Burr Ah Nyssa’s Tentacle Tales and Toe Raids Under Chateaugay Lake, A Lovecraftian Opera in the Style of Mozart

Beware: Burr Ah Nyssa brims with tentacle-tickling terror, serpentine squabbles over scones, Viking-bum vengeance, and Little Nippers lurking—perfect for fans of Lovecraftian laughs and psychological frights. Not for the faint of toes!

Submitted for What It Is Worth, by Ralph Bellows
Rt. 2, Chateaugay, NY 12920

(Narrated by Alonzo Bellows, the old codger of the Chateaugay Lake Narrows)

Act I: Prelude – “A Monster is Born”

Overture: The orchestra plays a whimsical, eerie waltz with string pizzicatos and muted brass, conjuring the ominous atmosphere of the lake while dancers in shimmering, tentacle-like costumes swirl through the fog.

Alonzo Bellows (spoken, to the audience):
Ah, yes, a monster beneath Chateaugay Lake. But not just any monster, no—
A scaly lass of exquisite proportions—tentaculous, serpentine… and not one to be trifled with.
Her name? Well, I suppose we ought to start there.
Her original name, in Gaelic… Burr Ah Nyssa ackh la Bogga. A name that sounds like it could’ve been invented by a drunken bard on a Tuesday.

(sings with chorus accompaniment):
“From the depths of the bog, where shadows do creep,
She slumbers, she watches, the secrets she keeps.
Berenice, Berenice, no creature compares,
To her strength or her silence that fills all the airs!”

Scene 1: The Scotsman’s Roots and the Nipper’s Tunnels

As Alonzo Bellows shifts into a storytelling mode, the orchestra plays a lively, baroque tune full of flutes and harpsichord, with sudden bursts of mystery on the cello and bassoons.

Alonzo Bellows (recited with a cheeky tone):
Now, let me tell you about my grandfather, Labon T. Harris,
A braw lad who found himself wandering from the cobbled streets of Glasgow
Straight into the wilds of the Chateaugay Lake Narrows.
You see, he settled right smack dab in the middle of those tunnels where the Little Nippers love to hide.
The very tunnels where Berenice herself would rest,
Hiding from the local folk—well, mostly hiding—you can see why!

(An interlude plays where the Nippers appear, crawling through the “tunnels” in silhouette, their movements quick and sly.)

*A scene from the past: Alonzo plays at his grandfather’s dock by the secret tunnel entrance at the Chateaugay Lake Narrows near the Narrows Cemetery*

Alonzo Bellows (spoken, shaking his head):
The Nippers… they weren’t particularly subtle about it—those little rascals—
Slithering about and stealing toes left and right,
Hiding in the tall grass, pretending to be leeches,
And scaring the bejesus out of poor Labon T. Harris!

(The Nippers giggle mischievously in a shrill, dissonant soprano harmony, their voices blending with Alonzo’s narration.)

Nippers (sung in high-pitched harmony, laughing):
“We’re leeches! We’re Nippers! We’re too sly to see,
We slither and squirm, we’re as quick as can be!
We’ll steal your toes, your boots, your socks,
Then dash back to Berenice with our loot in a box!”

(Alonzo sighs dramatically, as if this has been an ongoing nuisance since he was a boy.)

Alonzo Bellows (whispered loudly, with a wink to the audience):
The things we put up with in this family, eh?
But fear not, for that’s just part of the tale!—
Let’s turn back the clock and hear of how Berenice’s tale began…
Way back in the misty, fog-drenched highlands of Scotland…

Scene 2: The Argument of Scone Preferences

Berenice and Nessie reappear on stage, dressed in extravagant costumes, each holding a tea tray piled high with scones. Their voices crescendo into a dueling, operatic duet.

Nessie (sings with haughty pride):
“Orange marmalade’s the only way to go!
With scones, it’s a taste that’ll put on a show!
You may try your jams, but they’ll never compare,
To marmalade’s sweetness—so tangy, so rare!”

Berenice (sings with mock disdain):
“Oh, Nessie, you’ve no taste, I fear,
For strawberry jam is the scone’s true peer!
Marmalade’s too bitter, it’s like chewing on bark,
Whereas strawberry’s sweetness is a delightful spark!”

(The orchestra grows louder, with brass blaring, as their argument turns into a full-blown operatic squabble, until they both pause in dramatic silence.)

