Incident On Bannerville

Music by Steve Kilbey, Peter Koppes, Tim Powles, Marty Willson-Piper
Words from the book Shriek: An Afterword by Jeff VanderMeer

Appears On:

The words on this track are from Shriek: An Afterword, Part Two, Chapter 2, 8th section – pp. 248-49 (Ltd. Ed. pp. 235-36).
The repeated chorus (starting at 3:26) is from Part Two, the beginning of Chapter 3 – p. 252 (Ltd. Ed. p. 239).

Narration/Lyrics

We were on a street called Bannerville. I remember that. Huh. The streetlights were bare of the terrible burden of death. Yeah. Some of them work. They glowed green. At the end of Bannerville, we'd turn to the right and we'd be a block away from the Truffidian Cathedral.

A strange surge of joy or recognition overtook us, all out of proportion to our reality. We began to run, to laugh, abandoning our shuffle through the shadows; with safety so close, it was agony to walk slowly. The worst seemed past. It really did. I was already thinking about what I'd say to Bonmot. I was already thinking about that, Truff help me.

And Sybel had been holding my hand. He was a little behind me at this point. We were almost at the end of Bannerville, not more than twenty feet from safety. Overhead, a street lamp flickered free of the green glow that pervaded the rest of the city.

And we were both about to turn the corner. I could hear Sybel's heavy breathing as he ran. Then I heard an unfamiliar sound—a sound trapped between a gasp and a moan—and when I turned and looked at Sybel, all I could see was a mist of blood, floating out in streamers. I stopped running and stared. I couldn't breathe for a second. Nothing of him was left—not even his shoes, man. Nothing at all. His dissolution was complete and utter. There was such a final terrible beauty to it. I thought it must be an absurd magic trick, a horrible joke. But it wasn't, and the laughter caught in my throat and became a sob. Yeah, laughter caught in my throat and became a sob. Yeah.

(The closer I get to the end)
(The closer I get to the end)
(The closer I get to the end)
The closer I get to the beginning
(The closer I get to the end)
(The closer I get to the end)
The closer I get to the beginning
(The closer I get to the end)
(The closer I get to the end)
The closer I get to the beginning
(The closer I get to the end)

Original Text from Shriek: An Afterword:

The Religious Quarter rose out of the mire of night as an outline of domes and steeples, highlighted by the flames that lay miles behind them. In that light, it looked unearthly, bizarre, not of Ambergris. Still, we entered it, in the hopes that that way lay safety. We allowed ourselves to come under the influence of those spires, those outcroppings of alcoves, all silent, all dead, not a priest in sight. {Probably cowering in their basements for all the good it would do them.}

We were on a street called Bannerville. I remember that. The streetlamps there were bare of the terrible burden of death. Some of them worked. Glowed green. At the end of Bannerville, we'd turn to the right and we'd be a block away from the Truffidian Cathedral.

A strange surge of joy or recognition overtook us, all out of proportion to our reality. We began to run, to laugh, abandoning our shuffle through the shadows; with safety so close, it was agony to walk. The worst seemed past. It really did. I was already thinking about what I'd say to Bonmot. I was already thinking about that, Truff help me.

Sybel had stopped holding my hand. He was a little behind me at this point. We were almost at the end of Bannerville, not more than twenty feet from safety. Overhead, a street lamp flickered free of the green glow that pervaded the rest of the city.

We were both about to turn the corner. I could hear Sybel's heavy breathing as he ran. Then i heard an unfamiliar sound—a sound trapped between a gasp and a moan—and when I turned to look back at Sybel, all I could see was a mist of blood, floating out in streamers. I stopped running and stared. I couldn't breathe for a second. Nothing of him was left—not even his shoes. Nothing at all. His dissolution was complete. Utter. There was such a final and terrible beauty to it that I thought it must be an absurd magic trick, a horrible joke. But it wasn't, and the laughter caught in my throat, became a sob. Sybel had died, almost in front of my eyes, less than a block from the cathedral. A moment later, I realized it must have been one of F&L's fungal mines, but for an instant it seemed more deadly, more immediate—something personal.

The closer I get to the end, the closer I get to the beginning. Memories waft up out of the ether, out of nothing. They attach themselves to me like the green light, like the fungi that continue to colonize my typewriter. I had to stop for a while—my fingers ached and, even after all that I have seen, the fungi unnerved me. I spent the time flexing and unflexing my fingers, pacing back and forth.