal where the actors had met in an empty old shack for extra practice. Things were not going well at all for there performance. It seemed like curse of the Scottish Play was trying to outdo itself. They were hopelessly behind schedule, with little chance of catching up.
A wonderful play, thought the stranger. witchcraft, bloodshed, the good side wins. Like Hell.
He stood in a shadowy corner, watching the actors work. He hated the play, and Shakespear. It was sickening how far someone would twist the facts around to make a good story. Honestly, he thought Macbeth defeating the tyrant Duncan in battle, and fighting the evil, scheming Malcolm's attempts to reclaim the throne before the coward killed him and his stepson Lulach, the rightful heir to the throne, made a perfectly fine story.
But that was just him. He looked at the actors. There were no props or fights going on for the curse to interfere with, so he left. The rain soaked the blue jeans and T-shirt his sister insisted he wore. She said he had to blend in, that if he was too obvious, he'd ruin everything. No kilt for poor Mac.
He hated his name. Not Mac, his full name. Macamfearnachtill. Not only was it a mouthfull, it was a damned mockery of him and his family. It was Gealic for "son of he who will not return." It was a big joke in the demon clan, Tiamhaidh. They named him when he was a seventeen year old demon, ready to march off and fight against Malcolm. Of course after he'd killed the ones who named him, the others didn't find it quite as funny, so now they called him Mac, or used his father's name, Macbeth.
Ironic. The son and daughter of two noble and honorable Scots were demons. Mac and his sister Gruoch weren't sure how it happened themselves. All they knew is that they died before they were born and their souls came back as demons. ( Whatever you're thinking, they had a mother, so it counts as being born of woman. ) They were raised by the Tiamhaidh Clan, who kept their parents' identities a secret, until they were named.
He walked to the empty cabin where he and Grouch were staying. It was probably somebody's summer-home, right on the edge of the woods, but they didn't really care. They had work to do, and needed somewhere to stay, so whoever owned the house could go screw themselves. Besides, they didn't really use any electricity or water, so it would be like they were never there.
Inside, Gruoch was busy with ancient scrolls and books. Magic, of course. Yet more irony. They were using witchcraft to destroy the curse of a play that used witchcraft to make a mockery of their parents. (Sorry to any witches, no offense meant. Malcolm's little English whore used the witch story to make people hate the Macbeths.) He stood in the door until she noticed him.
"You're back already"
"Aye. They're only reading lines, there wasn't much mischief to be done."
"Oh. Go put some dry clothes on, before you make a mess." She looked back to her book, looking for a solution in its yellowed pages. Before long, Mac came up behind her.
"Did you find anything?"
"Nothing yet."
"Not even a hint?"
"Maybe. We'll see." The funny thing about the curse was that it didn't do anything. It was there, of course, but it had already been done with when Shakespeare wrote the play. The playwrite had included real magic spells in the script, their effect being to capture souls. Naturally, the souls in questions were the Macbeths'. Although their spirits got loose every now and then and caused a little mischief, most of the trouble was Mac's and Gruoch's doing. A lot of the spells Gruoch found to break the curse required a sacrifice, anywhere from knocking sets and backdrops over and things to heavy bloodshed. At one play, their spell lead to the death of five or so actors (who all happened to play Macduff).
In truth, there was a spell she was considering. It was the most likely one she'd come across so far. The trouble was, it needed blood. A whole lot of it. A lot of actors would have to die. And she'd been around for too many performances of Macbeth to think that they would just get away with it.
......
Sorry, I'm, aware it might be a bit melodramatic. I don't know.
Fortunately for fans of Shakespeare and real history alike, I don't own MacBeth. (I made up Mac and Gruoch, though.)