Nessie (singing in a biting tone):
“I shall never forgive you for this slander, Berenice!
For you’ve insulted my Scottish roots, my very essence!”

Berenice (calmly, with a sly smile):
“Well then, Nessie, I must say—
If you’re going to be so petty about it, I suppose I’ll be off to warmer waters,
Perhaps somewhere tropical… yes, somewhere Yucatan!”

(Their voices clash in a final, intense crescendo before the curtain falls on the argument.)

Act III: The Journey South

The stage transitions to a tropical setting, with palm trees and vibrant colors. Berenice sings of her journey from Scotland to the Yucatan, her voice filled with longing and determination.

Berenice (sung, with dramatic flair):
“From Scotland’s cold shores, to the Yucatan’s heat,
I traveled through jungles where shadows would meet.
But the heat was too much, so I fled north once again,
To find the cold waters where my tentacles could reign!”

(The orchestra swells with exotic, haunting rhythms as Berenice sails toward Chateaugay Lake. She enters the region and is greeted by the Abenaki, who sing her praises.)

Abenaki Chorus (sung with reverence):
“Burr ah Nyssa, the serpent so grand,
With tentacles fierce, and her strength in her hand!
She drove the yellow-haired invaders away,
With tentacles up, in the most glorious display!”

Alonzo Bellows (spoken, with a chuckle):
Ah yes, those yellow-haired Vikings!
The Abenaki weren’t ones to mince words, let me tell you.
They gave Berenice quite the title, you see:
Tahwighanakwidah-ataskumoh-kodokwimazowih-sogozipegwa
(She who fearlessly shoved tendrils into the cowardly yellow-haired foreign shits fleeing from a perfectly good fight in disgrace.)
Quite a mouthful, I know, but it does the job!

(The Nippers briefly appear, mimicking the chant in a snide, comedic chorus.)

Nippers (sung in shrill, playful tones):
“Tentacles up! Tentacles up!
We laugh, we sing, we just don’t stop!
Burr ah Nyssa! The beast we revere,
For shoving her tentacles up those Viking rears!”

Finale: The Tentacled Waltz

Berenice rises dramatically from the lake, illuminated by a chilling moonlight. The orchestra plays a haunting waltz, now joined by the full chorus, as Berenice speaks her final words, inviting the audience into her eerie, psychological world.

Berenice (sung, slowly and serenely):
“I am but a shadow in waters so cold,
A serpent with secrets, with tales yet untold.
Leave me your fish, and your bread, and your song,
And perhaps, little mortals, you’ll find where you belong!”

(The curtain falls as the orchestra swells, a final dissonant chord reverberating in the air. The Nippers scuttle into the shadows, and Alonzo Bellows smiles knowingly.)

Alonzo Bellows (spoken, as the lights dim):
Remember, my friends, when you visit the lake,
Beware of the Nippers… and of the cake!
For if you leave an offering to Berenice tonight,
You may just see her… or something not quite right.

Coda: The Quill and The Record

The orchestra begins a light, playful melody, hinting at the whimsical end of the performance, as Alonzo Bellows steps forward with a knowing smile. Berenice, with a sly wink, and the Little Nippers, popping up from behind props, join him. All sing in a jolly, rhymed verse.

Alonzo Bellows (sung, with a wry grin):
“Now my friends, it’s time to wrap up the show,
But before you depart, there’s something you should know!
Our cousin Ralph—oh, that fellow so clever—
He’ll take this tale and make it last forever!”

Berenice (sung, with a melodic, teasing tone):
“A quill he shall wield, sharp as any sword,
And write of this tale in a style so adored.
To the Chateaugay Record, where history is set,
His pen will declare: ‘A spectacle you won’t forget!’”

Little Nippers (sung, in a cheeky chorus):
“We Nippers will giggle, we’ll dance, and we’ll hide,
But Ralph’s quill will document all that we tried!
From Chateaugay Lake to Brainardsville’s hall,
He’ll write of this opera, and we’ll take the fall!”

Alonzo Bellows (sung, with a wink):
“So, sharpen your quill, dear cousin of mine,
For the Chateaugay Record will surely assign,
A headline so grand, a tale so divine,
That folks will recall it for years in due time!”

Berenice (sung, mischievously):
“But beware, dear Ralph, with that pen so sharp,
For we serpents can bite—just a touch, not too harsh!
When you write of my name, and my tentacles wild,
Be sure to capture the spirit… not just the style!”

Little Nippers (sung, giggling):
“The quill will be tested, the ink will run dry,
As Ralph writes of our deeds, with a knowing eye.
We’ll be in the headlines, and it’s only fair—
For Ralph’s pen to record us, without a care!”

Alonzo Bellows (sung, in a jovial tone):
“And so, dear audience, now that we’ve sung,
You’ll hear of our antics when the opera’s done.
Ralph’s quill shall sharpen, his ink shall fly,
With a new story to tell—and a wink in his eye!”

(The orchestra plays a playful flourish, and the stage lights dim, leaving Alonzo, Berenice, and the Little Nippers silhouetted in a warm glow, each raising an arm in camaraderie.)

Alonzo Bellows (spoken, with a chuckle):
So, my dear Cub, get ready to start scratchin’ out that page,
For I have no doubt—this is your moment to engage!
But remember—dear cousin—you might want to take care,
For when you write, you might just find us there…

(The final chord is struck, the curtain falls, and a moment of eerie silence lingers before the audience bursts into laughter and applause.)

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Response

Johqu Bogart

January 15, 2025

To the Esteemed Editor of the Chateaugay Record,

I trust this missive finds you in good health, with your usual sharp eye toward the happenings in our humble corner of the world. I must confess, dear editor, that I find myself in a rather peculiar situation, one that surely deserves a moment of reflection—and perhaps, a degree of public clarification. Allow me to recount a most curious occurrence.

It all began, as many things do, with a rather impulsive idea—a sudden, inexplicable urge to create. You see, I recently penned what I believed to be an opera—a grand tale for the ages, meant to honor the legends that weave through the waters of our beloved Chateaugay Lake. The creature at the heart of this work, as some of you may recall from old family tales, is none other than Berenice, the scaly, tentacled beast said to slumber beneath the murky depths, biding her time until some poor soul ventures too close to the shore.

The opera, which I called “The Tentacled Waltz,” was born out of a whim, an instinct, perhaps even the ghost of an old Bellows family curse, passed down through generations of men—some smarter than others, but all equally cursed with the compulsion to create. My opera unfolded in three acts, beginning with an eerie overture, followed by a lively recounting of my cousin’s grandfather up the lake—Labon T. Harris’—run-ins with the infamous Nippers of the Narrows, and finally culminating in Berenice’s triumph over invading Vikings, a tale most splendidly set to music by my own admittedly humble hand.

Now, dear reader, it is here where the trouble begins—bear with me. You see, I could have sworn I wrote the entirety of the opera, complete with a chorus of Nippers, an impassioned duet between Berenice and Nessie (who, you’ll be pleased to know, has an admirable taste for marmalade), and a grand finale that surely would have brought tears to the eyes of even the most hardened theatergoer. Yet, upon completing the last note and securing the manuscript in my study, I stumbled upon something… curious.

I found that someone—someone who, I suspect, must be rather clever and insufferably cheeky—had added a final scene, one that I swear was not my own. A certain Alonzo Bellows—a rather mischievous figure, if you ask me—appears to have woven himself into the narrative, completing the opera with a personal wink to the audience and a sharp remark about how I would be the one to document the whole affair in this very newspaper. What’s more, dear cousin Alonzo, in his infinite wisdom, suggests that I pen an account of this very opera in the Chateaugay Record, a task that, apparently, I have just now undertaken.

I cannot, for the life of me, remember when I agreed to such an ending—an ending that, I daresay, feels both familiar and foreign at once. It is as though my own hand, guided by some unseen force, has written not only the opera but this very letter, each word cascading from my quill as though it had been rehearsed for an audience of precisely one.

In closing, dear editor, I humbly submit this letter as my attempt to make sense of the oddities that have befallen me. I find myself bewildered by this opera, perplexed by the appearance of Alonzo Bellows, and, if I’m honest, more than a little concerned that I may be trapped in a curious loop of my own making. But I trust that you, the fine folk of Chateaugay, will forgive an old man’s musings—especially when they involve such a far-fetched tale of Nippers, tentacled beasts, and strange familial apparitions.

Yours, as ever,
Ralph Bellows
Rt. 2, Chateaugay, NY 12920

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